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gnohomotho · 2 days ago

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Just a game (part 4) ۶ৎ

Pairing: Hwang In-ho // The Front Man x fem!reader Summary: After losing your consciousness in his arms, you are at the mercy of In-ho, a man you don't, as far as you know, even know the face of. Yet he has shown you more than one, perhaps even his true visage - through the touch and the inner machinations that are tearing at his heart. The rules of the game are slipping, the Front Man is grabbing at control, making sure the field is level for you to be his. It begins with yours, then shifts to In-ho's point of view - double the fun. Warnings: And it is still the God damn Front Man Although darker, the chapter(s) carry an odd amount of fluff along with quite a bit of angst. Quite a bit of voyeurism, descriptions of naked bodies and lust, mentions of SA (very light, only hinted at), touch, need, drugging people, dubious consent at best. Medical malpractice and ignorance of the ethical codex. Word count: 6.4k A/N: I would apologise for the word count, and I will. (ᵕ—ᴗ—) But if I had either, I would really put my heart and soul into this work, so it's not quite the usual gorgeous fanfic that starts fast and ends with hot, steamy, angsty sex and eternal love. I wanted to flesh out characters, from you, to In-ho himself - keep it in character yet write a believable Front Man struggling with both himself, his present, his past, and you - a woman he is falling madly in love with. If you like my work, I appreaciate every single heart // repost // reblog // follow // message! ♥ Thank you! ♥ Link to previous Link to next

Running, running. Tripping. Something catching up. Running. You have to run up. Up! Feet tangled, barbed wire, cannot run, hot, warm, soaking--- A figure in the distance. Clad in white. Run to him. Run to him. Something catching up. Sharp pain. Wet. From stomach down down down. Copper, sticking, limbs, slow. The figure is an illusion. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Darkness. Enveloped. A cape. Over you. Pulled away. Collapsed. Earth. Swallowed. Mud. The cawing of a----

Your eyes flutter open. In the long distance, so far away yet so shrill, you hear the cawing of a crow.

The harshness and fervour trickles through your swollen, heavy mind full of cotton and icy rivers of forgetting.

Groggy, tired, stiff, everything seems so blurry and pushed away from your consciousness. Your hands feel like cold, empty plastic, and you cannot lift them.

The flat light in the ceiling feels awful, all a dream; such a loud, piercing, horrible dream. Saying nothing. Screaming.

In the distance, the crow caws once more, and you grab onto the sound like an anchor to remain grounded. At least enough to assess the damage.

There’s a blanket over you, you wiggle the tips of your toes to feel the fabric all the way down. Thank god. Covered. All covered. Even so, trying to mentally tun through your form, you feel the softness cover something foreign, something that isn’t you. Your skin prickles and repels all it touches.

All it touches. Even you.

Don’t move. In the back of your sleepy mind, no matter how tired, how tranquilized. You know. You know it’s an advantage to play dead or sleeping.

Voices. Seeping in like an echo of static.

“Contacts taken care of…no issues…family? No, of course not…”

“Observation. Rather not....”

A voice you recognize.

“I would be inclined to disagree.”

Footsteps. You close your eyes, hard, and try to steady your heart – it wasn’t catching up to the situation anyway. Everything threatens to spin the moment you see nought but darkness; you could be floating ten miles deep in the ocean. Marine snow and all-encompassing darkness, no breath, no hope, only cold and squids. Suffocating, oppressive, swallowing you whole....back, come back, focus, stay, lights behind your eyelids swirling and blue exchanging black; your ears are ringing, and you seem to be drifting away again until---

Touch. Your plastic hand feels touch.

Electricity momentarily flutters across your fingertips and travels up your forearm. You want nothing more but to pull away, but keep up your pretence. You hear a steadied breath, quiet, controlled. Skipping a tad towards the end of the exhale, as if steadying itself. The presence, the scent, all is familiar yet oddly intertwined. Signals jamming before they reach their destination.

The messages fly but the network is down.

You hear an inhale and what could be a sigh. You’re very unsure whether it is exasperated or elated, but you don’t welcome either.

It makes way for a voice that reminds you of all-concealing frost coating barbed wire.

“Rest. Rest, little one. Everything is being taken care of.”

You feel naked fingers trail up around your knuckles, softly drawing on your skin. They then travel down the back of your hand, following your veins, down to your wrist and back once more. The motion repeats, you feel light nudges of warmth alternating with tingles freezing your neck down to your pillow. Your breath is threatening to give you away, you ever so slightly, unnoticeably open your lips so that your chest remains quiet and does not harbour nor exhale too much air. You're nervous, you're worried, you’re catching fire while submerged in ice please stop, stop touching me, hold me, go away, hold me, I'm scared, I'm scared, kiss me, go away, hold away the cold, go away, go away, hold me, go away...

The errant hand finishes its last motion by enveloping yours entirely, and remaining firmly in place as his other hand joins it around your own.

The slow caressing motion alleviates nothing of your petrified, electrified thoughts and current racing through your chest. The caress touches over, under, holding in secure warmth as it brushes coarse fingertips along your cold skin. Two fingers slowly, slowly leave the sanctuary of your intertwined palms and journey up your arm, stopping at the crane of your joint, and touch something new – circle the little scar – and travel safely down again. Leaving a trail of exposed electrical wiring.

Firm sensations of those errant palms circle yours – touching, teasing, exploring – and clasp around their newfound plastic extremity. Rough to the touch, yet gentle; cold at first, but firmly creating heat against your skin leaving no gap for air or intrusion.

One disadvantage to feigning unconsciousness is only having a single card to play, while the other party holds the entire deck. Hell, the other party is free to choose the game, you can't see nor protest.

A disadvantage you will soon discover.

As you command your chest to fall, your limbs to lay, and your breath to steady, you realise something that sends slow, sharp nails of a chill through your spine.

Silence.

No touch.

No noise.

Your brain threatens to drift again, half in lack of grounding, half in panic. Perhaps one more card is simply known as 'fainting your way out of the problem', though it needs to be played repeatedly and usually ends in a game over.

You hear nothing stretching the moment, then the next, then the next...nothing since the hand slid away from your own and left an icy vacancy spreading across your skin.

༻❁༺

Seconds tick by, no sound.

No other voices.

No steps, no commotion, no normal noises.

This is bad. You figured a hospital would sound like a hospital, you'd even welcome rudeness or cussing, you'd even welcome your family, anything that slightly resembles a maquette of normality – this just emanates kidney theft and human trafficking. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Minutes tick by, had he managed to leave so quietly? Perhaps you misheard. Perhaps you were still groggy and your senses too dull. Perhaps---

Face.

Oh no.

A sensation on your face almost, almost pushes your eyes open – but you catch the flinch at the last second – it seems your tiredness and lack of reflexes add a single card to your deck.

Trying very hard not to squirm or pull away, you begin to feel soft, gentle brushes upon your face. The first brush kisses your cheeks, lingering on your skin as if testing, feeling, trying not to scare a fledgling bird.

Then it begins to trace its warmth down around your cheekbones, threading little shapes along your facial lines; then back again in a very intimate, repetitive motion. There…and back.

There. And back.

Timid, at first, light as if sensing for an exposed wire just below the surface. Longer and reassured as his precise fingers repeat their pendulum-like movements. You tried not to feel nice. But truth be told, if you erased all else, all other variables, the entire scene, it was…

Soft, like the feathers of a baby owl, careful, like the tool of a jeweller dusting a delicate stone, and simply…warm. Caring. Studying.

Affectionate in its detail.

The fingertips slowly circle your eyes and run meticulously along your eyebrows, then return once again to draw light sickles under your eyes. There and back. There and back.

Upon your cheeks, you feel more fingers at once, with more surface area intertwining and dancing with yours. Brushing and caressing, touching as if enjoying the sensation of touch itself for the very first time.

Exploring…curious…

…tender, even.

The tingling sensation moves lower, and you begin to feel the cool tips running down your chin and your jaw, as if he were drawing your portrait with nothing but touch. A single finger copies the shape of your jawbone, and periodically does the same to the other side. Then it repeats the motion with the knuckles of the reverse side of the hand.

The touch grows slower, more pronounced as it travels down your naked neck.

You are trying not to gasp, praying your heart doesn't give you away as his full assured hand rests and traverses your carotid artery, your throat, your tingling muscles threatening to paralyze or spasm or warm to his touch – all at once. He rests upon the vein, its warmth and beating fervour challenging his still, stoic grasp.

His hand doesn't linger, though, sending a current and brushing all the way down, forcing warmth to pool in your chest, stopping at the crane of your neck and finding the little dips in your collarbones. Gently circling and caressing the skin over and around them.

Once more you feel the more intimate touch of fingertips, reversing their journey up your neck, this time exploring more fervently. You never realised how slim and small your neck feels, now at the mercy of a hand that could simply…push its fingers down and clench. The tingling in your mind latches onto your growing fear, along with the sensation of care and utter helplessness. The lack of control and tranquil panic, as well as a very subdued, likely drug-induced need for more, create an odd ball of electricity that prickles through your chest and stomach, tingles across your ribs and breasts...

The fingers trail up your neck and stop at your jaw once more, this time changing their journey just a tad. You feel a single finger touch the area just above your lips and gently, slowly, ever so slowly trail down upon them, relishing each prolonged second, finally resting upon your mouth. The motion is as soft and light as a butterfly wing flutter, and lingers – then moves to your lower lip – then rests upon your lips’ entirety, exploring and caressing your mouth. Slowly, everso slowly; for a moment you let yourself dissolve into the lack of differentiation between his touch and your body.

If it was fear, perhaps mixed with sudden entirely mixed signals, perhaps the drugs, perhaps the absolute madness of the situation and the days prior, perhaps your condition, perhaps---you were reacting to his touch. Inside, a pool became a current, a slowly awakening tide; and he seemed to harbour a single full moon’s pull in each fingertip.

The sensation of cloth slipping from your skin alert you out of your trance to newly exposed areas grabbed and unwrapped by a sudden tendril of cold air.

This time, you fail to control your reflexes, your entire body tensing and reacting to the shiver that runs through your entire being.

Both the touch and moment cease, abruptly; your lips left cold once more in one swift retraction.

A click of a heel, then another hits the ground. As if he were stepping away. Yet still. Slowly. Quickened heart, errant thoughts, bad scenarios, needs you had buried and mourned a long time ago all try to either scream or calm at once, leading to a very simple short-circuit. How you hated being watched, how you hated being helpless, you think, how you hated being a toy for another old man’s perverted game, as your chest refuses to calm down again. Vulnerable and watched. Exposed. Ashamed. And now. Your disguise is compromised.

This is absolutely an unsatisfactory bitch of a situation, and I truly wish to scream.

But the tiredness clings to you, head spinning in a mixture of chemicals and your own sensations, responses, needs, and fear. In contrast to his touch, false or not, your mind is a battlefield; everyone is bleeding or entirely delirious. Clinging to something, anything, you try to think – this is a reaction, it is expected. The mad ones, shaking, rocking back and forth crying for comfort; perhaps the man with a mind empty living on nothing but twisted memories and dissociation wherein hope itself became a troublesome burden, or the soldier climbing out into machine gun fire to throw grenades into the enemy’s dugout shouting fox-hunting hymns and laughing. All reactions. All understandable. But not mine. Nothing bad is happening. Nothing bad happened. I am so, so, so very stupid. Why did he not hurt me? Why did he not hold me? What the fuck is wrong with me?

Trying not to cry in a situation as messed up as this leaves you a husk. Tired. In the end. You want to go home. Just be safe. Never mind the place does not exist, just…safe.

Death seems safe, could he not had done the kindness of finishing the job? Why drag it out?

Slipping away, now that he is no longer guiding your spirit back to your skin wherever he brings warmth and well-acted care, you try to calm and not replay the prickles of anticipation fingering strings echoing a darker tune within your heart’s chamber.

One more thing worried you. Even before he came in, you tried to wiggle your fingers to feel for fabric and familiarity of finite objects, but it took you...too long. Barely one, two, lifted at all. Your mind was not there – barely visiting – but you hoped at least primal programming would kick in. Yet your hand felt foreign, not there, lifeless, intruding…plastic.

The more you focused on it, the less its edges resembled something corporal. As if you were dissolving in a blurry river eating you up, flesh and bone, in quiet indifference. There was a prickle in your arm, but you could not look nor check to reach it. And it worried you.

Steps away. Growing quieter and quieter, reverberating in the hall away from you.

Finally you let your chest fall in a sigh of nervous, utterly desperate relief – you listen to your own shivers as it lifts and contracts and almost suffocates you in a chaotic rhythm to the beat of your heart which is threatening its own eviction. The sound of your hurried breathing fills the room, and you latch onto it as one of the few molecules of validation of reality itself – you, you being alive, you being absolutely screwed, and you…you being on the brink teetering over.

༻❁༺

More footsteps.

Oh come on. Please. One molestation a day is enough.

But these fall faster, the manner hurried, even, and far heavier and clunkier than the calculated steps of your haptic visitor.

"Y/N?? Y/N?"

Urgent. Muffled. There.

Then quieter, a mixture of assertiveness and obedience, attempting to be polite but unable to reign in the emotions guiding his intonation.

"Are you sure I can come in, I know her code, she always uses the same number...is she alright?!"

Oh no. No. What have you done, Y/N, what have you done...you getting hurt? Fine, your business, your currency. But never collateral, never...you stupid, stupid---get out!

"Are you sure I can see her? I'm not...related or her boyfriend, husband, I just...can I see her? It's urgent, I can tell you all her needs, her medication, I think, just, just please let me see her and see she's ok..."

That voice. The code. Of course, you always filled out hospital forms with the same four-digit code, so that your family, should they even attempt the incredible labour of picking up a phone to check on their daughter, would get no medical nor personal information. The funny thing was, anyone who'd known you for more than five minutes and bothered to listen to you would know that number – it's nothing but a year you hold dear.

Hurried steps and suddenly an urgent stop before you.

"Y/N? Can you hear me? Shit, kurvadopichi, Y/N?"

The voice, muffled by what you hope is only a surgical mask, turns away from you as the sentence concludes. Are you not alone? With a tiny glimpse of hope comes the thing to gouge it right back out of your eyes. Is this an entertaining game?! Steadying yourself at the very least mentally, thinking it’s just another hurdle and then you may act, you rationalize that his frenzied steps masked another set in their wake.

"She's never actually fainted or lost consciousness for long, she lies down and it gets better...what's going on? Can she hear me? Do prdele, Y/N..."

Just as you would move your lips to assure, to warn, to react, your effort comes to a halt in a single fleeting moment.

"She's going to be alright."

Ice. Ice on your back, ice enveloping your shoulders, ice going straight for your tender brain. That voice. It didn’t matter how muffled or how level, how sickeningly in character – that voice, so close to someone you hold dear, destroyed your last speckle of hope with unceremonious indifference. And it continued, teasing in its role. The cards, the game, your dear ones’ safety – all in his hands.

"Just a bit fragile. She took a nasty fall on our walk and in her condition, the doctor was forced to provide a heavier analgesic dose." A soft but serious humm circles your ears and almost makes you sick. “I was concerned, and further examination…proved me quite correct.” His voice seemed as violating as his fingers, his words and their meaning following suit as the realisation slowly dawned on you.

"She should be enjoying a long, deserved rest."

I’ll give you a long-deserved rest---but the softness in your dear friend’s words threads through your make-believe fighting spirit leaving only helpless sadness. You want him to be safe, you want him far away from here, you want to…you want him to go home.

"Can she...hear me? Can she hear the crows at least? Y/N, I'm sorry, I should have done something...I knew it was getting bad, but…” That strong, shaky breath you know so well breaks your heart. This is all your fault, all of it. Your housemate keeps it together quite well, but when he doesn’t…

“I missed you, Y/N, your tea is getting cold, I'll make you ten more if you come home."

The air seemed to stiffen, somehow, the walls swallowing the echo of his tender words. The silence clung heavily to every inch of you, your kind housemate utterly unaware. Oh Lubi, please stop that, stop saying that, digging a grave, digging digging...

“I know you hate being touched, Y/N, I know I made it worse, but imagine I’m holding your hand.”

The atmosphere stiffened further; it could be carved with a butterknife. Your housemate utterly blissfully unaware – but at least your body and your hands remain untouched.

“Just like you held mine two days ago – sitting on that floor – you helped me back from something awful – and you did it smiling. You told me it’s ok. That if it gets bad again, you’ll be there. The hallway will still be there. The floor will still be there. And it’ll be ok. Well, it’s not ok, the hallway is empty, and you’re not there, and I...I know I said a lot, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

And you did it high as a kite on pain meds that weren’t doing a thing, terrified that you’re going to fall over, terrified of being selfish and so utterly tired of remaining here, and not at all wishing to touch nor be touched. But you’d do it again and a flame of defiance rose in your still chest. Your friend continued, still entirely unaware but his voice sounded…so worried. Worried about the wrong thing, the wrong person, please get out!

“…And I said you’re going to be a wonderful therapist. Well, you are. But. That lady needs to be alive and conscious, not all your clients can be dead – and I can look after you.” He tried to laugh, but you heard the sadness in his voice, the anxious hope and abandon – heart on his sleeve.

“…We figured out hugs after your first two operations, even if I had to annex a public bench, we can figure anything out. Just come home, please. All the soup. All the tea. All the tenderness.” He’s using our special things, he’s trying to put all our shared gestures and inside language into the room, you realise.

And it works. Pushing that tight, suffocating atmosphere back like a storm cloud faltering in the warm wind, revealing a few speckles of light. Even ending on a word you cherish so much. Tenderness. Tenderness of patient minds. He remembered. You must react, before he gets hurt. Perhaps some kind of signal, something, or just yell at him to get out and call the police as he runs, spring up like a reanimated corpse and warn him---before a voice cuts through the room and pushes your head firmly underwater:

"I don't think she's able to say anything."

The command and threat were so clear they might as well have kicked you in the head.

"If she knows what's good for her delicate state, and the delicate state of you, young man, unfortunately, she won't respond to you."

༻❁༺

Silence. You managed nothing. Little speckles of tears sting in the corners of your eyes.

The bed creaks and its weight shifts, you no longer care if you’re seen nor awake, you are done. The feelings of anticipation and yearning, cut off, replaced by touch hiding poison and likely nothing but possessive depravity won’t leave you. You feel so stupid, so helpless, so useless – now you are worried for your friend, knowing that you put him in direct line of fire while trying to get shot yourself.

“Are you awake, miss Y/N?”

Unmuffled and clear, you would almost welcome the familiarity. Almost. While your brain searches for a hint of danger or reason to discredit – but no. This person did not hurt you, as far as you know. Not directly. He probably had no choice; you heard that voice, you heard the threats aimed at you.

Your eyes slowly open.

From the blurry white background and slowly manifesting reality, the first thing your adjusting eyes truly encounter are two dark, heavy pools, staring directly into you.

The same, darker lips, the polite, resting demeanour, the studious expression conveying patience and concern.

And the lines carved into a face you would have, in a different life, wished to see smile.

No malice rests in those dark pools, no possessiveness. Only calm. He would almost look…troubled, were he not reassuring. You wonder whether he’s reassuring you or himself, and shift in an attempt to lift your body into a sitting position.

You fail as your elbows give in under you with an unceremonious thump. You notice his hand instinctively react but retract almost as fast.

Slowly, as if to convey safety and distance, he moves away from the bed and walks around you, stands ever-so-close, carefully adjusting your pillow without directly touching you. As he is still in your peripheral vision, your arm prickles, though, but you cannot turn your head to see why. Perhaps the cold air of the pillow-moving motion. The arm feels cold, but you’re too enveloped in finally being able to see. And you look away, as gravity hits you again.

“I…I can’t move. My friend. Please…I…don’t hurt him.”

The man gently moves the blanket across your arm again where it fell in your first futile lift attempt, but does not linger and does not touch you. You welcome the gesture, heart melting a tad. Still a frozen, trepidating husk though. He sits at the edge of the bed once more, the blanket firmly dividing you. You managed to shift into a half sitting position, pillow doing most of the work. You feel vulnerable but…momentarily safe. His quiet voice does not disturb that peace, and once more, you feel your heart crack a small piece of ice away.

“I’m sorry, the boss was only making sure you’re taken care of, including your loved ones. He would prefer them not to worry.”

Nor raise alarms when someone who is never late suddenly racks up a two-day delay.

“So he’s not hurt?”

A crow caws in the distance. You stare at him from your vulnerable position, still almost unable to move your head.

His eyes convey something you…you are surely imagining.

But you would get pulled in, in your desperate, wistful state; should his hand rest on yours now, you would use all the warning lights as a checkpoint for a modicum of safety and care. Helplessness is a feeling you dread, loss of control and swimming with the current a means of survival; yet now you feel your hands tied and the tug of someone at the other end.

And that is worse.

His gaze softens, with a glimmer of something you cannot quite figure out – a spark of something darker, but it disappears like a glint of snow falling off a streetlamp.

“Of course not. The boss decided against doing anything against your will.”

Sure he did. Because all of this screams consent.

“From what he’s shared with me, I understand that violation would not be fair on you. He only intended to give you the best care, and was concerned you would wish against the gesture.”

Your body viscerally reacts to the word, violation…and he’s right, of course. Though you cannot check or move, you know your body very well, and it wasn’t reacting in a way that…reminded you of anything. Hence, the surface level touch and some prickles were the most you can recognize, so far. But you’re not ok. This is not ok. He’s speaking as if this was all fine, as if all this was a gesture of kindness and selfless empathy when it’s the polar opposite. Even tired, your voice carries your doubts and your sincere condemnation of both him and his boss.

“Kind not-named-sir, I can’t move. Someone likely drugged me. Someone threatened my friend in front of me so I would comply. I don’t know what’s going on and I still cannot move.” You leave out the touching for obvious reasons. You try to remain calm, but you wish to scream. His calm, almost thoughtful demeanour fuelling the sense that this situation is wrong. The man shifts, eyes closing and softening a tad. If he was pretending, he must be investing a lot of energy into keeping up the pretence.

“I’m sure the boss did not wish for that, only your safety.” The low humm permeates your ears, almost soothingly so; you study the soft lines in his face and rest upon them, noticing the contrast of his dark hair and stoic visage, which breaks in the pragmatic softness of his tone each time he speaks.

“To be quite honest, if I may…” his dark eyes slowly move and stare at the blanket across your stomach area and you lift your eyebrows, “someone close to him shared your condition. Judging by the scars,” his hand hovers above the left side of your pelvic bone, up a tad, extending a finger in the general area and moving to your stomach, “you share the repeated attempts and lack of results.”

Just as you were warming to his words and finding some solace, water falls on your little fire.

“Please don’t remind me, kind-not-named-sir, those times weren’t nice.” Should have bribed the anaesthesiologist, you half-mumble to yourself. Did you imagine a soft chuckle escape his lips? You feel…odd. Tingly. Light. Restful.

“I know. The boss shared inklings of what you’ve been through. Alone. It makes sense that he chose a lack of violation before any further steps.” His hand retracted, but rested ever-so-slightly against the blanket barrier of your hips. With all you can, you muster and command your right arm to lift, sliding across the surface of the bed, the blanket, and finally, finally able to rest upon and protect your stomach. The gesture seemed to ignite something in your visitor, the same way a crow caw caught your attention – interest, fondness, recognition.

༻❁༺

Further steps.

༻❁༺

Oh, that gesture.

That gesture that first caught his attention, and the fire in those deep, doe eyes that kept it.

Even helpless, more helpless than you knew, you did not give in, not letting him fool or scare you. There was something in your eyes and in the way your body lay, in the way it reacted to his touch ever-so-lightly that truly intrigued him.

In-ho was playing a game, yet felt like a player himself. And for once, the stakes truly were high – there was no protection for him here. He knowingly put something on the line, something in those chips, in those cards sprawled on the table, and unsure of its gravity, he was mindfully reaching for currents knowing they'd slip through his fingers.

Patience, he mused.

Patience, creating a refuge in No Man’s Land, a small dugout barely concealing you, but it was patience and serenity in a moment where you should be panicking and begging. His mind wandered to the moment you fell against him, alone in the room, utterly his to do with as he pleases.

And you looked…serene.

The back of your head fell softly against his hand, and he guided it to his chest. Letting go of the needle, he held you in both his gloved hands – realising how delicate and how tender your features are against his. How utterly his you are right now, how much control he exudes. Slowly those wrinkles of concern disappeared from your forehead, and he rested your head under his chin as his hands almost unwittingly caressed your head through your hair, which fell upon his chest like a cascading river. As you drifted away, you smiled, and he knew his words reached you in the darkness. Smiling, delicate, utterly his.

༻❁༺

In-ho walks through the scenes of you, his mind a current of many rivers traversing and flowing their waters into one undiscernible, all-permeating flood. It’s not confusion, it’s not desire, it’s not nothing, it’s not everything and yet…

“Her kind, not-named sir…” he whispers to himself.

When he saw your body, laying there, helpless…one river, clear and slow, pure and trickling patiently, brought with it slight worry, a twinge of doubt, even...an odd sense of compassion. Almost as if he were doing something…wrong and kicking up mud in such translucent waters.

Perhaps it was the white blanket, the way your hair rested on the pillow, the way your pallor reflected the harsh blue light above you – it felt like a desecration.

In-ho’s mind attempted to bring up his dream, but he firmly pushed it back. His eyes darted to your stomach, though he tried to tell himself it was merely interest. He already gave you such kindness, such benevolence; interest should be the least of his transgressions. Trailing dark eyes down the convex dip between your pelvic bone, the small mound of your stomach and up your ribs, all draped in white, his cold gaze stopped at your face.

That beautiful, peaceful face…In-ho’s thoughts entered his mind before he could dismiss them as he had his dreams. You could have been dreaming yourself, he thought, the dose he gave you was too strong.

Dreaming of him. Perhaps. Dreaming of something where nothing hurt. In-ho's eyes momentarily softened as he recalled the feeling of your hair falling against his chest.

The way you let him hold you as your consciousness slipped from your delicate fingertips, the way you trusted him even as he administered the very thing that laid you bare before him, at his mercy. You trusted and smiled up at him. Not naïveté. Not quite abandon. As if you forgave the river, accepted your fate, and let the current carry you on, understanding the full consequence of cruelty and indifference…yet beauty and tranquillity…of the pull.

Did In-ho wish you to rest? Truly? Or was it a wish to violate you further without consequence.

The other river, dark, deep, carrying things that tear flesh and stone alike apart without care nor sound shared its waters with his mind. A gloved hand cupping that face and seeing nought but fear and cold realisation in those eyes. Giving you a glint of hope and throwing it in the depths, with you to follow. To take you, hollow you out with his own desire and momentary need, and cast you away empty and cracked. The same as the others. A body on the pile.

Or was it a simple tool for observation to examine without disturbing the scene.

Examine and change the past. By using an unassuming, naïve nothing that can't live in the present.

In-ho stepped closer. Too many rivers. The more he tried to clean his mind in the dark depths of depravity, the more your tender, vulnerable, yet serene form pulled him out and firmly pushed his head into clearer waters. Another was flowing behind him, he barely noticed, tried not to notice – for every river of forgetting is a river of remembrance. His own life, before all this. A woman still and beautiful, draped in white. Head uncovered. Head uncovered.

He wondered if you could hear him, know of his presence.

In-ho quietly searched your skin and your body for signals, your chest for soft lifting with rhythmic breath, your lips, for quivering and blood circling their red lines, for eyes twitching at the change of air. The way your lashes almost unnoticeably stirred each time your heart sent life through your body, like tiny flower stems in the breeze.

Perhaps by accident, perhaps after reading too much about you, he remembered a sentence from the book he bestowed upon you, knowing you carry the poems in your heart. Nothing but a poem by a soldier telling his loved one stuck in the same hell to please not sleep in such a position, pulling at In-ho to wish to shake your shoulder and hear you gasp.

You are too young to fall asleep forever, And when you sleep, you remind me of the dead.

Though guarded, frozen, In-ho told himself, to keep away the rot, his heart was pumping. Warmth began to twitch in his fingertips as he stepped closer. A pull from your still, innocently dreaming form.

Examination, nothing more.

Your skin reacted to him, even if you had no power nor idea in his mind. Your skin touched his just as he touched you, and it felt like the most natural state of being while the curiosity of sensing something entirely novel held his interest.

In-ho quite simply did not wish to let you go, and he himself could not decipher why – leading him to allow something he would never forgive, never permit, never even think to partake in himself: he loosened his self-control and let the river, no matter which, swallow him whole. A small universe with a serene girl, her delicate form, their shared touch, clandestine and safe to dissolve with.

When your lips parted, he noticed. He noticed the tender curve and the sharp intake of a tiny, almost unnoticeable breath – and his entire hand tensed down to his shoulder. That face. So very close, every feature resting before him.

Tender, supple, inviting lips, a tiny opening, a small signal for him – and only for him. You were reacting to him. You were aware of him. You were giving yourself to him.

Inviting him.

When In-ho let his warmth rest upon your neck, his hand such a sharp contrast to your pallor and softness, exacerbated by the length and fragility of your neck, he almost did not pull away. The gentle thump against his palm, against the roughness of his own skin, the utter control he had over your body and mind in that moment.

As intoxicating as it was sacred, he blinked slowly and forced his arm to move down, down…curling those fingers as if threading your fleeting warmth, his own body so close to yours he could feel you.

He heard your fast, steady breaths and listened for them, In-ho’s own shallow breathing losing itself in you. He noticed the shiver each time you reacted to him. Your skin begging him to remain, your warmth circling to his touch.

Hwang In-ho, in a state of almost mesmerised calm, beaten at with desire and need to both protect and desecrate; to remain far yet be one with you, gripped the corner of the blanket resting beside your hand.

And pulled.

Before the stark shiver and rough intake of breath broke the illusion, In-ho was left at the mercy of your beautiful, level shoulders, the full extent of your neck and collarbones guiding his eyes along their fully exposed length, the gentleness of pale flesh contrasting those petite yet infinitely resilient blue highways running through and circling your nape, your sternum, precisely delineating your throat as if to guide and protect, yet circling and branching under his gaze as if to underline your resolute fragility.

In-ho followed their course running along your ribs, the sharp downturn below them, down, down – the very top of your chest pulsating with new breath, controlled struggle, suffocating need, all his doing – all his--- In-ho’s eyes unwittingly drew down to your breasts, now half uncovered, and drank in the softness and electricity circling their supple pink contrast.

Quivering under him.

Just as the river pulled him under, he caught an errant branch and lifted above the feeling. He sharply retracted his arm, and placed his other directly to his side, straightening to his full height above you.

Tender flower, tender flower…needn’t be picked half wilted.

But your image remained with him, you walked with him as he took in your friend, it walked along his side when he lifted his arm to open a door, your skin still directly upon his. Your scent, your shiver, your presence never left him. Perhaps that is why nought but fire caught his mind when hearing your friend speak.

No longer only insolence, but a feeling In-ho decided to call discontent clouded the entire room. A very kind euphemism for the darkness enveloping his mind as he looked at the unassuming young man heaping praises and sweet nonsense at you.

Shielding you from him.

Taking away the sanctity In-ho had momentarily built with you and allowed to blossom in the millimetres between your bodies, your skin, to fill your head and mind with frivolous, cheap, pathetic babbling.

All he needed here was access to you and the fooling of your close circles, but in that moment, he knew all it would take was a gesture of his gloved hand. Watching the back of your friend’s head, his unassuming golden hair threatening to brush you, In-ho almost threw the game away.

Whether for the words or the touch, he was furious – at his own reaction to you, but that anger adequately transferred to a young man obviously caring too much for you, too much for mere friendship.

In-ho knew enough about him, he studied you after all, but from your messages, from your correspondence to other people, from watching you…no, he is nothing, nothing of a threat. The young man is a means to an end, and In-ho can take care of him later. Yet the fire enveloping his heart did nothing but let the frost ossify it in place.

That little place in your arm where you couldn’t quite see. That little place with a small opening, a little plastic cannula nested in you, would need another strong dose of something else. Something to keep you…docile yet…his.

Of your own free will.

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doberbutts · 2 days ago

Note

is it just me or is like the whole stuff of cishet men dni and (cis perisex) women only spaces conflating vulnerability with safety? like, with a cis man and a cis woman who otherwise have quote unquote equal positions in society otherwise, there's the risk (or put it danger) from him being able to use his male privilege against her. but if it were a trans man or another cis woman instead that doesn't make them safe and unable to weaponize misogyny or commit interpersonal violence against her, they are just vulnerable to her ability to fight back so to speak in ways that the cis man isn't. but it feels like (general) we talk about these things like they're the same.

I firmly believe that every single transgender person is a marginalized gender due to their transgender status- this is something that I have seen discussed within black transfeminism regularly (see also: MaGe) and yet we get onto tumblr and suddenly all of that disappears under "by effect of being a man you inherently have male privilege and your very existence oppresses all women" rather than realize that transgender people as a whole operate within a structure of marginalization themselves.

As I have said repeatedly- it's not that I don't think trans men are capable of having male privilege (we are) or that I don't think trans men can contribute to and even utilize misogyny to our benefit (we can) - it's that the power and effect of this can depend wildly from trans man to trans man, and what one trans man is capable of might be well out of reach for another.

I have a good friend who is, on paper, demographically very similar to me. She is a cis lesbian, black/white/native, occupying the same tax bracket and occupation, disabled and neurodiverse. We've had extensive discussions about black and gender and gay politics, even when we don't agree we can usually see where each other is coming from.

I have absolutely no problem stating that in certain situations, I do absolutely have privilege over her despite my status as trans and hers as cis. I'm fairly cis-passing at this point. We go out to eat together whenever we can- it is demonstratably significantly more likely that she will be hit on and harassed by a cishet man looking to shoot his shot with a pretty girl than I am. It is significantly more likely that any and all pushback she gives this hypothetical man will be, at best, ignored, and at worst, met with physical or sexual violence. It is also significantly more likely that my very presence at the table will prevent him from doing so, as my approximate physical positioning to her acts as a claim to would-be creeps, and any pushback I give in this scenario is more likely to be met with him backing off.

It's also true that should this would-be creep clock me, register either of our gay signaling, or be racist on top of sexist, this situation might also go sideways for the both of us at any given point. It's entirely possible that this guy will spike her drink when I get up to use the bathroom, or that he'll follow us out to the parking lot and stab one of us, or cause a scene to get us both kicked out. We are both black and gay, after all. Intersectionality is key, here.

Three years ago, I had not yet started testosterone. I only passed maybe 50% of the time, and usually assumed to be a teenager despite being just touching 30. Three years ago, this hypothetical situation would have played out much differently.

Twelve years ago, it did. I was in college and had gone to a local McDonalds with one of my friends, another student there, for lunch. A man old enough to be our grandfather began to hit on us, ignoring our pushback and attempts to move away from and ignore him. I was binding at the time, with my hair cut short, going by he/him exclusively with my friends and out within my college sphere. And yet, what made this guy back off was my (white) cishet friend who prickled at him and began to make a scene until he heard that we were college students, at which point he disengaged entirely. Yup- he was looking for high schoolers to creep on, and we both made various noises of disgust once we realized his actual target.

Being a trans man had very little if any effect on this situation- my presence at the table was no help, my refusal to play ball was no help telling him to go away and that we were not interested was no help. The only thing that helped was killing his pedophile boner once he knew we were adults. I shudder to think what would have happened had we actually been kids.

Back to my cis lesbian friend and the present day- the portion of the sport and dog fancy we both occupy is very cis woman dominated. She can and often does flex what power she has in order to help others get their start- we joke often that she's collecting a posse of trans men as she's somehow managed to sell to majority trans men with her most recent litter. She has no problem wading into a situation where a trans man is being ejected from a queer group and arguing for his right to stay. Early on in my transition, she would loudly correct pretty much anyone misgendering me until that person fixed their shit- and would hover making faces behind me if I was present at a show and they were being a shit about it.

She also sometimes goes on woman-only retreats. And, to be clear, it is her opinion that a trans woman by definition of being a woman should be invited to these retreats. She does not want men at these woman-only retreats, and that does include trans men. And, you know what? I don't really blame her- she wants a space where her womanhood is centered and not have to deal with Men And Their Feelings. Fair- men can be exhausting to deal with especially for lesbians. But she also agrees that maybe pushing a freshly-out trans man out of the group is perhaps a bit cruel if he has been there for years. Most likely, he will go on his own once he gets his feet under him. There's no need to shove him out the door prematurely.

And I think that's really the crux of it.

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irithind · 1 day ago

Photo

It is very much not black and white, true. And mby the original post does kinda feel a bit blamey. But I kinda see it more as a reminder that a situation like that can happen and to consider it now so that you can decide what to do when it does. To know how far you can go in protest so that in the moment, it's easier to make a decision whether you can afford to or not.

This isn’t what I usually write about, but I think it’s important.

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tiredofthehumanlife · 3 days ago

Text

Metaphorical in-law sleepover

Barbie dolls: Touya Todoroki m(after war) x gn!reader

Word:1.5k

inspo

Summary: Shoto hangs out at you and Touya's apartment for comfort after his dad yelled at him

Warnings: brotherly love don't be weird, um after rehab and war Touya 🎉 he's my fav I j wanna bite him, sex mentioned in front of family members but it's nothing crazy it's j like a conversation that would maybe happen alin a sex positive household, that you and Touya now are I've made that decision for you, you and Touya would definitely be the couple that show up to the family reunion and hour late and couldn't give less of a shit bc you're so fucking lucky I'm here at all, um probably a little off from canon but Touya says his siblings hid in his room when their parents fought, I've decided it happened, yappa yappa

An unexpected consequence of having an apartment with your lover Touya was the family visits. Fuyumi and Natsuo weren't terribly frequent. They dropped in occasionally to take a break from the family troubles, breathing slowly on your couch as you and Touya watched from the kitchen. Shoto however was an entirely different situation.

Enji seemed to find him the most angering, their fights were the most frequent. You weren't even sure if some of them were fights, more of Enji yelling and Shoto listening. Before you and Touya got an apartment, the fights ended with Shoto practicing or sitting in his room staring at the wall in silence. Now he threw his things into a backpack and walked to your apartment. It was frequent enough you gave him a key.

No, you weren't shocked when he was waiting patiently on your couch when you got home but it still made your heart sting. You wished he felt safe enough at home to stay there but you were glad he found comfort in your home.

Fuyumi and Natsuo joined you three for dinner, all crowded around the small table you had gotten for you and Touya. They didn't mind that their knees and dishes touched, happy they could laugh and feel free even if it was for a minute.

After they left you tucked Shoto into his makeshift bed on the couch, gently brushing your lips against his forehead. You brushed his hair with your fingers, smiling at the relaxed sigh that followed from him. Touya followed after you, smacking his hand on top of Shoto’s head and ruffling his hair around. Shoto groaned and shooed his hand away. Touya snorted and headed for your shared bedroom.

You gently held Touya's face as you both lay in bed, the blankets pulled over your shoulders. His hand was resting on your back, arm over your side.

“I'm going to tear your father a new one,” you whispered like a love confession. Maybe it was. Touya slowly opened his eyes, the blue somehow still shining in the dark. He sighed happily. It was a love confession.

“I would help but it'd probably land me another few months of rehab,” Touya muttered. You hummed in understanding, gently dragging your thumb over the scar under his eye. Touya sighed through his nose, content.

“I can't believe he treats Sho like this. How can you look at his little face and not want to just squish him and give him candy?” you thought of Shoto's young face. He was too kind and gentle to be treated the way he was. Touya rubbed your back with his warm hand, nodding against his pillow. You pulled your hand from his face, tugging at his white hair.

You still hadn't decided if you liked him more with white or black hair. You liked his scars a little more healed and more moisturized. You never minded them but he looked healthier without them looking so dry. You didn't mind any of the new changes because there was a new sound he made. It was quiet and barely distinguishable. A breath of air that slowly pulled in before pushing out his nose, a sigh that told you he felt complete. You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek, teetering between the scarred and non-scarred skin.

“When I was younger Sho, Natsuo, and Fuyumi would hide in my room when Mother and Father fought. I couldn't decide if I hated or loved it. I felt worth something when they did but it also felt a little suffocating. I like it now. I like them hiding here.” Touya whispered eyes closed. You realized a few months into your relationship, years back, that he communicated best in the dark with his eyes closed. He never had to face you but you were still right next to him.

Touya leaned toward you, pressing his nose into your cheek. He tugged you closer, dragging your body through the sheets to press you into him. You relaxed against him, sighing into his warmth.

Just as you were slipping into your slumber, your bedroom door squeaked open. You lifted your head, staring at the door. Shoto was standing in the doorway, the light from the lamp in the living room making him look like a shadow figure. He was cradling his pillow to his chest and standing like a toddler struggling to make the crib to big boy bed change.

“Can I sleep in here with you two?” Shoto whispered, scared of letting his words be any louder. Touya lifted his head, looking back at Shoto. You didn't bother waiting for Touya's opinion, you already knew it.

“Of course, you can stay in here.” You said, watching Shoto. He closed the door behind himself and walked to Touya's side of the bed. He threw his pillow onto the ground next to Touya's bedside table. Touya threw his hand away from you and gently grabbed onto Shoto's arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” Touya asked, looking down at Shoto’s pillow. Shoto shrugged, looking over his shoulder at you to see if you would say something.

“Getting ready to sleep,” Shoto said like it was as simple as that. Touya shook his head. He gripped onto your shoulder and leaned over the edge of the bed. He snatched up Shoto’s pillow and smacked it between yours and his.

“I don't know who you think I am, but you are not sleeping on the floor,” Touya said, dropping his arms from you and scooting back towards the edge of the bed. You scooted back just enough to be more flush with the edge but not to fall off during the night. Shoto stood awkwardly by Touya, staring like he was in trouble or calculating. Touya looked over at him, gesturing for him to move.

“Get in bed, damn. Can't even fuck my partner in peace.” Touya mumbled as Shoto finally decided to start moving. Shoto wiggled his way up in between you two, slipping under the blankets. You pushed the hair away from his forehead and hummed gently.

“We weren't fucking, he's just talking. We would ‘partake in such activities’ while you're here.” you said repeating one of Shoto’s phrases. Shoto hummed and leaned into Touya. He pressed the top of his head to Touya's chest. Touya paused and glanced up at you for help. You gestured for him to hug Shoto. Touya gently rested his arm over Shoto’s pajama shirt, rubbing his shoulder with all the comforting abilities of a cardboard box. Shoto didn't seem to mind, humming and slowly drifting off towards sleep. You slipped your arm over Shoto's chest next to Touya's. Touya raised his eyes over to you and puckered his lips up. You leaned over Shoto, quickly pecking Touya’s lips. Touya hummed as you separated and laid back. You glanced down at Shoto to see his eyes plastered open.

“Gross,” Shoto whispered. Touya scoffed and flicked Shoto’s nose. Shoto’s face scrunched up, his hand flying up to rub at his nose. Shoto sniffed as you pushed his hair from his forehead. He didn’t like it up, showcased too much of his scar. He was similar to Touya in that way. Touya kept long-sleeved shirts and hid most of his skin. The only time you ever saw his body without some covering was in bed for sleep or otherwise. You gently pressed your lips to Shoto’s scar, a soft kiss to push the nightmares away.

“Goodnight Sho.” He hummed at you, snuggling closer to Touya. Touya groaned like he hated it but wrapped his arm around Shoto tighter. You rested your eyes, holding onto Shoto.

You thought of how you could make another person under your roof would work. The couch could only work for so long. Maybe you could find another apartment. Your brain was working a thousand miles per minute, so split your bedroom in half, though with a teen that wouldn’t work plus you enjoyed your privacy. Sure he stayed in the school dorms most of the time but he should feel comfortable when he comes home. It wouldn’t be fair to make him sleep on the couch on the weekends that’s just inconsiderate. You didn’t have an office which would’ve been beneficial. Maybe you could just get a pull-out couch like Touya mentioned before, it wouldn’t be perfect but it was better than sleeping in the same house as Enji.

You opened your eyes when a rather warm hand nudged your arm. Touya stared at you, a soft smile pulled at his lips. You hummed in question, trying to keep quiet so as to not wake up Shoto. Touya cupped your cheek, arm pulled over Shoto’s chest. He ran his thumb under your eye and knocked your cheek with his knuckle. Touya dropped his hand, intertwining it with yours over Shoto. You sighed and finally slipped into your dream with your mind at peace from Touya’s touch.

#touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #touya x reader #mha touya #bnha touya #touya todoroki x you #touya x you #dabi x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x you #dabi #mha x reader #mha #bnha x reader #bnha

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minhosimthings · 3 hours ago

Text

After-party || 18+

Synopsis: The best part of attending all those champagne-filled events was always the after-party sex. And who better to have it with than your two oldest members?

Pairings: Heeseung × eighthmember!fem!reader × Jay, includes Hanbin of Zb1

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, female eighth member of Enhypen au, unprotected p in v (not for you), cock riding, choking (f recieving), oral sex (f recieving), degradation, praise, threesome, anal sex, rough sex, implied masturbation (male), DADDY KINK, all of them are toxic af, reader is younger and shorter than both of them

A/N: I have woken up from my 8292937 year hibernation period again and immediately decided to finish this fic. Fun fact this wip is being erased from my list after two years of its inception lol. Anywho probably gonna disappear for a long time again don't miss me too much y'all. As always enjoy!

Being the only female member of Enhypen meant you were the object of many staring eyes.

But not the eyes of your fans. You could handle those readily. After all, engenes were as infatuated with you as they were with the rest of the boys.

The eyes you couldn't handle (not easily) were those of the four oldest members.

Lee Heeseung, Park Jay, Sim Jake and Park Sunghoon.

Being a part of the 2003 line meant that they saw you as their ‘beloved princess’, especially in the bed-works. Their words of course, not yours. Sunoo, your fellow 03 liner, also joined in the fun sometimes. Having his bedroom situated directly next to yours was certainly a marvelous thing for him and Jake—who lived in the same dorm.

Going to events with them wasn't any different either with either Sunghoon or Heeseung constantly throwing flirtatious glances all the time, and Jay not taking his fingers off from your skin at any moment.

But you didn't really mind for some odd reason. Maybe the odd reason was you were only a woman constantly surrounded by handsome men. Or maybe it was the fact that their skills in seduction were as smooth as their voices and you had easily fallen into their trap.

Regardless, you loved them and they certainly loved you back.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

“Why were we not invited again?” Jake tilted his head. He was lying on the couch, with his body sprawled like a sea slug, whilst Sunghoon looked on at the white wall, completely zoned out.

“You��re not worthy.” Heeseung joked from a corner of the room, admiring himself in the full body mirror. He sported a rather sleek look of a collared white coat over a velvety black shirt and black trousers. A dainty ringed necklace dangled from his neck, along with two bracelets on his wrist, rings decorating his index and ring fingers, and multiple small earrings hanging from his ears.

“Ha ha.” Sunghoon laughed sarcastically, rolling his eyes, “We still have our Tiffany events, right Jake?”

“Yep!” Jake said with a pop of his lips, toying with the aglets of his hoodie strings, “Speaking of Tiffany–” He rolled over to lay on his stomach, speaking to Heeseung this time, “—I heard our Y/Nnie is gonna sneak in with a Tiffany ring instead of a Pommelato one.”

“And wherever did you hear that from, Jaeyun?” A husky voice sounded as Jay stepped in. He looked exceptionally handsome, dressed in a similar look to Heeseung, albeit with a longer suit jacket and a v-neck under-shirt. He sported less jewelry though, with a plain golden band adorning his ring finger, a chunky bracelet on his wrist, and a necklace that dropped down to his chest. He wore a pair of simple earrings as well.

“Hey, don't shoot the messenger.” Jake held up his hands in defeat, collapsing onto the sofa once more with a loud yawn, “I’m excited to see what she’ll be wearing.”

“I hope it's not something similar to last time.” Heeseung groaned, remembering the last event he, you and Jay had been invited to. You had worn black, a halter neck dress of satin, which cinched around your waist and flowed off in a skirt that went to your knees. Heeseung had to keep his head buried in his champagne in order to resist dragging you off to the bathroom to satisfy his throbbing boner.

“Why not?”

The sound of your heels was heard first, before you could step into the room, alerting the boys’ ears and causing them to snap their heads in the direction of the entrance. You wouldn't have described their reaction to your dress as ‘jaw dropping’ but for the sake of your ego, you decided to.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung visibly gulp and Jay’s eyes trail down to your chest. Perverts, you thought, though you thought it with a wide smile.

“Don’t you like the outfit?” You asked them, taking a spin for them to see the back of it, giggling to yourself as you did. You knew all those shoulder workouts at the gym would pay off when you wore something like this.

“Backless…” Sunghoon said, his eyes wide, “I mean….….it's classy for sure.” Jake nodded in furious agreement, whilst the older two watched on silently, smirks dangling on their lips.

In all fairness to them, it was something you had never tried before. It was white, to match the boys’ outfits, with a sweetheart neckline that showed off your cleavage. Your back was accentuated perfectly by the sleek dip of the dress. It was bolder and far more dangerous. But what is life without a little danger?

“And you expect us to remain civil throughout the night.” Jay chuckled, swiping a stray stray of hair from his face, “While looking like that.”

“It's not my fault I’m way too pretty.” You shrugged your shoulders, adjusting your own hair with your ringed fingers. A sleek gold band decorated your index finger while another one which was inset with an emerald sat on your ring finger. You had a bracelet as well; the thick, curling wires of gold rested rather coldly against your skin. Since you didn't really have a preference for earrings, you decided to wear tiny hoops of plain gold. A perfect way to subtly complement the outfit.

“Woah honey, tone down the ego.” Jake wolf whistled, making you giggle as you plopped down on an armchair next to Sunghoon.

“Are the divas ready?” You said loudly, calling out to Jay and Heeseung, the latter was fixing his hair meticulously, “Or are we gonna stay here for the night?”

“Well if you give us that invitation…..” Jay said, leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. His hair was styled in a way that made your insides curl up and scream. Handsome bastard, you thought.

Just as you were opening your mouth for a retort, there was a knock at the door, followed by it opening without anyone giving an answer. A blonde, curly haired man stepped in, his fox-like eyes widened and his dimple prominent on his upper cheek.

“Hey the car’s read—Woahh.” Sunoo stopped in between his sentence, his eyes trailing up and down the length of your body, “Well hello gorgeous.”

“My eyes are up here, asshole.” You grumbled, getting up and speedily moving over to the door without sparing so much as a glance to Sunoo. He furrowed his brows.

“What did I do now?” He sighed, collapsing onto the armchair you were sitting on, “Don’t tell me this is about last night.”

“Of course it's about last night!” You glared at Sunoo, crossing your arms. Jake’s eyes clearly followed your cleavage again.

“Well don’t wear my hoodie again, you look too sexy to resist.” Sunoo chuckled. Sunghoon laughed as well, nodding his head in agreement.

“My legs are actual jelly Kim Sunoo.” You said smirking as an idea came to your mind. You flashed your right leg forward, exposing the thigh high slit that the dress had. Your ego significantly heightened as you saw how the boys physically stopped in between what they were doing, widening their eyes. Heeseung’s hand was frozen in mid-air, his efforts to brush his hair back proved to be un-futile. Jay chuckled.

“Thanks for taking my advice with the dress, baby.” Jay said, walking towards you, with his hands still in his pockets. Your eyes flickered to his lips and his to yours and soon they were pressed firmly against each other as his hand wrapped around your waist, whilst yours lay flat on his chest. His rings dug into your waist. He faintly tasted like cardamom; his movements were soft and his lips were perfect around yours. You often commented that Jay’s kisses felt the most romantic from all the others and you were, yet again, proven right.

“Gross.” You heard Sunoo say. You glanced at him just at the right moment when he rolled his eyes as you pulled away from the kiss.

“Jealous, Sun?” You smirked, locking eyes with Heeseung at the corner. His eyes were dark and his smirk was mischievous.

“You better go before the driver gets tired of waiting.” Sunghoon smiled warmly at you. Heeseung responded with a soft ‘yep’ while Jay was already ushering you out of the room, his gaze wavering towards your chest every now and then. He walked over quickly and shut the door after you had exited the room, bidding goodbye to the boys.

“You really like the neckline huh?” You giggled, catching Heeseng’s attention, as he snapped his eyes to hold yours in a dark gaze.

“You’re begging to be touched tonight aren't you?” He whispered, bending down to your level, to place a sudden kiss on the curve of your neck. His lips felt cold and slightly moist, probably because of the layers of lip balm he always applied.

“Don’t steal her all to yourself, hyung.” Jay cocked his head to your side, pressing a kiss at your neck as well. His lips felt warm over your neck, in total contrast to Heeseung.

“Are you guys done?” You chuckled, playfully glaring in Jay’s directions, “Horndogs.”

“I mean—” Jay looked at Heeseung, who was smirking, “She is right.” You heard Heeseung chuckle, “We are not staying civil tonight with that dress on you.”

“Didn't think so.” You mumbled.

And it wasn't like you even wanted them to.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The car ride to the event played out in the usual shenanigans.

Both of your thighs were squeezed by two veiny hands, your right by Heeseung’s and your left by Jay’s. Heeseung was fighting his demons hard not to reach up the dress slit and dive into you with his fingers. You didn't really want him to though; your eyes kept wavering over the rings that both the men wore, imagining what they’d feel like pressed harshly to your throbbing cunt. You were also fighting your demons to not unbutton their silk shirts with your teeth right now.

The car came to a stumbling halt, right as you were feeling sleep hug your eyes. Jolting awake, you glanced to your left to see the faint flashes of cameras appear from the dark window.

The press, media, stardom, fame. In short, all you’d worked your ass off for. You often get reminded of that everytime you attend an event like this one.

“Alright, doll?” Heeseung leaned in and whispered in your ear, his hot breath fanning your skin softly. You were suddenly reminded of the fact that your shoulders were to be on naked display all evening, when Heeseung suddenly pressed his lips against the skin on the top of your right shoulder.

“You want me to get in trouble, don’t you?” Your voice wavered only for a moment, when Heeseung stopped his sensual attack on your body. He looked up at you, his doe-like eyes darkened to form half moons.

But before you or he could say anything, you felt another similar sensation against your left shoulder.

“I am a victim of sabotage.” You said blankly, making Heeseung laugh as you turned your head to your left to see Jay’s widened eyes looking up at you, whilst pressing feather-light kisses onto your shoulder. He raised a brow, and rose up straight again.

“Don’t worry sweetheart.” He said, his hair falling ethereally onto his face was distracting you, “You’ll have plenty of sabotage when we get home.”

“Oh yeah.” Heeseung’s whispering voice sent ripples throughout your body, “Loads better.”

You were thankful for the partition in the car in between the driver seat and the back seats. And for the darkened windows as well. All of them contributed in hiding your extremely red face and an expression that said ‘I will kill you both’ but also ‘fuck me hard till you break the bed’.

You were greeted with the intense white light from the cameras as you stepped out of the car, aided ever so graciously by Jay’s gentlemanly outstretched hand, which you grudgingly took as a gesture of goodwill.

The media wouldn't know just how hard Heeseung had smacked your ass as you were climbing out from the car.

The spotlight moment on the red carpet was perhaps even worse.

Were you exaggerating? Maybe. But were you also trying hard not to crumble into pieces right there and then when Heeseung and Jay took turns in pulling you by the waist in the most attractive way possible? Definitely.

“I actually hate you both.” You mumbled as soon as you got inside the main lobby, finally free from the cauldron stares and the reporters commenting on what they’ll write about your ‘provocative’ dress. You didnt really give a fuck anyway, but it was nice to see Heeseung send murderous glares towards them.

“Not our fault you’re way too pretty.” Jay snickered, mimicking your words from earlier and fiddling with his rings. Heeseung silently agreed, his hand softly squeezing your ass serving as testimony. You rolled your eyes, resorting to putting on your game face—a.k.a the sweetest smile you could muster—to impress whoever the hell you were meeting.

You had heard earlier that day that your friend and MC partner Hanbin, of Zerobaseone, was also going to be present at the event. You hadn't told the guys, keeping it your little secret, so as to have an impromptu encounter with him at the venue.

Plus, Hanbin and you talking would certainly add fuel to the flame of your dating rumours, which had already been cleared a long time ago.

However, it was still fresh in Jay and Heeseung’s minds, and you had been taught from early childhood that revenge was a dish best served cold.

Entering the main venue, you were blinded by the flash of all the diamonds and jewels on display. Rows of rings and bracelets studded with jewels flanked every corner, and a multitude of opulent necklaces stood right in the centre. Your eyes were practically gleaming as you saw the earrings.

Soon enough, you, Jay, and Heeseung walked off in different directions, agreeing to meet up at a spot when it was time to go home.

You raced your eyes through the room, trying to spot Hanbin, walking blindly towards the bracelets in your attempt. You were momentarily distracted by the jewelry; it was seducing you into its gold and ruby grasps, and it was safe to say you were sold.

Giving a quick smile to the man behind the counter, you dropped your head down to the lines of bracelets—all sitting atop small black pillows. A lustrous silver one caught your attention first. It was engraved with the brand’s name on the inside and was decorated with carefully carved emeralds all over it. It would have looked amazing on the green dress you owned. Especially with your silver heel—

“Y/N?”

Hanbin.

Jackpot!

“Hey!” You exclaimed surprisedly, as if you hadn't been waiting for him to come, “Fancy seeing you here, oppa.”

“Yeah.” Hanbin shrugged, he was still getting used to you calling him ‘oppa’, “Wow, I didn't know you were here. You look beautiful.” You had to admit that Hanbin did make you blush often, and to be honest you wouldn't mind if any dating rumours crop out of this.

But unfortunately, there were some people who would mind direly.

“I’m here with my members actually.” You chuckled, “Jay and Heeseung. I’m sure they’re drowning in the free champagne though.” You giggled, trying to catch Hanbin off guard, “Were you browsing the bracelets, as well?”

“Matthew will murder me if I don’t get him a bracelet back.” Hanbin chuckled, “Do you have any recommendations?” You smiled sweetly at him and diverted your gaze back to the silver bracelet.

“I do like that one.” You nodded towards the bracelet, “I haven't tried it on yet though.” You chuckled, “Anyway I have way too many bracelets back home, I don't think I’ll buy this one.” Hanbin frowned slightly and asked the man standing behind the counter to show you the piece of silver, completely ignoring your protests.

“Now what kind of an MC partner would I be if I don’t get you a gift hm?” Hanbin smiled softly, putting the jewelry gently around your wrist, “Consider it an advance birthday present.” You giggled at this proposition, knowing well enough that your birthday was months away.

The bracelet looked expensive on you, the cold metal pressing against your skin and illuminating it with its numerous emeralds. Whoever designed this deserved to get a promotion in your high opinion. It shined in all its majesty on your wrist; you felt like it had the ability to make its wearer’s aura—an arcane one. You certainly felt mysterious.

"It's so beautiful…" You mumbled under your breath, “I love it.” You beamed up at Hanbin, who grinned back, “Now, should we choose Matthew’s present?"

"Well, I guess I'll be taking this one as well." Hanbin winked at you, "Along with Matthew's present, of course." He turned his eyes back to the glimmering collection, "How do you think he'll feel about that gold one over there?"

The conversation drifted on for about fifteen minutes, though you kept no track of time. It went from bracelets, to packed schedules, to comebacks and eventually, the well-being of each other's members.

While you chatted away merrily with your friend, two pairs of shimmering eyes stared from the distance, seeing nothing but red painted in the scene in front of them.

While jealousy or pettiness could never easily be seen on Jay’s face, it could be seen as bright as day on Heeseung’s. And boy did he look like an angry bull staring at the matador in the fighting ring.

“You should probably fix your face, hyung.” Jay sipped his champagne, it tasted disgusting, but it was still free alcohol.

“She’s touching his arm.” Heeseung grumbled into his own glass. Though he knew you were a grown woman who could handle yourself and make your own decisions and choices, deep down, he felt that pang of childish jealousy pierce his heart, as he saw you laugh with Hanbin in the distance. The lingering looks and slight touches made his ears turn furiously red.

Jay wasn't any better either. He was unbelievingly horny, and the way your dress draped around your hips so fucking perfectly made his dick ache. His image would probably be in shambles right now; the fabric of his pants wasn't really made for a hard cock.

“Should we go over then?” He suggested, to which the older man simply nodded, downing the rest of his champagne. Jay held onto his own glass though—something to put pressure against.

You, on the other hand, kept chattering away with Hanbin, not so subtly glancing over at ‘your’ men on the other side of the room. Hanbin thankfully didn’t notice—maybe his peripheral vision wasn’t as great as yours was—because he didn't internally smirk evilly when the oldest members of Enhypen started to approach him.

“Oh hey guys.” you exclaimed in an unusually high pitched voice, along with widened eyes, “Look who I found!” You tilted your head towards Hanbin, who smiled sweetly at Heeseung and extended his hand forward. You prayed to whichever God was listening that Heeseung didn't crush his hand—because from the look on his face, he looked like he really, really wanted to. You wondered if Hanbin was choosing to ignore it, or if he really was that sweet of a soul.

“What were you guys looking at?” Jay asked, turning Hanbin’s attention to him, “We were just over there by the rings and we got so distracted we didn't even notice you guys!”

Liar, you thought, they definitely noticed you, and boy did they definitely see you touching his arm.

“I was just buying this pretty thing.” Hanbin pointed to the bracelet on your wrist, “For a pretty girl, of course.” A blush crept to your cheeks and all Heeseung saw was red.

“Oh yeah, we were also looking at stuff for Y/N.” Heeseung forced a laugh, “Speaking of which—” He directed his surprisingly softened eyes towards you, “—do you wanna check out the things we got?”

Oh how well your plan was working.

“Actually, I was helping Hanbin oppa pick out a bracelet for Matthew.” The mere word ‘oppa’ was the final knife to the boys’ hearts, “I’ll be back after a minute, if that's alright?” Your eyes sparkled mischievously as you looked at Jay with the most innocent look you could muster.

“Of course it’ll be alright.” Jay smiled gently, and soon enough, dragged a very unwilling Heeseung off towards the fountains of champagne.

You pressed a freshly-plucked-from-the-waiter glass of champagne to your bosom and picked up the conversation with Hanbin again. You couldn't feel the influence of the alcohol work on you any time soon, though you were fervently hoping for it to. Orgasms always feel better when one is drunk, in your opinion.

From the corner of your eye, Heeseung and Jay seemed to shine in all their majestic glory, with their sleek clothes and their very seductive jewelry. And also their furrowed brows, which switched to polite, saccharine smiles within seconds.

It was a good thing your dress was so easily accessible.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The pressure on your back felt painfully arousing as Heeseung pressed you to his bedroom wall. The rough feeling of his lips made you whine in between the sloppy kiss. His hand travelled up your leg, to your chest, cupping your breast in his warm fingers. Just that would have been enough to make you cream—what with how stimulated you were at the moment.

You heard Heeseung’s shaky breaths so close to your ear; your face instantly felt like it's on fire, considering how good his hand squeezing the shit out of your tit made you feel. The soft and warm combination of skin and fabric under his hand feels so right and he immediately notices your hard nipple, visible through the fabric.

"Fuck, you really want this, huh?" Now his lips are brushing over your shoulder and the slight growl in his voice makes something deep inside you tighten, "Dirty little baby." If he only knew for how long you'd been craving this, ever since you saw him in that stupid white coat and that stupid jewelry.

Heeseung's lips feel so soft on your shoulder and you move your head a bit to the side, just to give him more room to play with, which he immediately takes advantage of. His lips trail over your shoulder to your neck and he gently starts to suck on that sweet spot, drawing more of those sweet sounds out of you. The sight of Jay in the corner, slowly removing his jacket disappears, drowned out by Heeseung's erratic breathing, and his moans against your neck.

“Heeseung….” You sighed, “...want—want your cock—please..” Your sentence was spoken in a daze, an almost incorrigible accent that only the man in front of you could comprehend.

“Baby wants my cock?” Heeseung almost cooed, one of his hands trailed down your body again to find your exposed thigh, giving it a good squeeze before speaking again, “You’re so demanding aren't you sweetheart?” His hands venture deeper, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch, “Promise you'll be a good girl for daddy then?” You only nod, but even that’s enough for Heeseung to roughly cup your pussy in his hand, “Words baby, use your words.”

“I–ahhh” Your words couldn't even begin to come out, Heeseung’s body put so much pressure against yours “—be your good girl—all yours daddy,” you beg, voice still strained with sleep, “please—need it inside.”

Heeseung suddenly nibbled on your neck, making you flinch momentarily. The gentle bite on your sensitive skin sent another shiver down your spine, stirring a mix of warmth that made your pulse race. He trailed your neck with a series of kisses and wet sucks, his breath hot against your skin.

“Ngh…” Each touch left you almost breathless, and the heat between you growing with every passing moment, making your toes curl and you moan softly by his ear.

“What do you think Jay?” Heeseung called out to the younger man, “Does she deserve my cock?”

From the corner of your eye, you could see Jay sitting all relaxed on Heeseung’s gaming chair. His coat was nowhere to be seen and his bracelet and earrings were removed. He titled his head to the side and—in the barely lit atmosphere—you could spot that smug smile dancing on his lips.

“Hmm, I don't know…” He slowly got up and stuffed his hands into his pant pockets, “I don't think she needs it.” You internally swore at Jay, all words that could get out from your mouth, if Heeseung wasn't cupping your pussy so well at the moment.

“All yours then.” Heeseung’s hands abruptly left your skin, “You may want to keep it quiet though, the others might wake up.” He winked and strode away towards his lounge chair in the corner of the room.

You didn't even get time to take a breath before Jay’s soft lips were on yours. Deep passionate kisses were making you vibrate more and more from excitement. Your tongues were fighting with each other for dominance; it was a sure thing that Jay won. You were so hungry each time your lips touched, so desperate for him, for his body and what you knew it could do to you.

"You taste so good…" Jay mumbled in between the passionate moment, "pretty baby" Heat spread all throughout your body at his compliment, he was always marvelous at pet-names. Jay couldn't wait any longer, he grabbed your hips and briskly lifted you up, his biceps flexing through his shirt as he did. He looked absolutely succulent.

Laying you down gently on the bed, he was quick to unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt, before he leaned over you and connected your lips together again. You broke the kiss just to see his chest peek out from the slightly unbuttoned shirt. You were an expert at removing buttons by now and—naturally—you reached under his shirt and gently ran your fingers around his abs, which caught his breath.

"You like that huh?” he asked hurriedly, with a cocky smile hanging on his lips, “Needy little slut.” You looked up at him with hooded eyes, giving him a chance to start kissing you again, more likely, guzzle your face. He was rough and wild but at the same time tender and loving. This combination always made a total waterfall flow between your legs.

He was holding you by your waist, really digging his strong fingers into your flesh, making you moan into the hungry kisses. Jay’s hand traveled up the slit of your dress and his fingers hook themselves onto the waistband of your drenched panties. Ever the expert, he pulls them off faster than you can comprehend.

Your hands meanwhile fly to his pants, pulling down the zipper to leave him in his boxers, which he wrenches them too, impatiently. The atmosphere of the room becomes quite heated as you look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

In one rough tug, he yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in Jay’s hands as he lurched forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet. You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

Looking down at him, you chew on the inside of your lip, knowing you have his undivided attention when you speak up, “You gonna stick that tongue inside of me or do I have to wait?”

Jay looks up and squeezes your thigh, making you look him in the eyes. He lets himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. You look at him and grin, eager to get him as riled up as possible before you feel a sudden movement as he pulls your legs completely apart.

“Pretty girl sure knows how to run that mouth huh?” He says, and your hips jerk up slightly on their own volition, desperate for any friction, Jay runs his tongue over his lips, “She wants me to shut it up for her, doesn't she?”

It was evident he didn't need an answer when you felt his tongue glide through your folds; he had found his new home between your legs. You shudder, a sweet little mewl escaping your throat involuntarily. you can't help but blush at your own reaction, slightly embarrassed by it. You tear your eyes away from the erotic way Jay’s eyes closed as if he was enjoying his most favourite meal. Your head falls back as a deep moan rips into the air.

An amazing taste blooms on his tongue, crisp and bright with hints of whatever cranberry potion you were drinking and that faint yeasty richness at the back of Jay’s throat. They dance across his palate, leaving a lingering sweetness through his veins that doesn’t soothe his nerves so much as ignite something beneath them, something warmer, deeper, curling into his bloodstream.

Your mouth dropped open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twisted his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasped for air. The dim light of the room highlighted the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

His nose nudged your clit, his tongue lapping at your entrance with long, languid strokes, and your moans filled the room, soft and breathy. Jay groaned deeply, the sound muffled as he pressed his face impossibly closer to your core, his lips locking around your clit. Each sound he made was guttural, desperate, like he was losing himself in the taste of you.

His tongue flicking between your folds, you gasped, scrambling to grip his arms as he dragged your hips across his mouth. “you taste amazing, holy fuck.” He circled your clit, sucking the sensitive bud before digging his fingers into your skin. No matter how many times Jay found his head between your thighs, he could never get used to how intoxicating you were, all of his senses and primal instincts honing in on fucking you stupid.

Your hands buried themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he could coax from you. It’s pure sin, each sound you made, each shiver that ran through you as he took his time, drinking you down like a man starved. You cried out, eyes fluttering shut as you clenched around nothing.

“F-Feels so good…oh fuck—daddy!” His chest filled with pride as you writhed above him. Despite his mouth working wonders on your soaked cunt, you felt so empty, wanting nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch of his cock.His hands gripped your thighs tightly, anchoring himself to you as his nose pressed against your folds, adding pressure in all the right places.

“Oh daddy…..” you whispered, your voice trembling as you combed your fingers through his hair, guiding him exactly where you needed him, “Harder—go harder please…” Jay moaned against you, the sound low and wrecked, and he obeyed without hesitation, sucking harder, his tongue darting out to flick over the swollen nub between pulls.

He thrusts his tongue greedily, pulling out almost fully until he somehow goes in deeper. It’s not fast but it’s not slow either, just enough that it leaves you reeling. The stretch is something you could never get used to; it only just borders on pain that makes it feel deliriously good. All you can offer him are broken gasps as you find purchase on his shoulders with your nails, digging into the flesh.

“need you inside, daddy,” you looked down at him, “fuck me.” Jay’s cock strains, pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

“Fuck it—can’t wait.” He mumbles. His lips parted from your pussy in mere seconds and before you knew it, you were pressed flat against the bed. You could taste the cranberry tones of your own cum on his lips, he looked absolutely beautiful with his face all red and his mouth smeared with your spillage.

"Tch tch." You heard the clicking of a tongue in the background, “So I don’t get to have her then, do I?”

Jay slowed down at Heeseung’s brooding voice and closed his eyes for a second, taking in a deep breath before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Have fun with him, princess.” He smirked and climbed down the bed.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the tall figure of Heeseung slowly approaching, his hands in his pockets and his chest peeking out from his slightly unbuttoned shirt. He places his knee at the foot of the bed and he climbs up to you. Sitting on his knees, in between your legs, he smirks.

“You didn't cum properly with Jay, did you baby?” He tilts his head at you. Jay scoffs from somewhere in the corner, “Oh be a good sport, Jongseong.” Heeseung’s smile remains as calm as ever.

“You’re basically saying you can fuck her better than i can.” Jay chuckles, “And I'm supposed to be a good sport.”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all.” Heeseung leans down and presses his lips to your neck, sucking on the spot for a second or so—though it felt like eternity to you, “I’m only saying she prefers cock more than tongue.” His deer-like eyes had a carnivorous lust behind them, “Isn't that right, baby?” Heeseung leaned in and blew cold air onto your neck, making you shiver. He smirked and kissed your neck softly, licking the slick skin.

You looked up at him with dopey, half-lidded eyes, sneaking eager hands under his button up and undershirt. your fingers trace over his skin, pressing into the soft warmth of his stomach, his body heat sinking into your palms.

Heeseung took this as a sign to peel off his layers, pulling them off with ease and adding them to the pile of discarded clothes. You spend a moment gaping at his torso before he lowers himself on top of you, dragging his lips up your neck as he does so. You whine when he begins sucking at your pulse point, teeth scraping your skin every so often.

“Fuck—needy baby wants my cock huh?” He kisses at your collarbone, lips catching on the exposed skin of your chest, then breasts as he slowly pulls you up to place you on your ass. He strips off his pants and boxers and grabs your waist once more as he sinks into the pile of pillows, purposefully—and rather masterfully—avoiding where you need him most. He runs his hands up and down your thighs, while you settle down on his hips, smooth fingertips caressing your skin, squeezing in intervals.

You didn't know if it was the pure fact that you were one horny bitch or if you were just really craving cock, but the sight of Heeseung’s beautiful dick made you stare. It was so thick and heavy, the mushroom tip was already glistening with pre-cum. You always did say that his dick was the prettiest out of all of them—which earned you quite a lot of rough sex last year. Heeseung’s body was hot, his skin flushed as he relaxed into the mattress even more.

“Go on sweetheart.” He said, in that cocky, condescending tone that always made your pussy gush like a fountain, “Ride it like a good little slut.”

Your hips find their home atop his and you nestle against him. You sink down on his cock, gasping as he fills you perfectly—at this point, you've memorised every vein on that thing. You love how he fills you so completely, how you almost, almost struggle to take him in all the way.

Heeseung’s hands immediately search for your thighs, pawing at the flesh as he looks up at you. you drink in his expression, the way he's looking at you through his heavy eyelids, his bare chest rising and falling.

“Fuck,” He muttered under his breath, his hands were really digging into your naked flesh “Such a fucking slut—treatin’ me so gooodd…..” Heeseung slurred his words as if he was heavy under the influence—of your scent, your pretty pussy wrapped ‘round him, and just the sight of you.

Heeseung was stretching you really hard, but you were still full of his dick inside you. From time to time, his base was touching your sensitive clit, making it even harder to keep you quiet. He easily found your g-spot; it wasn't a surprise considering how he knew each corner of your body like the back of his hand. “Fuck—oh fucking hell—oh daddy!” your eyes rolled back and at the same time you whined, “F-feel so good—ahh goddd”

Your walls stretched deliciously around the welcomed intrusion that was his length, your pussy clenching around him for all that he had. The sounds falling from your lips were nothing short of pornographic, the moans and choked sobs only pushing Heeseung closer to the edge.

"fuck. . ." He huffs, his eyes fluttering shut as he grasps your thighs, sinking into the bed. He hates how tired he was already getting but damn if you don't look like the prettiest little thing bouncing on his cock like that.

You whine and try to take more. Another inch disappears inside you and your thighs tremble as you focus on breathing.

"You're so big," you whine when you take another inch. A shaky breath slips past his lips and his hand tightens on your skin.

“Been thinking about you all day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark, “Looked so damn good in that tiny little dress.” His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place.

The rough hands on your hips drifted upwards, finding their home around your neck, gently still. But even the soft grip had you reeling, gripping his wrists. The room was heated, and you felt as if you were going to explode. This would definitely leave a few marks on your neck—nothing some makeup couldn't fix.

Every clench of your walls around his length shoots a thrill straight to his stomach, making him ache with the urge to crawl into your skin.The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

You indulge him, working down over his cock with your tight hole, clamping around him as your hips meet his over and over. He's groaning, grumbling, eyes fluttering shut as he's lost in the way you take him.

Soon you started to feel that strange feeling in your lower abdomen, that you need to go to the bathroom, that burning flame, that twirling writhing feeling, all together clearly proved that you were on the edge and you won't hold it in for long.

Heeseung wasn't much better off. You were so incredibly tight around him, your pussy was literally just perfect. His veins were pulsating and his dick was twitching inside you, his heartbeat accelerated and he already lost control over his movements. He was so consumed by his climax that he had no idea what his hips were doing and how hard or fast he was thrusting into you.

“Fuck. Me.” he groans under his breath, hissing and bucking his hips when you tighten around him and cry out.

“Shit—cumming!” You all but scream. Your eyes roll back and your toes dig into his leg, bruising his calf. His tip hits your cervix hard, hot cum pooling deep in your core, spilling out of him for longer than you thought possible. His breath is ragged and his chest heaving as his body jerks around you.

Exhausted, you lean forward, such that your face is close to his. His cock still rested inside of you, and he brought a hand up to caress your cheek.Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm.

“We should let Jay have a turn too, shouldn't we baby?” He asked through ragged breaths, “Or you’re too tired?”

“Fuck no.” You huffed, looking at him with widened eyes. Lifting your hips up gently, you whined as you felt his length leave the warmth of your pussy.

You landed on your stomach as you rolled over to the edge of the bed. Curling your back, you sat up on your arms, and looked at Jay, who was sitting calmly on an armchair. Or so you thought, until you noticed—through your euphoria-filled eyes—that his chest was rising and falling rapidly. The place where he sat looked wet to you—and truth be told—so did his dick. You smirked and tilted your head at him.

“You could have at least told me you were touching yourself..” You said, in a sultry tone, “You know I would have loved to watch.” You dramatically sighed and looked at him with the best sparkling doe eyes you could muster, “But you don't love me enough to tell me, do you daddy?”

If there was one word to describe what Jay was experiencing at the moment on seeing your plump lips shaped in a pout, it would be the word ‘melting’. Your body looked stunning, draped in the covers of the night like some sort of expensive silk. Jay’s heart beat fast, though he didn't show it on his face. He only cocked his head to the side and smiled.

“Maybe next time, princess.” He said coolly as if his dick was rock hard by this point at the sight of your tits. You heard Heeseung mutter ‘if there is a next time’ and you rolled your eyes; he never really liked sharing you. You smiled at Jay and extended your hand forward, “Join us?”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he felt his cock getting soaked with precum all pulled him deeper into the recesses of his brain. The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reached a fever pitch.

And before he knew it, Jay was lying next to you. He could see Heeseung over on your other side; he looked as if he had died from the mind-blowing orgasm you had given him.

Your arms circled his shoulders, clawing at the smooth skin. “Need your cock so bad, Jay.” Jay was about to implode from the inside at your sparkling doe-eyes. Who was he to refuse such a pretty girl like you?

The head of his cock pushes between your folds momentarily before he's teasing your labia, slipping the underside of his tip over it in lazy, noisy circles until you whine.

“J-Jay..” You whimpered, feeling his hard tip nudge your aching cunt, “daddy, don't tease”

“You’re right, baby, I’m sorry,” he croons, pressing his lips to your hair as he notches his cock at your dripping entrance and slowly begins to push in. “You’re being so good for daddy aren't you?”

"Fuck...oh God.." you cry out slightly as he pressed your chest to his, his hand wrapped snug around your body. "Damn it.." he huffed slightly when you squeezed around him, his eyebrows knitting down.

He groaned deeply, gritting his teeth as he pressed in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shuddered as he filled you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sank further in until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours.

“pussy’s so fucking tight,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin, “squeezing me so good, baby.”

"Ah—ah!" you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you to the brink of insanity "Harder—daddy, want it harder…."

"Look at you," he breathed, "takin' me so well. Perfect little cunt, fuck-"

Your eyelids fluttered and your mouth dropped open, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to your peak. You felt the heat pooling low at the base of your spine and your breathing was reduced to sharp gasps.

His hands pushed and pulled your body up and down—fast—and it had your fingers digging into his chest for balance.

"Shit...feels so good," he moaned, jaw slack and eyes glassy as he watched you whine and writhe. Sweat dotted your forehead and you felt that familiar crest swelling deep inside.

"Jay—" you pant, voice cracked and hoarse.

"I got you, sweetheart," he murmured before harshly snapping his hips. You moaned his name and squeezed your eyes shut, the angle stealing your breath and making your thighs shake. A hand pressed on the base of your spine, pushing you down and holding you still while he fucked up into you. Each bruising thrust had you whimpering into his neck but you're so fucking close, you just sit there and take it until the dam breaks and you practically screamed out his name, your voice echoing off the walls in the dark.

“You’re really enjoying yourselves without me aren’t you?” Heeseung’s voice cut through the air like a hot knife through butter, “What amazing friends I have.” Though your ears were ringing too loudly and your blood was pumping too fast, you still felt his hot breath waver down your neck and back.

“We are.” Jay roughly responded; his thrusts had slowed down considerably and he was now looking at Heeseung, “And if you wanna join us hyung, quit whining already.”

“That impatient for some pussy huh?” Heeseung smirks and presses the head of his cock agasint your ass You savor the delicious stretch of him as he pushes his hips forward, nails scratching the skin of Jay’s back with the motion, your walls squeezing around Jay’s shaft, “Fuck—pretty ass always remembers me doesnt she?”

You gasp with a nod, arching your back as Heeseung suddenly fills you completely. Your nails dig even deeper, maybe even drawing blood on Jay’s back. You turn to look at Heeseung and instantly see the hunger in his eyes. Jay’s hands grip your hips and he starts to move, slow and deliberate at first. Each thrust sends finite sparks of pleasure through your body, helpless to the small moans that escape your lips.

“Heeseung!” You’d squeal. “Fucking hell….”

“Using your big girl words, baby?” Heeseung chuckles breathily as he eases inside of you, but his length is astounding, nudging deep against your back before he’s even fully sheathed. His thrusts are fumbling at first, hearing the deep breaths he takes as he adjusts to the intense feeling around his cock.

Jay leans in slightly, mesmerized by your twisted expression of obvious pleasure but also at how fucking amazing your pussy felt as it hugged his hug so warmly.He felt a jolt of electricity through him with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails left on the skin of his back.

Eventually the two men find a steady rhythm that had you gasping with every thrust, fingers crawling up Jay’s bare back until you reach his face, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you moan like a girl in a porno drooling over the sheets.

A broken, shaky noise falls from Heeseung’s lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest.

You whine, Jay’s back was probably all scarred by now, as the room fills with the lewd sound of skin on skin. Heeseung always liked it rough, plus—you'd known him long enough to know how he liked to channel his anger into sex. And he was fucking good at it. You'd take it, again and again, as harsh as he wanted to give. Because you knew that as soon as you were done, he'd be scrambling to pepper soft kisses along your neck, praising you for how good you'd been for him.

The ache between your legs forms into a burn from how hard they fuck you, chasing their own high now. Your lips press weak kisses against Jay's throat. You feel the vibrations from his grunts and the salty taste of his skin.

“You like that baby?” Heeseung chuckles, “You like the way our cocks fill you up?” Jay chuckles as well.

“Yeah she does.” He accentuates every word with a harsh, toe curling thrust, “Our pretty little slut.”

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around them in rhythmic pulses that make your vision blur. Jay stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

You feel yourself on the brink of coming undone, every stroke of Jay’s cock pushing you closer to tumbling over the edge. The fluttering tell of your cunt steals a moan deep from Jay’s chest. He picks up the pace of his thrusts with a steeled jaw, the bed frame squeaking noisily against the tiled floor as he rocks you back and forth unrelentingly.

Heeseung clenched his teeth as his balls slapped against your ass. He kept muttering something under his breath as he aggressively rammed his cock headlong into you. You just let yourself be led, he had full control over you and you fucking loved it.

He bottomed out and went all the way to the hilt, his tip kissing your cervix. You cry out as his balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, the sound mixed in with the already lewd noises of your moans and wet slapping.

“Dirty fucking baby.” he panted, his hot breath sending additional shivers down your spine, “Getting what you wanted, sweetheart?” His words rasped between short breaths.

You merely whimper to his question, too fucked out to say anything at all. Soon, however, the conflicted mewls melt into a rhythmic string of delicate, short moans, so pretty it’s like a practiced song.

“Need to cum—ahh ah!” you beg breathlessly, and you can feel the movement of their cocks speeding up as they get desperate. Jay sucks in a breath through his teeth at your plaintive request—the words bring him that much closer to finishing.

“Please,” you whispered, and it’s the first word that you’ve been able to make out in the last several moments, “Please, please, please—” You’re so desperate that it borders on pathetic, you’re practically whining with need, “Fuck, I need—I need-”

It was so cliche. The need to finish that sentence was gone as you couldn’t control it, feeling the knot tied so uncomfortably tightly in your pelvis untie. You tried to keep it back, hold it in but it refused; your hips wriggled uncontrollably as your orgasm came ripping through your body.

You cum with a broken sob, an intense wave of ecstasy washing over as Jay works you masterfully through your orgasm. Heeseung’s approving moan mingles with your cries of pleasure, working silently at your ass as you work through your frantic breathing, palming Jay’s back gently at his squeezes comfortingly at your thighs.

The ache in your cunt is devastating but both of them watch with admiration as the opaque liquid pushes out of your hole as your cunt spasms. Flashes of release spraying your insides play behind Heeseung’s closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull.

Jay’s cock curved inside of you, kissing a soft spot that you weren’t even aware you had. His pace slowed, becoming sloppier, rushed, his hips snappy. The way your walls squeezed around him, trying to milk him till he was dry, it made him let out a deep sigh.

You slumped back in Heeseung’s arms just as both of them slowly pulled out, making you whimper. Your pussy was probably dead by now and a wave of relief passed through you as you realised you had a rest day tomorrow. There was no way in hell your legs could function properly for another three weeks.

"You alright, baby?" Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your temple. You chuckled.

"I'm at least more alive than he is." You poked at the lifeless, snoring body of Jay, who looked as if he had attained eternal peace.

"Better follow in his footsteps then." Heeseung laughed, and pressed another kiss as you relaxed into his body, "Night, baby."

"Goodnight, Heeseung." You yawned and let him hold you close to his body, providing you with intimate comfort. You smiled to yourself before you drifted off to sleep.

What a productive day it had been.

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chaoticwriting · 3 hours ago

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GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 6

Part 5

The world falls into a silent panic for a moment. Unrest around the world as they watch the UN heavily admonish the US for their terrible handling of the situation. After all, this is the first time that a supervillain is born because of the government. At least publicly.

The GIW meanwhile has fallen into higher levels of panic as their bases around the world start to disappear one by one.

Meanwhile

-Watchtower-

John : Fucking blimey mate! Why in the nine hells did you mess with him?

2 days after the incident with the Trickster, Batman receives an emergency meeting alert from the Watchtower. When he arrives, he sees John Constantine is the one handling the meeting. The self claimed Justice League contractee is usually very aversed to attending any of the Justice League meetings, so it is quite a surprise for not just Batman but most of them.

When he enters the meeting room, he is greeted by the sight of Constantine screaming and scolding the Justice League while their focus are on a file that he assume get prepared by him. On the screen is an image of a boy with pale skin and silver white hair. He is wearing a black and white hazmat suit. It takes a moment for Batman to recognise that the boy is Trickster. Batman's gut twist when he remembers the boy. To be honest, Batman isn't really bothered with the boy shenanigans. At most, he steals some money and equipment for his livestreams, but those stuffs are usually stolen from his company.

No one has ever truly been hurt by him, but the last time is the only time he has ever deliberately hurt someone. Just as his mind is about to spiral more out of control, John suddenly turns his head towards him.

John: YOU! Do you fucking know in how much dipshit we are? Why are you just standing there? Fucking do something!

Oliver: I understand he is supposed to be dangerous, but why are you so worried? Even when we are fighting Darkseid, you are still calm.

John: READ. THE. FUCKING. FILE. That's why I'm fucking scared. Depending on how pissed he is, even if I escape to another universe, I am still fucked.

Batman watches as the others continue reading a fairly thick file and start reading his. At first, it is usual. Name, supposed age, relatives, and alignment. Surprisingly, it is neutral good. (Why is his age 4?). When Batman turns the page, he understands why his colleagues are frowning at the information.

His battle records are what you would call amazing. At 1 year old, he is already fighting against gods, demons, and magicians. The spirit of technology, Halloween, dreams, plants, and even time. Each one of the people that he fights is someone or something that can be classified as League level threats. The terrifying things about it are that not only did he win the fight, he even befriended them by the way that he is seen having a cooperative relationship, at least with some of them.

Closing the thick file, Batman's minds start to work as he thinks about contingency plans about each of them. There are some weaknesses recorded in the file, including ectoweapon, blood blossom, and magic. However, the record also says that the stronger the ghost or ecto being, the less effective those things are against them. And assuming from how strong Trickster is now, he probably needs a stronger weapon.

Superman also frowns as he reads the file. He for one has come into contact with Phantom, or Trickster as he likes to be called now. His impression of the kid is a mischievous kid that just likes to have fun. He has seen some of his 'pranks' before this and in his experience, all of them have one thing in common. That is they all have a heavily controlled environment.

Although some of his pranks look like they are really easy to go wrong, Superman can see how the machines are heavily secured and any of the victims are all heavily guarded.

Even the victims are almost specifically chosen because none of the victims that experience the pranks have any chance of harming either their health, financial or social life. All of his victims are all healthy people with some free time that they don't have anything to spend on.

That's why even Batman is rather light handed with the kid. Even though he commits occasional theft, none of them are serious ones except the glitter theft. Most of them generally agreed that if the kid ever wants to be a hero, they would gladly mentor him.

Suddenly, Barry enters the room running while looking panic.

Barry: Guys! Open the news. Lex is crazy!

Superman frowns and opens the hologram in the middle of the table and a news channel appears on the screen. Lex is currently on the podium, giving a speech as the president of USA.

Lex: And I would never negotiate with a terrorist that dares to threaten the government using its own people. All the GIW members are people with honor, bravery and kindness in them that they dare to put their life on the line to fight against this beast that imitates our dead loved one and use their name for doing terri-*Screeeechhhh*

A loud screech interrupts Lex's speech as suddenly a green portal appears above the square and a figure comes out of it. A teenager with blue skin, crystalized silver hair and claws made out of ice appears from the other side of the portal. He looks at the figures below and slowly raises his hand as Lex begins to float towards the boy.

The Justice League suddenly realizes who the boy is. It's Phantom. But why does he look different? Unfortunately, they don't get the opportunity to ponder over it as Phantom starts to speak.

Phantom: YOU DARE INSULT MY PEOPLE!

@zcatmama

#danny fenton #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #justice league #batman

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lovelypastelsweets · 3 hours ago

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I was tagged in this cute trend, and decided to give it a try!

🐦‍⬛{Sylus:}🐦‍⬛

• Both Sylus and I agree that "Power" doesn't come from 'being stronger than someone', but rather being more prepared, using intellect, and being resourceful.

• Both Sylus and I enjoy the company of animals. Both of us like to feed strays and tame them. (I used to carry dog treats on me, until it caused trouble. 😅)

• Both Sylus and I love crows. (They are so cute!)

• Both Sylus and I like to remain organized, and to have our things/living spaces based on an aesthetic.(I like white and pastel pink, though! 😅)

• Both Sylus and I avoid getting closely involved with others, as a physical and phycological safety precaution. (TraumaTM 🤣)

• Both Sylus and I have "Acts of service" and "Physical touch" as a love language.(I don't have a black-card to give.. 🥲)

• Both Sylus and I have an ability to adapt to situations.(It's a survival technique in a toxic and abusive household- 🤣)

• Both Sylus and I believe in letting our affection for someone obvious, without forcing ourselves on said person.(I'm boyfriend-material 😎✨️)

• Both Sylus and I believe that concent is important.

• Both Sylus and I ate sucker's for cute, domestic things. (-Yet, we both are freaks-)

• Both Sylus and I are hyper-independent, yet secretly want to be loved and doted-on.

• Both Sylus and I agree that knowing self-defense is important; Both hand-to-hand combat, and knowing how to use a verity of weaponry.

🍎{Caleb:}🍎

• Both Caleb and I have childhood trauma. (Not much information about his childhood has been disclosed yet, so I won't elaborate)

• Both Caleb and I have obsessive behavior.(I'm not as bad-off as he is though-😅)

• Both Caleb and I preform in such a way in public that we are highly praised, and popular in a hallow way.(People don't really know anything about us, but they like the skim-suface top of our personality)

• Both Caleb and I have "Acts of service", "Protectiveness", and "Physical touch" as a love language.

• Both Caleb and I like to cook for the people we care about.

• Both Caleb and I fear showing ourselves at a vulnerable state.

• Both Caleb and I are in a continuous sate of worry that the people/person were care about will leave us.

• Both Caleb and I have an ability to be 'cold-hearted and murderous' or/and 'sweet, cute, and warm'. And to be able to switch between these personalities within seconds.(We are masters of the "Siren-eyes Vs. Doe-eye trend. 😆)

• Both Caleb and I enjoy a playful and teasing relationship.(My 4ft, 11in/149.86cm self can't call anyone "Pipsqeak" though. 🥲)

• Both Caleb and I are child-like in some ways.

• Both Caleb and I seek a home in the people we care about and feel safe with.(Expect he actually found that person-💀)

so let's play another game

Tell something you have in common with your favorite (s) LI(s) then tag someone else

Me and Zayne are both lightweight. Y'all I can't drink alchohol to save my lips 🤚💀 without ending up tipsy just a glass of wine is enough to make my head spin .

Me and Rafayel are both dramatic but only with people we care about , I like to get on my friends and family's nerve (that how I show my love 😔)

@jinwoosbabyboo @yourlocalcatscammer @erensfeed

#love and deepspace #sylus #caleb

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runecatwrites · 3 days ago

Note

Hello! Your LU analyses are delightful to read, thanks for sharing them! I had a fun question for consideration, if that's okay! Previously, we've examined and gushed over the Links' bonds with each other and who gets along best with who. We know that each of them are brothers and would die for each other. But I was curious: What's your take on which Links get along the *least*? E.g. If you were to list out each of the nine, which Links don't tend to click as well with each, and why? (At least at this point we're at in the comics.) Love to hear your insights about that if you're up for it! :D

Oooooh! Thank you for the ask, this is a really fun thing to think about! Here are my takes…

Sky: Time

Four: Wild

Time: Legend

Legend: Sky

Hyrule: Wild

Wind: Wild

Twilight: Warriors

Warriors: Wild

Wild: Warriors

Explanations under the cut!

Disclaimer: I do not hate Wild! In fact, he’s probably my favorite Link. Wild is a compelling character and I love him very much. Read the whole post for elaboration on him.

Second disclaimer: I truly don’t think that any of the members of the chain strongly dislike any other members (even though they may have spats from time to time). Just because one person might not get along with another as well as they do with everyone else, that doesn’t mean they hate that person.

And now for the explanations!

Sky: this guy is so sweet that it’s hard to see him not getting along with someone. The obvious answer here would be Legend, but as we’ve seen, Sky doesn’t seem to mind Lege’s “bullying” at all and actually seems to think it’s kind of endearing. I bet he’s used to that kind of behavior from Groose and therefore easily looks past it. No, as weird as it may sound on the surface, I think the person Sky would have the most trouble getting along with would actually be Time. I don’t think he’d have a hard time getting along with him in a professional sense (they work and fight well together) but rather in a personal sense. Sky and Time have very different histories with the Master Sword and with the whole “call of the hero” experience. Whereas Sky has a very close and positive relationship with Fi and willingly went on his adventure to save his beloved, Time got thrown into his first adventure, yanked around, and aged up pretty much without his consent. Lacking the perspective to understand this, I think Sky might be offended by Time’s complicated feelings towards Fi.

Four: this guy holds practically everyone in the group at arm’s length, so this one’s difficult too. But based on what we’ve seen in LU, I’m going with Wild. These two have clashed several times, most notably over Wild’s supposed impulsiveness. I think the underlying cause is that their brains work so differently at a fundamental level. Wild is a black-and-white thinker, while Four has a much more colorful (heh) mindscape. He views the world around him as a complex one that should be met with open-mindedness, and strives to understand it using his critical thinking skills. Even while merged, his colors probably play into this way of thinking. Wild, on the other hand, has a very narrow worldview and becomes distressed - sometimes even angry - when something doesn’t fit into it. Four sometimes seems to get frustrated by that rigid thinking of Wild’s.

Time: now this is an interesting one. Time is the oldest of the group and regarded as one of the most if not the most mature. Legend on the other hand, while not the youngest, is still an immature kid. Now there’s some nuance there and there are a lot of factors that feed into that immaturity (like the fact that he’s dealt with a lot of trauma and hasn’t had a parental figure since he was like 10) but the point still stands. In recent updates especially, we see that Time appears to have a short temper when it comes to Legend’s behavior. Why? Well if you look past the obvious reasoning of the group being in a dangerous situation and Legend’s antics being ill-suited for that, personally I think that Legend is a lot like Time was in his younger days. You know how sometimes parents say “my kid got their attitude from me and now I’ve gotta argue with a younger version of myself every day!” That’s exactly what’s going on here. Time was an absolute menace as a kid and teenager, and now he’s being faced with the exact same energy and has a hard time dealing with it.

Legend: as explained above, Legend has a bit of a reputation for immaturity and an attitude to go with it. Sky, on the other hand, is the one of the most easygoing, self-assured, approachable people you’ll ever meet. Legend is used to eliciting strong and/or definitive reactions by his behavior. People get angry with him (Time), match his energy (Warriors), or redirect him/calm him down (Hyrule). But Sky? Sky just… doesn’t seem to have much of a reaction at all. He might respond with some light teasing or a halfhearted protest, but nothing beyond that. That confuses Legend, and that confusion leads to anger. No matter what he does, he can’t get a good read on Sky, and that’s very frustrating for Legend.

Hyrule: I think this is going to surprise a lot of people, because Hyrule and Wild are often depicted as twin chaos gremlins by the fandom. But if you actually go through the LU canon (both main story and bonus material), you’ll see that these two actually rarely interact with each other, and on one of those rare occasions, they argue to the point of blows and have to be broken up. Much later, Wild describes Hyrule as “stubborn”, albeit in a positive way. Now, this is where I think the fandom seeing these two as twin chaos gremlins does bear some merit: the two are so alike in many aspects of their personality, notably their stubbornness, that they struggle to get along. A similar situation as with Time and Legend, but in this situation, they’re about the same age and with the same level of maturity. Hyrule and Wild even think the same way, too. During the battle with the Iron Knuckle, Hyrule wanted to rush right in and attack the big guy head on too, but was held back by Legend. Among his companions, though, Hyrule is reputably non-confrontational, which makes the fact that he got in a fight with Wild surprising. Wild is more used to getting into disagreements, so I think that fight would have affected Hyrule emotionally a lot more than Wild.

Wind: I had the hardest time with this little guy. Despite being the youngest, he’s surprisingly emotionally stable and mature, and he gets along with everyone! Literally the only reason I chose Wild is because Wind has snapped at him a few times, examples being for treating him like a kid and for not following his advice for how to take on the Iron Knuckle. That’s literally it. Wind is a perfect ray of sunshine.

Twilight: our rancher is gregarious and gets along with everyone pretty well, but he’s not shy about calling out things that tick him off about others. He rebukes Legend for his immaturity, challenges Time on his overbearing nature, and tries his darnedest to instill some self-restraint in Wild. He’s also very protective, though, especially of Wild. He’s well aware that Wild often has difficulties getting along with others (more on that later), but since he knows Wild better than all the others, he understands why Wild has those difficulties. And right now especially, he very obviously thinks that Warriors is being way too hard on Wild. This is a tricky situation. These Links are all notoriously bad at communication, and with extremely different backgrounds, Twilight and Warriors have even more of a disadvantage. Twilight doesn’t understand Wars’ motives in this situation and thinks he’s being unfair, when in reality Wars is just trying really hard to understand Wild better (explained in my analyses). Despite that, Twi and Wars are still good friends; they were just rubbing shoulders and bantering at each other a few parts ago after all. Twilight just isn’t afraid to openly disagree with one of his friends.

Warriors: yeah, if you’re familiar with my analyses (here and here) you know it’s Wild! I won’t rehash it in this post since I’ve pretty much said everything I can think of on Wars’ point of view in the situation lol

Wild: and conversely, Wild is having a really hard time with Wars specifically right now. That situation is outlined in my previous analyses too. But for this post, I wanted to elaborate more on Wild. Although all of his fellow Links obviously love and accept him, the poor guy has drawn the ire of practically every member of the chain at some point in time. In fact, personally I think that if not for his close bond with Twilight, Wild would have an extremely hard time getting along with the group as a whole. That doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. No, he’s a character with a very unique and compelling past, and that past makes it very difficult for him to successfully engage in teamwork. He’s also dealing with amnesia, imposter syndrome, and an inferiority complex, all of which take a huge toll on his mental health. When your mental health isn’t so great, you often have a short fuse and it can also be hard to maintain healthy relationships. Trust me, I know - I’ve been on medication for depression for 15 years. It’s a real struggle. In spite of this, we have seen significant character growth from Wild recently. He’s begun acknowledging his difficulties and owning up to his transgressions, which shows that he really does want to make things work with everyone. He feels bad for clashing with people and wants to do better, but unfortunately he appears to have very low confidence in himself. His current mindset seems to be “I’m trying really hard not to mess things up, but I’m probably just going to mess it all up anyway.” The thing that matters, though, is that he is trying. Ah, I love Wild so much. My precious blorbo. If he can rid himself of that crippling self-doubt, he can make even bigger strides in improving his relationship with everyone!

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roseygoldee · 2 days ago

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ephemeral, g.s.

imagine watching as satoru cooks breakfast for the both of you, his long, elegant fingers gripping the pan's handle and his wrist moving smoothly as he insists on making the crepe jump in the pan. his arms are bare, skin as pale as a porcelain doll's and the curves of his muscles rippling as he keeps trying to toss the crepe up in the air.

you've long since stopped trying to knock some sense into him, mostly because you want to keep hearing his laugh as he fails over and over. it's a rare sound despite his cheery personality, and a heartwarming one at that. smooth and boyish and genuinely carefree like he's never really allowed himself to be, doesn't really matter what he shows to the world.

and so you let his attempts pile up, the white apron he's wearing only making the situation more ridiculous in the best possible sense. because he's standing in your shared kitchen and he's laughing, his crooked grin lighting up the space like a stolen star. his eyes are bare too, trained on the ruined crepe in the pan. crystal blue irises framed by long, soft white lashes. you've gazed into them more times than you can count and in every single occasion you've found the ocean in them, and infinite skies.

nothing about him is ephemeral. he's grounded in the moment, like if one of those confused dreams full of colors and stolen moments has suddenly been ripped away from your brain and plastered onto reality. he almost looks like he doesn't belong, an angel casted on earth from heavens as candid as his hair, the soft locks framing his delicate features.

"watcha looking at?" he asks suddenly without turning to you, his voice a distracted hum as he prepares to toss the crepe up in the air once again.

"nothing," you answer and your lips curve into a grin as he flicks his wrist with a little too much force. the crepe hits the pan's edge, splits up in two, half of it falling to the floor.

satoru snorts. "my bad,"

it's two years later when you find out that you've been wrong all this time. he's always been ephemeral, fragile, a beautiful sketch born from an unexperienced hand that didn't know his worth. an unexperienced hand that erased him from existence with the simple swipe of an eraser.

the kitchen is empty now, the stove turned off, the pan tucked away in its right place. there's a tear in the fabric of existence, you can feel it deep in your soul - a tear that's shaped like the sharp blade of his grin, like the honeyed tilt of his voice, like a glance of his cerulean eyes. there's a black hole where he used to move around, the air shifting as if in mourning too, crying the loss of the way he took up space.

maybe today you'll visit him again. maybe you'll bring him flowers. you still haven't brought him any despite all the times you went to see him in the past week. it would be too official, you guess, like putting a period at the end of a sentence that's long since been completed.

today is the second week since his death. the sound of his laugh starts to be a blurry memory in your mind.

you swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in your throat. your eyes start burning with the impending threat of tears. you can't stop them, you never can, so you leave the kitchen, painfully conscious of the fact that there's not a single corner of this world that won't remind you of him.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru angst #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst

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wing-ed-thing · 2 days ago

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… And the Beast (Yonji Vinsmoke x Reader) Chapter VII

Synopsis: You thought your little crush on Prince Yonji was a well-kept secret. Yonji is mean enough to exploit your eagerness to please in the face of his unrelenting cruelty; the thought of actually developing a soft spot for you never even crossed his mind.

Word Count: 6.9k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Naive!Servant!Reader, Name-Calling, Language, Reader Falls First, Yonji Falls Harder, Canon-Typical Violence, Side/Plot Device Original Character, Talk of Children

Notes: It's going to be real awkward if you or your OC are named Ursula...

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

For as much as Judge Vinsmoke was Judge Vinsmoke, he always likened himself to be a family man. Or, at the very least, he liked to indulge in playing one every so often. But any sense that the Vinsmoke family was anything resembling normal started and ended at the dining table situated in the throne room.

Rather than being a permanent fixture— or rather than Germa using a formal dining room for that matter— the large, circular table along with four equally bulky chairs were rolled in and out of the room the several times a week mealtime was held. For his performance in playing house, Judge never ate alongside his children. Instead, he sat on his throne, watching from above as his sons and daughter dined, envisioning looking down upon four separate kingdoms under the Germa empire.

Aside from long-distance mercenary work, there was no excuse for missing a family meal. There was no reason for any of the Vinsmoke children not to attend, given it was humanly (or perhaps super-humanly) possible to do so. The very idea wasn’t even one that crossed the minds of any of the Vinsmoke boys, and even for the sense of urgency Yonji felt as he scrambled to the throne room, he wasn’t entirely sure what the consequence of missing breakfast was or if there was any at all.

He went straight from the library to the throne room with little regard for the staff he nearly plowed into. Yonji’s hair was slightly more disheveled than usual, although its overall form remained unchanged. The wrinkled white fabric of his shirt was far more egregious. Yonji still wore his clothes from the previous day. The wind in his stride made him fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and perhaps he would have had an easier time latching them if he was used to putting his own clothes on in the first place.

He hardly had himself together as he burst through the throne room doors. The early afternoon sun shone through the tall windows in the hallway, shining a spotlight on the way the doors slammed against the sides of the doorframe.

Judge wasn’t on his throne. In fact, Judge wasn’t in the room at all.

The dining table had been vacated, and the chairs visible to Yonji were empty. Yonji had missed the meal entirely.

The chair facing away from the door turned to reveal Ichiji, arms coiled over his chest and legs slung over one another in a physical display of dismay. He scanned his younger brother up and down, noting his disheveled appearance.

“I told Father that I sent you to meet with the Kingdom of Knox,” Ichiji said pointedly. A beat of silence followed him. He didn’t move from his cross-legged position on his chair. The blacks of his glasses bore into Yonji’s scrunched brow.

“Why?” The word tumbled from Yonji’s lips.

Ichiji, after all, wasn’t known to be the charitable type, even to his brothers. He was, however, known to be straightforward.

“I wanted to talk some sense into you before you did something idiotic,” Ichiji said, finally rising from his seat to approach Yonji. Ichiji strode across the velvet carpeting, the light illuminating from the open throne room doors highlighting his sharp features harshly. He stopped just a few feet in front of his brother. “Where were you this morning?”

A simmering breath ruminated in Yonji’s throat. He looked off to the side.

“You know where,” Yonji gritted. There was no use lying.

“I can’t say I do,” Ichiji quickly retorted. “The servants couldn’t find you in your quarters, you were not in your tower, and you were nowhere to be found in any inch of the library.” From how the light behind him was angled, Yonji could barely make out half of Ichiji’s stark blue iris from behind his glasses. Ichiji’s scowl deepened. “Although, I was told you could be heard from the servant’s quarters late last night.”

“Like you haven’t—”

“Not in the servant’s quarters, I have not.” Ichiji shut down the thought before Yonji could even finish speaking it aloud. Ichiji began to walk around him, scrutinizing his younger brother with his hands clasped behind his back. His ever-present scowl lingered. “You’ve grown sloppy. Sloppier than you usually are, and to lower yourself in the way you have been is appalling to watch.”

Ichiji circled back around to Yonji’s front, seeming even more dismayed than when he was last there. He nodded slightly as if his neck was stiff and required oil. But it was clear that his nod was not to be confused with permissiveness.

“You’re spending too much time in the library. We all think so.”

And by all, Ichiji was, of course, referring to Niji and himself. Reiju always seemed to disappear midway through Ichiji’s complaints, and he didn’t value her opinion highly enough to feel a loss in her absence. And as de facto— or perhaps self-appointed— leader out of all his siblings, Ichiji tended to prefer taking charge of their affairs and dramatics rather than reporting straight to their father. Ichiji liked the exercise in superiority, and by not handling the dramatics, Judge got to see his children as little more than perfect science projects. It was a win-win.

Yonji huffed and puffed out his chest, swiveling his head proudly with an upturned nose.

“What? You think I can’t be brains and brawn?” Yonji rolled his eyes with a smirk. He raised an oversized bicep and flexed it for emphasis. “Who knows, at this rate, I could be the next king of Germa when Pops kicks the bucket.”

“This isn’t a time for joking,” Ichiji said sternly. Despite Ichiji’s ego, his brother’s claims about being crowned the next king of Germa were so laughable as to be too ridiculous to humor with vitriol.

Yonji’s nose remained upturned, mouth as obnoxiously wide as usual to spit childish retorts. He had already raised his other arm, flexing grandly with little regard for the seriousness Ichiji was trying to convey.

“I’m not joking,” Yonji taunted childishly.

Ichiji allowed him to continue his antics for a moment, watching on with his usual stoicism. Yonji rambled. He rambled about something, lightly jabbing at Ichiji.

“You’re attached.”

It took less than a second for Yonji’s shoulders to go rigid. His gaze snapped toward Ichiji’s dark glasses as his cocky smirk quickly melted into a scowl. His nose crinkled up into a mild snarl. Ichiji observed him plainly, silently making judgments and critical notes in his head.

Yonji could deflect and claim that he was in the library for learning purposes all he liked.

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Yonji scoffed. His arms only tightened across his chest, shoulders puffing out. “Attached to a few books—?”

“Fucking hell. Cut the shit, Yonji.” Ichiji barked flatly. His hand flew across his brother’s cheek, causing Yonji to stumble where he stood.

He caught his balance by bending his right knee, acutely crouching in on himself as he cupped his face. When he rose, a few light green hairs fell over his forehead, only serving to dishevel Yonji’s already acutely messy bedhead.

As Yonji swiped his hand across his face, blood stained the pale skin. He inspected the red streak before gazing at Ichiji incredulously. Yonji gradually rose to his full height.

Niji was prone to fits of sadism and petty rage in response to insults, and Yonji was often far too distractible and impulsive when it came to getting his buttons pushed. In fact, Yonji wore his limited expressions on his face the most, but not Ichiji. Unlike his brothers, Ichiji remained flat.

Even as Ichiji spoke your name, and he did so forcefully, his voice was devoid of a nameable emotion.

“You’re getting far too attached for someone of your stature. It’s pathetic.” Ichiji scowled. “You’re a prince of the Germa Kingdom. Act like it.”

A sobering expression blanketed Yonji’s face. Tiny droplets of blood trickled down his nose.

“Yeah, you’re right about one thing,” he grumbled, all semblance of cockiness having drained from his face. “I am a prince of Germa. So the fuck does it matter to you what I do with my servants?”

Yonji stepped forward, shoving Ichiji harshly. Ichiji stumbled a half step back.

“Servants, plural. I wouldn’t give a shit if you were fucking around with your staff, but you’ve singled out one servant—” Ichiji jutted out a pointed finger.

“A pet, Ichiji.” Yonji’s arms returned to his chest as he rolled his eyes.

— “Banished the help from your castle—” He gestured curtly somewhere in the general direction of Yonji’s fleet, pushing Yonji back with his other hand.

“Those idiots couldn’t do a damn thing right.”

— “To play, what, house?” Ichiji spat, pushing Yonji one more time.

Ichiji’s expression remained almost perfectly intact. His eyes were cold behind his opaque glasses, and his mouth continued to frown neutrally.

He held his hands in fists at his sides. His jaw clenched just tightly enough to strain the perfectly taut skin of his cheeks. It was a slight crack in his cold exterior, but Yonji knew well enough that Ichiji was barely restraining rage. Ichiji was, after all, never fond of things he didn’t understand.

“I should’ve killed that book rat when I had the chance.” Ichiji pushed past Yonji, his long strides making straight for the throne room doors.

Yonji whipped around, already following in tow.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Yonji’s hand shot out to grasp Ichiji’s shoulder. His fingers gripped the black fabric of Ichiji’s shirt for half a moment before Ichiji jerked away, spinning on his heel. He slapped Yonji’s hand with enough force to make it ring out across the room.

“Yonji, stand down.”

Yonji cocked his fist, slamming it squarely into Ichiji’s jaw. Ichiji’s neck bent with the force before swiftly returning to his upright, defensive posture. Light bruising began to swell on his face. It was a hit only Yonji could execute.

Yonji frowned, fists still balled.

“You gave me that one.” He growled, his chest inflating with an agitated breath. He lowered his center of gravity, gearing up to strike again.

Ichiji huffed, squaring up himself.

“What kind of king would I be if I backed down from my brat kid brother?” Ichiji swept his fist up into a low uppercut. The strike was charged with crimson-red energy that hit Yonji square below his rib cage.

While Ichiji didn’t don his raid suit, his ability to muster his infamous red sparks didn’t falter. The suit only served to enhance what was already there, and in the face of his younger, less wise brother, fighting with his suit would have been too much of a sign of respect.

Yonji grunted but thought quickly enough to take advantage of the proximity to duck down. He rushed Ichiji, ramming his torso with his shoulder. But before Yonji could wrap his arms around him to execute his takedown, Ichiji slid out of Yonji’s grip to propel himself up.

He rolled down Yonji’s lower back, landing with his hands on the floor to launch into a wide-swinging kick. Yonji raised both his forearms to block it, his wrists nearly touching his ear at the force of the strike. He remained braced where he stood, not moving an inch at an impact that would’ve sent anyone else flying. It was as expected of Germa’s genetically engineered tank.

Yonji grasped Ichiji’s ankle in a crushing grip, bending his left knee to heave the entire weight of his brother up and toward the ground. But for Yonji’s monstrous brute strength, Ichiji’s speed far outmatched him. Ichiji landed a swift kick to Yonji’s cheek with his free foot, spinning his ankle out of Yonji’s grip. Still mid-air, he maneuvered himself upside down to land a sparking punch on Yonji’s torso yet again.

Ichiji recovered gracefully from the recoil, skidding backward on his feet as he poised himself for more. Yonji, meanwhile, slammed back-first into the adjacent wall.

He stood in the dent he had created, the stone wall crumbling behind him as Ichiji slowly moved forward. His nose crinkled at the dull pain in his shoulder. He looked toward his older brother, lowering his center of gravity again as he assumed a fighting stance.

But much to Yonji’s surprise, Ichiji’s posture quickly melted. He brushed Yonji off with little regard and made unceremoniously for the still-open doors. Yonji stepped out into the middle of the throne room as Ichiji walked, paying little attention to the crumbling structure he had left in his wake.

“We’re not done yet!” he shouted after Ichiji.

Ichiji didn’t even turn around to reply. Instead, he held up a hand as he continued to walk out of the throne room.

“You don’t even have your raid suit on. You’re not worth my time.” He shoved his hands in his pockets for good measure, ignoring the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps behind him.

Yonji cocked his arm, gearing up for a decimating blow, but Ichiji was far too fast. Ichiji had Yonji’s arm in his grasp in an instant, and it took less than a second for Yonji’s back to meet the hard tile floor.

It cracked under him, leaving another Yonji-sized crater in the throne room. Yonji grunted. Without time to properly brace himself, this hit stung worse than the last.

“Stop making a nuisance of yourself,” Ichiji stressed, letting out a bored sigh. He finally left the room, leaving Yonji seething on the floor.

***

It was another day in a summer climate. The sun shone warm light onto the sea, warming the air but not making it hot. The breeze that sailed by wisped just enough to make it worthwhile to open the windows.

With Prince Yonji having left in a hurry earlier that morning, you were eager to start on chores. Despite how slow affairs tended to be on the library ship, your half-day sleeping-in left you with an unsettling feeling. And so, you donned simple attire to perform some light cleaning.

You began by opening the few windows that the tower boasted, tethering the iron hooks on the inside of the window to circular hook holds on the tower’s stone exterior. The large windows in the southern tower’s main chamber had to be cranked open by hand, and even so, they didn’t open all the way. But they opened just enough to let the breeze in, where it could sail through the open double doors and into the tower halls.

You had just begun to tie the right-hand door of the southern tower open when you caught a glimpse of green hair in the distance. You left the other door, creeping out from the overpass that bridged the two archival towers.

The courtyard just outside the windows of the main chamber of the southern tower lacked frills to enjoy. It was mostly a decent expanse of healthy, well-maintained, green grass. The base of the tower was lined with a quaint trail of mulch for a few perennial flowers. But Yonji didn’t seem to mind that the courtyard only boasted a few evenly placed shrubs.

He sat a short distance away on the grass, one leg sprawled out in front of him while the other bent for him to rest his elbow on. Yonji stared off into the distance at the rolling waves. The curve of his slouch almost made him look downtrodden, an expression that didn’t appear helped by how he grasped the grass near his left hand.

You approached him quietly, positioning yourself back and to his left a short distance away. Yonji already knew you were there, but you didn’t dare get too close without his order.

And so you stood, apron waving slightly in the wind. The back of the bandana you had put on for chores dislodged from its tie to twitch back and forth. The ship rocked gently beneath your feet, and sunlight glinted off the library tower’s open windows.

“Are ya just gonna stand there?” Yonji gruffed, ripping out another tuft of grass from the ground. He ripped out as many as his large hand could grasp. The roots still held onto the dirt, creating a chunk of earth in Yonji’s palm.

You took his words as an invitation to approach, and you quietly sat beside him on the other side of the grassless hole. He continued to fidget, staining his hands green.

“Did you make it to breakfast?” you asked. Yonji scoffed.

“Fuck no.” He ripped another clot of ground up. Yonji shook it, causing particles of dirt to fly into the air. “Got into a fight with my asshole brother.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, eyeing the horizon in the distance. The sea, indeed, seemed to stretch on forever. And when it came to days like this, where the sky was equally as blue, you could almost believe that the Germa Kingdom was all there was to the world.

“Do you mind if I ask what about?” You flipped a clot of grass over so that the roots faced downward. You toyed with it, trying to line it up with the edge of the crater. And if you pushed just hard enough, it looked as though it had never been ripped up in the first place.

“Dumb assignment stuff,” Yonji lied, tearing a bundle of roots apart.

“That’s not like you,” you hummed, your tone light.

“What makes you say that?”

Your eyes hadn’t met once.

You took a few small stray bundles and lined them up nicely in the crevice of your crudely replanted clot. They filled in a sliver between the clot and the crater's edge, but their uneven placement didn’t make them look as natural as before.

You shrugged.

“You usually don’t fight with Master Ichiji.”

Yonji continued to grope around the crater's perimeter, tearing up more green blades as the dirt hole grew steadily bigger. A pile of grass and dirt grew proportionately around Yonji’s form.

“How’d you know it was Ichiji?” He scrunched his face.

You shrugged.

“I think I know you pretty well by now, Prince Yonji.”

He threw a clump of dirt onto your knee. Particles broke off from the light impact, tumbling down your leg and back down into the hole.

That was when you met his eye. You looked up at his frown and acutely lidded gaze. Yonji wasn’t one to be in deep thought often, but when he was, he wore it on his face like the rest of his limited emotions.

“Knock that shit off.”

You hummed.

“I know you well, Yonji,” you corrected. It seemed as though his insistence would stick. With how fickle he tended to be, you couldn’t help but be acutely surprised that he continued to be adamant about you using his informal name.

Yonji didn’t dwell on the matter, seeming to forget it as he stared toward the horizon. The sun glinted off the surface of the waves, making them difficult to look at. You followed Yonji’s gaze from the sea back to his dark irises.

The skin around his eyes only creased slightly, his squinting from the sun far more subtle than yours. It must be wonderful to be biologically engineered to never deal with so many of life’s inconveniences.

“Ya ever think that the ocean is kinda boring?” he asked suddenly. His nose scrunched up more than his eyes did.

“What makes you say that?”

Yonji shrugged.

“No matter where you go, the ocean always looks the same,” he answered. He pulled his knees toward his chest, wrapping his arms loosely around them. “Now, don’t get me wrong; blowing shit up into the sea is sick as fuck, but—” Yonji half crossed his arms over his knees, using one propped-up palm to rest the side of his face. — “You can really do that from anywhere.”

”Sure,” you hummed. You laid back, sinking into the lush grass behind you. Yonji turned, a palm now in the dirt hole propping him up. His brows rose by the slightest centimeter.

You brought both your hands to rest on your stomach. Your fingers weaved together, and Yonji couldn’t help but think you looked like one of those ancient warrior’s tombs. All you needed was a sword.

“I spent most of my life up to now on land, so this has been more or less an adventure for me,” you said, looking up at the blue sky overhead. The atmosphere above was so clear it was also almost a little difficult to look at.

“Right,” Yonji stressed, shifting himself to lie beside you. His side met the very edge of the dirt crater he made. His white shirt, still the one he wore from the day prior, would surely need to go through some heavy cleaning for the dirt and grass stains. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“Is that important?” you asked.

“I guess not,” Yonji admitted without much thought.

His head turned acutely to the left so he could stare at the shape of your face. As you stared directly up, the outline of your nose and chin was defined. Weak, natural, and untampered muscles sat below humanly fragile skin. And yet, Yonji could find little to stick his nose up at.

Yonji could trace the shape of your lips with his eyes and determine the length of each individual eyelash by sight alone. He could tell the exact hexadecimal color code of your skin and your hair. Yonji didn’t realize how much of you he had memorized, down to the difference in color between your top and bottom lip and where the skin of them met your cheeks.

Grass wavered around you still, and the sun highlighted your form in warm light. You plucked a blade from next to your hip to place between your thumbs. You brought it up to your lips, and with a blow came a high-pitched whistle.

“The hell’d you learn that?” Yonji laughed. He sat up suddenly, supported on his left side by his bent elbow. Yonji grinned, beaming wide with barely restrained amusement.

You tooted the little grass whistle again, and Yonji nearly fell back into the grass with laughter.

“Let me try! Let me try that,” he said hurriedly, motioning toward the blade of grass in your fingers. You sat up, relinquishing it to him.

Yonji held it haphazardly in his grip, and as the two of you could have expected, the moment he blew, the blade launched up into the air at the velocity of a bullet. You barely even saw it, only being able to see the slightest wisp of disturbance in the air. Yonji grunted in annoyance, looking at his hands as if he hadn’t just shot the plucked plant into the stratosphere.

You let out a light laugh, picking another from the lawn below.

“You have to hold it,” you giggled, “And you can’t blow so hard!”

You grasped his hands in your own, lining the piece of grass up between his thumbs. He dropped it a few times, and the pads of his fingers would slip. His hands were big, and his fingers weren’t used to working with things with precision. But as you worked on helping him, you neglected to notice the deep shade of pink that stained his pale ears.

“Okay, now hold it up to your lips.”

Neither of you noticed Ichiji standing in the shade under the underpass that connected the two library towers. His hands sat in the pockets of his white slacks.

***

That evening wasn’t too different than usual. Yonji retired early for the evening, and you sat on your usual chair in the library. Your supper was being prepared downstairs, and while the cook was busy, you entertained his son and daughter as usual.

It was rather cheeky of you, Ichiji thought, to be using the exact book he told you to do away with. But unlike his prior inspection, Ichiji didn’t interrupt or step foot in the southern chamber.

Instead, he sat just outside the open double doors. The golden light that radiated from the library beamed out into the dark hallway just a meter or so to Ichiji’s left. And not too long later, that was how Yonji found him.

Ichiji sat with his back against the wall and legs stretched out in front of him. He just barely bowed his head. Yonji paused at the sight of him, keeping his eyes locked on his older brother as he closed the main doors behind him. Ichiji hardly regarded him, sparing only a fleeting glance toward his younger brother before returning his attention elsewhere.

Yonji didn’t think much of it, striding silently across the thick strip of red velvet carpeting to sit next to Ichiji. Yonji sat with almost his entire back against the cold stone wall, from his tailbone to his broad shoulders. He leaned his head back, resting his wrists over his bent knees.

Your voice flowed softly out into the hallway.

“Feeling sentimental, huh, Ichiji?” Yonji sighed, his voice not quite a whisper. He tilted his head to eye Ichiji from the side. Yonji’s hair dragged against the stone behind him. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

And for just a moment, all that could be heard in the library tower was the faint sound of you reading. You were in the middle of a story that both Ichiji and Yonji must’ve listened to a thousand times before. If he wanted to, Ichiji could have mouthed the words as you spoke them.

“That’s not very kingly of you,” Yonji jabbed, although a sincere malice couldn’t be found in the undertone of his words.

Ichiji stared down at the floor just short of the opposite wall. He didn’t say anything, lost in his thoughts. He ran his hands through the hair on the side of his head, pulling his knees toward his chest to hold his head in his hands.

“You’re still an idiot,” he sighed, dropping his left hand to his right elbow.

Yonji glanced at him, looking him over once judgmentally before returning his gaze to the ceiling. He sprawled his legs out, and his folded fingers sat neatly in his lap. Yonji had traced the insignificant patterns on the ceiling many times before, tracing them to the background noise of your voice.

Ichiji could have guessed as much the moment he spotted the book of stories in the library. He did know as much, and that’s why he supposed both he and Yonji were here: outside in the hallway listening as a little boy and a little girl were read the same stories they heard from a similar hallway so long ago.

“When don’t ya think that?” Yonji snickered softly.

Ichiji’s fingers left his hair, and somewhat miraculously, the tousling didn’t make the overall style noticeably different. His arms extended lazily, draping over the tops of his knees. His index fingers were loosely intertwined.

“This is all still a mess.” Ichiji shook his head, ever serious. “You know I can’t allow this to continue.”

Yonji scoffed.

“You’re always takin’ something too seriously, aren’t you, Ichiji?” he yawned.

“And you’re clearly not taking things seriously enough,” Ichiji snapped. He broke his whisper for a fraction of a second, and the volume was just enough for you to pause in the library. He and Yonji paused, glancing toward the door.

Wordlessly, both men kept their eyes on the shadows cast onto the floor of the hallway just outside the chamber. Both acutely but visibly deflated in relief as you began reading again.

Ichiji stood, and Yonji followed suit. Ichiji stepped toward the main doors out of the southern tower, but Yonji stepped to the side, using half his body to obstruct Ichiji’s path. Yonji grabbed him by the shoulder, the force of which was harsh.

“I dunno, Ichiji, I’m kinda serious about something myself,” he asserted, leaning just a fraction to meet Ichiji’s stare. While all the Vinsmoke boys were rather tall, Yonji was the tallest despite being the youngest. It was something he liked to bring attention to often, no matter how passively. “I decided I kinda like this place—”

“No shit.”

— “And it’s mine. Drop it, Ichiji. Let me have my fun,” Yonji said nonchalantly. Ichiji shook him off from his shoulder, causing Yonji to scowl. “You know I’m not a fan of sharing toys.”

A red spark flashed across Ichiji’s dark glasses. The corner of his lip twitched downward into a severe frown. He squared his shoulders.

“You’re deeper than I thought,” Ichiji gritted, “I thought we were over this. Don’t make me burn this place to the ground.”

Yonji cranked his arm backward, a loud pop resounding through the hall. He turned his nose up smugly, a battle-hungry grin already contorting his lips. A wild expression glinted in his eye.

“Fuck with me, and we can put our suits on and duke it out for real.” Yonji stepped forward. He took a swing at Ichiji but was swiftly dodged as Ichiji moved back.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Ichiji grunted. At what appeared to be the speed of light, Ichiji’s fist connected with Yonji’s cheek. But unlike the strikes from earlier, Yonji stood his ground, hardly moving as Ichiji recoiled from the force. Yonji cracked a twisted smile.

“Heh, we’re really siblings after all…”

Yonji ducked, tackling Ichiji at an equally swift speed. Ichiji’s back slammed into the stone wall of the hallway. He hit with a loud boom, and the hole that was made in the wall surely must’ve threatened the tower’s structural integrity.

“That’s for earlier,” Yonji gritted amongst the chaos.

Neither of them could hardly hear your shoes scurry to the doorway of the southern chamber.

“Prince Yonji! Master Ichiji!” you gasped.

Yonji’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. He still had Ichiji’s shirt balled up in his hands, forcing him down to the floor. Ichiji radiated sparking red energy, landing substantial blows to Yonji’s sides, although Yonji hardly appeared to react.

“Get out of here!” he barked at you.

You jumped in surprise, almost frozen. But it hardly took a moment to register what he said. You didn’t even acknowledge him, immediately running back into the library to collect the two children.

It wasn’t a move Yonji was necessarily thrilled with. After all, he didn’t give too much of a shit about two random brats, but scolding you could wait.

Ichiji brought up a knee, slamming it directly into Yonji’s stomach, finally freeing him from his younger brother’s grasp.

You had one kid by the hand and the other uncomfortably in your opposite arm. Wrangling both of them with one arm each was almost impossible. You could usually hold them individually, but they seemed to only grow by the day.

The weight of the two children strained the muscles in your arms, a hot burning sensation overtaking you as you heard crashing behind you. Every time Yonji and Ichiji exchanged blows, it rang out as loud as a gunshot. It made you jump every time, your body twitching as you tried to breathe in and out.

The hallway from the chamber to the door wasn’t very long, and despite your fatigue, you knew you could make it out. That is until you saw your shadow cast out in front of you.

The shape of the shadow was a giant, amorphous blob with two circles at the top and four sticks at the bottom: two long and two short. And you could only watch in horror as the shadow grew longer and the light just behind you brighter.

You turned your head, unable to even widen your eyes in shock in the face of the enormous stream of crimson, electric energy bounding toward you. The door was barely ajar, just a stride too far before you. Just wide enough for a child to fit through.

Without a second to spare, you threw the child whose hand you were holding through the opening, using all your strength to force her outside by the arm. That was all you had time for. The white light grew closer in that half second, and you grasped the boy in both your arms, turning to shield him with your body.

And somehow, you had hoped the stray electricity wouldn’t hit you. You knew it wouldn’t.

You opened your eyes, and Yonji stood in front of you. His broad back blocked Ichiji from your view. Little red sparks danced around him, but Yonji brushed them off like little dust clouds.

You could have laughed, the slightest grin of relief threatening to show on your lips. How did you know?

You slipped through the door, collecting the little girl crying on the pavement as you retreated. You were given enough time to run to safety, now with two hysterical children.

***

To your surprise, the southern tower remained largely intact. Other than the Ichiji-sized crater in the wall, the most damage was primarily reserved for easily replaceable fixtures like sconces and the carpet.

When you first entered the tower again, you could tell that a scuffle had taken place, but other than the apparent damage, everything else appeared intact. You even did a lap around the main chamber, finding none of the books or furniture touched.

You weren’t able to see Yonji until the morning. You tried to visit his chambers later that evening, but even in the dead of the night, his room was empty. Tower Yonji was eerily quiet, and you spent an exhaustive amount of time waiting for Yonji’s return before you finally retreated back to the library tower.

But when you returned in the morning, he was there: soundly asleep in his bed, exactly like any other day. And so, you treated it like any other day.

You peeled back the curtains on either side of his massive, king-sized bed and began sifting through the section of garments he had in his wardrobe. You didn’t give him options that morning, laying out an undershirt, a white, ruffled button-up, dark slacks, and a red half cape.

Even with the influx of morning light, Yonji was still more asleep than awake. You peeled the covers off him and, with great strength, urged him to sit up. You grabbed his hands, leaning on the carpet and digging your heels in to get him up.

Yonji was groggier than usual, and the redness of his busted lip didn’t escape you.

“You didn’t take care of yourself,” you scolded, your voice softer than any reprimand Yonji had ever heard. You clutched the side of his face, running your thumb just below his bottom lip. Yonji let out a quiet hiss. “You can’t show up to your meeting like this.”

Yonji watched as your shadow passed, a quick little blur in his groggy vision. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. His green strands immediately assumed their usual styling, appearing as perfect as usual.

When you came back, you brought a small face towel, a bowl of warm water, and some ointment. You wet the towel, squeezing it out before bringing it to Yonji’s face. He sat at the edge of the bed, legs slung over the side and blankets still draped over his left leg. You cleaned his face, wiping away residual dirt and oil before focusing on his lip.

It was mostly healed, and you suspected it would be entirely gone by the afternoon, but even so, you patted around his wound with your towel before drying it and applying a bit of ointment. You sat on the bed beside him, leaning in close in concentration. But for all your concentration, you missed the look of apparent, frozen surprise on Yonji’s face.

“You know that stuff doesn’t work on me…” Yonji finally cracked a smile, gingerly taking your hand to pull it away from his lip. In doing so, you smeared a little bit of ointment across his cheek. “Human medicine and all that.” His curly brows bounced at the notion.

“You’re human.” You frowned, face scrunching up in confusion at his assertion.

Yonji pressed your hand into the sheets, fingers still intertwined in yours.

“I don’t know whether to take that as an insult,” he grumbled lightly, his touch slipping from you as he stood. You stood with him, picking up the white shirt you laid out.

“Why would it be?” you asked. To your surprise, Yonji had already slipped his slacks on and was tugging the undershirt over his head. You took the shirt off the hanger, holding it out by the inside of the shoulders like a jacket. Yonji turned around, leaning slightly to slip his arms through the sleeves. “If you weren’t human, what would you be then? Some sort of beast?” You laughed.

Yonji turned to allow you to button his shirt. The corner of his lip dipped at the thought.

“It might be a closer comparison,” he huffed.

“Beasts don’t get to read books,” you hummed triumphantly, tugging the collar of his shirt to straighten it out. You plucked his cape from the bed. Yonji watched as you unclasped the golden chords, swirling it over the back of his shoulders with a swift flick of your wrists before clasping it over his chest.

You began to move somewhere else in the room. Yonji stopped, spinning in a circle to catch sight of you again.

“Uh,” he started, starting off in your direction. “How are the little ankle biters?”

“The what?” You stepped back, milling off toward the private bathroom to your left. Yonji followed.

“Ya know,” he stressed, somewhat resistant to clarifying. “The little brats.”

By the time he looked at you directly, you had his toothbrush in hand. A dollop of toothpaste was already spread across the bristles. You held it out to him, head cocked.

“Oh, right…” It was your turn to glance away. You knew that Yonji knew of the cook’s children, but the topic of kids in the kingdom wasn’t a popular one. While they weren’t banned, the royal family wasn’t exactly known to be tolerant of little ones. “They’re fine.”

Yonji grabbed the brush from your hand, shooing you out of the way so that he could stand in front of the massive, ornamental sink.

“You sure?” he asked, voice muffled. He glanced at you through the mirror.

“A little shaken,” you admitted, “But kids are resilient… Thank you for asking.”

Yonji hummed, spitting into the sink before retiring his toothbrush to the waste bin. He bobbed his head in noncommittal agreement. You tried to move out of Yonji’s way, stepping to the side to let him through, but Yonji appeared to have other ideas.

A mischievous grin covered his lips as he very obviously glanced you over.

“So,” Yonji started suddenly. He walked toward you, and you backed up until Yonji came to stand in the doorway. He leaned his side against it, raising his arm to rest near the top of the doorframe. His other hand sat in his pants pocket, but he seemed to tower over you all the same. “Do you want brats?”

“I, uh, I never thought about it,” you laughed nervously. “I don’t actually—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fuckin’ with you.” Yonji took your face between his index finger and his thumb, bumping the bottom of your chin before brushing past you. You had to stand still a moment in stunned silence to recover from the way the air left your lungs. Yonji carried on with his self-satisfied smirk somewhere behind you. No matter what, he would never get sick of that expression… “So what the hell were you saying about a meeting?”

“Right!” You spun around. “I was informed only this morning that the kingdom is expecting visitors. I am to lead you to the main docks in anticipation of their arrival.”

“I was wondering why you looked like that,” Yonji said. Your hand instinctively flew up to your face. You indeed wore a nicer uniform than usual, but you couldn’t tell how critical Yonji’s comment was. But he appeared to be far less concerned about your appearance than you were as he was already making his way to the doors. “Do you know who it is?”

“I was not informed,” you answered, chasing after his long-legged stride.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

***

By the time you reached the port, the other Vinsmoke siblings and their personal attendants were already there. Judge Vinsmoke was also present, towering over his children as they collectively watched a ship off in the distance.

“Way to barely make it,” Reiju scolded as Yonji joined the neat line his siblings formed. He stood straight, saying nothing as the ship gradually grew closer.

Servants and workers of both parties ran about the area, preparing to dock the large ship on the Germa coast. It was a grand, ornate vessel that spared little in elegant decor. It was a dark, royal blue with what appeared to be white, handcrafted ornamentation. The pristine sails boasted a golden symbol you could have sworn you’d seen before.

But you didn’t have to wait in anticipation for too long. The ship finally docked, and a long, lavish ramp extended from the vessel to the dock.

An elegant figure appeared at the top of the ramp, surrounded by numerous attendees.

“Presenting Princess Ursula of the North Blue!”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I was kinda dragging my feet with this chapter, but @sansic8 's comment on the last chapter made me so motivated that I sat down, wrote the last of this chapter, and edited it to come out asap. Thank you to everyone who continues to follow this story. I believe we will be officially wrapping up in the next few chapters (5 maybe? max?). It is the beginning of the end!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII

#yonji x reader #yonji vinsmoke x reader #op x reader #yonji #yonji vinsmoke #yonji fanfic #yonji fanfiction #fic: ... And the Beast #one piece x reader #x reader #x you #reader insert #one piece x you #one piece fanfic

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shatterthefragments · 15 hours ago

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Thank you 🫂💖

Last song: euphoria by Polyphia 😌

Favourite colour: blues and yellow ochre

Last book: what they always tell us by Martin Wilson (and I’ll reread it AGAIN!)

Last movie: I’m. It may still be monkey man or love lies bleeding from last year? …no actually we did a watch of everything everywhere all at once over the summer I think (where I sobbed the whole time 😘 love, from: your local undiagnosed white passing wasian Chinese American queer disappointment child who relates to easily to everything (everywhere all at once) but!!! One of my coworkers recommended Flow and it had cats so. Might have to try to make it out to see it!

Last TV show: I think it was when my sister and I watched black sails… 2023? Otherwise possibly leverage?

Looking forward to: SO MANY THINGS!!! I intentionally give myself lots to look forward to 😌 Apocalyptica pre birthday in GOOD SEATS! (Even if I did buy two and have an extra ticket now…maybe I’ll see if one of my friends from college wants to go. They’re a big (small) concert person and we haven’t seen each other in years) TPIY with @branches-in-a-flood ! Tattoo with @ongreenergrasses ! Fancy hot chocolate! Daughtry/nothing more/disturbed and then Spiritbox with @vessels-two-front-teeth and @elkkiel ! MCR with one of my best friends from college! Stardew orchestra performance! Linkin park with some coworkers! Lots of little art projects I have piled on to do! Hopefully starting semi regularly at a ceramics studio! (Or at least a workshop every few months!) hopefully starting the first steps to get back into kickboxing(?) (but at a lower intensity so I can still mask while doing so). Hopefully getting my room more into a functional space that I can work along the desire paths of where I always put stuff! (Hopefully starting the phone calls necessary to maybe get on T for a short bit and to get on the top surgery wait list?)

Sweet/spicy/savoury? ✨yes✨ (preferably a little thing of each :))

Current obsession: sleep token, however. I am also. You know how fixations sometimes come and go and recur a LOT. Well. Guess who remembered the term “MOTIF” and uhhhhhh. So anyway I’m turning Motifs over in my head and it kinda sounds better that “ah yes that’s a motif in my life” rather than “AGAIN??? AGAIN?&?!” Also I fixate a lot on words and phrases so. Sometimes those.

Last search: a month to find a picture of my current Events Board to see if I was forgetting anything I was looking forward to. On Internet? I was using Firefox focus so. I. Cannot go back to check what it was… OH. I was looking up hotels for a night bc I’d love to see Marcin HOWEVER. Despite $35 for show ticket. So far. $340 is the cheapest hotel room of the nearby one that I usually like to go to. For a hostel style shared bathroom situation I could get a much cheaper room. But it’s much farther away from the venue. And $160. I mean. The single bed is at least in a private bedroom. Itty bitty of course but. Private. And the htrmmm. It’s just. I barely know Marcin but know I’d love him based on the one song and what I know of him. But also. That’s a lot of money especially when I’m headed out a few times that month anyway. So. Most likely I’ll procrastinate and not buy a ticket and it’ll sell out and it’ll be out of my hands anyway and what will be will be 🤷🏻‍♂️

Ten people I'd like to know better .⋆˙✮ ˎˊ˗

Thank you so much for the tag @spocksmalewife! 🤘🔥

Last song: 200 Bodies per Minute by Acumen Nation

Favourite colour: Teal! Petrol blue! Cyan! Turquoise! (tho any shade from green to blue will do) 💚💙

Last book: Principles of Two-Dimensional Design by Wucius Wong (i'm not big on novels lol)

Last movie: Maratonci trče počasni krug (1982) if we're not counting all the Netflix brainrot (and if we are... The Secret Life of Pets 2 💀)

Last TV show: Lexx (but... once again... if we're counting Netflix brainrot... Good Witch 💀💀💀)

Sweet/spicy/savoury: sweet is my weakness ;_;

Current obsession: anything Cracknation related

Last thing I searched online: cd emoji

Looking forward to: next Liburnicon (tho kinda dreading it at the same time) and hopefully seeing DAF in April!

Tags (but no pressure!): @acousticcancer @jar-jar-ate @v4mp1res3verywhere @flashbic @casekt @fallziell @suspiriasuspense @knaveofpentacles @fiul-risipit @athenawilcox and any other mutuals who might feel like it!

#we are tapping out with one finger here #as I eat some food before getting CT ready for #ready for bed *#tag games #get to know me better #love y’all

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sich-sehnen · 20 hours ago

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Eternally Bound Part Two

Synopsis- König, God of the sea and its creatures, isn't known for his even-tempered personality. Swift to anger with a blood thirst to match, he had made a reputation for himself. So why does he look like a lost puppy begging for scraps of attention?

Category- Still have no idea what the fuck the category is for this. I might categorize this after it's all written.

Warnings- Kind of based on Eros and Psyche's story if you squint really fucking hard, captor/captive situation, not really any warnings for this one but I am writing as I go so whatever I have planned for this might end up differently by the time I get to it.

Notes- Hello welcome to part two! I'm low-key obsessed with Greek mythology and its overall vibe, and I love how all the stories of love are just gods whipped for their women. So this is how Eternally Bound will play out; with our big boy wrapped around our fingers. There is a specific way I imagine 'human' König (here) in this story but overall he will be a massive, thousand-foot-tall being that reigns over the ocean and its creatures. I am using DeepL Translate for a more (hopefully) authentic translation than Google Translate.

Wordcount- 2,541

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

You wake up in a strange place. The last thing you remember is the dark unforgiving cold of the ocean, pulling you down into the depths of its maw until the reaper plucks your soul from the mortal realm.

Memories flash before your eyes, your mind throbbing with a piercing pain. Brief images of glowing, white eyes. Steady, strong hands.

Curling, writhing, gripping.

Burning, pressure.

Relief.

Nothing.

The bright light of the sun sparkled above you, its shining rays only obscured by the crumbling stone overhead. Something dripped, its constant echo reverberating throughout the seemingly forgotten temple.

You were lying on something soft, your legs tangled in something silky. It took a moment for you to gain your bearings, to realize you weren't dead.

Pulling yourself into a seated position was hard, your aching bones still etched with the remnants of the frigid water. You were on a large bed, pearly white, silk sheets wrapped around your naked body. Large bedposts rose high and dark, whispy fabric draped from one corner to the next creating a sheer barrier between you and the crumbling temple around you.

It seemed odd, the contrast of the beautiful bed and fabrics so different from the mossy, cracked structure you resided in. The only thing more beautiful than the bed was the pool that lay in the middle of the large room. Its water was crystal clear, small ripples caressing the edge of the pool's confines.

You gently swing your legs over the mattress, your bare feet meeting the cold floor. You almost want to crawl back into bed, to succumb to the sleep your body was begging you for. But your curiosity had always been your downfall.

Wrapping the silk sheets around your body, you slowly walk to the water's edge. It looked deep, from what you could see, the water growing darker the further down it went.

You couldn't see a bottom.

You look around, noting the absence of a door or hallway on the four walls surrounding you. Just the expanse of intricate stonework, pillars, and arches. It was exquisite architecture, in all honestly, if it hadn't looked like it was one wayward bump from falling to pieces.

There wasn't a way out, to your dismay. Only up through the open roof, or down into the depths of the pool.

You were looking at the water once again, entranced by the glittering ripples and many little fish that swam close to the surface. Reaching a hand in, you intend to play with the guppies but the moment your finger breaches the waterline the temple rumbles.

Glowing white eyes, the ones still haunting your memory, open far below the surface. The water was pitch black, obscuring anything but those eyes. You were pinned the moment you met them.

They begin to grow closer and you scramble back, your palms scrapping against the rough stone in an attempt to scurry faster. You couldn't see the depths anymore, only the silvery line of the surface.

Your back hits a pillar and yet you're unable to take your eyes off of the pool in the center of the room.

Suddenly, something breaches the surface. It was dark and clothlike, the object rising to reveal crudely cut eyeholes, a bare chest, a soft stomach, and long powerful legs.

The man stepped out of the pool, water droplets dripping off of him as he stepped forward.

"Keine Angst, Kleines, du bist sicher." (Fear not, little one, you are safe.")

You stare blankly at him, his words foreign to your ears. Your heart was thumping against your ribcage, its erratic pace threatening to burst through your chest.

"Wha- I."

The man tilts his head, the dark fabric covering his face shifting with the action. He looked every bit as regal as he does menacing, with gold-trimmed cloth covering his modesty. It was such a stark comparison to his tattered, stained mask.

He stepped forward and your instincts finally kicked in.

Shooting up to your feet, you book it as far as possible. Which wasn't very far despite the vastness of the room. You couldn't help the pathetic cry of frustration that ripped its way out of your throat.

Yet again you managed to become a prisoner with nowhere to escape as your captor closes in on you.

"Stay away!"

You bark, trying with all your might to sound intimidating. You fail, the quiver to your voice betraying you. In your futile attempt at an escape, you trip over the silks wrapped around your body. The yards of fabric weighed you down, yet you refused to drop them, refused to expose yourself.

He stepped forward once again, his blue eyes capturing you. He looked almost worried, his form slightly crouched and his palms presented to you as if you were a wounded animal.

"Bitte, ich will dir nichts Böses." (Please, I mean you no harm.)

You clutch the silk at your chest, pulling it tighter around your body as you feel along the floor, not wanting to take your eyes off of him.

"I do not understand."

You search for something jagged, the pile of debris at your fingertips offering you only a pointy rock. You hold it up as he stalks forward.

"I-"

He clears his throat.

Then he steps closer, his long legs carrying him to you faster than you would have liked. He kneels before you and grasps your shaking hand in his. The rock is plucked from your fingers and gently placed on the ground.

He doesn't let go of your hand.

"I do not mean harm."

His voice was thick with an accent when he spoke your language, his tongue stumbling over the words as if he hadn't spoken them in such a long time.

"Stay away from me."

Your words were steady now that you had an understanding, but the debilitating panic still swarmed all around you. You watch as he stands to his full height and looks down on you, his eyes still kind and gentle.

He sighs, his chest heaving with the action, and steps back. It felt like you could breathe a little more, and think a little more with the couple feet of distance between the two of you.

There was a beat of silence where he just stared at you, those swirling pools of blue never once leaving your cowering form. He turns his back on you after a while, your trance broken as you watch him go to the water.

He steps in, walking deeper until you can't see him anymore. You wait three minutes. For what you do not know.

For him to resurface?

For bubbles to rise instead, his lifeless body sinking to the bottom?

You scramble to the water's edge, eyes scanning the depths to ensure he is truly gone. You didn't care whether he was dead or not. So why are those sad blue eyes haunting you?

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

You don't know when you crawled back into that bed, you only knew that when you woke up, you were surrounded by fluffy pillows and thick blankets.

The lingering chill of the morning had you burrowing into the nest that had been formed around you, your mind not catching up to the present as you chased a quickly fading dream of warm hands and soft eyes.

You toss and turn, the room quickly becoming too hot for the duvet on top of you. When you toss them off your body, your sleep-addled mind and body waking up, you notice three things.

There was now a table at the bedside.

A bowl of fruit, a pitcher of crisp water, and a set of clothes rest on the rich brown wood of said table.

And the room looked different.

Instead of the deterioration that you awoke to yesterday, the temple floor was free of wreckage. No longer were there large boulders and piles of jagged rock at your feet. You could see, now that it was clean, that the floor was a beautiful, shiny marble. Now that it wasn't covered in the dust the crumbling debris caused, you could fully see the glory that was the temple.

Notes of pearl swirled along with the midnight black of the marble floor. The stonework, although still falling apart at the seams, lacked the moss and algae that muddled the gorgeous pattern etched into its surface.

It looked as if it had come alive, like you should expect a Priest or Priestess to saunter in covered head to toe in deep blue robes. Yet, despite all the change, there still wasn't a door leading out. Instead of a prison, you were now trapped inside a gilded cage.

Hesitantly, you toss the sheets off of your body and grab the soft clothing off the table. The gauzy fabric was smooth against your fingertips. White, pearlescent ruffles make up the entirety of the garment with a long, opaque, muted blue slip for modesty.

It was as extravagant as the temple around you and as it slid over your body you felt as if you belonged. Like you were made to spend your days among the worshipers of whomever this temple was dedicated.

The only thing that was keeping you from truly appreciating the beauty that surrounded you was the man who plagued your dreams. Surely he was the one to bring you food and clothes? Was he the one who cleaned? How was he able to come and go when there wasn't a door or hallway?

You couldn't imagine one person, no matter how strong they looked, picking up the massive boulders and disposing of them. Where would have have disposed of them anyway?

You chalk everything up to a trick of the mind. At first, you were focused on the water, then the man, and then everything was a blur after that. Maybe you imagined the decay that tormented the beauty of the room.

A sudden, piercing growl emitted from your stomach and you were torn away from your wondering thoughts. When was the last time you ate?

How long have you been in this place?

When you reach for the bowl of fruit, you realize just how hungry you are. Even if the delicious mango, banana, strawberries, and melon stopped the churning of your stomach and quenched your thirst, you needed something more susceptible than fruit. But it was all you had. So you eat, sticky juice coating your face and hands as you devour fruit after fruit.

The pitcher of water was a welcome reprieve from the thickness that had coated your mouth during your time on the ship. The freshness of the liquid, devoid of the salt of the sea, almost made you groan with relief.

Satisfied and clothed, you lean back on the bed.

The soft light shining above warmed you, its rays bathing your skin in comfort and relaxation. Yet, no matter how comfortable you were nestled in the fine fabrics, you couldn't shake the man from your mind.

Who was he?

Where did he go?

A splash drew your attention, the marble outside of the pool now wet with a puddle of water. The man was nowhere to be seen, but on the lip of the pool lay various bottles and a stack of white, fluffy towels.

Again, your curiosity compels you out of the bed, your bare feet padding against the lovely marble and echoing throughout the room. You inspect the bottles carefully, gently picking them up and turning them every which way.

There was no label or engraving to tell you what was inside. But once you pried the cork out of the opening, you were granted the pleasure of the soft scent of pomegranate, vanilla, and something musky.

They were soaps.

One bottle held a clear liquid that lathered quickly while the other held a thicker, more opaque liquid that held no lather at all. You assumed those were meant for your hair, with them being the biggest of the few.

There was a small bottle, its size no bigger than the palm of your hand. An extravagant oil resided in that one, smelling of patchouli and citrus. A bar of soap was the only thing left untouched, its surface rough with grains and lavender buds.

You look at your hands, noting the dirt that had caked under your nails and the dried blood that coated the scrapes on your palms. It didn't take a thorough once over to tell that you were in dire need of a bath, your scalp itchy and your body gritty.

You eyed the only source of water, hesitant to even step closer in case the man appeared again. Split between a nice, cleansing bath and the arrival of your captor, you stay rooted in place.

The soaps smelled so lovely though. And you despised the idea of being so unclean whilst lounging in such extravagance.

You bite the bullet and slowly peel the flimsy dress off of your body. When you gently dip your toe into the water, you brace for that same rumble that brought the man from the depths.

It didn't come. The only thing that greeted you was the unusual warmth of the water, further luring you inside.

There was a set of stairs that kept you safely away from the drop-off that darkened the further you looked down. You kept your eyes on the soap, intent on just bathing yourself instead of working yourself into a frightened tizzy.

You released an uncontrollable sigh, your body melting into the water as your bones and muscles finally relaxed for the first time in you didn't know how long.

For a few minutes, longer than you intended, you just sat there- soaking up the warmth. You thought about a lot of things at that time. How your family was taking your absence and how many days had passed since you last saw them. You missed them dearly and your heart ached at the thought of their sorrow.

To distract yourself from the tears that would inevitably flow if you continue down that path, you lather a dollop of soap into your hair. You scrub at your scalp, at your body, and face, watching the water turn milky with the dirt and suds.

You were focused on a particular spot on your shin when you spotted something moving beneath you. It was deep enough that you didn't automatically panic, your curiosity outweighing your instincts. But when it moved again you caught sight of a large, black tentacle.

You were out of the pool within an instant, your wet hair and body creating a large puddle. You grab a towel, not at all caring about cleaning your mess as you wrap up and hop into the only safe space you have.

The barrier of the flimsy fabric that canopied the bed would do nothing if the man decided to come back and harm you. But your confused and panicked brain decided that the bed was the only place you were safe, especially if you were buried in between the mountain of blankets and pillows.

You spend the rest of the day with a watchful eye trained on the pool, your anxious hands picking at the skin of your thumb.

#konig x reader #konig x you #könig call of duty #könig cod #fantasy!au #octo!könig #deity!könig

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