#not an english word in sight tbh

[unagrancantidaddepanes]

guys how do i stop using english in my life, nothing against english i just think its best we go our separate ways yknow 😔😔

[b4kuch1n]

more sk8. I think the cindereki stuff is extremely stupid but I am not immune to trying to conceptualize a princess gown in any setting

[vultbae]

small world ❀

art donaldson x female reader

part two (soon)

↳ summary: Art and Patrick were once your peers at the Mark Rebellato Academy —not the nicest ones. Five years later, you've made a friend that can help you fuck with their minds a little.

↳ warnings: making out, dry humping, manipulation, a lot of pettiness, mentions of bullying, and weight!! the dumbification of art donaldson tbh

↳ notes: Istg I be having the most random ideas, but I hope you enjoy!! as always, english is not my first language lolz

word count: 3.1k

Tashi enters the living room with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes, moving gracefully in a beautiful blue mini-dress. With a soft pop, she eases the cork, instantly pouring the effervescent gold-ish liquid into the two glasses. 

"You shouldn't even worry about them," Tashi says with a wry smile. As she finishes serving you some rosé Veuve Clicquot, she hands you the glass. "What are you—like, the second or third in Europe? They are gonna be broke by their thirties," she concludes, staring at you with confident eyes.

You nod, taking a sip of champagne. "Don't see it as serious; it'll be fun."

Tashi raises her glass, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. "Im just saying, don't stress over men."

You clink your flute against Tashi’s. "Alright."

A year and a half ago, you had met Tashi Duncan, who you believed was a hard-hearted bitch but ended up being a close friend of yours. She is merciless, proficient, and goddamn; she has that vicious aura you worship so much. While living in Biot, you'd always look for the nearest CRT to watch Tashi flawlessly play, enchanted by how she unnerved her adversaries.

During summer break, your father dragged you out of the academy to visit California for a benefaction event. Amidst the glamour and chatter of the event, you caught sight of Tashi —most likely attending due to her relevance spiking around the area. Luckily, your connection rapidly deepened, fueled by reciprocal admiration and tennis dependence.

And the commitment to stay in touch despite the geographical distance worked. Tashi became pretty much your best friend, and you became hers. Aside from the workaholic aspect, the resemblances between you were too much to ignore. Sooner than later, you discovered much about Tashi's personal life, the players she liked and despised, and her daily anecdotes regarding tennis and her intimate life. And that's how you became acquainted with Fire and Ice's peculiar hyper-fixation on Tashi.

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig.

You thought it was a unique offering from God. You didn't expect you'd get the opportunity to face the golden pair again. When Tashi told you she had met Zweig and Donalson, a powerful sentiment of gratitude washed over you. You nearly fell to your knees when she proceeded to explain they were a walking boner for her. If that wasn't high power granting you a second chance to delight yourself, it was an insane coincidence.

But telling Tashi the backstory was a different pain in the ass. Although she expressed some sort of disgust towards Zweig and Donaldson's brainless carnal-based attitude, you couldn't buy it.  And your skepticisms were demonstrated as valid when she —dreamy voice and all that shit— confessed through the phone she nearly had a threesome with them. A fucking threesome. You couldn't hold it back anymore, so you told her everything.

Tashi was aware of tennis's influence on your household, as you were raised by two renowned tennis coaches from the States. When you turned eight, your parents turned you in at the Mark Rebellato Academy —as if you were condemned to play tennis by default. The detrimental part of your journey was developing thyroid issues when you were twelve. Jesus, twelve years old — the commencement of the preteen period where kids either kiss your feet or bully you. One year after, along with the anticipated weight gain, you met Art and Patrick. And as if you weren't unfortunate enough already, the two —who at the time looked like fucking Beavis and Butthead— decided they didn't like your physical appearance. They hated it.

“Hey, Y/l/n!” Patrick’s voice rang out, sharp and mocking.

You froze, your heart sinking to the underground. You tried to focus on your serve, but your hands were immobile. 

Patrick sauntered over, his smirk widening as he looked you up and down. “What’s the matter, Y/n? Ball too heavy for you to lift?”

You heard Art’s laughter behind your back. He joined in a kind of trembling voice. “Or maybe she’s saving her strength for lunch. She doesn't hesitate when it comes to eating.”

The echo of them and the rest of the kids on the court laughing was a sound that felt like daggers piercing your heart.

After two years of ceaseless bullying and humiliation—which also distracted you from tennis—your parents sent you to The Mouratoglou Tennis Academy in Biot, a small town in France. You are not sure if it was the harassment itself, the low self-esteem, or possibly your undeniable attraction for Donaldson. It didn't matter. By the age of seventeen, you were undoubtedly one of the major promises of European tennis.

So, explaining the theatrical, soap opera-like backstory to Tashi for your detestation of Zweig and Donaldson took time. But when you did, it was worth it because Tashi didn't distrust your testimony, and if anyone was exhilarated to play some moves against them at the beginning, it was Duncan. 

That's the explanation behind Tashi pitching a tremendous party to celebrate her commitment to Stanford. This was absurd, to say the least, considering she had college offers piling up, and no one doubted she would commit to a prestigious school. But Tashi knew you'd visit from France, and this was just the perfect instance to hook you up with both condemned.

Because, of course, her biggest fangirls would attend. 

It didn't take long until the country house was full of people ranging from Tashi's cousins to bare acquaintances. And spotting Fire and Ice was easier than you thought. 

Tashi elbows you discreetly and signs with her head the direction they are standing. "There they are."

Your gaze falls over Art, who is laughing with —who you assume is—Patrick. His features are sharper and more defined. The lanky, slender physique you remembered from his premature teenage years had filled out into a more athletic build, with broader shoulders tapering to a trim waist covered in a light pink shirt. His blonde hair, which was no longer too light, was now strawberry blonde-ish, slightly tousled, and cascading over his ears.

Patrick, standing a few feet away, was equally transformed. His brunette hair, just a bit longer than you remember, frames a face that had hardened over the years—angular jaw, defined cheekbones, and piercing eyes that seem to miss nothing. The fucking smirk is still there, and you can see how he displays it every two seconds at whatever thing Art is telling him.

The interior of your stomach resembles a volcano about to erupt. You feel ambivalent, so many emotions overlapping each other. You see two cute, hell, gorgeous guys, and you wish you could approach them without considering crucifying them before. And you can't help but feel envious at how effortlessly Tashi managed to tame Art and Patrick while the only thing you got from them was hostility.

Your eyes can't seem to unbuckle from them. Tashi catches you slightly frowning at the panorama, and she isn't certain if you are infatuated or planning murder on the spot. "Come on."

You have no time to react before Tashi leads you through some partygoers to reach where Zweig and Donaldson are. Like dogs sniffling fresh meat, it's pathetic how their heads twist simultaneously when Tashi approaches them, conversation instantly pausing. It is as if Tashi's presence was magnetic for them.

"Well, hello, both of you," Tashi greets them excitedly, still holding your hand. "Didn't think you'd come."

Art's eyes widen, "Are you kidding?" he's about to keep speaking, but his gaze merges with yours for a split second, and he shuts off. Dead. Silent. 

"—Stanford's a big deal, Tashi." Patrick interrupts, compensating for the awkwardness of Art's sudden number. "I had to drag this lazy fuck out of his bed, but we made it."

Suddenly, Art's out of the trance, tearing his blue eyes off you to bombard Patrick with a killer look. "Hey—shut up, Patrick."

Tashi sweetly, softly giggles at their word exchange. God, she's good, you think. Tashi turns to gesture to you, "This is my friend, Claire, by the way. She is visiting from the Mouratoglou Academy—

To be fair, Claire is a believable name.

"Wait, the Patrick Mouratoglou Academy? In France?" Art runs over Tashis's sentence, incredulously shooting you a broad-eyed glare. You nod in agreement, still processing you are having a civil conversation with Art Donaldson.

You feel Tashi squeezing your hand at your quietness.

"Yeah, you know it?" you timidly ask, forcing a polite smile that, if you were Art, you wouldn't buy it. But, of course, he's as dumb as a pigeon.

"Heck... Of course, I do. I wish I could go there."

Tashi smirks, enjoying the spectacle. 

Patrick’s investment in the conversation piques. "Mouratoglou, huh? That's impressive. Maybe we could hit the court sometime."

And that's the first time Patrick makes eye contact with you. He's stabbing you with his stare. You abruptly wonder if he's as dumb as Art, probably not. 

You squeeze Tashi's hand.

Tashi leans closer to Patrick, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Hey, Pat... do you remember what you mentioned about erectile dysfunction? My aunt's a sexologist, I think—

Patrick loudly chuckles, apparently alarmed by the deficiency of filtering confidential information. "I need to smoke sum' stronger. Wanna come, Tash?"

Tashi purses her lips, casting a quick glance at you. "Sure."

Your point of view is like a sitcom scene, swiftly panning from Tashi's body leaving your radar to the boy in front of you, staring at you with soothing eyes and reddened cheeks. It's basically comical.

Art's eyes dart around the lively yard before landing back on you. He clears his throat. "So, uh, Claire? That's a cute name."

It takes tons of willpower not to drop the good girl act right there. You attempt to return the sentiment with a quirk on the corner of your lips. "I need to get a drink. Come with me?"

He shakes his head up and down, finding it easier than answering with words.

For the first time in a couple of months, the inside of Art's mind has more than a giant cardboard cutout of Tashi Duncan. He is in awe. 

You lead the way, weaving through clusters of drunk teenagers towards the house. You feel Art's gaze lingering on your back —or ass, you don't know—a magnetic pull that makes you hyper-aware of his presence.

You arrive in the kitchen and quickly grab a bottle of vodka, a can of soda, and a party cup. Art watches you closely with a look of hypnotic admiration as if you were concocting the most complicated cocktail in the world. You want to roll your eyes so badly.

"That dress looks amazing on you." Art blurts out, unable to contain his thoughts any longer. 

You look at him. Art is sitting on one of the high stools by the kitchen island, his elbow resting on the table's sleek surface, supporting his chin with his hand. There is a softness in his eyes completely foreign to you, an infrequent vulnerability that contrasts sharply with the characteristic asshole demeanor you remember.

To Art, you appear almost ethereal, like an ideal concept from a wet dream of his. His thoughts are a kaleidoscope of jumbled fragments of memory that make no sense. You look so familiar... but no. 

There's no way he would forget about you.

You glance up, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. "Thank you," you reply, handing him a drink.

Art sips on his red plastic cup, eyes hooked on yours. "So, uhm. I just realized I never introduced myself properly. Im Art—

"Yeah, Donaldson, I know." you cut him off, leaving him completely silent and confused. "I've seen you play. Not bad," you clarify, with an unconscious hint of pride in your voice.

Art's smile widens. "Wait, you've seen me play?" he exaggeratedly emphasizes me. 

You nod.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. There’s this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "That's, uh, great. Next time you are watching, I'll play better..."

His innate nerdiness and try-hard flirtiness provoke nausea in you. If you didn't know him, it would be a different story. But seeing a former, intense crush who shamelessly bullied you for so long, giving you heart-shaped eyes...

It's fucking bizarre. And it pisses you off.

Art begins conversing about something else. You don't know what—tennis-related, maybe. You are not wearing earphones with noise cancellation, but you can't hear him anymore. It's a blur as his words course through one ear and depart through the other. Immediately. Your brain has simply blocked the action of listening to him.

You step closer, so close you can see the fine lines in his eyes, the flecks of green amidst the blue, with a hint of brown sectoral heterochromia on his right eye. You can smell the faint woody scent of his cologne, something spicy that makes you salivate. His lips keep moving, forming words that dissolve into the dim background noise. The music, the laughter, the chatter—they all blend into a distant hum.

Art's voice vanishes into oblivion as you fix your gaze on his mouth, the curve of his lips, the way they part and close as he speaks. "Art," you say, stopping him in his tracks.

His eyes flicker with uncertainty, puzzlement, and a spark of hope. His adam's apple throbs as he notices you staring at his lips.

You lean in, your breath mingling with his, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hand reaches up, fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slight stubble that prickles against your touch. Art's breath hitches, his eyes widening in surprise, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans in, too.

Your lips crash against his. Although you don't want to make it weird, you fail. It's not a gentle kiss or a precious, out-of-a-book lips meeting. It's fierce, instructing, a clash of sour sentiments and intent. You pour all your frustration, your pent-up anger, and your fucked-up desire to overpower him into that kiss. 

Art's shock melts away and quickly replaces it with an appetite that matches yours. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours. The kiss deepens, his lips parting to allow your tongue to explore, to taste the unmistakable flavor of cigarette and cheap vodka. You can feel the warmth of his breath and the way his hands tighten on your waist. It's almost as if he's frightened you'll pull away at some point.

And you can only fantasize about the moment you walk away.

—but not yet. You push harder, your fingers tugging slightly in his messy strawberry-blonde hair. He lowly moans into your mouth, a sound that dispatches a shiver down your spine. His hands roam your back, tracing the curve of your spine and dangerously lowering to your ass level. There's a distress in his touch you never thought would come from him.

The way he's dissolving under your venomous touch is already a win for you. You've managed to put him under you. And it's intoxicating, this control you have over him, this ability to make him forget everything else.

You pull back, your lips hovering just above his. Art's eyes are half-lidded, his lips swollen and ridiculously red from the intensity of the kiss. He looks at you in pure infatuation, "What- I... Did I do something wrong?"

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him again. "Come with me."

You peek at the party going outside—most people are outside. The living room is nearly empty, with a few alcoholized individuals entering the country house to refill their drinks. It's perfect.

You take Art's hand, your fingers lacing through his, and you lead him toward the sectional, six-seat couch in the center of the living room. You push Art down onto the couch, and he complies without resistance, his lust-drunken eyes never leaving yours; he nearly chokes on his spit at the sight of you slowly straddling him, your knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his hips.

"Jesus, Claire—"

You get the ick at the roleplay name Tashi baptized you with. 

"Shh," you whisper, leaning in to brush your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss. "You never shut up, Donaldson."

And that's odd for him. He gives it a second thought because he isn't aware of how much he has talked, but definitely not that much. 

The overthinking vanishes as soon as you begin to kiss him again, slowly at first, savoring the way his lips deliciously move against yours. Art's hands rest tentatively on your hips, his fingers twitching as if afraid to hold on too tight. You guide his hands around your waist, urging him to hold you closer. His grip tightens, and you can feel the heat of his palms through the delicate fabric of your black mini-dress.

A sigh rolls out from your throat when you perceive something hard putting pressure against your core —which, because of the dress, is only shielded by thin lace panties. The coarse fabric of Art's light denim jeans rubs splendidly against your pussy. 

A primitive groan slips out of Art's lips the moment you grind your hips against his clothed dick. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, and his eyes wander downwards. "Shit— you'll kill me," he pants into your mouth.

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. They're dark with craving, his pupils dilated. "Then let me."

You are about to attack his lips again, but he hesitates. You tilt your head in confusion, murmuring a low what?

Art starts to speak, his voice shaky and breathless. "I... I was wondering if you wanted to go back to my hotel with me."

Before you can respond, Tashi suddenly appears in your vision behind Art's head. "Claire, there you are," she says, fucking loud with a knowing, manipulative smile on her lips. "Your dad called, he's outside."

You feel a surge of delicious triumph as you see the apparent dissatisfaction in Art's eyes. 

"Sorry, Art," you say, standing up and smoothing your dress. "Maybe another time."

There’s a raw sadness in his eyes, an almost childlike hurt that he can’t quite conceal. He isn't even drunk; he's fully conscious of the stunning girl he just met and now is evaporating as if she was going to turn into a wolf at midnight or something. 

As you are about to disappear from Art's vision, he shouts at you, "I'll see you later, right?"

But you don't answer.

Instead, you hurriedly walk with Tashi to reach the front yard. 

"I didn't lie about your dad being here, though," Tashi clarifies, pointing at the big Jeep parked in front of the country house.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, a smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, alright." You glance back at the house to ensure you are out of earshot. "I think fucking him would've been better. Do you think he's gonna remember about this tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah. This is definitely gonna fuck his head up for a while." Tashi chuckles, "he's pretty obsessive."

You feel a swell of fulfillment at your best friend's words. "How obsessive?"

Tashi smiles. "A lot."

❀

[aemondwhoresworld]

I’M SO PROUD OF YOU, DADDY

pairing: dad!ewan mitchell x mom!reader ; husband!ewan mitchell x wife!reader

summary: a day without mommy at home, with lovely moments of ewan and elowen.

part of series: y/n, ewan and elowen mitchell

word count: 2,5k

warning: english is not my first language. fluff, sweet little elowen, ewan being a dad, etc

mae: it’s kind of long, i really want to make it as details as possible. also i’m currently obsessed with ewan being a girl dad, i just don’t know why, tbh i wanted to give him babies :)

fill THIS FORM to be add in my taglist 🌟 | you can discuss with me for this series through my ask ✨

As you finished putting on the final touches of your makeup, you heard the soft padding of tiny feet approaching the bedroom. You turned to see your daughter, Elowen, rubbing her eyes sleepily, her curls tousled from sleep. She looked up at you with a drowsy smile, still clutching her favorite stuffed dragon.

“Good morning, Mommy,” she murmured, her voice soft and endearing.

“Good morning, my love,” you replied, kneeling down to her level and pulling her into a warm hug. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, her sleepy expression brightening as she noticed the hint of lipstick on your lips. “Are you going somewhere today?”

You smiled and gently brushed a stray curl from her face. “Yes, sweetheart. Mommy has to go to work today, but I’ll be back home later, okay?”

Elowen’s face scrunched up slightly, a mix of understanding and reluctance. “Okay, but can I come with you?”

You chuckled softly, kissing her forehead. “Not today, darling. But maybe next time, if it’s somewhere safe. Today, Daddy’s going to be with you all day. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

As if on cue, Ewan appeared at the door, leaning against the frame with a smile. “How’s my little dragon this morning?” he asked, his voice warm and playful.

Elowen’s face lit up at the sight of her father, and she ran over to him, her earlier reluctance forgotten. “Daddy!”

Ewan scooped her up effortlessly, planting a kiss on her cheek. “I was just about to make some pancakes. Want to help me, El?”

She nodded eagerly, all traces of sleepiness gone. “Yes, please!”

Ewan looked over at you, his gaze soft and full of love. “We’ll be fine here. Don’t worry about a thing.”

You smiled at the sight of them, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “I know you will. You two are my everything.”

Ewan walked over with Elowen still in his arms, leaning in to give you one more kiss. “And you’re ours. Go knock ’em dead today.”

You nodded, feeling a surge of confidence. With one last look at your husband and daughter, you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, your heart full of love and gratitude.

As you stepped outside and into the car waiting for you, you couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky you were��to have such a loving family, to have a career that you were passionate about, and to be able to share all of it with the people who mattered most. Today was going to be a good day, and you knew you’d carry the warmth of this morning with you wherever you went.

After you left the house, Ewan and Elowen sat down to enjoy the pancakes they had made together. Elowen giggled as she drizzled extra syrup over her pancakes, while Ewan watched with a smile, happy to see his daughter so full of energy and joy.

“Daddy, these are the best pancakes ever!” Elowen exclaimed between bites, her face lighting up with happiness.

Ewan chuckled, ruffling her hair. “I’m glad you like them, El. You’re quite the little chef.”

After they finished breakfast, Ewan helped Elowen down from her chair. They both took their plates to the sink, and Ewan guided her through washing the dishes together. Elowen stood on a small step stool beside her father, her tiny hands barely big enough to hold the sponge as she tried to scrub the dishes clean. Ewan rinsed off the soap suds, making sure everything was spotless before placing the dishes on the drying rack.

Once the kitchen was tidied up, Ewan and Elowen brushed their teeth together. Elowen mimicked her father’s actions, standing on her tiptoes to reach the bathroom sink. Ewan made a game out of it, pretending they were brushing away “dragon breath,” which made Elowen giggle uncontrollably.

With their morning routine complete, Ewan decided it was the perfect time for a walk in the park. “How about we go on an adventure to the park, El?” he suggested, kneeling down to help her into her little sneakers.

Elowen’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Yes, Daddy! Can we see the ducks?”

“Of course,” Ewan replied, smiling at her enthusiasm. “Maybe we’ll even see some squirrels too.”

They both put on their jackets and Ewan grabbed Elowen’s favorite stuffed dragon, which she insisted on bringing along. Hand in hand, they stepped out into the crisp morning air. The park wasn’t far from their home, and the walk there was filled with the sounds of birds chirping and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

When they arrived at the park, Elowen immediately spotted a small pond where a few ducks were swimming. She pulled Ewan over to the edge of the pond, watching the ducks paddle around with wide-eyed wonder. “Look, Daddy! There’s a baby duck!”

Ewan crouched down beside her, his arm around her shoulders as they watched the ducks together. “I see it, El. Isn’t it cute?”

Elowen nodded, completely captivated by the little duckling. After a few minutes, she decided it was time to explore more of the park. They walked along the winding paths, stopping occasionally to pick up interesting leaves or watch squirrels dart up trees. Ewan made sure to point out anything he thought might catch Elowen’s interest, making the walk educational and fun.

As they strolled through the park, Ewan felt a deep sense of contentment. This quiet morning with Elowen was exactly what he needed—a chance to slow down, enjoy the simple things, and spend quality time with his daughter. He knew that these moments were precious, and he cherished every second of them.

After a while, they reached a small playground where a few other children were playing. Elowen immediately ran toward the swings, and Ewan followed, pushing her gently as she soared back and forth, her laughter ringing through the air. The joy on her face was contagious, and Ewan found himself laughing along with her, feeling grateful for these simple yet unforgettable moments.

Eventually, after playing for a while longer, Ewan noticed that the sun was getting higher in the sky, signaling that it was nearly time to head back home. “What do you say, El? Ready to go home and tell Mommy about our adventure later?”

Elowen, slightly out of breath from all the excitement, nodded. “Yes, Daddy! I can’t wait to tell her about the ducks and the swings!”

With Elowen happily chatting away about their morning, Ewan took her hand again, and they made their way back home. The morning had been perfect, and Ewan couldn’t wait to share the details with you when you returned, knowing that these little moments were what truly made life special.

After spending a delightful morning in the park, Ewan and Elowen walked back home hand in hand, both feeling refreshed and happy from their time outdoors. Once inside, Ewan suggested they do some creative work together, which Elowen eagerly agreed to.

"How about we draw something special for Mommy?" Ewan proposed as he set up the drawing supplies on the kitchen table.

"Yes! I want to draw a dragon and a castle," Elowen declared, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Ewan smiled, pulling out some paper and colored pencils. "That sounds like a great idea. I'll draw with you, and then we can color them together."

They spent the next hour immersed in their art, Elowen focusing intently on her drawing while Ewan sketched beside her. The room was filled with the quiet sound of pencils on paper and the occasional burst of laughter as they shared ideas and admired each other's work. Elowen’s dragon had colorful scales and a big smile, while Ewan drew a castle with tall towers, complete with flags waving in the wind.

When they finished their drawings, they both colored them in, adding vibrant hues that brought their creations to life. Elowen was particularly proud of her dragon, which she had named "Sparkles."

"Mommy is going to love these," Ewan said, holding up his finished drawing and showing it to Elowen.

Elowen nodded enthusiastically. "She will! I can't wait to show her."

After their creative session, it was time for lunch. Ewan guided Elowen to the kitchen, where he began preparing a simple but delicious meal. Elowen sat nearby, watching as Ewan chopped vegetables and cooked. She occasionally helped by handing him ingredients, feeling important in her role as his little assistant.

Once lunch was ready, they sat down to eat together. Elowen happily munched on her food, chatting about their morning and what they would do later when Mommy got home.

When lunch was over, Ewan helped Elowen down from her chair, lifting her gently to the floor. As her feet touched the ground, she looked up at him with a serious expression and asked, "Daddy, can I have a hug?"

Ewan’s heart melted at her sweet request, and he immediately knelt down to her level, pulling her into a warm embrace. "Of course, you can, El. Anytime you want."

Elowen wrapped her small arms tightly around his neck, holding him close. After a moment, she pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her expression earnest. "Daddy, I’m so proud that you’re my daddy."

Ewan’s breath caught in his throat, touched beyond words by her sincerity. "Oh, Elowen, that means the world to me. I’m so proud to be your daddy, too."

Elowen smiled, her eyes shining with love. "I know Mommy is proud of you too. She always tells me how lucky we are to have you."

Ewan felt a surge of emotion at her words, his eyes misting over slightly. He gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his voice soft and full of love. "Thank you, sweetheart. I’m the lucky one to have you and Mommy. You two are my everything."

Elowen hugged him again, and Ewan held her close, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the family he had. In that moment, he knew that no matter where life took them, the love they shared would always be the most important thing in his life.

After a few more moments of holding her, Ewan stood up, still smiling as he looked down at his daughter. "How about we clean up the kitchen together, and then we can play some more before Mommy gets home?"

Elowen nodded eagerly, ready for whatever adventure the rest of the day would bring. Together, they tidied up the kitchen, the bond between father and daughter growing even stronger with each shared moment.

As you walked through the front door, the familiar warmth of home embraced you. Almost immediately, you heard Elowen’s excited voice from upstairs. “Mommy’s home!” she called out, her tone filled with pure joy.

Looking up, you saw both Ewan and Elowen at the top of the stairs, holding hands as they began to make their way down to greet you. The sight of them filled your heart with happiness, and you couldn’t help but smile as they reached you. Elowen let go of Ewan’s hand and ran the rest of the way to you, wrapping her little arms around your legs in a tight hug.

You leaned down to scoop her up into your arms, planting a kiss on her cheek before turning to Ewan, who was now standing beside you with a warm smile. He pulled you into a gentle embrace, his strong arms holding you close, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

“How was your day?” Ewan asked, his voice soft and filled with love as he kissed your temple.

“Better now that I’m home,” you replied with a contented sigh, leaning into him.

“Did you have fun with Daddy today?” you asked, smoothing back a strand of Elowen’s hair as she nodded sleepily.

“Yes, Mommy,” she said with a little yawn. “We went to the park and saw ducks, and then we made pancakes. And I drew a dragon for you.”

Your heart swelled with love as you kissed her forehead. “That sounds wonderful, my love. I can’t wait to see your drawing.”

Ewan gently took her from your arms, cradling her against his chest. “Let’s get you ready for your nap, little one,” he said softly, carrying her upstairs to her room.

You watched them go, feeling a deep sense of contentment. While they were upstairs, you headed to the kitchen, preparing yourself a hot cup of black coffee. Once it was ready, you made your way to the living room, sinking into the comfortable sofa with your mug in hand. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the cup, spreading a soothing heat through your hands.

A few minutes later, Ewan came back downstairs. He walked over to the sofa and sat down next to you, leaning back and letting out a soft sigh. His eyes were gentle, yet there was a hint of emotion there, something that made you reach out and place your hand on his.

“Is El giving you a hard time, my love?” you asked softly, your voice filled with affection and concern.

Ewan shook his head slowly, not replying right away. Instead, he took a deep breath, as if collecting his thoughts. “I almost cried today,” he finally said, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “She’s just… she’s so sweet.”

You squeezed his hand gently, waiting for him to continue.

“She said she’s so proud of me,” Ewan murmured, his eyes shining with the intensity of the moment. “She just hugged me so tight and told me she’s proud that I’m her daddy. And she said she knows you’re proud of me too.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you felt your own eyes well up with tears. “Oh, Ewan,” you whispered, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder. “Of course, we’re proud of you. Every single day, El and I are so proud to have you in our lives.”

Ewan wrapped his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “I know,” he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s just… hearing it from her, in that little voice of hers… it just hit me so hard. I never want to take these moments for granted.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “We’re so lucky, Ewan. To have each other, to have Elowen… it’s everything.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you close. “It really is,” he agreed softly. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.”

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence, the warmth of the coffee and each other’s presence filling the room. It was one of those moments where words weren’t necessary, where the love you shared was enough to communicate everything you felt. And in that quiet, peaceful moment, you both knew that no matter what challenges came your way, you would face them together, with love, pride, and the unwavering support of your little family.

taglist: @minami97 ; @hellsingalucard18 ; @champomiel ; @fan-goddess ; @xcharlottemikaelsonx ; @emyswagger ; @k1ttybean ; @callsignwidow

[strawberryjimin13]

VEIL OF DECEIT | KTHᝰ.ᐟ

— Synopsis: In the gloomy village of Briarfield, an annual ritual demands the sacrifice of an innocent girl to the devil. When Y/N is chosen as the next offering, she discovers the dark truth behind the tradition—a hoax engineered by the corrupted noblemen.

— Pairing: Merchant!Taehyung x Apprentice Healer!reader

— Genre: Fantasy, one-shot, angst, fluff, eventual smut

— Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), obsessive behaviour (not from tae), attempted sexual assault (not tae! None of the bad warnings are for him tbh), mentions of satanic rituals and sacrificing, stalker behaviour, misogyny, objectification of women, eventual smut, p in v, unprotected sex (this is like magical medieval times lol BUT BE SAFE), praise kink, orgasms (f/m), creampie(?), age gap (reader is 20, Tae is 26), creepy old man behaviour (💀)

— Word Count: 17.9k

— A/N: This is not the most polished work I’m aware. The story contains flaws but I had a dream (plot) and a word document 😭 also this was my first time writing smut, can you tell? Maybe I should have made Tae the evil one 🤔Once again feedback would be appreciated!

— English is not my first language so l apologise in advance for any mistakes or typos!

There once existed the kingdom named Aetherfall, the kingdom of light and splendour. Aetherfall was a kingdom unlike any other, a shining jewel set amidst towering mountains and rolling hills. The city, nestled in the heart of the kingdom, was a sight to behold—an architectural masterpiece where elegance met strength, and ancient magic wove through every stone and street. From afar, Aetherfall appeared like a golden crown atop the earth, its walls gleaming under the light of the sun, and at night, shimmering under the glow of thousands of lanterns.

The heart of the kingdom was its biggest city, Starhill labelled as the city of dreams that every person wanted to visit. Among the large kingdom laid a forgotten place at the outskirts. The village of Briarfield. It hardly harboured a population of a thousand people due to the village’s reputation.

The village of Briarfield was cursed. Or so the stories went, whispered from one frightened villager to the next, as the ever-present fog curled around their feet like ghostly tendrils. It wasn’t just the heavy mist that clung to the cracked, cobblestone streets, or the way the sun seemed to forsake the village, trapped behind thick clouds of grey. No, Briarfield bore the weight of far darker rumours: that its prosperity was built upon the blood of innocent girls, sacrificed each year to appease the devil that lurked beneath its shadowy veneer.

In the dim light of early evening, the village lay sprawled at the foot of the mountains, with its decrepit houses leaning together as if they were all that held each other up. Blackened thatched roofs and crooked chimneys poked into the gloom like skeletal fingers. The streets, winding like a serpent through the maze of wooden huts, were damp from the constant drizzle that hung in the air.

Few travellers came near it, deterred by tales of malevolent spirits and dark rituals. The villagers kept to themselves, huddled in their homes, wary of outsiders and of the secrets that their village held.

And in one of those homes, you dreamed of escape. The cottage was warm but filled with a sombre air. You sat at the table, absently tracing patterns in the worn cloth of the tablecloth. Your mother moved quietly around the kitchen; her movements automatic as she prepared the evening meal.

As the silence grew heavier, you spoke, your voice breaking the quiet. "Mother, why did you and Father never leave the village? I’ve dreamed of leaving for as long as I can remember. Why didn’t you ever want to go?"

Your mother paused, her back turned to you. The silence stretched, and you could almost feel the weight of her thoughts pressing against the walls of the small room. Finally, she turned, her face lined with the hardships of life but softened with a deep, weary kindness.

"We never left because we were bound by our own choices, my dear," she said softly, setting down the wooden spoon she had been stirring the pot with. She walked over and sat across from you, her hands clasped tightly together.

"When your father and I were young, we believed that Briarfield was where we were meant to be. It was our home, our family’s home, and leaving it felt like abandoning a part of ourselves. We thought the village’s darkness was something we could endure, something we could change."

She sighed; her gaze distant. "And in a way, we did change it. Not in grand ways, but in the small, everyday moments. We found happiness in the little things—in our garden, in the quiet of the evening, in the love we had for each other. We made our peace with the shadows because they were all we knew."

Her eyes met yours, filled with a sorrowful understanding. "I know it’s hard for you, wanting something more, wanting to escape.”

Your mother reached out and took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I stayed because I wanted to protect you, to give you a chance to grow up with some semblance of normalcy, even if it was flawed.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you looked at her, seeing the reasoning behind her words. "Thank you, Mother," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "I hope I can make something good come of all this, for both of us."

“I know you will my child. You have always been strong-willed and hence these walls aren’t big enough to keep you in” you smiled at her words and leaned in for a hug. Nothing provided you more comfort than knowing your mother supported your dreams.

The first light of dawn pierced through the thick fog that hung over Briarfield, casting a faint, ghostly glow over the village. The streets were damp from the previous night's drizzle, and the air was crisp, tinged with the scent of wet earth and lingering smoke from the few fireplaces that had been lit.

You pulled on your heavy shawl, its wool rough but warm against the chill, and stepped out into the murky street. The village was just beginning to stir, the early risers emerging from their homes to tend to their chores. The cobblestones beneath your boots were slick, and you navigated them carefully, feeling the weight of the day’s errands pressing on your shoulders.

The first stop was the baker’s stall at the edge of the village square. The baker’s hut was modest but inviting, its windows fogged with the heat from the ovens inside. As you entered, the aroma of fresh bread and pastries enveloped you.

The baker, a burly man with flour-dusted hands and a jovial demeanour, greeted you with a nod. "Morning, lass. What can I get for you today?"

"Good morning," you replied, your voice muffled by the cold. "Just a loaf of bread and some of those cinnamon rolls, please."

The baker nodded and reached for a crusty loaf, its surface crackling with warmth, and a small bag of sweet rolls, their scent filling the air with a comforting sweetness. He handed them over with a smile, and you paid him with the coins you had saved up, tucking the bread into the fabric of your basket.

Next, you made your way to the seamstress’s shop, a quaint little building adorned with colourful patches and ribbons. The seamstress, an elderly woman with sharp eyes and nimble fingers, was busy at her workbench, mending a torn garment. The shop was a haven of vibrant fabrics and threads, a stark contrast to the drabness of the village outside.

You approached her and showed her a small tear in your favourite skirt. "Good morning. I need this repaired, if you could madam."

The seamstress took the skirt with practiced hands, examining the tear with a critical eye. "Of course, dear. I’ll have it done by the end of the day. You’ll need it looking nice for the ceremony."

You nodded, a pang of unease twisting in your stomach at the mention of the ceremony. "Thank you."

With your errands nearly complete, you headed to the village well to fetch water. The well was a central gathering place, surrounded by villagers who would often chat and exchange news as they filled their buckets. Today, however, the well was unusually quiet, the air heavy with the unspoken tension that seemed to follow the village.

As you prepared to lower the bucket into the well, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. You glanced up and felt a familiar pang of discomfort as you saw Lord Corwin striding towards you. Lord Corwin was a balding, pot-bellied man with sagging jowls and skin that seemed to droop with age, his watery eyes always lingering a moment too long on you. He was balding and an overall unpleasant in terms of looks and personality. His dark, richly embroidered clothing marked him clearly as the village noble.

A sigh escaped your lips as you braced yourself. The last time you had seen Lord Corwin, he had been insisting on a marriage proposal—one that you had firmly declined. He was a man of your father’s age, his advances both unsettling and persistent. Despite your clear rejection, he had never seemed to accept it, continuing to approach you with an unnerving determination. You weren’t even sure why he wanted you. Last you checked; you were a mere peasant compared to him.

You tried to steady your nerves as Lord Corwin came to a halt a few feet away. “Good evening, my lady,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of nervousness that felt oddly out of place given his authoritative stance.

“Evening, Lord Corwin,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. You focused on the well, determined to keep the conversation brief.

Lord Corwin took another step closer, his proximity making you increasingly uncomfortable. “May I assist you?” he offered, though his voice carried an undertone that felt intrusive rather than courteous.

“There’s no need, my lord,” you said firmly, avoiding his gaze as you continued to work. You lowered the bucket into the well, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze.

He reached out to help, his hand brushing against yours as he took the bucket. The touch was cold and lingering, sending a shiver down your spine. “Allow me,” he said, his smile widening slightly.

“Thank you, but I can manage,” you said, stepping back to maintain some distance. The conversation felt like a repetition of past encounters, and you were eager to end it.

Lord Corwin’s eyes remained fixed on you as he carried the bucket to the edge of the well. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something more personal, “I’ve been thinking about our previous conversation.”

You stiffened at the mention of the past. You had rejected his marriage proposal some time ago, a decision that had left a mark on both your lives. “Yes, my lord?” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“I wanted to revisit that offer,” he continued, his tone growing more insistent. “Briarfield would be a much different place with you at my side. I’ve reconsidered the benefits of our union. Your knowledge on herbs and medicine could no doubt be used for something greater”

You felt a pang of discomfort at his persistence. “I appreciate your consideration, Lord Corwin,” you said, forcing a polite smile, “but my decision remains the same. I have no desire to marry. I am also still just an apprentice of my mother. I have not yet mastered the art of medicine yet.”

Lord Corwin’s smile faltered slightly, a murderous look flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked his disappointment with a practiced expression. “I see. Well, I hope you will reconsider in the future,” he said, his tone now slightly colder. “Briarfield could be quite different with someone of your qualities….and your beauty”.  On the inside Lord Corwin felt frustrated. He had kindly asked for you hand and yet a little peasant rejected him. That was outrageous! You were a woman who needed to know her place. He thought about how he would break you and meld you into a perfect doll once he gets his hands on you.

You nodded, eager to end the conversation. “Thank you for understanding, my lord. I must return to my duties now.”

As you gathered your things and began to walk away, you felt Lord Corwin’s gaze lingering on your back. The encounter with Lord Corwin had left a bitter taste in your mouth and so you went to sleep that night hoping tomorrow would be better.

You were once again back in the market which was surprisingly bustling with people which as quite rare as people of Briarfield preferred staying indoors. As you strolled through the market stalls, your basket swinging from your arm as you selected fruits and vegetables and some new herbs you could use in making remedies. The vibrant colours of apples, carrots, and cabbages were a welcome contrast. You carefully picked out the ripest fruits and the freshest vegetables, exchanging brief pleasantries with the vendors.

As you turned a corner, you spotted a new stall set up in the market square. It was different from the others; it was not just a simple arrangement of crates and baskets but rather a carefully designed display that seemed to combine artistry with commerce. A large, hand-painted sign that read “Exotic Produce” hung above the stall, the intricate calligraphy catching the light although the words were simple and straightforward. Colourful fabrics draped over the sides of the stall, creating a vibrant backdrop for an array of unusual fruits and vegetables, most of which you had never seen before.

Exotic, brightly coloured fruits from distant lands—deep purple dragon fruit, star-shaped carambolas, and rich golden mangoes—were stacked beside more familiar produce, like apples and cabbages. Interspersed among the fruits were small pots of herbs, their fresh, earthy scent mingling with the sweet fragrance of the fruits. The herbs weren’t just your usual mint or basil but rare varieties with names you couldn’t even pronounce. Hanging from the wooden beams of the stall were clusters of dried flowers and spices, their deep hues and rich aromas filling the air with an almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, drawn in by the sheer variety of it all. Your eyes drifted over the shelves lined with jars of preserves—fig jam, spiced pears, and candied ginger—as well as small wooden boxes containing spices, teas, and even peculiar, dried fruits that looked almost like they belonged in a fairytale.

Behind the counter stood a young man, who, much like his stall, seemed out of place in Briarfield—in the best way possible. His dark hair fell loosely around his face, and his eyes sparkled with an energy that made him seem more alive than anyone else around. He wore a finely embroidered vest over a linen shirt, with intricate patterns that looked hand-sewn, and a soft leather belt hung around his waist, from which dangled small pouches and trinkets.

He noticed you approaching and greeted you with a warm, almost mischievous smile. “Good morning!” he called, his voice light and welcoming. “Welcome to my little corner of the world. I’m Taehyung. What catches your fancy today?”

You smiled back, intrigued by both him and his wares. “Good morning, Taehyung,” you replied. “Your stall is... quite different from the others. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this in Briarfield.”

Taehyung chuckled, a soft, melodic sound. “That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ve travelled far and wide, and I like to bring a bit of everything with me—things that can’t be found in just any ordinary village. I believe even the smallest places deserve a little magic.”

He gestured to a tray of fruit that you couldn’t name. “This, for instance, is a cherimoya—some call it the ‘custard apple.’ It’s sweet and creamy, almost like a dream in fruit form.” He pointed to another pile of peculiar, knobby-looking roots. “And these are galangal. They’re used in soups and teas in faraway lands. Perfect for chilly Briarfield evenings.”

You picked up a starfruit, running your fingers along its ridges. “It’s beautiful,” you said, marvelling at the variety of colours and shapes on display.

Taehyung’s smile softened, his tone becoming more sincere. “Thank you. I wanted to bring something new, something that could brighten up this village a little. Briarfield deserves more than just the tales it’s known for.”

You nodded, appreciating the warmth and care he put into his work. “It’s nice to have something so fresh and different here. Everything else feels so... old.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung said, leaning on the counter with an easy grace. “I’ve always believed that even in the most forgotten corners of the world, there should be beauty and wonder. That’s why I’m here.”

You selected a few pieces of fruit and a small jar of honey that had caught your eye. “I’ll take these, please,” you said, placing them on the counter.

Taehyung packed them up carefully, his movements swift and practiced. “A fine choice,” he said, handing you the package with a smile. “And if you ever need something special—whether it’s some fruit, a spice, or even a little conversation—you know where to find me.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, as if for the first time in a long while, Briarfield held something brighter than its usual shadows. “Thank you, Taehyung. I’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

As you walked away, your basket filled with exotic fruits and herbs, you couldn’t help but feel giddy by short encounter with the young man. Taehyung being kind, warm, and full of life—was a welcome change. You found yourself looking forward to the next time you would meet him.

The next morning you woke up to the unsettling news of a young girl gone missing and as result your father forbad you from leaving the house fearing for your safety. However, spending almost a week cooped up in your room had left you suffocated and so you finally convinced your father that everything will be okay and to let you out. Although he was reluctant, he gave in not wanting to see his daughter pout any further and so you happily made your way outside.

Today, the sky was overcast, threatening rain, as you made your way through the village. You’d just left the bakery, a loaf of sweet bread tucked under your arm, oh how you missed the sweet delight! Just then you heard a familiar voice calling your name.

“Good morning!”

You looked up to see Taehyung approaching, his smile as warm as ever despite the grey skies above. He was carrying a large wooden crate filled with a variety of fruits, herbs, and small glass jars. His appearance was a bit more dishevelled today—his sleeves rolled up, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes—but there was a certain charm to his slightly tousled look.

“Taehyung,” you greeted, surprised but happy to see him. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

“Likewise, I haven’t seen you since that day.” he replied, adjusting the crate in his arms as he stopped in front of you. “It seems fate is playing matchmaker today. How have you been?”

You smiled at his easy-going manner, feeling the tension of the day start to slip away. “I’ve been well, thank you. The recent disappearance of the girl in the village put my father on edge so I was cooped up in my house for some time.” You say laughing a little.

He glanced up at the darkening sky, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Ah that’s a reasonable reaction. Hope everything turns out okay it also looks like we’ll be getting quite the storm soon. I was on my way to the market, but it seems I might be racing the rain.”

You both shared a small laugh, and you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable his presence made you feel, even in the midst of the growing chill around you. Taehyung’s energy had a way of lighting up even the dullest days.

“Here,” he said, shifting the crate to one arm. “I brought something for you.”

“For me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

He nodded, carefully balancing the crate as he reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a very small, intricately carved wooden box. The box was stained a deep, rich brown and etched with swirling patterns that reminded you of the stories you’d heard about enchanted forests and ancient lands. Taehyung handed it to you with a playful smile.

“I found this the other day when I was unpacking some of my wares,” he explained. “It’s a blend of tea leaves and spices from the far south. I thought you might enjoy it. A little warmth to brighten up Briarfield’s rainy days.”

You took the box, feeling its smooth surface under your fingers, and opened it. Inside were delicate, dried leaves with an array of colours—deep reds, golden yellows, and dark greens—mingled with tiny bits of cinnamon bark and star anise. The smell that wafted from the box was comforting, a warm mix of spice and earth. Some of these would make a good herbal tea cure, you thought to yourself.

“Thank you, Taehyung. I’m not sure how to repay you for this.” you said softly, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Consider this as a gift from a friend” he says, face plastered with a boxy smile. “This is lovely. I’ll be sure to try it tonight.” You say excitedly.

He smiled, pleased by your reaction. “I’m glad you like it. If you need instructions on how to brew it, just let me know. It’s a bit different from the usual tea.”

You nodded, slipping the small box into your basket. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe I’ll come by the stall tomorrow if I run into any trouble.”

Taehyung’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m always happy to help. Besides, I’m curious to hear what you think of it. I personally quite enjoy its flavours.”

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind blew through the village square, and you instinctively pulled your cloak tighter around yourself. Taehyung’s hair was blown back, but he simply laughed at the sudden chill.

“I think that’s our cue to take shelter,” he said, glancing back at the sky. “Would you like to walk back together? I can help carry your things.”

You hesitated for a moment, then smiled and handed him your bread to lighten your load. “I’d appreciate that.”

Together, you made your way back through the village, you made a short stop at Taehyung’s house as he left his crate inside and then moving at a brisk pace to beat the rain towards your own cottage. Taehyung talked easily as you walked, telling you stories of his travels and the different markets he had visited in faraway cities. He had a way of making the world seem larger and more exciting than it had ever felt before, filling your mind with the fantasies of adventure beyond the village’s borders.

By the time you reached your cottage, the first few drops of rain had begun to fall, but you were safely inside before the storm truly hit. Taehyung lingered at the door for a moment, his smile never wavering.

“Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy the tea,” he said, handing you the basket of you bread back. “But don’t forget to tell me how it turns out.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “Thank you again, Taehyung. It was nice running into you.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replied, giving you a small bow before stepping back into the rain.

As you watched him walk away, disappearing into the misty streets of Briarfield, you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of warmth in your chest.

You closed the door, the small wooden box of tea still in your hand and smiled to yourself. It seemed that with each encounter, Taehyung brought a little more joy into your life. Perhaps Briarfield wasn’t so gloomy after all.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of cold, calculating eyes watched from a distance as you and Taehyung exchanged smiles and laughter. Lord Corwin stood in the shadow of a nearby building, his gaunt face twisted into a scowl. His hand gripped the nearest wall tightly.

He had been on his way to visit your family, as he often did under the pretence of “checking in” on village matters. But as he saw you walk with that... that merchant, a slow, burning anger began to churn in his chest.

Corwin had noticed the way your eyes lit up when you talked to Taehyung, the way you smiled so easily at him, something you never did when he was near. It sickened him. How dare you, a girl of such modest means, reject his marriage proposal and then offer such warmth to a mere merchant—a man who was not even of noble blood?

The memory of your refusal still stung bitterly. He had been so sure you would accept his hand when he had asked for it nearly a year ago when turned of age. After all, what better offer could there be for a girl of your station than to marry a lord? He had thought he was doing you a favour by offering you a future above the one your humble lineage could ever provide. But instead, you had rejected him—politely, yes, but firmly.

And now... now you were entertaining this, Taehyung. Corwin sneered at the sight of him, with his polished charm and his ridiculous trinkets. What could he possibly offer you that a nobleman could not? A few exotic fruits? A handful of spices? Corwin couldn’t understand why you would favour someone so beneath him. He had the wealth, the power, the standing. Yet, it was this commoner who had caught your attention.

Corwin’s mind raced with jealousy as he watched Taehyung walks away into the rain, his cloak billowing behind him. His gaze then shifted back to you as you stood in the doorway of your cottage, a small smile playing on your lips as you lingered with the box of tea in hand.

His stomach twisted in disgust. That smile should have been for him—Lord Corwin, the one who had the means to truly take care of you. And yet, you had chosen to waste your time with a man who had nothing of worth to offer, a mere peasant in Corwin’s eyes.

As the rain began to fall harder, Corwin remained in the shadows, his mind simmering with dark thoughts. He would not allow this to continue. He had been patient, waiting for you to see sense and reconsider his proposal. But now, with this newcomer in the picture, he knew that his patience was wearing thin.

Corwin had power in Briarfield, influence that stretched far beyond what someone like Taehyung could comprehend. If he needed to remind you of your place and who truly held sway in this village, then so be it. He would not be so easily dismissed—not by you, not by anyone.

His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sinister smile as he turned away from the scene. The rain pelted down on him, but he hardly noticed. His mind was already spinning with plans, ways to bend the village to his will, ways to ensure that you would come to see him not as a suitor, but as an inevitable force.

And if Taehyung got in the way... well, Lord Corwin had dealt with nuisances before. This time would be no different.

As he disappeared into the misty streets, the shadows of Briarfield seemed to wrap around him, as if conspiring with his every dark thought. You might not have seen him, but he had seen enough.

And he was not going to forget.

As the days turned into months, your interactions with Taehyung became a cherished part of your routine. Each visit to his stall, each shared conversation, subtly wove the threads of affection between you, creating a bond that neither of you had anticipated.

It began with the little things. Taehyung’s warm smile became a bright spot in your day, a beacon of light in the otherwise dim atmosphere of Briarfield. His thoughtful gestures—saving the ripest fruits, sharing new herbs he’d acquired, and always finding a moment to chat—made your visits to his stall something you eagerly anticipated.

One crisp autumn morning, as you stopped by to pick up some vegetables, Taehyung greeted you with an excited sparkle in his eye. “I’ve got something special today,” he said, pulling out a small basket filled with fragrant herbs and colourful root vegetables. “I thought you might like to try making a stew with these.”

You smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. “That’s very kind of you, Taehyung. I’ll definitely give it a try.”

Taehyung leaned against the wooden frame of his stall, his curiosity piqued. “You seem to know a lot about herbs yourself. Is it something your family taught you?”

You nodded as you examined the herbs, he handed you. “Yes, my mother is a skilled healer. She’s been teaching me since I was young. I’m learning how to mix tinctures and create salves to help with common ailments around the village.” You paused, twirling a sprig of thyme between your fingers. “It’s given me a sense of independence, something to focus on besides the daily grind of village life.”

His eyes softened as he listened. “That must be fulfilling, knowing that you’re helping people.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his gaze. “It is. Sometimes it’s exhausting, but it’s rewarding when someone comes to you in pain and leaves feeling better.” You glanced up at him and added, “And it also gives me a reason to spend time outside the house. Not many girls here get that luxury.”

Taehyung’s expression grew thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve found a way to escape, even if it’s just for a moment,” he said. “I’ve seen how stifling it can be here, especially for women.”

You appreciated his understanding. “Exactly. The knowledge my mother has given me makes me feel… free, in a way. I get to explore the woods, gather plants, and create something valuable for others.” You smiled softly, holding up the herbs. “And it helps when someone like you brings something new to try.”

Taehyung’s grin widened, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the budding connection between you. “I’m glad I could add a bit of colour to your day. And who knows, maybe one day you’ll teach me a thing or two about healing.”

You chuckled, feeling a lightness in your chest. “I’d be happy to. Though I have a feeling you’ve got plenty of your own knowledge to share.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a more playful tone. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to keep trading lessons, won’t we?”

Your heart fluttered at the intimacy in his words, and as you both stood there, surrounded by the rich scents of herbs and the quiet bustle of the market, you realized that this was more than just a simple exchange. It was a promise of something deeper.

Soon, your visits to Taehyung's stall became more than just routine errands—they were moments of genuine connection. On this particularly rainy day, the market was quieter than usual. Taehyung, usually so full of energy, looked a bit worn out as he organized his stall. The rain had beaten down hard, and a small puddle was forming near the edge of his stand.

You approached his stall with a warm smile, noticing the concern on his face. “It looks like the rain has really taken a toll today,” you said, offering him a sympathetic glance.

Taehyung looked up and smiled, though his eyes showed the strain of the weather. “Yes, it’s been a tough day. The rain keeps people away. But I suppose it gives me a chance to get to know my favourite customer a bit better.”

You chuckled and stepped behind the stall to help him. “Well, I am glad to be of assistance. What can I do to help?”

“Could you pass me those cloths? I need to wipe down the counter before it gets any worse,” Taehyung said, pointing to a stack of cloths near the back of the stall.

As you worked side by side, you began chatting about lighter topics to lift the mood. “So, tell me more about your travels. You have mentioned a few places, but what was the most memorable?”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened as he started to talk. “Ah, there was this one time in a small village in the east. They had this festival where they floated lanterns on the river. The entire night was lit up with thousands of glowing lights, and the reflection in the water made it look like the stars had fallen.”

You smiled, imagining the scene. “That sounds beautiful. I cannot even imagine how magical it must have been.”

“It was,” Taehyung said, his voice taking on a wistful tone. “But what made it special was sharing it with people who had never seen anything like it before. They were so full of wonder.”

The conversation flowed easily, and the shared experience of tidying up amid the rain made you feel closer. You noticed Taehyung’s laughter was more frequent today, his usual upbeat demeanour peeking through the weariness.

“Do you ever get tired of all the traveling?” you asked, wiping the counter with a damp cloth.

He shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Not really. Each place has its own story, its own charm. But there are times, like now, when I’m glad to be in one spot, especially when I have someone to share it with.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, your own smile widening. “I’m glad you’re here, too. It is nice to have someone to talk to who understands.”

Taehyung’s eyes met yours with a tender look. “And I’m glad you’re here. Your stories about this village, they make me appreciate the little things more. Even a rainy day like today.”

The sound of the rain tapping against the stall created a soothing backdrop to your conversation. As you worked together, the storm outside seemed less imposing, and the bond between you grew stronger. Each shared moment, each laugh, and every serious conversation deepened your connection, making the quiet, rainy day a memorable chapter in your evolving relationship.

Winter arrived, and with it came the chill that seemed to seep into every corner of Briarfield. The cold was relentless, wrapping the village in a frosty embrace. One evening, as you walked home from the market, you noticed Taehyung trudging through the snow, his breath visible in small clouds against the icy air. He was bundled up in a thick coat, a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck.

"Hey, Y/N!" Taehyung called out, his face brightening as he spotted you. “You look like you have had a long day. How about a break from the cold? There is a new cafe nearby that opened up that serves the most amazing hot chocolate!”

The invitation caught you by surprise, but the idea of warming up in a cozy cafe was too tempting to pass up. You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d love to. Lead the way!”

The cafe was a small, charming place with warm, wooden interiors and a soft glow from the hanging lamps. The scent of freshly baked pastries and rich chocolate greeted you as you stepped inside, making you feel instantly at ease. You and Taehyung found a small table by the window, where the snow outside created a picturesque scene.

As you both settled in, Taehyung waved to the barista and ordered two cups of hot chocolate. When the steaming mugs arrived, you took a sip and sighed in relief. The drink was velvety and rich, the perfect antidote to the winter chill.

“This is incredible,” you said, savouring the warmth. “I’ve never had hot chocolate this good before.”

Taehyung smiled, his eyes reflecting a wistful light. “It is one of my favourites. It brings back memories of home.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Home? Where did you grow up?”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he took a sip of his drink. “I grew up in a bustling city far from here. My mother used to make hot chocolate just like this. Every winter, we would sit together by the fire, sipping it and talking about our day. It was a small but comforting ritual.”

The warmth of the drink brought a mixture of fondness and sadness to his eyes. “What happened to your parents?” you asked gently, sensing the shift in his mood.

Taehyung’s smile faltered, and he looked down at his mug, his fingers tracing the rim. “It is a difficult memory. When I was young, there was a terrible accident. My parents were traveling to a distant town to sell their goods, and their carriage was caught in a snowstorm. They did not make it. I was left alone, and I had to fend for myself.”

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his. “I am so sorry, Taehyung. That must have been incredibly hard.”

He nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “It was. But I learned to carry their memory with me. It’s why I treasure moments like these, where I can share stories and connect with others. It is a way to keep their spirit alive.”

Seeing the sadness in his eyes, you wanted to lift his spirits. You took a deep breath and began, “When I was a child, we had this wonderful tradition during winter. Every year, my mother would make a special batch of gingerbread cookies. We would spend an entire day decorating them with icing and candy, and then she’d tell me stories about the origins of each cookie shape—angels, stars, and hearts. Those stories always made me feel like I was part of something magical, even in the midst of the cold and darkness.”

Taehyung’s eyes brightened at the image. “That sounds so lovely. It must have been a beautiful tradition.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of the memory. “It was. It made the winters feel less harsh, and the stories always filled me with a sense of wonder. Sometimes, when I look back, I realize how those little moments shaped my view of the world.”

Taehyung’s expression softened into a genuine smile, his eyes twinkling. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It is nice to hear about those little moments of happiness. It makes me think that there’s more magic left in the world than I thought.”

The conversation continued, filled with more personal stories and laughter. As you enjoyed the warmth of the cafe and the comfort of Taehyung’s presence, the snow outside seemed to fall even more gently, creating a serene and magical backdrop to your evening together.

As spring approached, the transformation in your relationship with Taehyung became more evident. The simple gestures between you, a lingering touch, a shared glance, began to carry a deeper meaning. Taehyung’s once casual conversations now carried an undertone of affection, and his smile seemed to linger a little longer when he looked at you.

One afternoon, you decided to take a walk through the blooming meadows just outside the village. The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the landscape was painted with vibrant colours as the earth shook off the winter’s cold embrace.

As you walked along the winding path, Taehyung turned to you with a soft smile. “The meadows look stunning this time of year, don’t they? It’s like the world’s been dipped in colour.”

You nodded, taking in the beauty around you. “It is beautiful. I have always loved spring. It feels like a time of new beginnings.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “You know, I used to dream about traveling to places like this when I was a child. My mother would tell me stories about far-off lands and the wonders they held. Being here with you, seeing these meadows, it feels like those dreams are coming true.”

You felt a warm flush at his words, and before you could fully process it, Taehyung gently took your hand in his. The gesture was unexpected but felt completely natural. His touch was gentle, and it sent a pleasant thrill through your fingers. You looked up at him, surprised by the boldness of the moment.

“I’ve always admired your sense of wonder,” Taehyung said softly, his thumb lightly brushing your knuckles. “It’s one of the things that drew me to you. You see magic in the ordinary, and that is something I’ve always wanted to cherish.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You had felt a growing connection between you but hearing him express it so openly was both thrilling and comforting. “I never imagined that someone could see me that way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand lightly. “But I’m glad you do. You have brought so much joy and excitement into my life. It’s like you’ve awakened a part of me that I didn’t even know was there.”

Taehyung’s smile widened, and he pulled you gently closer as you continued walking. “I feel the same way. Being with you has made me realize that there’s more to life than just surviving. You have shown me that there’s beauty in every moment, and it’s something I want to experience with you.”

As you walked hand in hand through the meadows, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The shared conversations, the way Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you with affection, and the gentle touches between you all spoke of a growing bond that was more than just friendship. You were falling for him, and it was a feeling that seemed to grow with every passing day.

At one point, you stopped to admire a particularly vibrant patch of flowers. Taehyung leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you remember when we first met? I never would have imagined that our friendship would grow into something like this.”

You laughed softly, looking into his eyes. “Neither did I, but I would not change a thing. It has been an incredible journey.”

Taehyung’s gaze softened, and he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Here’s to many more adventures together, and to finding magic in every moment we share.”

But one day you got the news that would absolutely break your heart. The news that Taehyung was going to leave the village soon. He has spent almost a year in Briarfield at this point.

The sun was setting, casting a golden hue as the last light of day began to fade. The village was quiet, with only the distant sounds of evening settling in and the loud noises of the crows. Taehyung had just finished packing up his stall for the day, and the air was filled with the crisp promise of twilight.

You stood beside him; your heart heavy with the knowledge that he would soon be leaving for a new venture—a journey that would take him far from the village. The thought of him being away from you was almost too much to bear. As he finished securing the last of his supplies, you took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

“Taehyung,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you sure you must leave? I wish there was something I could do to keep you here.”

Taehyung looked at you, his expression a mixture of sadness and determination. He reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. “I wish I could stay too. But I am but a merchant who must travel to make a living selling new things. I need to go, but not because I want to leave you behind.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the depth of his emotion reflected in them. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about our future. I don’t want to imagine a life where we’re apart. Every moment with you has made me realize just how much I want to share my life with you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened, your heart aching with the intensity of his words. “Taehyung, what are you saying?”

He squeezed your hands gently, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m saying that I want us to be together. I want to take you with me, not just on this journey, but on all the adventures that life has to offer. I want to travel the world with you by my side, to explore new places and create memories together.”

His words were like a balm to your anxious heart. The thought of traveling with Taehyung, of experiencing new worlds and building a life together, filled you with a profound sense of joy and excitement.

“I know it won’t be easy, I know I’m no wealthy nobleman,” he continued, his gaze unwavering, “and there will be challenges along the way. But I promise you this: I will always be there for you, and I will work every day to make sure that our life together is everything we’ve dreamed of. Your smile, the little expressions you make when you like something, the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about all the things you wish to do, the way you fiddle with your clothes when you get shy... all the little things. My soul hurt from within at the mere thought of never seeing that again.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you could see the same emotion reflected in Taehyung’s eyes. “Taehyung, I don’t want to be apart from you either. I’ve fallen in love with you, and the thought of being with you, of seeing the world together—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Taehyung’s face lit up with a radiant smile, his eyes shining with happiness. “Then come with me. Let’s build a future together, explore new horizons, and face whatever comes our way. We can make our dreams a reality, side by side.”

You nodded, a smile breaking through your tears. “Yes, Taehyung. I want that more than anything.”

He drew you into a gentle embrace, holding you close as the last light of day melted into the evening sky. The world seemed to stand still as you both revelled in the moment, the promise of a shared future making the present moment feel like a dream come true.

As you pulled back slightly, Taehyung cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and loving. “Well, I guess I should go the traditional root and ask for your hand from your father right darling” you giggled lightly hitting his shoulder and nodding.

You sat quietly by the window, your fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress as you stole glances at Taehyung. He stood with quiet confidence across the room, but you could sense the tension in his posture. Your heart raced, anticipation mingling with fear as you awaited your father’s decision.

Your father sat in his armchair, arms crossed, and brow furrowed in deep contemplation. He regarded Taehyung with a scrutinizing gaze, the weight of his protective instincts evident in every line of his face. You could feel the tension in the air—your father had always been fiercely protective of you, especially after all the unsolicited attention from Lord Corwin.

"So, Taehyung…" Your father’s voice cut through the silence, steady but probing. "You wish to marry my daughter?"

Taehyung nodded respectfully, stepping forward with a calm determination that steadied your nerves. "Yes, sir. I love her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, flicking to you and then back to Taehyung. "How old are you, boy?"

"Twenty-six, sir."

Your father’s brow raised ever so slightly, and his gaze softened, just for a moment. You could tell he was weighing the age difference in his mind, but six years between you didn’t seem so bad to him—especially when compared to Lord Corwin, a man nearly his own age who had been making his interest in you disturbingly clear for years. The thought of Corwin’s advances made his stomach churn with disgust. The idea of that old, lecherous man laying claim to you was something your father could never tolerate.

"And what is it you do for a living?" your father asked, his tone regaining its edge. He leaned forward slightly in his chair, as if this question held the key to everything.

"I’m a merchant," Taehyung replied. "I trade in rare and exotic goods and sometimes in textile and jewellery. I’ve worked hard to build my business, and I can provide for your daughter."

Your father nodded slowly, digesting the information. "Being a merchant… It’s an unpredictable trade. One day you could thrive, and the next, you’re barely scraping by. How can I trust that you’ll be able to take care of her?"

Taehyung straightened his shoulders, determination flashing in his eyes. "I understand your concern, sir. But I’ve built my business carefully. I’ve secured reliable connections and steady income. More importantly, I will do everything in my power to fulfil her dream of exploring the world. I will give her love, security, and a life full of joy. I promise you that."

Your father leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting between you and Taehyung. His eyes softened as they landed on you, a brief flicker of emotion crossing his face. You could see that he was weighing not just Taehyung’s words, but the way you had been glowing with happiness ever since you met him.

He sighed deeply; his expression conflicted and weighing his options. The image of Lord Corwin, with his balding head and leering eyes, flickered through your mind. Corwin had been circling you like a predator since before you had even turned eighteen, making his intentions clear in ways that had always made your skin crawl. The fact that a man so much older than your father could desire you had never sat well with him.

"At least you’re not old enough to be her father," your father muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked up at Taehyung again, a shadow of protectiveness still lingering in his eyes. "That… man, Corwin… He’s been after her for years. I don’t trust him. Not one bit. The thought of him trying to court my daughter makes my blood boil."

Taehyung’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Lord Corwin, but he quickly masked it with a polite nod. He always noted the looming presence of Lord Corwin around you but never commented on it. "I understand, sir. I would never treat her the way he has. I want to give her a life full of love and respect, not possession."

Your father studied him for a long moment, his gaze softening as the words sank in. Finally, he turned his attention to you, his voice gentle. "And you, my daughter? Is this truly what you want? Does he make you happy?"

Your cheeks flushed a soft pink as you nodded shyly, your hands tightening in your lap. "Yes, Father. He… he makes me happy."

A long sigh escaped your father as he looked between the two of you. He saw the way Taehyung’s eyes never left you, the way they softened when they looked at you, filled with affection. He saw the glow in your face, the happiness that had settled over you ever since Taehyung had entered your life.

"That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "To see you happy, to know you’re loved."

He turned to Taehyung, his expression softening but still holding a firm warning. "If you promise to cherish her, to be a good husband, then I’ll give you, my blessing. But know this, Taehyung… if you ever hurt her or make her unhappy, you’ll have me to answer to."

Taehyung bowed deeply, gratitude and respect evident in every movement. "Thank you, sir. I swear to you, I will make her happier than she’s ever been."

Your father nodded, standing and extending his hand toward Taehyung. As the two men shook hands, a sense of relief washed over you, the tension that had held you captive slowly dissipating. Your mother who had silently watched the exchanged came with a bright smile to congratulate and embrace you.

The future you had dreamed of now felt real filled with love, adventure, and the promise of happiness that only Taehyung could bring.

You felt like you were floating on top of the world. You felt the happiest you ever felt standing in Taehyung’s embrace. Nothing could possibly go wrong you thought. How naive you were to hold such expectations...

When it all came crashing down

The news struck Lord Corwin like a physical blow: your father had agreed to let Taehyung marry you. You, the object of his obsession for so many years, were to wed someone far beneath the station Corwin had believed only he could offer you. His heart churned with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and festering jealousy, each emotion more poisonous than the last.

For years, Corwin had watched you grow, long before you had even turned eighteen. He had admired you from afar, convincing himself that once you came of age, he would swoop in, offer you marriage, and make you his. He believed you needed someone with power and experience—a man of influence who could protect you. He told himself that age was irrelevant when it came to desire and control. And so, he waited, biding his time until you would be old enough for him to claim. You were just so beautiful and young he felt excitement course through his body at the thought of destroying that innocence. He wanted to break you, mind, body, and soul.

The comparison gnawed at him. Taehyung was everything Corwin was not: young, lean, and graceful. Where Corwin had become bloated over the years, his once-powerful body sagging under the weight of indulgence, Taehyung’s figure was trim and strong. His skin held the warmth of youth, tanned from days spent labouring under the sun. Corwin’s own complexion was pale and mottled, the sagging skin of his jowls and the red blotches on his nose a testament to years of excess and drink.

Taehyung’s dark, thick hair fell in soft waves around his sharp features, while Corwin’s own greasy strands had thinned to the point of near baldness. He could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror anymore, especially when the memory of Taehyung’s easy smile and clear, confident eyes lingered in his mind.

What did you see in him aside from his handsome looks? Corwin seethed, his beady eyes narrowing with contempt as he sat brooding in his dimly lit manor. His fingers, swollen and stubby, adorned with gaudy rings, dug into the arms of his chair as he thought of Taehyung’s hands—strong, capable, hands that had undoubtedly touched you in ways Corwin could only dream of.

And that’s what enraged him the most. For years, he had waited, believed that you would come around, that you would see him as your only option for security. Yet now you had chosen someone like Taehyung—an outsider, a nobody, who had somehow won over both your heart and your father’s approval.

Corwin’s stomach churned with resentment. His bulging belly pressed uncomfortably against his embroidered waistcoat, reminding him of how much he had let himself go. He felt grotesque compared to Taehyung’s effortless charm. The thought of you looking at Taehyung with love and admiration, of you sharing your smiles and your dreams with him, made Corwin sick with jealousy. It should have been him. You should have been his.

You didn’t know it yet, but Corwin wasn’t going to let you go so easily. He had waited years for you, years watching from the shadows, and he wouldn’t allow some pretty-faced merchant to take you away from him. No—if he couldn’t have you, then no one would.

Seething in his dark manor, Corwin’s mind twisted and turned, seeking a way to tear you away from Taehyung. His eyes, bloodshot with rage, caught the flicker of candlelight and a cruel smile crept onto his lips. The sacrifice. Of course. It had been right in front of him the entire time.

For centuries, the village of Briarfield had performed the virgin sacrifice ritual to appease the so-called devil. But Corwin knew the truth—it was a hoax, a vile tradition created by the nobles to satisfy their own depraved desires. Every year, they selected a virgin girl under the guise of protecting the village, only to defile her and leave her for dead like it was nothing.

Corwin had never hated the ritual. In fact, he had always seen it as an effective way to maintain control, to keep the villagers fearful and obedient. But this year, he would use it for his own purposes—to make sure that you were his, and only his.

Summoning the village elders under the pretence of urgent business, Corwin presented his case. They met in a candle-lit chamber, the air heavy with the smell of burning wax and damp stone. The elders, grey-haired and hunched with age, listened carefully as Corwin laid out his plan.

“The time has come once again,” Corwin began, his voice calm but insidious. “The devil demands his sacrifice, and we must uphold our sacred duty to protect this village.”

The elders nodded. They had been complicit in the ritual for years, their faces grim and indifferent. They knew what it truly meant, and they were aware of what Corwin was about to suggest.

“This year,” Corwin continued, his tone taking on a darker edge, “the girl has already been chosen.”

His eyes gleamed as he spoke your name.

“She is the perfect offering,” Corwin said with a sickening smile. “Her engagement to Taehyung is a distraction—a temptation that the devil himself would surely seek to punish. We must act before it is too late.”

The elders exchanged knowing glances. There was no hesitation, no resistance. They agreed without question, their loyalty to the hoax and their own twisted desires overshadowing any concern for your well-being. All they cared about was the material possessions given to them by the nobles. They far to gone to consider feelings of others as greed had completely overtaken them, over the years. The decision had been finalised.

The next morning, the announcement had been made. This year’s sacrifice was You.

As the news spread, panic swept through Briarfield like wildfire. Whispers of the devil’s wrath filled the air, and fear gripped the hearts of the villagers. They believed that the ritual was real, that sacrificing you would protect them from harm.

But Corwin knew better. He watched from the shadows, his heart dark with satisfaction. You were trapped now, ensnared by a centuries-old lie designed to rob you of everything. And when the time came, he would be there waiting. Not even Taehyung could save you from the fate that had been sealed.

In his mind, you were already his.

You stood there with wide eyes at the town square as you processed the news. The words rang in your ears, a low murmur at first, like distant thunder, before crashing into your consciousness with the force of a storm.

You… you had been chosen as the sacrifice.

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Your heart hammered in your chest, your limbs went numb, and the world around you seemed to close in. The villagers’ faces blurred together, their whispers and murmurs growing louder. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of fear and dread.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head slowly. “Not me…”

This was not supposed to happen. You had been so close to escaping this cursed place, so close to finally living the life you had dreamed of with Taehyung by your side. A life of love, freedom, and adventure—a life far away from the darkness that clung to Briarfield like a shroud.

But now, that dream was being ripped from you.

Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, your mind reeling. What had you done to deserve this? Why were you being punished? You had seen other girls chosen before, seen the hollow, terrified looks in their eyes as they were led away to their deaths. You had always feared this moment, but you never thought it would be you.

A cold, bitter chill swept over you, and your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t let them take you. But deep down, you knew the village’s decision was final. There was no escaping the elders’ judgment, no defying the centuries-old ritual that had claimed so many before you.

Then, through the crowd, you saw him. Taehyung.

"Y/N!" His voice cut through the noise, filled with desperation. He pushed past the villagers, his face a mix of fear and fury. "Y/N!"

As soon as you saw him, the numbness that had overtaken you shattered. Your legs trembled, and you took a step forward, reaching out as if he were your last lifeline.

“Taehyung!” you cried, your voice breaking as tears blurred your vision. “Taehyung, please!”

In an instant, he was there, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace. The warmth of his body, the strength of his grip—it was everything you needed in that moment, everything that kept you from falling apart.

"I won’t let them do this to you," he whispered fiercely, his voice shaking with emotion. "I swear, I won’t let them take you."

But even as he spoke those words, you know how impossible that was. Taehyung was new here so he cannot grasp the severity of everything. The elders had spoken, and the ritual demanded obedience. No one had ever defied it and survived.

Before either of you could say another word, strong hands grabbed Taehyung by the shoulders, yanking him away from you. You stumbled back, reaching for him, panic surging through your veins.

"No!" you screamed, lunging forward, but more hands grabbed you, dragging you backward.

"Y/N!" Taehyung shouted, struggling against the men who restrained him. His eyes were wild with fear, his hands clawing at the air as he fought to reach you.

You kicked and thrashed, desperate to break free, to run to him, to hold him one last time. But it was useless. The men’s grip was iron, their expressions cold and unfeeling as they pulled you toward your home to prepare you for the ceremony.

“Taehyung!” you cried out, tears streaming down your face as you reached for him, your fingertips brushing the air between you. “Don’t leave me!”

“I won’t! I promise!” Taehyung yelled; his voice hoarse with desperation as he was dragged further away. “I’ll come for you, I swear!”

But the distance between you grew, your bodies pulled further apart by the hands of fate. His voice became fainter, swallowed by the murmur of the crowd.

As they forced you back toward your home, you twisted and turned, your heart breaking with every step. Your hands reached out, but Taehyung was no longer there. The emptiness between you felt like a void, and for the first time, true fear gripped your soul.

Your room was cold and quiet, save for the soft splashing of water as your mother gently bathed your skin. You sat in the large wooden tub, your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth, though nothing could shield you from the dread settling in your chest. Steam rose from the water, clinging to the air with an eerie stillness, but it did nothing to soothe your trembling body.

Your mother’s hands moved over you with care, her touch soft but weighed down by sorrow. She washed your arms and shoulders, wiping away the traces of the life you once knew, preparing you for the inevitable. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes dull with grief as she worked in silence. She had not spoken since you were declared as the sacrifice, and the absence of your father—who had left the house earlier, unable to bear the sight of his daughter’s impending fate—hung like a ghost in the room.

After bathing you, she helped you from the tub, wrapping you in a thin cloth. She guided you toward a small stool by the fire, her steps slow, as if every movement pained her. The warmth of the hearth barely touched your skin, doing little to chase away the cold knot of fear in your stomach.

Your mother knelt behind you, her hands moving through your long, damp hair. She did not braid it as she usually did for such occasions. Instead, she combed it gently with her fingers, allowing the dark strands to fall free down your back like a cascading waterfall. Your hair framed your face, its softness a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the ceremony that awaited you. The gentle curls of your locks, freshly washed and perfumed with lavender oil, gave you an air of innocence that would make you appear even more pure to the villagers.

The silence between you both was heavy. You could feel her hands trembling slightly as she worked, her breaths shallow and uneven. She parted your hair down the side, letting it fall in loose waves, unadorned, framing your face in a way that made you look younger, more delicate.

When your hair was dry, your mother brought out the ceremonial dress from the chest at the foot of your bed. She never wanted to use it but here she is. This knowledge weighs at her. Her hands shook as she held the white linen gown before you, her lips pressed into a thin line. The dress was simple, yet ethereal—a symbol of the purity expected of you.

The bodice was a fitted corset, but modest, cinching gently at your waist before flaring out into a flowing skirt that reached down to your ankles. The sleeves were long and billowed softly, cinching at the wrists, giving the appearance of delicate wings. Silver embroidery traced the neckline and cuffs, small and intricate, adding a subtle touch of elegance to the otherwise plain garment.

Your mother helped you step into the gown, her fingers carefully fastening the laces at the back. With each tug, you felt as though the dress was binding you tighter into your fate. The fabric clung to your body, soft but suffocating, as if it were swallowing you whole.

When the final lace was tied, your mother stepped back, her eyes filling with tears as she took in the sight of you. The pure white of the dress, the soft waves of your dark hair, and the pale glow of your skin all worked together to create the image of a perfect sacrifice—untouched, innocent, and ready to be offered.

“You look… beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

But the word felt hollow. You didn’t feel beautiful. You felt like a vessel—something to be given away, something to be used.

As your mother placed a tender kiss on your forehead, you swallowed the lump in your throat, your heart aching with a desperation you could not express. Your father’s absence weighed heavily on you.

This wasn’t how your life was supposed to end. Not like this.

But as your mother’s hands lingered on your shoulders, the reality of it all sank in and all you could do was pray for any God out there to help you.

Taehyung paced back and forth in the small, dimly lit room where he had been confined. The walls, lined with aged stone and heavy curtains, seemed to close in on him, suffocating his hopes. His mind raced with plans and possibilities, each more desperate than the last. He had been thrown into a locked chamber, barred from leaving and, most painfully, from seeing you. He could hear muffled voices and footsteps outside, the occasional clinking of metal, and the distant sound of the village preparing for the ritual. Each noise was a painful reminder of the precious moments slipping away.

Determined not to give up, Taehyung had already tried every lockpicking trick he knew, but the door remained stubbornly shut. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy weight pressing down on him as he thought of you being prepared for the ceremony. The images of your face—so full of hope and love suddenly replaced by shock—haunted him. He could only imagine how frightened you must be, and the thought of you being forced into the clutches of the so-called "ceremony" filled him with a deep, cold rage.

In a fit of frustration, he banged on the door, shouting for anyone who might hear him. “Let me out! I must see her!” His voice echoed off the stone walls, but it was met with silence. He pounded on the door again, desperate, and breathless. “Please! Someone, help me!”

His efforts were met with nothing but the indifferent response of the guards outside, their footsteps fading as they moved away. Taehyung sank to the floor, his back against the door. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white, and took deep, steadying breaths, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within him.

In his heart, he knew he couldn’t give up. Not now, not when the love of his life was in such grave danger. Taehyung's mind raced with a single, driving thought: he had to escape, he had to save you. His determination hardened into resolve as he worked to find another way out, his thoughts consumed with the promise he had made to you—that he would never let anything come between you.

He could only hope that, somehow, he would find a way to break free and reach you in time.

And as his mind tried to come up with another escape plan, he door to his chamber creaked open. The dim light from the corridor spilled in, and there, standing in the doorway with a twisted smile, was Lord Corwin. Taehyung’s heart sank, his stomach churning with a sickening sense of dread.

Corwin stepped inside, his heavy footfalls echoing in the small room. He surveyed Taehyung with a sneer, his eyes brimming with malice and twisted satisfaction. "Well, well, if it isn’t the valiant merchant," Corwin drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "So full of love and devotion for that sweet little girl, aren’t you?"

Taehyung rose to his feet, glaring at Corwin with barely contained fury. "What do you want?" he spat, his voice trembling with rage.

Corwin’s smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. He moved closer, his oily presence filling the room like a vile stench. "I’ve come to deliver some unfortunate news, I’m afraid. You see, while you sit here locked away, your precious bride-to-be is being prepared for an incredibly special ceremony. One that has been a tradition in Briarfield for centuries."

Taehyung’s jaw clenched as he stepped forward, his hands balling into fists. "I already know about the ritual," he growled. "But you won’t lay a finger on her. I’ll stop you."

Corwin chuckled darkly, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "Ah, but you don’t know the true nature of the ritual, do you? No, you still believe in that quaint little lie they talk about appeasing the devil." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sickening whisper. "The truth is the ritual has nothing to do with the devil. It’s all for us. The noble men of Briarfield. Each year, we choose a girl. We strip her of her dignity, her purity... we defile her. And then, once we’ve had our fun, we leave her to die."

Taehyung’s eyes widened in horror, his breath catching in his throat. He felt sick, his vision blurring with rage as Corwin continued.

"And your sweet little bride-to-be," Corwin sneered, "will be no different. I will have the pleasure of taking her first. I have waited so long for this moment—watching her blossom into womanhood, untouched and pure, just waiting for me. And when I am done with her..." He paused, his lips curling into a grotesque smile. "Well, let’s just say she won’t be the same girl you fell in love with."

Taehyung’s vision went red. He lunged at Corwin, his fists aiming straight for the older man’s leering face. "You bastard!" he roared, but before his fist could connect, two guards grabbed him from behind, pulling him back with brute force.

Corwin stepped back, laughing cruelly as Taehyung struggled against the guards. "Temper, temper," Corwin taunted, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You’re nothing but a pathetic peasant, thinking you could protect her. What could you possibly offer her? A life of selling trinkets in the market? She’s too good for you, boy."

Taehyung strained against the guards; his teeth gritted in pure fury. "I’ll kill you! I swear if you touch her-"

"You’ll do nothing," Corwin interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "Because you’re weak. You’ll sit here, helpless, while we take what’s ours." He adjusted his coat with a smug grin. "Enjoy the show from your cage, boy. I’ll be sure to tell her how useless you were in the end."

With that, Corwin turned on his heel and strode toward the door, a satisfied smile plastered across his face. As he reached the threshold, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. "She’ll cry for you, you know," he said, as if savouring the thought. "But you won’t be able to do a thing about it."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Taehyung trembling with rage and helplessness. His heart ached with fear for you, but the fire in his chest refused to die. Even as he struggled against the guards, his mind churned with thoughts of revenge, desperate to stop Corwin and save you from the fate he had so vilely described.

The village square was eerily quiet despite the large gathering of people. You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, dressed in your white ceremonial gown. The wind tugged at the hem, but it did little to stir the suffocating atmosphere. It was as if the very air had thickened around you, heavy with expectation and dread.

The villagers watched with false reverence, their eyes dull and unfeeling, offering hollow words of praise for your supposed bravery. Bravery? It was a bitter joke. You had not chosen to stand here, had not chosen this fate. You were forced- condemned.

The elder approached you with a blindfold in his gnarled hands, his wrinkled face twisted into a grim mask of ceremony. His fingers were cold and rough as they tied the cloth tightly around your eyes, shutting out the last slivers of the village you had known all your life. Darkness consumed your vision, leaving only the cacophony of sound and the bitter taste of fear on your tongue.

As you stood there, sightless, you could hear your mother sobbing softly from somewhere behind you. Each sob pierced through you like a blade, her grief wrapping around your heart. You wanted to cry out to her, to run to her, Be held and comforted by your mom but your legs were frozen beneath you, bound by invisible chains of duty and terror.

Hands gripped your arms—firm, unyielding hands—and began to guide you forward, pulling you away from the square. You stumbled at first, your feet catching on the uneven ground, but the hands steadied you, urging you on. You could hear the shuffle of boots and the whispering of cloaks as the elders led you through the village, away from the familiar sounds of Briarfield and deeper into the woods.

The ground beneath your feet shifted as you left the cobblestone streets and stepped onto the soft earth of the forest. The air changed, cooler with the scent of moss and decaying leaves. The sounds of the village faded into the distance, replaced by the rustling of trees and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. You could hear the soft chirping of insects and the distant calls of night birds, their eerie songs only heightening the sense of isolation.

Your heart raced in your chest, each step feeling heavier than the last as you were dragged closer to the altar. Your mind raced with images of what was to come, of the horrors Corwin had spoken of, and you fought to keep your breathing steady. The blindfold pressed tightly against your eyelids, and with each passing moment, the reality of your situation sank deeper into your bones.

The elders murmured soft incantations as they led you further into the woods, their voices low and rhythmic, blending with the sounds of the night. But their words brought no comfort, only a sickening reminder of what awaited you at the altar.

You strained your ears, trying to grasp any familiar sounds, anything that would tell you where you were. The world around you had become an abyss, where each sound was amplified in the darkness. The soft brush of leaves against your skin, the cold gust of wind on your face, the distant crackling of a fire you could not see, all of it swirled together in a maddening symphony of fear.

The hands that guided you suddenly stopped, and you could feel the ground beneath your feet shift slightly uneven stones pressing against your soles. You knew, without seeing, that you had arrived at the altar.

You shivered as they lead you towards the, what you assumed to be the alter made up of old ancient slab covered in moss and lichen. As you were laid upon the stone, you could hear the rustling of the elders’ robes. You strained your ears, hoping for some sound that would anchor you in the moment—a bird’s call, the rustle of leaves, anything—but the forest had gone unnervingly quiet. The blindfold pressed tightly against your face, leaving you in total darkness.

You heard the soft scrape of a blade being drawn, the metallic sound causing your heart to lurch in your chest. The elder murmured words in a language you didn't understand, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You were waiting for something, some terrible finality but what came instead was silence. The kind of silence that felt wrong, like it was filled with secrets.

You felt hands on your shoulders, their grip too familiar, too wrong. And then, you heard it, a low, mocking laugh.

It wasn't the deep, otherworldly growl of a devil, but the cruel, triumphant sound of a man who had long desired something he was now moments away from taking. The sound sent a shiver down your spine.

Lord Corwin.

You jerked against the hands that held you, but they tightened, keeping you in place. Your heart pounded in your chest, panic surging through your veins. You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat closed, your voice trapped behind a wall of fear.

"You still believe in the devil, don't you?" Corwin’s voice slithered through the darkness, mocking and taunting. "Poor thing. They have filled your head with stories of demons and sacrifices. But I assure you... there is no devil coming for you tonight."

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. The ceremony, the sacrifice, none of it was real. You were not being offered to some dark entity. You were being handed over to men like him.

"You see," Corwin continued, his voice drawing closer, "this ritual isn’t for protection. It’s for us." He paused, his breath hot and close, sending waves of nausea through you. "For centuries, we've chosen a girl each year to entertain us. To indulge ourselves in ways that the village would never dare to question."

You felt your knees weaken, your body trembling as his words sank in. The stories you had been told since childhood were all lies. The devil was just a tale, a cover for the horrors these men had committed under the guise of tradition.

"Don't struggle," Corwin whispered, his tone sickeningly sweet. "You’ll only make it harder for yourself. After all, you should be honoured to have caught my attention all these years."

Then you felt a hand rustling with your dress and your stomach started twisting at the realisation would exactly Corwin’s words meant. You felt a hand sneak up your dress and grab your thigh and your fight response kicked in. You jerked at the touch and tried your best to swing a fist at where you heard Corwin standing. You were in every disadvantage, but you weren’t going down without a fight. Or so you thought.

You suddenly felt your hands being grabbed and forced down harshly above your head. You cursed aloud at whoever it was but now that both your hands and legs were immobile you weren’t sure what to do. The adrenaline in your body was slowly slipping away and all you felt was terror.

“Tsk tsk tsk, this is not what I expect from you darlin-“ you cut Corwin off  “I don’t care about what you expect from me!” you angrily yelled out but just then you felt a sting on your left cheek.

Lord Corwin had slapped you.

“Somebody really needs to put you in your place. Do not forget you are just a mere woman. You exist just to serve men. The only thing of value you hold is beauty and a fertile body to birth children” Lord Corwin replied venomously.

And just before you could retort back, you felt your dress being ripped and only a gasp left your throat.

“No stay back!” you yelled in desperation as you felt Corwin’s grimy hands roam your exposed legs. You felt his breath near your throat as he leaned down to kiss the area. You felt disgusted and angry. Your mind wondered to Taehyung praying that he would show up somehow. You felt Corwin’s hand slid up and grabbed your chest. You cried angry tears as you decided to yell one last time “Taehyung please save me from here!” you cried loud angry tears and just when you were about to give up, you heard it.

From somewhere deeper in the woods, a new sound echoed, a distant clamour of voices, of movement. At first, you thought it was your mind playing tricks on you, desperate to cling to any hope. But it grew louder, closer. The elders hesitated, their hands loosening on your arms and legs.

Taehyung.

You knew it was him. He had come for you.

The voices grew louder, the footsteps echoing closer until they were upon you. You could hear the rush of movement, angry shouts, the crack of branches underfoot. Panic surged through the elders and the men surrounding you. Their once confident whispers turned frantic.

You felt your heartbeat in your throat, pounding with both fear and a sliver of desperate hope.

"Stop them!" Corwin's voice rose in anger, the sharp command lashing through the air like a whip. His hands gripped your arms again, but they were no longer steady. You could feel his panic too, his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

The elder holding you released his grip entirely, his cowardice evident in his hasty retreat. You could hear the shuffle of feet as others followed suit, abandoning the ritual altar in a state of chaos.

Suddenly, the blindfold was ripped from your eyes. The world returned in a flash of dim torchlight and shadowed faces. The clearing was swarming with men, some village guards, some common folk, and there, breaking through the tree line, was Taehyung.

His eyes blazed with fury; his jaw clenched tightly as he barrelled toward you. For a moment, you were frozen, overwhelmed by the sight of him and by the fact that he had come, against all odds.

Corwin cursed under his breath, his face twisted in rage as he pulled you roughly towards him, using your body as a shield between him and Taehyung. His grip was hard, bruising, his nails digging into your flesh. You could smell the sweat and desperation radiating from him.

"You think you can take her from me?" Corwin spat, his voice a mixture of fear and disgust as he glared at Taehyung. "You, a lowly peasant, dare to challenge me?"

Taehyung slowed his approach but never took his eyes off you, his expression softening for a brief moment as he saw the fear in your eyes. Then, his gaze hardened again, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I will take her from you," Taehyung said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm raging behind his eyes. "Because she doesn't belong to you. She never did."

Corwin scoffed, his breath heavy against your neck. "Look at me, girl!" he growled, yanking your face toward him. His once pristine appearance was now crumbling. His thinning hair slick with sweat, his eyes bulging with anger and something worse, desperation. He reeked of arrogance, of an entitlement so deeply ingrained that he believed the world owed him everything, even you.

"You could have had comfort," Corwin sneered, his eyes darting between you and Taehyung. "Wealth, status... But you choose him?" His voice dripped with venom. "What can he offer you?"

You stared at Corwin, disgust rising like bile in your throat. Even now, he could not understand that what you wanted was freedom, not wealth. You wanted love, not power. And Taehyung offered you all the things Corwin never could—kindness, gentleness, and a future not built on fear.

But before you could answer, Taehyung took a step closer. His voice was like a promise, unwavering and fierce. "I offer her everything you never could, respect, love, and a life free from monsters like you."

Corwin’s grip tightened painfully for a moment, his face darkening. But then, as the approaching crowd surged closer, the realization dawned on him. His plan had failed. The power he once held over you and the village was slipping away.

His eyes flickered with malice as he released you, shoving you toward Taehyung. You stumbled, but Taehyung was there, catching you in his arms, pulling you against his chest protectively.

"Take her," Corwin sneered, stepping back, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "But this isn’t over. You think you've won, but you’ve merely delayed the inevitable." Corvin threw meaningless threats at you.

And with that, Corwin turned, retreating into the shadows of the woods, his figure vanishing into the night.

As you stood in Taehyung’s embrace, trying to make sense of the nightmare that had unfolded, Taehyung’s gaze locked down onto yours. His eyes swept over your form, and his expression hardened, his features darkening with a mixture of concern and fury. The delicate ceremonial gown you wore was torn and dirtied, bruises beginning to form where the men had handled you so roughly. Your entire body trembled, overwhelmed by everything you had endured.

Without a word, Taehyung quickly slipped off his long coat, moving toward you with a gentleness that contrasted the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. He draped the coat over your shoulders, covering you, shielding you from the eyes of those who had tormented you.

“Stay still,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. His hands brushed over your arms as he pulled the coat tighter around you, trying to hide the evidence of what could have been. His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked over your face, lingering on every bruise, every tear, and the fragile look of shock etched into your expression.

Anger flared briefly in his eyes as he spoke, his voice low but steady. “I’m so sorry… I should have gotten to you sooner.”

“Do not apologise for something you had no control over. I’m just glad that you made it.” You whisper back.

As Taehyung held you close once again, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “How did you manage to escape?” you asked, your voice trembling with exhaustion.

Taehyung’s face was a mix of anger and determination. “It was not easy. The guards had me locked in a small, dark cell in the chapel, and I was running out of time.”

He took a deep breath, clearly reliving the tense moments. “I overheard the guards talking about a secret passageway under the old chapel, used long ago for smuggling goods. I knew I had to find a way to use that passage to escape. Also, who reveals such information in front of a prisoner?” he says trying to make you smile and you giggled in response.

Taehyung then continued, “I managed to use a piece of broken furniture to pry open a loose stone in the cell wall. It was a desperate move, but I had to try. I crawled through the narrow tunnel, which led to the chapel’s old crypt. From there, I found a way out to the back of the chapel.”

Your heart raced as you listened, imagining his harrowing escape. “But how did you get to me?”

Taehyung nodded, a fierce resolve in his eyes. “Once I got outside, I made my way to the village edge, where I saw your father sitting in sorrow. I found him and told him everything about the ritual, Corwin’s lies, and how I had managed to escape.”

He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of pride and urgency. “Your father was able to rally the villagers and expose Corwin’s true intentions. They were already suspicious, but my escape and the information I brought gave them the final push to act against Corwin and his corrupt schemes.”

You felt a surge of relief and admiration for Taehyung. “I’m so grateful you made it out in time.”

Taehyung gently cupped your face, his expression softening. “I would have done anything to save you.”

Your gaze shifted just in time to see the villagers dragging a furious Lord Corwin back into the clearing. His once-fine clothes were torn and filthy, his large frame covered in mud and sweat. He panted heavily, too slow, and too fat to outrun the angry crowd that had hunted him down.

“Let me go!” Corwin bellowed, his face flushed with humiliation and anger. “You fools! You have no idea what you have done! This village needs me!”

The villagers’ rage bubbled over as they shoved him to the ground. “You let our daughters die!” someone shouted from the crowd. “You let them suffer while we were blind!”

Corwin sneered, trying to rise, but his bloated body betrayed him, and the crowd held him down. He turned his eyes to Taehyung, the hatred in his gaze palpable but Taehyung let the crowd do the talking, deciding to step back with you.

A Month Later:

The grandeur of the magical court of Aetherfall stood in stark contrast to the grim history of Briarfield. The court was a sprawling palace, its walls adorned with shimmering crystals that bathed the hall in a soft, ethereal light. Magic-infused tapestries depicted scenes of legendary heroes and mythical creatures, setting a majestic backdrop for the day’s proceedings.

Lord Corwin, along with other implicated nobles from Briarfield, was presented before the court. The once-proud noble now looked gaunt and dishevelled, his arrogance replaced by palpable fear. The court was abuzz with whispers and murmurs as the noble’s faced judgment for their crimes.

The Chief Enchanter, a figure of immense power and authority, presided over the proceedings. His robes, interwoven with silver thread, glowed with a gentle luminescence. He spoke in a voice that carried both authority and sorrow, condemning the nobles for their abhorrent actions.

“Lord Corwin and his compatriots stand accused of vile corruption and cruelty,” the Chief Enchanter intoned. “Their ritual, a grotesque masquerade to cover their own depravity, has caused untold suffering. Justice must be served.”

Corwin’s face twisted in a mixture of rage and despair as the verdict was read. The punishment was severe—his wealth confiscated, his titles stripped, and he was to be banished from the realms of Aetherfall. The court’s magic would ensure he could never return, casting a protective barrier around the realm to keep him from ever entering again. And he shall work as a peasant until the day he takes his last breath.

Where as in Briarfield, the once-dark village had transformed into a vibrant scene of celebration. Lanterns floated above, and tables were laden with an array of delicious foods and sparkling drinks. The villagers, once sombre, now danced and celebrated the end of a dark chapter in their history.

The village square of Briarfield had been transformed into a picturesque scene of festivity for your wedding. Lanterns, adorned with delicate fairy lights, floated gracefully above, casting a warm and inviting glow over the area. Tables draped in rich, burgundy fabrics were laden with an array of delicious foods: succulent roasted meats, fresh fruits, pastries dusted with sugar, and bubbling pitchers of sweet, sparkling drinks.

The wedding ceremony took place in the heart of the village square, where a beautifully decorated archway of intertwined flowers and greenery formed a natural altar. The archway was adorned with cascading blooms of ivory and blush pink, their gentle fragrance mingling with the cool evening air.

You stood at the entrance of the makeshift aisle, a vision of grace in a simple yet elegant wedding gown. The gown, made from a flowing white fabric, had delicate lace trim along the neckline and sleeves. Your hair, left open in soft waves, was adorned with a few small white flowers, adding a touch of ethereal beauty.

Taehyung stood at the altar, his formal attire reflecting the elegance of the occasion. He wore a dark navy-blue suit with intricate silver embroidery that caught the light, making him look every bit the regal figure. His eyes were locked on you, filled with admiration and love.

As you walked down the aisle, the villagers, gathered to witness the event, applauded, and cheered, their faces beaming with genuine happiness. The sound of soft music played by a small band in the corner of the square added to the celebratory atmosphere.

When you reached the altar, Taehyung took your hand gently, his touch warm and reassuring. The officiant, a respected elder of the village, began the ceremony with words of wisdom and blessing.

“Today, we gather to celebrate the union of two souls who have found their way to each other through trials and love. Let us rejoice in their happiness and witness the vows they will make.”

Taehyung and You shared your heartfelt vows which certainly bought tears in your eyes as the comforting words set in.

The officiant smiled warmly and pronounced you both husband and wife. The crowd erupted in cheers as you and Taehyung shared your first kiss as a married couple.

As the evening progressed, the celebration continued with lively music and dancing. Taehyung and you moved through the crowd, greeting friends and family, sharing laughter and joy. The atmosphere was filled with happiness and relief, a stark contrast to the dark days that had preceded this moment.

During the evening, as the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you and Taehyung took that as a chance a sneaked away from everyone. You both giggled like teenagers as you made your way towards Taehyung’s cottage. As soon as the door closed, Taehyung had you pushed up against it and wasted no time crashing against yours hungrily, filled with all the love and desire he had been holding back throughout the day. You melted into his embrace, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

He trailed kisses along your jawline, down your neck, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. Your knees grew weak as he found that one spot on your neck that always drove you wild. His hands roamed over your body possessively, claiming every inch of you as his own.

With a sudden burst of strength, he lifted you into his arms and carried you toward the bedroom. You giggled playfully at the unexpected gesture, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed a trail down your collarbone.

He gently laid you down on the bed, hovering over you with a look of pure adoration in his eyes. "You have no idea how beautiful you are," he whispered huskily before capturing your lips once again. You slowly trail your hands under his shirt and understanding what you wanted, he pulled his shirt off.

He had a soft stomach but years of hard labour had made his muscles taunt and as you were admiring him, his hands traced patterns along your sides before sliding under your dress to caress every curve. The fabric felt like too much of a barrier between your bodies as he explored every inch of skin beneath it.

Sensing your impatience, Taehyung pulled away for a moment to remove your dress, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. Once you were lying before him in nothing but your lingerie, he took a moment to admire the sight.

"You're perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Absolutely perfect and all mine."

His hands resumed their exploration, this time with no barriers in the way. He traced circles over the soft skin of your stomach, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, he moved lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above your panties.

You moaned softly at the sensation, arching into his touch. His fingers danced lightly over your heat, driving you closer to the edge with each gentle caress.

"Please," you whimpered, unable to take the teasing any longer. "I need you."

Taehyung's eyes darkened with desire at your words, and without another moment's hesitation, he removed your panties and looked at your core glistening with wetness. You suddenly felt shy and tried to close your legs, but Taehyung was fast enough to pry them open again.

“Don’t hide from me love, let me see and feel all of you” he said looking directly in your eyes. He brings his fingers to your core once again and starts making a figure 8 forcing the sweetest of sounds out of you.

“That’s it love. You look so pretty” he says before diving headfirst into your centre without a warning making you cry out in pleasure at the new sensation. Your hand reached out to grab his hair, pulling on the strands, eliciting a groan out of him. His tongue circles your clit as he slowly enters a finger inside you. The sensational felt uncomfortable but was soon replaced by blinding pleasure once he started moving them.

You felt a coil build up in your stomach as your breath started to get laboured not understanding the sensation. “Tae- I feel s-something in I- you” you couldn’t form a sentence before the coil snapped and you came with a loud moan panting loudly.

Taehyung finally rose up from between your legs, your juices running down his chin making your cheeks heat up. “You did so well baby!” he said a little bit too enthusiastically. You shyly reached your hands over his shoulders and brought him down for a kiss.

Taehyung pulled away before pressing his forehead to your, your noses touching, “We don’t have to do anything beyond this.” He whispered.

“I want to Tae. Don’t worry” you ease his nerves. “It’s going to hurt a little. I’ll try to go slow okay and if anything hurts too much, stop me” he rambles a little which is endearing to you how much he is worried about you.

You kiss his lips one more time, “I trust you Tae, don’t worry” you smile up at him. Seeing you with those big eyes looking at him asking him to make love to you, Tae scrambles to pull his pants down bringing his cock out and stroking it.

"I love you so much," he murmured as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Are you ready?"

You nodded eagerly, excitement and nervousness mingling together inside you. This was it—the moment you had been waiting for.

With a slow and steady push, Taehyung entered you fully. You gasped at the feeling of him stretching and filling you completely. Tears welled up in your eyes as a mix of pleasure and pain washed over you.

"Shh," Taehyung whispered soothingly as he wiped away a stray tear. "I've got you."

He stayed still for a moment to let you adjust to the sensation before slowly starting to move. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body until all thoughts were replaced by pure ecstasy.

As his pace quickened, so did the intensity of your pleasure until it was all-consuming—like fireworks exploding inside you with every movement. Your nails dug into his back, your moans growing louder with each thrust. You wrapped your legs around his waist feeling him even deeper inside of you.

"I'm… I'm…" you stammered, unable to form a coherent thought as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. But as you were about to cum, he pulled out making you whine at the loss of your high. Before you could complain, he flipped you over on your stomach bringing your hips up and entered your heat once again.

Your hands clutched the sheets tightly as you feel him move your hair to the side and leave trails of kisses behind your neck and ear. You feel your pleasure build up once more and all you can let out are incoherent words. Taehyung could feel you were close with how much you were clenching around him.

"Come for me, baby," Taehyung urged, his voice filled with a mix of desire and desperation. "Let go."

With one final thrust, you felt yourself unravelling beneath him. Pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave as your hand tightened on the sheets below.

Taehyung's movements grew erratic as he chased his own release. With a low groan, he buried himself deep inside you as he found his own release. He buries his face in your neck as the waves of pleasure subsided, both of you breathless and spent from the intensity of it all.

He flipped you back onto your front before collapsing on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath. "I love you so much," he whispered against your skin.

You ran your fingers through his hair lovingly, savouring this moment of intimacy between you. "I love you too," you replied softly. "More than words can say."

As the world outside faded away, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of love and passion with Taehyung by your side as you both fell asleep in each other’s embrace.

The day had finally come. You and Taehyung were ready to leave the village behind and embark on your long-awaited journey, you were ready to embrace the world beyond the shadows of Briarfield. But first, you had to say your goodbyes.

Your parents stood by the small, worn-down cottage that had been your home for as long as you could remember. The familiar creak of the door, the patches in the roof your father had mended over the years, the garden your mother tended to—it all felt so achingly nostalgic now. Your mother, tears already brimming in her eyes, reached out to hold your hands tightly.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It feels like only yesterday you were a little child, running through the fields. And now, you are leaving us, off to see the world with your husband.”

You choked back your own tears as you wrapped your arms around her. “I will miss you, Mama. So much.”

Your mother pulled back slightly, cupping your face with her hands. “Promise me you will write when you can. Tell me about all the places you visit and the adventures you have. I want to hear every detail.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your father, though not an emotional man, could not hide the tears in his eyes. He stepped forward, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You’ve always been strong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I am proud of you for choosing your own path. But remember, no matter how far you go, this will always be your home.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his familiar embrace one last time. When he pulled away, your father’s gaze shifted to Taehyung, who stood respectfully nearby, watching the exchange with a soft smile.

“Take care of her,” your father said, his voice turning more firm, though still gentle. “She’s everything to us.”

Taehyung stepped forward, his eyes full of sincerity. He took your father’s hand in his, shaking it firmly. “I will. You have my word, sir. I will keep her safe and do everything I can to make her happy.”

Your father’s expression softened, and with a nod, he stepped back to allow you both to continue your farewells.

Taehyung turned to your mother, bowing slightly out of respect. She took his hands in hers and said, “Thank you for bringing light into her life. I can see how much you care for her.”

“I love her with all my heart,” Taehyung replied softly, his voice steady. “And I promise to cherish her, always.”

Your mother smiled through her tears before she let him go.

With the goodbyes said, you and Taehyung turned toward his small carriage carrying all your packed belongings and some of Taehyung’s wares. But before you could take another step, Taehyung gently tugged you back, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you softly on the forehead. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and affection.

You nodded, though tears brimmed in your eyes. “As long as you’re with me.”

He smiled and took your hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a gentle kiss. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, but this time, it was not from the cold, it was from the love that seemed to radiate from him in waves. “Together,” he whispered.

As the carriage started to move, Taehyung navigating it, you gazed at your surroundings, watching Briarfield slowly disappear behind a veil of mist and trees. A small part of your heart ached with the weight of leaving everything familiar behind, your parents, your home, the village where you had grown up—but you were also excited to finally see world beyond the once gloomy village.

He noticed the faraway look in your eyes and gently squeezed your hand. "You know," he said softly, "this isn’t goodbye forever. We will visit your parents soon. Perhaps once we've settled a bit, we can come back and spend time with them during our travels."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "You’d really do that? Even after everything?"

"Of course," Taehyung said, smiling. "I know how much they mean to you, and they’ve welcomed me like family. I want to make sure you never feel like you’ve truly left them behind."

His words brought comfort, and you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder as the carriage rolled steadily along. Outside, the landscape was changing from the familiar fields and woods of Briarfield to new horizons.

With that, the two of you settled into a peaceful silence, your hands intertwined as the carriage carried you toward the future.

© strawberryjimin13 - all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[rdng1230]

Tesoro

Ok, down to the wire but here's my submission for day two of @bucktommypositivityweek (although it has an element of the day one prompt too tbh). This slotted well into my strings of fate series so I'll probably post it to ao3 tomorrow.

—-

“Evan.”

He feels Tommy giving featherlight kisses below his ear as he comes back into consciousness. The loft is blanketed with sunlight and he reaches a hand up that is immediately met with Tommy’s wet curls. Warmth spreads through his whole body at the idea that Tommy has a key now. This could become a routine of theirs. 

“Tesoro.” 

Buck has no idea what that means but he’s pretty sure it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to him. He hums and nuzzles against Tommy’s cheek, pulling the freshly showered man down on top of him. 

Tommy gives a grunt of surprise that quickly turns into an amused laugh. “I missed you too.” Buck shuts him up with another kiss and wraps him into a hug, moving his lips to kiss the top of his head. 

“How was your shift?” Buck’s voice comes out hoarse and sleep ridden. “Good. Just wanted it to be over so I could come and sleep next to you.”

It was one of Buck’s favorite things he’d discovered about Tommy. Sleepiness was like some sort of lovey dovey truth serum for him. It’s not that his boyfriend wasn’t affectionate the rest of the time, but coming off of a 24 or a 48 removed almost any sense of filter he had. Buck’s pretty sure he had heard a “Marry me” when he’d given him a back rub in the 5 minutes before Tommy passed out the other day. 

He knows it was just a slip of the tongue, but it didn’t stop him from breathing out a yes after the tell tale snuffles had confirmed Tommy was asleep. 

Buck gently shifts the nearly unconscious man so his leg splays out across Buck’s hip and the rest of his weight is nestled onto the bed. Tommy’s head ends up falling on his shoulder and his hand makes slow circles on Tommy’s back, rhythmic and comforting as they fall asleep together. 

---

“Tommy?” 

“Hmmmm?” His back faces Evan as he cracks open some eggs on the edge of the pan. Evan has earned himself a damn good omelet after the good morning sex they just had. Or more like good afternoon because of their weird shift hours lately. 

“What does Tesoro mean?” 

It was one of his favorite things about Evan. He will endlessly research his fun facts, but his preferred method of learning things is by hearing it from those he loves. Tommy is still occasionally misty eyed when he remembers that list of individuals now includes him. 

He smiles and bites his bottom lip. It can be intimidating too at times. He’s not asking just to be polite or to make conversation. He’s never had a partner that wants to know him like Evan does. 

“Ummm, translated literally it means treasure.” He coughs, feeling a blush on his cheeks and is grateful that his boyfriend can’t see it. “But in English it would probably be translated as something like ‘cherished’ or darling.” 

He hears Evan’s breath catch and he’s a little worried he’s said too much. “I’ve never… No one’s ever called me something like that.” 

There’s that same breathless and bewildered tone he’d used for the word ‘Saturday’ when Tommy had first kissed him. Whatever Evan’s feeling about it, he doesn’t sense that he’s stepped over a line. Some of the tension eases out of his shoulders. 

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Tommy briefly turns away from his task to get a look at his starry eyed boyfriend sitting at the kitchen island. “I’ve never called anyone something like that.” 

He wills himself to hold Evan’s gaze and let the sincerity of the moment linger. The man’s jaw drops and Tommy tries not to smirk. There really aren't a lot of prettier sights than a flustered Evan Buckley. He turns back to the omelet adding up the chopped up ingredients he’d already set aside. 

The pleasant smells drift through the loft and Tommy thinks not for the first time that he’s never felt more comfortable more quickly than he has with Evan. What they have is lightning in a bottle and he has no intention of letting it slip through his fingers. So when Evan gets his wits back and asks if there was any reason in particular for that nickname, Tommy isn’t surprised when he starts opening up. 

“You know my parents never really cared for each other. I didn’t have a lot of role models growing up for what love and a healthy relationship should look like. To be honest with you, I think that’s why I fought myself so hard on my sexuality. I didn’t think that white picket fence neverending honeymoon phase deal was attainable for anybody much less a gay man in some of the most patriarchal environments in the world. So why go through the trouble, you know?”

He turns around with the now plated omelet and sets it in front of Evan, who looks more interested in him than the food. Tommy loves the electricity of his concentrated face, like he’s trying to soak up every piece of information on him as he possibly can. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and if they weren’t having this conversation on empty stomachs Tommy might’ve resorted to throwing him over his shoulder and taking him back upstairs for another round. 

He gestures toward the plate and Evan digs in, his eyes still fixed on Tommy. 

“The exception to that rule was my grandparents. On my mother’s side.” He continues. “They were head over heels in love till the day my Nonno died. I used to love watching them banter or dance or just, anything really. But I always thought their relationship was some kind of cosmic fluke.”

Tommy takes a sip of water, steeling himself to put his last card on the table. “But um, with you, in more ways than one…” He chuckles a little. “Lightning seems to have struck twice.” 

Evan bites down on a smile like he’s both overwhelmingly pleased and also trying his best to look offended. He fails immediately, devolving into a fit of giggles that makes Tommy fall in love all over again. 

“Anyway,” Tommy says once they’ve gotten their laughter under control. “Tesoro is what they used to call each other. And I don’t know. I just saw you laying there and it suddenly seemed wrong to say anything else.” 

Evan jumps to his feet and moves around the island, lips crashing into Tommy’s with a force. He pulls away just as quickly “You can’t say shit like that to me or I will do something insane like buy you a ring.” 

Tommy grins, pulling him back in for kisses as he fake protests. “No.” He deadpans, kissing Evan’s nose, “Don’t do that.” his cheek, “That’s crazy talk.” his birthmark. 

Tommy feels an affectionate poke to the sides and he’s laughing again. “So that was ok? Calling you that?” 

Evan’s pupils have blown wide, and he pulls Tommy into another deep kiss. 

“Never stop.”

[randombush3]

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back. 

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home. 

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life. 

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out. 

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around. 

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards. 

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her. 

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered. 

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–” 

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…” 

“Leah.” 

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?” 

“Is that a question?” 

You blink. “I’m not sure.” 

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.” 

Do you want to? 

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality. 

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that. 

“Course not,” Leah lies. 

You let it convince the both of you. 

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!” 

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.” 

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.” 

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?” 

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?” 

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them. 

It feels… good. 

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like. 

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you? 

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh? 

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will. 

She wipes her mouth. 

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already). 

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?” 

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.” 

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.” 

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed. 

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.” 

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.” 

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.” 

“Well, you know that–” 

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.” 

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice. 

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed. 

She had not expected this from herself. 

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside. 

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30. 

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows. 

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace. 

It can’t be that bad, can it? 

It’s just like therapy. 

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut. 

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail. 

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.” 

Silence. 

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into. 

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?” 

“Do what, my daughter?” 

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be. 

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?” 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.” 

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.” 

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” 

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else. 

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice. 

The realisation is crushing. 

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers. 

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared. 

Alexia is so very lost. 

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home. 

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one. 

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it. 

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive. 

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge. 

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence. 

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood. 

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time. 

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it? 

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do. 

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin. 

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them. 

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later. 

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help. 

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.” 

“You have a lot to account for.” 

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.” 

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.” 

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred. 

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack. 

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong. 

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind. 

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you. 

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had. 

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia. 

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side. 

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?” 

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying? 

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.” 

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona. 

You’re a busy person, after all. 

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.” 

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end. 

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird. 

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it. 

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.) 

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task. 

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view. 

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?” 

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you. 

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife. 

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality. 

“Ah, they’ve broken up.” 

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.” 

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing. 

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.” 

“I heard you were in London?” 

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.” 

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her. 

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this. 

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written). 

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall. 

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.) 

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat. 

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight. 

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show. 

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia. 

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that. 

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.” 

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage. 

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event. 

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly. 

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher. 

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice. 

You pray this goes well. 

It does. 

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces. 

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers. 

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?” 

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.” 

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger. 

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.” 

“Im-men-lee?” 

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.” 

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her. 

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood. 

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?” 

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.” 

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward. 

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.” 

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.” 

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.” 

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you. 

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.” 

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!” 

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands. 

“Hola,” you say shyly. 

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.” 

You try very hard not to burst into tears. 

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight. 

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend. 

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant. 

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal. 

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on. 

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality. 

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact. 

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.” 

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?” 

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.” 

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter. 

“Are you sure?” 

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

I don’t care. 

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.” 

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance. 

This is a lift home. 

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair. 

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds. 

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk. 

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show? 

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well. 

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!) 

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking. 

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless. 

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it. 

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking. 

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours. 

Perhaps it never will. 

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot. 

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.” 

“Lela, me tengo que ir.” 

“Pero–” 

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?” 

It starts off innocently. 

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’. 

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it. 

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought. 

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside. 

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?” 

“Sí.” 

A doorway conversation. 

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up. 

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass. 

“We play the day after tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.” 

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober. 

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?” 

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.” 

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company. 

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop. 

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.” 

She opens the next bottle for you. 

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult. 

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa. 

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?” 

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.” 

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.” 

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.” 

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.” 

“In Highgate?” 

“Anywhere,” you breathe. 

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.” 

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away. 

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty. 

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway. 

“Please.” 

And she really doesn’t make you beg. 

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after. 

Parted legs and soft moans. 

She slots herself between your thighs. 

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you. 

Your fingers repay the favour. 

“More,” you request just as she pulls away. 

“Is it in the same place?” 

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets. 

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine. 

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants. 

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less. 

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode. 

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates. 

You’re glad, you’re really glad. 

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her. 

And then it all comes crashing down. 

Everything. 

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible. 

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.” 

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy. 

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it. 

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much. 

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.” 

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau. 

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.” 

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.” 

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that. 

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.” 

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.” 

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.” 

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with. 

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue. 

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares. 

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her. 

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that. 

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.” 

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.” 

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn. 

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god. 

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper. 

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half. 

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s. 

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?” 

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.” 

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s. 

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.” 

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon. 

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime. 

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it. 

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.” 

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.” 

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.” 

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through 

“I think we are destined for each other.” 

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it. 

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.” 

Is that an understatement? 

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?” 

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around. 

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear. 

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.” 

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands. 

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.” 

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.” 

“If you say so, Alexia.” 

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.” 

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply. 

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt? 

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes. 

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all. 

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay. 

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

[gyuxcum]

My island boy

summary: A pretty boy (Beomgyu) saved you from drowning in the ocean and you now live on his unknown island, you both fall for each other and one night, some freaky stuff happens lol [SMUT]

pairing: soft dom Gyu x sub! female reader

A/N: This is my first English smut story, I’m sorry if I make grammar mistakes, I’m still learning English. Also I don’t know how to use this app to post at all.. so hopefully it turns out alright. Feel free to give feedback, it’d be appreciated 💓

Warning: MDNI (no other warning tbh)

Wc: 1,700~ (I love to describe in detail ig…)

You both layed down and tried falling asleep like every other night but Beomgyu kept turning around over and over again, seemingly uncomfy.

“What is it Gyu?”

He stopped moving, maybe he was having a nightmare. But then you felt his fingers running softly up your neck and tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Gyu..?” You were used to this kind of attention, and you liked it. You’ve never really had a boyfriend to be so tender with before, but Gyu handled your crave for love ever since your arrival.

He groaned

“Are you okay Gyu? Answer me!”

His body rolled onto you, until he’s overing you

“Ahh I can’t wait any longer! Look what you’re making me feel” he said as you felt something poking your belly

You looks down to see the big bulge point through his shorts.

Taken a-back, you don’t answer right away, you just open your mouth in surprise.

He moaned.

“Please touch me, oh fuck I need you so bad right now”

You heart started beating so much faster, you can’t say you didn’t want to. You’ve craved him for so long, he was all that you’ve ever wished for.

“Are you sure you want that Gyu?”

“Yes, I want it, please.. please do something..”

You felt your body tensing at his words, he has never seemed so needy

When you realize where your eyes have been staring all throughout this interaction, you look up to his eyes, he’s looking at you, eyes half closed, waiting for you to do something.

You pulled him closer and kissed him passionately. Savouring the moment. Your bodies intertwining as you run your hands in his hair and he lets out the softest moans.

“I feel like I’m going to burst” he said embarrassed.

Not making him wait any longer, you let your tongue slide down his neck and leave pretty kisses all over it

Noises escaping his mouth, like he can’t keep them in. They were soft, and breathy.

You pulled his shirt and pulled yours. The heat of your upper bodies meeting, doing nothing else but driving both of your minds more crazy.

Beomgyu froze for a moment, his body tensed up.

“Is everything alright?” You said.

“I’m scared I won’t last long, but I want to make you feel good too-“ he gagged out.

You giggled at his nervousness, he was so cute worrying about pleasing you already, when all you did was kissing and undressing

You let your kiss draw over his built chest, his hard work on the island toned his muscles, and you can’t deny how good it makes him look.

Hesitantly, Gyu unpinned the back of your bra as he pulled you closer to him, your legs in between his, sitting down.

He dropped your underwear, still hesitant to look down, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable as this was both your first time

“Don’t be shy, look and touch anywhere you want”

This was the signal for him to let go. He grabbed your breasts in one grip and kissed you furiously.

He gained more confidence knowing that this is what you wanted aswell. Letting the makeout take both of your breaths away.

His sudden change of attitude surprised you, nonetheless you still enjoyed it a lot.

You let your hand slide down his crotch , feeling it through the loose tissue of his shorts.

Not expecting your sudden approach, he moaned again abit.

“Fuck you’re driving me insane, you know that right?”

You nod. And he pulled his shorts down and threw them away. Letting his dick lay on your belly, already showing you how deep he’ll reach.

You gasp at the sight, Beomgyu was so big, more than you imagined… not that you like to admit that you’ve dreamed of this cock forever but, you did.

You sat yourself up straighter, Beomgyu can’t seem to bare it no more, his dick twitches as you watch it, you spit in your hand and move your fist around the hot red tip

This doesn’t leave him unfazed, his eyes meeting yours as he whines louder and louder the more you pump your fist up and down.

Beomgyu wouldn’t break eye contact as he whines your name more and more loudly. Making you feel even more flustered than he was.

His body shivered for a moment, that’s when you knew he was close, his eyes shut close, feeling the friction of your hand tight around him.

“Fuck, you don’t know how much I’ve been dreaming about this baby.. I.. I’m.. so so close-“

He manages to say in three breaths, you really fucked him dumb, words can’t even come out of his mouth properly.

You feel him spilling all over your hand, the warmth of his cum dripping around your fist, his body loosens up once again.

Regaining his consciousness, Gyu opened his eyes slightly.

“Thank you princess, let me make you feel good now okay?”

He wiped the cum off his dick and wiped some off your hand before applying it straight to your core

“Gotta make it wet for me okay baby? You’re already soaking.. but better more than not enough right?”

His middle and ring finger brushing circles around your needy hole, he’s making sure that everything is soaked in the both of your liquids.

He pushed his two fingers inside at once. Making it feel abit rough.

Beomgyu noticed your discomfort so without waiting, he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you. Attentive to the small changes in your facial expressions or any of your body movements, he pushes them slowly further.

Beomgyu’s fingers were long, much more than yours, so he reached deeper than you ever could.

Once you felt looser around his fingers, he changed his movement from in and out to rubbing the tip on his fingers on your walls, pushed them lightly and bringing them back.

The rhythmic movement made friction at your core, heating his hand.

“Do you like it like that my princess?”

You moaned at his words. Beomgyu felt good, no. He felt too good.

None of your fantasies could compare to how well he fucked you with his fingers, you can feel yourself clenching around him often, your body asking for more.

Once you weren’t so tight anymore, Gyu took his fingers out, and aligned himself.

“Lay down my lady, let me take care of you”

His words did nothing but make the heat in between your legs, stronger.

“Is it gonna hurt, Gyu?”

He looked up to you.

“Maybe it will. But the pain will go away quickly, I promise” he said as he leaves a peck on your lips

“Do you think we’re doing this right?” You asked nervously

“I think everything is right with you, we’ll take it slow, if you want me to stop, let me know”

You nod, your worries going away.

You watch Beomgyu handling his toy in his hand. Gently placing it to your entrance. Rubbing his tip against your folds.

“Shit, this is gonna feel so good, I love you baby” he said as he pushes himself all the way into you, shamelessly.

You felt your body burning, at first it really hurt, you thought Gyu would go more easy on you.

He thrusts deep into you before bringing his movement back slowly, sighing at the feeling.

“You feel like heaven around my cock princess” he lets out through his teeth

You feel like you belonged to him, in a good way. He could do anything to you, and you’d probably like it.

His hands gripping your hips so firmly, you know he’s gonna leave marks of his fingers, but you don’t mind.

He ruts into you harder and harder, and you feel the burning feeling dissipate. It felt better, it felt good.

His dick filling you up so well, you can barely take him. The more he’s fucking you, the more noises you let out by accident.

Your hands try to grip anything around, it feels so good you can’t put the words on it.

You need to bite, to squeeze, to yell. The pleasure that draws over you is so overwhelming, you need to take it out in some way.

“I’m gonna cum Gyu fuck!!!!!!!” You gasped, lifting your head only to see his crotch appearing and disappearing back into you.

You feel so little in this moment. The way he pushed your head back and lifted your legs over his shoulders so easily.

His manhandling turned you on so much more, and this was your peak.

You let out what he thinks is the most angelic sound he’s ever heard, as you let the build up in you, go.

Few thrusts later, Gyu looses himself too, filling you with his juices, so much that it drips out of you once he pulls out.

Rolling to your side again, he pegs your head with one hand and caresses your waist with the other.

“You were so good baby, I love you” he whispers before kissing your cheek gently

“Can we do this again some time?” Gyu mumbles, shy again.

The Beomgyu you always knew was back, he still looked fucked out from the moment before, the sweat on his body making his skin look shiny.

“Of course” you smiles and pecked his lips and he smiled

“I’m so lucky to have you here.. I chose you well..”

“Chose me?” You say confused.

“When that ship drowned, I couldn’t save all of you. So I picked a woman that looked like she could carry on life on this land” he explained like he planned it all along

“You mean you chose the most fuckable right???” You said offended

But Beomgyu didn’t understand why you sounded so frustrated. To him, building life on this land was like creating a new opportunity for the place he’s always known.

Now that you look back, most of the people that were on the ship with you were grandparents with their grandchildren. You’re thankful Beomgyu chose you.

Once you run out of thoughts, Beomgyu is laying in the same position, but he’s sleeping. He must be so tired from this restless night, it will be remembered.

You kiss his forehead and fall asleep into his arms.

Who knew a man from a lost island would be better than any kind of human out in the real world?

[depressopax]

HII could you maybe write something for Berlin like HCs being in a relationship with him, maybe with connections to the new show or sm.

(Im actually so glad I found someone who writes for this fandom bc there’s literally no one nearly 😭)

Berlin - Relationship headcanons

Thank you for the request!! <3 I'm happy to see more LCDP fans here omg 😭 Hope ya like it! :)

Smut version can be found here

Pairing: Berlin/Andrés de Fonollosa x gn!reader Genre: Fluff, headcanons Warning(s): Spoilers for LCDP. Cuss words, Berlin being a bit possessive, reader uses they/them pronouns Words: 1145 Summary: Being in a relationship with Berlin would include…  English is not my first language - lmk if there's any spelling mistakes so I can improve my writing! &lt;3

Being in a relationship with this man would be a roller-coaster of emotions…

But you can’t really complain!

People see him as “cold and self-centered”, which is partially true.

BUT when he’s in love, it’s like his whole personality changes.

You are his whole world, and he will do everything to put his ego aside, and show you just how loving he can be.

And boy, he succeeds… 

When he first saw you, it was love at first sight, or at least for him.

He would find out everything about you, what you like to eat, what hobbies you have, and the places you like to be at.

He would just wait for you to approach him first, but it wasn’t that easy…

After a while, he stopped being stubborn and started talking to you.

Berlin would make sure you fall for him, and that would be his biggest goal.

He would take you on extraordinary dates and totally spoil you.

He prefers calm private dates, but wouldn’t mind going to a bar/nightclub if you like that.

Despite his sophisticated looks, he knows how to party. (That one scene in Berlin when he’s at the punk club LMAOO)

Seeing you hyped up makes him happy, so how can he not love partying with you?

The two of you having lazy mornings together. Berlin is a night owl, and getting him out of bed in the morning is a challenge.

He’ll also never let you leave bed. - “Just 5 more minutes, love! - “Are you gonna leave me, all cold and lonely in bed, huh?”

Berlin wouldn’t give up his flirting until you fall in love with him. 

Once that happens - he won’t shut up about you

Like, EVER.

He would drive Sergio and his other friends insane with how much he talks about you, telling them a bit too much about his love life… 

Berlin is the cheesiest guy you’ll ever meet, tbh.

And he takes that as a compliment.

He would write you love letters, send good-morning AND goodnight messages to you, and bring you flowers every now and then. 

Berlin is a man with many talents, and he loves impressing you, especially with his singing

Cheesy as it sounds, he even sings you serenades to express his love and devotion.

You’d have to put up with his weird and impulsive ideas.

Whether it’s planning a spontaneous trip, a heist, etc…

He needs someone to tell him to calm the hell down lol

As seen in the show, Berlin is very passionate and a bit unpredictable.

Being in a relationship is no exception.

Everyday with him is like an adventure, and he knows how to spice things up to not end up like a “boring couple”. 

His goal would be making sure the honeymoon phase never ends. 

He would make sure to tell you how amazing and good-looking you are EVERYDAY. 

He is not afraid to argue with you, but would rather admit he is “wrong” rather than have you be mad at him for too long. 

He’s not always good at reading your emotions and knows what you’re feeling, but tries to. 

It breaks his heart to see you upset, and will try to make you feel better. 

He can be rather possessive too. If someone stares at you for a bit too long, or flirt with you, he’s not afraid to show them that “you are his”.

He’s extra protective of you when you are around his friends. He wants to make sure you feel safe, and also that no one tries hitting on you…

Especially if you are shy, he’d be very close to you, smile at you when you talk and laugh extra loud if you say something funny. 

He makes sure your friends like him. 

He wants to make a good impression on everyone, but especially when it is your friends and family. 

Big fan of PDA. He’s a man that is not afraid to kiss you in public, and he practically never lets go of your hand when you’re outdoors together. 

When cuddling, he prefers being the big spoon. 

One of Berlin’s love languages is touch.

He enjoys having his hand on your thigh, giving your shoulders soft massages, and forehead kisses. He’s the type of guy to kiss your hands, too.

If you have long hair, he tends to fidget with it, running his fingers through it, stroking it away from your face and even braiding it.

Berlin definitely treats you like a god/goddess. 

But the relationship would also be challenging from time to time.

Berlin being a criminal does bother you.

Your fear is for him to get caught and end up in jail.

He’d have to reassure you a lot that he won’t get caught, promising you that he will be fine.

But don’t worry, he makes sure to keep that promise. 

His pet names for you: (My) love, honey, babe… 

His phone is full with pictures of you and you’re definitely both his home- and lock-screen. 

He has lots of money, and spends them on you, whether you like it or not. 

Berlin enjoys luxury and wants to give you a luxurious life.

His dream is to travel and see the world with you by his side.

If you don’t speak Spanish, he would offer to teach it to you. 

He is very overprotective and makes sure you keep a distance from his work. 

But he does enjoy impressing you with dramatic stories about his heists.

During his most difficult and dangerous heists, he will think of you and keep on fighting so he can come back home to you. 

When he’s away for a longer time, Berlin makes sure to text and call you with regular updates. But in all honesty, he just misses your voice.

Like I said earlier, he is an unpredictable man, and if someone is mean to you, yikes… - “Just drop it, Andrés!” “No, babe… I’ll have a ‘chat’ with them…”

Remember the throwback scene of Berlin and the man that made fun of his bow tie? 

Let’s just say, whoever insulted you will return to you and apologize, trembling and crying from pain and fright.  

…Berlin would just return to you with a smug smile, pretending like nothing happened… 

And act all clueless when you confront him about it. 

With you, Berlin is soft and passionate, but others view him as your “scary boyfriend”, a title he accepts with pride. 

To summarize… Despite Berlin's cold exterior, he is the complete opposite with you. He has so much love to give, and isn’t scared to do so. He will make sure to worship you and make sure you feel loved. All he wants is to spend his time with you, and give you the passion, excitement and devotion you deserve. Being together with him is definitely not boring.

I have such hate-love relationship to Berlin bruh 😭 Andrés in Berlin >>>>>>> LCDP

[italiansteebie]

Idk if it was u or someone else that has already done this but I need Steve so out of it (hit his head or high or sum??) he literally forgets to speak English- like maybe he’s just saying stuff in Italian and he’s so confused bcuz no one understands him and he realizes he’s speaking his first language and not English.

Also the party would be drooling after him like?? He’s already cute and he speaks more then one language? Literally screaming!!!

tbh i've probably written something similar to this but for you anon, i'll do it again.

--

steve was walking, and if we want to get technical, he was really wandering, with robin trailing behind him. they weren't paying attention, they weren't really thinking, so.

it just so happened that steve wandered right into an opening door, and he fell back and smacked his head on the side walk. robin proceeded to lose her shit, cackling loudly before realizing he'd actually been hurt.

"oh, shit. dingus. are you okay?"

"oh fuck, i killed him!"

and what a surprise that was. eddie just so happened to cause this brutal door attack. his head was already swimming from the fall and now he has to form words around eddie? really?

"non sono mort." he mumbled, reaching back to run the spot where he hit his head.

"oh my god. he's having a stroke, he can't talk. call 911!" eddie was always one for the dramatics.

"robin, smettila di urlare. per favore."

"is that... italian??"

"non essere ridicolo. sto parlando un inglese semplice."

"steve. oh my god. parli italiano sul serio."

and that caused him to realize what he'd been doing.

"oh no! ha fatto perdere il mio inglese!"

robin doubled over in laughter. she knew it wasn't serious enough to call an ambulance, just knocked a few screws out of place.

"what? what'd he say?! oh my god. i changed steve's language. quick find the reset button!"

this only caused robin to laugh harder, her face turning red and tears leaking from her eyes. steve started to giggle at the sight, but eddie was still watching them, wide eyed.

"are- did i hit steve so hard it started effecting you too?"

as robin sobered up, she took a few shuddering breaths before she realized what just happened. "you speak italian! since when?" she shoved her finger in steve's face.

he groaned, "since always." he brightened, "hey! it's back."

"so i- i didn't change your language?"

"no. he's bilingual."

"oh! so you just decided that for me? you told me that stuff was personal, rob. but what does that have to do with you speaking italian?"

robin laughed shortly, "that's bisexual, dingus. bi lingual means you speak two languages."

"oh. then yeah. im bilingual."

"yeah, we've covered that. but since when?"

steve shrugged. "it'd be odd if i couldn't talk to my mom, right?"

robin shook her head. "it's like every time you open your mouth i found out some new lore about you, steve." and he just shrugged.

and eddie was still there watching this whole thing, trying not to pop a stiffy at the idea of steve speaking italian to him, all slow and sexy- no! bad eddie! steve is hurt, this is not the time.

"so." he dragged out. "i'm okay, ed's." steve assured. "yeah. okay, um. are you... so like. you're one bi... are you the other bi too... or?" eddie said awkwardly.

steve blushed and robin gagged. "yeah. is this your way of asking me on a date?"

eddie nodded dumbly.

"okay. tomorrow? bennys at 6?"

"uh. uh huh."

"sounds good, ed's. i should probably get my head checked out now. a domani, amore mio."

and that was it. suddenly eddie felt like he just got hit with a door. he was still reeling from the interaction when robins distant squealing broke him from his trance.

he shook his head.

steve's got more layers than he thought.

// i did use google translate so it won't be accurate.

"i'm not dead."

"robin, stop yelling. please."

"don't be ridiculous. im speaking plain english."

"you're speaking italian. seriously."

"oh no! he knocked my english loose!"

"see you tomorrow, my love."

[bunnyywritings]

to be seen...

BAKUGOU KATSUKI X GN!READER

[a/n: i lowkey love the hc that bakugou is partially deaf/hard of hearing cause of his quirk like...it just makes so much sense to me ?? anyways i just wanted to get this one out of my system! it's not the best so...sorry but yeah...enjoy!! - bunny]

© bunnyywritings pls don't use my headers or writing without permission

wc: 1.6k words

warnings: none that i can think of...kinda angsty tbh, there's also more of a focus on bakugou than reader

This couldn’t be real. 

He’s not weak so…why? 

Why did this happen? 

Bakugou’s hands shook as these merciless thoughts ran through his head as Doctor’s poked and prodded at his ears. Their touch was bothersome but he supposed he was grateful he couldn’t really hear what they were discussing, any tangible noise was muddy and replaced by a ceaseless ringing. 

He had gone through all the motions. Denial being the most violent. He had screamed and cried in a clearing a ways away from the dorms where he had thought that no one would hear him but when he returned and immediately clocked your glossy eyes and trembling bottom lip, he realized how mistaken he was. 

Oh, you. Sweet, caring, you. 

He almost felt guilty for how much he had pushed you away. All you wanted to do was make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, make sure he felt loved and cared for but he mistook your empathy for pity and blew up at you. This time around it was much, much louder and much more terrifying because he couldn’t hear how loud and rude he was really being. 

He had scoffed when you clutched your fists to your side as big fat tears rolled down your cheeks. He couldn’t read lips very well but he didn’t need to when the word ‘mean’ had been formed so clearly by your lips before you ran off to your room. 

Now, he was just numb. Having accepted that this was his reality, Doctor’s poking and prodding and the uneasy sight of his mother so broken and…sad. Having to practically be held up by his father. 

This wasn’t right. She wasn’t weak. She was never weak but once again, he had mistaken her love and empathy for pity…for weakness. 

School had been on break for the spring and he was desperate to get back, he was being run through the wringer and as much as he hated to admit it, he wanted the mundane rhythm of his life back. He wanted to attend his classes again. Quirk training. English. Hero Law.

 He actually missed those idiots he calls friends. To sit with them in the cafeteria and hear about the stupid shojo that Denki was reading. Hear how Kiri can’t beat some boss level on the stupid game he was playing. Hear Mina complain about how her cuticles were as healthy as ever. Hear Jiro ramble on about a new band she found and how she thinks he’d actually like them. 

Hear…

Would he still be able to do any of that? 

He couldn’t quite remember what his condition was. The ringing was gone but all that's left is a muffled sea of jumbled up noises. He was getting better at reading lips and he was put through the master class of sign language in a week. His instructor was surprised but he knew that if you had been there, you would’ve given him a bashful smile and said, “I expected nothing less from our future top hero.” 

Ah, that’s right. 

Most of all, he missed you. 

Your smile. Your wit. Your eyes…the very same ones he made shine with tears. Your laugh…the sound he’d miss the most out of anything. 

Despite having left the way he did, you still texted him. He hadn’t responded but you still thought about him. 

“You’re doing an awful lot for a guy who told you to piss off…” Shoji eyed you carefully as you set up the classroom, helping you place workbooks on the desks and open the windows. 

“Yeah but you know as well as I do that Bakugou uses anger like a shield. He’s probably confused and in pain about all of this, it’s only fair that we help out as much as we can.” 

Your caring nature was worrying sometimes. Shoji had seen your heart shattered multiple times by people who brush you off or take advantage of your willingness to do hard work, he was worried that Bakugou didn’t deserve this kindness. 

He remembered holding you as you sobbed into his chest, it took everything in him to not run out to the common room and knock some sense into the blonde but ultimately, he decided that staying and comforting you was more important. 

And despite all that pain he caused you had gone straight to Principle Nezu and pleaded for the school’s help. Going as far as offering to do all the work in finding an instructor and getting all your classmates on board. Now, here you were setting up the classroom for the first day of sign language classes. 

The Friday before school started up again, Mitski got a call from the specialist they had been working with and with the influence of UA, Bakugou’s hearing aids were ready for him. She was ecstatic, enthusiastically waking her son and shouting at him to get ready. 

He was…startled to say the least. If he had been able to hear the yelp he had let out when he was shaken awake, he surely would’ve been a bright red. 

And so, with the promise of heading to a nice restaurant for breakfast before heading back home, Bakugou shoved himself into the backseat of the car and off they went. 

The school had covered two pairs and he almost scoffed at the design of the devices. The first pair’s earpiece was clear, swirled with red and orange and the part that hooks around the ear, an almost gaudy, bright red-orange. The second was just his hero costume earpieces with hearing aids attached. Both pairs were specially made to muffle his explosions while still being able to hear others clearly. They also had a bluetooth feature so he’d be able to listen to music comfortably.

The doctor and his parents looked on expectantly as Bakugou slipped them on for the first time, surprised by how comfortable they were. He switched them on with shaky hands and everyone waited in silence before he looked into his mother’s teary eyes. 

“Katsuki…honey? Can you hear me?” 

His eyes widened. Had her voice always been so tender?

 It brought tears to his eyes, he got up from the uncomfortable exam table, fists clenched at his sides. She looked up at him from her seat and her face crumbled. His eyebrows were pinched, a pitiful frown on his wobbling lips and tears slowly leaking from his eyes. 

“Oh, honey…” He threw himself into her embrace and cried into her neck like he had done many times when he was little. Masaru watched on in tearful wonder, remembering that this was still his son. His baby boy and he was hurting more than he let on. Shouldering an exhaustingly heavy burden on his shoulders all by himself. 

The image of his little boy, only 4 feet tall tearfully struggling to hold a boulder up above his head, arms and legs trembling with exhaustion and desperately calling out for his mommy and daddy shook him to his core. 

He wrapped his arms around both of them, his hand cradling the back of Bakugou’s head. “It’s okay, son. We’ve got you.” At the sound of his father’s steady and calming voice, the boy cried harder. “We’ve got you.” 

Standing in front of the dorms was more daunting than he thought it would be. Hiking up the steps was like attempting to trek Mt. Fuji. The only comfort being that he was expecting the common room to be empty. He expected everyone to be in their room attempting to settle back in after a week long break. 

He hated how wrong he’s been recently. 

When he opened the door, he was met with everyone cheering. It was all so loud and disorienting that, despite his hearing aids, he had no idea what the hell anyone had said. Then, you stepped through the crowd and suddenly everyone faded into the background. 

“Guys! I thought I said no shouting! It’s probably still too much for him!” 

“But you’re shouting right now…” Denki snickered, earning an unamused glare from you. 

His eyes filled with tears, heart constricting in his chest. Twisting and throbbing almost painfully. 

God, he missed you. 

“So scary when you look at me like that!” Denki shuddered playfully. 

You had opened your mouth to refute but were cut off by Bakugou suddenly roaring with laughter, squeaking the slightest bit as he hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle as he laughed. 

Shock ran through everybody’s spines, jaws on the floor. 

He wasn’t quite sure what came over him but it was an involuntary reaction. Maybe to camouflage the fact that he had a river of tears sliding down his chin. 

Once he had finished, he stood upright. Out of breath and wiping his eyes. Meeting your eyes once again made the butterflies in his stomach go berserk. They went downright psycho when your hands were held up in front of you, trembling as you carefully signed, ‘welcome home.’ 

He was silent once again. Absolutely dumbstruck. 

Midoriya watched on fondly, as did everyone, emotions overwhelming and tears filling their eyes. 

Bakugou was in complete disbelief. 

“When…” He breathed, hands coming up to sign the rest. ‘When did you learn that?’ 

It took you a second to register what he said before responding. ‘We learn over break…’ your signing was a little sloppy, he had missed a few things but caught on immediately at the end, ‘...love you. Want you feel normal as possible.’ 

He didn’t let you finish, grabbing you into his embrace and holding you tight. “Thank you.” He mumbled into your hair, you held on equally as tight. 

“You’re welcome.” Your voice so up close and intimate was a blessing. 

[deathbxnny]

Hi, this is my first time active on tumblr community, English is not my native language, so please forgive me for spelling mistakes <3

I have an idea for s/o Mitsuri (kny) with Blade, Jing Yuan, Dan Heng and Luocha please. who were dying in their arms and praying for another world, when they were reborn, and were turned into ordinary people with an ordinary past. Before I die, I want the reader to ask: "If we were to be reborn in a more beautiful world where there is no pain and loss, would you be my bride?". I am really looking forward to the reactions of the characters in hsr. Hope this angst idea is good enough-

Pray for you when you go, someone often remembers. When you return when someone is waiting. Pray for you to become the best memories in the world. Wishing you a life filled with love and happiness. I really appreciate you for the quality articles <3 Take care of yourself and I love you so much. Sorry for writing so long. (Sorry for the second post, I realized I forgot to add the character's name, so sorry =( )

-----♡

A/N: I know exactly what scene you are referring to here and I'll never recover from it tbh... Also thank you so much for your kind words and for the request! I hope this is okay!<33

Content: Potential Spoilers for kny! (?), Reader dies, hurt/no comfort (kinda), established relationships, angst, mentions of fatal injury, just pain

Reader has no set pronouns! (Though they do refer to themselves as a "Bride" per the request, but that's not outright mentioned here.)

((Not fully proofread))

-----♡

》Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan's usual calm and playful facade drops instantly, when he has your bloody and near lifeless form laying in his arms. He holds you close, knowing that your end is near and that there is nothing he can do now. He tries to still appear so calm and collected like he always is, but it's hard, when the love of his life is dying.

And it becomes even harder, when he hears you utter those heartbreaking words, as you look up at him with pleading, weak eyes. He can't bring himself to speak at first, mainly because he wants to believe that there is still some hope left in saving you. But he is no fool. He knows, that you are doomed.

And so he nods, promising you that he will, his arms holding onto you tighter, when the last breath escaped your lungs and you smile in satisfaction at him, already looking forward to seeing him again.

"Ofcourse, my love... I'll wait eons for your return, if I have to."

-----♡

》Blade

He nearly loses his composure at the sight of you, the blinding rage of the loss he felt in his heart making him nearly dip completely into insanity. Yet he keeps it at bay for a moment, just to hold you in his arms. He's trembling and for once in a very long time, he feels afraid and lost.

Your words make his already broken soul break even harder, burn up into fine ash, until it gets blown away by the wind and leaves a gaping hole in his existence behind. He can't process them at first, wanting to be stubborn even in the face of your inevitable doom. He doesn't want to show, how much this weakened him, just to spite the grim reaper himself.

And yet, it all fails, when he just let's out a pitiful, broken sigh and agrees in pained defeat, just to give you your peace. You smile at him, as the last of your life fades out, your eyes looking right through him. Only then, does he allow himself to break completely.

"Very well... but don't keep me waiting for long... I beg of you."

-----♡

》Dan Heng

Dan Heng didn't know, how you two got to this point. It shouldn't have happened. He should've protected you. And yet, you protected him from the attack. You were bleeding out, your life draining from you faster than he could stop it. Once more, a person he loved dearly was slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do.

He felt like a failure, like all of this was his fault. He should've died instead. Not you. And that thought gets only solidified by your heartbreaking, hopeful words. You didn't deserve this fate. You deserved someone much better than him.

And yet, he selfishly agrees to your final wish to bring you satisfaction. Your smile made it worth it, the relief in your eyes before they were drained of their beautiful spark and dulled making all the heartache disappear for only just a moment. Left behind was the emptiness Dan Heng felt, as all he could do was stare down at you in defeat, his heart broken once more. And for good, this time.

"For you, I will do anything, my love. So I'll see you then..."

-----♡

》Luocha

Luocha didn't want to believe, that it was over. That there was nothing he could do for you. He tried everything he could. He was a doctor, surely he could save you from this simple injury, right? But it was no use. You knew it. He knew it. And yet, he still denied it to the bitter end, until you gently grabbed ahold of his arm and just shook your head. A signal, that it was truly over.

And for once, he breaks down, holding you close, begging you not to disappear and yet all you could do was chuckle and utter your last wish for him. It was a promise, that eventually, you'd return to him. You'd find eachother in the next life, you were sure of it.

He was reluctant, still so stubborn and heartbroken to accept your doom, until he did. His soul died with you, when you took your last breath, he swore it. And he blamed himself, for not being able to save you, when he surely should've been able to.

"I'll find you in the in next life and the one after that one too, my dear... I promise you that."

-----♡

A/N: I hope this was alright! It was honestly heartbreaking to write... also thank you for the request!<33

[90sbee]

I was dead, and then you came (back).

Leon S. Kennedy x Gn!reader. 0.7k words. Also on a03

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

Leon learned his lesson. You're willing to return to him. He can't help thinking about what a miracle that is.

So, I've been writing so much about this man it is about time I start posting all the delusions. You can blame @navstuffs for this mess since she was the one that encouraged me to keep on writing and start posting. Her fault, tbh.

Content: Fluff, basically him yearning under the excuse of a morning after. Mostly his pov. No use of y/n, some sprinkles of size kink I guess. It's just them being dumb for each other. I guess any older Leon works, though I had Vendetta Leon in mind (but you do you).

Warnings: Leon's mental struggles; some suggestive lines; rough sex mentioned but no smut. STILL, minors do not interact. +18 only. Also I'm not a native English speaker so, apologies for any mistakes.

Leon looks at you in awe. How could he look at you differently? With soft steps you traverse the distance between the bed and the kitchen moving calmly, delicate figure enchanting him.

He licks his lips, amused. He sits on the bed, stretching his arms as he keeps his gaze on you.

“What is it?” you ask once you return to his side, a cup of tea in your hands.

“… You’re breathtaking,” Leon muses, a smirk decorating his mouth.

The cup shakes slightly, obvious signal as to how you feel.

“Always the charmer, Kennedy.”

“No, I mean it,” he replies, piercing blue gaze as tender as a summer sky.

“If you say so,” you sip on your tea, sitting closer to him and he presses his face against your shoulder, eyes closed.

The agent is aware that this is a privilege: a man like him is not bound for the whole spectrum of pleasure, both the carnal dance of two bodies as well as the warm company that now brightens his morning.

You smell sweet still. Even after he spit in your mouth, even after he forced pretty tears from your eyes. No trace of the sweaty musk that should surround you both after such exhausting physical activities from the night before.

You’re magical. More than human, Leon thinks.

When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by the sight of a pinkish love bite on your neck. He fixes his eyes on it, on the oval shape it draws on your skin. Could he do it again? He wants to. Hell, he would beg to mark you like that again. Every mark, every bruise, every trace of tears as evidence that he was there. That he is still here, with you. You’re real. And most importantly, he is there to experience it. To reverence your existence and praise you as you deserve.

The affection in his thoughts must be too loud, as you look at him, a hint of comprehension in your tone.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Leon shakes his head, body moving forward, as if caught on the spot.

“I just… would like to do it again. I mean, like last night. But also maybe not just… sex. If you’re… okay with that,” he explains, trying to sound casual, as if his heart isn’t attempting to break free from his chest, destroying bones and lungs on its way out. As if he wouldn’t fight the biggest horrors in this world with just his bare fists for just the chance of a lifetime with you.

Leon pushed you away once. He won’t make that same mistake twice.

You smile at him, scrunched up nose and the gentlest glimmer in your eyes. No reply comes out of your mouth, but the kiss you offer him is more than enough of an answer for him.

He kisses you again then, trying to process this still. The notion that even after his fears had overcome his whole life, terrorizing his thoughts and destroying his most precious bonds, you’re still willing to try again. To forgive him, to help him build himself up from deep, deep into the ground.

If the soil had buried him and drilled pain deep into his skull, so be it. There was still hope now. He wasn’t a dead man. Not yet. Not as long as he had you.

You chuckle when you both pull apart after the kiss, your bubbly energy making his grey bedroom light up.

Leon wants to add something else. But when he looks into your eyes again, he senses that you understand. And when you cup his cheek, caressing his stubble with heavenly devotion, the teacup long abandoned on the night table, he is more than certain that you know.

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

You look at him in awe, chest burning with yearning. Gaze tasting his pink lips, savouring the pretty eyelashes and the early wrinkles around his eyes.  The display of your feelings must be too strong, since he chuckles, taking your wrist in his hand, kissing your palm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he teases you.

And when you laugh, his stomach jumping with happiness after so long without being greeted with that divine sound, Leon is finally convinced: there is an angel in front of him.

If you've made it to the end, thank you. You're now legally required to tell me your thoughts (or not, I'm not a cop) 💜

[indristian]

More weirdly specific König Headcanons

By an austrian for an austrian character

He can hide how drunk he is pretty well, doesn't really start slurring his words and can hold deep conversations, the gig is over as soon as he stands up tho. He starts swaying pretty badly and has walked into more than one lamppost while intoxicated. Has apologized to every lamppost so far much to the amusement of everyone watching.

He isn't very religious but if someone starts praying the rosary in German his autopilot kicks in and he joins in. Same with certain church songs.

Started smoking at age 16 (don't worry, that was the legal age for smoking until like 5 years ago, then the gov changed it to 18) and regularly tries to quit. Nowadays he mostly smokes when stressed or drunk.

Tries to make everyone on his team say "Oachkatzlschwoaf" (means tail of a squirrel in an austrian dialect), refuses to tell anyone the English meaning bc he can't pronounce the word squirrel.

He's kinda choosy about the water he drinks. Water quality in austria is really good, so you can drink the tap water in the whole country. So when he's somewhere where the water is "technically" drinkable, but has a chlorine taste he prefers drinking bottled water.

Every new years eve at midnight he listens to the blue danube waltz, as is tradition in Austria.

There's a pocket in his tac vest that's reserved for Manner Schnitten. The people that saw something pink sticking out of his vest and made fun of him for it never get offered any when he opens a pack.

(Thanks to @court-of-fairytales for reminding me the Sissi movies exist) He has seen all of the movies, in theory, but the only times he has really seen them when he and his friends/teammates were "Sissi saufen" (saufen meaning drinking/binge drinking). It's a drinking game, mostly played around Christmas and new year, where you watch the 3 movies back to back and everytime someone in the movie says "your majesty" everyone has to stand up, say "long live the empress" and take a shot. Last man standing is the winner.

Has no visible tattoos but there's an AMA Gütesiegel stamp on his right buttcheek.

Kinds nsfw: Has absolutely quoted the "Ich will hinten rein!" ("I want in the back!" just with a lot more homoerotic implications) line when asked where he wanted to sit in a car and has gotten strange looks every time. (The movie this reference is from: (T)Raumschiff Surprise)

Kinda nsfw: He really likes talking to people in German (even if they don't really understand him) or teaching someone german words or phrases. The only thing he really hates is dirty talk in german, he'll do it if someone he's sleeping with requests it but he'll keep his face out of their sight bc he'll be 1000% be cringing.

Translates a lot of phrases literally bc the English equivalent "just doesn't have the right feel". Ends up saying things like "They look like a parcel someone ordered but never picked up", "They look like Bambi on stilts", "They have to pay attention like a clothes/shoe maker" ("aufpassen wie ein Haftelmacher", I know it as "aufpassen wie ein Haftelpitscher" but Google doesn't know it 😔) or "It's raining like the sky/like heaven is open".

Every time he sees someone with a Red Bull in their hand he has to resist the urge to say "You know, that's an austrian brand!"

The headcanons just keep coming!

And tbh after the last part I'm really tempted to make a playlist or a post compiling german songs König would get stuck in his head/would listen to. If anyone's interested please tell me!

Part one

Part two

Part four

Part five

Part six

[skzoologist]

Your request are open so...Could you write a fic abt like it snowing in October (sadly happened to me) and the boys just complaining abt it and sticking to bae's side, using bae as a human heater, hot chocolate. With tons of fluff and crack (sorry if its not understandable English isn't my native language)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

genre: fluff and crack (more fluff, this is my fault tbh, i can only write two things: angst or fluff, no inbetween)

a/n: I let out all the fluff from my heart into this, I'm so sorry, but I just love winter and it shows. I hope you're doing fine with the sudden snow, take care of yourself! And as I said, you're completely fine, I understood you perfectly, I just hope I wrote what you imagined. Thank you again for requesting, and feel free to come back any time for more!

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

A soft tune floated through the room, waking Bae from his pleasant slumber. His blind hand quickly found his phone on the nightstand, having always placed the device there, an almost ritualistic act of his. A soft little sigh left his body in protest of the idea of getting up, the blanket warm and snug around his form. It all felt like laying in the middle of a cozy cloud sandwich, warmed by the gentle rays of the sun as they wrapped themselves around his waist.

Wait, the sun wouldn’t make small sounds in its sleep.

Rubbing his eyes open slowly, Bae found the reason why his bed felt like the inside of a furnace itself, the body of his leader laying just beside him. Soft snores left his form, his features peaceful as he was finally asleep, a rare moment in itself from the man who avoided sleep as if it was the plague. Bae couldn’t help the small smile that sneaked itself onto his lips, even though there was an uninvited guest in his own bed. 

He let himself lay there for a few more minutes, observing the other, before finally tearing his gaze away and gently getting up, careful not to wake the other. The man was notorious for how light he slept, and Bae would rather be caught dead than be the reason for Chan's awakening. As he slowly slid out of the warm haven, he watched, amused, as hands tried to follow his wake uselessly. It was clear Chan was missing the warmth from his side, a little frown taking the content expression's place on his face. Bae caught himself almost letting out an amused exhale, the sight entirely too controversial as to what the world knew as Stray Kids’ strong leader.

It was adorable, a carefully treasured moment in Bae’s mind. What he didn’t understand though was the reason why his hyung was there, in his room. It rarely ever happened, especially like this, when the tired producer showed up in the bed, overnight, uninvited.

Not wanting to linger too much on that thought and be late from his personal dance practice, he turned around to start getting ready. Yet, his feet stopped in their place, the air prisoned in his chest.

It was snowing.

October merely started a few days ago, the weather normally chilly and nowhere near cold enough to form the pristine flakes that were now gracefully falling from the sky, as if it was all completely natural. The sky was white, a layer of unflavoured cotton candy enveloping the streets below. Before he knew it, Bae was already at his entirely too huge window, his hand sticking out of its opened form. The air lightly bit into his skin, the limb turning cold as it waited there patiently for as long as it needed to. 

Pale skin slowly turned red, goosebumps forming here and there when finally, a snowflake landed on his outstretched hand.

Big, sparkling eyes watched the little thing, its intricate design. How the lines branched out and met each other, how they twisted gracefully, until they created something so tiny, yet so breathtaking. Another one landed next to it, a bit bigger, yet its design completely different. It was more round instead of a star shape, as if the sky crocheted a little tablecloth for fairies.

“As much as I know you love snow, please come back in, you’ll catch a cold.” - a raspy voice pleaded with him from behind, strong arms gently tugging him away and closing the window.

Bae didn’t feel that cold until now, his fingers aching, his skin lightly prickling as warmth finally blanketed it once again. A sneeze left his form, quiet and muted, much like the type of person he was. A tissue appeared in his vision, his slightly shaking hands accepting it gratefully.

“Sorry I woke you up.” - Bae quietly muttered once he was done, glancing down at a Chan who was looking entirely too fondly up at him. “Nah, it’s okay. Should’ve woken up soon anyway.”

Bae nodded at that, knowing fully well that the man was too stubborn to say anything else. He went around his room and silently got ready for the day, his form quick and efficient as it glided over the cold floorboards. Once he had the bed made, comfy clothes ready to be worn prepared on top of it, he turned to his quiet leader, head tilted. He still didn’t know why the man decided to raid his room, after all.

“Aish, don’t look at me like that!” - at Chan’s protest, Bae merely tilted his head to the other side.

“Fine, fine! It was already snowing by the time I got back and my bed was just way too cold.”

The leader’s ears were too red, his arms crossed and lips in a pout. Yet Bae merely airily laughed, not at all surprised at the whole thing’s reasoning. Catching a glance of the newly appeared dimples, he turned around, now really needing to go and get ready for his practice. On his way to the bathroom, he bumped into a sleepy Jisung and Changbin, greeting their confused forms as he hurried by.

After a quick shower and his morning routine done, Bae, who was now fully clothed -even with a beanie-, ran into a problem.

That problem being his noisy roommates.

“Nooooo, don’t go, jagi, pleaaaaaase. It’s snowing, it sucks, just stay back!” - Jisung wailed with his doe eyes staring at his victim, arms locked around one of Bae’s. “Aaaaa, don’t goooooo, stay with uuus! It’s too cold for you to leave!” - it was Changbin, the loudest, as he was holding Bae back from behind with all his strength. “Baby don’t goooooooooo. It’ll be too cold without you here.” - even Chan joined them, clinging onto Bae’s other arm.

Of course, Hyunjin was also on the loud trio’s side, his entire weight supported by Bae as he just leaned against his front quietly. The other three shouted enough, he didn’t need to join them to try and win Bae over, the drama llama knew that. It took every fibre of Bae to not just topple over, the pulling and pushing forces on his body almost too much to handle.

He really should have anticipated this all from the moment he saw that it was snowing, his bandmates always turning into even bigger cuddlebugs and whiney babies the moment winter arrived. He could merely sigh, letting the tension leave his body, silently telling the others that he would, in fact, stay back with them. It was a Sunday after all, something they got to spend however they wanted to, as the company forced them to take a break against their will -something Bae clearly didn’t want to oblige to-.

“I’ll call the others over!” - Hyunjin immediately left to grab his phone, energy suddenly radiating from him. “Tell them to bring snacks!” - it was Changbin, his form already in the kitchen to grab their own snacks. “And some fluffy blankets! You know, like the one Felix has!” - Jisung’s voice rang through the entire dorm, his form zooming around the rooms and collecting blankets and pillows. “Just tell them to be careful and to dress up warm!” “Okay old man!”

Chan could only sigh, his head resting against Bae’s shoulder as he now fully stood behind his tallest member, arms encircling petite waist. Bae gently shook his head, not understanding how they could be so clingy just because of a little snow. With his hands over Chan’s, he waddled over to the living room, depositing the protesting male there and pushing everything away to make place in front of the TV.

Not a minute later after he was finished did Jisung appear, arms full of comfy and fluffy blankets, pillows, everything you could imagine. The lil quokka deposited them there, the trio promptly grabbing them and building an enormous pillowfort. They even had some fairy lights installed inside, thanks to Felix who’d suggested it the first time they’d built something like this.

Sometime along Hyunjin joined in, latching onto Bae as if he was the weasel’s personal heater. It made the building a bit harder, but at this point, Bae was used to it, even as Jisung joined Hyunjin and dragged the poor otter to the ground. Jisung only laughed as his lips took on that lovely heart shape, making Bae remain silent as he found no strength to reprimand the boy for what he did.

Soon voices could be heard, the front door opening and the missing half of the band poured in. Felix beelined towards the kitchen along with Minho, bags in both their arms. Changbin greeted them loudly, still busy with making something. The two youngest joined the others in the fort, burrowing their way into Bae’s arms, much to the protest of everyone else.

“What’s with you guys?” - Bae asked incredulously, yet his arms circled around the two to hold them in place. “You run hot, perfect for snuggling. Especially on cold days like these. Even Innie cannot resist it, and that says something.” - Seungmin mumbled out, his face buried into Bae’s neck.

The maknae didn’t say a word, simply let out a content sigh as he snuggled into Bae’s chest on the other side, cold fingers settling onto the poor man’s sides and freezing him in silence. Hyunjin and Jisung grumbled, but let their cute little members stay there, instead settling behind Bae and playing with his hair. Chan merely watched the whole thing happen with fondness in his eyes, choosing to go out to the kitchen instead to help the others.

Good thing too, because everyone came back with their hands full, snacks and steaming mugs in their hands. Bae and the two young ones were forced to sit up as their own mugs were gently passed into their hands, the smell of hot chocolate hitting their faces full force. It was something that Bae loved, being a member of the club of coffee dislikers besides Felix, instead usually opting for sweet drinks. He leaned back against the two boys and the couch behind them, letting himself relax for once.

He watched the chaos he grew fond of fold out before him as he slowly sipped on his hot cocoa, savouring the pleasant burning sensation on his tongue. His eyes followed Changbin chasing Chan around, the latter having stolen a cookie from the dwaekki after their mugs were forgotten on the coffee table pushed to the side. He watched as Felix took the opportunity, taking more food for himself before the chasing duo could notice, a devilish little smirk playing on his lips. He also watched as Minho climbed into their fortress, threatening Hyunjin with some tissues after the boy didn’t want to let the cat take his place. Of course, Minho won, Hyunjin pouting as he sat aside and took a happy little Felix into his arms. 

Bae let his head fall back, looking at the resident cat and searching his face. Minho looked back at him, slowly blinking a few times and gently patting his side. It was their own way of communicating, telling the other that everything was fine and nothing bad happened on their way over. No words were needed, they easily understood the other. Bae just blinked back and turned forward, taking back the two youngest under his arms -as much as he could with his mug in his hands-, them having finished drinking it. Jisung snuggled into his back on one side, while Minho just leaned his head against his own.

By the time the other two joined them, their mugs weren't steaming anymore and some members started whining, wanting to already watch the movie. Of course, their first choice was a Ghibli one, with two big fans being in their midst. Howl’s moving castle started playing, everyone quieting down and settling in as snacks were passed around in the dark room, only illuminated by the fairy lights and the TV. The gentle glow and warmth enveloping them quickly put everyone into a fuzzy headspace, dancing on the precipice of sleep and awareness. With every movie they watched the more they leaned over to the side of sleep, eyes staying closed for a few seconds longer with each blink.

It was long past noon when everyone was at last fully asleep, limbs tangled with each other and snacks completely devoured. Bae was at the bottom of the pile, everyone hogging a part of him for at least a little bit of his warmth. Somehow while the movies played, Felix crawled on top of the tall male, selfishly taking the most for himself. Changbin by some strange means ended up hugging one of Bae’s legs, forced to sit near the edge of the fort. Chan was in a similar situation, limbs thrown over both Felix and Bae’s legs. Hyunjin wormed his way back behind Bae, making him, Minho and Jisung huddle there and act as the slumbering otter’s backrest. Seungmin and Jeongin successfully secured their position in Bae’s arms the whole time, peacefully snoring there.

Winter arrived sooner than it should have, and while the members liked to whine about it, it was also one of their favourite season for a certain cuddly reason.

[svtminji]

11:00 PM - yjh

pairing. mizuki & jeonghan ❪ jeonghan x oc ❫ word count. 0.7k warnings. jeonghan’s short hair </3, just pure fluff tbh an. meant to write this as soon as i saw the photos he posted, but i was going thru major editing crisis on this account. after finally writing all of the relationships for svt, i think it’s fair to write at least ONE fic. taglist. @seokiys

it was always a quiet environment in the doi-yoon household. the slight sound of the tv could be heard from the outside but no one bothered to complain since the owner wasn’t home most of the time. if anything, the noise gave the neighbors some comfort that she was doing fine.

“damn, he must be in some sort of traffic.. there’s no way he would purposely delay our movie night?” mizuki muttered to herself, trying to put the horrendous thoughts about his whereabouts away. she laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, he wouldn’t do anything weird right? on que of thinking about the devil, he sent a text message.

11:00 hannie ��: i’m omw back home 11:00 mizu 💁: alright, can you bring in the package outside the door? i’m already in bed :P 11:01 hannie 🙄: fine, but you better have the show we were watching earlier ready 11:01 mizu 💁: okk _(:3 」∠)_

what was so busy he had to get home around eleven? mizuki didn’t want to read into it too much and instead headed towards the living room. she looked at the mess and decided to do some late minute cleaning. when the living room decent for once, the kitchen was begging to be cleaned as well. though as soon as mizuki went into the kitchen, she heard the familiar locks being unlocked. she looked at her phone and saw 11:05 staring right at her. he’s finally home and that’s what currently mattered.

“i’m home! and i have your package right here,” jeonghan announced to the busy mizuki, “sorry for coming home so late. i had a talk with the stylist about something.”

jeonghan saw her current state and smiled, always the busy person. he removed his shoes and made his way to the kitchen, not forgetting to place the package on the table. he leaned in and gave her a kiss. mizuki returned it and when focusing her sight on the dishes, she found herself shocked. she quickly turned off the tap water and dried her hands.

“what is this,” mizuki told him while reaching to touch his hair, “since when did you-”

“today. that’s why i came home so late,” he responded and took her hands from his hair and put them close to his chest, “to be fair, i thought you would’ve been in bed right now and wanted to surprise you in the morning. though you’re clearly standing in-front of me and not in bed.”

mizuki scoffed, “either way i would’ve had the same reaction. why didn’t you at least tell me where you were? i was worried, like so worried to the point of calling the guys.”

“but i’m home now. and i bet that’s more important for you right now.” he couldn’t help but slip a sly grin at her reaction.

“i mean- yeah. you’re right. sometimes i hate how you know me so well.”

“come on, let’s go to bed. i’m sure you have no energy while waiting for me.” jeonghan started to convince her while pulling her towards the bedroom.

“noooo! i’m not tired. i am very much awak-” she was eventually cut off by a yawn, to which jeonghan gave her a look of ‘i told you so’, “fine. but can we at least watch the show in the bedroom? i didn’t know if you wanted to watch it in the living room or the bedroom.” mizuki removed herself from his grasp to speed-walk towards the light switch. once it was turned off, she ran towards him.

“do you think i beat the ghost?”

“i’m sure you did. let’s get to bed now. bet you wasted your energy on all that running.”

“um, no? i am very pumped up right now.”

jeonghan closed the door behind them as they settled into their bed watching some random english show.

after a few hours passed and jeonghan’s weverse posts, mizuki turned off the tv. she settled herself into the embrace of jeonghan. being in each other’s hold was always peaceful for them.

“i still prefer your long hair.”

jeonghan couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. “i’m sure you do. goodnight, love you.”

“love you too, and your short hair too.”

i don’t know how to properly write jeonghan atm, but i will learn to do so someday 🫡. svtminji est. 2023