#once as 'fall to ruin' play of words in 4

[crescentmoonrider]

Heaven

Fallarien falls to ruin Under the cold hands of Hannes And the tolling of the church bells The people's cries like a choir For the prompt : Sound Torture [ @badthingshappenbingo ]

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.

The church bells toll a solemn note The voice of God     Now silent Come hither, come, children of God The church bells call as every day

Choir of one, as Hannes sings And dances still, Apocalpse Dancing, singing in her cold hands Whispering God’s words to her ears

“Holy daughter of Fallarien,” The people cry,     In despair “Why do you feel no pain for us ? Why inflict us such cruel ends ?”

The church bells toll, and Hannes sings Indifferent to all but God The sweet song of Death, that her sword Sings, in time with her pas-de-deux

“Swans sing before they die,” she says Like a curse for Fallarien Fallen to ruin for its sins The spring of Lourdes dry as stone

“Holy daughter and miracle,” A moaning voice,     Weeping “Why ?” As the bells toll, and Hannes sings The solemn note of punishment

The flames of hell melting down flesh The people cry, in pain, “It hurts” And still the song of God’s angel Slicing through bone as the bells toll

“It sounds like Heaven,” Hannes thinks

[aegonstradwife]

conception | aegon targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aegon have 4 daughters. while aegon is in a meeting they discuss the fact that the king doesn’t yet have a male heir. otto suggests aegon taking a second wife to have a chance at producing an heir. it pisses aegon off that otto would even suggest that.

warnings: talk of general misogyny, established relationship, smut. (riding, creampie.)

a. note: link to the original request.

It's a warm day, perfect for taking the girls out to play in the courtyard. They are glad to be free of their daily lessons, and you of your queenly duties.

One day away from such responsibilities couldn't hurt, and the sun shining down on your grouping had you in higher spirits than you had been for months.

Until you spied your husband stalking his way through the corridor toward you.

Initially, you lit up as you saw Aegon, as did your daughters upon seeing their father; he is so often away from them in council meetings or tending to other kingly duties.

For Aegon, seeing his wife and daughters makes him happier than he's been all day. It's a rare sight, seeing him smile so warmly, especially these days. But sadly, it doesn't last long.

The girls may not notice, as Aegon scoops the youngest into his arms, but you sure as hells do.

That menacing look, the red rimming his eyes. Telltale signs that Aegon isn't feeling his best, which unfortunately have been more prevalent of late.

"Aegon?" You lay a hand on your husband's arm, squeezing. "What's the matter, love?"

His violet eyes lay upon your hand squeezing his arm, and he tries to keep his terrible mood in check, so as not to take it out on you or the children. "There's nothing wrong, my dear."

But he refuses to meet your gaze as he presses a kiss to your daughter's forehead.

"Nothing?" You raise your brows, studying him. Something is wrong. Perhaps something you'd better not discuss around the girls....

"Ladies, why don't we break for lunch?" You announce, herding your daughters to one of the maids nearby.

With one last kiss to her chubby cheek, Aegon sets the youngest down and allows her to waddle off with the rest to the kitchens.

"Talk to me, my love." Once alone, you run your hands up Aegon's arms to his shoulders, kneading. "What happened? I thought you were meant to be at council all day...."

The king grumbles, frustrated to be questioned by you, but at the same time relishing the feeling of your talented hands kneading the tension out of his shoulders. Of which there is a lot.

His gaze meets yours, and there's a hint of annoyance in it, though whether at you or other matters, you can't initially tell.

".... Otto has brought a most pressing matter to the council today."

The breath he takes next is measured, trying to keep his composure, though he finds doing so much easier in your presence.

"What?" You frown, any number of terrible things flashing through your mind. All of them ending with the palace in rubble, your family ruined as Rhaenyra takes the throne. "Is it her? What awful thing has she done now?"

You dig your fingers ferociously into Aegon's shoulders.

A small pained noise escapes him, though he tries not to wince as he places his hands over yours to loosen your grip.

"It's not Rhaenyra." He continues to stare at you, his eyes full of an exhaustion you wish you could wipe away. "It's Otto."

You smooth your fingers apologetically over his shoulders, soothing the hurt. "So you said. What did he say?"

Aegon closes his eyes, that furrow between his brows relaxing for just a moment, as your fingers stroke him, before returning. He pauses, unsure how you're going to take the words that must next fall from his lips. Knowing they might hurt you. "He said we need a son, that we desperately need a son and soon...."

Your stomach falls. You knew this was coming - for years now you've only been able to produce girls. With every birth, Aegon's joy only grew, and your worry along with it.

What if you couldn't produce an heir at all? What if -

"We'll keep trying," you say resolutely. "I know I can give you a son. Just let's keep trying, please...."

"That's not all that was mentioned." It looks like it physically pains Aegon to tell you this. "The matter of a second wife was also raised, to try and help produce a male heir...."

You know husbands - especially kings - often take second wives when the first is unable to birth a son. Gods, it will about kill you if Aegon turns to that ...

At a loss for what to say, and feeling tears threatening to spill if you utter so much as a word, you cling speechlessly to Aegon, hoping for him to make it all better.

His hand is under your chin, cupping gently, forcing you to look at him. "But.... what if.... what if I don't care for a son?"

Shaken by this declaration, all thoughts of crying banished in worry, you clap a hand over your husband's mouth and glance around for any passing servants. "Do not say that, Aegon! What if someone were to hear...?"

A determined hand encircling your wrist, he pulls your fingers gently from his mouth, a grave look on his face. "And if they did? Why is it so important they think we care about a son? Why.... why couldn't one of our daughters be queen? Rhaenyra seems to think she has some claim to the throne. Why not our eldest?"

That intense stare does not waiver as he continues to peer at you.

"Aegon, please, not here..."

The cogs in your head are turning, as you grab him by the hand and pull him along into a spare room, Aegon following silently along.

It seems he, too, is thinking about what he's just said as he closes the door behind you. His expression is still earnest when he turns to face you.

You turn to face him at the same time, arms crossed. "You're saying you would name Syryn as your successor, as queen?"

"Yes," comes his simple yet fervent reply. "If Rhaenyra believes Viserys named her heir, then surely I can do the same?"

You chew thoughtfully at your cheek. "Otto will never accept it. I doubt the smallfolk would either. Isn't that why we're in this situation in the first place?"

"You think they won't accept it?" Aegon asks, cornering you and placing his hands on your shoulders. "I'll make them accept it. I'm the king, damnit. I don't want a son, I don't need a son. I have everything I need already."

The conviction with which he says it almost makes you believe it. "And.... you don't want to at least keep trying? For a son? Or even another daughter?"

Seeing your husband all worked up like this is making you feel.... things.

Aegon notices the immediate change in your expression, the way you look at him, your need for him.

"We will keep trying.... but not because I want a son."

His hands relinquish their hold on your shoulders to instead grab for your hips, gripping them firmly and pulling you flush against him. That earnest look in his eyes is now dark with desire, gaze roaming hungrily over your body.

Your hands come to sweetly cradle his jaw, humming contentedly as your body is pulled to his. "I love hearing you talk about our family this way. I love knowing you love us and will do anything to protect us, as king."

Twining a lock of his hair around your finger, you look up at him through your lashes. "I would love to give you another child, Aegon. Son or daughter."

He purrs as your fingers weave further into his hair, his hands tightening their grasp on your hips, pulling you ever - impossibly - closer.

Aegon leans down, breath hot against your ear, and breathes, "Then you'd better be prepared to keep trying.... over, and over and over again."

You can't help but grin, ecstatic at Aegon's joy over your family. You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders and kiss him; a biting kiss, teeth clashing, tongues sliding over each other.

"We should try now," you gasp, tugging at the back of Aegon's jacket. "While the girls are at lunch and you have some time away from the council."

Aegon groans agonizingly into your mouth before he pulls away, gaze now even darker.

"Such a desperate little thing, aren't you? Wanting to take advantage of your husband while he can spare the time," he teases, pulling off his jacket and tossing it aside.

Even just those words - Aegon calling you desperate, seeing you for what you truly are - are enough to make your legs tremble.

"Oh please, Aegon. Right here, I need it here."

The room you've found yourselves in is bare, with naught more than a fireplace and a few suits of armor dotting the perimeter.

As such, you pull him back toward the wall and lean yourself against it, fingers dipping under the collar of his exposed tunic. "I need to feel you, my king."

Aegon presses you back against the wall, your back aligning with the cool stones, his body now pressed firmly against yours. His lips find your neck with a huff of hot air, kissing and nibbling, hands grabbing for every bit of you they can reach.

"You're always so needy, so desperate," he mutters. "I'll give you what you need, my wife. I'll give you everything you desire."

As his hands work their way over you, yours do the same over him. His body has the perfect amount of cushion to it - being held against him is the most comfortable feeling in the world.

"Aegon...." You whisper, lifting a leg to wrap it high around his waist. "Give me another child. Please."

A deep growl escapes him at the wrap of your leg around him and he presses forward, wanting to make sure you can feel every searing inch of him against you.

"You want another child, do you?" His lips blaze a scorching path to the collar of your dress, which he tugs out of the way with his teeth. "You want me to fill you up and give you what you need?"

In a hurry to have him inside of you, you gather your skirts and pull them up with a quick nod. "Let's not waste too much time. Someone will be looking for one of us sooner or later."

He whines as your gown is hiked up, revealing the smooth, creamy skin of your legs and the heat between them. He runs his hands over those legs, leaving burning trails in their wake.

"So impatient," he murmurs, "but I have to agree with you."

He hunches down, positioning himself properly between your legs, and curls his hands around the backs of your thighs. "Wrap your legs around my waist, love, and hold on tight."

With your back still anchored against the wall, you wrap your legs tightly around your husband's hips and allow him to lift you from the ground. Your hands are still moving all over him, eventually skimming down to his trousers, which you start to undo the buckle of.

Aegon grunts his approval, allowing you to unbuckle his breeches. His gaze never leaves yours, though, as his breaths grow shallow.

"Gods, you're going to be the death of me one day," he sighs, hands squeezing at your thighs. "You always know how to drive me absolutely wild."

At this angle, it's hard to get your hand all the way inside the opening of Aegon's pants. But you do manage to circle your fingers haphazardly around your husband's half-hard cock and give him a few solid pumps to bring him to full hardness.

"And the way to drive you wild is to ask you to fill me full of your babies, isn't it, Aegon?"

His breath hitches at the feeling of your hand around him, a frustrated groan falling from his lips. His entire body quivers with desire as he leans in. "You know me too well. The thought of filling you with my seed, of giving you more children.... it's enough to drive any man wild."

"Any man?" You 'tsk.' "Doesn't the thought of just 'any' man getting me pregnant make you jealous, my king?"

With your legs already around his hips, it's hard to get the waist of his trousers low enough to allow his erection to pop out and Aegon has to help you, shoving the constricting material down so that the head of his cock can nudge at your folds. "I'm wet for you.... can you feel it?"

Though he doesn't say it aloud, he feels a sharp pang of jealousy at your words, a possessive need surging through him. He growls, hands gripping your thighs even tighter, eyes practically blazing with desire.

"Don't play with me. I know you're teasing, but it's enough to make me lose control." He leans in even closer, breath blistering against your skin. "Put me inside, my love. Let me feel you."

Arching your back away from the wall, you position yourself so that Aegon's cockhead is pressing insistently at your opening. "…. should I make you beg to fill me up?"

That simple question sets his body quivering with yearning for you. His fingers dig into your skin as he tries to hold on to his composure, but failing all the while.

"Please…." He groans, his voice low and hoarse. "Please, my love, let me fill you up. I need it, I need you."

"Good boy," you sigh, and after a quick peck of a kiss to his nose, you begin to relax the muscles in your back, allowing your wet cunt to slide down on Aegon's cock, welcoming him inside of you.

Aegon's eyes roll back in overwhelming pleasure at the feeling of your warm, wet heat around him. With a sharp inhale, he redoubles his hold on your thighs, pulling you down onto him as he begins to move with you, matching your rhythm perfectly. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with your moan and Aegon's desperate grunts. Aegon's face finds your neck again as he continues to drag you down onto him with abandon, deeper and harder with each thrust.

"You feel so good, my love." His voice is tremulous, hands beginning to shake where they hold you up. "I'm not going to stop until I get you pregnant again."

And it all feels so dirty, the hem of your gown trapped around your waist as your husband pulls you down by your hips, driving himself into you. Your hands try to grapple for purchase at the wall beside your head, but then settle for resting your wrists at Aegon's shoulders, tips of your fingers clawing and scratching at the back of his neck.

"Please, Aegon…we don't have long. Someone might come looking soon…" At this point, you don't even care if you climax, as long as Aegon's seed finds its home deep inside of you.

In response, Aegon nods, hips now moving even faster as he feels your nails digging into his neck. He can feel his own release building, evidenced by the way his chest heaves and his face has gone pink all over. The need to give you what you want is overwhelming for him.

"D-Don't worry, my love," he gasps. "I won't last long like this."

And with that, he gives one final, powerful thrust, burying himself deep as he empties himself inside of you, shouting your name like a war cry.

There are few things in this world you enjoy more than the feeling of Aegon's warm seed splashing inside of you. You hum, eyes rolling back, as the king spends himself inside you.

He pulls you close, holding you tight against his chest. "I love you," he gasps, with a kiss to your temple. "And I love our daughters. Fuck a male heir. Syryn will be queen."

Capturing his lips in another kiss, you run your hands gladly up and down his chest. "Syryn will make a great queen. She already bosses the other girls around like it's her job."

Aegon chuckles, pulling back to look down at you with a gleam in his eye. "I think she takes after her mother in that regard."

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[vivwritescrappythings]

anything you ask

knight!könig x plus-size!fem!reader

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

despite all odds, it is your wedding day (final part)

tw: fem reader, afab reader, plus size reader, body image issues, drinking, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, loss of virginity, breeding kink, creampie, not proofread.

wc: 10.2 k

masterlist

--

Your father sequestered you to your chambers immediately after your makeshift proposal, a knight you did not recognize posted outside your doors to keep visitors away. 

It was remarkable how quickly you turned into a prisoner, only allowed to fetch books from the library and have dinner with your father in his private study. The meals were silent, his disappointment in you clear as you kept your gaze trained on your plate. 

You tried to speak to him once. It was a pathetic attempt at an olive branch, some silly apology for ruining his plan with Lord Fischer. You stumbled over the words in your efforts to sound sincere. On some level you were sincere, knowing you embarrassed him and hurt his reputation. But you were rebuked just as quickly, his glare silencing your stammered excuses. 

His disappointment was hard for you to swallow. While your sister was your mother’s favorite, you had always been your father’s. When you were little he took you riding and told you stories to fall asleep and always had the patience to play with you. Your personality had never irked him, he simply called you spirited. He said you got it from his side of the family.

To be outcast from his good graces hurt more than you could describe. 

The days in your confinement were long. There was only so much time you could spend reading before you wanted to gouge your own eyes out. You found yourself missing your idle conversations with the other ladies at court over your embroidery–you had taken talks of dress styles and weddings and how to properly put together a dinner party menu for granted, always rolling your eyes and sticking your nose up in the air. You missed the other girls, the way they anxiously giggled at your sarcasm and how Mary always made space for you. 

Above all, you missed König. His crystal-colored eyes and smile had been haunting you ever since your father yanked you up off the staircase by your arm and escorted you to your room himself. The knight had been your constant companion for over half a year, it was odd to no longer have him by your side.

Although, you had no idea what you would say to him if you were able to speak with him. You were still reeling from all that had happened, it felt like you had been thrown from a horse rather than gotten engaged. Of course, you had fantasized about marrying him, but you had never imagined it to be under these circumstances. 

You still could not decide if you wanted to embrace him or rebuke him. His plan had risked everything for you–your reputation, your freedom. Rather than let you two marry, your father could have easily just sent you off to a convent for the remainder of your days.

König would have lost nothing. He was too skilled of a knight to be executed, and you were not important enough for his titles to be stripped. Even if he had not been permitted to marry you, he would have been let off with a slap on the wrist.

You never knew there was a part of him so selfish. Or so calculated. 

It was not until after that you realized everything he did had a purpose behind it. If getting his mouth on you was his goal, he could have just as easily knelt before you where the two of you had been tucked behind the curve in the wall. 

Instead, he spread you out on the stairs in plain view of any passers by. But he allowed himself to nearly suffocate beneath your skirts rather than hike them up around your waist and sacrifice all of your modesty. 

It was an enigma to consider his motivations: did he actually want to pleasure you or just force your father’s hand? You knew he was a second son and that you had foolishly informed him of your absurdly high dowry amount. The two of you got along reasonably, and matches had been created on less. The leap to marrying you was not a difficult one to make.   

You often found yourself sitting at the window seat, counting the days away as you watched the flurry of motion in the courtyard. König was out there with the other knights and squires once. Your eyes had nearly popped out of your head when you spotted him, your hand flattening against the cool window pane as you pressed your forehead against the glass.

He was only wearing his black hood and trousers, his thick torso on display as he showed one of the younger squires how to spar with wooden swords. It was unfortunate that your room was too far to see the fine details of him clearly, you could see the covering of dirty blonde hair on his forearms and chest, the faint line of it beneath his navel that disappeared into the laces of his trousers. You should have been ashamed by how you were ogling him, watching each movement and the way his skin moved over the ridges of muscle.

But, he was your soon-to-be husband, after all.

You could ogle as much as you wanted.

An odd sort of thrill ran through you at the thought. Your husband. In all your dreams about being married, you had never considered that you could marry someone you would want to ogle at. You expected a man like Lord Fischer: far your senior with no other prospects. But König was unlike anything you had considered realistic.

He looked up at you from the training field, making you nearly fall back from your window in shock. You were too far to make out any expression in his eyes, only able to see the way he tilted his head a bit to one side. A laugh, you guessed.

It had even been a week since that one shred of contact with him. You sat at your window every day since then as you vied for another peek of him. But you had no such luck, just knights and squires you had never bothered to pay attention to before. You kept looking, hoping to see a man who towered over the others.

You were at your window when your father came to your rooms to tell you to pack your trunks. He hardly spoke to you, informing you that you were both headed east to the Kilgore estate for your wedding.

–

The week before your wedding went by in the blink of an eye.

It was a blessing your mother and sister had arrived at the Kilgore estate before you did. It was a flurry of activity when you arrived, they had gotten the servants into a frenzy cleaning for guests. They had taken over most of the planning, ordering flowers and sampling bolts of fabric for your gown and putting together a menu for the feast. 

You had been told that the eastern peoples enjoyed festivities as fantastic as their monumental architecture and rolling hills of green, so your wedding ceremony surprised you.

The hall was grandiose: tall buttressed ceilings and two long rows of pillars along the main walkway. A breeze carried in through the open terrace doors, fluttering the hem of your deep blue gown. The air smelled thick of oakmoss incense, you could see the smoke floating through the rays of orange sunlight.

You steeled yourself, forcing yourself to tear your gaze from the polished marble floor and look up.

At the end of the hall, König was there with the priest. 

The ceremony was nothing you expected, only your family and your sister’s husband were present. König’s brother was overseas on some trade expedition and he had no other family, so a knight he had grown close to during his time in battle stood on his side of the room.

König’s shirt was of the same blue fabric you wore, embroidered elegantly with silver thread. His hood was nowhere to be seen, a mask covering his face from forehead to nose. His hair was the color of sand, half of it drawn back away from his face into a thick bun with the rest curling around his shoulders. A few loose pieces fell over the silver forehead of the mask.

It was more of him than you had ever seen before, your gaze greedily taking in the shape of his profile. His nose had been broken a few times, the ridge of his Roman nose exaggerated from being set in the field. His jaw was sharp, the familiar scruff of his stubble covering it. 

You finally willed yourself forward, the fabric of your dress heavy as the train dragged behind you. Each step was measured and careful, your mother and sister had drilled into you the correct walking speed over the week. It seemed ridiculous at the time. But you found yourself counting each step in your head. 

The aisle was long, it gave you far too much time to think. THe still had not uttered a word to you since that day in the hall. There was so much you wanted to say to him, the words bubbling in your throat as you swallowed thickly.

You stepped onto the dias, turning to face König. 

His smile surprised you. It was faint, it almost felt like a secret between the two of you. His eyes were so open, every flicker of joy clear to you as you found yourself grinning back.

He reached out and clasped your hands, the rough scrape of his callouses against the tenderness of your skin. Your hands told of a life of privilege, his told of a life of work despite the luxury his family’s estate exuded. 

Thumbs ran across the backs of your knuckles, feeling the delicate bones of your hand shift under the gentle pressure.

The priest began to speak in a language you did not understand, the same lilting accent and harsh consonants recognizable from König’s voice. You glanced at the gnarled old man, trusting König to guide you through the ceremony that was so foreign to you.

You could hardly hear what the man was saying over the thundering of your own heart. It just took a squeeze of König’s fingers to prompt you when to nod and agree, to clumsily repeat his words. 

He slipped a beautiful ring set with an emerald onto your left hand, its weight already feeling familiar on your finger. It was easy to admire, your lips parting as you watched how it sparkled in the sunlight. The air felt thick with marjoram and incense smoke. You struggled to breathe.

It took the priest clearing his throat to pull you from your reverie. The room cleared, breath coming easy once more. König’s gaze was on you, eyes sparkling with fondness as they dropped to his own ring finger and back to your face.

Oh. You clumsily produced the thick silver ring from the pocket sewn inside your dress sleeve. There were etchings in the metal, swirls of filigree pressing into your fingertips as you grabbed his hand to bring it toward you. A drop of molten lead moved through your stomach as you realized that you could fit both of your hands into one of his.

Buzzing filled your mind as you pushed the ring onto König’s finger, relief warming you as it settled into place. 

The priest tutted, tongue clicking against his teeth as he was seemingly satisfied.

He moved off the dias first, König taking your hand in his and leading you to follow the painfully slow pace. “Meine frau,” he murmured in a low rumble. 

You hardly even looked at your family, feeling lightheaded as you glanced up at König. “What does that mean?” you asked softly.

“My wife.” He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss as soft as a petal on the back of it. You warmed at the term. Wife was a word that you were convinced would never belong to you.

His knuckles ghosted along the gooseflesh lifting on the back of your arm before lifting it around you. You tucked into his side easily, naturally. His hand settled on your waist, drawing you close as he steered you into a private room. The doors clicked shut behind you.

“Are we wed?” you whispered, brows drawing together as you looked up at König. You could see the distorted reflection of your face in his mask, the silver polished handsomely. 

He laughed and nodded, his smile genuine as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear. 

It was the first moment the two of you had been alone. After a moment you pulled your hand from his grasp, taking a few steps back. You could see the confusion in his expression as he stood, watching you curiously.

Your anger had not dissipated, your arms crossing over your chest. “You could have informed me of your plan, you know,” you said, your glare earnest across the room. “I confided everything to you, trusted you with my life and you repay me by risking my reputation and what little freedom I have as a woman to force my father to accept your proposal.”

It was hard to pinpoint the moment when you started to shout at him, gesturing wildly with your hands. 

König was smiling, aggravating your further. You huffed, lurching forward and shoving at his chest. His lack of an answer made you want to scream. “It was selfish! You knew that and you did it anyway.”

His big hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking along the bone as you snarled at him. “There she is,” he murmured, voice soft as he directed your gaze up to him. His smile was soft, the scars on his lips pulling taught. “I missed seeing the fire in my mäuschen, it has been quite some time.”

You scoffed, caught off guard by his words. Disbelief made you shake your head slightly, the warmth of his palm still curved to fit your cheek. “König…”

He stepped closer, his other hand curling around to the small of your back. “It was not my intention for your father to catch us,” he said, dipping his head toward your own. A kiss was stamped to your forehead, another to your cheek. “I was going to ask for your hand in marriage without any dowry–he would have been a fool to deny it.”

The skin beneath your earlobe prickled with sensitivity as König’s teeth nibbled at it. “The other day… I simply was too eager to give you pleasure,” he whispered into your ear, walking you back until your spine pressed against the stone wall and he loomed over you. “And I have thought about it almost constantly ever since.”

Your cheeks heated up like they were set on fire, your hand covering your mouth as you glanced away from König. “Constantly?” you asked, the word muffled in your palm. Something between embarrassment and flattery pounded in your chest.

His fingers nudged your jaw until you were looking at him once more. “It has been hard to focus on much else,” he murmured, a smirk twisting his mouth. The pad of his thumb ghosted along your lower lip, making you part them slightly. “You tasted so much better than I had ever even dreamed of, I could have kept my mouth between your legs all day.”

He may as well have lit you on fire.

“König!” you scolded lightly, shocked that he would say something so scandalous. “What if someone is listening?”

His laugh was warm and affectionate. “Well, mäuschen, then they will hear how much I desire my wife.” The pride in his voice was so obvious that you felt like you were glowing. 

König finally bent to capture your lips with his own. You hummed into the kiss, letting your eyes close and your hand find his neck. The curls at his nape were soft as you tangled your fingers in them, pulling gently. 

You had never kissed him without the bulk of his hood before, the smooth press of the silver mask covering his nose far different than the scrape of canvas fabric you had become used to. 

His hand seized the fabric of your skirt, bunching it in his fist as he started to lift the hem. The feel of the embroidered edge sliding along your leg invoked your ire as you remembered why you had started the conversation in the first place.

You pulled away, shoving your husband’s chest to put some space between you. He let you, taking a step back and releasing your wedding dress. The air felt thick as you took a breath. “Do not think you can just kiss me and compliment me and I will forgive you,” you said, brows drawn. 

König nodded, lips twitching as he tried to school his grin. He stepped toward you, palms lifted toward you like you were a cornered animal. “I will beg on my hands and knees if you wish.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. König took your hand and brought it back to his lips, letting them skate across your knuckles. “I will spend the rest of my days attoning for it if that is what my beautiful wife desires,” he murmured, looking up at you through his blonde lashes.

He disarmed you easily, making you turn your face as you fought the urge to grin. “Perhaps I do desire that,” you mumbled, the threat of a laugh tickling your throat.

There was a warm puff of air over your hand as König snorted softly. “The rest of my days, I swear. But first we must get through our wedding feast.”

You had forgotten there was still a feast to get through. The anxiety of walking down the aisle had taken up the forefront of your mind, the rest of the day had hardly occurred to you. The feast. The consummation.

Thoughts about consummating your marriage made you feel dizzy. Your mother cornered you a few days ago to discuss it with you, whispering in low tones as you both sat close on a window seat. Her words floated in your head: no man wanted a weeping, unexpired bride on his wedding night. She told you that if he showed you his face to tell him he was handsome even if you did not believe it, and to hide the fact that it hurt. 

But she would not say what would cause you pain.

König gently tugging on your hand pulled you back to the present. “Yes, the feast,” you said, scraping your teeth over your lower lip as he brought you under his arm.

You leaned into his warmth as you exited the room, letting him pull you toward the large double doors at the end of the hall.

At his nod, the footmen pulled the large doors open to a room full of raucous clapping and shouts. 

—

The feast was lively–far more people than you expected were present. The great hall was full of long tables, they even spilled out into the courtyard through the open doors across the room. Lords and locals and family and friends sat amongst them, eating and laughing and talking as though they had known each other their whole lives.

It had run long, hours upon hours of feasting and drinking and talking. You watched the plates before you were filled and cleared and filled over and over again. Seemingly without end. The food was delicious. Roasted meats and basted potatoes and honeyed pears, bread that flaked apart with the most gentle of touches. Cups remained full of ale and mead and wine, your drink strong enough that you were forced to sip it slowly.

People keep coming up to wish you both well, you and König sitting at the center of a long wooden table. The somber man you knew him to be was replaced by a man who remembered the name of each person who approached and clinked together mugs and laughed in loud barks. 

You had been processing the ceremony still when you noticed the local blacksmith asking how König was liking the mask with a genuine smile on his face. It had been forged specifically for the wedding.

It was easy to feel smitten with König, the more you learned of him over the course of the evening making you soften from your previous anger. 

His big hand landed on your thigh, squeezing gently as he turned to face you. Your eyes went wide as you looked up at him. “Is the food to your liking?” he asked softly, head dipping low toward yours so he could whisper over the din of the room. “You have not eaten much, it is unlike you, mäuschen.”

You almost felt embarrassed, warmth coming to your face. It was hard for you to eat when you were so anxious. “It is wonderful,” you assured, inclining your head toward his shoulder. There was no way you could share your anxiety for what comes after with him. “The honeyed pears are divine.”

He smiled, leaning in to press his lips against your temple. They were soft and warm, his breath puffing against your hairline before he shifted his weight back into his seat. 

Before you quite realize it, another plate of honeyed pears sit before you on the table

–

It was only when the moon was high in the sky that König whisked you away from the feast, an arm looped around your waist as he pulled you from your chair and out the side entrance to the room without so much as a farewell. He shushed you softly when you stammered that you needed to say goodbye, assuring you that the party would still be going on for the next few days as was his people’s custom.

The next few days, you could hardly imagine being able to stay awake for it.

Your feet were already stumbling, you struggled to keep up with König as you leaned against him. He took you through what felt like a labyrinth of stone hallways, making you get hopelessly turned around. 

“It has been a long day,” he murmured, stopping for a moment to pull you closer to his chest. You sighed, sagging against him and taking in his familiar scent. It was pleasant to feel the slight give of his flesh as he embraced you–you had only ever encountered him when he was wearing armor. Without it he finally felt real beneath your touch.

You nodded, forehead pressing into his sternum as you let your eyes shut. Only one thing was left, your mother had impressed upon you how important it was for you to let König take you to bed no matter what. She feared he would wake up and change his mind in the morning.

You found your feet after a few moments, fingertips wiping at the corners of your eyes as you stood up straight. He only released your arms once he was sure you were steady, tucking a piece of hair away that had escaped your elegant braided style. You leaned into the scoop of his palm, letting your cheek squish into it. 

You stretched to your toes, hands linking behind König’s neck to pull him down. He answered your silent plea eagerly, mouth slanting against yours. The crackle of lightning behind it reminded you of the first kiss you shared in the library of the royal palace. It took no coaxing from him for your lips to part, the flavor of the spiced mead he had been drinking all night filling your mouth as he licked into it.

His hands settled on your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he pulled you close. One of them migrated dangerously, smoothing over the curve of your ass just before taking a handful of it. You giggled into the kiss, pressing your body against his as you moved in toward him. His pinky dug into the line where your ass met your thigh, pulling a genuine laugh from you.

“I am ticklish there,” you protested between your lips meeting, trying to defend yourself with a hand. König chuckled, using the newfound knowledge to his advantage as he hooked his fingers into the crease. 

You lurched, scrabbling at the thick muscles of his arms as you tried to escape his grip. “You should not have told me that, mäuschen,” he threatened affectionately, continuing his assault in spite of your protests. Your laughs turned breathless as you weakly shoved at his shoulders, your legs kicking as you attempted to twist from him.

Voices echoed from around the hallway corner. “He was quite eager to pull her away from the feast.” There was a bout of conspiratorial giggles as unseen companions agreed with the man who spoke.

The distraction stopped your husband from tickling you, letting you stamp your lips to his once more. You would have been content to stand and exchange open-mouthed kisses without worry, no longer caring of who stumbled upon the two of you. 

But König pulled away, blue eyes meeting yours before he took you by the hand and you raced breathlessly next to him to his chambers.

–

You sucked in desperate breaths as the door clicked shut behind the two of you. His chambers were opulent and extensive, furs and velvets and fabrics embroidered with silver thread strewn across the furniture. The fire crackled merrily across from the large, four poster bed along the center of the largest wall of the room. It was still unmade, the twisted mess of quilts making your body warm to the tips of your fingers and toes.

König began to undress himself as instinct took over, kicking off his heavy boots and removing the belt secured about his waist. You were in his rooms after all, the thought a molten ball of lead in your stomach.

You stood in the center of the room, hands clasped together in front of you as you looked around. The smell of marjoram filled your nose, undercut by a familiar musk that always seemed to cling to König’s skin. Goosebumps prickled along your arms as you considered the room, unsure whether to disrobe or not. Your confusion forced you to freeze in place.

A sigh from behind you forced you to turn to look over your shoulder. His shirt had been entirely removed, tossed over a plush settee with little care as he raked his fingers through his hair. Your lips parted, mouth drying as your gaze shamelessly fell to the thick muscles of his torso.

He noticed your admiration, letting his hands fall from his curls as he stepped closer to you. “Is there something you wish to ask, meine frau?” His head tilted to one side, his form towering over yours as he stopped before you.

You swallowed thickly, lips parting as you tried to find words. Scars crossed over his torso just as they did his neck and lower half of his face. You hesitantly reached forward to touch one, the gnarled skin smooth beneath your fingertips as you traced the slash mark down the center of his sternum. There were more slashes and stab wounds, a burn mark over the meat of his hip and disappearing into his trousers.

The ridges of his abdominal muscles were firm beneath your touch. You were breathless, wetting your lips with your tongue as your forefinger followed the trail of thick, curling hair beneath his navel. 

You looked up to him through your eyelashes, still feeling like you were choking as you tried to think of something–anything–to say. The room felt too warm, the fire burning in your belly hotter than the one in the hearth.

His blue eyes were dark as he met your gaze, mouth twisted into a smirk that made it feel as though the ground had dropped out from beneath you. It was easy to see that he was pleased.

The silver mask reflected the glow of the room back onto your face, hiding the rest of his expression from you. Your fingers itched to take it off, to untie the strap of leather that held the metal snugly to his face and reveal it after so long.

“Will I ever know my husband by the entirety of his face?” you asked in a moment of boldness, gaze flickering from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “Or shall I only know you by your eyes?”

König hummed, seemingly contemplating as his large hands brushed over your shoulders and down your arms. “And if I did not wish to show you?” His thumbs circled over your wrists, slipping beneath the sleeves of your gown. Affection seemed so natural to him, as though he had spent the previous few months touching you whenever he desired.

“I would not force you to.” You allowed him to turn your hands over in his hold, thumbs pressing along the fine bones of your inner wrist before massaging the meat of your palms. 

He was looking at your hands, blonde eyelashes fluttering against the bottom rim of the eyes in his mask. “And if you do not find me handsome?” he asked, so quiet that you almost missed it. Your heart ached, the fear undercutting his tone making your brows bunch together.

“I find you handsome now,” you assured him, cupping his cheek. It was hard to imagine a man like König to be insecure. He had always seemed so assured of himself before, exuding confidence in the halls of the royal palace. 

“Promise you will not leave.”

It felt like he had seized your heart in your chest, fingers squeezing around it as you stepped closer to your husband. Your brow furrowed as you nodded. “I promise, König,” you said softly, trying to soothe the flicker of fear in his expression. “I am your wife, I will not leave.”

He sighed, a slight nod bobbing his head as he leaned toward you. You bit your lip, reaching up carefully to the knotted leather cord. It was easy to pull apart, your stomach turning with anticipation as the two halves of the cord fell away. He moved the mask away from his face, hardly breathing as he set it down on the same settee he had discarded his shirt onto.

You stopped breathing altogether, hands flying up to cover your mouth. 

König was handsome. 

Almost ridiculously so. 

Of course he was rugged. His bright blue eyes were framed by thick, straight eyebrows and high cheekbones, his nose crooked from being broken so many times. It suited him, your husband both exactly what you expected him to be and nothing at all. One scar cut from the left side of his nose and curved up toward the outside of his eye, this skin jagged and puckered. The scar on the other side of his face looked like lightning, bisecting his eyebrow and meeting the cut running from the inner corner of his eye into a Y that dragged almost all the way down to the corner of his lip. 

You must have been silent for quite some time, König clearing his throat prompting you to blink and shut your mouth. His cheek matched the cup of your palm, a shiver running up your arm as you touched his face for the first time.

“I am glad you did not take your hood off before now,” you murmured, watching him lean into your touch. 

His eyes shut tightly, his expression bracing for you to say something worse. “I would have had to fight the other ladies at court off of you if they knew this is what you were hiding underneath that fabric.”

You grinned as his broad shoulders slumped, his relieved exhale puffing over your face. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours as he wrapped his arms around you. “You exaggerate,” he mumbled, almost sounding bashful. Color flooded his cheeks, dusting them with pink as the firelight illuminated him in gold.

It was hard to tame your fascination, your fingertips tracing the shapes of his features just as your eyes did in a foolish attempt to memorize them. You were greedy, wanting to make up for every moment you had wondered what he looked like. 

“I would not exaggerate,” you whispered, wetting your lips once more. He shivered beneath your touch as you traced a scar across the bridge of his nose. 

He grumbled something beneath his breath, bending his knees to grab you at your thighs and lift. “König!” you yelped, the sensation of the floor no longer beneath your feet making you balk as your hands pressed against his bare shoulders to keep yourself steady. “Put me down! I am far too heavy for you to lift like this.”

His laughter was genuine as he carried you with ease. For the first time in your life you felt as light as a feather, not even a hint of strain visible in König’s expression. “Too heavy? You seem to underestimate me, mäuschen.”

He turned, sitting on the edge of the bed and arranging you so your knees were on either side of the broad expanse of his thighs. König’s hands slipped beneath your heavy skirts, pushing the royal blue fabric out of the way so he could smooth his hands over your bare thighs. You still had the urge to shove his hands away from the dimpled flesh on the outside of your legs. 

If your insecurity was obvious, König did not let on that he knew. His expression melted into one of desire as he squeezed handfuls of your soft thighs. The press of his hand on the small of your back pressed the two of you close.

Your bodies slotted together like they were made to, your thighs spreading wide over the bulk of him as he tugged you down hard. A whine pulled from you as you felt the swell of his clothed erection between your legs, snug against your quickly dampening undergarments. 

The feeling of arousal was still new to you, your heart fluttering as König rolled his hips against yours. You tangled your fingers into his hair, now loose from the half-up style he had worn during the day. Twisting the soft strands around your fingers kept you tethered to earth as your bodies moved together, quiet moans filling the charged air between you.

Your nose dragged against his scarred cheek as you clumsily found his lips, teeth mashing against his as your hips rocked to the pace that he set. 

The thin fabric of your undergarments started to stick to your inner thighs, the ache between your legs starting to make you desperate. You leaned back to better look at him, his eyelids heavy and lips parted as he took you in.

His gaze dropped from your face to your chest, tracing the square neck of your gown. There was a flash of his pink tongue as he licked his lips. Your fingers curled around his wrist, pulling his hand from your thigh to the bodice of your gown. It was all the permission he needed.

König’s thick fingers slipped into the front of your dress, pulling it down enough to make the stitches creak before your breasts spilled out of the fabric. Pride flickers through you at the way his eyes widen, jaw going slack as he stared with an expression that resembled awe. 

It seemed he did not notice the stripes of stretch marks along the skin, the calloused pad of his thumb already strumming across your nipple in a way that made you sigh. His mouth moved to the other before you could quite register, lips closing around your nipple and sucking. You whimpered, arching your spine as you used your grip on his hair to pull his head closer.

“Christ,” you sighed, head tilted back and eyes screwed shut. He nosed along the thin skin of your sternum, his hot breath making gooseflesh rise on your arms. A bite on the side of your breast made you squeak, his tongue laving over the sting.

His big hand between your shoulder blades anchored you to him as he flipped the two of you over gracefully.

A few attempts were made to just pull your dress off like a brute before you were scolding him and flipping onto your stomach. “Be careful or you will rip it like that,” you hissed, moving your hair off the back of your neck. “There are such things as buttons, you savage.” 

He only laughed, already working each button through the loop of thread holding it in place. “It should be a crime to have this many buttons on a wedding dress,” he mumbled, fumbling with them. 

It gave you a moment to breathe. Despite not having touched a single cup all day you felt tipsy, the edges of the room a bit fuzzy as you tried to calm your heart.

Hands hooking beneath your shoulders flipped you over onto your back, earning a giddy laugh from you. König moving you like a ragdoll felt hard to reconcile with–you had grown up thinking that you were simply too heavy to be treated like the petite thing he saw you as. 

Eagerness was glowing in his eyes as he pulled the sleeves of the gown off your arms, exposing your upper body to his greedy gaze. You had to calm yourself, breathing in and out and reminding yourself of your mother’s words: he had no time for a weeping bride on his wedding night–you just needed to make him happy.

You lifted your hips to help him pull down your dress and undergarments in one swoop. He tossed the gown onto the same settee with his shirt, the royal blue fabric ballooning in a heap.

His profile was outlined in the golden light of the fire, making him look ethereal for a moment. 

You were thankful that he looked away to untie his trousers, letting you take in the rolls of your body without his reaction. You sucked in your stomach, breath locking in your chest. Perhaps sitting up would help, if you pulled your knees up it would at least cover the softness of your belly. You wished the firelight was dimmer, the shadows catching in each crevice of your body and exaggerating them. 

You decided upon sitting up, awkwardly holding yourself with your arms as you tried to twist into a position that seemed natural. The press of your belly against your thighs took up too much of your focus, the rest of it preoccupied by the crease of extra flesh you knew existed just above where your hip met your back.

It was hard not to hyperventilate, each stretch mark and dimple on your skin magnified so much that you hardly remember that König was in the room with you.

You had no idea how many times he had to repeat your name before you actually heard him, blinking slowly as you looked up at him. His brows were furrowed as he observed you, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry, I was preoccupied with my thoughts,” you murmured, smiling sheepishly. Your throat felt like it was squeezing closed, the anxiety you had been forcing out of your mind all day finally rearing its ugly head. The smile on your face tightened, your discomfort obvious.

His frown deepened. The laces of his trousers were forgotten, hanging open as he knelt on the mattress. Fingers nudged your jaw up to look at him, blue eyes seemingly staring through you and into your soul.

“What is bothering you?” he asked, thumb pressing your lower lip.

You felt like you were choking, your eyes wide as you tried to think of a plausible lie. 

König’s gaze dropped to your body, lust shadowing his expression. His fingers twitched beneath your chin. “I am so lucky you accepted my favor that day at the tournament,” he said, a faint smile on his face. 

He moved closer, slowly forcing you onto your back beneath him. His touch was delicate as he moved the hair out of your face. You let your eyes close as he pressed a kiss to your brow. “I worried that I would make a fool of myself and lose, I thought you were so distracting. So beautiful.”

It was hard to pay attention to his words when his mouth was dragging down the column of your throat, his teeth scraping over the delicate skin as he spoke. 

He continued down your body, taking care as he felt the fullness of your hips and stomach and thighs. You grabbed his wrists, trying to pull them away as he shushed you. “I have been lucky enough to marry the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, please allow me to touch her,” he pleaded softly, voice muffled against the skin next to your navel. 

His expression was so earnest you could hardly deny him, slowly letting go as you lay back. You could feel his smile as he lifted your legs onto his broad shoulders, smattering kisses and bites onto your inner thighs. 

There he was, looking at you and still wanting you, still pressing his mouth to the ache between your legs. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of hair at the crown of his head as his scruff scraped against the insides of your thighs. He flattened his tongue over your sex, muscular arms curling around your legs to grab your waist.

He dipped lower, tongue teasing your entrance as he collected the wetness pouring from you. You bucked against his face, heel digging into his shoulder blade as you twisted to press the sensitive bundle of nerves against the ridge of his nose.

You were keening, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loud. König moved to wrap his lips around the bud and sucked with small pulses of his tongue. His fingers pet over your entrance, making you clench around nothing as your spine arched. “Please, König,” you begged through clenched teeth, not quite sure what you were asking for.

Then one of his thick fingertips caught at your entrance. Your whole body buzzed as he thrust up to the second knuckle. Breathing was hard, the tightness a foreign feeling as you tried to relax.

He never even bothered to pull away as he hummed contentedly, surely suffocating by now as you kept pulling him impossibly closer. The press of his finger inside you eventually became comfortable, your muscles releasing as you willed yourself to relax into the feeling.

As soon as you felt comfortable with one, he added another. Both curling inside you made your breath punch from your chest, his digits feeling each and every ridge inside of you as he worked you higher and higher. The building feeling he had introduced you to last time was starting to knot in your stomach. 

Two fingers turned into three, making you sob as your arm covered your face. 

It was hard to get used to the feeling of being so full. Your moans were pathetic, pitchy and breathless as he found a spot inside of you and curled the tips of his fingers over it mercilessly. His other hand held firm just above your navel in an attempt to force you to be still.

It was too much, the rhythm of his fingers matching the tightening of your muscles until everything finally just released. The relief was instantaneous, all-consuming as euphoria buzzed from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. You pulsed like a heartbeat around König’s fingers, still feeling dizzy as he pulled them from you.

His lips were wet with your slick as he pressed a kiss to the crease between your thigh and hip, wet fingers smearing against your waist. One leg fell to the bed, then the other as he crawled over your body. 

You were limp on the tangled sheets as you looked up at him, his downturned eyes partially lidded as you ran your hand over the scrape of his stubble. It was wet around his mouth, his lips still shiny with your arousal as he buckled over you. His forearm braced next to your head, holding him above you.

It was hard to say who moved into the kiss first, but noses pressed into cheeks and teeth clicked together as you licked the taste of yourself off his lips. You ached for more, trying to pour your request into König through the touch of your lips.

He used his free hand to shove his trousers down his legs, kicking them off and onto the stone floor. The backs of your thighs were snug against his hairy quads as he shifted back over you. 

You were almost scared to look at it–the only naked man you had ever seen was a drunk man who had been arrested just outside the palace gates. Even then, it was just glimpses and flashes through the bars.

The feel of a hot brand against your thigh caught your attention. You sat up slightly, propping yourself up on an elbow as you looked down at the gap between your legs. The flushed tip bobbed against your thigh under your gaze, smearing wetly against you. It was hard for you to tear your eyes away.

He fisted his cock, groaning as he worked the length of it in his hand with a practiced stroke. The girth was impressive, still looking thick even in his own hand as you watched clear slick trickle from the weeping head and over his knuckles.

This was the only part of the consummation that seemed to match what your mother warned you about. It was supposed to be the painful part, when she advised you to simply imagine you were somewhere else until your husband decided he had enough. You had no idea how his cock was supposed to even fit inside of you.

“Do you… do you think it will fit?” you asked, naivety coloring your tone. You never intended to flatter him, but the breathless laugh you earned made your cheeks warm. He dropped his head forward, lips pressing against your temple. 

“Yes, mäuschen, it will fit,” he assured you gently as he tried to fight his grin. 

Smooth callouses swept to the back of your thigh, your knee pressed toward your chest beneath his firm grip. The wet sound of your sex splitting against the press of his cock made you want to hide, arousal twisting deep in your abdomen as you lifted your hips toward his. You both sighed as he rubbed himself up and down the seam.

The blunt catch of the head at your entrance made König groan, his eyes screwing shut. He moved toward it on instinct, slowly pushing against the ring of muscle. The feeling was not painful as much as it was uncomfortable, the pressure of you stretching wide around him made you draw tight like a bow.

Your hips tilted through each strained press, trying to find a position that felt more comfortable as he kept pressing into you. It was hard to understand that he just kept going, seemingly taking up all the excess space inside your body. 

Heat burned between your legs when he was finally seated fully inside you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickling the backs of your thighs. 

Your breaths were shallow and quick, the intrusion overwhelming as your fingers twisted in the bedding beneath you. The press of his fingers was not enough to prepare you for the width of his cock, the length feeling like he was buried all the way through you and in your throat. He filled every inch of you, plugging you up until you felt like you would burst.

“Relax,” König breathed, his voice sounding strained as he kept himself still. He rubbed two fingertips up and down your sternum, the motion eventually coaxing your breaths to slow to match the rhythm.

He shifted against you, a minute movement jostling the two of you against one another. The sensation made the world drop out from beneath you, muscles tightening as your sex bore down around him. You were stubborn in your attempts to grind your hips against him. There was a strangled sound from his chest, deep and rumbling as he squeezed your thigh so hard you were sure it would bruise.

“Please, meine frau, you must calm down.” His hand moved to splay over your hip, forcing you against the mattress as he pinned you down. He nodded approvingly as you stopped moving, your head starting to clear as you settled with each breath.

Sweat dampened his forehead and the nape of his neck, wisps of his hair stuck to his pale complexion as he hovered above you. It was still hard to wrap your mind around the fact that König was your husband, the band of the ring on his finger digging into the flesh of your thigh to serve as a reminder. The scars marking his features already seemed so familiar to you, the tilts of his head and pinch of his eyes lending themselves to memorizing the expressions he had kept secret under his hood.

His thumb moved to press tight circles against your sex, a satisfied smirk contorting his features as he watched you gasp. The discomfort was quickly pushed to the back of your mind, your sex squeezing tight around him as you mewled. You kept squirming, making him groan each time your hips moved.

Another hot squeeze of your core had his head sagging forward on a groan. He rooted deep, hips stuttering as he nudged even further inside you. His eyes were dark as they found yours, your nod of encouragement frantic.

“Yes, please,” you breathed, hand finding the curve of his jaw. Your thumb traced the jagged line of the scar near his lip. “Please.”

He hummed his agreement, turning his head to press a kiss to the center of your palm. His breath was hot over your fingers as his hips bunched against yours. 

It was only the first taste of him inside you, gentle rocks of his pelvis to get you used to the feeling. The hot slide and press of his cock deep inside you unlocked something in your mind, something primal and instinctual you never knew existed. 

You clutched at his bicep, gasping for air as he got more confident in his movements. The squelch was loud in the room, you were absolutely soaking. You could feel yourself leaking all over König and the bedding and your inner thighs. But the way he looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky made you forget your concern.

He leaned back, his wide palm smoothing over the back of your other leg and pressing until you were nearly bent in half. You almost choked, surprised your body could even contort so much. His lips were parted, his breaths labored as he stared at where you were stretched tight around him. The swell of your stomach made it impossible for you to see so you settled on watching his expression grow heavy with lust.

A long, sinuous motion made your eyes roll back. König pulled out and plunged back inside you in steady thrusts from tip to base, his skin slapping loudly against yours. The muscle of his hips bumped hard against your pelvis, his hands pressing down on your knees to rotate your hips up toward his.

He looked up at you, the sight of your nod making him bear down further. You had to force yourself to keep breathing, each hard thrust making you sigh softly as you tried to keep your head above water and stay with him.

He rutted into you so firmly that your teeth clacked, sweat starting to form at every juncture of skin touching skin. You reached for his shoulders, making him gather the backs of your knees on his biceps as he moved in closer to you. His brows were drawn, cheeks flushed pink as he grunted softly.

The air in the room was humid, your shared breaths dusting over one another as your eyes remained locked together. 

He fucked into you with grit teeth, sweat starting to roll down his temple. Each thrust of his hips made the knot in your belly tighten, a syrupy warmth blooming through you. The pressure of him around you scratched an itch you never knew you had–you would crave this for the rest of your life. 

You lifted your hips even further, his cock reaching a spot that made lightning start to build between your legs as you cried out. 

“König, there, please…” you begged, voice breaking. 

He obliged, pressing his belly to yours as he caught your mouth in a searing kiss. The merciless rhythm of his hips continued, the ocean waves building in your belly starting to crest and break. His lips opened over yours, hot tongue twisting into your mouth and licking along your teeth. 

His weight shifted, head of his cock pressing so firmly inside you that the frantic wave of pleasure smashed into a million pieces as you fell.

Your legs twitched as you came with a scream, back arching stiffly off the bed. It felt like you were on fire, hot and unbearable as your muscles locked up. You struggled to think, your pleasure syrupy and warming as you floated somewhere else.

König stilled above you, keeping you speared on his cock as you writhed beneath him. His moan was deep, vibrating against you as your sex squeezed down on him like a vise. The press of his hands held you there, as strong as steel as he ground into you through the throes of your orgasm. You surfaced, your eyes wide as they met his, the sight of him forcing a moan out of you.

He looked like a predator above you, eyes gleaming with arousal. They were the color of lightning, the blue so intense that it was almost crackling as he searched your expression.

Your body started to jolt, your orgasm wringing you dry as you panted beneath him. He ground into you, cock twitching inside you as your hips stuttered of their own accord. The bedding twisted in his fists as his knuckles turned white, forehead dipping into the hollow of your throat as his breath fanned over your chest.

It occurred to you that he was close to spilling his seed inside of you, the whole point of consummating your marriage returning to you as you thought of carrying König’s child. You gasped, hand flying to your stomach all at once as you rubbed the skin there and imagined.

Soon you would be pregnant. He wanted you to be. You wanted to be. 

His eyes followed the movement of your hand, his own fitting over yours, thumb stroking over the backs of your knuckles. He groaned, pressing your hand down against your soft flesh as it became clear to you he understood. 

Your name was on his lips, repeated like a prayer as his hands fitted to your waist and pulled you further onto his cock. 

“König,” you replied, your voice breaking as he set a reckless pace.

Your world spun, fuzzy around the edges as you drew harsh breaths that ended in soft ahs. The full wave of his body was gone, a staccato rhythm that was quickly turning sloppy replaced it. He stopped withdrawing fully, fucking into you with an urgency as he pounded you deep.

Delirium took over you as he used your body for his own pleasure. Overstimulation made tears well up on your lashline and slowly roll down your cheeks, you moaned your husband’s name as you fought to keep your eyes from squeezing shut.

König was running his mouth in his native language, guttural words twisted around your name with his harsh breaths. You loved listening to him talk, you found yourself wishing you understood what he was saying as he muttered words under his breath. He snapped his hips against you once, twice, and then he made a wounded sound as he finally found his release. 

He kept shoving into you, hard and unrestrained as he fought to get even deeper inside you as his cock spit come that felt like molten iron deep. His hips stuttered thoughtlessly to fuck it even deeper inside of you.

You were awed as he held you there, watching his eyes squeeze closed as his breaths came hard. One hand left your waist, pressing into the sweaty bedding beneath you to stabilize himself. He moaned under his breath, exhaustion and satisfaction mingling in the sound as he bowed toward you. 

It was only a moment more until he collapsed, pressing you into the mattress with the bulk of his body as his nose pressed just beneath your jaw. You were both suspended in time as you gasped, your eyes wide as you stared at the ceiling.

His hand pressed beneath you to the small of your back, holding you close as he remained buried deep inside you. 

The weight of him on top of you made you wheeze, your palm pressing against his shoulder finally bringing König back to life. “You are crushing me,” you said with a laugh, voice breathless. 

He was moving before you could say anything more, arms curling around your waist and over your back as he rolled. The world shifted as your cheek came to rest on his barrel chest, ear pressed against his strong heartbeat. His arm fitted around you, pulling you closer as he stamped kisses on your damp hairline.

“My love,” he sighed, almost sounding awe-struck. You looked up at him through your lashes, your palm pressing over his ribs. 

He shifted, both of you hissing as he slowly pulled out of you. His fingers traced down your body, gathering his come as it started to leak from you and pressed it back inside of you. You yelped, nerves frayed as you squeezed around his digits. 

“Get that smirk off your face,” you said, your smile betraying your tone as you attempted to scold him. He looked satisfied with himself, eyelids heavy as he shifted his gaze to you. His eyes were back to the color of a clear pool of water, his calm affect returned.

“You did not seem so upset with me at the moment,” he teased, calloused fingertips tracing up and down your arm.

You rolled your eyes, mashing your cheek into his chest again as you curled into him. 

The silence between you two was comfortable, your gaze roving over his chambers. There were shelves with trinkets from travels, books and scrolls amongst them. It was so cozy, furs and rich fabrics across the furniture and tapestries on the walls. You lifted your head slightly, the rounded ear of a stuffed bear visible behind a basket with odds and ends of fabric sticking from it.

“I have to ask,” you started, a wide grin on your face as you propped yourself on König’s chest. He smoothed his hands over your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he looked up at you, waiting. “Did you make that bear you gave me at the tournament?”

You had always found it hard to imagine him stitching it together, big hands working a needle through the fabric. 

König laughed, a sharp breath of air leaving his nose as he nodded. “I did,” he said softly, cheeks turning pink as he looked a bit sheepish. “After the war I needed something to do with my hands that did not feel like murder. That was the best one I made, I wanted it to go to my future wife.”

You hummed, biting your cheek as you tilted your head to one side. “You thought I would be your future wife?” you asked, nose wrinkling. Affection warmed your cheeks, your hands pressing flat on his chest as you looked down at him.

“Oh yes,” he breathed, reaching up to tuck some of your mussed up hair out of your face. “I knew I would have no other. It seems that the gods agreed with me.”

You leaned into the touch of his hand, his thumb stroking over your eyebrow and down your cheek. “Would you make another one of those bears? For our child?” you asked softly, resting your chin on his sternum. You traced hearts on his chest with your fingertips.

König smiled again, his scarred face looking soft in the firelight. He bent down to kiss you, fingers hooked beneath your chin to lift your mouth to his. It was sweet, just a stamp of his lips to yours.

“For you, my lady?” he asked, eyes roaming over your face as he spoke. My lady. You were elated that he would now be calling you his wife. “Anything you ask.”

[joemama-2]

ten reasons i love you

pairing: gojo x fem reader tags/warnings: angst, angst, angst, light fluff, smut, death, divider by @cafekitsune

word count: 2459

Reason #1: you’re patient

Sometimes, I get a little jealous. I wish I were like you, and I try to be, but no one could ever be like you. You handled every situation, every wrongdoing, every argument, every fight, with grace. A simple and natural elegance.

Every time, it proved why I fell in love with you. 

But, I love when you’re patient with me. I know I can be hard to handle sometimes, annoying, or an “ass”, whichever name you decided to grace me with that day. You stayed with me, even when sometimes I wished you hadn’t. Because I knew you deserved, deserve, better.

“Can’t you just tell me all the reasons now?”

“Nope, that would ruin the surprise. You get your next reason next week.”

A gentle kiss to the forehead, followed by one to your cheeks, nose, and then lips.

Reason #2: the way you laugh

I know it’s getting hard to do that now, but when you finally do, it’s the most pleasant sound my ears have ever heard, that my body has ever felt when you giggle against my neck. It sounds like a sweet melody, one that makes you warm. One that makes you smile, without noticing. 

I don’t think anyone could ever have as beautiful as laugh as you do. Even then, it wouldn’t compete.

The way you laugh sounds so natural like you don’t care who hears. I miss your laughs so much. Whenever I hear it, in that moment, everything is okay. Everything is perfect. Because you’re perfect. 

It’s the sound of joy that fills up a room and my heart. I wish I could listen to it forever.

“I didn’t take you for a poet.”

Satoru laughs, dimple more prominent. “I can be cute when I want to.”

You smile, followed by your oh-so-precious laugh. He practically melts on the spot. He can hear the rattling in your chest he’s unfortunately become familiar with. But his face doesn’t fall, instead, he holds you closer and presses a kiss to your hairline. 

It feels like just yesterday when you both got the news, when your lives changed. It’s the second week, but he just prays for time to slow down. For he’s not ready for the future. 

Reason #3: your determination

It’s so beautiful to see. The way you try and try, even after failure. The way you never give up. Maybe it’s because you’re a bit stubborn, but you never back down. It’s a quiet strength about you that I hope you can make loud one day.

You’re fierce, but quiet. Determinated, but timid. I’ve never seen those combinations before, but now that I have, I love it. 

“I wish I was still strong enough.”

His heart breaks at the sight before him, along with your resigned tone of voice. Pushing some strands of hair out of your eyes. “Listen,” he murmurs, head titling. “You are strong, then and now. You will always be strong. Do you want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I know you. And I know you’re not ready to give up, just like I’m not giving up on you. We’ll both fight this. In the end, I’ll buy you that ice cream you really like.”

Tears fill your eyes, a sad smile playing on your lips. “Okay, I can’t wait.”

Reason #4: your creativity

I know you’re trying to find ways to take your mind off the now, I am too. I didn’t think someone was capable of picking up on hobbies so fast, but the gloves you knitted me say otherwise. Oh, and the cute little crotchet animals that now take residency on my side of the bed. But I’ll let that slide, just for you. (The little gray bunny is my enemy, btw.)

I wish I was as creative as you. It’s like your juices just get flowing and once you start, you don’t stop. I love seeing it happen in real-time. It makes you happy, I know that. So it makes me happy too.

I’ve been getting more yarn now when I’m out, it’s kind of just like second nature now, I guess. They’re starting to pile up, but I hope one day they’ll all be gone. 

“Keep her off her feet more.” The doctor tells Satoru, who currently stands with a pensive expression, fingers curling around your own. “Your wife needs all the rest she can get, so if you can, keep her on bedrest with less strenuous activities.”

Bedrest. 

That word alone shakes you to your core, a prime example of your deteriorating condition. You can hear your weakened heart pound in your ears, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. If you’re being advised to be put on bed rest, what hope is left for you?

Almost none.

Reason #5: how you care about people

“That’s ironic, isn’t it?” You huff out, a wince soon taking over. 

Satoru’s comforting hand places itself on your pale one, smiling. “Just keep reading.”

With one final breath out, your eyes travel down to the small journal, reading today’s entry.

You have a certain way of making people feel seen. Including others in conversation, making sure no one is left out. You listen when needed, comfort when needed, and give advice when needed. Even if you’re not doing the best yourself.

You make people feel important, make me feel important. You look beyond titles and hierarchies and just see…me. 

If someone’s at their lowest, you make them feel seen. I’ve seen it, I’ve experienced it, and I love it.

You don’t even know you’re reaching out for him until his arms wrap securely around your waist. Careful not to drop his full weight onto your frail body. But god do you wish he did, you missed how things were before.

Hot tears stain his shirt and Satoru feels his own set begin to let loose. He’s always been good at comforting you when you’re crying, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t cry with you. 

Reason #6: the way you make the mundane beautiful 

“Mundane.” You repeat, coughing. 

“Mundane.” Satoru confirms, holding your hands. “Do you think mundane is bad?”

“I feel like I can’t even do mundane things now.”

His head shakes. “You can, and you do. Life is mundane with you, but it’s also exciting, beautiful.”

With a jut of his chin towards the journal, you take the hint and continue reading.

How you can turn something so ordinary into something magical is still beyond me. Maybe you’re a secret witch (I would like that). You look for the beauty in things.

The way the sun hits the leaves, the sound of rain, or the way our hands fit together. You see the world in a way no one else does.

I see the beauty in you too. When your nose crinkles because of my “smelly” socks, your head tilting when you’re confused, or even that look you give me when I say something stupid or funny. I like admiring you, and I like the way you admire. 

Reason #7: how you make me a better person

There’s a resounding thump noise as you throw the journal into the wall. Health slowly failing along with your own mental stability. Satoru holds back a frown, feeling himself uncomfortably shift beside you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He gently asks.

“I don’t wanna read anymore.” Your voice is bordering on unrecognizable, the rattling in your chest more prominent.

He heaves a small sigh, walking over to pick the book up and back to you. Sitting on the edge of the bed and carefully regarding you with an examining gaze. “Why not?”

Many reasons. “I-It just makes me emotional, Satoru.” 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything!” You shout, looking at him with a pitiful expression. “I’m already fucked up as it is, I don’t wanna cry anymore!”

God, is this really testing his emotional resilience. But that’s not what you need right now. “I know, I know you don’t, baby. But look at it like this,” he scoots closer, fingers intertwining with yours. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, it means we’re still human, it makes us feel….complete sometimes. And I know you’re trying hard to hold everything in, I see it. But please, just let everything out, don’t worry about the mess. Because I’m here.”

Your hands tremble, no longer fighting back your tears as you hesitantly reach for the outstretched journal and read, tears wetting the page. He holds you close.

You challenge me, in the best way. You push me to be more rational, logical, to be more punctual and caring. You push me to be the best me, you encourage my beliefs and ideas, and you’re there for me when something doesn’t fall through.

Without you, I can’t be who I am today. Without you, I’m not me.

You’ve made me the best me, by just being yourself. 

Next week, you’re saying bye to your forever home. Being forced to spend your last days in an uncomfortable hospital with a scent that you hate. This is the last time you’ll walk these halls, use that stove, watch that TV, sleep in that bed.

You cling to him like a lifeline, sometimes you wish he was. 

Soft cries fill the otherwise dim and quiet room, his arms wrapped around your body. Your arms are around his neck, legs opened wide enough so he can fully accommodate his body between them. The way he deliciously slides in and out, in the slowest and gentlest manner, all for your sake. Small moans and grunts fall from your guys’ lips.

The last time he’ll ever make love to you.

“Reason #8: the way you love me.” 

You almost break down even more at the sound of his cracking voice, noticing the shaky inhale he does as he looks down at you, hips moving in a steady motion. 

“You love me so fully, so unconditionally.” he starts off, grunting quietly as your walls squeeze around him. “It’s not about perfection with you. It’s about the way you choose me. Every day, even when we’re not at our best. I know I’m loved because you show it, every moment, in a thousand little ways.”

His lips kiss and gently suck on your pulse point, tongue darting out to lick and savor your sweaty skin. The tip of his cock hits your g-spot in a rhythm that has you whimpering out, nails digging into his shoulders. Your head tilts back slightly, he guides it back with one free hand and kisses you passionately. 

He swallows your moans and tastes your tears. His tears fall onto your cheeks, mixing in with everything. 

This isn’t just about sex, but it’s about being one with each other. It’s about savoring each other like it’s your last breath, melting into each other’s bodies, and loving you in the most intimate way.

He commits this to memory. 

Satoru stays by your side every day and every night. He doesn’t leave, even when he’s prompted by you to eat and sleep. But he can’t, not when this could be the last time he’ll ever talk to you. 

You look so fragile, so out of place in the hospital bed. The gown one size too big and he just wanted to take you in his arms and into a far-away place. Away from the hospital, away from this heart condition, and just with him. 

You can barely even keep your eyes fully open, multiple wires running through your body to keep you conscious. But you still hold onto his hand, tightly, as if you never want to let go.

And you don’t. Neither does Satoru,

Pale skin and dry lips. Everything about you screams illness. No matter that, you force yourself to stay coherent while he reads. 

“Reason #:9”, he looks at you, “the way you feel like home.”

Satoru forces his voice to remain steady, smiling at you. “Being with you is a safe place, a shelter from this cruel and dirty world. No matter where I am, where you are, where we are, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. You make me feel seen, understood, loved. Nothing else matters but us. Your touch, your voice, your presence, that’s all home to me, and I’m so happy I finally found my home.”

Warm tears slowly trickle down your cheeks, your smile feeling like it’s too hard to handle. “You’re my home too, Satoru. I….I don’t wanna leave home.”

A shaky breath. “You won’t.” His hand squeezes you tighter, planting a chaste kiss on your cracked lips. “I’ll always be here, I’ll always follow you. Just keep holding onto me, okay?”

“O-okay.” You croak out, sniffling. 

That night, he falls asleep with you. Holding you like he always does. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear, thumb tracing lazy circles on your knuckles. Your warmth keeps him going, but it also makes him sleepy.

It’s only then does he realizes something. 

He’s happy. He’s so, so happy. He’s with you, you’re with him, and everything else fades away. Because it’s just you two. As much as it hurts, he wants you to go peacefully, and with him.

So, as the hours pass and when he opens his eyes. He’s met with a cold body, an unmoving form in his arms. And tears mixing in with your hair as he hugs you tight one last time.

“Reason #10.”

He sets the bouquet of white roses down on the cold stone, kneeling down before it. Your name stares back at him. 

“The best one, in my opinion. You know….I really hate how I couldn’t tell you this last one in person. But you’re still listening, aren’t you?” He places his hand above your name and a small gust of wind replies back. He smiles. 

“The way you taught me to live.”

“You taught me to how to live, not just in ‘big moments’, but in the small ones too. The moments that matter. The times we spent together, the quiet talks, the laughter, the shared silences. You’ve shown me that life isn’t about counting days—it’s about making days count.”

After leaving, he can’t help but cry. Fingers twitching by his sides, ears ringing. He blocks out the world. Until there’s a small rustling in the bushes beside him. He stops and looks.

He laughs.

“Guess you’re still keeping an eye on me, huh?”

Staring back, a cute little gray bunny. Its ears twitch, as if acknowledging him.

He takes a step closer, then kneels down, his voice softening. "Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I promise."

He looks at the bunny one last time before standing up and walking away, feeling an inexplicable sense of comfort. 

[dr3amlab]

melt, jungkook x reader

SUMMARY — "I can't tell when your hair ends and mine begins"

PAIRING — jungkook x reader

GENRE — one shot, fluffffff 

WORD COUNT — idk, but not a lot hahahah.

WARNINGS — I didn’t proofread !!

The room was quiet, and not a sound could be heard from the usually buzzing streets of the city. A soft glow, coming from the bedside lamp, filled the space, casting long shadows on the wall. The entire space smelled like coconut and vanilla, and you mentally made a note to buy the same detergent.

Your heart beats a steady rhythm, a counterpoint to the quietude. You'd just slipped into bed, feeling relaxed after taking a shower. You had a long day at work and all you wanted was to be in your lover's arms.

The world outside faded as you nestled into the warmth of the sheets, and Jungkook’s arm naturally found its way around you. You lie there, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, but with a space between you that feels infinite in its intimacy.

You gently grabbed his right hand. Large, calloused palms, yet with soft, delicate fingers. You first traced the lines that tell stories, those lines that could tell you his entire fate and you secretly wished those same palms made you part of Jungkook's future forever. Then, you move to the tiny scars that tell stories of scraped knees and youthful adventures. His eyes are closed, a serene mask over the emotions you know churn within him. 

As your fingertips glide over his skin, you feel a tenderness you haven't felt before. This is a sacred space, a universe you're just beginning to explore. A universe you're grateful to be able to explore. 

His eyes flutter open, and you see a flash of vulnerability in their depths. It's a small scar, a delicate white line curving just beneath his eye. “Where did you get this?” you ask softly, your voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Jungkook's eyes flicker with a hint of amusement before turning serious. "Oh, this one," he traces the scar with his thumb,"it's from when I was a kid. Fell off my bike, scraped my face pretty bad." A small laugh escapes his lips. "I looked like a pirate for a while."

You chuckle softly, imagining him as a tiny pirate. "A pirate, huh? I can definitely see that." Your fingers trace the scar, feeling its smooth texture. It's a testament to his past, a part of the story that has shaped him

"I guess being a pirate toughened you up," you tease, a soft smile playing on your lips. He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. There's a boyish charm about him that's both endearing and captivating. 

Your fingers continue their exploration, moving from the scar to the delicate curve of his eyebrow, then to the bridge of his nose. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and you find yourself drawn deeper into this intimate moment. You can feel your heart racing. It's funny how he got your heart beating this fast even after being married for 4 years.

Jungkook's breathing deepens, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of his presence. The room is filled with a quiet intensity, a shared secret between the two of you. 

As your fingers trace the outline of his lips, you feel a surge of desire. You want to kiss him, to taste the sweetness of his mouth. But you hesitate, unsure if this is the right moment. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, and you're afraid of ruining this perfect intimacy. 

A gentle smile spreads across Jungkook's face as your fingers continue their exploration. His eyes, once filled with a playful glint, now soften, mirroring the tranquility of the room. You can feel the tension melting away from his body as your touch becomes a soothing balm. 

The silence between you is filled with a comforting warmth, a silent conversation of souls. You trace the line of his jaw, feeling the gentle stubble against your fingertips. It's a contrast to the smoothness of his skin.

Your heart skips a beat as your fingers brush against his lips. They are soft and inviting, a promise of sweetness to come. You hesitate for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. The anticipation is almost unbearable. 

Jungkook's eyes flutter open, and he looks at you with a mixture of desire and tenderness. His gaze holds you captive, and you feel a surge of courage. Slowly, you lean in, your lips brushing against his. It's a soft, gentle kiss, a whisper of affection. 

As the kiss deepens, you feel a surge of electricity coursing through your veins. Jungkook's arms tighten around you,pulling you closer. You melt into his embrace, surrendering to the moment.

The world fades away as you lose yourself in the magic of this connection. Time stands still, and all that matters is the two of you, lost in a world of pure bliss. 

Jungkook's gazes at you with a mixture of desire and tenderness. His breath is warm against your lips as he whispers, "You have the softest touch," his voice husky with sleep. 

A small smile plays on his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms tightening around you. "I could stay like this forever," he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress. You looked at him with a fluttering heart and stars in your eyes, "we have forever," you whisper back, your voice barely audible. 

Jungkook's eyes soften, and he pulls you even closer, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your cheek. "As long as it's with you," he murmurs, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away.

You decide to turn off the lamp, reaching for the switch with a drowsy sigh. Just as your fingers brush the cool metal, Jungkook stirs. His grip tightens around you, his voice a husky murmur against your ear.

"Don't," he pleads, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "Let's stay like this a little while longer."

A sleepy smile spreads across your face. "But it's getting late," you whisper, your voice thick with contentment.

He nuzzles closer, his warm breath tickling your neck. "Not for us," he murmurs. "you said we'll stay like this forever," he pouted

With a contented sigh, you let your hand fall back onto his chest. The soft glow of the lamp bathes the room in a warm, inviting light.

In all honestly, the light bothered you, but there isn't anything that would get you out of lover's arms. So, as an attempt to block the light, you buried your head in his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you towards sleep, a sound you'd like to hear forever.

[azurem]

I wrote this thing in a single run at 4 am (inkmare)

“Pf. Did you see their faces?”

Nightmare had to stop the smile that raised to his face as the sound of Ink’s snickers filled the empty room, yet he didn't fight the way that Ink leaned onto him, untangling him from his tentacles so Ink could hug his neck. He leaned right back onto his touch, hugging Ink’s waist back. He glanced at the closed door one last time before focusing his attention on Ink’s face, his amusement as infectious as a summer’s cold. “I did.”

“They looked so–” Ink choked a bit, hugging Nightmare’s neck tighter as if the possibility of him falling if he didn’t grab onto him was a real one. He shook his head, a permanent smile embedded onto his face by then, “-confused! Have you ever seen Blue look like that?”

“Never,” Nightmare answered truthfully, his tentacles swaying slowly behind him as Ink hid his face onto his shoulder, his own shaking with the effort to keep his voice down. He patted Ink’s back, sighing contently just from being able to experience the texture of his spine against his fingers. “They don’t suspect a thing, do they? Have they asked anything… suspicious?”

“Pf, no,” Ink said back, his snickers finally calming down a bit as he stopped hugging Nightmare’s neck with both hands, his now free hand reaching down to tug on the tail of his scarf, his gaze gliding through the surface of the cloth before it returned to Nightmare’s eye, the mirth in it softening to the always welcome fondness that Nightmare already got accustomed to. He dropped the tail, letting it fall to its place before fully leaning onto Nightmare once again, a fox-like smile setting into his mouth as he tilted his head, half-lidding his eyes. “Why, worried I’ll tattle on us?”

The idea was so absurd in itself that Nightmare couldn't help but snort, his hold on Ink getting a bit tighter as he resisted the idea of dipping him as if in a dance, just to daze him for a moment, as short as it were. The idea made the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement, but he decided against it just to avoid risking ruining the lighthearted moment. To humor him, he played along, acting in a more serious tone, even if he couldn’t have it on himself to get his smile off his own face yet. “Do I have reasons to be worried?”

“No,” Ink said, but his grin didn’t falter. As Nightmare decided to reward the simple answer with a chaste kiss, their mouths meeting together in a motion that by now felt as natural as breathing, he made a pleased hum that seemed almost relieved in the way it often did when Nightmare’s hand cupped his heated cheek. He sighed as the contact stopped, his eyelights changing in a blink to a soothing green and a pale pink. It seemed that whatever plan he had in mind was forgotten to favor the softer sides of him. “No reason at all.”

“Be creative,” Ink tutted, his eyes turning into half-moons when even the teasing words couldn't bring down the dumb expression on Nightmare’s face. “If you say beautiful again, I’ll get upset.”

Nightmare let out an amused huff, more than satisfied with the fact. He leaned down once more, just to spare Ink from the extra effort that would be to try to get to his level. When the gesture got repaid with Ink nuzzling his cheek with his own, not unlike a cat, he couldn’t even think of fighting the smitten, foolish smile that plagued his expression, a pleased sigh leaving his lips. As one hand wandered up, caressing the top of Ink’s head, he muttered, “You’re just…”

“...pretty cheeky,” Nightmare finished, a moment of hesitation snitching on his initial choice of words. When he caught onto Ink’s expression, he added, his voice light, “I will think of more compliments.”

“Well, you better,” Ink said, frowning. By the way his eyelights remained red-less, Nightmare knew that his anger was nothing but for show. He blew a soft raspberry before looking to the side, glancing at him one last time before closing his eyes. “Really. You’re starting to get pretty two dimensional.”

“Oh, how your words wound me,” Nightmare said without missing a beat, gently swaying from side to side, taking Ink with him. He leaned down to kiss his cheek. “But I guess I deserve them. How can you forgive me, when I have wronged you so?”

Ink seemed to think about it for a second, his frown already gone from the soothing touch, a slightly wobbly smile on his lips. He glanced back at Nightmare, his eyes twin half-moons. “...You’re so ditzy.”

“You have turned me into a fool,” Nightmare said. There would have been a time where the words would have come sharp, almost a weapon themselves, but by now they have mellowed to the point it almost sounds like he’s just saying his name. The thought may have worried him once upon a time, but he had since long grown past that. Nightmare swallowed as he found his throat suddenly dry. “The biggest of fools.”

Ink’s eyes welcomed him in shades of the softest pink, so Nightmare couldn’t help but kiss him again. The way his mouth met his, pliant and eager, was more than enough to make Nightmare feel as if he had been set ablaze in the best of ways, for the flame itself felt like it was cradling him. That time, it was Ink who broke the kiss, panting against his mouth. Nightmare couldn’t help but notice the way his cheeks were flushed, revealing the unique sight of his freckles, resembling the most lovely set of stars. “Nightmare…”

“I love you,” he interrupted. There wasn’t anything special about it, for those words had already been said many, many times — Nightmare himself had used them way before he fell to the realization that he could love the way he does — but Ink stilled, as if he was stricken. The words felt somewhat too big yet too small as he released them to the wind, but Nightmare already got used to the knowledge that they may always feel that way. As such, he insisted on them, unable to do anything else, “I love you.”

Ink blinked, his eyes widened. He was about to say something, maybe the same thing, but Nightmare stopped him with a second kiss, as short as a passing thought. When they separated, Ink pulled back in just as quickly as it was over, less graceful as they couldn’t keep down the twin smiles off their faces.

(It wasn’t hard to convince their teams that his negotiation attempt had went well, but not well enough to avoid them both ending up more disheveled than before they left.)

[th30sstuff]

Since you guys(2 people) liked that and I'm a validation seeker

OBEY ME TICKLISH RANKING FROM MOST TO LEAST

#1 Luke

He's a child, I feel like if you try you can tickle even his shoulders, he's extremely ticklish and is the kind of kid that falls on the floor and starts rolling around trying to escape.

#2 Satan

Just like Luke but not so extreme, grown ass man would start kicking giggling, he would try to threat whoever is doing this at first but if you don't feel intimidated and keeps going is not going to take long before he's either begging for mercy or in his demon form depending on how much he cares for your health

#3 Asmodeus

Fucking look at him.

#4 Mammon

Probably just ticklish at very specific spots but once you find them he melts completely, probably lasts the least before he's yelling between giggles for you to stop and run to the bathroom immediately before he pisses himself

#5 Simeon

He's canonically ticklish because season 4 but I think if he was actually THAT ticklish he wouldn't wear THOSE OUTFITS?!?!? COME ON THOSE ARE MADE FOR TICKLING!!! Also, I think he's good controlling his laughter in this situation.

#6 Levi

He's hard to tickle specially because he stops it quickly when you see it coming, the thing is, you have to do it when he least expects it l8ke when he's playing a game because HE WON'T TRY TO STOP YOU!!! HE JUST STOPS WORKING AND HAS NO IDEA WHAT TO DO

#7 Beel and Belphie

They are the same amount of ticklish, it's not THAT BAD but they are still ticklish.

Beel probably thinks it's nice when people do it because I feel like because both are the youngests they are constantly tickled by their brothers so Beel sees it as affectionate.

Belphie on the other hand probably would be "haha ok" in a second and suddenly he flips a switch and is pushing you away from him with a pout.(WAKE HIM UP WITH TICKLES!!!!)

#8 Lucifer

I DIDN'T WANT HIM TO BE THE LEAST OF THE BROTHERS BUT😭

Still ticklish but just like Levi he would stop by grabbing the wrist of whoever is trying's wrist and glaring with a stern "Don't."

BUT JUST LIKE LEVI, get him when he least expects it, when he's refusing to leave his office for the third meal in a row, when you're cuddling, WAKE HIM UP WITH TICKLES!! I need this tired grown as man ruined trying to save his pride while he obviously can't.

He'd probably scold you with empty words because he's too embarrassed to think but just give him a few kisses or ego strokes and he's sighing exasperated because what else is he going to do anyways, it's not like he can stay mad forever about something like this.

#9 Solomon

Bro is not ticklish, like he feels something if you try but he's not giggling and pissing his pants, he'd probably chuckle a little at the attempt anyways.

#10 Diavolo

Ok so hear me out,

In my head, the royal family has genetically terrible instincts.

But Diavolo is so fucking playful affection deprived that he'd be EUPHORIC that you'd try to tickle him like "OMG ARE WE THAT CLOSE OF FRIENDS??? THAT'S SO SWEET" and would start laughing specially because of it. (Do it right after a meeting and watch the entire council, I mean the brothers, stare at you with terror because WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU)

#11 Barbatos

Don't try, it's just going to be awkward, he'll stare at your soul while not changing his expression at all.

He'd be confused at first, then notice what's happening and around after ten seconds he'd just politely "Could you please stop? I'm quite busy."

PS: I HAD NO IDEA WHERE TO PUT THE UNDATABLES I AM SO SORRY, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO SHARE YOUR HCS ABOUT THEM

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life

Part 4 of 5: Saved or Kidnapped?

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Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: He's bad for you. But you want him so bad.

Word Count: 8.2k

Content: nsfw, mdni, more below the cut, buckle up!

REALLY explicit ok, f. and m. masturbation, creampie, sexual fantasies, nipple play, major glove kink, sex toys, violence, gun, gun fire, threats, demeaning language in the not-sexy way, assault (there is no rape or sexual violence and it's not Jake perpetrating, but be aware that the threat could be triggering), blood/wounds in the regular/violent way, blood/wounds in the sexy way too (a little masochism), hurt/comfort, dry humping, fingering, choking, brief/mild impact play, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex, murder, not beta'd

This was supposed to be 4 parts but I'm sick of fighting with this really long ending, so...it's not the ending, yet.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake. The name of the man driving you out of your mind.

He stabbed you (which fucking hurt), abducted you (conveniently, you wanted to see him again?) held you at gunpoint (scary but it made you wet), choked you (you loved it. Dammit.), groped you (honestly it was just dirty dancing) and…

left you abandoned.

Your bodies pressed and pulled, grinding together to the music’s thumping bass when you slotted your mouth against his and finally kissed him. 

Then instructed you to use your firearm and fucking left you there?

Anxious to see him again, you were left scrounging for clues as to whether he was even alive.

You used his glove, more than once. Slipped your hand inside it - ran it all over the shape of your body. Pushed gloved fingers into your wet heat, wishing it was him defiling you. The memory of his voice rumbling against your ear - his breath falling on your neck...the scent of his cologne took you right over the edge again, and again.

You sent the glove back to him, marked with your scent, just like you sent the knife, hoping it would lure him back to you.

But you heard nothing. One week passed, then two.

You supposed you should be thankful. He was, after all, hired to eliminate you. Why were you so obsessed with him? This was obsession, right? What else could it be?

And somehow, even though he stabbed you and threatened your life multiple times, something about him felt...safe.

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Jake's shoulders sagged in relief when he opened the package with his ruined glove. So Marc hadn't hurt you after all, nor had his employer's long arm reached you.

The shape of your beautiful body pressed temptingly against his, the memory of the slide of your tongue over his - the wet, heated core of you soaking through the flimsy lace of your panties as you used his covered bulge to pleasure yourself...

He was a damn fool to stop you in the club before you came. What he wouldn't give to watch you fall apart for him - to hear your sweet moans and whimpers as you rubbed yourself over his cock or rode his thick thigh, chasing your release, panting his name...

Memories of you had him slipping his hand inside his soiled glove, undoing his pants with one hand, and spitting on the glove a few times to get it nice and wet.

The taste of your mouth, tinged with alcohol - the heat of your skin, barely covered by the delicious little dress wrapped around your curves...

The essence of you had him hard and leaking already.

Wrapping his gloved hand around his stiff cock, he murmured your name, stroking up and down, twisting the way he liked - the way he'd done a thousand times, only this time, as he sat in his car, in a darkened parking garage, he possessed this extra aphrodisiac.

This glove had been stuffed deep in your wet cunt. You thought of him and touched yourself, and came on it, just like you had with his knife.

God, he wondered what your pussy would feel like wrapped around his dick, squeezing him. 

He could imagine your sexy thighs spread across his lap right now, in his car - your dress yanked down so your nipples could spring free. He would take you in his mouth and suck until you moaned his name while he pushed his fat tip into your dripping hole.

Thrusting up into the grip of his gloved hand, he imagined your hips rocking into his - you riding him right here in the garage of your father's building, milking his cock - your desire dripping down around his balls, soaking his thighs and the seat below him.

He was sure you had the hottest little wet cunt, if the stains on his pants from your grinding at the club were any indication.

"Jake...Jake...right there, yes...oh fuck..." You would pant, asking him to come inside you, squeezing his dick with your slick heat until he did just that, groaning out your name as he spilled every last drop deep within your walls.

"...f-fuck," Jake ground out, working his length faster and faster, his hips stuttering as thick ropes of cum erupted, coating his glove.

His head dropped back against the headrest as he gasped for air, feeling a small measure of relief, but wishing you were really here, allowing his touch - needing him to suck marks into your neck as he fucked his cum back inside you, slowly, strumming on your clit until you fell apart for him again, tears stinging your eyes as your body liquified under his touch, over and over, until you slumped against him, overstimulated, spent and completely his.

There was only one thing to do.

He sent the ruined glove back to you. Then he watched, and waited.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･

Life wasn't getting any safer for you, no thanks to Jake. But, truthfully, you would already be dead if Jake's employer had hired anyone besides him to get the job done.

So now, not only were you in grave danger, but Jake was too. So he had to solve the problem before his employer did...or before Marc did.

Saving your life was Jake's new mission and despite the storm of conflict inside his head - this wasn't about getting his dick wet.

No, in the short amount of time Jake had become acquainted with you, he had come to realize - or, maybe he simply decided that you deserved to live more than your father deserved to suffer, and far more than his employer desired revenge for whatever slight he was seeking to rectify.

Okay and yes, he wanted to fuck you. Obviously. But it's not like he was expecting anything from you - not after stabbing you anyway. People like the two of you didn't get happy endings. Not that you'd want one with him.

But you deserved to live, so Jake made it his mission to somehow call off the hounds before disappearing from Chicago forever.

And besides, now that he'd shown you how to use your gun, he could teach you more: how to use a knife, how to really shoot, how to defend yourself. Your asshole father made it necessary.

He didn't allow that train of thought to venture too much further...but it wouldn't hurt if you learned the tools to overthrow your father someday.

So he watched and waited.

And fucked his fist every night while looking at your surveillance picture on his phone.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Your sexual frustration soared to new heights. After Jake's glove found its way back to you, completely ruined, you waited, expecting to see him again.

And nothing seemed to grant you even an ounce of patience or relief in the meantime.

Not the memory of him - not even the thick dildo stuffed in your pussy every night. Not your vibrator, nothing. Oh you came, dozens of times, panting his name with every orgasm, but it wasn't him.

Perhaps you had an unhealthy taste in men? Who were you kidding, of course you did. Your father was a cold blooded murderer after all.

Fuck this. You decided to send him a message.

As if you hadn't made enough mistakes, this one might prove to be fatal.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Your newest bodyguard greeted you normally the next morning, as you busied yourself, finishing your morning tea, nearly ready to run some errands. You almost didn't notice your other two bodyguards missing. Almost.

It was tempting to ask, "Where are Dumb and Dumber?" since Jake had let you know he referred to your sometimes inept bodyguards this way. But you asked for them by name.

"Not here yet," the third (Dumbest) replied. His name, you could not remember. Because you didn't care, honestly.

If only you would've noticed sooner. If only you had a way to contact Jake, or time to scramble across the bed to your phone, so you could call your father.

"I've been dying for a moment alone with you," the third bodyguard voiced, making the hairs on your arms stand on end.

"That's nice," you deflected, with a fake smile, rushing toward the door. "Just gotta get going, you know?"

"Not so fast," he ordered, menacing eyes falling on your mouth, then your cleavage. He blocked the doorway with one arm, while reaching for your shoulder with his free hand.

"I need some information from you, sweetheart." He licked his lips as you shivered.

"Okay, first of all," you huffed, attempting to shrug him off, "I'm not your sweetheart. Secondly, I don't answer to you. You work for me. And third, and I mean this respectfully - get the fuck out of my way."

"Ohhh, you dirty slut," he spat, gripping both of your shoulders and driving you back into the foyer of your penthouse. "Don't talk to me that way, you spoiled bitch."

You whimpered as his fingers dug into your flesh. "Stop - let go of me. That hurts!" You tried to jerk away but he was too strong. He continued shoving you backward until your legs buckled and you stumbled, hitting the hard floor with an "oomph" as shockwaves of pain spiked up your spine.

"Where are my bodyguards?" You demanded, climbing up as quickly as you could manage. "Where are Ray and Diego?" You frantically scrambled backward, searching for anything you could use for a weapon - when you remembered your gun.

"Uh, uh, uh, where are you going, slut?" Dumbest bodyguard number three scolded, grabbing your hair and yanking you back down.

You screamed in pain, but then went completely still as the barrel of your gun met your temple. "Looking for this?"

Your lips trembled as you whimpered in fear. "What do you want?"

An evil, growling chuckle rumbled out of him as he leaned down and breathed on your cheek, crowding in around you. His foul-smelling, sweaty body made your stomach roil...or perhaps it was the dread of what he might want to do to you.

"I've been watching you, dirty bitch." He laughed again. "Does Daddy know all the filthy things you do to yourself? How much you need a man to satisfy a nasty whore like you?"

"Fuck you," you managed before he shoved the gun's barrel into your mouth. Your body shook with sobs, but you tried desperately to hold yourself still.

"Such a filthy mouth," he hissed, yanking on your hair again. "But I'll put it to good use before I finish what Lockley started."

Lockley. That must be Jake's last name.

"You're gonna give me what I want - then you're gonna tell me where your pussy boyfriend is."

You would wonder to yourself later, how something could be so sexy with Jake, dampening your panties instantly, but be so terrifying and revolting with this asshole. The answer was as clear as day: after the first encounter with Jake, when he stabbed you - you were never in any real danger with him.

You wanted each other. It was all a bit of elaborate foreplay. What you wouldn't give to see Jake right now. Even if he only wanted to fuck you and forget you, at least he wasn't this disgusting asshole. And he wouldn't let this monster hurt you.

Your standards were definitely way too low.

"I'm gonna take this gun out of your mouth, honey, but you better be quiet or I'll have to use it. Understand?"

You quickly nodded, fresh tears leaking out of your eyes as he slowly removed the gun.

"There you go. That's a good slut. Now get on the bed."

Your shoulders shook with sobs as he used his grip on your hair to hasten you toward the bedroom. In his overzealousness, he shoved you too fast, too far, and you tripped, crying out at the rough yank, jarring your neck.

This gave you just enough time to turn around to face him, only to find your weapon pressed roughly against your forehead.

"Get...the fuck...on the bed," he growled, sweat streaming down his face as his eyes flashed with fury.

"Okay, okay," you conceded, "I won't fight you. I just fell, that's all."

Your voice seemed to exasperate him to the extreme. "Stop fucking talking," he ground out.

Mutely nodding, you sat on the edge of the bed, your stomach churning as a wave of nausea made your body physically sway.

"That's better," he condescendingly praised, running the gun along your cheek, down over the smooth column of your throat.

You allowed him to get closer because you would rather die than have him touch you, and, apparently, you were about to die anyway. If your life were an outdated film, this would be the part where the strong man would swoop in and save the day. But this was reality and no one was going to save you.

So the next instant, you simultaneously punched him as hard as you could in the crotch while biting into the wrist holding your gun, with all your might.

He screamed in pain, jerking away from you, but a mangled hole in his wrist gushed blood, causing him to drop the gun.

You sprang into action, scooping up the weapon and running for your life with the bleeding madman not ten paces behind you, screaming obscenities.

No way you would make it all the way down to the safety of the lobby. You had to wait for your private elevator first. Frantically pressing the button which responded to only a few specific fingerprints, you were relieved that the doors opened immediately. You ran inside, pushing the 'close door' button seconds ahead of your attacker, positioning your weapon in your two-handed grip, just like Jake showed you, after checking that the safety was off.

If the doors didn't close in time, you would fire.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Your staff was well-trained to pay no mind to the odd things you did, and, although it was tempting to stumble into the lobby screaming for help, you decided to try to make it outside the building first.

Because the terrifying thought overcame you - which of your staff could you truly trust if one of your own bodyguards worked for the enemy?

"Jake," you whispered to yourself. "I need Jake." Ridiculous, since he was hired to kill you. You whimpered, feeling truly alone.

Realizing your mouth was covered in blood, you yanked off your sweater and used it to clean yourself up a little bit. When the bell dinged and the elevator doors opened, you left the sweater behind, but kept your loaded weapon ready in your hand.

You darted out a side door, into the street. If anyone fucked with you, they were getting a bullet and your father's lawyers could sort it out.

You scurried down about a block before ducking into an alley, trying to get to a good vantage point to see if that asshole had followed you. And you needed a second to think and to breathe.

As the tiniest bit of shock began to ease off, the taste of blood in your mouth, along with the thought of that disgusting man made your stomach flip and roil until you were sure you were about to spill your breakfast all over the pavement.

You felt too sick for a moment to mind your surroundings - what choice did you have? But before you ever got sick, strong hands gripped your arms. You screamed, flinching, but while attempting to bring your weapon up with both hands, someone stopped you.

"Hey, hey it's me. It's me - it's okay."

Jake.

Your traumatized body took a few extra seconds to catch up to your brain as you struggled against his grasp.

"Shhh, cariño, it's okay," he soothed, running his fingers along your wrist to carefully remove the gun from your grip. "I've got you."

"Jake," you sobbed, sagging against him as your legs gave out. "H-he's trying to kill me."

Jake mistakenly thought you meant him.

"No, I'm not gonna hurt you, it's okay."

But your body stiffened and struggled in terror. "He's coming! He's gonna kill me, Jake, please..."

That's when he saw the blood staining your lips, chin and throat. That, in addition to you running wildly down an alley, with a weapon, no less, and dropping to your knees...

Feeling sick at the thought of what might've happened to you, he thought it best to get you off the street.

"Come with me," he gently directed, guiding you by the arms toward his car, while making sure to stay alert and ready for whoever was surely following you.

"No, he's coming," you whimpered. "He's right behind me."

"Shh, baby, I got you, come on. I'm gonna get you out of here."

Thankfully his car was parked right at the end of the alley. Jake had been watching your building - that's how he saw you exiting and got to you so quickly.

Pulling you into the front seat, right up against him, he drove away as fast as he could without raising suspicion.

He took the streets, following all green lights, so he wouldn't have to stop until the two of you were dozens of blocks away from your hotel. You leaned heavily against him, sniffling softly, your body still rigid with terror.

At the next red light, Jake tugged his jacket off and wrapped it around you before buckling you in securely. You said nothing, but, after a few more minutes, your eyes drifted closed.

Jake drove around, purposely, in circles, doubling back to make sure you weren't followed. He finally decided to take you to the warehouse he often hid out in to lay low.

The warehouse was old, and freezing cold even in the summer, so he kept you in the car, which was now parked inside the building.

Switching off the engine, he shifted in his seat so he could get a good look at you, cupping your cheek and lifting your gaze up to meet his.

"Are you hurt?"

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook your head.

"Are you sure? Whose blood is this?" Reaching into his jacket, he produced a handkerchief, using it to clean the dried blood from your lips. He offered you a drink of his water bottle, allowing you to rinse your mouth out, before you asked for a mint to settle your stomach. Anything to eradicate the disgusting taste and memory of that vile creature. Jake rummaged around and found some old ones from when he used to smoke that worked well enough.

"I-I bit him," you choked out, the memory almost making you gag again. "He was trying to kill me."

Jake's dark eyes shifted, softening with concern. "Who's trying to kill you?"

"My new bodyguard," you whimpered. "He-he attacked me. He shoved a gun in my mouth." A sob interrupted your explanation, and Jake shuddered, realizing he'd done the same - threatened you, stabbed you, shoved a gun in your mouth.

"I'm sorry," he mournfully offered, swiping a tear from the apple of your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You don't deserve this."

"Jake," you whispered, gripping his arms desperately, as if trying to drag him closer to you, "I think he works for your boss. He said he was going to finish what Lockley started. I-is that your name? Lockley?"

He nodded, aching to comfort you, while knowing he was the source of your pain. "I am Jake Lockley," he breathed on your temple, a gloved hand running up and down your arm. "I'm so sorry. I promise you I'll fucking kill him."

"Where have you been?" You sniffled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tucked you flush against his side, with one of your thighs slung across his lap. "I sent you that glove, but once I got it back, I didn't know if I would see you again."

Touching his forehead to yours, Jake sighed, regretfully. "I was watching...trying to protect you. I was right outside your building today. That's how I got to you so fast."

Easing back, you blinked at him so sweetly, you almost looked innocent. "You were?"

"Yeah," he breathed, with the faintest smile. "I know you probably hate me. I can't blame you for that, but I think about you all the time."

"I think about you too...all the time," you uttered as his lips covered yours. Melting against him, you shifted closer, the core of you pressed firmly against the meat of his thick, muscular thigh. His tongue slid possessively over yours as his fingertips dug into your hips, pulling you down, encouraging your movements back and forth.

The friction against your clit made your breath stutter - the notion that he wanted you to do this, soaking your panties instantly. Rocking back and forth eagerly, your mind drifted back to how close you were to unraveling in his arms in the club, in front of everyone. Now you were finally alone - he was really here and he felt so perfect.

"That's it, baby...take what you need." He shared your breath, the heat of your panting going straight to his cock. Needing to feel more of you on him, he used your hungry grip on him to move you across his lap, guiding your luscious thighs over his, caging him in.

Shifting in his lap, you noticed the bulge forming in his pants. "Were you thinking about me when you used that glove?"

Jake's eyes shifted from wide, pleading - sorrowful...to dilated with intrigue. "Not these gloves," he lowly replied, squeezing the swell of your hips before easing them down over the curve of your ass. "But the one I sent you...yeah."

Squirming against him, you sought out that perfect spot - where his fully erect cock could press against your core. Probably stupid to be fooling around at a time like this, but anything was better than the terror you'd felt this morning.

"How did you imagine me, Jake?" You murmured, your breath fanning over his parted lips, temptingly rolling your hips forward and back one time.

"Just like this," he admitted, grabbing two handfuls of your delicious ass and pushing you down on his erection. "In my car, on my lap, the way you are right now."

"Like this?" You repeated, rocking your hips in a slow, steady rhythm, pulling his cap off his head and tossing it aside. Then you sank your fingers into his thick curls and licked into his open mouth.

Jake eagerly responded, matching your hungry kiss, his lips so pliant, but with a demand of their own. Your bodies rolled together, craving the most intimate contact - the thrusting of your tongues a mere taste of what your bodies might feel like fully connected.

Jake's breath stuttered in surprise as you worked open his pants before trailing your fingers underneath his shirt to touch his surprisingly soft abdomen.

Thrilled that you really seemed to want to go further, he helped you work the shirt over his head, watching as you licked your lips at the sight of him bare chested.

"You don't look like a killer," you surprisingly observed, tracing his defined pectorals with your fingertips.

"Yeah?" His eyebrows shot up challengingly. "How do I look?"

Slipping your hand into his pants, you traced the shape of his cock, breathing right on his lips. "Like someone I want to eat alive."

Something like a growl rumbled out of his chest as you released your grip on him, your hips rolling over his deliciously, with renewed urgency.

Slipping his hand between your rocking bodies, his fingers pushed aside your flimsy panties. He found the sopping core of you, exhaling in a rush at your slippery wetness, strumming and caressing until he found the swollen bud craving his attention.

As soon as you felt his gloved fingertips on your clit, you could think of nothing else but how much you needed to come. All the fantasies, all the depraved weapon play, moaning his name in your bed, night after night - this was finally him - or as close as you could get at the moment.

His body, his fingers rolling expertly over your clit, his cock rubbing your cunt, his breath in your mouth, your name on his lips...

"Come for me like this," he coaxed, rubbing you furiously.

You bucked against him, moaning at the extra stimulation.

"Come on, baby. Say my name."

His voice, rumbling on your ear took you right over the edge, your body seizing in a surge of pleasure completely new.

"Jake," you moaned, your back arching, thrusting your chest against his bare skin.

"Knew you would sound so good when you came for me, corazón. Been waiting for this."

That's as far as your escapade went before a gunshot resounded in the parking garage, shattering the passenger's side window, narrowly missing your head.

In fact, if you had not leaned into Jake's mouth at that precise moment to kiss him, you would be dead, with a bullet in your brain.

Jake moved so fast, you could barely register what was happening. You were shoved face down into the floorboard with an order to stay down - shots were fired while you covered your head. Only a minute later, Jake was yanking you up, using his gloved hand to rake the shattered glass off the seat. He laid his jacket down for you to sit on and pulled his discarded t-shirt back over his head.

He didn't speak again until you peeled out of the parking garage.

"We have to get out of the city. Unless you want me to take you to your father." he roughly informed, glancing over to see if you were okay. "You hurt, baby?"

You drew a trembling breath, pretty much at your limit of life-or-death scares for the day. "No. Are you?"

He was. But what did it matter when he was going to get you killed?

"I'll go with you. Please just get me out of here." is all you said for a long while.

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About an hour later, Jake pulled into a different warehouse and ushered you out of the car, grabbing his jacket and hat, along with a bag from the trunk. Then he guided you to a different, more run down old sedan.

“Nothing fancy but at least there’s not glass on the seat,” he explained. 

You were asleep by the time you arrived at Jake's safe house, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania. It was a spot over halfway between his least favorite city, Chicago, and the city he could disappear in, New York.

He would regroup, make a plan, and then leave for London by way of New York. If you wanted to go back to your father, fine. But part of him was starting to hope you would stay with him. Although he could not give you one single compelling reason to do so, except for maybe how good he would fuck you if he ever truly got his hands on you.

"We're here, cariño," he whispered, gently brushing his gloved hand over your cheek to ease you awake. "Let's get you inside." Pulling his cap over his curls, he shook out his jacket and eased it back on, hissing at the wound on his arm, not wishing to bother you with his pain.

You drearily nodded, allowing him to usher you into the house - his heart swelling at the trust you seemed to place in him.

"Where are we?" You questioned, wrapping your arms around yourself as he turned on a small lamp away from the entryway. He poked around for a few minutes, making sure the shades were drawn and the house was secure before answering you.

As he drew his weapon, you flinched. "Was that him shooting at us? My bodyguard?"

Jake explained to you that it was, but he was dead now.

Sinking down on the old couch in the safe house living room, you sighed, burying your face in your hands.

"You honestly tried to do the same thing to me, Jake. Everyone wants me dead, I mean - what is even the point of running?"

He withdrew, as if you'd slapped him across the face. But you deserved answers.

"I know I did the same and worse," Jake finally responded, pulling his flat cap off his head to rake his gloved hand through his curls, while setting his weapon on the end table. "You have no reason to trust me, but, today, you did. Why?"

His eyes sought yours out. He needed answers too.

Shaking your head slowly, you shrugged your shoulders. "I don't know. I feel safe with you. I know it doesn't make sense - I'm clearly a horrible judge of character, but...I do."

Nodding, he eased toward you, kneeling in front of where you sat. Spreading his hands over your thighs, he peered up into your eyes. "I agree - it doesn't make sense for you to trust me, but...maybe you're a better judge of character than you think. You feel safe with me because you are safe with me. And you were smart enough to get away from that asshole trying to hurt you today. I'm only sorry I got to you too late."

You didn't answer, your head dropping down in defeat.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching up to cup your cheek in his hand. "You are safe here."

"Okay," you weakly agreed, hoping he was right.

Sizing you up for a moment, Jake reached for the gun - his weapon that he'd set on the end table. He also produced your gun he'd collected earlier, stashed in his jacket.

"Here, take these," he encouraged, presenting the weapons to you, before gesturing down at his chest. "You can search me. Search the whole house. I don't have any other weapons." His eyes cut to the side thoughtfully. "Actually, I do have two more in my trunk, plus ammunition, but - "

You weakly chuckled, taking the guns and setting them back down on the end table beside you. "I'm not going to sleep with four guns just to keep you away from me."

It almost seemed as if he didn't hear you for a minute as he chewed on his lip. "Shit. Five. There's one under the sink. I'll get it."

"Jake, stop," you laughed out, pulling his arm to keep him with you - the motion causing him to hiss in pain.

"Yes ma'am," he shot back, a bit playfully. He smirked, putting on a brave face, but it was too late. You were already inspecting the previously unnoticed blood tinged stain on his brown jacket sleeve.

"Oh my god, did you get shot? Take this off." You demandingly grasped at his jacket, which hurt even worse. He cursed under his breath, but complied, revealing a gunshot wound in his bicep. Thankfully, the bullet grazed his arm, but it was still a bloody mess, quite literally.

"Shit, Jake...do you have a first aid kit? This looks awful."

"Uh yeah, somewhere," he mumbled, shrugging away from your triage. "It's nothing."

You huffed, ordering him to the bathroom, to sit on the closed toilet lid, and remove his shirt. Once you were ready with first aid supplies, you dabbed the wound to clean it, only slightly unnerved by the way he gazed up at you. There was something earnest in his eyes that made you swallow thickly.

Still, he hissed as the antiseptic stung his flesh.

“Don’t be a pussy.” Your mouth ran away with you before you could think to stop it.

The corner of his lips curled, but he spared you a reply. You went on this way for a few minutes, gazes flickering, locking and drifting away, with him pretending not to flinch in pain.

As if seeking a distraction, his fingers inched underneath the hem of your shirt, brushing your soft skin temptingly, drifting upward until they caught on the rough flesh of the scar. His scar.

A sharp intake of breath gave him pause. “Does it hurt?” He roughly whispered, boldly dragging up the fabric so he could see with his own eyes. The angry flesh should summon feelings of guilt, but he wet his lips, relishing the fact that he’d marked you.

"Just sensitive," you fibbed, shivering as his gloved hand cupped the underside of your breast.

"Do you think of me when you see it, corazón - when you touch it? About the first time I pushed my way inside you?"

Your hand slipped, your fingernail raking over his gunshot wound.

A deep moan rumbled in the expanse of his chest as he shifted to accommodate his growing bulge.

“Does it hurt?” You teased back, pressing down a little harder. His cock twitched.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, cupping your breasts in both hands, working them in his gloved palms, tweaking your nipples roughly.

"Fuck, Jake," you panted as he dragged his hands back down - one of them pausing at your scar while the other slid inside your pants. Licking his lips, he cupped your mound possessively, glaring hard into your eyes before pulling your panties aside to find your warm, wet core.

"You like it too," he almost choked, plunging a finger deep inside you while his other hand pressed down on your scar.

You moaned as he fucked a second gloved finger into you with no warning - the sting of the intrusion of not being quite ready for him combined with the burning of your still-healing scar making you feral.

Jake laughed, darkly, so you raked your own finger across his wound, making him curse you in Spanish and snarl, dark eyes flashing.

You'd never wanted him so badly.

"Good girl, that's it," he praised, as if he hadn't just said 'fuck you' one sentence earlier.

His gloved fingers pumped in and out of you now in a steady rhythm and your hips started to roll to meet his grip, your mouth dropping open as your heavy panting devolved into a long moan...

...a sound which seemed to draw Jake to his feet, grabbing you by the throat and using his grip on your neck and his fingers deep in your pussy to shove you up against the door - the force of which slammed it closed.

The wild hunger in his eyes almost made you come instantly as your body liquified under his demanding and powerful touch.

The gloves typically did it for you, but something was different now - the craving to feel him, closer than in the club, or in the car.

You tried to bat his hand away from your throat but he squeezed tighter. But unlike in the club, you didn't feel scared. Or maybe you did but it was another deranged aphrodisiac.

Unable to get his hand to budge, you ran your mouth instead. "Do you ever take off those damn gloves?" You wheezed.

And he stopped, his eyes narrowing as he studied you carefully. Then he eased his gloved hand up over your chin to rest on your lips, pulling down just a little on your bottom lip.

You assumed he wanted you to suck his fingers - that's what you had dreamed about him anyway.

"Take it off for me," he said instead.

Eyes locked, you slightly nodded, gently biting the ends of his fingertips and loosening the glove, working it free until he could pull his hand out and you could drop the glove from your mouth.

Then, so casually, as if his fingers weren't doing wonders inside your cunt, he yanked them out and showed you the other glove.

"This one's for me," he told you, licking your juices off one finger before pulling the glove free, just like the first one.

This left you half undressed, soaked and panting with Jake shirtless, hatless and finally, gloveless - the two of you suspended only a moment longer before he gripped the sides of your face - your mouths and bodies colliding.

The breadth of his hips pinned you in place against the wall as he kissed you wildly. The heat of his breath consumed you, almost taking the fight out of you as you liquified in his arms. Almost.

Tired of all the teasing and dry humping, you yanked hard at his pants, working him free until your fingers could feel his cock. Taking his length in your hand, you twisted and tugged, your fingers dampening with drops of precum.

The two of you yanked and pulled at your remaining clothes until you were bare at last.

God, your fantasies weren't wrong. He was gorgeous - sculpted yet soft, smooth and hairy in all the right places - tan skin waiting to be marked by your mouth, by your fingernails. Various scars and scrapes littered his near perfect skin, telling the story of his violent life. You wanted to touch and kiss each one, to claim them - to know them.

And his fucking cock - no wonder he was so self-assured. Thick and perfect - not ridiculously huge but enough that it was going to stretch you so good.

Your mind processed this all in about two seconds before Jake turned you around and pushed you up against the counter, crowding in behind you, with both of you facing the mirror.

"Watch me fuck you," he lowly growled on your ear, gripping your hips in his (finally) bare hands and lifting you up slightly. You felt the length of him rubbing between your folds, soaking his cock with your juices.

"Dripping and I'm not even inside you yet." Releasing your hips, he gripped his straining length with one hand, lining himself up and pushing his fat tip into your tight hole.

You moaned like a whore, your back arching at the intrusion, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of him thrusting all the way inside, filling you so full and so right. "Oh fuck, Jake..."

His arms wound around your abdomen, pressing you possessively back against him just like in the club. Only now you were alone, and naked and his cock was buried deep inside you.

Fucking finally.

He felt your pussy quivering and clenching him already, convinced your body was made to fit his.

"This what you wanted? When you came on my knife? Fucked yourself with my gun?"

"My gun," you gasped, the air punched out of your lungs as he used his grip on your torso to push and pull you down over his length faster.

His hands eased up to cup your bouncing tits, your bodies moving together perfectly - the reflection turning you on beyond belief. This was better than porn - watching him fondle and fuck and handle you without treating you like an object or like a porcelain princess like every man before him.

"Jake," you panted, your head falling back on his shoulder. "Faster."

This man was a fucking genius with his hands. Releasing your breasts, he pushed two fingers down to strum at your swollen clit, while the other hand wrapped around your throat. Again.

“Taking this cock so good,” he groaned, squeezing your throat, his hips slamming against you as he speared you over his cock so hard - the image of your bouncing bodies really doing it for you.

"That's it, muñeca," he purred, your body going limp as curled himself around you, using his dirty grip on you to move you however he pleased. "You're mine now."

A burning, clenching flame pulsed in the center of you and you gave yourself over to it, reveling in the dark parts of yourself - the hungry animal inside that hurdled toward orgasm at the thought of the pressure on your throat...or the slight sting of him brutally fucking you.

Reaching behind you, you grasped haphazardly for his gunshot wound, shoving your finger inside it forcefully.

"Fucking hell," Jake hissed, pulling his fingers off your clit to smack you there - as a warning or as an agreement, you weren't sure, and didn't care.

"Pussy," you mocked, sliding that bloodied hand into his curls on the back of his head and yanking hard.

"Princesa," he fired back, remembering how much you hated it.

"Don't call me that," you growled, pulling his hair harder this time, toward you, turning your head to meet his waiting mouth, your lips crashing together like a force of nature.

Jake had never fucked anyone like you. Hell, he'd never met anyone like you. And he was about to come inside you - your tight, wet walls gripping his cock so good. So he rubbed your clit fast and hard, licking into your mouth, just to feel you clench around his dick before he lost it.

The pressure inside you finally snapped - your walls gripping him as your body shuddered with the hardest orgasm of your life, pleasure rolling through every nerve ending - all the fantasies and toys and weapons nothing compared to this man, wrapped around you, inside you.

Jake couldn't last a second longer, roughly pulling himself out just in time to come all over your bare ass, coating you with his spend - a strangled groan rumbling from deep inside his heaving chest.

You glanced back into the mirror in time to see his face contorted in pleasure as a string of Spanish obscenities flew out of his perfect mouth.

You started to turn around but he stopped you, gripping your shoulders and keeping you facing the mirror.

In the reflection you could see him licking his lips. You realized he was staring at your backside - at the sight of his cum all over your skin. “Good girl,” he purred on your ear, spreading his palm over the round curve of your ass to mark you further with his cum.

Your knees were about ready to give out, even more so from his praise, so you braced yourself on the countertop with your arms, panting heavily. He destroyed you and you loved it.

The next moment, you felt the loss of his body heat as he turned on the shower before catching your eye in the mirror. “Come here.”

You nodded, stepping in the warm spray, happy to hold onto Jake’s arms for support.

“That good huh?” His eyebrows shot up almost playfully.

You hummed out an affirmative.

“What, no smartass reply?” He could hardly believe it.

By now you noticed Jake was purposely keeping his wounded arm from getting wet.

"Hey," you said, resting your hand on his elbow. "We have to clean this up. For real this time. Okay?"

His jaw clenched, but he nodded, allowing you to guide his arm underneath the spray.

"Fuck," he hissed, and for once...you shut your mouth. No mocking. Not after he got shot for you.

Instead you carefully washed him, making sure the wound was clean before using the soap to continue cleaning up and down his arm, then up over the breadth of his shoulder. You moved on to his chest, your eyes flickering up to his momentarily before continuing over his other shoulder and down his opposite arm.

"Can I wash your hair?" You asked him, almost sweetly.

He wistfully smiled, his gaze fixed intently on yours as you lathered up your hands and threaded your fingers through his curls, scraping his scalp with your fingernails. He hummed and then sighed, the tenseness in his ever-ready-to-fight form relaxing for once.

"When was the last time somebody took care of you?" You whispered, working your fingers deeper into his locks.

Your question was rhetorical, but he cleared his throat. "Long time," he returned, his eyes drifting downward.

Just then, you yelped, jerking your hand away from his head, your finger pulsing with fresh blood.

"Jesus," he gasped. "What happened?"

"I'm okay," you assured him, running your finger under the water. "There's glass in your hair."

"Fuck...I'm sorry," he lamented, stepping into the stream to finish washing his own hair.

You said nothing for a moment, your gaze flickering between your finger, the gunshot wound on his arm and his hair. “No. I'm sorry," you finally uttered. "This is because of me," you went on, placing your palms on the expanse of his chest. "Jake...you saved my life."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

The safe house had a few supplies - some t-shirts and sweatpants, some non-perishable food, a supply of water, a gun and some ammunition and a go bag - with yet another weapon (Jake was wrong - there were six total guns), an extra outfit, cash and other necessities.

“Sorry this is all I have,” he spoke softly, watching you pull old sweatpants over your bare hips. “I’m gonna make a supply run.”

You stopped short, glaring at him. “When? Now?”

He nodded, easing a white undershirt over his head, careful to avoid his bandaged wound. “Yeah, you’re gonna need some more clothes - we need more food, updated map, burner phones, stuff like that. But I’ll only get some of that here. We have to move on before we buy it all at once. Too suspicious.”

You weren’t sure what to address first - the fact that the burner phone in his go bag wasn’t enough? The fact that he used paper maps? Or the fact that he wanted to go for a milk run at a time like this.

“Okay, let me find my shoes,” you finally responded.

“No, cariño,” he refuted, holding out his arm to stop you. “You stay here.”

Your chest tightened as you shook your head rapidly. “No. You can’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me here. Th-they’ll find me.”

Grasping your shoulders, Jake peered deeply into your eyes. “No one is going to find you. You’re safe here.” He nodded toward the door. “If I take you out there, I put you in danger. Someone could see us together, there are cameras everywhere. You have to stay here.”

“Jake,” your lip trembled as you grasped at his shirt. “I don’t want to stay here by myself. I don’t want to be alone, please…”

“No, baby,” he firmly answered, realizing as you jerked away from him and cursed, that you weren’t accustomed to being told no very often. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. I promise.”

He was fucking serious - this, you realized as he started toward the door.

“I hate you!” You spat, tears burning your eyes, possessing nothing to fight with but your words. It’s all you’d ever been able to wield for yourself that didn’t belong to your father - your father’s power, his money…

Jake stopped, his shoulders sagging. He didn’t even spare you a glance. “You have every reason to.” Pulling that damn cap onto his head, he reached for his car keys. “I know you’re afraid, but you’re strong. You’ll be okay.”

No one had ever asked this of you - to be on your own - to take care of yourself. The notion that you could be responsible yourself was completely foreign to you, and certainly to your father and your staff. And something inside you wanted to prove yourself to Jake so badly. 

Still, you somehow felt like that helpless, spoiled girl all of the sudden, ready to demand your way. But it wouldn’t work. Not with Jake.

“Wait…please, just - I have one more question,” you meekly voiced, holding your hands up in a supplicating fashion. 

Jake looked at you then, his eyes softening at your torment.

Shit. You had almost been killed today. Twice. And then you ran out of town with him - with another man who stabbed you and attempted to kill you. And then that whole interlude in the bathroom just now... Jake wondered, for a moment, if he was too rough with you.

“What is it, corazón?” He softly answered.

You dug deep and tried with everything inside you not to lash out or make demands. “W-what should I do if someone comes?”

He immediately shook his head. “No one will find you here - “

“Please - just tell me,” you begged. “If someone comes, what do I do?”

Seeing how serious you were, Jake eased toward you, offering an explanation. “If you hear someone, go to the bathroom. Lock the door, but don’t hide there. Go to the bedroom at the end of the hall and hide in the closet. Take your weapon, be as fast and as quiet as you can. ¿Entiendes?”

You nodded, blinking at him so earnestly it almost made him change his mind.

He reached for your cheek, brushing gloved fingers gently over your skin. “Stay hidden. Quiet. If someone finds you, hold your weapon like I showed you - two hands, strong. Safety off…” He trailed off, shuddering at the thought of you needing to use your gun.

“And fire?” You questioned. 

“Fire,” he confirmed. “If you empty your magazine, fight like hell.” Touching his forehead to yours, he softly added, “You’re a fighter. Don’t ever stop.”

“Okay,” you whispered against his mouth. “Hurry.”

He kissed you fiercely before tearing himself away and heading for the door once more. Pausing one last time, he glanced back over his shoulder. “I promise I wouldn’t leave you unless I had to. Unless I was sure you’re safer here. I won’t be long.”

With that, he was gone, leaving you to fret and your mind to question if this was salvation…or an elaborate kidnapping. 

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake Lockley-Centric stories

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Underworld Insomnia - 5

Character : assasin!Bucky × Psychiatrist Female!Reader

Summary: As a ruthless contract killer, Bucky is feared in the underworld of criminals. His opponents freeze when they see him, as he is feared among them. However, they don't know that he could be warm to only one person: his psychiatrist. The only person who could make him fall asleep.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,-

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

What could the CIA want from Bucky? He had never worked for them. And for someone like August to walk into a bar where contract killers gathered, it had to be something precious.

The reason must be you and Conroy. August came here to get you. Remembering how you ran from your captors to save Conroy, Bucky realized you must have been running from August, too.

“I won't give it,” Bucky said firmly. He admitted he knew what August was after but wouldn't help. Why should he? You were the answer to his insomnia.

August chuckled, a sound that held no absolute amusement. “I should’ve known. Sadly, I thought we could be partners.”

“Working with the CIA? That's a fairy tale,” Bucky replied, smirking.

“Not them. I’ve gathered talented people to make the world a better place. You're a perfect addition to the organization,” August explained, his tone growing severe.

“Greenpeace? No, thank you,” Bucky shot back, his smirk widening.

August took a breath and sighed, his expression one of exasperation. “It seems like you won't take any of this seriously.”

Bucky tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, giving a look that said, "You don't say."

Before leaving, August offered one last piece of advice. “Don't trust her that much.”

He knew it must be about you. This took Bucky's attention, and August smiled. “I knew she has a charm. But... it's not just us who wants that boy.” After August said those words, he left.

Bucky was left with lingering doubts, questioning you for a moment. But he couldn't bring himself to believe it. The CIA was known for sowing seeds of doubt to ruin someone's trust.

How could someone like you, who was willing to enter this den of killers to hide Conroy from people who wanted to get him, be anything but genuine?

That was dedication—a rare quality in this messed-up world. Bucky gulped down his whiskey, trying to forget what August had said to him.

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He returned to his place, burdened with the decision of whether or not to tell you the truth about meeting August—the person who had forced you into hiding. The moment he stepped into the house, he heard the sound of tiny footsteps. “You're back!” Conroy welcomed him, wearing only pajama pants.

You were chasing him, holding his pajama top. “Conroy, I'm not done yet. And it's impolite,” you said, putting the shirt over his head.

Conroy puffed his fluffy cheeks. Then he looked at Bucky, his head moving left and right as if searching for something.

Bucky knew what the kid wanted. He chuckled and patted Conroy's head. “You can't have chicken every day. It's not good for you.”

Conroy puffed his cheeks and grabbed Bucky's hand. Then he stopped. “You met him,” he said, running to hug you.

Bucky flinched and looked at you. You were surprised too.

“How did you know?” Bucky asked.

“His smell still lingers on you,” Conroy said, pinching his nose.

Bucky sniffed himself, wondering if it was true. But he remembered that Conroy was a ‘little Sherlock.’ What made him nervous was what you thought.

“I didn't tell him,” Bucky said.

“I know you won't,” you replied, looking at him while calming Conroy.

Bucky felt a pang of heartache seeing the little kid. “Who is this August Walker?”

"Let's sit down first." You contemplated whether to tell Bucky the truth, but knowing August had come here meant he wasn't playing cat-and-mouse anymore.

“I told you before that we came from a facility,” you said.

Bucky nodded.

“And August Walker is… how should I say this? He's the supervisor of the facility and…” you hesitated.

“And…?” Bucky prompted.

“He's Conroy's uncle,” you admitted.

Bucky widened his eyes and gasped. “Let me get this straight. Conroy and he are related, but you both hide from him?”

“Because he's a madman!” you said, glancing at Conroy, who had fallen asleep on your lap. You gently touched his cheek with your finger. You couldn't let August have Conroy.

August has this crazy idea. He planned to make a better world, but the truth is, he wanted to create the perfect soldier. That's why he wanted Conroy back. His nephew was the fastest successful human subject—high IQ, independent, strong, and never sick.

Bucky kept silent as he processed this, looking at the kid who was still sleeping peacefully. His heart ached at the thought of what Conroy had been through.

“Don't worry. I won't let them near you,” Bucky promised.

“Thank you. Thank you,” you said, tears of relief in your eyes.

Bucky nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He would protect you both, no matter the cost.

💤💤💤💤💤💤

The next day, Bucky brought you and Conroy to a kindergarten known for its safety and secrecy. It was a gray area that even other killers couldn't reach.

Conroy looked at the kids his age. He turned to the adults and asked enthusiastically, “Can I join them?”

“Sure, buddy,” Bucky said.

Conroy ran to join the other children, who welcomed him eagerly since there weren't many kids around.

You felt a wave of relief and happiness seeing Conroy so excited. Turning to Bucky, you said, “Thank you. You're a great help to us.”

Bucky felt a warm flush of shyness and something more as he looked at you. He wasn't used to such gratitude; your smile made his heart race. He was starting to have feelings for you, a realization that both excited and scared him.

“Do you want to pick him up together later?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile.

After dropping Conroy at the kindergarten, both of you went your separate ways. Three hours later, Bucky found himself at Dr. Ben's practice, eager to pick you up. He had arrived early, hoping to surprise you.

He didn't see you at the reception desk when he walked in. Perhaps you had stepped out for a moment. He glanced out the window and noticed a park across the street.

There, he saw you talking to another man, the conversation looking secretive. Being a killer made him keenly aware when someone was lying or hiding something. From what he saw in your body language, you were clearly hiding something.

Bucky's heart sank as August echoed: “Don't trust her that much.”

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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[bangtanficsforyou]

Hello, Love! (JJK)- 03

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don’t know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister’s fiance wasn’t it.

Word count: 6.2K

Warning: for this chapter; there's some heavy mentions of drugs. Except, for that, there's so much happening 😩.

Fun fact: the picture in the middle is actually a screenshot of a scene from the movie this series is based upon 🤭

Series Masterlist

“Any update?”

“Sir, we haven’t heard anything back yet.”

Jungkook sighs, having expected that answer. “Keep trying to contact them, and as soon as you hear anything back from them, let me know.”

He emphasizes the word anything because at this point, he genuinely believes rejection would be better than being kept hanging. At least, a rejection would help him have a practical understanding of the scenario and remaining options.

“And how are the preparations for the party going?”

“Sir, we have arranged most of the things, if you like you can pay us a visit and inspect things yourself,” his manager replies.

“Yeah, maybe after my meeting with Mr. Han, I’ll drop by at the hotel,” Jungkook nods to himself, thinking that, that will be the ideal way to go about things. “Remember, everything should be perfect. If everything goes as planned, I’m sure Riya will be impressed.”

“Don’t worry sir, we will look after it.”

You wake up to the sound of your alarm.  

You look around, taking in the room, and notice the soft blankets that are currently wrapped around you. For a moment, your mind feels blurry, having no recollection of last night whatsoever. However, once the memories come back to you, you relax into the soft mattress and sigh at the comfort.

Your eyes start drifting again and you feel this weird sense of giddiness at the thought of having slept so comfortably after ages. Unfortunately, you are stopped from going back to the world of dreams by a constant dribbling of a ball against the floor.

You frown and raise your head slightly to figure out what is causing the noise. From the slight space that the open door leaves, you see a young kid playing with a small ball.

The sight causes you to jolt awake.

You quickly grab your handbag, which was thankfully lying right next to your bedside. You shuffle through your bag and heave a huge sigh of relief upon finding the item you were looking for; a golf sized ball.

It’s safe, you think to yourself and put the ball back in its place.

Knowing that the drowsiness you were trying to lean into, is gone, you decide that it would be smart to utilize the time to reply to any texts or e-mails you might have received.

However, your face drops when you see the notification of several missed calls on your home screen. Your entire body freezes in panic, and you feel an overwhelming sense of fear take over your body.

You gulp and press the ‘call back’ button.

You don’t think that the call goes past even one ring before it’s picked up on the other side.

A very panicked and worried voice greets you. “Y/N, yǒu gēngxīn ma?” Y/N, any update? 

You shake your head, “hái méiyǒu.” Not yet.

“Qǐng jǐn nǐ suǒ néng. Xùnsù de. Fǒuzé yīqiè dūhuì huǐ diào.” Please do whatever you can. Quickly. Or else everything will get ruined

“Wǒ zhèngzài jìnlì. Bié dānxīn, wǒ huì xiǎng bànfǎ de.” I'm trying my best. Don't worry, I'll figure something out.

As you cut the call, you’re left with nothing but a pile of emotions that you have no idea how to deal with. You rub your temples and try to take a few deep breaths in hopes that this feeling of being paralyzed would pass.

However, you give up within less than a minute, and at the very next moment, you find yourself shuffling through your bag again. 

Open app

bangtanficsforyou

Hello, Love! (JJK)-03

New

4 days ago

Genre: fluff, angst, probable smut (we don’t know yet lololol)

Rating: 18+

Summary: You had a plan when you returned home, seven years later. However, falling in love with your sister’s fiance wasn’t it.

Word count: 6.2K

Warning: for this chapter; there's some heavy mentions of drugs. Except, for that, there's so much happening 😩.

Fun fact: the picture in the middle is actually a screenshot of a scene from the movie this series is based upon 🤭

“Any update?”

“Sir, we haven’t heard anything back yet.”

Jungkook sighs, having expected that answer. “Keep trying to contact them, and as soon as you hear anything back from them, let me know.”

He emphasizes the word anything because at this point, he genuinely believes rejection would be better than being kept hanging. At least, a rejection would help him have a practical understanding of the scenario and remaining options.

“And how are the preparations for the party going?”

“Sir, we have arranged most of the things, if you like you can pay us a visit and inspect things yourself,” his manager replies.

“Yeah, maybe after my meeting with Mr. Han, I’ll drop by at the hotel,” Jungkook nods to himself, thinking that, that will be the ideal way to go about things. “Remember, everything should be perfect. If everything goes as planned, I’m sure Riya will be impressed.”

“Don’t worry sir, we will look after it.”

You wake up to the sound of your alarm.  

You look around, taking in the room, and notice the soft blankets that are currently wrapped around you. For a moment, your mind feels blurry, having no recollection of last night whatsoever. However, once the memories come back to you, you relax into the soft mattress and sigh at the comfort.

Your eyes start drifting again and you feel this weird sense of giddiness at the thought of having slept so comfortably after ages. Unfortunately, you are stopped from going back to the world of dreams by a constant dribbling of a ball against the floor.

You frown and raise your head slightly to figure out what is causing the noise. From the slight space that the open door leaves, you see a young kid playing with a small ball.

The sight causes you to jolt awake.

You quickly grab your handbag, which was thankfully lying right next to your bedside. You shuffle through your bag and heave a huge sigh of relief upon finding the item you were looking for; a golf sized ball.

It’s safe, you think to yourself and put the ball back in its place.

Knowing that the drowsiness you were trying to lean into, is gone, you decide that it would be smart to utilize the time to reply to any texts or e-mails you might have received.

However, your face drops when you see the notification of several missed calls on your home screen. Your entire body freezes in panic, and you feel an overwhelming sense of fear take over your body.

You gulp and press the ‘call back’ button.

You don’t think that the call goes past even one ring before it’s picked up on the other side.

A very panicked and worried voice greets you. “Y/N, yǒu gēngxīn ma?” Y/N, any update? 

You shake your head, “hái méiyǒu.” Not yet.

“Qǐng jǐn nǐ suǒ néng. Xùnsù de. Fǒuzé yīqiè dūhuì huǐ diào.” Please do whatever you can. Quickly. Or else everything will get ruined

“Wǒ zhèngzài jìnlì. Bié dānxīn, wǒ huì xiǎng bànfǎ de.” I'm trying my best. Don't worry, I'll figure something out.

As you cut the call, you’re left with nothing but a pile of emotions that you have no idea how to deal with. You rub your temples and try to take a few deep breaths in hopes that this feeling of being paralyzed would pass.

However, you give up within less than a minute, and at the very next moment, you find yourself shuffling through your bag again. 

“Auntie, I only drink black tea,” one of Jungkook’s distant cousins declines politely.

Jungkook’s aunt only smiles in response and moves to the next person, offering them the milk tea.

“I am sorry, but I will have coffee,” comes the response.

Another polite smile from Shweta.

“I only drink black coffee.”

“Oh,” she responds and again moves on to the next person who so happens to be Jimin.

“I will have—“

“Shut up and drink it,” Jimin’s words are cut off immediately.

Jimin without a single protest picks up a cup and starts sipping on the tea. No matter what age, he knows better than to disobey his mother when she is annoyed.

“What’s wrong with a simple milk tea?” she mumbles to herself on her way back to the kitchen. “Back in our day,—“

Her words come to a halt when a loud bang of a door opening with more force than required, resonates through the entire living room. The sound catches everyone’s attention and the usually loud room goes quiet.

And then you walk in through the door.

You walk in without any awareness of the eyes on you and make your way straight to the dining table. Pulling out a chair, you take a seat. You grab a bottle of water and instead of pouring yourself a glass, you start drinking directly and empty the bottle.

Then, you look at the breakfast that has been arranged on the table and take two slices of bread and start spreading butter on them. Once done you look around for the salt pot and find it resting on the table, away from your reach.

“Salt.” You speak the one word sentence to the old lady that has the container right next to her.

Everyone in the room breaks out of their trance of watching you and albeit a little weirded out, go back to what they were doing.

The old lady passes you the salt pot and she too, returns back to the conversation she was having with Jungkook’s mother (who is also sitting at the same table, a few chiars away) before your wild card entry.

“It is too hot today to go out shopping. Can we not go some other day?”

“I know, but there are absolutely no chances of the weather getting better any time soon,” Jungkook’s mother replies, sighing at the thought of having to step out in this heat. “Plus, we don’t have much time.The wedding is right around the corner.”

The older lady hums in understanding. “But we should visit a few shops first just to compare the prices and quality of clothes.”

“Don’t worry about that,” reassures Jungkook’s mother. “We will go to Mr. Roy’s showroom in Amy Avenue. They will give us everything at discounted rates and we won’t have to worry about the quality at all.”

“But who will take us there? The place is pretty far!”

“What a coincidence!” You speak up suddenly, mid-chew. “I’m also going there. You guys can come with me.”

Another round of silence falls in the room.

“But dear, who are you?”

You look up at the old lady upon hearing her question.

First blink.

Second blink.

Third blink.

“Who are you?” You shoot her question back, instead of answering her.

The lady frowns, finding your tone rude. “I am Jimin’s grandmother.”

“I am Jimin’s friend.”

Jimin’s eyes almost pop out of his sockets at your sudden declaration. This is the first time he is getting to know about your existence. How can you be his friend?

Jimin’s mother steps out of the kitchen quickly at the mention of her son’s name. “You are Jimin’s friend? He never mentioned you before.”

You simply shrug as if to convey that it is not your business to wonder about the strangeness of Jimin not mentioning you before.

“So where do you stay?” Aunt Shweta queries further, finding her curiosity spike at the information of her son having a girl friend she has never heard of before.

“People’s Republic of China.”

“Make sure—“ Jungkook’s sentence is cut off mid way when the sound of your voice reaches his ears. “I’ll call you later.” He promptly cuts the call and rushes out of his room.

“Ch-China?” Shweta is perplexed, thinking she is hearing things wrong. “Jimin has never stepped out of this city.”

Jimin looks around in confusion having no clue whatsoever as to what he’s supposed to do. It is then that he sees Jungkook rushing out of his room. The moment his eyes lock with Jungkook’s, Jungkook puts a finger on his mouth asking Jimin to stay quiet and play along.

Jimin glares at Jungkook, realizing that he has somehow become the scapegoat, again.

“How did you two meet?” This time the question is aimed at Jimin, as his mother seems to be totally confused by this revelation. Since, when did his son start making girl friends from other countries? And how? 

Jimin gulps, knowing he will have to face the  MID (mother-investigation-department) later. “O-online?”

Jimin’s words come out more as a question than as an answer and this only heightens his mother’s confusion.

“Online?” She asks, reflecting her son’s unsurety.

Jimin looks at Jungkook who is thankfully hidden from Shweta’s view and as Jungkook nods, he looks back at his mother. “Yes, online.”

Shweta looks at Jimin with a look that clearly says that he has got a lot of explaining to do. She then looks back at you to ask you something, but decides otherwise upon realizing that you seem entirely focused on eating your breakfast.

And that marks the end of the conversation.

Everything resumes back to normal. Shweta heads back to the kitchen. Jungkook heaves a sigh of relief. Jimin convinces himself he shouldn’t murder Jungkook right before his wedding.

However, unbeknownst to everyone, two people in particular have taken a certain interest in you.

One, Tae Oh, Jungkook’s maternal cousin.

Two, Jeon Baek Hyeon, Jungook’s father.

There are a total of three cars. The one in which you’re currently seated in has you in the passenger seat, with Tae Oh and Jungkook’s mother in the middle row.

Jungkook takes a peek inside the car and sees that his mother is on the phone with someone while Tae Oh is listening to some music with his earbuds plugged in. He takes this opportunity to speak to you.

“Listen,” he whispers. “Please don’t let them know who you are.”

You look at him, over the rim of your sunglasses, which rest on the bridge of your nose. “Who am I?”

Jungkook looks at you as if the answer to that question should be obvious. “You’re Riya’s sister.”

You nod at him and with a click of a button, pull the windows of your seat up.

“I-Wha?—”, Jungkook knocks on the window, asking you to pull it back down.

You look at Jungkook and then look at the driver who is currently in the process of turning the engine on. Then you look back at Jungkook and shoot him a two-finger salute as a way of bidding him goodbye as the car takes off.

Jungkook stares at the now moving car and wonders as to what turn of events will this shopping day-out take.

In the fifteen minutes that the car has been on the road, you have finished an entire bottle of water. A fact that Jungkook’s mother finds concerning.

“Dear, are you okay?” she asks wondering if you’re drinking so much water because you’re not feeling well. With the sunglasses that you have on, she cannot even read your expressions properly.  

You look at her through the rearview mirror. “I’m as okay as a squirrel with an acorn stash for winter.”

Jungkook’s mother is confused by your choice of words but decides that you must be intending to convey that you’re alright. She nods, although the worried frown on her face refuses to go away.

Tae Oh on the other hand, keeps stealing glances at you, through the rearview mirror. You’re the prettiest girl he has ever seen. When he realizes that  you’re humming some song to yourself, he decides it’s his time to shine.

He clears his throat. “Auntie, you know right I was about to be the next big music idol?”

“Is it so?” Jungkook’s mother queries. As someone who is trained in classical music, she finds herself interested in this conversation.

“Yes,” Tae Oh confirms. “Unfortunately, the judges didn’t have the depth to understand my style of singing.”

“What song did you sing?” You ask, now looking back at him through the rearview.

“Wannabe,” he replies, feeling shy now that you’re directly speaking to him.

“By spice girls?”

“Yes,” he replies, sounding proud and confident about his ong choice. “Would you like a demo?”

“Sure.”

The clearing of his throat is the only warning Jungkook’s mother gets.

"Ha ha ha ha ha—YO, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want!"

He starts aggressively beatboxing, but it’s not beatboxing so much as random noises that sound like a train derailing. He keeps going anyway, hands waving like he's orchestrating a symphony.

Suddenly, you join and start "beatboxing" along—by loudly spitting sounds that vaguely resemble a wet cat sneezing."Pfffsh—tch-tch—PFFFssh-tch-tch!"

Tae Oh, not realizing the absolute disaster unfolding, presses on, getting  way too into the song. He sings the next line, stomping his foot like he’s a rockstar who just broke out his big hit. "So tell me what you want, what you really, really want!"

You are nodding along aggressively.  "I’ll tell you what I want—what I really, really want!"

You both are absolutely butchering the rhythm, singing in completely different beats. Tae Oh continues dramatically, as if he’s hitting the high note of a power ballad. You are adding extra "ha’s" where they don’t belong. "I WANNA, (ha), I WANNA, (ha), I WANNA, (ha)!" 

You try to match him but totally miss. "PFFFT—ha ha—PFFT—zigazig ahhhhh!" 

Jungkook’s mother watches in utter disbelief, frozen in shock. Nothing could have ever prepared her for this. It's like a car wash you just have to see through to the end.

You both try to keep the song going, but at this point, you both are so off-key and off-beat that it’s devolved into a chaotic mix of random noises and misplaced beats.

"If you wanna be my lover—YOU GOTTA GET WITH MY FRIENDS!"

“Because—“

"FRIENDSHIP NEVER ENDS!" You both belt out, together.

“Nice try.” You give Tae Oh a nod of approval as the duet comes to an end, who smiles back shyly at you.

Jungkook’s mother reminds herself to close her mouth which was wide open during the entirety of your performance.

On a brighter side, at least now she’s assured that you aren’t feeling sick.

Jungkook sits in a sleek, modern reception area, fidgeting with a notepad in his hands. Dressed in a crisp suit, his leg bounces nervously as he mentally revises his speech for the upcoming meeting. His lips move slightly as he murmurs the rehearsed lines to himself.

"Right. I just need to be clear, confident... just ask directly, no big deal..."

The door to the office opens. A tall, authoritative man, Mr. Han, steps in, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Jungkook. Jungkook stands, straightening his jacket and putting on his best business smile.

"Jungkook, I presume?"

Jungkook bows slightly. "Yes, sir. It’s an honour to meet you."

They exchange firm handshakes. Jungkook gestures toward the chairs, and they both sit down. Just as Mr. Han opens his mouth to begin, Jungkook’s phone buzzes loudly. He glances at it – and realizes it's Riya. His brow furrows. He hesitates, then looks at Mr. Han.

"Sir, if you could please excuse me for a minute."

"Oh yes, absolutely."

Jungkook receives the call and speaks in a hushed tone. "Hey, Riya, I’m in the middle of—"

"Which guesthouse did you drop Y/N at?"

Both Riya and Jungkook speak at the same time, although somehow, Jungkook’s words get drowned out.

Jungkook blinks, caught off guard. "Uh... I brought her to my place."

A beat of stunned silence follows on the other end, as Riya waits for Jungkook to add that he's joking. When he doesn’t, she loses her cool.

"What?! You brought her home?! She’s a drug addict, Jungkook, you cannot trust her with anything!" she exclaims. "Where is she now?"

"Relax!" Jungkook speaks calmly, even though the revelation of you being a drug addict shocks him. But he can’t sound panicked, not while sitting right in front of Mr. Han. "She’s just taken my family shopping at your dad’s showroom in Amy Avenue."

Riya gasps sharply, followed by a barrage of words. "Shopping?! Jungkook, you idiot! Alpesh Uncle is at the shop today—if he sees her, we’re in serious trouble!"

Jungkook’s eyes widen as he realizes the gravity of the situation. Panic begins to creep in as he nervously rubs the back of his neck.

"Alpesh Uncle... oh no. Okay, okay, don’t worry! I’ll fix this."

"You better fix it."

He quickly ends the call, his heart racing, and looks back at Mr. Han, who’s been politely waiting. His expression has shifted from professional to slightly puzzled.

"Is everything alright?" Mr. Han asks.

"Sure, sir," Jungkook forces a tight smile, though his mind is racing. "How is Mrs. Han?"

"Mrs. Han?" Mr. Han looks perplexed by the sudden change of topic but answers anyway. "There’s some medical issue, you know, with her gall bladder. But the doctor was also wondering if it’s related to her knee—"

Jungkook nods, trying to seem interested as Mr. Han goes on.

"—there’s a lot of pus that's collected there—"

"Sir, can I meet you after two hours?" Jungkook suddenly blurts out, unable to hide the stress building inside him.

"Today? I’m sorry, Jungkook, but I’m really busy today."

"Sir, can you give me six million dollars?" Jungkook cuts to the chase, knowing why he's really there. But before Mr. Han can respond, Jungkook starts gathering his files and stands up. "I’m sorry, sir, I have to leave. It’s an emergency."

Mr. Han stares at him in utter confusion as Jungkook rushes out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. 

Jungkook bursts through the hotel doors, adjusting his suit jacket as he hails a taxi. He jumps inside, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the chaos he's just unleashed.

The sun hangs high over Amy Avenue, casting a warm glow on the busy street. Lively storefronts line the avenue, and the air is filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. In the midst of the hustle, is you, who leads Jungkook’s family in a single-file line, a colorful chain of chaos and utter confusion.

You stand at the front, a beacon of energy and casual confidence. Your dark hair sways as you turn back to check on the group, your hands raised to maintain the chain. The family follows your lead, though not without fair share of difficulties.

"Come on, everyone! Let’s stick together! Hold hands tight!" You shout.

Behind you, Jungkook’s family members talk animatedly among themselves. The line weaves slightly, and a few members begin to pull away from the chain.

"Hey, don’t pull so hard! I’m not made of rubber!" Aunt Young grumbles.

"Watch out! We’re going to bump into a car!" Uncle Choi says, nervously.

The street is bustling, and the noise only adds to the jovial confusion. You glance over your shoulder, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Just a little further! We’re almost at the showroom! You’re all doing great!"

You look at the entrance of the showroom which although is now visible, still remains a few meters away. You turn around and face your followers and address them. “You see that? That’s our destination. A few steps more and we will get there. Don’t stop now.”

You speak like a coach motivating their team on how to win a champion’s trophy.

As you all approach the entrance of the showroom, Alpesh Uncle steps out. Adjusting his glasses he squints at the screen of his mobile. “Lord knows, what happens to the tower.”

“C’mon, c’mon. Just a few steps more.” With the volume at which you’re speaking, it’s all thanks to the hustle of the market that your voice doesn’t reach Alpesh uncle.

“Hello? Hello? Is my voice audible?” Alpesh uncle speaks loudly into the phone but when he is met with silence, he removes the phone from his ear and waves it in the air in a zig-zag motion, hoping that it will catch the tower.

“Very good! Very good!” You encourage with your back facing the showroom, motioning your hands for the line to keep moving forward.

Alpesh uncle is about to go inside his showroom, having given up on trying to find the mobile tower when he spots Jungkook’s mother in the crowd. “Ah! Look who it is!” He exclaims cheerfully, and starts climbing down the small flight of stairs that connects the street to the showroom.

Now, the entire family’s attention has shifted to Alpesh uncle, the line has broken as everyone comes forward to greet him and you’re about to turn around when you feel a firm hand grip your arm and yank you with a swift tug.

Before you can react you come in contact with a hard chest and you look up to realize that it’s Jungkook, whose attention is fixed on his family and Alpesh uncle greeting each other, having totally missed your sudden disappearance.

“Let go!” You snap trying to free yourself from his grasp but his arms only tighten around you.

“Shh,” he looks at you, a sense of urgency in his eyes as he waits for Alpesh uncle to go inside along with his family. “Alpesh uncle is here and you cannot be seen by him.”

“But I need to go and talk to him,” you argue, although Jungkook pays no attention to your words even though you keep squirming in his hold. “Let me go!”

Jungkook watches as one by one everyone starts getting inside. He sees Aunt Young and aunt Shweta discussing among themselves and looking around, most likely searching for you, before they, too go inside.

It is only when he’s sure that it is safe that he releases you.

That was a close call.

Jungkook stands outside Riya's vanity van, his hands gripping the door frame as he leans in slightly. His eyes flicker to you, who sits a few feet away on a folding chair, quietly eating from a plate of food meant for the cast and crew and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration.  “There were full of mosquitoes there, she wasn’t eating—”

“So you could have gotten her food. What was the need for you to bring her home?” Riya argues, from where she’s currently sitting inside the van with her hairstylist brushing her hair.

“She’s your sister, Riya,” Jungkook points out as if that should make it obvious why he brought you home.

“Exactly! She’s my sister,” Riya agrees to Jungkook’s statement but refuses to acknowledge the emotion behind his words. “Just do what you’re told to do.”

Jungkook sighs, knowing there is probably no point in having this conversation. Not to mention the fact that he still remains unaware as to why you were supposed to remain hidden from Alpesh uncle. He somehow figured that no one from your family except for Riya knows about your return, but he has absolutely no idea why Alpesh uncle spotting you would have been such a big deal. 

However, a shooting set is definitely not the place for that kind of conversation.

“Have you managed the funds yet?” Riya asks.

“I’m on it,” Jungkook replies, not mentioning that he left a very crucial meeting like a bride leaving the altar, right after receiving Riya’s call.

“Then please just focus on that.”

Jungkook sighs again and with a nod, takes his leave.

As he’s walking in your direction, he notices that you’re entirely focused on eating and he takes this opportunity to verify something.

He quickly changes his direction of walking and walks towards the parking lot. He unlocks his car and finds your bag lying on the passenger seat. He only has to unzip the first chain to find several small containers filled with pills.

A sick feeling spreads through his body and he quickly zips back your bag and places it exactly where it was before.

Slowly things start making sense to him.

The day when he met you at the hotel; you were completely absentminded and hardly bothered to pay heed to basic social cues. Whereas, when he drove you from the hotel back to his house, you were rather normal. You even remembered the fact that you both had met seven years ago.

Your odd behaviour could all be explained by you being under the influence of these pills.

Jungkook rubs his temples, feeling a headache surfacing.

After a few moments, he takes a deep breath, locks his car and heads back to the shooting set.

“Eat quickly we need to leave,” he takes a seat right next to where you’re sitting. However, now that he knows what he knows, it is like he has started to put the puzzle together and for some reason, a suspicion occurs in his mind when he realizes that you’re wearing your sunglasses. “Can you remove your sunglasses for a second?”

You stop eating and look up at him. “Why should I?”

“Just remove them,” Jungkook deadpans, running thin on patience.

You shrug and remove your glasses. Letting them hang from your shirt, you resume eating.

Jungkook watches you closely, and his suspicion is proven right when he notices that you’re blinking your eyes quite frequently. He does not recall this being the case when you were your normal self.

So, this fast-frequent blinking thing is a characteristic of the Y/N that comes out after popping the pills.

“Do you take drugs?” He asks you.

“Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’, not being phased by the question at all.

“Then what are those tablets that you take?” Jungkook refuses to back down.

You look up again, even in your high state looking slightly taken off guard. Although, nothing that derails you. “They are medicines,” you reply matter-of-factly, looking straight into his eyes.

Jungkook stares right back. “What medicines?”

“Dichlorosystrin, zincodestrin and oxidisulphide.”

“Are you ill?” he counters, trying to get you to admit that you do indeed take drugs.

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ again. “I feel weird sensations in my body and these pills control them.”

“What kind of sensations?”

“Sensations such as shivering, palpitating, irritability, trembling, sheepishness—”

“Just finish the food and then we will leave,” Jungkook cuts you off with much annoyance, understanding that you’re high and no matter what he says right now, you will always have an answer. You aren’t even in the right state of mind to understand the seriousness of the conversation. 

You and Jungkook walk through the gates of the banquet hall of the hotel, where Jungkook is organising the surprise party for Riya. Jungkook walks a few steps ahead of you, while you follow his trail.

While Jungkook is scrolling through his phone, checking his mail, you rip open a packet of chips. The sound of which annoys Jungkook to no end.

You take a chip out and munch on it loudly. Jungkook turns around and glares at you. You almost collide with him not realising that he has stopped walking. However, upon noticing Jungkook’s glare, you look to your left and right, checking if it’s really you, he’s glaring at.

Before, you can ask him what’s wrong, he is walking again.

You don’t think much of it, resume your munching and follow Jungkook.

However, it couldn’t be more than ten steps before Jungkook is facing you again, causing your steps to halt as well.

“So you are sober now?” Jungkook snaps, unable to hold it in any longer. “Do you have any idea how many side effects those pills have?”

“There are plenty of them,” you reply, without missing a beat. “Memory loss, definitely a gain in appetite which is reduced considerably when you eat, increased thirst and if I pop in a lot of pills, my heart would race to 300 and when so much blood is being pumped, there will be nosebleeds and—“

—“and?” Jungkook waits for your next words with a bated breath, hoping you won’t say what he thinks you’re about to say.

“—and hypoglycemic shock, then coma, then death.”

Jungkook releases a breath, a mix of disbelief and sheer horror coursing through his veins. He looks at you and the look of pure calmness on your face as you say these things astonishes him to no end. How can you know about all of this in great detail and still choose to pop those pills? Most importantly, how can you speak about all of this so casually? You aren’t even high now!

“You’re addicted to those drugs,” he says, as if explaining the seriousness of the situation to you.

“Nope,” you deny. “I have formulated them 15 days ago. It takes 21 days to get addicted.”

Jungkook scoffs. “That’s what all drug addicts say,” he resumes walking, feeling undeniably frustrated that no matter your state, you refuse to take this seriously.

“I’m not a drug addict,” you mumble, voice soft and for the first time since he has met you, vulnerable. “I haven’t touched them in seven years.”

Jungkook looks back at you and some of his annoyance melts at the childlike expression on your face. He huffs and decides it’s for the best to focus on why he’s here.

“Jun!” Jungkook calls for his manager, who comes rushing towards him. “Is everything ready?”

“Almost, sir.” Yeonjun, or Jun as Jungkook likes to call him, replies.”Only the swing is missing it’s seatbelts. That will be organised by this evening. So we cannot make the swing fly yet. Except for that you can test everything out.”

Jungkook nods and stands nervously in front of the crew, his eyes darting from the large red swing (which looks like a loveseat) to the sky, where fireworks were meant to bloom on the big day. This is supposed to be a perfect dry run for Riya’s surprise, and he wants everything to go smoothly. He tugs on his shirt collar, feeling the weight of the moment and takes a seat on the two-seater swing.

“Jun, be Riya for the time being,” Jungkook pats the space next to him, motioning for Jun to take the seat.

“S-Sir, me?” Yeonjun is slightly taken off guard by his boss’ words.

“Yes you, Jun,” Jungkook confirms, with a small flicker of amusement.

Yeonjun follows his instruction and takes the seat. He crosses his legs, places his hands on his lap in a very ladylike manner and looks at Jungkook with a loving look.

“Okay, you didn’t have to go the extra mile,” Jungkook tries to seem stern but the wide grin betrays him.

Yeonjun only looks away and flips his non-existent long hair to the other side.

A loud cackle coming from you grabs both Yeonjun and Jungkook’s attention.

“Ma’am, you’re finding this very funny,” Yeonjun says with a grin of his own, breaking from his character. He also takes this as an opportunity to invite you to be in his place. “Why don’t you come and sit here?” he gets up and offers you the seat.

“There’s no—”                                                                                 

“Sir, it’s better this way,” Yeonjun insists. “Let the lady try.”

You look at Jungkook wondering if it’s okay with him. Only to realize that he’s also looking at you with the same look.

You put aside the chips packet and dust your hands, and make your way to the swing. The moment you’re seated Jungkook explains to the entire crew the planned sequence.

“Listen carefully, the music comes on first, then the drapes, then the flowers, fountains, then the crane will lift the swing up and finally the fireworks. Okay?”

Numerous ‘yes,sir’s are received from the crew.

“Cool. Let’s go. ‘Riya’,” Jungkook looks at you and only then does he realizes that you’re not listening to any of this. Instead you’re examining the ropes that attach the swing to the crane very carefully. “Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“We’re about to start.”

“Oh, Okay,” you nod and get ready for whatever it is that is about to happen.

Now Yeonjun takes over as he addresses the crew working under him. “First play the music,” he instructs, to which the guy inside the crane, who’s responsible for all the buttons and keeping things in sync, shoots a thumbs up.

You look around and notice the two large speakers that remain hidden from the party section and expect them to blast any second now. However, moments pass and nothing happens. You look at Jungkook who with each passing second looks more and more impatient and give him a reassuring nod.

The guy inside the crane repeatedly presses the button that is supposed to be connected to the speakers but the speakers remain dead.

Jungkook loses his patience and yells at the guy to be heard over the distance. “What is wrong? Start the music!”

At that very moment, a strange metallic groan echoes from the crane above.

“Why is the swing…?” Jungkook begins, but before he can finish, the swing lurches upwards, leaving the ground behind.

“Whoa, wait!” Jungkook yelps, one hand tightly gripping the rope of the seat as it lifts into the air. While the other instinctually comes in front of you, in a protective manner, trying to work as a makeshift belt. You do not notice that however, as you burst into laughter, your head thrown back in sheer joy.

“This wasn’t part of the plan!” Jungkook panics, eyes wide as he sees the ground getting smaller beneath them.

“This is awesome!” You exclaim between giggles, your hair flying in the breeze. “This is awesome!”

Jungkook isn’t listening. His breath quickens, as the swing refuses to be still. One moment it moves to the right. The other, it moves to the left. “Get us down!” he shouts.

Oh you don’t remember the last time you had so much fun.

Now the music starts to play.

“A little unsaid, a little undone,”

The swing rotates a complete three-sixty and you holler in excitement.

“Fleetingly it stays, in a twinkle it’s gone”

The crew starts putting a blanket underneath just in case either of you fall.

 “Such a silly feeling.”

Just as Jungkook thought things couldn’t get worse, one of the drapes that is supposed to cover whoever is sitting on the swing from getting wet by the fountain, comes loose. It gets caught in the wind and wraps itself around his face. Blinded, he flailed his arms. “Help! I can’t see! I can’t see!”

 “Hold still, hold still!” You say, unwrapping the cloth with care. As you peel it away, you notice the look of panic and distraught on his face. “You’re okay. Look at me. You won’t fall”

Jungkook, heart pounding, blinked rapidly, his vision clearing as your calm yet excited face came into view.  

“There, better?” you query, your voice steady now.

Jungkook nods, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He leaned back into the swing, still slightly nervous but trusting your calmness. “You’re way too comfortable with this,” he mutters.

“Well yeah, I wasn’t expecting this,” you express, the laughter in your eyes contagious.

By now, although the swing is in the air, thankfully it has stopped moving.

“Well, are we getting down anytime soon?” Jungkook hollers to the crew below.

“Sir, we are trying,” comes Yeonjun’s  reply. “The machine malfunctioned.”

You two hang in air in silence, both carrying two completely different moods. The quiet however gets disrupted when the fountains start, which is then followed by confetti of petals. With no drapes to cover the both of you, you two get wet.

You enjoy the flower petals falling on you, whereas Jungkook only feels cranky at his entire plan turning out to be a major disaster.

When the fireworks take off, you gasp and look behind you where the sky is lit with all sorts of beautiful colors.

The gasp catches Jungkook’s attention and he looks at you. You’re grinning wide, with your mouth parted and your eyes reflecting the fireworks. Although, he thinks the sparkle in your eyes might have everything to do with the joy you feel inside.

You notice Jungkook looking at you and can’t help but explain the rush of emotions you’re feeling. “I feel new sensations, as if fountains of cool water are breaking out underneath while fireworks are going off above, while we are swinging through it all.”

“I’m glad you had fun,” he smiles at you reluctantly. “But this whole thing is a mess. Nothing went according to plan.”

“Isn’t that the best part though?” You quip. “Had everything gone to plan, it wouldn’t have been much of a surprise. You too got a surprise, thanks to this mess.”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth tug upwards and you can’t help but grin wider in response.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” He says but the tension in his voice has melted, replaced by something much lighter.

“Not as impossible as the chances of this being a success on the day of the party,” you say in a low voice, as if the words are not meant for Jungkook’s ears and look around innocently.

Jungkook lets out a laugh, this one free and genuine. In this moment, for some reason, the thought of all his efforts of impressing Riya, going down the drain doesn’t scare or disappoint him.

One thing he’s slowly learning about you; high or sober, you always have an answer .

A/N: *clears throat* just note the line about her mentioning this sensation about fountains of water underneath and fireworks above. Will come in handy later 🤭💓.

Also, I'm dropping my new fic "All that Sparkles" (Ceo Tae, Arranged marriage au) on my Patreon tomorrow! So if you'd like to check it out, you're most welcome 🤗❤️.

[penultimatefan02]

Pen's Missed Proposal - A Theory

SPOILERS AHEAD!

@chimerapartyhouse wrote an insightful post regarding Pen’s motivations for having the diamond ring he dropped after his defeat at the Starship ruins. Was it Pen’s intention to propose to the builder before leaving with the Duvos army? On its own, it does hint that Pen wanted the builder to join him. Moreso, the hint was strengthened by the event that took place in the mission, “Pen’s Last Words.”

After Pen was taken away, he mailed a goodbye letter to the builder where he directed them to a cave so they could obtain a treasure. For those who did not romance Pen, the cave was essentially a trap with many beasts inside.

The treasure included Gold (5), Diamond (1), and Gols (400). Here is the symbolism:

5 (五 wǔ) sounds like 呜 (wū), which is onomatopoeia for whimpering and crying. Therefore, it is generally considered an unlucky number.

1. Searching took me in several directions, but the closest match found was that its pronunciations in Chinese sounds similar to the phrase 一生一世 (lifetime or forever).

4 (四 sì) sounds like 死 (sǐ; to die). Because of its negative association with death, most people consider this number to be so unlucky that many buildings in China do not even have a “fourth” floor.

Basically, Pen wanted the builder to experience a very unpleasant death.

However, if the builder romanced Pen, it was a different story.

The romance goodbye letter read:

Having some time to think on things here in the maximum-security prison, I do sometimes regret not finding a way to bring you with me. Ah, well. My bad. Anyway, since you were easily one of the top three lovers I've ever known, and the only one I still have the address for, I've decided to offer a symbol of my forgiveness. That’s right, I forgive you. I don't think we can ever be together again, but at the end of the day, you were just doing your lame goodie-two-shoes thing that you do. I should have recruited you as soon as I started to have suspicions. So, I won't hold it against you. In fact, I have one last thing give you. A challenge! Deep in the core of the ruins, I've tucked away one of the most powerful possessions in existence! And it's yours for the taking! All you have to do is get past the waves and waves of ravenous beasts that guard it, but... that should be no problem for you, Skinny. Remember your training. We will not meet again, Pen.

Here, Pen was all over the place. He offered backhanded compliments. Regretted not “recruiting” them. He forgave them for fighting against him. Then, he warned the builder of the beasts waiting at the cave but assured them they would win.

He was really fucked up.

For this post, I’m not going to dissect his psyche (much). My focus is on his offered mission and what it represents to those who romance him.

When entering the cave, my first thought was, when did Pen set this up? It must have been before the first arrest because there would be no time after the invasion. It only made sense that it was after the builder fell from the cliff but before Pen caught Haru. That’s because once Haru was captured the chain of events was set into motion.

That fall from the cliff must have thrown Pen for a loop. After the builder returned Pen said he searched for them relentlessly but couldn’t find them. His personality shifted in that conversation because from then on, he suspected Logan got to the builder due to the cliff’s location.

[The dialogue is from memory as I couldn’t find a screenshot. On the wiki, Pen says the builder crawled back to him, but I think the dialogue was changed. If someone has a screenshot, please share. It’s been a while since I played that part of the game, but I remember the builder had options to respond. such as they hit a tree on the way down.]

At that point, Pen’s mission was in hyperdrive, and Logan was breathing down his neck. He only had a brief window to plan on how to “recruit” the builder. It was within that window that Pen bought the ring and set up the cave for the proposal. For Pen, I’d imagine the ravenous beasts were there as a challenge to deem the builder worthy of his hand in marriage. If the builder won, Pen would kneel in the blood, guts, and glory of battle to put a ring on it. The treasure was as follows: Gold (5), Diamond (2), The Protector (1), Gols (600).

Here is the symbolism:

2. According to Chinese numerology, pairs are auspicious. This helps explain why it's common to see 双喜 (shuāngxǐ “double happiness”) on wedding couplets.

(Using separate definitions, 5, 2, and 1 combined may mean something like crying in happiness at being together forever?)

6. Chinese culture views number six as auspicious since it resembles the words for "smooth" and "well-off." It is linked to prosperity, happiness, and good fortune. It is also thought that number six has fascinating meaning when it comes to relationships and love. It's a popular option for romantic occasions like wedding dates because it connotes the idea of a smooth and harmonious relationship.

521. Following the recognition of 520 as a symbol of romance, the number 521 also gradually became associated with love. Lovers in China have now bestowed the number 521 with the meaning "I am willing", and both May 20 and May 21 are celebrated as Online Valentine's Days in China every year.

600 (general meaning, not language specific). In Love and Relationships, 600 is a sign of balance, harmony, and stability. When this number appears to you it can indicate that your relationship is about to enter a new stage of growth. 

Pen surely had a plan to propose.

My headcanon is that when Pen saw the Builder, Logan, and Justice come to interrupt the excavation, he knew that not only was his mission in jeopardy but so was his proposal.

That is why I believe the builder’s involvement was one of the reasons Pen went super feral on Logan. We know that Howlett almost wrecked his mission, but now Logan was trying to wreck everything for him. It’s also why I think he was overly spiteful toward the builder at the jail. In Pen’s eyes, the builder betrayed him by taking Logan’s side.

After Pen had time to stew on it though he forgave the builder but then put all the blame on Logan.

[animehideout]

LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL

Part Five

Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Check part 6 here 🆕

Check part 4 here.

a/n: Hii, I hope you enjoy this part as well, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list 🫶🏻

if you have any ideas of details you want me to include please let me know and don't hesitate to share your critics it helps me a lot to better my writings <3

Music recommendation ♪ : SKZ- Taste ( Yes I am a Stay ♡ )

You shook your hand with Nanami's. Smiling softly at him.

“I see your wife is now playing your game..Gojo?” Said Mei Mei wearing an amused expression,

only earning a glare in return from the man sitting in front of her.

“Come on, don't tell me Nanami triggered your jealousy and protectiveness over your wife” she added.

“Im.Not.Jealous!! And.Shes.Not.A.Real.Wife” he whispered in an angry low tone.

“Hm then why are you so upset about it?” she asked sipping water from her cup.

Gojo leaned in and said, “because I want everyone to treat her poorly, everyone to belittle her and this guys over here shouldn't interfere or try to defend her like the gentleman he is– that's why I'm pissed...my plan is to make her life a living nightmare, and it shouldn't be ruined by anyone, especially Nanamin.. Understood now?”

“Understood” she simply said, looking forward for all the drama that she'll soon witness.

She was relieved that he wasn't jealous, Mei Mei desired Gojo since high school days, and him falling for you; his wife, is something Mei Mei won't allow.

......

“How long have you been teaching here? I haven't seen you around” he asked.

“Um– today is my first day actually” you replied with a hint of awkwardness.

“Oh I see!! good luck then I'm sure you'll do great” he encouraged,

“T-thank you” you stammered ,pleasantly surprised, a warm genuine smile graced your face.

Nanami is indeed respectful and considerate quite the opposite of some other dick that you're stuck with.

“Excuse me for my random question, but what Jujutsu technique do you possess?” he questioned completely oblivious of your situation.

You swallowed with difficulty, rocking your legs under the table in embarrassment. But why would you hide who you really are?

“I–I don't have any Jujutsu energy my situation is kind of complicated so...” you replied,

trying your best to hide your discomfort from his sudden question, especially knowing that your husband is sitting at the table next you and any vulnerability will cost you your dignity and pride.

“Oh I understand! but I'm sure you're skilled with weapon use. It doesn't matter if you have a curse energy or not what matters is the braveness you carry within you” he said and smiled,

he smiled for the very first time in years taking both Gojo and Mei Mei by surprise.

“Nanami smiling? if I knew he had such an attractive smile he would have been one of my preys” thought Mei Mei to herself.

The tables turned, and now it's Gojo's turn to sit and watch your cute interaction with his colleague. Having known Nanami for years, Gojo was already familiar with the way he treats women with ultimate politeness but in Gojo's eyes you weren't deservant of such treatment, he hates you and wanted everyone around to do the same, to turn against you until you feel excluded, until you give up on your job and the small circle you've built in two days. His goal is to make you experience once again the sense of isolation you've grown up with, and Nanami encouraging you was the first step to hinder his goals. That's why Nanami shouldn't get close to you.

...

It was the very first time you witnessed someone acknowledging your skills, someone comforting you and understanding that it's okay to not be a sorcerer. His genuine words touched your heart.

Uncertain how to respond a shy smile formed on your lips, his compliment felt like a gentle breeze that lifted up your spirit, making you forget about all the hate you have dealt with for years.

As the school bell chimed, signaling the break's conclusion, you rose to head to your next teaching assignment for the second years.

“It was nice talking to you, Nanami,”you said gently, keeping eye contact, which he acknowledged without breaking.

“Looking forward to our next meeting...after you” he said, stepping aside to let you walk ahead.

....

“Nanamin!!”

“Yeah Gojo what do you want?” Nanami replied with a sigh, irritated, since Gojo used to annoy him a lot before.

“Nothing much... but maybe next time, acknowledge my presence before chatting with her so casually.”

“Huh? she was sitting alone, and you were with Mei Mei. so what's your point? cuz i couldn't get it yet!”

“Listen, Nanamin, don't waste your time with her. She's–”

“Why would you say that? It's not like I'm trying to steal your wife or something!” Nanami interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“I'd appreciate it if you don't talk to her again”

“She's a mature woman with free will. You don't get to decide who she talks to.. Excuse me now” Nanami asserted, and the walked away.

– Time Skip Night Time –

“Aah, what a day” you sighed, yawning as you began drying off, still wrapped in your towel.

The warm bath washed away the fatigue from a long day of teaching. Smiling at the memory of Nanami's words, recollecting his warm smile. Suddenly interrupted by a voice.

“I see you're happy?” came a voice that caught you off guard, disrupting your thoughts.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?”

“This is my house, or did you forget?”

A blush colored your cheeks as you realized being clad only in a towel that barely covered the length of your thighs, and his focused intense gaze didn't make things any easier.

“Watcha smiling at? don't tell me you're having those lovey-dovey moments where you have a burst of energy, kicking your feet in the air because you developed a crush on someone? is it Nanami?”

“What if it is? are you jealous? I thought you had plans to spend the night with Mei Mei. What brings you here anyway?”

“Oh, you gave yourself away... eavesdropping to my chat earlier?”

“Nah, wasn't really interested in what you said. You were just loud for some reason” you retorted.

“Getting more bratty by each day?” he remarked, taking a step closer as you instinctively took a step back.

“What do you want?” you asked, panic brewing inside, wild thoughts racing through your mind.

“Nothing.. Why do you seem uncomfortable? Is it because I'm getting this close to you? Is it because my fingers are now tracing your skin?” he teased, his fingers leaving a trail of delicate goosebumps on your exposed arm.

“Satoru!” you warned, air hitched in your throat..

“Is it because no one will be able to hear you scream, in this house of thick walls?”

“Satoru get away and- stop it with your g-games” you stuttered as he tarped you between his chest and the wall. He could hear your heart pounding out of your chest.

“What if I dont? what would you do? stop me?” he challenged.

You tried to walk past him, but he was faster, he pushed you on the king sized bed, and crawled on top of you, making you disappear under his giant figure.

“What? I thought you wanted this from the beginning, I thought you wanted me inside of you huh? You wanted to make this marriage real dont you? so why are you fighting it back now?” he said calmly,

He held your hands above your head to stop you from pushing him and hitting his chest.

“SATORU GET OFF OF ME..I DON'T WANT THAT AND YOU KNOW IT”

tears gathered in your eyes, you didn't want your first time to be like this, hell no, it scared the shit out of you, and wanted nothing more than breaking free from his grasp.

“Are you crying now babygirl? I thought you were braver than this..”

“IM NOT CRYING...GET OFF OF ME NOW” you yelled and used your legs to push him away.

Suddenly, he paused and then started laughing hysterically,

“Y-you should have *laugh* seen the scared look on your face...that was hilarious” he continued on laughing,

and you were sat on the bed, fixing your towel looking at him in utter confusion. “w-what the hell?” you whispered.

He paused inhaling, “See how weak you are, unable to protect yourself..” he started, looking at you with dismissive glance.

”I.am.not.weak.”

“I could have broke you if I wanted to, I'm just not interested in fucking a nobody like you..” he spitted each word was thrown at you like daggers.

You swallowed your pain, choking on the tears that you've never allowed to stream.

“You won't.. and I'm not interested in even looking at some arrogant, power digger, empty shell of man like you” you fought back

“Empty shell of a man” echoed in his ears, the thing that he's always avoided, his emptiness, the void that he thought he covered with his strength, you cracked it. How did you even know?

“Why are you silent now Satoru? did I strike a sensitive nerve?”

“I am the strongest, meaningless words coming from a meaningless person won't affect me” he replied, eyes piercing through you..

“Enough with the strongest!! is it your only resort to defend yourself? to prove yourself? You're not special Gojo Satoru, people out there are also worth it, are also strong and talented , you're not better than them not better than anyone, yo–”

“In all the heavens and the earth, I Alone Am the honoured one..do you understand?” he spoke slowly yet with harsh tone..

a tone that sent shivers down your spine. You looked at him silently, his face inches away from yours, looking into each others eyes, his blue eyes; an ocean, a canva of hidden struggles.

If looks could kill, you'd be already sent to heaven.

“Do.You.Understand?” he repeated.

But all what you could do is stare,

“Say.It” he yelled

“no” you started “...in all heavens and the earth, I alone the one you can't control, Satoru” you added twisting his words, and used them against him.

.....

Satoru let out a short, mirthless laugh, the flicker of offense evident in his blue eyes poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue– but it's Gojo Satoru, he would never give you the satisfaction of actually breaking his ego, so what else he could do except flipping the topics.

“From now on I'll be sleeping here. Couch or the other room, your call, but this is my bed” he declared, breaking the silence after thinking he would really break you, from how intense the atmosphere was.

“If I were you, I'd find another spot. But if you stick here, you better sleep with one eye open” he added warning, taking off his shirt to reveal his toned back.

You swiftly gathered your belongings, exiting the room as he began unbuckling his belt.

.....

Sitting in the next room, knees to your chest, tears flowed silently. making sure the door was locked, you couldn't deny he had given you a scare. It was his plan all along, to frighten you, to make you feel vulnerable, proving he could easily assert dominance.

“I hate this. I hate you, Satoru.”

Taglist ✨:

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@shervinss

@twitabread

@f1uveryysblog @sleepyyammy @allofffmypeaches @myloveforharrystylesneverenough

@olivianyx @inlovewithlondonn @wisepotato404 @butterskyy

[meliciousmel13]

WOULD'VE COULD'VE SHOULD'VE PART 2

PT 1 PT 2

warnings: angst, fluff i promise you end up together. mentions of suicide and ed. if these things make you uncomfortable please do not read!

wc: 1,834

SYNOPSIS: the aftermaths. madison comes to your best friends house for forgiveness? (you blocked her number).

taglist: @guysimgay164, @madisonbeerssecretwife @bandanamatt

an: tell me if u like it or not cuz i don't!

the following days were normal. staying at home, re watching your old favorite movies and Allison occasionally coming over to spend time with you.

you totally forgot about madison now. yes. forgot about madison and everything else. except now you go to sleep to pass the time, now you wake up at midnight and watch gravity falls with a million useless thoughts in your head. now you stare at your ceiling watching the fan spin while thinking of what would’ve happened if you didn’t leave—if you didn’t lash out. what would’ve happened?

it’s been 4 days since new years which means it’s January, 4th. 96 hours. since your talk with her. your not one to count the days but she was stuck in your mind. if she wasn’t there then you would’ve been fine. if she didn’t approach you, you would’ve been having fun with your friends. but your stuck at home thinking about her again. you finally got her out of your head with allisons help but she ruined your peace of mind and your life.

madison was now outside allisons door. apprehensively waiting outside your best friends door. why? because she was genuinely scared that Allison would physically hurt her.

She rang the bell again, hearing shuffling behind the door and a head creeping out. it was allison, “the fuck are you doing here.” she opened the door wider, not as an invite in, but so madison could see the absolute disgust in her face.

“i just wanna ask you something.” she answered, fumbling with your her over-sized sweater. repeating the same thing over and over again in her head because she had to muster up any courageous nerve she had in her body to let a sound out. the nerve to be so desperate that she came to her exes, best friends house, who wanted to strangle her and leave her in a ditch.

“no—i wanna ask you something. how the hell did you find my house?” allison asked, and madison sighed, looking away from her face and playing with her braids. she wanted this to be done with so she could explain herself and then get you back and then happy happy. but the world doesn’t work like that and first she has to explain, to explain again.

“y/n forgot her sweater in your house once so she asked me to get it for her.”

“so she gave you the keys to my house without telling me? your lying.” allison said, and madison wanted to bash her head in a wall because why the hell. in the living hell. did she think this was a good idea.

“look, i can just go if you want i just—”

allison laughed. she laughed. “i’m joking, come on.” it wasn’t funny. but Madison chuckled to mask the fact that she was overanxious.

the house was filled with a unique scent of cinnamon and pumpkin spice. multiple things—trinkets on the small shelf in the living room. it’s grown since the last time she came. it was sort of welcoming. it seemed lived in.

“so what do you want?” allison said, with an under meaning tone. “wait wait. let me guess.” she hummed, as if thinking. she wasn’t thinking. she was taunting her. “you came to talk?” madison almost said ‘no shit’ out loud but she didn’t want to make the blond even more hostile to her. she was the one who had to deal with the mess known as you for 2 weeks. and she wasn’t about to forgive the person who almost made her best friend kill herself so easily.

madison couldn’t even get out a word before she was interrupted. “you know she loved you? you know she tried to kill herself over you? she tried to fucking slit her wrists, because you dumb fuck—your dumb. fucking. brain. decided, that breaking up with someone—over text! who you know! has suicidal thoughts, was a good fucking idea. i know you know because you were there when she attempted for the first time!” Allison yelled, and madison was culpable of it all. because allison said all the things you were too afraid to say. because you were too soft to say the things on your mind.

it was pure silence. until allison spoke again. “do you still love her?” and madison scoffed. of course she still loved you. she loved you so much it was overwhelming her every thought. you left your clothes at her house and she cried on every single one. she wore them so much that it didn’t even smell like you anymore.

“you were all that she talks about. literally, it was starting to get annoying. until you ruined it all and now she’s just constantly sad, because of you. so i want you to answer. do you still. fucking. love her? because if you loved her you’d have an answer for me when i ask, why in world would break up with someone you loved so much.” the blond asked—pointed out, madison couldn’t tell. but she knew that she didn’t know a future without you in it.

the yearning to wake up next to you was so intense she didn’t know how she survived 2 and a half months without going insane.

the words allison said went on for hours, so long she sat madison down, just to stand up and yell at her. madison took it. she took every insult and sat there with a headache so extreme she had to rub her temples to try to calm it down.

now the blond was in her kitchen drinking water and madison laid her head back on the couch and looking at the ceiling fan turn.

“hey, can you come over?” a small voice, raspy from all the yelling. madison turned her head just to hear your sweet velvety voice echo through the empty home. like honey. and she swore she’s never felt so at peace. so happy.

“she’s coming in 15 minutes so get your shit together.”

madison didn’t understand. why the blond would give her another chance if she hated her so.

“and if your wondering why. i’m doing it for my best friend, because i know although your a horrible person, that you make her happy.”

allison swore a lot.

15 minutes passed in a blur and the door was ringing already. and allison ignored it. “will you get the door?” madison asked, sitting up; overstrung.

“are you kidding? your apologizing not me.”

madison groans, so nervous her hands were sweaty. she opened the door to see you. you had you bag swung over your shoulder and your hair was messy—you looked gorgeous. and confused.

“what are you doing here?” you looked across madison’s shoulder to see allison on her phone over at the kitchen counter, you push her aside and walk over to the blond, “what is she doing here?”

“she wanted to apologize,” she shrugged her shoulders, “i’ll leave you two kids alone.” allison mumbled and went to her bedroom.

you sigh and turn around to face her. she had her hair done but her face was a mess. she had dark circles under her eyes and she was wearing your favorite sweater and baggy jeans. she looked beautiful.

“that’s mine.” you comment, dryly. pointing at the sweater she had on.

“you left it at my house.”

you nod, please let this suffering end. oh god this is painful.

“i missed you.” Madison said, bravely speaking up. and speaking to you. she was talking to you, and you weren’t hostile.

“you don’t miss me anymore?”

never mind. “what?” she frowned, clenching her sweater tightly, “past tense.” you point out, obnoxiously. and you hated yourself for being so damn awkward. you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“i mean, i still miss you,” she rolled her eyes, “shut up smart ass.” she said, and you laughed—giggled, and madison laughed too. because you were contagious. whenever you were sad, everyone was sad. she let out a smile so big her cheeks started to hurt. a flower bloomed in your stomach and you couldn’t think anymore. all you could see was madison. you were crying now—sobbing. madison hugged you, and all you could feel was her. all you could smell was her perfume engulfing you everywhere and it made you cry harder.

you cried about everything. you cried because you were happy. you cried because you missed her too. you cried about the great depression which was the first two weeks she was gone. you cried because you hold it in anymore. you cried because you had filled a tub with water and a razor on the counter. you forgot to lock the door. you cried in her arms and you don’t remember the last time you could breathe.

words were coming out her mouth but your brain was translating it and turning it gibberish. ringing filled your ears. madison took your face in her hands and wiped your tears with her thumbs and kissed your forehead. you felt another pair of arms around you and you griped the stupid stupid sweaterin your hands they almost tore. because in that moment you wanted to be under her skin.

you stopped crying once she started to litter kisses up your jaw and neck. she held your hips so tightly and it felt so good. you whisper ‘madison’ out like a prayer—over and over again. until your mouth was filled with foam. she ‘shh’ed you and rubbed your hair and back. you swallow, and breathe in her neck. just breathed her in. your nose was filled with snot and her pretty sweater was wet because of you.

“m’ sorry bout’ your sweater.” you sniffle, and madison chuckled.

“it’s your sweater. your gonna be the one cleaning it.” she said, and you whine into her neck. “I’m kidding! god, don’t cry more. i hate seeing you cry.” especially if its my fault.

“are you guys done?” allison asked from behind you, eating her bag of peach rings and putting her phone down.

“why? does it bother you seeing people be happy?” you ask.

“you just cried.. are you really happy?” that question made you question yourself. were you really happy? it was confusing because you had absolutely no idea. you stood still and dug your head in madison’s shoulder. sighing.

the whole world turn buzzing and white. you toy with her sweater while deep in thought. allison looked at madison and madison looked at you. you and her were about the same height so she kissed you forehead and rubbed your back.

“anyways. are you guys OK now?” allison asked and madison shrugged.

“i think so?” she looked at you. arms warped around her waist and toying with her brown sweater. “yeah,” she answered. “we’re OK.” and you decided in that moment that you were happy.

[guitarstringed-scars]

silver springs- keiji akaashi

silver springs- keiji akaashi x f!reader, angst with a somewhat happy ending, band au, just a one-shot for you all

keiji akaashi hated this breakup. he hated how you missed three rehearsals after it was over. he hated the way he missed you so much, and he hated the way suna was right.

“are you sure it’s a good idea to be in a band with your girlfriend? i mean no offense man, you guys seem perfect for each other, but what if things go south?” he had asked years earlier.

“things wont. i’m gonna marry her.” he had replied at the time. he kept that thought for years too. he was gonna marry you. so, the band was perfect, and it wasn’t long before you all shot to stardom.

being in the spotlight is hard. it was hard on you, it was hard on keiji, it was hard on your relationship. the fans, the rumors, the lack of privacy. it was all slowly drilling a hole between you two. you loved each other, and you trusted each other, but the public didn’t know that. all they knew was “keiji akaashi spotted with model alisa haiba, girlfriend y/n l/n is LIVID!” or “insider says that y/n l/n is considering leaving boyfriend keiji akaashi for volleyball superstar koutaro bokuto!”

you both knew these rumors weren’t true. that you were just in the bathroom in the pictures taken of keiji and alisa. that you would never leave keiji for koutaro, and you were only at a game because he’s such a close friend of you two. but when the entire world is telling you that the rumors are true, things get complicated. the first real fight you had was also your last. there was yelling on both sides, and crying on both sides, and finally an “i think we should break up.” from keiji’s side.

it was dumb. letting one fight ruin the 4 years. even as you fought, he was still ready to marry you. but one too many thoughts were said out loud. so it all came crumbling down.

the days after were rough. you took all of your stuff and moved out right after he said those words. he locked himself in the bathroom as soon as you grabbed your suitcase.

the headlines the next morning only made it worse, “y/n l/n spotted leaving boyfriend keiji akaashis apartment in tears with her bags. is it truly over?”

yes. for once, the tabloids were right. it is truly over. keiji regrets it. he regrets even starting the argument with you. he doesn’t even remember how it started. but he remembers how he started to fall in love with you.

4 and a half years earlier keiji sat in a crowded bar. the same bar he frequented every weekend as a student, this weekend was no different. there was always a different musician playing, and this week it was you. y/n l/n. you sat on a stool, in the center of the stage, just you and your guitar. you looked absolutely perfect, he thought from the back. he couldn’t even see your features properly over the crowd, but the moment you started singing, he knew you were perfect. keiji was already playing bass or guitar for a few groups at this point, just last minute gigs and such, but he knew he wanted to make something of his own. so while he listened to your angelic voice sing, he sent a message to a few friends. suna, who he had met in university. a great drummer. sugawara, who he’d met back in high school. he was great at the piano. semi, who he knew as the guy who plays guitar. he begged them to start a band with him, and much to his delight, they agreed. he promised them the perfect lead singer as well.

only problem was getting you to agree.

so he approached you as you were packing up your guitar, and practically begged you to join. up close you were even more beautiful. you had just laughed at his begging and agreed, surprisingly.

when asked about why you joined 2 years later in an interview, you laughed again. “i thought the guy asking was pretty cute.”

so when the two of you started spending all your time together in a band, it was inevitable that you’d end up together. you shared the same passions for music, the same care for your band mates, the same humor, the same interests.

and you did end up together. when you two told the rest of the band they were all overjoyed, they all saw it coming. so when suna pulled keiji aside after you two announced it, he was a bit surprised to hear what he said.

“are you sure it’s a good idea to be in a band with your girlfriend? i mean no offense man, you guys seem perfect for each other, but what if things go south?”

and things did go south. not in a gradual motion, but in one intense turn. things went south. you didn’t speak to anyone in the band for a week. they all knew what had happened, and none of them expected it. just like none of them expected the sudden attention the band began to gain.

you all started as an opener for a bigger artist, and then you were having your own tour, and releasing albums, and being interviewed, and winning awards, and being observed closely and attacked for every minuscule movement.

you were sick of it. keiji could tell. you would lay in bed next to him at the end of a long day of interviews, or recording, and tell him stories of how it was when you were a solo musician, just starting out.

“do you regret joining the band?” he would ask you as you played with his hair.

“no.” you would answer. “cause then i wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, or koushi, or rintaro, or semi, or so many other incredible people.”

and the two of you would fall asleep in each others arms, happy.

now keiji sleeps alone in the guest bedroom. he can’t stand being in your room without you.

at the first rehearsal after the breakup you didn’t show up. your manager was upset, and called you 3 times. after the 3rd time hearing your voicemail message, your manager turned to him.

“could you try calling her akaashi?” she asked.

“she wont answer me. she’s not coming.” he answered, before getting up and locking himself in the studio bathroom.

he won’t be the one people ask to get a hold of you any more.

this whole routine repeated twice more, and on your third missed rehearsal, you finally showed up, an hour late.

no one wants to speak. keiji bites the inside of his cheek for a moment as you set down your guitar. he’s about to say something before your manager interrupts his thoughts.

“you’ve missed three rehearsals, a dinner, two interviews, and four meetings.” ”great. i’ll get those rescheduled.” you say, not even looking up from your guitar. you haven’t looked at him once.

“where have you been?” she asks you.

“i needed some time. i wrote some stuff.” you say, turning to the band for the second statement. you still don’t look at him.

your manager sighs and exits the room. it’s always been a rule that its just band members in the room at rehearsals.

“what’d you write?” semi asks, as he messes with his guitar. you look at semi. keiji wants more than anything for you to look at him right now and tell him you forgive him, but he knows that wont come. especially since he hasn’t given you an apology to accept.

you don’t look at him the next two hours. you play two songs you’ve written over the past week. they are full of emotions that no one in the band is quite ready to process. you start to explain what sounds you want from the other instruments. helping suna with the rhythms, playing the melody for sugawara, and explaining chords you like to semi. when it comes to the bass, you go quiet for a second.

“i don’t know what i want the bass line to be.” you say. you look at him for the first time. he can see the hurt in your eyes and he wonders if this is why you’ve avoided looking at him. he can also tell that you are lying. the people in this room know you better than anyone else. you’ve spent almost every day of the past four years together, and keiji knows you best.

he knows that you know exactly what you want the bass line to be. he knows you’ve spent hours coming up with it and picking it apart. he knows you have a perfect bass part written out in your magnificent mind, and he knows you wont tell him what it is. so, he works on it alone. and every time he plays it, you find something you don’t like about it.

finally, the rehearsal ends. you don’t look at him much more the rest of the time. the other band members pack up quickly, eager to escape the tension in the room.

then, it’s just you two.

he speaks first.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay, it’s my fault. i can’t figure out what i want the bass line to sound like.” you say.

“no.” he says.

you don’t say anything.

“thats not what i meant and you know it y/n.”

“then what do you mean keiji?” your voice is full of hurt. you do know.

it’s his turn to not say anything.

“you know i love you.” you say, shutting your guitar case. ”y/n. i love you more than anything, please.” he’s crying now. he watches a drop land on the glossy finish of his bass. he can’t help but feel like it’s oh so cliche. he hears shuffling beside him. feels a hand on his shoulder. you are kneeling next to him now, holding a notebook. it’s your song writing notebook. he’s seen it many times before, sat on the desk in your shared bedroom.

you’ve written countless love songs in it for him. countless songs about the way you feel, your life, your stories.

he watches you open it to the most recent page. theres a bass line written out at the bottom. eraser marks all over prove it’s one you’ve thought about deeply.

you hand him the notebook. the same second he’s grabbing it, he’s setting it down on the floor beside you two and wrapping his arms around you. you reciprocate the hug. now you are both sobbing.

keiji is mumbling into your hair. he’s telling you he loves you, and he does’t want to break up, and he was just stressed because you’ve never really fought before. and he tells you he's gonna marry you.

and he’s telling the truth.

a/n: hi i love akaashi, and i love music (i play the bass hehehe) and i really liked writing this! very proud of it woohoo!

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 5)

eren/reader

reincarnation & memory loss

rating: M (16+)

cw: canon-typical xenophobia

word count: 1420

<- CH 4 | CH 6 ->

Mr. Kruger isn’t in his room.

Which isn’t a bad thing, his schedule marks that it’s his free time so he’s allowed to be in one of the open areas of the hospital. Normally he stays locked up in his room despite it, so you’re happy to see that he’s out getting some fresh air for once.

However… you’d smuggled him a peach tart from the morning market and you want to make sure he gets a chance to try it before you’re found out.

There aren’t many places that he might be, so it doesn’t take you long to spot him in the courtyard. You watch him for a moment, from a stairwell on the first floor where a large window faces down to the lower level.

A tree covers half of the bench he’s sitting on, concealing the person that he’s talking to.

But he is talking, and it makes you smile.

Mr. Kruger kept to himself most of the time, so you were glad to see him socializing. 

By the time you’re down the stairs and crossing the courtyard towards him his new friend is gone. Maybe they went back to their room or grew bored of the conversation. As much as Mr. Kruger is your favourite patient, he is a pretty terrible conversationalist. 

He stares at the ground in front of him as you approach. 

“There’s a surprise in your room.” You tell him with a smile.

“What kind of surprise?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise part of it.”

He sighs. “You’re going to make me walk all the way up there, on one leg, without giving me a reason for why I should be doing it?”

His dry sense of humor (at least you think it’s humor, honestly maybe he’s being serious, sometimes you can’t tell) makes you laugh as you take a seat next to him.

“Your free time’s almost over anyway.” You point out.

“Hm…” Mr. Kruger hums in agreement before he reaches for his crutch and uses it to support himself as he stands. 

Your eyes fall to the bench. “Is this yours?” You ask as you grab a baseball and hold it up to him.

“It was a gift.” Mr. Kruger answers as he starts to walk away.

You stand up and follow after him, flipping the old battered baseball between your hands. “Whoever got it for you must not know you very well.” You say.

He stops walking and looks over at you with one eyebrow (the one that’s visible through the bandages wrapped around his head) raised, wordlessly asking you to elaborate. 

“It’s just-...” You look down at the ball again. “You’re not exactly in the right condition to play catch.”

You meet his eyes.

Then you gesture to his missing leg.

For the first time ever, Mr. Kruger smiles. He lets out a short huff of amusement and then he keeps walking.

You don’t follow after him though.

You can’t.

Instead, you stare at the back of his head- completely transfixed by the way his smile lit up his face and made deep green eyes all the more breathtaking.

Your knees feel weak. Your arms feel like noodles. And for a moment, you wonder if Mr. Kruger would let you borrow his crutch.

He thanks you for the tart and eats it right away.

He doesn’t smile again, but his eyes light up as he does.

That night, when you’re trying to fall asleep you take yourself somewhere nice. 

A warm house, just big enough for two.

Nice food.

And a comfortable bed.

You think of his eyes.

You think of his smile.

Rope…

…red spray paint…

…Eldian Lover.

After two months, you and Mr. Kruger have a routine.

Every morning you wake him up.

Give him his medication (slipping the green sedative into your pocket to dispose of later), check his vitals, and make your notes about his progress.

Then you help him change so he can go down to breakfast.

He gets free time for a few hours after that.

You make sure he eats lunch.

After that, he goes to physical therapy with Dr. Rall.

He’s normally in a bad mood after physical therapy so he returns to his room and reads whatever he’d been given from the library. You’ve commented on his books a few times because they’re normally ones you’ve read- but he never wants to talk about them. Sometimes it makes you wonder if he’s been reading them at all. Sometimes you think he might just be staring at the words with his mind somewhere else, only returning to his body when an appropriate amount of time has passed and he should flip to the next page.

Regardless, he’s there for another hour.

After that he has dinner. A shower (on his days to do so). And then it’s back to his room for his last dose of medications before you lock him in his room as he goes to sleep.

You chat sometimes throughout the day as you make his bed or check his blood pressure. And every day you notice he gets more and more talkative. 

He’s healing. That’s why he talks more now. He’s healing. 

That fact alone would make any nurse proud.

But at the same time, selfishly, it does something else…

“Do you think you’ll be discharged soon?” You ask as you pack up your small bag of equipment, now that you’re done changing his bandages. 

His eye isn’t healing as quickly as it should be. You’re worried about it, but it’s not your place to say anything, so you put it in your notes instead and leave it up to the doctors to discuss.

“Dunno.” He answers casually.

“What will you do once you are? Do you have family in the internment zone?”

His silence says everything. 

“I don’t either.” You tell him and he slowly looks over at you. “Have family, I mean. My parents died a few years ago and my older brother he-” You freeze, bandages half packed into your bag as it flashes through your mind.

Rope.

Flesh.

Crimson words on faded brick.

No.

A house.

A warm bed.

Homemade food.

Better.

“Anyway.” You shove the rest of the bandages into your bag and zip it closed. “I guess that’s why I’m so much of a workaholic!” You laugh.

“Hm.” Is Mr. Kruger’s only reply.

“Maybe that’s what you could do once you get out of here!”

“What? Be a workaholic?” His tone is dry and void of emotion, but you now know that’s how he tells jokes.

“Oh ha-ha.” You answer back in a tone just as dry. “Not a workaholic,” you’re back to smiling as you take a seat on the bed next to him, “but a job.”

“Yeah,” he says as he glances out the window, “maybe…”

You watch him as he stares out of it. Not to the courtyard below, or the trees that line it, or even to the street that runs beside the hospital.

He stares at the horizon.

And you can’t blame him for it, really. He knows what’s below him, but the horizon-... well…

Over the horizon, there could be just about anything.

“Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He doesn’t look back.

“When you stare out that window and slip away, where is it that you go?”

His gaze moves from the window and back to you.

Your breath catches and you want to look away. You should look away. You should look away and stand up, grab your bag and lock the door behind you as you leave.

Instead…

You don’t look away.

Instead, you sit in a bed you shouldn’t be sitting in. Looking at a man you shouldn’t be looking at as your heart speeds up in a way it shouldn’t speed up.

There are a lot of “shouldn’t”s when it comes to Mr. Kruger.

The biggest one being the way you feel when his eyes meet yours.

But you can’t help it that your stomach flips. You can’t help it that your face feels warm. That your heart hammers against your chest. That you know why your body does this- why it’s always done this, despite the fact that it shouldn’t.

He’s still looking at you, a reply hanging off his barely parted lips.

Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?

You hope he’ll answer you. You hope he’ll tell you.

But instead, he says something else:

“...where do you?”

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