#quiet bittersweet adoration on her

[carefulfears]

Oh my sweet lordy lord. we as a fandom need to talk more about the 1-2 shipping punch that is detour followed immediately by the post modern prometheus. the ‘wrestle’ in detour and the dance I’m pmp literally had me twirling my hair and kicking my feet like a little girl. they were really like here’s a little treat for y’all after the heaviness of the cancer arc.

dana after she thought she was going to die and never get to monster hunt with her best friend again when she’s alive and she really loves him

[faebled-stories]

Ex-Factor: Behind the Smile

Kinkvember Day 3: Blackmail (Yandere Jiheon)

Fromis_9 Baek Jiheon x Male reader

AN: Daylight savings + weekend = Earlier update 💖😊

In the dazzling universe of K-pop, where glitzy performances and fanfare reign supreme, love often becomes a bittersweet melody, intricately woven into the fabric of fame, fortune, and relentless ambition. Amidst the swirling lights of concerts, the deafening cheers from adoring fans, and the ceaseless training sessions, two talented idols—Jiheon and you—found a quiet oasis in each other’s hearts.

From the moment you met, it felt as if destiny had intertwined your fates. Jiheon, a rising star with a captivating stage presence that could light up any arena, had a magnetic charm that drew you in. Your own charisma, a sweet yet powerful aura, complemented hers perfectly. Together, you became a dynamic duo, weathering the storms of the industry while nurturing a love that blossomed in the less glamorous and quieter corners of life.

Your relationship was not built on grand gestures but on cherished moments behind the scenes. Late-night phone calls stretched into early mornings, where soft laughter and shared dreams painted a beautiful tapestry of intimacy. Cozy dinners became your refuge from the demanding schedules that dictated your lives, where you exchanged stories, hopes, and fears over steaming bowls of ramen or comforting plates of kimchi.

Your romance seemed like a fairytale. You were the couple everyone dreamed of being, seemingly pursuing your aspirations together with the promise of a shared future. From the outside, it appeared as though you cheered each other on during rehearsals, hearts racing not just for personal triumphs but for the joy of achieving success together on grand stages. Yet, little did they realize, there was much more beneath the surface.

Stolen kisses between dance practice, secret notes exchanged backstage, and quiet walks beneath shimmering city lights became treasured memories, preserving the sweetness of your love against the bitter backdrop of industry pressures. Your relationship was a gem, rare and precious, glimmering even amid the sparkle of stardom.

Yet, the reality of K-pop stardom is that it is often fleeting and fiercely demanding. As Jiheon’s career soared, propelled by her talent and charisma, the expectations placed on her intensified, like shadows growing longer as the sun sets. With each comeback, the stakes climbed higher, drawing her deeper into the relentless cycle of training, performances, and public appearances.

As the demands of your respective careers pulled you further apart, the strain began to show. Training sessions grew longer and more exhaustive, leaving scant time for romance. Jiheon found herself grappling with a heart pulled in two directions—her dreams, glittering and tangible, clashed with the love she cherished. In her mind, thoughts spiraled: Was it selfish to hold onto this love when her career beckoned?

In moments of quiet reflection, Jiheon wrestled with the haunting belief that letting you go might be an act of love itself. Perhaps distancing herself from you would give her the freedom to reach new heights, allowing her to fully invest in her career. It was a painful paradox—the closer she got to her dreams, the more she felt she had to sacrifice.

Then came the fateful day when Jiheon finally found the courage to speak the words that had been clawing at her insides for weeks. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her hands trembling at her sides. The two of you stood in a quiet corner of the park, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows that danced around your feet.

“I think… I think we should break up.” The words tumbled out like heavy stones, each one crashing down inside you, echoing the unshakable truth that you both had been avoiding.

“It’s better this way, for both of us,” she continued, her gaze dropping to the ground, as if she could will the earth to swallow her pain. The sun flickered through the leaves overhead, but it felt as if the warmth had suddenly vanished, leaving behind an icy chill that seeped into your bones.

The enormity of her words hung in the air, heavy and stark, as if time itself had halted. You could hardly breathe as your tear-filled eyes met hers, searching for some glimmer of hope, something to hold on to. But all you saw was the anguish mirrored in her heart, reflected in those shimmering pools of despair.

“What? Jiheon… Please,” you pleaded, your voice cracking as desperation clawed at your throat. “Can’t we find another way? We’ve been through so much together. I can’t just let you go.”

She took a step back, the physical distance between you somehow amplifying the emotional chasm that had opened up. “You don’t understand,” she replied, her voice breaking as she wiped a tear from her cheek. “I love you but, our relationship is bottlenecking our progress. Things aren’t the way they used to be, and pretending will only hurt us more.”

The pain of each syllable cut deeper than any knife, reverberating within your chest like the tolling of a bell, ominously marking what felt like the end of your world. You longed to reach out, to pull her close and reassure her — both of you — that everything would be okay. But the wall of resolve in her eyes held you back.

“Is this really what you want?” you asked, your heart racing as you grasped for any thread of connection that could pull her back from this precipice. “We can work on this, together.”

Jiheon shook her head, the weight of her decision heavy on her shoulders. “It’s not healthy for us, I can't keep holding you back… or myself.”

With that, the finality of her words settled like an inescapable fog around you. In her belief that this was the right choice, a choice steeped in love and sacrifice, Jiheon felt her spirit fracture, the pieces scattering like fallen leaves caught in a relentless gust of wind.

“Please don’t do this,” you whispered, the vulnerability of your voice revealing just how unprepared you were to let go. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know,” her voice quivered, the pain evident in her expression as she stepped closer, reaching for your hand, squeezing it tightly as if to breathe life into the moment. “I'm sorry"

As her fingers slipped from yours, you felt a part of yourself tear away, and all you could do was stand there, motionless, as the world moved on around you, leaving only silence and the bittersweet taste of love lost.

The silence that followed was deafening, an echoing void that enveloped you both. You longed to reach out, to pull her back into your embrace, to tell her that love could be a guiding light rather than a hindrance. But those words caught in your throat, drowned by despair. The choice she made loomed large, instilling a heavy weight of regret that would soon settle in her heart.

-----

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. Jiheon had once been the girl who laughed in the warmth of love, the one who danced on the threshold of joy with you by her side. Now, she found herself enveloped in the unrelenting spotlight of fame, yet that brightness felt dulled without your light alongside her. Memories of their shared laughter haunted her during moments of solitude, the ghost of your love coloring her world with bittersweet shades of sorrow. As she navigated the bustling stages of her career alone, the emptiness in her chest loomed large, an omnipresent reminder of your absence.

One particular night, Jiheon, trying to shake off the weight of her loneliness, stepped into a downtown club where the pulsating beats reverberated through her body. Surrounded by her group mates, she swallowed a cocktail and attempted to dance mindlessly under flashing lights that painted the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. For a fleeting moment, she felt the flicker of joy in the chaos—an illusion that quickly shattered when her eyes scanned the room.

Amidst the crowd, they landed on a sight that sent her heart racing—you, radiant and alive. You danced with abandon beside another girl, laughter spilling from your lips and merging with the booming bass into a perfect symphony of youth and freedom. The sparkle in your eyes was familiar yet painfully distant, doubling Jiheon’s heartache. A violent pang of jealousy and anger twisted in her gut like a sharp knife. How could you seem so happy without her, so completely unbothered by the void your absence had created in her heart?

In a moment of impulse, Jiheon whipped out her phone and captured a candid photo of you caught mid-laugh, blissfully unaware of the eyes that watched from the shadows. That snapshot froze you in a moment of pure joy, yet it morphed into something darker for Jiheon—a testament to her possessiveness over a love that felt just out of reach. The joyful essence of the photo twisted into a haunting reminder of what could have been, nagging at her heart like a persistent itch.

As the night wore on, the music thumping around her seemed to amplify the mixed feelings flooding through her veins—joy for your happiness mingled with regret for abandoned dreams, longing for the connection they once shared, and an undeniable ache that settled deep within her chest. Was this life of stardom truly worth the heartache and longing? She wrestled with that question as her mind spiraled between the vibrant images of what you had and the person you were now becoming without her presence.

Within the mass of dancers and flashing lights, nostalgia crashed over Jiheon like waves, drowning her in an undeniable truth: sometimes, the glitz and glam of fame pale in comparison to the warmth and richness of love. Her eyes locked onto you from across the room, a smile gracing your lips as you exchanged a casual laugh with a girl from earlier. It made her chest constrict with an unfamiliar ache, the pulse of the music no longer in sync with her own racing heartbeat.

She thumbed her phone, where the image she had taken earlier burned in her gallery. A snapshot of you and that girl, smiling, close enough that it could easily stir rumors. Jiheon knew the chaos such a photo could spark in your carefully curated idol world. A flicker of unease mingled with something darker as she stared at it, the thought of you drifting even an inch further away igniting an unsettling possessiveness inside her.

As the beat thumped, matching the thrum of blood in her ears, something began to click in her mind. Maybe it was the drinks, the warmth of the alcohol unlocking a part of her she hadn’t known existed—one that thrived on the possessive edge coursing through her. The distance she had imposed between the two of you, the careful walls and silences, now felt like chains she’d fastened herself into. The room around her blurred—dancers, lights, and music melding into a shifting, indistinct haze.

A slow smile spread across her lips, soft yet shadowed with an intensity that felt foreign, thrilling. That ever-lingering question looped in her head: Could it truly be too late to find your way back to each other?

The answer, she decided, was simple. No. It wouldn’t be, not if she had anything to do with it.

-----

The next day dawned bright and deceptively warm, sunlight streaming through Jiheon’s bedroom window like a foreboding harbinger of a day meant for clarity. Yet as she sat cross-legged on her bed, chaos swirled within her like a gathering storm. In her hands lay a photo that had the power to irrevocably change everything.

Sobering up, Jiheon’s heart raced as she wrestled with her choice. The image represented a moment of vulnerability—one that, if leaked, could shatter your carefully curated image in the idol world. The thought sent chills coursing through her veins; yet desperation gnawed at her, urging her to take an action that felt both reckless and necessary. She felt ludicrous, turning her cherished memories into a weapon, but her heart battled fiercely with her desperation.

With trembling fingers hovering hesitantly over her phone, Jiheon finally composed a chilling ultimatum: “Meet me at this hotel room tonight, or I’ll leak this photo. I know how much you value your reputation. Don't make me do this.”

As soon as she hit send, a heavy silence enveloped her space. Anxiety pooled in her stomach, and she felt the weight of her decision pressing down on her like an unbearable load. There was no turning back now. She was fully aware that this power play could lead to a scandal that would reverberate through every corner of the entertainment industry. Yet, blinded by emotion, she oscillated between anger and longing—a desperate desire for you to confront the tumultuous feelings they had both been suppressing for far too long.

The moments following were excruciating. Jiheon paced around the small hotel room, her mind racing with questions and regrets. What if you didn’t come? What if you did, but the encounter spiraled out of control? The sound of her own heartbeat thudded in her ears, amplifying the suffocating tension. She glanced at the glowing screen of her phone, waiting for the telltale sign of a response. The room felt colder, the stillness more suffocating than she had anticipated.

-----

Outside Jiheon’s hotel door, you stood in a genuine emotional whirlwind. Underneath the cacophony of your racing heartbeat was an undercurrent of dread. The chilly evening air did nothing to quell the unease gnawing at you. You stood there, grappling with thoughts of what you might find inside. The idol world was merciless, filled with the sharp teeth of scrutiny and public judgment, where one misstep could lead to downfall.

Every fiber in your being urged you to turn and walk away, to deny the pull that had dragged you to this place. Yet, deep down, you knew that this encounter was inevitable—an ending and a beginning all at once. Taking a deep breath, you raised your fist, but paused for a heartbeat, listening to the silence on the other side.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, you knocked on the door, your knuckles barely making contact before it swung open. Jiheon stood there dressed in an oversized sweatshirt that nonchalantly hung off her shoulder, emanating an allure that contradictorily disarmed you even as your heart raced with apprehension. Her casual smirk felt like a mask she wore to hide her true intentions.

“Hey, you made it! Come on in,” she chirped, her voice bubbling with false cheer as she stepped aside to let you enter. The moment you crossed the threshold, a palpable shift in the air hit you. The hotel room was more spacious than you expected, yet it felt stifling. Soft yellow lighting from the bedside lamps cast warm pools that clashed with the cold tension that hovered between you. The room was immaculately tidy, with crisp white sheets tucked tightly over the bed and modern, minimalist décor—a sterile contrast to the storm of emotions brewing in the space.

Jiheon closed the door behind you, and the sound of the lock clicking into place seemed to echo louder than it should, sending a shiver down your spine. The brightness in her eyes dimmed, replaced by an expression heavy with tension. “Thanks for coming. I know this is... unusual,” she said, each word carefully measured, her posture rigid as if bracing for impact. The energy of the room was suffocating, thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

You took a tentative step forward, eyes darting around for some kind of anchor. A plush armchair sat near the window, where the faint glow of the city bled through gauzy curtains. The muted hum of traffic below seemed worlds away, unable to penetrate the thick atmosphere pressing against your chest. Your gaze settled back on Jiheon, who stood by the door, arms folded, her face a blend of vulnerability and defiance.

“About that picture,” she began, the words slicing through the silence and drawing your attention like a blade. You swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in your throat. “Where did you even get it?” The question came out sharper than intended, but you couldn’t mask the desperation behind it.

“Does it matter?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she shifted her weight, crossing one ankle over the other as if to project nonchalance. The effect was betrayed by the subtle tension in her jaw. “What matters is that it could ruin everything for you.” She spoke matter-of-factly, her tone unyielding. The polished veneer of the hotel room seemed to close in, amplifying every strained breath. “Your fans will go crazy, their precious, innocent maknae getting it on with a random girl in a club. Don’t even get me started with your label... we both know about your dating ban.” Her voice dropped, and she looked away momentarily, exhaling as if trying to push her doubts aside. “I don’t want all that drama. So here’s the deal.”

A wave of dread washed over you, pooling in your stomach like ice water. “What do you mean, ‘the deal’?” The question was barely more than a whisper, the fear in your voice betraying the bravado you were trying to muster. The room’s silence pressed against your ears, making the faint tick of the wall clock almost deafening.

Jiheon took a step closer, closing the already minimal space between you. The subtle scent of her perfume—a blend of jasmine and something uniquely her—suffused the air, adding to the disorientation. Her eyes glimmered with a mix of determination and something else, something unreadable that made your pulse race. “I’ll delete the photo, but in return, I want… something from you.”

The implication in her words hung between you like a storm cloud. “What are you saying?” you asked, the room’s oppressive heat making it hard to breathe. The Jiheon you knew was warm and disarming, a friend who had stood by you through countless late-night chats and shared secrets. This Jiheon, with her calculating eyes and steady stance, felt foreign.

“Come on, don’t act so surprised,” she said, a smile ghosting her lips without warmth. “The way this industry works, sometimes you have to play the game.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Besides, it’ll be fun. Just one night, and then I’ll make sure the photo disappears forever. No one has to know.”

You felt the room spin, the reality of her words slamming into you with suffocating force. Your eyes flickered to the unmade bed, the impersonal art on the walls, the sterile cleanliness that seemed to mock the chaos between you. The thought of your career unraveling, of headlines splashed across tabloids and the faces of your fans twisted in disappointment, made your hands clench into fists.

“What if I don’t agree?” you managed to say, the words brittle and sharp.

Jiheon leaned back against the corner of the desk, crossing her arms in a gesture that was more defensive than she intended. The gleam in her eyes turned cold. “Then I guess my fingers might just slip, and that photo finds its way to the wrong places. She tilted her head slightly, the edge of her voice softening. “But hey, it’s your choice.”

The quiet that followed was heavy, the dim light casting harsh shadows that stretched across the room like prison bars. Your chest tightened, each breath shallow as the gravity of her ultimatum pulled you deeper into an inescapable spiral.

“Fine. Just... let’s get this over with,” you said, your voice hollow as the words left your mouth. Jiheon’s smile grew, though it was tinged with something bittersweet, her eyes flickering with fleeting uncertainty before hardening into resolve.

“Great! You won’t regret it, I promise,” she replied, her voice silkier now, wrapping around you like a lie.

You couldn't shake the feeling of disgust and anger that bubbled within you. You couldn't believe that you had been manipulated in such a way, that you had allowed yourself to be coerced into something that you knew was wrong.

Jiheon finally took the matter into her own hands. She decided that it was time to get back what was rightfully hers.

You and your ex found yourselves in a dance of passion that was fraught with tension, each movement calculated and deliberate. As you undressed one another, the fabric that fell away seemed to peel back layers of your shared history, revealing a complex tapestry of emotions.

With a sudden burst of energy, Jiheon leapt onto the bed, her vibrance illuminating the otherwise somber space. Her eyes, alight with a mischievous hunger, locked onto yours, and your heart responded with a rapid staccato that matched the intensity of her gaze. It was a shift in dynamics that was both exhilarating and alarming.

"I want you to make me cum," she asserts, her voice a blend of command and seduction that sends shivers down your spine. The weight of her demand hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the power she holds. "If you don't, the photo gets leaked." The threat is clear, and the stakes are high. It’s a game of pleasure and power, and you are unwittingly cast as a key player.

Jiheon's need for sexual fulfillment was palpable, a hunger that had been growing during your time apart. She was determined to reclaim the intimacy and release that she felt had been unjustly withheld. In her eyes, you possessed the skills necessary to satisfy her, and she was resolved to extract every ounce of pleasure she felt she deserved.

Caught in this web of desire and coercion, you face a dilemma that twists your stomach with apprehension. Your career, your reputation, everything you have worked for, hinges on your performance in this delicate situation. With a fortifying breath, you harden your resolve and prepare to meet the challenge head-on.

Your approach is steady, a predator stalking its prey with a singular focus. Jiheon lies before you, her finger crooking in a silent command for you to advance. Her legs part, an invitation—or is it a trap?—that you cannot ignore. You climb onto the bed, positioning yourself at the apex of her desire.

With a grip born of determination and a hint of aggression, you lifted her legs, draping them over your shoulders. Her gasp was a fleeting concern, quickly overshadowed by the task at hand. Your sole objective was to deliver the ecstasy Jiheon so fervently demanded.

You commenced with a series of slaps, your length striking against her most sensitive flesh, eliciting visceral and raw reactions. Then, with a thrust fueled by gravity and desperation, you plunged into her depths. Her body's undulations were unmistakable signs of pleasure, confirming that you were indeed striking the right chords within her.

Each stroke is met with increasing wetness, her arousal a slick testament to the intensity of your union. You drive deeper, using your natural lubrication to facilitate a rhythm that is both forceful and fluid. Your bodies move in, a dance as old as time, yet under these circumstances, it feels like uncharted territory.

Sweat began to drip as you continued to thrust with speed. The heat radiating from the former couple was intoxicating. Your body moved in perfect rhythm with hers. They would meet each other halfway just like it did during your time together. She moaned and writhed beneath you, her body tensing up as she got closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum, kiss me," Jiheon demanded, her tone leaving little to no room for argument. With no choice, you leaned down and gave her a kiss, a kiss full of regret and hesitance. But Jiheon wasn't having it. She forced her way into your mouth and twirled her tongue around yours, asserting her dominance in this intimate moment.

Finally, just as she asked for, she couldn't take it any longer. She cried out in pleasure as she reached her climax, "YES, FUCK ME HARDER, HARDER" her body shaking and shuddering. You could feel every single one of her muscles clenching and contracting around your cock as you kept pounding out of frustration. But you knew from the way she quivered and screamed that you had done enough to save your career.

As she tried to come down from her high, Jiheon found herself becoming more and more aroused again, as her ex was relentless with his movement. The touch was confident and skilled, and she felt herself getting closer and closer to another release, and she could feel you too as your cock would twitch and pulse inside her.

Jiheon’s eyes sparkled with mischief, she had been anticipating this moment. She could see the tension building in your body, and she knew that you were on the brink of release. She planned her next move, determined to make this encounter one that you would never forget.

In a swift and calculated motion, Jiheon locked her legs around your waist in a vice-like grip, effectively trapping you in place. She could feel the surprise and confusion radiating coming from her hex, but she didn't give you a chance to react. With a sultry smile curling at the corners of her lips, she uttered her threat with a seductive purr.

"If you so much as think about pulling out now, I'll make good on my promise to leak that photo of you to the entire world," her voice dripping with confidence and determination.

You stared at her in disbelief, mind racing as you tried to come up with a way to escape. But Jiheon was prepared for this. She tightened her legs around your waist pulling you closer and making it clear that she was not going to let go.

"I mean it," her voice stern and unyielding. "You'd better finish what you started, or else I'll have no choice but to make good on my threat."

The gravity of her words hung heavy in the air. Jiheon's tone was firm, unyielding, and laced with a hint of warning that made it abundantly clear that she was dead serious about following through on her threat.

"You need to give me everything you've got," she continued, her voice taking on a softer, more sensual tone. "I want every single pump of your cum filling me up completely. Only then will I be satisfied."

Her demands were both bold and brazen, an assertion of her own desires and a challenge to meet her needs. Jiheon's words, coupled with the feeling of her legs still wrapped tightly around you, left little room for doubt - she intended to see this through to the end, and she expected you to do the same.

Your heart raced as you felt trapped and powerless in Jiheon's grasp. You knew she was not bluffing about the situation, but also knew she was capable of causing a scene and ruining your reputation. With no other choice, you accepted you fate and continued your assault.

Jiheon's smile grew wider as she felt you surrender. She wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you closer, relishing in the control she had.

"Jiheon… Please." The phrase was so simple, just two words, but the desperation in your voice made it hard to tell if you were pleading for mercy or on the verge of surrendering.

Nearing your climax, you attempted a hasty and sneaky quick pull-out maneuver, hoping to avoid the finality of the act. But Jiheon's strong and toned dancer's legs, honed through years of training and performance, refused to let him escape. She kept your hips firmly and deeply inside her, ensuring that you spilled every last drop.

Jiheon, nearing her release as well, used her legs to help you pump inside her.

"Ugh, Jiheon, don’t," you groaned, running your fingers through your hair as you felt the familiar sensation building inside of you "Shit, I can't hold it in any longer." Your tone was a mixture of anger and defeat, body becoming weak and you shuddered as you reached you climax.

"No!" Your voice cracked in desperation, your body trembling as you tried to hold back, but Jiheon’s grip was relentless. "Yes!" she moaned, her voice full of satisfaction, pumping into you harder, forcing your body deeper as your resolve shattered. Your hips bucked involuntarily, cock twitching as you spilled inside her, pulse after pulse, completely filling her up. Your pleas were drowned out by her triumphant cries, their bodies locked together as the heat of his release poured into her, unstoppable despite his struggle.

Jiheon’s smile, once warm and inviting, twisted into a smug, satisfied smirk. She had won, achieving exactly what she wanted. You were weak, utterly spent and defeated, your body betraying you as she basked in the triumph of your surrender, her victory undeniable in the heat of your aftermath.

Exhausted from the exertion and overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience, you collapsed against Jiheon, your body going limp as you surrendered completely. Every muscle felt drained, leaving you helpless and vulnerable in her embrace. Jiheon’s fingers wove through your damp hair, but her touch wasn’t comforting—it was possessive, a reminder that you were now hers. She leaned closer, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction and control.

"Good boy," she murmured, the words laced with a dark promise. It wasn’t just praise; it was a claim, a subtle warning that you were under her dominance now, and there would be no escape.

Jiheon's arms encircle you with an intensity that feels like a claim, a branding of ownership that sends shivers down your spine. Her heartbeat, a steady rhythm against your own, seems to mock the chaos that is unfolding within you. This is not the tender embrace you had imagined in your dreams; it is the firm grasp of someone who has orchestrated this scenario to perfection.

Jiheon's voice broke the silence, her words slicing through your confusion with surgical precision. "We're dating now," she stated, her tone deceptively casual, yet it carried the weight of an irrevocable decree. There was no hint of doubt in her declaration, no invitation for debate. Your heart, already pounding from the shock of the situation, stuttered at her announcement. Dating? The word echoed in your head, a concept that you had never consented to, a path you had never agreed to walk with her.

Panic flutters in your chest, its wings beating frantically against the cage of Jiheon’s possessiveness. You had never anticipated that your ex, with her playful banter and shared secrets, could morph into something so controlling, so suffocating. Before you could gather your thoughts to protest, Jiheon’s embrace tightens, a silent message that resistance is futile. Her body presses against yours, not with the gentle warmth of a lover, but with the unyielding force of a conqueror.

You lay there, trapped in the ironclad embrace of someone you no longer recognized. Jiheon’s triumphant smile, etched with victory, watched the realization dawn on your face. There was no escape, no chance to rewind and undo the twisted knot that your relationship had become. Her eyes, once windows to a kindred spirit, now held a glint of domination that chilled you to the core.

Jiheon shifted slightly, still catching her breath, and you barely registered the subtle movement as she reached over to the nightstand. You felt her stir, saw the glint of her phone as she grabbed it, but it wasn’t until she gave you a mischievous grin that your heart lurched in your chest. Without hesitation, Jiheon spread her legs, revealing the undeniable evidence of your intimacy still glistening between her thighs. Your pulse quickened as she angled the phone, snapping a selfie that captured both of you, making it appear as though you were the one who had taken the photo.

To add to the cruelty, Jiheon crafted a look of mock terror on her face, making it seem as though you had forced her into the act. Her expression was so convincing that it sent a wave of dread crashing over you. Your stomach twisted as you watched her approve the photo, her smirk growing darker by the second.

A surge of panic hit you, and you lunged forward, trying to grab the phone from her hand. "Hey, give that back!" you demanded, your voice trembling with fear.

But Jiheon easily pulled the phone out of reach, a low, sinister laugh escaping her lips. "Oh no, baby," she purred, her eyes glinting with dangerous amusement. "I’m keeping this. You know… as insurance."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "Insurance? What do you mean?" you asked, dread sinking deeper into your bones.

Jiheon sat up slightly, her gaze hardening as she stared directly into your eyes. "If you ever, and I mean ever, break up or even just think about leaving me," she said slowly, her voice cold and deliberate, "I’ll leak this photo." She said with a smug tone, "I’ll release a statement about how you forced yourself on me, how you got me drunk and manipulated me. I’ll make sure you will never have a job again. You might even end up in jail." She tilted her head, her smile growing more twisted.

Your blood ran cold as her words settled in. Your mind raced, but there was nothing you could do. "You… you can’t be serious," you stammered, fear choking your voice. "You wouldn’t really—"

"Try me," Jiheon interrupted, her tone now deadly serious. Her gaze never wavered, her smile fading into something darker, more threatening. "I’m not afraid to ruin you; you’re mine to ruin." Then, just as quickly, her expression softened, her voice taking on a sickly sweet tone as she tilted her head, mimicking a look of innocence. "But we don’t have to worry about that, right, baby?"

Her innocent eyes contrasted with the threat she had just laid out, and you felt trapped, suffocated by the power she held over you. You swallowed hard, knowing you had no choice. "No…" you whispered, defeated. "No, we don’t."

"Good," Jiheon cooed, setting her phone back down on the nightstand with a satisfied smile. She nestled herself against you, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. The weight of her body against yours didn’t feel comforting—it felt like a cage. "I’m glad we understand each other. Now, cuddle me."

Your chest tightened, the suffocating realization settling in. She had complete control, and there was nothing you could do to stop her. Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around her, feeling the cold grip of your new reality sinking in. Jiheon’s contented hum filled the room, her satisfaction palpable.

Her voice was suddenly sweet and light, almost dreamy, as she uttered the words, "I love you." The sentiment was delivered with a softness and affection that could disarm even the most guarded heart, reminiscent of a confession from a school girl completely in love. Her eyes sparkled with an innocence that was both endearing and convincing. The grin that adorned her face was the epitome of purity, creating an illusion of a genuine moment of affection that seemed to bridge two souls in perfect harmony.

But as the recipient of this sudden outpouring of emotion, you found yourself momentarily paralyzed, unable to respond right away. The silence that followed was deafening, and in that brief interlude, the atmosphere shifted. The sweet, lovestruck girl before you vanished, replaced by someone whose intentions were far more malevolent.

In an abrupt and terrifying transformation, Jiheon's smile disappeared, and her eyes, once filled with warmth, now glinted with a sinister edge. With a swift and unexpected move, she used one hand to grab your cheeks, her thumb pressing firmly against one side of your face while her fingers dug into your skin on the other. She pulled your face toward hers, the grip both demanding and unyielding. "Say it," she hissed, her voice no longer soft but sharp and commanding. The sudden change in her demeanor left you bewildered, your mind racing to catch up with the rapidly deteriorating situation.

"Say what?" you managed to ask, your voice betraying the fear that was beginning to take hold. Her response was chilling, her fingers tightening around your waist, nails piercing your skin ever so slightly. "Say that you love me," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Her warm, affectionate facade had crumbled, revealing a person you barely recognized—someone who was willing to go to terrifying lengths to make you submit. A shiver of fear shot through you, mingling with disbelief, yet your mind struggled to process this abrupt shift. You tried to gather your words, stammering as you attempted to defuse the tension, to understand this dangerous new dynamic without provoking her further. But the silence that stretched between you seemed to amplify her anticipation, her eyes never wavering from yours, watching every twitch, every flicker of hesitation.

Then, with a swift and brutal decisiveness, Jiheon’s expression hardened. Her features contorted with impatience and a dark, twisted determination that sent another wave of panic surging through you. Before you could react, her other hand shot down and clamped around you, gripping your flaccid sensitive member with a force that made you gasp in pain, your body reflexively tensing under the unexpected pressure. The pain was sharp, searing, and impossible to ignore, cutting through your paralysis and grounding you in the raw, terrifying reality of the situation.

"Say it!" she hissed, her voice laced with venom, a brutal command that left no room for resistance. Her eyes bore into yours, ablaze with a fervent intensity that was both horrifying and unrecognizable—a look of possession, of absolute control, that left you feeling exposed and powerless. This wasn’t the Jiheon you knew; this was someone consumed by a desperate, obsessive need, someone who would not tolerate defiance.

Her grip tightened further, making you wince as a jolt of agony shot through you, stealing your breath. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, strangled by fear and confusion. Her nails dug into your skin, the slight prickling sensation a reminder that her affection had twisted into something far darker, far more dangerous than you’d ever anticipated.

"Say it," she repeated, her voice lowering to a near-growl, each syllable carrying an unspoken threat. The intensity in her gaze held you captive, her fingers pressing with a deliberate cruelty that sent a tremor through your body. She was relentless, her patience long spent, and the chilling certainty hit you—she wasn’t going to stop until you gave her exactly what she wanted.

"I... I love you," you stammered, the words dragged from you by fear and desperation. The moment they left your lips, her demeanor shifted again. Her grip released, and she softened, a satisfied smile curling at the edges of her mouth. She brushed her hand gently over your cheek as if in some twisted form of affection, her fingers trailing down your skin in a mockingly gentle touch.

"There we go," she murmured, her voice slipping back into that feigned tenderness. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?" She nestled closer, fitting her body seamlessly against yours as though nothing had happened. Her arms slid around you, draping over you in a way that felt suffocating rather than comforting. She hummed softly, her head resting on your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck.

You lay there, rigid, as the reality of your situation settled in. Her embrace, though gentle, felt like a cage tightening around you, each moment drawing you further into her control. Her fingers started to trace slow, lazy circles on your arm, an almost tender gesture that only added to the disquiet churning within you. Every brush of her fingers felt like a reminder that you were trapped, ensnared in her twisted idea of love.

Jiheon lifted her head and gazed at you with wide, adoring eyes, her expression teetering on the edge of mania, her gaze brimming with an unsettling, almost feverish devotion. Her arms tightened around you, the grip bruising as if she were afraid you'd slip through her fingers if she didn’t hold on tight enough. Without warning, she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that was fierce and smothering, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. Her mouth moved over yours with a hunger that bordered on obsession, each kiss deeper, more desperate, as though she needed to consume you entirely to feel complete.

When she finally pulled away, her lips didn’t stop—they traveled over your cheek, planting fervent kisses that turned into nips, her teeth grazing your skin in playful bites that grew sharper, more possessive with each one. Her mouth found your neck, where her kisses became relentless, almost frantic, punctuated by gentle, teasing bites that left faint stings in their wake. Each kiss, each bite felt like a claim, a brand, marking you as her own with every touch.

Between her fervent kisses, her breath brushed hot against your skin as she murmured in a soft, almost reverent tone, “You’re mine now.” Her voice dripped with a disturbing sweetness, a tenderness warped by the intensity of her obsession. “We belong together… forever.” Her lips found the curve of your shoulder, where she sank her teeth in, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to send a jolt of sensation through you, a reminder of her dominance. Her arms locked around you, pulling you impossibly closer, her embrace as unyielding as steel.

“No one else understands,” she whispered, her tone almost soothing, though her grip was anything but gentle. Her fingers traced up your spine, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched, her nails digging in just enough to leave faint imprints on your skin. “No one else could love you like I do,” she cooed, her voice lilting with an affection that sounded both sweet and sinister. “We’re perfect together, you know that, don’t you?”

She tilted her head, looking at you with that same unrelenting gaze, her fingers running through your hair, tugging gently before pressing another kiss to your jaw, her teeth grazing your skin in another possessive bite. Each touch, each whispered word held an unbreakable claim, binding you to her in a love that had long since spiraled into obsession.

You didn’t respond, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was lost in her own world, one where your silence was simply acceptance, where her love—twisted and possessive as it was—was something you reciprocated. Her fingers tangled in your hair, stroking and twirling, while her lips pressed over your skin again and again, each kiss carrying a desperation that unnerved you.

To her, this was the culmination of a perfect romance, the moment she’d always dreamed of. Her eyes glistened with a feverish joy as she whispered, "You and me… forever." She buried her face in the crook of your neck, her arms squeezing tighter, her body practically molding against yours. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, as though her happiness was so overwhelming that even air couldn’t fully reach her.

You lay there, stiff and helpless, your heart pounding as she continued her endless string of kisses and whispered confessions. She was clinging to you as if you were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality—yet it was clear her reality was a world built entirely on her delusions. She seemed blissfully unaware of your discomfort, every soft word, every fervent kiss drawing you deeper into her twisted world.

As her grip tightened, you knew with a chilling certainty that Jiheon wouldn’t let you go. In her mind, you were bound together, trapped forever in her obsessive love, with no hope of escape.

[iloveboysinred]

Toji would never admit it out loud, but he’s always been a halloween enthusiast. More so when you started your little family together, giving him the perfect opportunity to watch as you tenderly brushed Tsumiki’s hair back into place for her ballerina costume, fluffing out her tutu and delicately tying the big pink bow around her waist. and he swears he had heart eyes when you helped little Megumi adjust the felted ears of his werewolf costume, hot ironing the cheap fabric to make them stand up straight, the little boy’s eyes sparkling as he looked in the mirror.

Costumes were just one of the family activities Toji secretly enjoyed partaking in. As hard as he tried to act indifferent, you could see the childish light in his eyes when he came back to the house after taking your children trick or treating, surprising you with his own small bag of candy.

It was such a bittersweet feeling to see Toji, a grown man competitively carve out jack-o-lanterns and trade candies with your two children. It was adorable, but it hurt to know he never experienced these simple pleasures in his own childhood.

You giggled when he came in to your room, claiming it was time to do laundry while wearing a fuzzy blue and purple monster onsie (one he had sworn up and down he would never wear) and plopping into bed with you. The kids were already asleep in their beds, the candy they had acquired safely stored away in cabinets and their jack-o-lanterns outside glowing dim as the night progressed, it was a rare quiet moment where it was just you and him. He leaned into you on the bed, lazily picking up the remote and choosing to play a vintage halloween movie, the little horns on his hood flopping as he laid against your cheat, his arms wrapped around your middle.

The movie droned on as the two of you were whisked away into sleep, deciding then that Halloween was your favorite holiday and that you’d experience it every day just to see your husband’s eyes light up like that again.

Art by @/avicrafty on ig

dad! Toji deserves the world’s weight in love times a trillion idc

Draw toji in a sulley costume and my life is yours

[meowzfordayz]

i belong to you

Author’s Note: short ‘n’ fluffy (w/ a hint of bittersweet 😅). 🥰

i belong to you

Hashira x Reader, Iguro Obanai x Reader, Tokito Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,800

CW: death content, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Song Inspo: I Belong to You by Jacob Lee

~faqs~

They’re all here for us, and I feel their aura, but just for a moment, I’ll pretend it’s just you

He’d never thought of himself as the marrying type, and yet, standing before you, he suddenly couldn’t imagine himself any other way. But truly, it wasn’t even sudden, this slow burning, building, consuming love for the feeling of your hand in his. It was inevitable, the revelation of his heart to yours, just as you gradually unveiled your own for his.

“In this existence of hardship and darkness, I can somehow wake every morning to an absolute truth: that you are beside me, and together, we will overcome anything.”

Perhaps this is a tall promise when every morning brings a different absolute truth as well — that death will come. Some day, somewhere, and likely all too soon. But it’s a promise worth fighting for. This much he knows in his chest as he feels your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing gently as if to promise in return Yes, yes we will.

As Gyomei kisses you, soft and certain, he swears that the world falls to pieces leaving only your body pressed into his, an achingly sweet melody ringing in his ears. And when you whisper I love you, he’s confident that you hear it too.

And I will wait to hear you say, as a tear rolls down your face, I belong to you

“Darling,” she whispers, a steady thumb reaching out to smooth your teardrop into your skin, “Are you okay?”

You nod once, a drowsy smile crinkling the corners of your eyes as more tears escape, tongue heavy in your mouth as she continues wiping your cheeks, her brow furrowed with an adoration that’s always been impossible to resist.

“I’m amazing,” you rasp, catching her hand and cradling it to your chest, ears warming as she kneads her fingertips into your sternum, “I belong to you.”

Mitsuri’s nose scrunches, worried expression soon replaced by a beaming grin, the sweetest of giggles filling the room as she maneuvers herself on top of you, hovering with her palms planted on either side of you while her breasts rest plush against your own.

“I am so in love with you,” she gushes, “With my wife.”

Her lips touch your forehead then your chin, careful fingers tilting your head left and then right to kiss your earlobes, goosebumps raising along your forearms and spine.

“We’re married,” you gasp, stopping her ministrations with a gentle squeeze to her hips, “I get to love you for the rest of our lives.”

Shining eyes meet shining eyes as she lets out a happy sob, bodies intertwined as you settle into the perfect quiet of forever.

Tomorrow I’ll open my eyes, and I will whisper to my wife, I belong to you

Loving you hadn’t come easy, but it hadn’t come especially hard either. For all the anger and regret of her past, you had reminded Shinobu that the present and future persisted, irregardless of her willingness to live in or for them. Perhaps this is why she yelled at you so many months ago, and perhaps this is also why she’d cried. You’d accepted her emotion so simply and resolutely, welcoming her frustration and grief with open arms instead of the very spite and scorn she’d always reserved for herself. And she’d heard herself, for the first time in too long of a time, say I’m sorry. Those two words muffled in the armpit of your haori, her face buried in your embrace, had made your devotion clear as day — a devotion she’d found herself happy and happier to reciprocate.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, airy voice tinged with a solemn adoration discernible only to you.

“Mmm,” you mumble, yawning widely as you burrow yourself deeper into her chest, “Hi.”

“Would you like to know something?” she asks, warming her cheek on the top of your sunkissed head.

“Definitely,” you mumble, limbs clinging drowsily to her small frame, “I enjoy knowing things.”

She slips a cool finger beneath your chin, raising your sleepy gaze to meet her determined stare, mouth soft and decisive when she kisses you. You sigh sweetly into her affection, her smile familiar yet delicate against your own, trying her best to tell you I belong to you. 

I know they see us but they don’t stand a chance, I have kissed those lips a thousand times before this

The first time he kisses you, you think he’s dying. Of course, all paths lead to death, and being a Hashira tends to make this path even shorter, but expected pain is pain nonetheless. You cradle his head in your lap, his hair sticky with blood, his strength overwhelming you Kyojuro-san, stop moving! despite his wounds as he cranes upward to touch his mouth to yours. Tasting of sweat and ashes, your tears cleanse his cheeks and chest, a silly little grin brightening his face while grief and longing sit deep into your stomach.

The second time he kisses you, you’re pissed he’s alive. Well, not that he’s alive, but that he took so long to tell you. Maybe that isn’t fair of you considering he’s just woken from a coma, and maybe that isn’t fair of you considering he limped literal miles to locate you, and maybe that isn’t fair of you considering you were his sole thought and concern as soon as he regained enough consciousness to process that he was, in fact, conscious. But the brittle dread of He’s unlikely to make it has haunted you for months, and-

“Hey,” he rasps, cupping your jaw with a shy tenderness, “No need to ruminate, I am still here.”

Your gaze flits left and right, blurred as you avoid focusing on the steadfast devotion in his eyes, lips tingling from the surety of his kiss.

“I can see that,” you state dryly, your shaky inhale dissolving into a disbelieving sob, his arms atrophied yet certain as they wrap around you, his weight leaning shaky and perfectly against you.

The third time he kisses you, the fourth, and fifth — they are as precious and known, new and familiar, as the very first time.

And when he kisses you for the nth time, when he kisses you as your newly wedded husband, you realize you have already lived a thousand best moments of your life, and that a thousand and more await you.

If I could be honest, here at the altar, I refuse to grow older unless it’s with you

Age has always been a distant thing to Sanemi. He isn’t oblivious to it — the passing of snow into buds, to blossoms and then to the falling of leaves. But it’s a torturous thing to acknowledge. To remember how many more years he’s gotten to live than his mother. His five siblings. Colleagues and strangers alike. He feels as old as he is still young, steeped in death and dishevelment, sticky with yearning and fear, a projection of surety and arrogance fooling even himself. Strong and foolhardy, the clock ticks as he loses a piece of himself, another piece, another and another, to the illusion of living. And then you come slicing into his horizon.

Everything about you is almost polished. Your form, your strength, your five senses, flexibility and endurance… and somehow, he can’t find it in himself to loath you for being less than. Because you are more. You are more than the endless repetitions completed silently before him; you are more than the scrapes and bruises, stubborn retorts and near misses. You are the plate of ohagi left on his doorstep after a particularly harsh exchange of words. He knows he struck first, and yet, you open yourself to forgiveness. You are the letter received when he’s gone on an especially grueling mission. There’s not much to say, but your consideration of him makes him hesitate. You are the sight for sore eyes when he finally realizes, a year and some months into pondering your existence practically every day, that he wants you to be close. Closer. As close as you’re willing to be.

And if close means noticing when your face begins to wrinkle, your hair starts to grey, and your body learns what it is to ache, then he’s ready to remember. To reclaim. The pieces of himself he’d surrendered to time and space; he wants them back as much as he wants you.  All you ask of him is his whole self, and if he is to grant your wish, then he must acknowledge a simple truth: growing old need not be a curse any longer when it could instead be a gift to share with you.

“You’re crying,” you giggle, tears of your own dripping down your cheeks.

“Of course I’m crying,” he scoffs, faint grin softening the edge in his tone, “I get to marry you.”

Yes they can see us but only at a glance, only you know the man that I am beyond the surface

Marriage is hard. Learning someone inside and out is hard. Choosing that same someone day after day is hard. Growing and relapsing, nurturing and surrendering, saying Yes, and. A lifelong commitment of love is hard. And, honestly, Giyuu didn’t think he’d ever get there. He didn’t think he’d be waking up most mornings with your nose nestled in his chest or his arm, your leg stuck between his. He didn’t think he’d be murmuring I love you, a cold and desperate determination I will come home to you flooding his lungs as you do your best to stand strong when he waves. When he leaves. Knowing without a doubt that you’d crumpled as soon as he disappeared from view. He didn’t think he’d be returning to the softest, the greediest, the fondest and proudest, kisses. Kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, ears and chin. Kisses on his lips. Your hands checking his limbs while you listen to his breath; your eyes glistening as he whispers over and over I missed you, I love you, I missed you, I love you. He didn’t think he’d be this intimate, this familiar, this devastatingly and perfectly close to anyone. To you. And yet, here he is.

“Giyuu?”

“My love?”

“I love when you call me that.”

“I know.”

You blush, “Oh,” promptly hiding your face in his armpit.

“And I love getting to love you. I love that you are my love.”

[shanastoryteller]

Happy happy birthday 🎂🎉🥳 As always, I’d love some more of thee MDZS Identity Porn (with the masks and LWJ getting jealous of all of his husband’s “husbands”) (Or JC traveling back in time?) Thanks!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Lan Wangji wouldn't have categorized Jiang Yanli as chatty, but tonight there's really no other way to describe her. She talks at length about Lotus Pier, about the Jiang clansmen and her immediate family. That would be one thing, but she seems to forget that they don't have the same familiarity with these subjects that she does, mentioned names and places carelessly, as if they already have context for these things.

He doesn't know why Wei Wuxian would care about the minutia of Lotus Pier, but Jiang Yanli holds his complete attention. More than that, there are several moments when he has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing and at various points his smile can only be equaled to what he looks like when he's holding his children. If his husband looked at him with a tenth of that adoration, Lan Wangji doesn't think he'd have a complaint.

He prompts her to continue whenever she trails off, because as much as he wishes that he held Wei Wuxian's heart, he can't deny him the bittersweet happiness that conversing with Jiang Yanli seems to bring him. Lan Wangji should not be greedy. He knows the Patriarch's face, his voice, his affection. He's his husband and helping raise his children. It is not appropriate for him to want more than the abundance he already has.

It's nearing the end of the banquet, where mingling and drinking will take place and propriety won't allow Jiang Yanli to hold Wei Wuxian in place. She looks at him with a desperation that makes Lan Wangji feel bad for Jin Zixuan. "You know," she says softly, "years ago, before the war, before - a lot of things, I lost my younger brother."

Wei Wuxian goes completely, utterly still. Lan Wangji stares - as far as he knows Madame Yu has only ever had two children and Sect Leader Jiang is notoriously faithful, regardless of the state of his marriage.

"He wasn't mine by blood," she continues, as if answering Lan Wangji's thoughts. "But we grew up with him and A-Cheng and I couldn't think of him any other way. He was our first disciple and he and A-Cheng used to go off together all the time - but on our way to Cloud Recess, they got in trouble, and he led that trouble away so Jiang Cheng could escape and we never saw him again."

Lan Wangji remembers now. He heard about this then, remembers how Jiang Cheng's attitude had been near intolerable that summer. His heart sinks.

His husband can reanimate the dead, but not like this, there's nothing he can do for Jiang Yanli's long dead little brother.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he says to her.

She glances at him for only a moment, but when Wei Wuxian maintains his silence, her shoulders drop and she says, "Thank you," but it comes out more subdued than anything else had tonight.

Later, when they've retired to their room and he hopes Wen Qing and Meng Yao have done the same, and they're lying in the same bed with the darkness and the quiet between them, Wei Wuxian says, "He wasn't Jiang Cheng's younger brother."

Lan Wangji, just on the cusp of sleep, blinks several time until he feels more awake. "Excuse me?"

"The - the first disciple, of the Jiang," he continues, sounding very awake himself as he lies with his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. "The way she said it, it sounded like he was younger than Jiang Cheng, but he wasn't. He was older. Jiang Cheng was the youngest one."

"Ah," Lan Wangji says finally, "I see."

"Yeah," Wei Wuxian answers nonsensically, then looks over and offers him a weak grin. "Sorry. Never mind. Get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow."

"Yes," he says, but it takes a long time for either of them to get to sleep.

[xo-codbby]

i loved loved loved lazy sunday dad!price and since requests were open i was wondering if you could continue on with that idea like maybe they take a nice walk through the park and he’s wearing a baby carrier on his chest or something? i feel like dads wearing chest carriers are lowkey sexy looooooool

aw nonnie they are highkey sexy !! and i love seeing them do the work 🤣

the park was calm and quiet as you strolled with your husband, your hand interlaced with his calloused one. his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckle while you both walked, every step of his careful not to jostle the baby too much. he cherished the days when work wasn't calling him up, the moments where he was just simply a man in complete love with his family.

it had been amusing to see him take the role of the doting father so naturally, like he was made for it. usually a hard headed, strong willed soldier on the battlefield but here he was an adoring husband and the most loving father. so completely adoring for the bundle wrapped in her little yellow fleece, embellished with small little purple flowers. he melted into pieces everytime he changed her into her little clothes, so bittersweet that one day she would outgrow these small tiny garments but so excited for the little person she would grow into.

price was a tall man, broad than most and it definitely turned heads when people saw a tiny little baby strapped to his chest with his no nonsense face. but it was the moments he cooed softly to the infant, his lips pulled into the most softest of smiles, gently bouncing her when she got a little fussy. pulling a little face to make her giggle and hear just how precious that sound was reverberating deep in his soul wanting to protect her from any and all harm always. he loved the carrier, he loved holding his baby close to him. and you loved watching him, how tending he was to the both of you. it only strengthened the bond and the love between you both

price's other hand rested gently on the baby's back, stroking every so often giving her a little cuddle whenever she made a soft sound. her eyes were wide with curiosity, looking around at all the different sights and sounds trying to soak it all up. the infant had been tucked securely in the baby carrier and then zipped inside his jacket pressed into his chest for good measure. it made his heart swell how small she was, so utterly delicate and fragile. she was always so calm when he held her this way, the steady sound of his strong heartbeat lulling her into a sleepy daze after a while

"aw look at 'er, can barely keep those little eyes open. should be heading back right about now, love" his arm rests around your shoulders, bringing you in closer to his side while he chuckles down at his infant strapped to his chest falling fast asleep content to be held like this. you could only offer a gentle smile, looking at your little one. you knew exactly how it felt, being held by john always felt like home no matter where you were or what was happening. it felt safe and familiar always.

"then let's head back" you nod softly, head leaning against his body for a moment just taking in the beauty and keeping the moment playing for as long as you could. and john's arms brushed over the both of you pulling you in close, a tenderness in his touch that was reserved only for his family.

his mind had already framed this perfect moment forever, holding you both sacred in his heart for those times he can't hold you in his arms

[nanamincreampie]

Post-Shibuya Nanami

Nanami Kento x Black plus size reader

Warnings: jjk spoilers, post-shibuya, no angst just pure fluff, giving my man the happy ending he deserves

Nanami lay in the infirmary bed, his usually sharp and composed demeanor softened by the lingering effects of anesthesia. Shoko had assured you he would be fine, but the sight of him battered and bandaged sent a pang through your chest. The room smelled of antiseptic, the hum of machines monitoring his vitals providing a steady rhythm to your worried thoughts.

You sat by his bedside, your hands nervously clutching the edge of the chair. The braids you had so lovingly installed a few weeks ago brushed your shoulders, their deep mahogany highlights catching the harsh fluorescent light. Your dark skin, smooth and glowing with undertones of honey and bronze, seemed out of place against the stark white of the infirmary. Despite the sterile setting, you radiated warmth, your full lips slightly parted in anticipation, your curves spilling over the seat of the chair in a way that made you feel self-conscious, though Nanami always reassured you he adored every inch of you.

A soft groan pulled you from your thoughts. Nanami’s hazel eyes fluttered open, their golden flecks dimmed but still breathtaking. His gaze wandered briefly, scanning the room as if piecing together where he was, before finally landing on you.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. His eyes widened slightly, the grogginess fading as he stared at you, utterly captivated. The crease between his brows smoothed, replaced by something softer something reverent. “Am I dreaming?” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly from disuse.

Your heart clenched, and you leaned forward instinctively. “No, Ken, you’re awake,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the warmth you knew he needed.

He continued to stare, his eyes tracing every detail of your face as if committing it to memory. The curve of your jaw, the fullness of your lips, the way the light danced across your skin all of it seemed to hold him in a trance. “You’re… breathtaking,” he murmured, the words slipping out as though he couldn’t contain them.

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest. “Ken, it’s me,” you said gently, brushing your fingers against his.

“I don’t know who you are,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly, “but I think I’m falling for you.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips. Before you could respond, his eyes dropped to the wedding band on your finger. His brow furrowed, and a look of guilt flickered across his face. “I can’t,” he muttered, shaking his head weakly. “I shouldn’t… I think I have a wife. Someone who’s waiting for me. I don’t know why I can’t remember her face, but I know she’s out there.”

“Ken,” you called softly, squeezing his hand. He looked up at you, confusion swirling in his gaze. “You do have a wife. And she’s sitting right here.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before realization began to dawn in his eyes. His gaze dropped back to your intertwined hands, lingering on the wedding bands the matching gems cut from the same diamond. Slowly, his eyes returned to your face, and the fog lifted.

“You’re… my wife?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Yes, Ken,” you replied, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m your wife.”

His chest rose and fell with a deep, shuddering breath. A shaky smile tugged at his lips, and his thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “Hi, beautiful,” he murmured, the affection in his voice unmistakable.

“Hi, Ken,” you replied, a soft laugh escaping you as tears welled in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry for worrying you, for scaring you. During the fight… my life flashed before my eyes, and all I could think about was you.”

Your grip on his hand tightened, grounding him as he spoke.

“I’m done,” he said with quiet determination. “I’m retiring. No more missions, no more risks. I want to live. I want to go to Malaysia like we planned. I want to wake up next to you every day.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded, his words wrapping around your heart like a promise. “Then let’s go, Ken,” you whispered, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. “Let’s live.”

In that moment, as he gazed at you with an intensity that made your knees weak even now, you knew his love had only deepened. He wasn’t just remembering you; he was falling for you all over again, which was beautiful.

[codeinesturniolo]

Lover, You Should’ve Come Over ⤹˚˖ ♫ ୭ `✦ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹

PARING : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

In the quiet, rain-soaked streets of a small town, the echoes of Jeff Buckley's haunting melodies hung in the air, weaving through the lives of its inhabitants. The song "Lover, You Should've Come Over" played softly from an old record player in a dimly lit room, setting the stage for a tale of love, loss, and longing. This is the story of Matt and Y/N, two souls bound together by an unbreakable yet tragic bond.

Matt was a young man with a heart full of dreams and a soul that resonated with the music he adored. His life had always been a series of melodies, each note a step in his journey. He found solace in the strumming of his guitar and the lyrics that seemed to speak directly to his heart. It was during one of his late-night performances at a local café that he first laid eyes on Y/N. She was sitting alone, a book in her hands, her eyes distant and filled with a sadness that intrigued him.

Y/N was a mystery wrapped in an riddle, a beautiful yet fragile being who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her past was a tapestry of pain and sorrow, each thread a reminder of the battles she had fought and the scars she bore. Despite her struggles, there was a spark in her that drew Matt to her like a moth to a flame. He saw in her a kindred spirit, someone who understood the depths of his emotions and the intensity of his passion. Like if he had been living in grey scale and she was the first thing he had ever seen in color.

As their paths crossed more frequently, Matt and Y/N found themselves drawn into a whirlwind romance, their connection deepening with each passing day. They shared their hopes and fears, their dreams and regrets, finding comfort in each other's presence. Yet, beneath the surface of their love, there lay a darkness that threatened to consume them both. Y/N's struggles with addiction and self-harm cast a shadow over their relationship, creating a chasm that Matt desperately tried to bridge.

Matt's love for Y/N was unwavering, his determination to help her unwavering. He stood by her side through the darkest of nights, holding her close as she trembled with the weight of her demons. He whispered words of comfort and hope, trying to pierce through the veil of despair that enveloped her. But as much as he tried, he couldn't save her from the pain that gnawed at her soul.

Their love story was a symphony of highs and lows, a testament to the power of love and the fragility of the human spirit. Matt and Y/N's journey was one of heartache and healing, a bittersweet reminder that sometimes, love is not enough to conquer the darkness within. As the rain continued to fall outside, the echoes of "Lover, You Should've Come Over" lingered in the air, a poignant reminder of the love that could have been.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, Matt's life became a delicate balancing act. He juggled his music career and his devotion to Y/N, often sacrificing his own well-being to ensure she was safe. He watched helplessly as she spiraled deeper into her addiction, her once bright eyes now clouded with despair. The nights were the hardest, as he lay awake, listening to her cries for help, feeling powerless to ease her suffering.

Y/N, on the other hand, was trapped in a cycle of self-destruction. She loved Matt with all her heart, but the demons inside her were relentless. They whispered lies, convincing her that she was unworthy of his love, that she was a burden he didn't deserve. She pushed him away, hoping to spare him the pain of watching her fall apart, but Matt refused to leave her side. He held on to the hope that one day, she would find the strength to overcome her struggles.

One fateful evening, as the rain poured down in torrents, Y/N reached a breaking point. The weight of her addiction and self-loathing became too much to bear. She locked herself in the bathroom, tears streaming down her face as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The person looking back at her was a stranger, a shadow of the vibrant woman she once was. Desperate for an escape, she reached for a bottle of pills, her hands trembling.

Matt, sensing that something was terribly wrong, rushed to her side. He banged on the bathroom door, his heart pounding with fear. "Y/N, please open the door!" he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "I love you, and I can't lose you. Please, let me in."

Inside, Y/N hesitated, the sound of Matt's voice cutting through the haze of her despair. She wanted to believe him, to trust that his love could save her, but the darkness was overwhelming. With a final, anguished cry, she collapsed to the floor,

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖^ྀི˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖^ྀི˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ ˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚

part 2 will be out soon !! maybeee

[aventurineswife]

Mini troublemakers!

Summary: When each Stellaron Hunter encounters a robot reader with the unique ability to create adorable, miniature replicas of themselves, their reactions reveal hidden facets of their personalities.

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Firefly x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Blade x Reader, Robot!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mini Robots, Friendship, Slice of Life, Fluff and Light Humor, Bittersweet Moments.

A/N: 🥺💖THIS IS SO CUTE!!

Tag (as I can't answer your request so I have to resort on tagging you instead): @lavenderlovekakavasha

Kafka

Kafka observed with an intrigued smile as you, the robot, tinkered with a miniature version of yourself. A tiny, whirring replica with shiny eyes turned and beamed up at her. "A little army of yourself, hmm?" she mused, her smooth voice drifting in a teasing tone.

She leaned closer, letting her wine-colored hair spill over one shoulder as she observed the smaller bot. “Adorable. A bit of charm and smarts combined, just like the real thing.” She tapped the mini bot’s head lightly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "It suits you, actually. I might have to commission a tiny assistant from you myself. Maybe with one of my coats.”

The little bot chirped in response, and Kafka’s laughter was low and warm. "Let’s see what you can do with it,” she said, her gaze focused, “and if you’re up for a little fun.”

Firefly

Firefly watched with quiet admiration as your small robot creation moved around. She crouched down, reaching out a cautious hand to the curious, cute little bot, which hummed softly as it approached her. “These… you created them yourself?” she asked, her tone holding a mix of wonder and reserve.

When you confirmed, she gave a small, almost hidden smile. “They’re… fragile, but strong. Like something meant to last in its own way.” The bot blinked at her, and Firefly’s eyes softened. “Reminds me of the Iron Cavalries back in Glamoth. Only… friendlier.” she added, stroking one of the bot’s tiny antennae.

She looked up at you thoughtfully. “Do they ever get scared?” she asked, a hint of something deeper in her tone. “Out there on their own?”

You reassured her, showing how they could always find their way back to you with a signal, and Firefly’s smile grew just a little. “Then they’re lucky.”

Silver Wolf

"Okay, this is genius!" Silver Wolf leaned in, peering closely at your little bot. It made a light, buzzing sound, like a computer processing, and Silver Wolf’s eyes lit up with excitement. “So, they can copy themselves, hack simple systems, and even do cute dances. You realize how much we could exploit this?”

She nudged the bot playfully, letting out a snicker as it wobbled and then righted itself. “With a few tweaks, I bet I could turn these guys into the ultimate diversion—just imagine the look on Screwllum’s face when these little cuties start hacking his defenses.”

The little bot tried imitating her gesture, lifting a stubby little arm in a “cheer” motion, and she laughed. “Yup, they’re my kind of bots! We could be an unstoppable team. You up for a little programming jam session?”

Blade

Blade stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the small robot rolling around in front of him. You watched as he knelt down, expression unreadable, while the little bot wheeled over and stopped at his foot. It beeped softly, looking up at him with a wide, innocent lens.

He seemed almost hesitant, looking from the small bot to you. “It’s… small,” he finally said, as though the idea itself was strange. The bot moved closer, and Blade didn’t flinch, even as it nuzzled against his hand like a pet.

“Strange to see something so… unburdened by fate,” he muttered under his breath. There was an intensity in his eyes as he reached out to gently touch the bot’s head. “If only everything could be so simple.”

The little bot let out a chirp, and you told him it was their way of saying they liked him. He let out a rare, low chuckle. “Then I suppose it’s good it doesn’t know who I am. Still, I… appreciate it.”

He glanced up at you, something softer in his gaze. “Keep them close. They’re safer that way.”

This is very lazily written, sorry y'all. I'm not feeling well today.

[raekensluver]

melodies of love

description: you and your childhood best friend theodore nott have been through thick and thin together, so when he tells you he's leaving, paired with a confession, it changes everything.

pairing: childhood bsf!theodore nott x fem!reader

contains: mentions of parental death, latent fathers, late-night love confessions, theo plays piano!!!!!, musician!theo, modern au!

song rec: symphony by clean bandit ft. zara larsson- “life was stringing me along, then you came and you cut me loose."

w.c: 2.0k

an: i have been waiting so longgggg to use the middle photo of lorenzo.

the room was quiet, the only sound being the occasional rustle of the curtains dancing with the night breeze. the bed beneath you was warm and comforting, the familiar creaks of the old wooden frame a gentle lullaby. you laid there sideways, your legs hanging off the edge, the mattress slightly indented from your weight. the soft glow of the bedside lamp painted the walls with a golden hue, casting a serene scene of shadows and light.

you felt the anticipation build in your chest, your heart beating slightly faster as you thought about the stories theo might share tonight. the late night talks had been your ritual since you both discovered that insomnia was a shared burden. you'd lay in the darkness, whispering your secrets and fears into the night, knowing that the other was always there to listen.

the bond between you and theo was forged in the fires of shared pain. both of you had fathers who were more like shadows than guardians - present but never really there. the cold shoulder from your father had been a harsh reality you learned to navigate early on, while theo had to deal with the tyranny of his own. it was your mothers' gentle spirits that had truly bound you together. lost too soon to the merciless grip of illness and a tragic accident, their memories remained a beacon of warmth in the cold, unforgiving world of your fathers.

you remembered the particularly bad nights, the ones where the darkness outside was only a reflection of the turmoil within. when the house was too quiet, and the sadness was too heavy to bear alone, you would sneak out of your room, tiptoe down the stairs, and out the back door. the cool grass beneath your bare feet was a comforting reminder of the outside world that waited for you beyond the walls of your father's frigid domain. the night air was a balm, carrying the scent of the blooming lilac bushes that lined the fence separating your yards.

you would slip into theo's house, the soft tinkle of the piano in the parlor guiding you like a lighthouse beam through the stillness. his mother had been a pianist before her illness took her, and the piano remained, a silent sentinel of happier days. theo had taught himself to play, and his music was the voice that soothed your soul. the melodies he conjured in those small hours were bittersweet, a testament to the love and loss that haunted your shared past.

his room was always the same, a sanctuary filled with books and knickknacks that reflected his boundless curiosity. the walls were plastered with posters of faraway places and people, a silent declaration of his desire to escape the confines of your small town. the bed was unmade, the bedspread a tapestry of wrinkles from his restlessness, but there was always a spot next to him where you felt safe. you'd slide under the covers, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the chill that had followed you from your own room.

his eyes would light up when he saw you, a smile playing on his lips as he whispered a quiet "hey." theo had the kind of smile that could melt the iciest of hearts, a trait you envied and adored. you would share your day's troubles with him, the mundane and the profound, and he would listen with a rapt attention that no one else ever seemed to have. his eyes never left yours, as if by looking away he might miss something important, something only you could tell him.

his voice was low and soothing, a balm to your soul on those dark nights. you felt as if you could tell him anything, and he would understand. the way his fingers danced over the piano keys, the gentle strokes and crescendos, mirrored the tumultuous symphony of emotions that played within you. as you talked, he would often reach out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, giving it a squeeze that spoke of his silent support.

this night was no different, except for the anticipation that filled the air. the whispers of a secret untold. you had felt it brewing for days, a heaviness in theo's eyes, a sadness that even his smile couldn't quite hide. you waited, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing, for the moment when he would finally confide in you.

you blinked your eyes open, and there he was, leaning over you, his elbows resting on the mattress. the smile on his face was a gentle curve, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. the lamp's glow painted him in a warm light, making his dark hair seem almost golden. his eyes searched yours, looking for the understanding he so desperately needed.

"i've got something to tell you," he began, his voice low and hesitant. "it's big, and i'm not sure how you're going to take it."

you sat up, scooting towards the headboard, pulling your legs up to your chest. the anticipation grew like a storm cloud in your chest, thick and heavy. "okay," you murmured, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come.

theo took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "i'm leaving," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. the words hung in the air, thick and palpable. your heart skipped a beat, the blood rushing to your ears, drowning out the world outside of your little bubble.

you felt the mattress dip as he sat down beside you, his body warm and solid. "what do you mean?" you asked, your voice trembling. his hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"i've got a scholarship to a school in the city," he explained, his voice gaining strength. "for music. it's a full ride, and it's a chance to get out of here, to make something of myself."

the words hit you like a wave, crashing over the sandcastle of your quiet life. theo, leaving? It was unthinkable. your eyes searched his, looking for a hint of a joke, a twitch of his lip that would give away the punchline. but all you saw was sincerity, and a hint of fear.

"theo, that's… that's amazing," you managed to choke out, trying to keep your voice steady. Inside, you were a whirlwind of emotions - joy for his opportunity, sadness for your impending loss, fear of the unknown. "when did you find out?"

he sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "a few days ago. i've been trying to figure out how to tell you." his eyes searched yours, looking for the acceptance he so desperately needed. "i leave next week."

the news was a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. your mind raced with questions and objections, but all that came out was a soft "next week?" the urgency of the situation was stark, the reality of his departure so close you could almost taste it.

his grip on your hand tightened. "i know it's a lot to ask, but… i want you to come with me." he said, his voice filled with hope and desperation. "i can't do this without you. you're the only one who really gets me."

you felt your world tilt on its axis, the gravity of his words pulling at you. the idea of leaving your home, your father, your life behind was both terrifying and exhilarating. the thought of starting anew, of escaping the shadows of your past, was something you had never dared to dream.

you took a deep breath, trying to organize the chaotic symphony playing in your head. "theo," you began, your voice shaky, "i can't just leave. my dad…"

his expression fell, the hope in his eyes dimming. "i know," he said, his voice soft. "but you can't stay here forever. you're just as trapped as i am."

you felt the weight of his words, the truth of them pressing down on your shoulders. you knew he was right, but the thought of leaving was too much to bear. "i… i don't know if i can do that, theo," you whispered, the lump in your throat growing.

his eyes searched yours, desperation flickering in their depths. "please," he said, his voice cracking. "i don't want to leave you. i need you there with me."

you felt your chest tighten at the raw vulnerability in his voice, a feeling you hadn't heard from him in years. theo was the strong one, the one who held you together when your world fell apart. but now, he was asking for your help, for your company. it was a revelation that shook you to your core.

his hand was still in yours, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand. the warmth of his touch was grounding, a reminder that you weren't alone in this tumultuous sea of emotions. "theo," you whispered, "i don't know if i can."

his eyes searched yours, desperation etched into every line of his face. "please," he begged, the word coming out as a hoarse whisper. "i need you there." the raw emotion in his voice made your heart ache.

you swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "theo," you began, your voice trembling, "i…"

but before you could finish, he leaned in and kissed you. it was soft and gentle, the kind of kiss that held a thousand unspoken words. it was a kiss that spoke of a love that had grown over the years, a bond stronger than friendship, a connection that had always been there but had remained unacknowledged.

you pulled back, your eyes wide with shock. "theo," you whispered, your hand still trembling in his.

his face was inches from yours, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. "i know it's a lot," he said, his voice soft, "but i had to tell you. i love you. i've loved you for so long, and i can't just leave without saying it."

you sat there, frozen, his words echoing in your mind. theo, your best friend, the one who knew you better than anyone, was confessing his love for you. the revelation was as surprising as it was overwhelming. your heart was racing, trying to keep up with the thoughts that bombarded your brain.

you looked into his eyes, searching for the truth in their depths. they were filled with a vulnerability that was as stark as it was beautiful. theo had always been the one to wear a mask, to hide his pain behind a smile. but here, in the soft light of the bedside lamp, his defenses were down, and you could see the raw, unfiltered version of the boy you had grown up with.

his confession hung in the air, as potent as the scent of the lilac bushes outside. it was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, the silence a living, breathing entity that wrapped itself around you both. you felt your heart pound in your chest, a symphony of emotions playing out in your mind.

slowly, you reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the stubble that had formed since the last time you had seen him. your eyes searched his, looking for the certainty that you both needed. "theo," you whispered, "i love you too."

his face lit up like the first light of dawn, the sadness and fear fading away. "you do?" he asked, his voice filled with hope.

you nodded, your heart pounding. "yes, i do."

his smile grew, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a blanket. "so, you'll come with me?" he asked, hope dancing in his eyes.

you took a moment to let the reality of his confession sink in. the thought of leaving your father was daunting, but the idea of being without theo was unbearable. "yes," you said finally, "i'll come with you."

his eyes lit up, and he leaned in again, this time the kiss was filled with a mix of relief and joy. it was a kiss that spoke of a future filled with promise and hope. "i'll make it worth it," he whispered against your lips, his hand cupping your cheek. "i'll make sure you never regret this."

you felt a warmth spread through your chest, his words like a balm to your fears. "i know you will."

edited 8.20.24

[chuuyasheaven]

"Bittersweet Torture"— Fyodor and Nikolai

"You didn't know how to feel actually, they were edging you but also making you feel absolute pleasure. Fyodor was the one making the commands and Nikolai was acting them out. Basically, you were stuck with two sadists which were enjoying your bittersweetly torture."

Tags: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol / fem! Reader, rough sex?, voyeurism?, bondage, depression was CONSUMING me, fingering, pet names, slight praise, edging, nipple play, teasing, Nikolai cumming on you, might contain grammar errors, lazy, RUSHED, short?, etc.

Notes: excuse my (not so sudden) disappearance, depression was WAY to overwhelming, I'll just try to catch up!

As your hands were tied above you, Nikolai was playing with your nipples, with Fyodor watching. You don't recall for how long this has been going on. It was crazy how good but yet unsatisfied you felt, they've taking parts of edging you in many ways watching you cry each time they deny your sweet release. With how sensitive you've gotten, even the nipple play could've made you cum. Your moans were quiet, they grew more desperate as Nikolai got rougher with your nipples. Even though you tried to be secret with another knot building up, it was quite obvious that you grew close. Just when you were almost there— "You can stop now, Nikolai. She's getting close again.", a smirk building up on their faces as you lost another orgasm in front of them.

"Hm, what should we do next?", Fyodor asked, Nikolai just giggled before suggesting his own idea. "How about I finger her? I want to feel her clench around them until her eyes roll back.", you already clenched around the thought of it. Even the way he said it with his darker voice. ". . P–please.", you muttered mindlessly, amusing Fyodor. "Hm, if that's what she wants, you may continue.", Nikolai nodded and already got to work on you. An whine escaped your throat when Nikolai let his finger enter inside you. He slowly trusted it in and out, barely doing anything actually, only to tease you. "Do you want me to add more, dove?", he asked you, you nodded almost immediately. "I think you should use your voice, my dear.", Fyodor spoke up, you obeyed and talked. "Yes, please, N–nikolai. .", you begged shyly. "Good girl,", Fyodor praised you as Nikolai complied to your wishes.

Nikolai's fingers hit all the right places, making you already dizzy with how good he was with this. All while Fyodor was watching the both of you with an smug look on his face. Once again, you got closer each time Nikolai's fingers made contact with your sweet spot, but Fyodor prevented your orgasm again. "She's close to cumming again.", Nikolai immediately stopped fingering you and another stressed whine left you. "What now, Fedya?", Nikolai turned his head to face Fyodor, who only shrugged. "If you have any ideas on what to do next, carry them out if you like.", Nikolai turned back to you with an evil smirk on his face. "Alright, I already got one!", he giggled while taking off his undergarments. You instantly started to drip seeing his erect cock, you needed it inside you so bad.

"Would you look at that, our sweet is already dripping wet!", he bent down to your face, almost whispering to your lips; "You wanna feel me this bad? This is quite hilarious to me.", Nikolai then started to jerk himself off, chuckling deeply. "Well, the only thing you're gonna feel is my cum!", he picked up the speed, his thumb doing it's work on his tip. While watching this lewd view in front of him, Fyodor could feel himself get harder. Your cunt clenched around nothing when you saw an drop of his precum leak out of his tip. "How. . adorable!", Nikolai cheered while feeling his own climax nearing. He moved closer to you as more precum leaked, his cock mere inches away from your pussy, a smile making it's way onto his face. Nikolai's breathing got heavier until you felt his cum leak onto your cunt.

"—Atleast Fedya can slip inside your cunt easily after this!"

I'm really disappointed how this turned out.

@soukokulatte , @miloofc , @crystalice09 , @medusalovessnakes , @kk-oma , @rxyyyyy !!

[novaursa]

Legacy (the night is long)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be aware of the unspecified time jumps and how canon events don't add up with the story's timeline.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: sun over the capital

- Next part: dark wings

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Jorah Mormont approached Daenerys' tent, with a letter in his hand. The parchment was sealed with an unfamiliar sigil, one that bore neither the lion of Lannister nor the dragon of House Targaryen. Daenerys looked up, curiosity flaring in her eyes as Jorah handed her the letter.

"This arrived, Your Grace," Jorah said quietly, his tone cautious. "It was smuggled into the camp by Varys's contacts. I thought you should have it at once."

Daenerys took the letter, turning it over in her hands, her fingers brushing across the wax seal. She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment carefully, her gaze settling on the words that began to reveal themselves. She read, her eyes widening as the truth of the letter began to sink in.

My dearest sister, the letter began, in a handwriting that was elegant yet steady. You do not know me, but I have long known of you. My name is Y/N, and though fate has kept us apart, we share the blood of the dragon.

Daenerys felt her breath hitch as she continued reading, taking in every word with reverence.

I write to you from Westeros, where I find myself bound in an unexpected alliance. I am now Lady Y/N Lannister, married to Lord Tywin, who sees in me both a strength of my own and a promise of loyalty to House Lannister. But know this—my heart remains true to our blood, our lineage. You are not alone, Daenerys. Though we are separated by sea and circumstance, you have a sister here who thinks of you, who carries your memory, even though we have yet to meet.

Daenerys’s hands trembled slightly as she lowered the letter, her mind racing, filled with emotions she couldn’t quite name. This was her sister—a sister she had never known, reaching out to her across the world. The realization felt both profound and bittersweet.

Noticing her expression, Jorah leaned forward, concern etched in his brow. "Your Grace," he asked gently, "what is it? Who wrote to you?"

Daenerys took a steadying breath, her gaze unfocused as she tried to process what she had read. "It’s… from my sister," she whispered, almost as if saying it aloud would make it more real. "A sister I’ve never met. Her name is Y/N, and she’s… married to Tywin Lannister."

Jorah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, though he masked it quickly. "Tywin Lannister," he murmured, his tone both shocked and wary. "I had heard rumors of his new marriage, but I never expected it to be to a Targaryen."

Daenerys looked at him, her expression filled with a mixture of wonder and sadness. "She says she’s thought of me. That I am not alone." She paused, her voice softening. "Did you ever see her, Jorah? In the North, when she was a ward at Winterfell?"

Jorah thought for a moment, casting his mind back over the years. "Yes, Your Grace," he said quietly. "I saw her once, many years ago. I was a young man then, visiting Winterfell on some matter for my father, Lord Jeor. She would have been just a girl then, but she had a certain… presence."

Daenerys leaned forward, her eyes bright with interest. "Tell me about her."

Jorah smiled faintly, recalling the memory as if dusting off an old, cherished book. "She was quiet, but there was a strength in her that couldn’t be ignored. She carried herself with grace, even then—a grace I could see was not learned from the North. She had the look of a Targaryen, unmistakable silver hair and violet eyes, and yet there was something solemn about her. I remember thinking she seemed like she carried a great weight, even as a young girl."

He paused, his gaze distant as he remembered. "The Stark children seemed to adore her. Robb Stark, Jon Snow… they were just boys then, but she was close to them. And Arya—she followed her around like a shadow. Y/N took Jon under her wing, I remember. It was as if she had a purpose that even she couldn’t yet name."

Daenerys listened, her heart aching with each word. "So she was… loved," she murmured, almost to herself. "She wasn’t alone."

Jorah nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "No, she wasn’t. She became a part of Winterfell. The North can be a harsh place, but it’s loyal to those who earn its trust. And she earned it."

Daenerys looked down at the letter again, a sense of warmth filling her despite the bittersweet nature of it. "I wonder what kind of life she has now… married to Tywin Lannister of all people."

Jorah’s expression darkened, his voice cautious. "Tywin Lannister is a calculating man, Your Grace. He sees people as assets, tools to be used for his legacy. I don’t doubt he sees her in the same way. But your sister must be strong—she survived Winterfell, and she made a place for herself there. She’ll find a way to endure in the Red Keep, too."

Daenerys nodded slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the letter as though she could feel her sister’s presence through the words. "She says that her heart remains true to our blood," she murmured, her eyes fierce with newfound determination. "I may be in Essos, and she may be bound to the Lannisters, but we are Targaryens. We are still family."

Jorah’s gaze softened, admiration in his eyes. "A family reunited, perhaps. Someday."

Daenerys looked up at him, a spark of hope igniting in her heart. "Yes. Someday," she agreed softly. She folded the letter carefully, tucking it close to her heart. "Until then, I will remember her words—and the promise that we are not alone."

Wrapped in a plain, dark cloak that concealed your features, you made your way through the narrow, winding streets of King’s Landing, keeping your gaze low as Ser Barristan Selmy walked by your side, ever vigilant. The sky was cast in shades of twilight, the lingering golden glow of the sunset slipping away, giving way to the shadows of the evening.

You cast a glance at Barristan, who looked deeply displeased, his brow furrowed in a way you’d rarely seen. He’d been silent most of the journey, but as the brothel finally came into view, he couldn’t help himself.

“My lady,” he murmured, his tone respectful yet firm, “this… this place is beneath you. Surely, a prince could arrange to meet somewhere more dignified.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, though it was tinged with a hint of irony. “Knowing Oberyn, I suspect he chose this location precisely for that reason, Ser Barristan,” you replied softly. “It amuses him, I imagine, to think of a Lannister bride stepping into a place like this.”

Barristan’s disapproving look didn’t waver, but he remained quiet as you pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside the dimly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of incense and perfumed oils, mingling with the low hum of laughter and whispers from the patrons scattered around. It was an ambiance that spoke of indulgence and secrecy, and yet, you felt a certain comfort in its anonymity.

In the center of the room, reclining on a plush chaise, was Oberyn Martell, dressed in his usual vibrant colors, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement as he spotted you. At his side, with a quiet, knowing smile, sat Ellaria Sand, her gaze warm yet calculating as she took you in.

“Well, well,” Oberyn drawled, his voice like silk as he looked you up and down, noting the plainness of your disguise with a smirk. “The new Lady Lannister gracing us with her presence, in such humble surroundings. I must say, Y/N, marriage has brought you to… interesting places.”

You smiled, pulling back your hood and allowing him to see your face fully. “And you’ve always had a taste for… unconventional meeting places, Oberyn. You haven’t changed.”

Ellaria laughed softly, her gaze resting on you with curiosity. “Tywin’s bride herself,” she mused, her tone smooth. “I must admit, I didn’t think I’d ever see a Targaryen in Lannister colors. How curious fate can be.”

You offered her a polite nod, though you couldn’t miss the slight bitterness beneath her words. “Lady Ellaria. I suspect fate has played its hand here more than once.”

Oberyn watched you, his eyes glinting with something unreadable as he poured himself a glass of wine. He gestured for you to join them, patting the seat beside him. “Come, sit with us. We have much to discuss, I think. So many bonds between our families, so many… tragedies.”

The words were spoken lightly, but they held a sharp edge that settled uneasily in your chest. You took a seat, Barristan standing protectively behind you, his presence a reassuring reminder of unwavering loyalty and honor.

Oberyn regarded you for a long moment, his smile fading as he tilted his head thoughtfully. “And so here you are, Lady Lannister, wife to the very man responsible for the destruction of both our families. Does that sit well with you?”

You met his gaze steadily, though the weight of his words pressed heavily on you. “Oberyn,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “you know as well as I do that we are often given choices… with very limited options.”

He leaned closer, his voice lowering, his tone soft but laced with bitterness. “I suppose you know that better than most. But tell me, does Tywin Lannister whisper anything to you in those quiet hours about the screams of Elia, of her children? Does he confess his sins to you as if they might be absolved?”

Your heart pounded, the familiar ache resurfacing with each word. You knew well the horrors he spoke of; they had haunted you ever since you first learned of your family’s brutal end. You lowered your gaze, struggling to maintain composure. “I have no need to hear it from him,” you whispered, your voice barely steady. “I remember all too well, Oberyn.”

Oberyn’s expression softened just slightly, though his eyes remained sharp. “And yet, here you are, tied to him. You, a Targaryen, bound to the man whose legacy is soaked in blood—our blood. Elia, Rhaegar, their children… they should be here, living, and yet their lives were ended so that your husband could secure his power.”

A shuddering breath escaped you, and you held up a hand, your voice trembling. “Please, Oberyn… I do not wish to hear more.”

For a moment, he studied you, his anger giving way to a flicker of understanding, though it did not diminish the fire in his gaze. “Very well,” he said, his voice softening. “I can see it pains you as it pains me. But make no mistake—I am here in King’s Landing for two things.”

You looked up at him, the question clear in your eyes. “And what would those be?”

“Vengeance,” he said, the word slipping from his lips with the weight of years behind it. “For Elia. For her children.” His gaze hardened, his voice carrying a quiet, lethal promise. “Justice, however long it takes, however I may have to find it.”

Your heart twisted as he spoke, a mixture of fear and empathy welling up inside you. “And the second reason?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.

Oberyn’s lips curled into a smile, though it lacked warmth. “Why, the royal wedding, of course,” he replied with feigned cheer. “A grand occasion, the whole realm gathered to watch the next king unite with his bride. The perfect stage for anyone with a purpose… and the perfect place to leave an impression.”

Ellaria, who had been watching silently, leaned forward, placing a comforting hand on Oberyn’s arm. “We have waited a long time, and now, we are here. The world will remember what was done to our family.”

You sat in silence, absorbing their words, understanding the unspoken intentions that lay beneath them. There was no mistaking Oberyn’s resolve, nor Ellaria’s quiet fury. You felt caught between two worlds—the blood of your family calling for vengeance, and the precarious ties that now bound you to House Lannister.

“Oberyn,” you said softly, meeting his gaze, “I… I do not ask for forgiveness, nor can I pretend that anything I do could ever make amends for what happened to your sister. But I hope that you know… I have never forgotten. I have never betrayed our blood.”

Oberyn’s expression softened, a shadow of compassion in his eyes. “I know,” he replied quietly. “I don’t blame you, Y/N. But I am not here to forgive, either.”

You nodded, a heavy silence settling over you both. The weight of the past hung thick in the air, filling the space between you, an invisible chasm that could never truly be crossed. Yet, even in that silence, there was an understanding, a recognition of shared loss and the scars it left behind.

Finally, Oberyn’s expression shifted, a flicker of his old charm resurfacing as he gave you a sardonic smile. “But tell me, Lady Lannister—how does it feel to bear that name? To share the bed of the man who holds our fates in his hands?”

You managed a faint, humorless smile, your voice soft but steady. “It feels… like survival, Oberyn. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.”

He chuckled, though there was no real amusement in it. “Survival,” he echoed. “A fitting answer, I suppose. Just remember, Y/N… survival comes with a price.”

As he leaned back, pouring another glass of wine, Ellaria’s gaze softened as she watched you, her voice gentle. “If you ever need allies, Y/N… remember that we understand you, more than the lions ever could.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of her words settle deep within you. Here, in this darkened brothel, surrounded by the bitterness of shared pain and the fire of quiet vengeance, you felt a strange sense of kinship—a bond forged in blood, loss, and the relentless desire for justice.

And as you rose to leave, with Barristan by your side, you carried with you the weight of their words, their promise, and the unspoken knowledge that, though you wore the colors of a lion, the blood of the dragon and the Martell ties would never truly let you go.

In the quiet shadows of his private solar, Tywin sat at his desk, his fingers steepled as he listened to Littlefinger’s report, his expression as inscrutable as ever. Lord Baelish, standing just a few paces away, shifted his weight, his usual smooth smile in place, though his eyes were sharp, always watching, always calculating.

“The men you stationed around the brothel have remained vigilant, Lord Tywin,” Littlefinger reported, his tone measured. “No disturbances to speak of—at least, none beyond what’s customary in a place like that.” He allowed himself a wry smile, though Tywin’s cold gaze did little to encourage it.

Tywin’s gaze was fixed on a map stretched across his desk, though it was clear his thoughts lay elsewhere. “Good,” he replied curtly. “My wife’s safety is paramount. It is imperative that Prince Oberyn and his paramour understand that they are in King’s Landing at my discretion, not theirs.”

Littlefinger’s eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief. “Ah, Prince Oberyn. Quite the guest of honor, isn’t he?” He folded his hands neatly, his gaze never leaving Tywin’s. “Dorne is rarely so cooperative when it comes to Lannister matters. One has to wonder what they hope to accomplish by bringing him to the capital now.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Oberyn’s presence here is a reminder of the alliance Dorne holds with the crown,” he stated, his tone as sharp as a blade. “They may smile and offer pleasantries, but they haven’t forgotten what happened to Elia, nor will they. I suspect Oberyn is here not only to attend the royal wedding but to assess how far we can be pushed.”

Littlefinger tilted his head, a glimmer of intrigue in his gaze. “And what do you intend to do about it, my lord?”

Tywin looked up, his eyes cold and calculating. “For now, we extend them the courtesy due to their status. The Martells are careful, and they won’t risk open defiance… yet.” He allowed himself a pause, studying Baelish’s expression as he continued. “But make no mistake—Oberyn and his ilk must be reminded that this is my realm. The Red Keep is not a playground for Dornish revenge fantasies.”

Baelish nodded slowly, a small smile curving his lips. “The Dornish are known for their tempers, after all. And Oberyn is as infamous for his passions as he is for his fighting skills. One might say he’s an ideal instrument to incite… disorder, if left unchecked.”

Tywin’s gaze remained unyielding, his tone filled with quiet disdain. “Disorder is something I do not tolerate. Prince Oberyn will have to curb his impulses while he’s in my city, or he will be reminded of the consequences of forgetting one’s place.” He leaned back, his gaze sharpening. “You are to keep your eyes on him, Baelish. Any shift in his intentions, any move that hints at more than courtesy—report it to me directly.”

Littlefinger inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “Of course, my lord. Though one has to wonder… might it not serve House Lannister’s interests to… encourage Oberyn’s passions in a more controlled setting? A bit of a… release valve, if you will.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “You mean to tempt him into some reckless act, a slip of temper that could justify an official response.”

Baelish allowed himself a slight shrug, his expression one of feigned innocence. “Not as crude as that, Lord Tywin, of course. But… Dorne is known for its pride. Oberyn is unlikely to let slights lie—he’ll strike if prodded.”

Tywin considered this, his fingers tapping lightly against the desk. “Oberyn Martell is not a fool,” he said slowly. “He knows we are watching him, and he knows the cost of defiance. But if he were… convinced to show his hand, to reveal just how far he’s willing to go—perhaps, yes, that would indeed serve a purpose.”

Littlefinger’s smile grew a fraction wider, his tone light and conspiratorial. “I may have just the contacts, my lord. A few whispers, a few… strategic pressures in the right quarters. Prince Oberyn may find himself slightly less at ease than he hoped.”

Tywin’s gaze held a glint of satisfaction, though he remained as stoic as ever. “Very well. Proceed. But ensure it’s done subtly. The last thing we need is for the Dornish to think they’ve been provoked outright.”

“Of course, my lord,” Littlefinger replied smoothly. “I would never think of disrupting such a… delicate balance.” He gave a slight bow, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “And as for Lady Y/N’s protection, I assure you, the measures in place will continue. My men will see to it that her privacy and safety remain undisturbed.”

Tywin gave a short nod of approval, his gaze flickering to the map once more, though his mind seemed fixed on his growing plan. “Good. The fewer chances Oberyn has to weave himself into my wife’s affairs, the better.”

Littlefinger’s smirk deepened, though he kept his tone respectful. “It’s rare to see you so… invested, Lord Tywin.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, a cold warning in his eyes. “My family is my legacy, Baelish. That is not something I gamble with. Remember that, as you work with those whispers of yours.”

Littlefinger inclined his head, his face the very picture of compliance. “Of course, my lord. I live to serve.”

With that, he slipped from the chamber, leaving Tywin to consider the intricate dance of alliances, enemies, and strategy that was unfolding with Oberyn Martell in King’s Landing.

Joffrey paced back and forth in the golden glow of the late afternoon, the flickering shadows playing across his features. The tension in his expression was unmistakable, his mouth pressed into a tight, dissatisfied line. Margaery watched him from her seat beside the large, open window, her calm demeanor masking the unease she felt as she observed the king’s agitation. She’d seen him like this before—when his pride had been bruised or when something had threatened his sense of power—and knew it was best to tread carefully.

“Joffrey,” she began gently, her voice warm and soothing, “perhaps you might tell me what’s on your mind. It pains me to see you so troubled.”

Joffrey stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he looked out the window, avoiding her gaze. “That… that child,” he hissed, venom lacing his words. “That Targaryen bastard Tywin has whelped on her. It has no place here, Margaery. And yet everyone’s acting as if it’s some great blessing to House Lannister!”

Margaery nodded, tilting her head thoughtfully, though her expression remained soft and supportive. “I understand,” she replied calmly. “A child with both Targaryen and Lannister blood would… naturally cause quite a stir. But remember, Joffrey, you are the king. No one can challenge that.”

Joffrey let out a sharp, derisive laugh, his hand gripping the back of a nearby chair so hard his knuckles turned white. “Do you think that matters to them? To Tywin? Or to… her?” He spat the last word with distaste. “They’ll all whisper, saying this child has a claim, saying that it has royal blood, that it deserves something… more.”

Margaery rose from her seat, crossing the room to place a gentle hand on his arm. “And yet, my love,” she said, her voice a soft murmur, “this child will be nothing more than an infant, while you are already crowned, already commanding the loyalty of lords and bannermen. Tywin Lannister knows where the power lies, Joffrey. He has sworn loyalty to you.”

Joffrey glanced down at her, his expression softening just slightly as her words seemed to calm him, though the tension didn’t fully leave his face. “You’re right,” he muttered, though his voice still carried a note of doubt. “But Tywin is ambitious. And if he has a child with Targaryen blood, what’s to stop him from making some… claim for it?”

Margaery kept her hand on his arm, her touch reassuring. “Tywin may be ambitious, yes, but he is also practical. He knows it’s unwise to risk a confrontation with you. And as your queen, I will stand by you, ensuring no one challenges your right to the throne.”

Joffrey’s expression softened further, his gaze finally meeting hers. “You always know what to say, Margaery. You make it sound so… simple.” He paused, his eyes flickering with something almost vulnerable. “But I don’t trust them. Not my grandfather, not the Targaryen whore he’s married, and certainly not the child.”

Margaery offered a faint smile, though inwardly, she made a mental note to discuss this development with her grandmother Olenna. “Then we shall be vigilant together, my king,” she said soothingly. “And if that child ever becomes a threat, we will deal with it… quietly.”

Joffrey seemed to take comfort in her words, a sly smile creeping onto his face. “Yes… quietly. That’s how it should be. I knew I could count on you, Margaery. You have a way of… understanding these things.”

Margaery’s smile remained warm, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She would need to speak with Olenna as soon as possible, to ensure they were prepared for any shift in the court’s dynamics brought about by this unexpected addition to the Lannister family.

“Of course, my king,” she replied, her voice steady. “I am here to support you, always.”

In the cold light of dawn, Stannis Baratheon sat alone in his tent, reading over the crumpled parchment that his spies had delivered to him just the night before. His brow was furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, as he read the message again, the words seeming to smolder off the page with each reading.

Tywin Lannister’s Targaryen wife—the woman who should have been wiped out along with the rest of her kin—was with child. The blood of the dragon and the lion combined, an heir that, by the laws of inheritance, could lay a claim more legitimate than even Joffrey’s bastard lineage.

The tent’s entrance flap rustled, and Davos Seaworth stepped inside, his expression concerned as he took in the grim look on Stannis’s face.

“My lord,” Davos began, his voice low, respectful. “Is it true? The report… about Tywin’s wife?”

Stannis’s jaw tightened, his eyes cold and unyielding. “It’s true. Tywin’s Targaryen wife carries a child—a child that will carry both Targaryen and Lannister blood. There are some who might say that alone gives the whelp a stronger claim to the throne than anyone else.”

Davos frowned, concern deepening on his weathered face. “But… that’s impossible, my lord. The Targaryens were cast down. Your brother saw to that. The child has no true claim, no right to rule over you or anyone in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Stannis’s gaze turned icy, his voice laced with frustration. “Yet here we are, Davos. The whispers have already begun. And Tywin, with all his clever schemes, is bound to use this child to stir the minds of the lords, to make them doubt my own claim.”

Davos leaned forward, his voice earnest, pleading. “Then we should be cautious, my lord. Tywin Lannister has a way of twisting the truth, bending others to his will. If we react too rashly, we might play right into his hands.”

Stannis’s eyes burned with a fierce determination, his hands gripping the edge of the table. “Caution is weakness, Davos. I will not allow a child—a child of a tainted, dead bloodline that my brother tried to erase—to claim legitimacy over me. No child of the Mad King’s line will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

There was a long, tense silence, and Davos could feel the chill in the air deepen as he realized the path Stannis’s mind was heading down. “What will you do, then?”

Stannis’s gaze shifted, growing colder, more resolute. “I will consult with Melisandre. She will have insight into this, into what this child means and how we can best… eliminate the threat.”

Davos’s heart sank, alarm flashing across his face. He took a step closer, his voice urgent. “My lord, please. Lady Melisandre’s methods are… not without consequence. Consulting her in matters of life and death—especially concerning an unborn child—may lead us down a dark path. One that may taint your honor.”

Stannis’s mouth tightened, his gaze hardening. “Honor does not win wars, Davos. And it does not secure thrones. If this child is born, it will be used as a symbol, a weapon against my rule. It will embolden Tywin’s allies, bolster support for a claim that should never exist. We cannot allow it.”

Davos held his gaze, desperation flickering in his eyes. “But, my lord, there is more to consider than just the claim. Killing an unborn child… it’s not justice, it’s vengeance. And vengeance will do nothing but erode the loyalty of those who follow you.”

Stannis looked away, jaw clenched, and he seemed to be struggling against something unseen. “I know the weight of my choices, Davos. But if we do nothing, we risk being overthrown before we even take King’s Landing. Tywin will not hesitate to use that child as a pawn, as a symbol of power that could rally the realm against us.”

Davos took a deep breath, his voice soft but firm. “I know you seek justice, my lord. And justice will come in time. But perhaps there is another way, one that does not require consulting with shadows or flames.”

Stannis’s face twisted, frustration and doubt warring within him. “I will speak to Melisandre,” he repeated, his voice like iron. “I will hear her counsel. Nothing more.”

Davos’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he did not give up. “Then at least allow me to be present, my lord. If nothing else, I can help temper her… enthusiasm.”

Stannis considered him, his gaze penetrating, and after a long moment, he gave a short nod. “Very well. But know this, Davos: my patience is running thin. I will not let a child born of treachery and deceit stand in the way of what I am owed.”

Davos felt the weight of Stannis’s resolve, and a chill ran through him, knowing how dangerous a path lay ahead. He could only hope that, in the end, there would be some way to save Stannis from the very shadows he sought to wield.

[akitasimblr]

and this is the finale of mad about dodo! MAD started on the 10th of june and i think we have come a long way! i hope all of you enjoyed the BC, i sure did! the first round was a blast for me in terms of gameplay - i love the chaos, i admit it! 😆 and i grew too much attached to all the contestants and at this point i wish i could marry them with all my single harpers so they would all appear in the family tree <33

@demonicrosebush lucy was a true player. she was graceful since day one and no deserted island will take that off of her. her late night jokes by the fire will be remembered by all contestants too <33 lucy did develop some romance with both martha and daisy flores so... who knows!!

@panicsimss tempest, another pixel that owns my heart! i absolutely adore her and her paranoid trait. who also love her are alejandro and anselme, these three are besties for life!

@jonquilyst quiet and kind lucian was probably the contestant with more friendships! he was dear to everyone, and particularly to me 🤍 oh and maybe hazel too, with whom he developed some kind of romance *wink wink*

@changingplumbob shay was a favourite of mine since day one. she's fun, she's bold, she's awesome! and both lucian and eleina agree with me!!

@mdshh daisy... i love to look at her, hope you don't mind me saying. this girl was never afraid to get her hands dirty, she played hard but fair! i actually like that of all contestants, it was with lucy that she developed a stronger friendship :)

@tipsy-clouds my dear sierra! i have a bittersweet feeling about her second place because she really had a great chemistry with dodo. also interesting to note is that araminta and sierra did develop a beautiful friendship so i hope this softens any broken hearts 🤍

@ethicaltreatmentofcowplants araminta, the first sim to be submitted to this contest and the last to stand <33 araminta went through this challenge with elegance. she won dodo's heart with grace and... a very bold first impression outfit, am i right? 😏🤍

to you and to the other contestants' watchers, my deep gratitude for sending and trusting me your sims, for following their silly adventures, for engaging daily with my posts, you have no idea how that kept me motivated! thank you for being part of this and be sure that all contestants will forever be part of my harpers lives. you were all amazing!

🌴previous | the end🌴

[darknights-beloved]

King of Hearts!Diluc R. headcanons and ideas

wc ⸺ 1.4k

cw; just a heartbroken diluc. </3. not exactly a diluc x reader as in direct insert but rather doing a personality, appearance just to properly decide on his overall character. not exactly ooc though obviously its a different au so, you get it. also lots of bittersweetness ‎૮ ꒰ྀི╥ ᴗ ╥꒱ྀིა ultimately he is the sweetest hopeless romantic ever ♡

also if this was an xreader fic then it would be soulmates trope w/ a tinge of forbidden love. so there.

At first glance.

Diluc is a king with a broken heart.

He rules over a kingdom that grows more delicate and fragile as his heart weakens the more years he spends in his immortal life, lonely with exhaustive volumes of blood dirtying his hands.

The kingdom suffers a famine due to the power loss. He lies to himself, tries to trick himself into thinking he has it all under control.

He doesn't.

Perhaps in this case, he- the king - is the damsel in distress, waiting for the one he holds dear to hold his heart in her hands and kiss it until it heals.

Comes to life, eagerly. Thump thump thump...

He waits.

Personality , Traits, etc

Diluc's eyes are canonically [ ? ] sharp, I think. It's like a hooded gaze. Alert, ready...present. always making sure that no danger is in sight. As for koh Diluc? I'd like to believe his eyes are more weary, droopier. His eyebrows, however, are always etched in a furrow. But his eyes? His eyes are just sad. Canon Diluc's dominant emotion is anger (phlegmatic-choleric) and koh Diluc is more sad (melancholic-phlegmatic). It's really the long years of his immortality, fighting alone despite his army, men and all. (But he is also secretly very kind. Any tough demeanor remains a demeanor)

You know what? Now that we're talking about the temperaments. Why not just get all into it.

I believe koh diluc's pdb is

Intj (T) 6w5 ,, tri type 615 [?] ,, melancholic phlegmatic ,, Ni > Fi > Te > Se ,, sp/sx ,, neuroticism (?) please give ideas.

Koh Diluc is so, so much more exhausted. He falls asleep on his throne with his arms crossed sometimes and furrowed brows relax into a softer expression. His Guards don't dare make a sound or try to wake him up. They know how he works himself to the bone.

He's actually a little more quieter, the only time he'd usually speak is when he needs to give out another order to his men, soldiers or servants. Other than that, he's quite quiet and keeps to himself a lot /isolating

King of hearts Diluc loves desserts. He adores them. Tarts, cookies, coffee and cake - oh, he loves cake (especially red velvet/chocolate…a little self-indulgent there haha) – caramel, little toffees, pastries, chocolate.... Gods, you name it. It’s not much of a secret since at every feast and dinner table there’s always an overly generous number of deserts and sweet treats.

Despite his cold almost burnt out demeanour hes actually very soft. He love gardening a lot and tends to his flowers. He loves reading romance novels, he loves woodwork and crafting. And blade/weapon crafting too! Usually, he keeps himself occupied to distract his mind from a lot of things. Also he's immortal. so....yeah

Aesthetics / Appearance

His color palette is wine red, velvety crimson and all reds royal. Gold as well, but it's more of a light-silvery gold. He doesn't appreciate things too bright. He really likes dark colors. But he'd also appreciate the simplicity of saturated colors. (He’s a goth/victorian king.)

Having fought for more than half of his immortal life, he had earned many scars. Printed on his skin, either a proud mark of his achievements, a proof of the brunt of his responsibilities or the shame that comes with being a king that his citizens fear.

He has claw gauntlets. They're silver and the claws are long, intricately and finely designed. Despite his battles against any corruption or evil that may seep into wonderland, the gauntlets almost remain unscathed. It was a show of both beauty and strength it held.

Also what if diluc had an army outfit. like im not sure what is called but omg

Diluc doesn't like his crown. It's heavy, flashy and it irks him more than he likes to admit. It was a crown crafted for royalty, gifted by the hands of fate. It was a sign of his responsibilities, the burdens he had to carry as a king with a broken heart. It's a striking gold crown. Adorned with the rarest gems of his world, but prominently rubies and garnets.

His cape is long, it's either a dark, commanding or an intense black. Hanging over his shoulders attractively, it trails behind him as he walks with such poised posture, and he never stutters in steps. Luxurious, soft fur drapes around his neck, coating the hood of his cape perfectly.

Diluc loves rings. He loves them, he loves them, he loves them. He has many of them, all beautifully designed for his liking. The intimacy of the beautiful piece of jewelry makes his heart thump. He's a romantic.

Secret Desires, Hidden Pain

He yearns to be a kinder, softer king to his citizens. But the fear of his vulnerability slipping, his heart crumbling, he wears a mask of stoicism. He already had a fragile, broken heart. If any enemies caught sight of his weakness, wonderland would be done for. Needless to say, the mask felt heavy and unnatural.

Because he's lonely there are times where he sits in the grand chair in the huge library, right across another, slightly shorter chair (fit for a queen). It remains empty and has remained empty for as long as he remembers. He sits in a deafening silence, letting his thoughts and the overwhelming gnawing of his emotions consume him. Before him lay a chess board, on the table. White faces against him while black faces the opposite side. A few pieces were scattered beside the wooden, intricate board. He moves a piece, slowly and deliberately as if time had melted away into a misty fog his  present couldn't make sense of. His feels as though his immortal life is killing him. He moves another piece- his rook- playing the two player game by himself. One day, he's sure all the turmoil would mount and he'd throw the board, send it flying across the room so that it hits the wall. Slowly, he moves yet another piece. The king's shoulders slump.

Koh Diluc feels like he misses someone. Feels like there is an ever lingering feeling his heart. Feels like some memories of him in his mind is blurred and surreal, something he can't make sense out of scientifically. He feels it. He feels a distant love. It's almost a dream, an illusion. But part of him vaguely knew it was a little secret of his soul shared with him - well, maybe. Or his mind playing cruel tricks on him, mocking him for his loneliness.

Another rather...personal Diluc headcanon! His heart (if healed and well, and hypothetically the famine is gone) can heal injuries of his (fated) beloved with a simple touch. Just a hug, just a kiss, just a brush of his fingers against her delicate skin...

Because Diluc and his dearest lover's heart beats as one.

Architecture of the His Majesty’s Castle + Other sights

His palace is a show of extravagance. How big it is. At first glance it may seem as though it would take two whole weeks to explore it fully. From the chandeliers that hung proudly on the ceiling to the velvet carpet on the floor. Every room, despite big or small, was created with purpose. The most beautiful paintings were pedestalized on the walls. They were adorned with golden frames, or silver ones or perhaps even a void-like noir.

Diluc harbours a library, abundant with books. Books with lacy covers and intricate designs. Each page would surely cost a fortune. The information it contained was almost prestigious, for the library held knowledge that can't be found easily outside its confines. Tall, grand shelves and and shacks filled to the brim with books. Despite the grandeur of it all, it had a comforting feel to it. Oh to be snugged up in a plump couch by the window of the castle, leisurely reading a book during the dark hours of the night...

He has a bountiful, grand and extensively handsome rose garden. The whole piece of land was designed elaborately, with the finest of care. He takes long walks in them whenever he gets the chance to, to simply take a breath and clear his thoughts even for a moment. And appreciate the beauty of the scenic area. Despite his strength and ferocity, he tends to all of them with nothing but gentleness. To say he loves roses is an understatement.

Identity, Status, Trivia, other...

It is no secret that this man is ridiculously, obnoxiously and impossibly rich. Diluc is typically rich, yes. But king of hearts Diluc? He's on a whole other level. He owns everything. Everything.

The king is a warrior. He has fought many battles in the past, taken part in wars against other worlds which threaten to rip apart the fabric of reality of Wonderland and claim it for themselves. Wonderland is whimsical, strange- truly a place fit for the curious who are either brave to delve into the world or too foolish.

This is a more personal-ish headcanon, but I'd like to think that his citizens are similar to the ones in Simulanka. While the world may [ ? ] have been not created by Alice or other mages, I just like to switch it up. A little.

I'm thinking...hamsters, bunnies, frogs, cats, dogs, horses and? May be other animals I have to research more.

okay but also wonderland diluc owns a black steed <3 he pampers it a lot lol and its the toughest horse in the land. both kinda have the same personality

Mermaids, colorful fish, knights (they have no body, their soul holds their armour together somehow), those nut-cracker like figures in simulanka? Maybe. This needs a little more work but hopefully you get the idea.

Want my wonderland to be more comforting.

also he genuinely has nerd-like interests in black (barred) owls and hooded owls. He admires them, and has many paintings of the creature in his castle.

all rights reserved @dilucidal @darknights-beloved

a/n: im open to ideas ok like 🥹♥️plis

[justgiulia]

Author's note: Ok so I was on my bed and this absolute banger of an idea spawned into my mind...I suggest you read the historic background I've written in this same post to better understand the vision...

they/them pronouns used after the historical background

Rook Hunt as a stilnovist poet

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

I think a lot of us know about stilnovism, known also as "dolce stil novo". A literary movement that began towards the end of the thirteenth century with Dante Alighieri as its most renowned poet. At the basis of the stilnovistic thought, there were the fundamental chivalric ideals of love such as: the vision of a woman as an angelic and transcendent creature, to the point that the one who loved her felt the need to ask God for forgiveness for having venerated the woman more than God himself; the knights and the troubadours/stilnovists (name of the poets of that literary movement) were tormented by an unrequited love since "true" love for them meant observing the woman from afar, without their love being reciprocated because they felt inferior to the woman they loved.. Now imagine rook hunt as a stilnovist poet deeply in love with the reader...do you guys see the vision?

Rook would write sonnets dedicated to the reader, celebrating their beauty and virtue in the style of dolce stil novo. He’d describe them as an ethereal muse, illuminating his darkest thoughts and guiding him toward love’s enlightenment.

Drawing from the tradition of dolce stil novo, Rook would often use nature as a metaphor for his feelings. He might compare the reader’s eyes to the shimmering stars or their smile to the blooming roses of spring, illustrating the profound impact they have on his soul.

In the quiet of the night, Rook would sneak away from his duties to serenade the reader outside their window, playing soft melodies on a lute and reciting verses that express his admiration and longing. These serenades would be infused with a mix of romantic despair and hope, like the essence of stilnovist emotion (as said previously).

Rook would treat the reader with utmost respect and adoration. He’d engage in chivalrous acts, such as gifting them flowers or rare books of poetry, and he would always seek their counsel and company. He would often lose himself in daydreams about the reader, contemplating the nature of love and beauty. These contemplations would inspire him to pen some of his most poignant works, reflecting on how their presence transforms the mundane into the extraordinary, like Guinizzelli's works or he might write about how the reader’s love brings light to his dark moments, yet also acknowledge the bittersweet pain of longing like Dante Alighieri.

Rook would look for opportunities to engage the reader at gatherings of poets and artists, where they could share their thoughts on love and beauty. He’d seek to impress them with his eloquence and charm, hoping to capture their heart amidst discussions of art and philosophy.

As previously mentioned, Rook’s poetry might carry a hint of melancholy, reflecting the struggles of a lover whose affections may not be fully returned. He’d write about unfulfilled dreams and the sweet sorrow of love.

So, yes. I think Rook would embody at 101% the essence of a passionate stilnovist poet, channeling his love for the reader into art and emotion, celebrating them as both muse and companion.

[mitsukitsume]

Family addition.

Alternative Universe where Isaac's parents are still alive.

Side note: I tried to make it gender neutral but there are implications that reader is female! And it's inspired from that one ask!

Pov: Isaac makes his parents grandparents.

You were so fortunate to meet him. It was almost as if fate wanted you to be one. If had just taken the day off from being a waitress from one day, you would never be with the love of your life. He was just so perfect. Extrovert, outgoing, the your of person to befriend the uber driver. Not to mention how contagious his laugh was. He was light to your dark world. He introduced you to his parents and you were taken back by his mansion. He seemed so humble. His mother was so kind and graceful although his dad seemed a bit intimidating, you quickly learned he meant no harm.

It had been 7 years since you and him been together and 3 years since he gave you his last name. And now..you two were holding a bundle of joy in your hands. Something you never imagined you'd actually get to experience. You watched as the tiny fragile life in your arms moved his little arms around seemingly in search of milk making the most adorable coos.

"What should we name him pickle?"

"Cucumber..."

Isaac chuckled at your suggestion.

"I am serious love"

"What about _____ Rhoades?"

"Hmm...I like it..I think it suits him."

Isaac reached down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips and a small kiss on the baby's tiny head. He smiled uncontrollable looking at the little life he created.

"When will mom and dad be here?"

Isaac was snapped out his thoughts when he heard your question.

"Any minute now love"

After a few quiet moments with your husband and baby son, you hear a knock on the door. Isaac's mother and father entered with a smile on their face. She gave you the bouquet of flowers and gave you a hug. Your mother in law was the sweetest person ever. Unlike most, mil she loved you like real mother.

"Congratulations dear! Oh he's so beautiful! Just like his grandma!"

You chuckled and slightly nodded in agreement. Isaac's father steps up to see his grandson. He gave you a small side hug and also congratulated you. He turned to his son and gave him a hug patting him on the back.

"How are you feeling dear? Any pain or discomfort? You know I am here for you and will try to help you in every way I can."

Your eyes almost teared upon hearing her kind words. She asked to hold the baby and you gently placed your son into her arms.

The baby wiggled around a bit and slowly opened his eyes for the first time revealing a beautiful set of ocean blue eyes. Isaac looked at his son beautiful eyes.

"He has grandfathers eyes!"

He said joyfully. Isaac's father let out a bittersweet smile looking down at his grandson. It reminded him of the time his father held Isaac for the first time.

"God..I wish father was here to see this.."

Isaac's father said. Isaac agreed and thought of his grandfather that had protected his family from every danger.

"I miss him too father.."

The baby suddenly started to cry. Isaac's mother gently rocked it before placing him back in your arms. You sooth him but he keeps crying. You look at your mil for help.

"Don't worry dear he's just hungry. I'll make him a bottle of milk you hold him okay?"

You smiled in appreciation. You fed the baby milk and he eagerly suckled on the bottle. After a few moments he was fast asleep. Isaac's parents also left you two alone for some privacy.

"I can't believe I am a father now...I mean I still feel like a child sometimes..."

"Me too.."

Isaac placed a few kisses on your lips before picking up the baby so you could rest. You layed down and looked up at your husband cradling your little baby in his arms. You truly won in life.