#stripped of your body your past and your voice is it really still you anymore?

[ramenwithbroccoli]

hey girl did it hurt? when he loved you so much he gave you immortality, but not enough to ask if you actually want it?

[themultifanshipper]

hi babes

can i request some angsty/fluffy fic with oscar and pregnant reader, where she's feeling a little down and overwhelmed with how changed is her body (like with her size or stretch marks, idk) and oscar recomforts her, saying that she's beautiful and she's doing so well..

thankyou, i love your works sm<33

Warnings: light angst, Oscar being a lil clumsy but sweet, fluff that quickly goes into smutty territory :3 (no actual smut scene though)

Also quick psa, it's very common to get depression during and after pregnancy. It's a very real disease that millions of women battle with. If you feel like you have symptoms of any description, don't keep them to yourself, talk to someone you trust about it and seek help, stay safe out there my dudes <3

This weekend had been rough for you.

Apart from all the obvious pregnancy symptoms like morning sickness, which had been really kicking your ass for the past few weeks, it was the other things that were starting to get you down.

Your body had changed, and it felt alien to you. Like it wasn't even your own anymore.

You'd spent hours staring at the stretch marks that covered your stomach, wondering if they would ever fade.

The weight you'd put on made your thighs look massive, and you could already see the signs of your breasts almost doubling in size.

You felt huge, to put it simply.

And your self confidence was in the gutter.

You'd been ignoring Oscar's worried calls and messages while he was away at the Grand Prix, choosing to turn your phone off altogether and wallow in self deprecation.

Oscar was supposed to be getting a jet back on monday night, but he was so worried about you he bought a last minute flight right after the race, to get home to you as fast as he could.

He opened the door to your shared apartment, keys jingling as his hand trembled in his hold.

“Sweetheart?” He called out, once he was finally inside.

There was no answer.

He noticed a faint light coming from the corridor, and he followed it only to realise you had left a lamp on in the bedroom and fallen asleep with the latest book you were reading still in your hand.

He melted at the sight, putting the book on the nightstand (after putting a bookmark in it, he's not a savage) and turned the lamp off before stripping and getting into bed with you, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead.

He wrapped his arms around you and held you like that, his breathing synchronised with yours until he fell asleep, exhausted from his long day of racing and travelling.

What he didn't know, was that you had been pretending to sleep. You weren't ready to talk to him about what was troubling you because you knew it was stupid and he probably wouldn't take you seriously…

The next morning Oscar woke with a start. The other side of the bed was empty which was odd, you never usually woke up this early and you always cuddled up to him in the morning, putting your perpetually cold feet against his skin to warm them up.

He listened for any activity in the apartment, the coffee machine, the tv… but not a single noise could be heard.

He slid out of bed and went looking for you.

It didn't take long to find you, curled up on the sofa, blanketless and shivering in your sleep.

Oscar whined quietly to himself, what on earth was up with you?

He put a gentle hand on your shoulder and rocked you awake.

“Baby it's 5 in the morning what are you doing on the couch? Come back to bed with me”

You just curled up tighter and hid your face from him. “No it's okay Osc I'm fine here”

He put an arm around you, trying to get you to sit up.

“You're obviously not babe, you're shaking with the cold, let's go cuddle up in bed under the-”

“Oscar I said I'm fine just leave me here!” You protested, wriggling out of his grasp.

“Don't be ridiculous you're freezing out here come on”

“Fuck off! I said I'm fine!” you snapped, and Oscar would have believed you if it weren’t for the way you're voice cracked and a tear rolled down your cheek.

He was so shocked at your outburst he froze, not quite knowing what to say as he noticed how pale you looked and how red rimmed your eyes were.

“Baby…” he put a comforting hand on your hip but you flinched away “Babe what-”

“It's nothing” you said, slightly softer, wiping your tears with the obviously already very damp sleeves of your pyjamas. “It's just the morning sickness and stuff has been really bad and I didn't want to wake you”

Oscar was entirely unconvinced but he didn't push.

“Alright, come to bed with me then, we need to get you warmed up”

You nodded, indeed feeling very cold at the moment and you let him steer you back to your bedroom.

Once you were back in bed with him, he snuggled up behind you and pulled you across the distance you had tried to put between the two of you.

“I love you” he whispered, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin.

You didn't reply, and your body was so tense it was a miracle you hadn't pulled a muscle.

After a few seconds a quiet sob wracked your frame and Oscar tightened his hold on you.

“Baby please, tell me what's wrong.” Oscar pleaded.

You sniffled and tried to get your breathing straightened out before answering.

“I just… I don't like how my body’s just- what if it doesn't- I don't want-” your breaths were coming in short as you started getting choked up again.

“Baby slow down. Deep breaths now”

You took a deep breath in.

“I’m scared”

Oscar blinked at the back of your head.

“Of what?”

You sighed.

“That my body is ruined, and that it will never be how it was before… and that you won't like it anymore”

Now that you were saying it out loud, it sounded stupid even to you, but the fear and insecurity was clawing at your insides harder than ever.

“Baby your body is changing for the better, trust me. You're making a baby inside you, that's bound to make some changes. But I love you even more because of them. I love that inside your belly there's a little human that is the result of how much I fucking love you. And I'm going to be with you every step of the way.”

You heaved in a breath “I just- I didn't know it would be this hard…”

He kissed your cheek and stroked your belly under the blanket. “I’m so sorry if I've done anything to make you think I wouldn't love your body no matter what. Your body isn't ruined, baby. You have no idea how much it drives me insane to think of you waddling around our apartment, belly full with my kid”

You turned around to face him with fresh tears in your eyes.

“I want you.” He smiled softly “I want you so fucking much you have no idea.” He kissed your forehead sweetly before pulling you into his arms, adding “I’ll always want you baby, nothing will ever change that”.

You breathed in his comforting scent as you melted into his arms.

“And if you don't believe me…”

He pressed closer to you and you felt him, half hard against your hip.

“… let me prove it to you”

One of his hands trailed down to where your ass filled out your shorts a bit more than it used to.

“This body…”

He kissed your neck, then lowered himself down to your where your nipples were visible through the material of your thin sleep shirt.

“... is a masterpiece…”

He kissed lower and lower until he got to the waistband of your shorts

“ and it's all. Fucking. Mine.”

He growled as he dipped his hand under the material and felt the wetness already gathering.

“Jesus fuck” he groaned “you're so perfect, so good for me”

You raised your hips so he could slide them off you and spread your legs, licking his lips at the sight of you in front of him, full hips and thick thighs on display for him.

Not to mention your growing belly peeking out from under your shirt.

His eyes went from brown to black at an alarming pace as he slowly lowered himself and looked up at you with a devilish smirk.

“You ready?” he purred, voice deepened by arousal.

You were on the verge of crying again, feeling so overwhelmed by the attention Oscar was giving you, but you swallowed the feeling down in favour of sliding a hand through his hair.

You tightened your grip, pulling at the roots slightly and he shivered, his eyes closing in pleasure. He let out the tiniest whimper when you did it again.

When his eyes met yours again after a few moments of him composing himself, you smiled down at him.

“Get to work”

[spacebarbarianweird]

Things We Deserve

Summary: Astarion re-lives one of the traumatic episodes of his life, and considers himself unworthy of love.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, f!tav, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse

TW: a mild description of forced prostitution

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @satanicspinosaurus for your help! I live for your commentaries on ethical issues.

It is on the same corner of the street in the Lower City. Again.

A young elf is looking for a “client”. It's not difficult — he has soft white curls, a gentle smile, the body sculptured by some elven god. A glance, two, some nice words — and there is a night of passion ahead.

A half-orc, almost twice as big as the elf, grabs his chin and studies his face as if Astarion is an inanimate object. Then orders to lift up his shirt. The client looks at him with the same expression as if he were buying a horse. 

His hand gropes the elf’s crotch, causing him to moan. 

"Works for me", the half-orc grabs a handful of silver curls with his stiff fingers. "Never fucked an elf".

Astarion obeys. This is what he is. A mere street whore.

No, go away, you don't need to do that anymore. You are free, don't let him touch you!

Astarion knows what will come next. Two half-orcs, who despise and hate elves to their guts will really enjoy having one for themselves for the whole night. 

They’ll give him pain. Disgust. Burning touches. 

"Entertain us, elf", the half-orc groans pressing the Astarion’s face into the pillow. 

Here’s a joke: the elf wants to die. Sadly, he is already dead. And that's his life now. Forever. 

Beatings. Non-consensual sex. Or consensual? Is this what he wants? He never says “no”, after all.

I want you all to burn down, Astarion thinks spreading his legs. I want you to suffer as much as I do!

The half-orcs never give him a chance to drag them to the Cazador’s mansion. They won't die. They won't suffer. They use Astarion and then leave. A small sack of silver breaks when it is thrown on the floor.

And Astarion will have to deal with his sore body and numb mind. Forcing himself to get someone else inside the brothel, knowing too well that he is already doomed for torture because he hasn’t returned on time. Even if he delivers the most innocent and beautiful virgin to Cazador, he will be punished anyway.

Flayed with a razor. What? He is a vampire. He will regenerate. 

Astarion opens his eyes and finds himself on the floor. 

Where is he?

It's not a brothel. More like an Inn?

Reality slips back into his mind, replacing the awful visions of the past.

It wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't.

He doesn't have to sell his body anymore. He doesn’t have to sleep with people he doesn't like and want. He won't be beaten for saying “no”. He even has the luxury to say “no” to Tav, the only person whose body he enjoys. 

But two hundred years of memories are too vivid. Tortures. Humiliation. Misery. Forced prostitution. He had to do the most disgusting things on his master's whims, and Astarion is afraid nothing will ever wash it away. 

The flood of darkness flushes his brain again. Astarion rises up on his knees as if in a desperate prayer.

Why him?

Why did it happen to him?

His life was stolen. His personality, his future, his past. All was brutally taken away along with his beating heart.

Leaving only pain and disgust.

Tears burn his skin. The scars hurt as if they are still fresh and bleeding. 

He was stripped away of everything. Of freedom. Of dignity. Of his own self-respect.

The person he could have become. The future he could have embraced. 

Why?

Why?!

He digs his nail deep into his skin as if trying to peel it off. He is a vampire. It will regenerate.

Touches. The smell of unwashed bodies. Movements inside him. The fake pleasure. Pain. Always — pain. Either physical or mental, but often both. 

He clenches his fists and groans like a wounded animal.

"Astarion"

A gentle voice resonates with his broken thoughts. 

“Astarion, are you with me?”

He looks up and sees Tav. She sits in front of him. Concerned face. Worried eyes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to touch him. Like he's a person.

Like he's worth something.

Like he's broken and she needs to be careful.

"Oh, hello, darling", the mask is on again. "I am sorry. I've been carried away a bit. Tell me how was your day in the sunlight."

Tav sighs. “Astarion, I returned an hour ago. And you’ve been like that all this time.”

"Darling, you could just call me over”, Astarion smiles. 

"I have done it five times."

“Oh. Then … “

“Astarion, I know when your smile is sincere and when it’s not. Don’t force yourself.”

He stops and sits back.

“May I touch you?”, she asks.

He nods. The caress sends a shiver down his spine and Astarion flinches avoiding looking at Tav.

He remembers. Again, and again. Never-ending tortures disguised as pleasures. Things he would have never done voluntarily. The dirt on his skin. The poison on his tongue.

Astarion wants to hide. He wants to disappear. He wants to run away.

Tav crawls closer to him to hold him in her hands. 

He shivers.

“Hush, I am here. Tell me what is plaguing you.”

He almost orders himself to relax. Tav is here. Tav loves him. Tav doesn’t judge. Whatever he tells her, she won’t get angry. She won’t hurt him. She won’t punish him. Tav won’t use him for sex and pleasure. It will never happen no matter what he does. 

He can run away. He can say “no”. He can fight back.

"Just a memory of a certain night in the lower town. A night of... what I usually was supposed to do. I...” the words stuck in his throat. “I am tainting you, Tav. I am ruining you.”

"Stop", Tav puts her chin on his shoulder nuzzling his collarbone. 

"I am a terrible person, Tav. I truly am. It all happened to me and I sometimes think what a terrible person I used to be if I inflicted it all upon myself.”

Instead of answering, Tav holds him tighter as if not to not allow him to drown in dark waters. 

"Do you remember anything from your past life?"

"No"

"Then why do you think you were a bad person?”

“Because — … “

He doesn’t know the answer. A corrupt magistrate who would easily ruin people’s lives. An arrogant racist who hated everyone who didn’t belong to the pure fairy kin. 

But was it true?

“Listen, Astarion. I won’t pretend I know what you were like back then. I won’t lie by saying I know why it happened to you. But everything you “know” about your past life comes from Cazador. What if it was just another of his tortures? He wanted you to believe you were a bad person. He wanted you to think you were guilty. I know that type. It’s a special pleasure for them to torture good people. He — “

“Made me a street whore.”

He spits the last word. Yes, that is what he was all these years. He can mask it all with fancy words. Conquests, lovers, seduction. When it was just abuse.

Words spill out of him.

"Sometimes I wasn’t even supposed to drag anyone to the mansion. It was more like retrieving information by doing the only thing I knew how to do well. Sometimes it was an order to pleasure someone - as a reward for them. Sometimes it was just pointless. Just one more thing to break me even more.”

"You say like you did it of your own free will", she says.

"I-"

"You did it because you were like a puppet. Because it was impossible to say “no”. The moment you set yourself free, you stopped doing that."

"And the first thing I did was seduce you!”

She cups his face and kisses his forehead. It causes another flow of tears. 

“I have my own free will, too,” she says. “Do you think I would sleep with you if I didn’t want to? I am not the person who hooks up with men in brothels and I am not the person who would enjoy a sentient trophy to fuck. It’s not normal to find people on streets and treat them like objects.”

Tav cradles him in her arms. Astarion’s muscles are still tense. He can’t do anything about that. Maybe, if Tav leaves him for a moment, he will find a way to relax but the mere thought of staying alone scares him.

She kisses him. Saying all the sweet words she knows to soothe his worries.

"I have an idea," she finally says. “Could you lie on your stomach?"

“What for?”

Tav kisses his neck.

"Please?"

He is trying to lie on the floor but Tav stops him.

“On the bed.”

He hesitates but agrees. Astarion puts his hands under his cheek. His bare back is exposed and it causes him to clench his fists again.

“I will stop if you feel uncomfortable, love. Just tell me and I will stop”

He nods. Tav saddles him with her hips and presses hands on his ribs.

“Can I touch your scars?”

“Yes.”

Tav presses arms into his skin causing a pleasant pressure. The fingers massage his back but there is nothing sexual about it. It's not a premise, not a prelude. It will lead to nothing. He won’t have to pay back.

The hands massage his back, strongly and gently. 

"You have beautiful hands”, Tav murmurs. “They can do so many things —”

Yes, he thinks darkly, bringing pleasure mostly.

“They can sew, embroider. Pick up lockers. Steal pretty things. I like watching you doing tricks with coins. Can’t take my eyes off. Speaking of which… ”

Tav touches his curls.

“You have incredible eyes. Crimson red – “

The color of blood.

“The color of wine”, Tav proceeds. “You are always vigilant, like a cat on a hunt. You notice small details and see things I don’t.”

Tav moves a bit to be able to press a kiss on the crown of his head.

“You are so smart. You know so many things.” She gently touches his right ear. “I love your ears and how they peek out of your hair. They are so adorable especially when they twitch a bit, reacting to sounds or to your jaw movements.”

She keeps talking to him, massaging his back. The words of reassurance, of love, sound like a prayer. The touches and kisses cover his skin like a healing ointment.

Astarion feels protected. Loved. 

And then it’s just too much.

He bursts into tears. Desperate, painful. Tears rip his chest apart causing pain in the throat. 

Tav stops and gets off him allowing him to lay on his back.

“Astarion… Did I hurt you?”

He wants to say something but he can’t. He cries like a child abandoned in the streets. Cries like he did many years ago when the first tortures were inflicted upon him. When he realized no one would save him. That the Gods were silent and merciless. 

“Astarion…”

All the darkness he has in his heart is spilling through the tears. They wash away the pain and disgust like rain washes dirt in the Lower City. 

With effort he pulls Tav to him pressing her to his chest. She wraps her hands around him.

“Thank you”, he mutters through tears.

They sit like that for an eternity. Astarion listens to Tav’s heartbeat and breathing. He remembers her first reaction to his stories – anger. Pure, livid anger. Anger to people who did this to him. Not only Cazador but everyone who treated him like an object. And sorrow – she mourned his past along with him. 

She is his happiness. The happiness he has never considered worthy of. He has found it with her. And he will be forever grateful for her patience and care.

“Tav?”, he whispers but she doesn’t reply. He pulls away a bit and sees she is asleep.

Astarion chuckles and helps Tav to lie on the bed beside him. He tucks her into the blanket and makes sure she lies on the dry side of the pillow (not the section damp with his tears).

And then, he begins whispering words like a prayer.

Thank you. Thank you for existing.

--

Tag List

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (16)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings (varies per chapter): best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, mention of past rape, drugs, non-com: drug use, child abuse, torture.

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 3k

← Previous Chapter (15) | Next Chapter (17) →

*****

Jungkook’s life in prison after Jimin’s death changed. Whether it was for the best or worst was up for debate. For a long time, Jungkook seemed to lose his perception of reality—no one could talk to him as he was rotting in his cell while staring into nothingness.

Fukuchi and his underdogs tried to get a rise out of Jungkook, bent on bringing him back to their little chess game. Unfortunately, Jungkook’s expression remained blank. He didn’t even blink when the prisoners poured hot water on him, leaving his skin swelling as it turned a brutal shade of red. No one could trace Jungkook’s pain despite the searing throb through his veins and blisters pricking his sensitive skin.

It didn’t end there, though. They once again stripped Jungkook off his clothing; men violated him, hoping to assert their dominance. Jungkook took it all in, impassively wiping the blood cascading down his thighs.

He was Jeon Jungkook, once the brilliant strategist of the Bighit, now reduced to being a pawn in someone else’s cruel game. But he just didn’t care anymore. Frankly, his behavior was starting to worry Fukuchi.

“We shouldn’t have killed Park Jimin.” Fukuchi voiced. His jaw ticked as he disapprovingly furrowed his brow at Jang Min.

It was the middle of the night. Visiting hours had long passed, but Jang Min bribed the prison guards to let him in. Jang Min rarely visited Fukuchi, as he was in France or Russia most of the time. However, Fukuchi requested his company, as he didn’t know what to do now that streamlining drugs in Incheon came to a halt. Jungkook, a chess piece (the King), was having a tantrum over his dead pal.

What a baby.

“Park Jimin is a knight,” Jang Min replied, dragging the words out of his mouth; it was painfully slow—as if this matter was not of the essence. Jang Min even refused to say more, acting as if Fukuchi were perceptive enough to know what he meant.

True enough, Fukuchi was a scheming bastard, too. He looked deep into Jang Min’s eyes, able to pick up the words behind the slight quirk of his upper lip.

Knight aimed to protect. Jimin could drag the King back to light, and Jang Min couldn’t have someone as genius as Jungkook escape his grip when the kingdom had yet to be stabilized. Besides, Jimin had a loud mouth. Fukuchi and the others were lucky Jimin had reported the drug scheme to the wrong officer. Otherwise, they probably had to act more discreetly, or worse, stop their operation for quite some time.

“Well, I’m running out of ideas to make Jungkook move, so what’s your plan?” Fukuchi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He knew Jang Min was always one—perhaps two—steps ahead of everyone. He wouldn’t dare kill Jungkook’s friend if he knew Jimin was their only ace.

This was proven correct when Jang Min smirked as he picked up his teacup and slowly sipped from it. Chamomile tea soothed his body. “We still have the queen.”

The Queen—also known as the most powerful chess piece. Thinking about it lit a light bulb inside Fukuchi’s head, the image of Jungkook frantically writing letters flashed in his mind.

“You really believe that person is more important to Jungkook than Park Jimin?”

Jang Min didn’t answer right away, but a thoughtful smirk taint his lips. He sipped his tea once again, and then:

“It’s not a matter of who’s more important.” Jang Min toyed with a Polaroid picture in his hand, causing Fukuchi’s eyes to flicker there. “They both are. But the knight is held in a higher regard,” knights protected the kingdom from being breached. “Because if you think about the Queen—”

Jang Min pressed the photo against the table, slowly pushing it against Fukuchi’s side. “—you think about your equal. You think about partnership.”

Jungkook will destroy himself for Jimin’s sake, but he’d be willing to fix himself to be on par with you.

You had kept yourself grounded—something Jungkook couldn’t do at the moment. Jang Min was going to use this to manipulate Jungkook. This was clear when he showed Fukuchi the Polaroid picture.

“This is Jungkook’s queen?” Fukuchi couldn’t keep his eyes off your photo. “Huh. She’s pretty.”

Jang Min indulged in your beauty, too. He licked his lips. “Indeed, she is.”

The plan was to use you as bait, but Jang Min thought he would lose nothing if he played with Jungkook’s queen, too. And perhaps, along the way, he could gather more information from you that he could use against Jungkook. It was not a poor plan at all.

“Show Jeon Jungkook the photo and you will watch him crawl right back to our chessboard.”

“We’ll see about that.”

After his conversation with Jang Min, Fukuchi did what he was told to. He went back to his cell and saw Jungkook still rotting in the corner. No words left Jungkook’s mouth no matter how many times Fukuchi had provoked him. Jungkook only looked up when Fukuchi threw the Polaroid photo on his face.

“You know this woman, don’t you?”

Jungkook was looking intently at your picture. His heart skipped a beat. Fukuchi tested the waters.

“She’s receiving your letters. That’s what you want, right?”

Jungkook engraved the photo in his mind: you were standing outside an unfamiliar mansion while holding the envelope that looked familiar—it was like the one where he heartily inserted the carefully crafted mail for you.

“She’s living the best of her life, Jungkook-ssi. I suggest you pull your shit together and see her soon.”

Jungkook’s head snapped up to meet Fukuchi’s gaze. His lips parted, but no words came out. Fukuchi did not mind getting no verbal response, for he knew Jang Min’s plan had worked. It was clear by the shine in Jungkook’s eyes.

He was back in the game.

****

Few years later, Jungkook realized he was still in the chess game, even though he'd been out of jail for a while. He looked at you sitting uncomfortably beside him; you couldn’t stop shifting and fidgeting, worry was clouding your head. 

You demanded for Jungkook to explain what he meant by Soobin being in danger. A hint of threat tinged your tone when you said Jungkook better not be joking.

Jungkook liked to keep things light, even when everything around him was spiraling into chaos. But this was different; he would never joke about Soobin’s safety. He loved that boy to death, and so he promised you that he would explain everything he knew about Jang Min after you both got Soobin back.

As your drove to pick up your son, tension coiled in your chest. You had no clue what the fuss was all about, but your time with Jang Min had been wonderful, despite the recent strain in your relationship. Trust had been the foundation of your bond, a rarity in your life. You felt comfortable around Jang Min; the man had a way of making you feel seen and understood.

But now? You shook your head, confusion swirling in your mind. You picked up Soobin without a hiccup, and Jang Min acted as he always did—warm. He smiled sweetly as he carefully placed the sleeping Soobin in your arms. The boy’s soft weight calmed your nerves.

Jang Min even kissed the boy’s cheek and said he wouldn’t mind babysitting again.

You felt a moment of relief, but beneath that, your heart ached for Jang Min, and the resentment toward Jungkook simmered just below the surface, intensifying with each passing moment. Jungkook had betrayed you before; Jang Min had not. What basis did Jungkook have for accusing Jang Min of harming Soobin?

But the weight of Jungkook’s words lingered in the back of your mind, heavy and unyielding. Jungkook knew it was going to hurt you, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He told you everything he knew about Jang Min’s schemes, and with each revelation, you felt a sickening churn in your stomach. 

The sensation was sharp, as if you were being physically pricked by a cold, cruel truth. Jang Min had used you to manipulate Jungkook back into a life of drugs. Your heart shattered when you realized that you weren't truly loved, and that was only part of the pain.

The most painful of all was the betrayal.

How could you have been so naïve? How could you have trusted the wrong person again? Were you a fucking imbecile? Were you truly that easy to fool!?

You gasped, the air growing thick around you.

Jungkook called your name and extended his hand, wanting to reach out to you, but his gesture faltered. He retracted his hand, clenching it into a fist instead.

He knew you needed space. The information was too much to bear. People you had trusted deeply had betrayed you.

And you weren’t the only one suffering. Soobin could be in danger, too. Jungkook’s fear for his son gripped him tightly, pushing him to convince you to have Soobin’s overall health checked. You two brought your son to Dr. Yosano’s clinic, your old college friend who had become a prominent toxicologist.

An hour felt like an eternity as you two anxiously waited in the clinic, the ticking clock echoing your growing dread. You couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something had gone wrong.

“Hey.” 

The gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you back to reality. Dr. Yosano stood there, her expression solemn. Startled, you felt Jungkook rub reassuring circles on your back, grounding you at the moment. Jungkook couldn’t hold back anymore. He didn’t want you to think you were alone.

“The results are out.” Yosano’s voice was low, heavy with unspoken emotions. She held the paper results, her hands shaking slightly as she fought to maintain her composure. 

“It came out positive,” Yosano whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Soobin’s body was pumped with drugs.”

“No.” You shook your head. A forced chuckle escaped your lips.

It was fascinating, really. Your initial reaction was to deny the truth served on a cold plate, yet your mind had already played scenarios that best justified the doctor’s diagnosis.

Soobin liked sleeping a lot. People called him a good boy—you also thought your son was well-behaved as he never threw a tantrum, and would obediently follow you.

But as it turned out, Soobin’s behavior was just the effect of the dead apple drug. That was the reason why he liked staying with Jang Min, and why he seemed to always sleep every time he was with that Russian monster.

You even got mad when Soobin cried in your office before. You unconsciously screamed at your son for acting difficult. Little did you know, that was the real Soobin. Your son wasn’t given drugs when Jungkook was taking care of him, so he wasn’t all groggy. And Jang Min, that fucker, dared to blame Jungkook for indulging Soobin with his brattiness, when in reality, Jang Min was the one who stripped Soobin of being a happy, healthy child.

Your blood boiled. Your fury burned when Yosano added that Soobin had been pumped with drugs for some time now, causing his lungs to turn weak.

“I’m going to kill him—!!” Hot tears fell down your hand. They were flowing rapidly, an indication of your blinding and scalding rage. You picked up the sharpest medical tool Dr. Yosano had, ready to stab Jang Min to death.

The doctor backed off but didn’t dare stop you. However, Jungkook couldn’t let you charge to a suicide mission.

Jang Min was a dangerous man.

“Wait!” Jungkook seized your wrist, but you struggled as you tightened your hold on Yosano’s scalpel.

“I’m going to kill that son of a fucking bitch!” Unfiltered profanities left your lips, though you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The scalpel cut through your skin because of how hard you were gripping it. It was enough to draw your blood.

You didn’t feel the pain. Your heart only bled for your drugged son. You felt helpless and sick. This was on you. You were the reason why your precious son was suffering.

Fuck.

“Please.” Jungkook was hurting as much as you were. He pulled you into his embrace, hoping to draw even a fraction of your warmth. He felt cold, not that different from a corpse, because really, how could he not be a dead man when his child had been harmed?

“Don’t come near Jang Min. You can’t.”

You let out a strangled noise. You sounded like a trap animal, and in essence, you were caged. Jungkook was holding you tightly, and you couldn’t do anything to slay your enemy, not when your resolve melted as the love of your life grabbed your hand, forcing it hand open.

No matter how hard you struggled, Jungkook struggled even harder until you were forced to let go of the scalpel. The tool fell on the floor, exposing your bare, bleeding hand.

“I’m going to kill him,” you repeated over and over.

But Jungkook shook his head. He pulled your hand closer to his face, gently rubbing his cheek there until the blood stained his cheek.

“Shh,” Jungkook kissed your hand. He stared deep into your eyes, his brown eyes caressing your soul. “Let me do it for you.”

Jungkook licked your hand, freeing it from the metallic smell of blood. “Please. Let me kill him for you. You can’t go. Soobin needs you.”

You sobbed, still feeling tears cascading down your cheeks.

“Please. Do you trust me?”

No. You wanted to say. You betrayed me before. You hurt me. But you shook your head, refusing to give in to your vile thoughts.

Jungkook had changed. Even if he didn’t, you were not Soobin. Jungkook might not be a good best friend or lover, but he was a good father.

“Yes.” So you set aside your personal feelings, opting to trust Jungkook this time.

“Okay,” Jungkook swallowed thickly. He kissed your hand again before cupping your cheeks and kissing your lips.

You stared at each other.

I love you.

I hate you.

I trust you.

I don’t.

Kill him.

I will.

Take care of Soobin.

See you.

Goodbye.

I love you.

Goodbye.

The unspoken words remained at the tip of your tongues until all that was left was your lingering stare on the path where you saw Jungkook retreating.

****

Jungkook drove your car. He didn’t think. He just drove. The blood colored his cheek, not bothering to wipe it off: he was going to war with your burning rage and love.

“Checkmate, huh?” A memory from Jungkook’s past suddenly flickered in his mind while driving. Perhaps it was because right now, he looked exactly like his past self, bloodied and hopeless. The difference was that before, he had just survived the great war. 

“Checkmate, indeed,” Jungkook remembered replying to the stranger—a man who was inside his car. His thick Russian accent was evident. Jungkook couldn’t see the upper part of his face as it was covered with ushanka.

“You built an empire in Incheon. What’s stopping you from going into Alexander the Great mode?”

This memory was from the time Jungkook was just released from prison. He wasn’t given transportation money by the prison officers as someone had signed his papers, saying they will give Jungkook a ride back to the community.

Jungkook went out of prison to see who this generous man proposing to be his driver could be. Now that he knew, he was sure not to ride with him.

“Fukuchi said you call us rats,” Jungkook raised his brow. “How can a rat be a king?”

The strange man smiled lazily at Jungkook. He removed his ushanka and handed it to Jungkook.

“Well, if you changed your mind, you know my name.” He started the car’s engine. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other eventually.”

Jungkook clutched the ushanka. Stitched on the inside of the hat was the stranger’s name:

Jang Min // Fyodor Dostoevsky.

It was a grand gesture, as not everyone had the privilege of knowing who the real king was. Dostoevsky was letting Jungkook know he was welcome to join the game any time.

Jang Min wasn’t even pushy about it. The first time Jungkook saw him was also the last. He didn’t pressure Jungkook after his release from prison. After all, Jang Min’s goal was to stabilize the streamline of drugs in Incheon prison. The business was now prospering despite Jungkook’s release. Fukuchi was there to keep it together.

Jungkook was a free man—aside from the surprise visits from Lee Sung. It was a different issue altogether. The drugs were supplied, but debts weren’t paid.

Jungkook worked hard to pay his loans, and he thought he could start over again now that he was getting his life back together.

But he thought wrong. Jang Min didn’t pressure him all this time because he knew, sooner or later, he would see Jungkook again.

His statement back then wasn’t a conjecture. It was a promise, and boy was Jang Min right.

Jungkook hopped off your car and went straight to Jang Min’s house. He didn’t even have to knock. The door opened for him.

“Hello, Jungkook-ssi.” There was a new ushanka on top of Jang Min’s head. He opened the door wider. “Long time no see. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Jungkook stepped inside. He smiled at Jang Min. The dried blood on his cheek made him appear creepy.

“Aw. You wound me,” a pout. “Didn’t you tell me before you had a feeling you would see me, eventually? Guess what? I’m here now.”

Jang Min hummed thoughtfully, liking where their conversation was going. “Why? You tired of the sewage, rat?”

Instead of a direct reply, Jungkook raised his hand and made a gesture akin to a cat raising its paw. And then he said, “Meow.”

With that, soft laughter escaped Jang Min’s lips, clearly entertained by Jungkook’s blatant display of challenge. He took a step closer to Jungkook, hovering over him as if to show where he truly belonged.

“Well then, let’s have the kitty cat neutered first.” Before Jungkook could move, Jang Min had already stabbed him with a syringe, injecting his body with drugs enough to turn his body weak.

“Welcome back home, Jungkook-ssi. I’m sure the cell in Seoul would love to have you around.”

****

A/N: I updated now because I will be crazy busy again next week.

So!!! Let's talk about this chapter. I was rereading the first few chapters of Baggage earlier, and I was like...why does Soobin keep on sleeping? My answer is because I didn't really know how to keep OC's conversations with the adults with Soobin around (you know how parents are. They can't really focus when their babies are around!) I thought it's boring, though, so I thought...why not let the small detail of Soobin sleeping turn into something big? Hence this chapter! Thanks also to that one moot who was curious on how OC handles Soobin when throwing a tantrum--I guess that's when I had the idea of Jang Min drugging our poor baby :((

Anyway, what do we think about this update? comments are highly appreciated! 🥰

[jvkeh]

embarrassing things enhypen did during sex

⤷ c.w brief smut mentioned | enhypen legal line x reader | © jvkeh

# heeseung

after what felt like eternity, he got up from the bench, ready to accompany you into the shower and give you the fuck of a lifetime. you both were stripped down to nothing, the tension only amplifying the further you went without sexual interaction. and as he attempted to corner you into a corner and place a hand behind the wall, he realises there’s no grip when everything’s wet and his balance is thrown off. suddenly, heeseung is suddenly feeling his bare ass making contact with the floor and making him screech at the loud impact. he ended up having to limp out of the shower with your assistance, with a bright red imprint on his butt and a bruised ego that made him never want to attempt shower sex ever again. the only thing that came good out of it, is your pure laughter, but he makes a mental note to check you in with a psychiatric, as he’s concerned about your sense of humour.

# jay

he was hitting from the back at a strong pace, opening his mouth to let out what was expecting to be a loud groan at the sound of your pussy clenching on his cock, before a burp exits his mouth. you both pause momentarily, letting the volume and randomness of his burp take hold of your mind before his dick reminds you it’s still inside your cunt. you were torn between wanting to cum and wanting to leave the bed because he ruined the fast paced steamy atmosphere and now the air is beginning to smell like rotten eggs and cheese. “jay, this is really not appealing to me.” you broke the tension as you turned to look at jay, seeing him shrug. “don’t worry baby.” he replies, the egg and cheese radiating off his voice and making you scrunch your nose up in disgust as he leaned over and kissed you, the scent reminiscing on your body now. “it’s the beauty of life.” it be more beautiful if he brushed his teeth.

# jake

you were riding his thigh, as he laid back into the couch, eyes closed and his abs unclenched. it’s been like this for the past ten minutes, and while you were struggling to reach the end purely on your own, you were confused to why jake’s thigh wasn’t tensed. there was wet marks imprinted on his trackpants, yet he wasn’t reacting the way you wanted. pausing, you waited for him to say something, before realising he was softly snoring. he fell asleep. “jake!” you shouted, angry at the fact he completely abandoned your problem in favour of some zs, and he shook under the sound of your voice, eyes flying open as his hands begin to find his way back onto your waist. “oh yeah babe keep goin-” he tries to resume with a sleepy voice, until jake makes eye contact with your not impressed face, and then the both of you broke out in laughter. (you gave him a earful after that)

# sunghoon

“look, it came out accidentally. like, no person with common sense would do that intentionally.” sunghoon tries to reason with you as you looked at him in disbelief. “don’t water down the problem, hoon. i know what i heard.” you rolled your eyes, pulling your underwear back up, not wanting to continue with your ministrations now he did it. “i’m not having sex with you until you stop this issue. because it happened more than once!” and sunghoon can only slap his face in annoyance, frustrated to why it happened again when he made a promise to you not to do it anymore. you see the dejected look on his face, and only sighed before placing an arm on his shoulder. “look, love, i know you’re frustrated. but it’s hard to actually cum myself when you moan out your own name when you climax.”

taglist: @duolingofanaccount @enhacolor

[demonskiss]

how would they react to a very sleepy darling? like if you just constantly fell asleep everywhere

- 🪽

too much sleep

cw: noncon, somno, creampie, cnc, oral (reader receiving), fingering

WARNING: VIOLETTA’S SECTION IS COMPLETELY PLATONIC

written by a minor, dni if uncomfortable

falling asleep in front of emory is one of the worst things you can do to yourself. they think you’re absolutely foolish for it, even if you can’t control it. and they’d be right, when they snake their hand further up your thigh, a emitting a quiet, but malicious laugh. you’ll be stripped naked by their deft hands, fucked silly on their cock, and they don’t even care if you wake up, in fact, they want you to wake up. they’ll make sure to time your awakenings to when they cum inside you, grinning when they see your horrified expression, and if you don’t wake up? oh well, they’ll make sure to leave a rude awakening for you, covered with dried cum on your violated body. you should really find better locations to sleep yknow?

blythe is taken aback at your sleeping form. yes, the urges tell him to ravage your body, to wake you up in the throughs of passion. but they couldn’t do that to you, not when you are so vulnerable. he brings this up to you the next time you’re awake, and when you tell him that it’s okay, he can touch your body, they can take you in your sleep and you don’t mind if you get waken up, this changes him completely, and every night, you’re awakened to him groping your body with passion in his grey blue eyes. he mumbles a half hearted apology, squeezing the meat of your thighs before diving back down between your legs once more. you’re afraid you won’t have much time to sleep anymore, they’re completely insatiable.

violetta drops her pencil on the ground when she feels your head drop to her shoulder. she can’t help but blush, her muse, her closest friend is so close to her! she can see every small detail on your lovely face, and she’s amazed every single time. she can’t wake you, there’s no way she can when you’re sleeping so soundly right next to her. a prepared artist always has more than one pencil, and she sketches your lovely features, snarling at anyone who dares try to disturb your slumber. she simply laughs it off when you’re embarrassed about falling asleep on her, it just means you trust her after all! and that’s super important between friends!

ambrose sees this daily, when he was hidden when you first moved in, to now, when you’re fully aware of him and his peculiar mannerisms. but he still cannot get over how stunning you look, the way your chest rises and falls like a steady beat, the way your face looks so calm and still, reminding the man of his body back when he died. he can’t control himself, grazing your body with the pads of his freezing fingers, slipping his hands past your clothes, watching you moan softly in your sleep. it gets him so aroused hearing your sweet voice, egging him to slip his fingers down to between your legs, coaxing his fingers further into your hole. he then takes out his fingers, and quickly removes his spectral clothing, pushing himself where he truly belongs. and he wraps his arms around your warmer body, thrusting slowly and shallowly, taking his time. he’s truly sweet, and he’ll make sure he won’t wake you up, even though you’re half freezing to death because of him.

you cannot expect to send me this and me to not write somno? enjoy the food my pretties >:3

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Your stories are so good OMG 🥹🥹

I have an idea, I’m so obsessed nis with 98-99 James, he’s just soooo fine… anyway, maybe he and reader got married a year before that and she’s super calm and always chilled so she’s good for his anger, emotions, and he loves coming home to her waiting with a meal; basically he really enjoys being the husband, the drinking went down, no strippers, etc. but the guys in band start joking that she put him on a leash, and he kinda used to be a “wolf” type, but she turned him into a domesticated puppy? And he’s pissed off, so typically he tries to prove that he’s still “got it” : he starts to come home late, getting drunk, strip clubs, etc. She can’t understand the sudden change in attitude, so she wants answers. But James goes like “that’s the real me, you don’t like it - door is that way, I can get another wife easy”. She moves out, as she’s done tolerating this behavior, but in a couple of weeks he’s begging her for forgiveness? He hates coming to an empty house, it reminds him of how lonely he is outside the band, he can’t confine in anyone and he basically had a fight with Lars because she’s not there anymore to calm him down????

Thank you, I hope you like this❤

Come back

I always waited for him after a concert. It was our little ritual—me, the quiet of our home, and  dinner warming on the stove. When James walked through the door tonight, looking exhausted but satisfied, I felt that familiar warmth in my chest. His concerts always took so much out of him, but he seemed at peace once he was home. With me.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice hoarse as he wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips brushing my neck. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I replied softly, leaning back into him. "Dinner’s ready."

Instead of eating right away, we ended up on the couch. His body relaxed as he held me close, his fingers trailing lazily across my skin. He didn’t need to say much—his silence spoke of the comfort he found in moments like these, just the two of us.

But that peace didn’t last.

James Hetfield pov

The concert had just ended, and the crowd's cheers still echoed in my ears as I made my way backstage. I was buzzing from the adrenaline, ready to go home to the warmth of my girlfriend.

Before I could reach my dressing room, Lars intercepted me, leaning against the wall with that casual grin.

“Hey, man, you want to hit the bar tonight?” he asked.

“No, I’m not feeling it,” I replied, trying to brush past him.

“Come on! You’ve changed since you got with her. It’s like she put you on a leash and you became a domesticated puppy.”

“That's not true!” I snapped, irritation flaring. “I didn’t change for her.”

“Really? You used to be wild. Now you act like you have some kind of responsibility,” he shot back.

“I’m still me! Just because I don’t want to go out every night doesn’t mean I’ve changed,” I argued.

“Fine. But it feels like you’ve lost yourself. Just think about it, okay?” he said, frustration evident in his tone.

I sighed, knowing he had a point, but I wasn’t ready to admit it. I pushed past him and stepped out into the night, his words lingering in my mind.

---

A few days later, he started coming home late. The first time, I didn’t think much of it. He was out with the guys after the show, I guessed. But it became a pattern, and the dinners I made were left cold on the stove. The quiet of our home stretched on, longer and emptier each night. He hardly said a word about it, and when I tried to ask, his responses were clipped and distant.

"Something wrong, James?" I asked one night as he walked through the door, later than ever, reeking of alcohol.

"Nothin’," he muttered, brushing past me.

I could feel it—the distance growing, the warmth fading. The man who once rushed home to me after every show now barely seemed to notice I was there. 

But I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.

---

It all came crashing down one night when I confronted him. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it so clearly wasn’t.

“James,” I started, my voice shaking as he came home late again, looking like a stranger. “What’s going on? You’ve been different for weeks now. You don’t talk to me anymore. You come home drunk, and I’m left here wondering what I did wrong.”

He didn’t even look at me. “Nothin’s going on.”

“Don’t lie to me, James,” I said, my frustration boiling over. “This isn’t you. I don’t understand why you’re acting like this—why won’t you talk to me?”

Suddenly, he snapped. His eyes, cold and angry, finally met mine. “This is the real me. The guy who used to go out, drink, live his life. You don’t like it? There’s the door.”

I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t need you telling me what to do,” he growled, his voice low and harsh. “I can get another wife if this one doesn’t like who I am.”

Tears burned in my eyes. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. The man who once couldn’t wait to come home to me was now telling me I could leave. “If that’s how you really feel,” I whispered, my heart breaking, “then I’ll go.”

I packed my things that night, my hands trembling as I gathered the life we had built together into a couple of bags. It hurt like hell, but I wasn’t going to stay where I wasn’t wanted.

---

Weeks passed, and the silence in my new apartment was heavy, but it felt better than the cold indifference I had left behind. I was trying to move on, trying to piece myself back together. But the hole in my chest—the one shaped like him—was still there, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

One night, there was a knock on the door. When I opened it, there he was.

James.

He looked like a wreck, his eyes hollow, his face unshaven, and his body tense. I hadn’t seen him like this before—so vulnerable, so broken.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his voice shaking. “I messed up. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, but I can’t do this without you. The house is empty, and I hate coming home to it. I hate not holding you, not hearing your voice. I’ve been miserable without you.”

 He stepped closer, and I felt my heart race. “I’ve been so damn lonely,” he continued, his voice raw with emotion. “I hated waking up in that house without you. Every time I walked in, it felt like a punch to the gut. I even got into a fight with Lars ‘cause I couldn’t calm down. You’re the only one who ever knew how to do that.”

His eyes were red, and I reached out, cradling his face in my hands, brushing away the tears that had pooled in his eyes. “You don’t have to feel this way,” I whispered, my heart aching for him. “You’re not alone.”

He leaned into my touch, his breathing shaky. “I miss you. I miss us. I need you. I was an idiot, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but please… please come home.”

My heart ached at the sight of him, but the pain he’d caused still lingered. I missed him. I missed the life we had together. But I couldn’t just forget everything.

“I’ll come home,” I finally said, watching the relief wash over his face. “But things have to change, James. You can’t shut me out like that again.”

He nodded, his eyes glistening. “I know I messed up, and I can’t tell you how much I regret it. But I need you to understand that being without you feels like an emptiness I can’t bear.”

I stepped aside, letting him in, and as his arms wrapped around me once more, I felt the familiar warmth return. The healing would take time, but in that moment, I knew we’d find our way back.

[sumeruin]

♫♪: minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable!!

♫♪: pairing: pantalone x secretary! reader

♫♪: warnings: written by a minor, noncon/dubcon, was written to be yandere but could be read without, power imbalance, pet play, lots and lots of cum play, like seriously this is mostly cum play read at your own risk, collaring (but not the actual proper kind), slight blackmail, humiliation, brief exhibitionism, lingerie, i think that’s it, but if i missed anything please let me know!!

♫♪: a/n: part two to this drabble from a while ago!!

♫♪: minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable!!

this is absolutely humiliating.

you thought you’d be able to handle it, a 10% raise on top of your already obscenely high salary for a secretary would give you enough money to move out of your apartment and get a house, maybe even in one of the nicer parts of snezhnaya, and you figured he’d be at least a little bit nicer since you were cooperative.

oh how wrong you were.

you hadn’t realized how much pantalone would enjoy prolonging your torment. every morning when you get to work ever since you agreed to the uniform change, he’s made you strip out of all your clothes, (in front of him, of course, because, as he so eloquently put it, your body already belongs to him, of course he’d want to watch his property change.) put on the skimpiest, most humiliating lingerie, kneel in front of him while he attaches your leash to your collar, and sit perfectly still while he cums all over your face, multiple times, usually, unless he’s feeling particularly merciful.

he never lets you take off the collar, either. not that you could if he did, there’s a lock on it and you watched him destroy the only key after he placed it on you. today, he seems to be feeling especially cruel, the lingerie he picked out for you is much more revealing than usual, and he decided to cum on your face three times this morning, forcing you to wear a huge amount of his release for the entire day. he chose a set today, with dark blue, see through lace over the entire thing and some leather straps that dig uncomfortably into your skin.

the worst part, though, is definitely the panties. even ignoring the fact that they’re completely see through, only covered by very thin lace, they’re crotchless, and pantalone has taken to randomly pressing this buzzing device he got from fontaine against your clit when you’re walking past him. well, he doesn’t let you walk anymore, good pets only crawl, but you don’t really have any room to protest.

today, he seems to be enjoying humiliating you a little more than usual, he’s been making you kneel on the ground next to his desk with your legs spread for the last two hours, giving anyone who opens the door a perfect view of just how depraved he’s made you look. and oh, do people open the door. he’s been ordering anyone who he has superiority over to come to his office. he even made all his recruits do their reports in his office instead of at the training ground like usual, just so that he can torment you even more. you’re just grateful he at least gave you the mercy of a cushion to kneel on, your knees definitely wouldn’t have been able to take kneeling on his hardwood floors for this long.

you’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts by pantalone’s voice, dripping with amusement and condescension and oh so mocking. he gives your leash a little tug as he speaks, effectively pulling you closer to him by the neck, and once you take the hint and crawl over to him, he grips your chin, chuckling quietly to himself at your appearance as he tilts your head side to side, thoroughly examining you. “well, my dear, how do you like your uniform? i can’t imagine that much cum is comfortable to wear on your face, especially when it’s dried like this…”

you know better than to agree with him, he’s baiting you, trying to get you to complain about your uniform so that he has an excuse to punish you. you fell for it the first couple times, but you’re slowly learning his manipulative ways. your voice rings out, so sweet and clear, knowing that he can’t stand it when you mumble. “it’s not an issue, sir.”

pantalone raises an eyebrow, smirking at you as he coos softly, his hand that isn’t holding your chin moving to stroke your hair. “aw, is that so? do you enjoy wearing my cum on your face, my dear?”

you pause a little at that. it’s obviously a trick question, your only options are to tell him that you don’t and risk being punished, or tell him that you do and risk him trying to make things worse for you. you only have one option, really, you can’t take another one of his punishments, so you speak, swallowing a little bit as embarrassment floods your body. “yes, sir, i enjoy it.”

he gets this gleam in his eyes, and you feel dread slowly clawing it’s way up your spine. he only ever looks like that when he’s planning something terrible.

“that’s good to know, darling… if you enjoy it so much, why don’t i give you more then?” he pauses, letting out a small laugh as he sees the mess he’s already made of your face. “though, i’m afraid there isn’t much room on your face… ah, i know, why don’t you tell me where you want more of my cum, dear? you surely must have a few ideas, since you enjoy it so.” he tilts his head to the side, giving you that he always does when he knows he’s won.

you gulp, thinking for a minute before you settle on your hands. it’s not like you use them for much at work anyways, and it’s a much better option than anything else. “u-um… i’d like your cum on my hands, please, sir.” you pray he can’t tell how reluctant you are as you speak, trying your hardest to mask the dread in your voice.

pantalone gives you a mocking smile, his voice so condescending when he speaks, talking down to you like a dog. “oh? you’d like to have my cum on your hands, would you? i suppose that would work… though you’ll have to clean up any mess you make, of course.” he gives your leash another tug, pulling you in between his legs as he slowly pulls his cock out. “now, pet, cup your hands underneath the tip. and why don’t you give it a kiss, hm?”

you reluctantly oblige, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his hard cock, cringing just barely when his precum coats your lips. luckily for you, he doesn’t seem to notice your slip up, too busy loosing himself in the feel of your soft lips on such a sensitive area. he sighs with pleasure, one of his hands tangling itself in your hair as he brings his other one down to stroke his cock, keeping his eyes locked on you the entire time. he’s quickly approaching his peak, and he speaks just before he cums. “beg me for it. beg me to cum on you, pet.”

you feel your humiliation and shame rising yet again, but you know you have no choice when his grip in your hair tightens ever so slightly. you take a deep breath, and then you speak, begging him so obediently, making sure you put some faux enthusiasm into your voice. “please, sir, please cum on me, i w-want it so badly, i n-need your cum, please, sir!”

with a loud, and as much as you hate to admit it? pretty sounding moan, pantalone finally cums. though, only some of it ends up in your cupped hands, most of it shoots out uncontrollably and coats your chest and stomach, the warm liquid covering you thoroughly as you cringe internally at the feeling. he sighs, leaning back in his chair as he grips your leash once again, his hand falling from your hair as he puts his cock away.

he pulls your leash taut, lifting up your body by your neck as he forces you to stand in front of him, his head getting closer to your ear as he leans in, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he speaks words that only serve to make your embarrassment worse, proving that you weren’t fooling him one bit with your little act.

“thank you for humoring me, dear. i know how unenjoyable you find the feeling of my cum.”

♫♪: tags: @mirangel, @drooluwu

[secretwhumplair]

Their Majesty

1,142 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Elgar waits)

Content | Painful healing, emotionally painful etiquette

Notes | Everybody bow for Ozriel! They're here to patch their little brother back together.

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations

Please come in. Please come in. Please come in.

Orafin’s heart was in his throat, but it wasn’t in fear like it had always been in the past horrible months. His sibling was here. They were right outside. He had no doubt they would rush to him as quickly as courtesy allowed, but Ozriel was very good at keeping their regal appearances. He admired that, but he still couldn’t help wishing for them to come running. He couldn’t even think of what all might hold them up, despite having gone through the same training, so overwhelming was his desire.

And it was mere moments before they entered, passing Elgar who had led them.

They were so very good at holding themself together. Even having known them all his life, he barely saw the twitch when they paused for a moment, stone-faced, to compose themself. They looked… exhausted. Older, too.

He bowed to them as best as his position allowed. They were Crown, now.

»Your Highness.« There was the slightest scratch underneath their voice, and when they came to sit beside him, he saw the tears they couldn’t cry sparkling in their eyes. »You’re injured, let me take care of that first.«

He nodded, blinking back tears of his own. They were here, and yet they had to stay dignified.

»Medic.«

The medic rushed forward so fast they almost tripped, kneeling down by their side.

»You others are dismissed.«

Tarrev and the attandants who had snuck in with them bowed out, and Elgar was about to follow them when Orafin reached out a hand to him. It was selfish, perhaps, when Elgar was so uncomfortable, but he wanted him by his side for this—and also for him to see Orziel as the force for good they would be in his life.

Orziel looked over, not even asking any questions. »Stay,« they commanded in Teeradian. Orafin was glad Elgar got to hear his country’s language; it might reassure him a little.

Upon their order, he crept back into his place at Orafin’s other side.

Orafin took his hand, and gave Ozriel the other so that they could connect to his body. They didn’t really need it anymore, but it would help, and Orafin was glad for an excuse to look for comfort. This would hurt—the whole pain of weeks of healing, compressed into one short song.

The medic handed him a strip of thick leather, their eyes regretful. »Bite down on this.«

Ozriel looked at him. »I’ll start with the legs, and then you’ll tell me what else is hurting.«

Only when he nodded did they close their eyes, and start to sing.

They had a lovely voice, but unfortunately, Orafin didn’t get to enjoy it in the least. It took all he had to keep his teeth clamped down on the leather, keep his screams somewhat muffled. If he had thought having them broken in the first place, jostled, and once or twice, when their master felt particularly cruel, kicked had been bad, it was nothing to what he was feeling now. Every thought was drowned out in agony fierce enough to radiate into his entire body. It engulfed him, his bones were molten glass, it would never end-

It ended. Of course it did, and with a suddenness his mind could not comprehend. He just lay there, shivering and sobbing, and only slowly came back into the real world to notice he was crushing the fingers of both his companions. He carefully loosened his grip.

The pain in his legs was gone, all of it. Well, if he paid close attention, he could tell the bruises were still there, but that was nothing next to the pain the broken bones had caused him.

He smiled up at Ozriel, working himself back into a sit. They returned the smile, although it didn’t reach their eyes. Orafin couldn’t blame them, given what they’d just witnessed, and actually caused.

Then he looked over to Elgar, and realized his expression was worse.

His eyes were wide and horrified and fixed on his legs. He had probably never seen, or rather heard, the black art in action before—it had never occurred to Orafin, having known it his whole life, but he knew it wasn’t widespread outside of Ochuria.

He could understand that the way it felt inside the body, the way it tugged at the blood of anyone close enough to hear it, might be unsettling to someone unused to it.

He gently squeezed Elgar’s hand.

Elgar flinched.

Outright shock washed through Orafin. No. This wasn’t right. He had known Elgar was anxious, but this was their shared comfort, their quiet little language of mututal care.

He almost burst into tears before Elgar finally returned the squeeze, his eyes cast down.

Orafin swallowed. With Orziel here, he would be able to tell Elgar a bunch of things in private, and he hoped he could finally put his worries to rest. But for now, the medic needed to supervise his healing. Already they were examining his legs, clearly uncomfortable with scrutinizing their crown’s work like this.

They nodded, relieved. »Excellent, your Majesty.«

»What else do you need healed, your Highness?« Ozriel’s voice was softer than the formal words.

They couldn’t regrow an entire organ, Orafin knew perfectly well. He’d known all along, but now, so close to them, the thought still crossed his mind as if he was eight years old again, convinced his eldest sibling could do anything.

Instead of his mouth, Orafin indicated his back, and Ozriel themself helped him pull off the simple tunic he had been given in place of the rags he had arrived in. He heard them gasp softly. He didn’t know what it looked like, of course, only how the bleeding tears the whip had left in his skin time and again burned, but he imagined it wasn’t pretty.

It wasn’t as bad as broken bones, he told himself. It wasn’t as bad in healing, either. But he was still glad when it was over. A bit of spit was running down along the leather, and he took it out to wipe it off and catch his breath.

Ozriel held his hand. »Anything else, your Highness?«

He pulled up his slate. Only bruises. The were layered and many and they did hurt, he wouldn’t exactly be playing ball anytime soon, but they would be easier to bear day by day for as long as it took them to heal the natural way rather than all at once.

They had amply experimented on this when they were kids, on more harmless scrapes and bruises, so he was sure Ozriel understood.

They nodded, a small smile on their lips. »Alright. You’re dismissed, then, Doctor.«

The medic bowed. »Your Majesty… your Highness.« And then they disappeared, leaving them finally alone.

[landhoe-norris]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

thanks for this jo! just what i needed today (i did get two and i'll be answering that one as well).

Life After You - Lando laid his hands on the lifeless chest of his fiancé's body, dressed in the suit he was supposed to get married in. He wanted to cry, to scream, to punch something. Everything had been taken away from him in the blink of an eye, and yet he couldn't mourn it. Not in the way he was expected to. He had shed tears when he had gotten the call, the voice on the other end telling him the man he was supposed to marry in two weeks had died in a car crash. But since then, there had been nothing. And now, on the weekend that was supposed to be the happiest of his life, he was watching his future being lowered into the ground.

This is the first multi-chapter fic I ever finished, and it holds a special place in my heart. My writing style has definitely evolved since I finished it, but there's just something about it that still makes me proud and warms my heart whenever I think about it. it's based on the movie catch and release.

all you have to do (stay) - Lando doesn't quite know how it had evolved to this, how he had become the grid's trophy or consolation prize in some instances. All he knows is that it fills a void, gives him purpose, and makes him feel wanted. He loves taking care of them. But who's taking care of Lando?

This is my all time favourite fic I've written, and the one I had least problems with (re: inspiration, time, and editing). Everything just seemed to click—I’d get ideas easily, scenes flowed naturally, and I didn’t have to wrestle with the plot or struggle to get it right. It was one of those rare times where writing felt effortless, like I was just putting down what the story wanted to be.

worship me beneath the sheets - It's so sensual, the way they're moving together, and Charles is lapping up the attention he's getting from both men. It's what he thrives on, craves, one of the reasons he became a model in the first place. All eyes are on him, always. He looks back up at Max only to see that he doesn't have his attention anymore, and neither does Daniel. He's looking over their shoulders. Charles wants to look behind to see what has captured his attention, but he's fairly stuck between their two bodies, so he doesn't; he just looks expectantly at Max as he holds out his hand. Charles can see a mop of curls come into his vision out of the corner of his eye, grabbing at Max's outstretched hand or Best friends Daniel and Max meet strangers Charles and Lando at a club and take them back to their hotel.

This one kind of just came alive. I don’t really remember writing it; all I knew is that I wanted to write something hot. The story took shape almost on its own, with each scene building naturally, and before I knew it, I’d crafted something I was proud of. It’s one of those rare pieces where every word felt right, and I barely had to go back to edit. I love how it turned out—like the story knew exactly what it wanted to be from the start! It's one of the very few stories I've written where there's no Carlando.

Black Velvet - Lando has gone through a lot in his life. When he was 13, his mom went missing, and he was left with a dad who wanted nothing to do with him. All of this has caused abandonment issues that make him cling to anyone who shows him kindness. When he starts working at Sapphire, a strip club owned by Lewis Hamilton, he finally starts figuring himself out. But what he doesn't realise is that he's launching a chain of events that can ultimately lead him to lose everything he holds dear to his heart while simultaneously resurrecting the ghosts of his past.

This fic is a labour of love and comes from blood, sweat and tears (and I'm not being hyperbolic). I went through hell as I wrote it, was accused of plagiarism because this is a stripper fic, and apparently you can only have on stripper fic in this fandom. But I poured everything I had into this story, fighting through doubt and criticism because I believed in it. Each chapter was a battle, yet it’s one of the pieces I’m most proud of <3

Impractical Magic - Charles and Lando were born into a family where falling in love means you end up dead. They take different paths in life, Charles wanting nothing more in life than to feel the exhilaration love brings, and Lando too afraid to ever put himself out there. When Charles gets into trouble with one of his boyfriends, Lando must figure out how to help him while trying his best not to fall in love with the one man who can take his life apart, Detective Carlos Sainz.

I'm quite proud of my chaptered fics, much more than I am of the one shots I've written. This one was for the first Carlando Winter Break Exchange, and I left it way too late and was fighting against time and myself the entire time I wrote it, and yet I enjoyed the hell out of it, and am proud to say that I wrote this :)

[angie-long-legs]

TW: Drugs, relapse, trauma/flashbacks, emotional abuse (technically it's happening in his head - think that scene in ep 2 when he's going through the voice notes) This is a part 2 to this drabble but can be read as a standalone piece.

Fuck it.

Angel didn't care anymore. He was done. He tried, and he felt so fucking stupid for it, for thinking that this might actually work. He was an idiot for entertaining the notion that, all along, all he needed was to talk about it, that Charlie's moronic, touchy-feely bullshit was anything but that - bullshit. Nothing was working. Nothing was worth it.

Two weeks. That's how long he had been clean. And, fuck, if it hadn't been miserable. Reality crystallised with a brand new clarity, time became cohesive and linear, familiar emotions felt guttural and raw and revolting. The worst of the physical symptoms had been contained to the initial withdrawal, which had been a hazy Hell within Hell of shaking and sweating, screaming and sobbing, throwing up and passing out and begging for something, anything, to make it stop. All that remained now that Angel had seen the other side was the trembling, an ever-present reminder that his body wouldn't so quickly forget what it had been through. Spoiled rotten on a century of chemicals, it shivered - a gentle, persistent nudge to be fed.

But the tremor was merely background noise. The thoughts and feelings that hijacked Angel's newly lucid brain were less easily ignored. Without the emotional anaesthetic provided by the drugs, there was nothing to dull his tender wounds, nothing to stand between the spider and the reality he refused to look in the eye. The past stained the present, vibrant and intrusive - old blood that wouldn't dry. There was no euphoria amid the sickness, no hope of relief from the memories that bombarded Angel with unrelenting cruelty.

Oh, it infected everything. Sobriety truly emphasised that there was not a single part of Angel's life that the cracks did not extend to. The smell of his perfume transported him from the hotel to his dressing room, the clouds that formed around smoking sinners had him grabbing at his wrists and his throat in search of the chains he felt manifest around them. He stripped the silk sheets from his bed and shoved them in his closet, collapsing onto the bare mattress in exhaustion, but it still felt soft and smooth beneath his touch.

He hated who he was like this. He hated feeling weak and on edge, feeling helpless. There was no escaping it. He was stuck fast and fading as the world around him rolled forward. No hope of receding, no signs of softening. Time marched on, but the dust would never settle.

Angel was on his feet before he had time to register what he was doing, autopilot driving him to the loose floorboard under which he had stashed the last of his supply. Inside, he felt placid - indifferent. He had done this a million times. It wasn't like anyone expected him to stay clean, right? It was understandable, wasn't it? He would be forgiven.

Wouldn't he?

It was fine. One hit, that's all he needed. One little bump. Just to make the thoughts go away.

Carefully, Angel lifted the floorboard and extracted the stash. He watched himself tip out a line of powder along the back of his hand, his trembling causing the substance to spill. He felt cynical of himself, almost laughing. He's doing it again. 'Course he is. Knew he couldn't hack it. Fucking pathetic.

The disconnected voice that mocked him in his mind warped and shifted, adopting the familiar Latin lilt that dripped with venom. Stupid junkie. Dumb, worthless addict. Did you really think you were better than this, amorcito? Oh, Angel, that's so funny. It's adorable. You really thought being sober was something you wanted? To impress your little friends, make them think you were someone you're not? I know you, baby. You're not better than this. You're nothing more than a drugged-up whore. That's all you are, and you love it. Why are you fighting it, angelito? You know you can't fight it. This is who you are.

Angel's teeth gritted, swallowing the angry, hateful lump in his throat. He couldn't fight it. This was who he was. He couldn't do this sober.

The dust wouldn't settle. The blood wouldn't dry.

The wounds wouldn't heal.

Without another thought, Angel brought his hand to his face and inhaled.

[ha-ule-nalu]

after the mission accident leaving two agents in critical condition and the revelation regarding agent 021, pua, monarch, and shizuka felt like their worlds were falling apart.

pua, stricken with grief as she caught a glimpse of her best friend's body limp and twitching with electricity, felt like she was imploding. she floated between the medbay, her quarters, and the cell grimshaw was being held in, her ears limp against her head, sneakers squeaking through the halls as she dragged her feet. what was she supposed to do? what could she do?

her anger had long fizzled into a dull ache of loneliness. her eyes felt dry. she couldn't cry anymore.

"lani..."

the radiant stopped in her tracks, raising her gaze from the floor. jett stood before her, concern written in her knitted brows. pua felt her heart drop. she didn't want to talk.

"what?" nohealani muttered, the rasp in her own voice somewhat surprising her. she hadn't spoken more than a few words since the night grimshaw was detained.

"i'm worried about you," jett rubbed her arm nervously. "please.... talk to me. let me get you something to eat at least, i- lani, you've barely eaten since-"

"just leave me alone," pua aggressively shouldered past her white-haired friend, causing her to stagger. "i just wanna be alone."

the tightness in her chest was nearly unbearable. tears began welling in her eyes again, stinging her dry eyes painfully as she tried to swallow the lump growing in her throat. she would just sleep it off again. it was better than dealing with her present problems.

neon, her fest friend, on deaths doorstep. grimshaw, a man she viewed as her second father, possibly the reason why. could he really have done it? could she believe that the man who made her feel so safe, made her feel at home, have committed such a heinous crime? her gut reaction was to reject it. there was no way it was achlys. it couldn't have been. it couldn't have...

...right?

monarch leaned against the wall of the holding cell in the dark, supervising grimshaw during some of his allowed darkness hours. she didn’t mind the shifts, having promised brimstone and viper while begging them to let him have the lights turned off for a few hours that she would be the one to keep watch. while she had lobbied for complete darkness, it was only near pitch-blackness, save for the dim LED strip outlining the door. the two of them sat in silence. after a few days, it felt like there was nothing more to say.

however, there was a slight tension hanging in the air. despite having asked him questions and getting her answers, monarch knew that grimshaw was still withholding some information about the everett-linde disaster, and how it related to the current situation. but no matter how hard they thought about it, they couldn't pin down who the real traitor could be. there was an understanding between the two of them now, after monarch had confided in him about what had happened to her on omega-earth, but despite this, there was still a piece of the puzzle missing. they grimaced. what could he still be hiding?

“achlys,” their voice was soft, the broken silence hanging heavy in the air. there was no answer, but poeiva, their eyes long adjusted to the emptiness, could see the darkness slightly form the vague silhouette of grimshaw in his shadow form inside the cell. he heard her.

“i know… you’re not the traitor.”

the silence remained.

“i know it for a fact. but i need to know. please, achlys. who is it, really?” she bit the inside of her cheek as the silence continued. why won’t he answer?

“you mentioned a ‘he’ before, when we spoke earlier. who is he, grimshaw? please… i need to know-“

“i can’t tell you,” the silhouette of his head seemingly solidified.

“and why not?” poeiva protested, stepping off the wall. “you know this is important to me. if you just gave up who he is, it would clear your name, it would solve everything!”

“it’s not that simple,” achlys kept his voice even. “you must know it will only complicate things further if i implicate another man as the traitor rather than myself.”

“you don’t know that!” poeiva felt their frustration boil in their chest. she didn’t understand why he would give up the chance to solve everything and get himself out of the hot seat, with no consequence other than the real traitor going behind bars.

“i do,” grimshaw’s voice was harsher this time. absolute. “i do know that. it’s exactly why i can’t say anything.”

poeiva opened her mouth to retort, but before she could say anything there was a knock and the door slid open, golden light from the hallway spilling into the dark room. she quickly put a hand up, eyes painfully adjusting to the change.

“mon chéri,” she heard chamber step into the room, a hand gently placed on the small of their back. “brimstone sent me to retrieve you.”

poeiva blinked, looking from chamber to the shadow in the darkest corner of the room. she wordlessly let her partner guide her out of the cell, the door sliding shut behind her. grimshaw’s answers had done nothing but unsettle her. was it her close friendship with brimstone, sage, and viper causing him to withhold the information? did he not trust her? she tightened her grip on chamber’s hand.

or was it something else?

shizuka tapped the stack of papers on the desk before neatly placing them back in the file for what was probably the eighth time. she slipped the folder back into the filing cabinet, sighing through her mask as the drawer gently clicked shut. she had cleaned and reorganized the medbay and grimshaw's office at least eight times by now, unsure of what to do with herself now that her mentor and close friend was detained and stuck in a cell down the hall.

she stepped towards the patient beds, sliding back the curtain shielding neon's bed from view. she anxiously checked the woman's vitals and IV, knowing all the settings were the same as they were five minutes ago.

she hadn't wanted to leave the medbay. she wasn't really sure what to even think. sage and skye had both come in to try and relieve her, but she would only leave for a few hours to check on killjoy and then she would be right back in the bay. her poor girlfriend had barely left her quarters after the incident. yoru and kaya respectively had come in to keep her company on occasion, but she wasn't really in a talkative mood. her thoughts were too loud, racing. she didn't know what to do.

the memories of grimshaw being dragged from the medbay while tending to artisan played vividly behind her eyes. she remembered brimstone's anger, his disgust, viper's rage as she accused achlys of his crimes, sage's conflicted gaze passing between shizuka and her mentor. but what bothered her most of all was grimshaw's complete lack of a proper reaction.

one would think that if someone were to be accused of a crime they didn't commit by people very close to them, they would react defensively, trying to clear their name. but grimshaw barely said a word, simply allowing them to take him away.

as if he was expecting this outcome. prepared for it, even.

shizuka closed her eyes, steadying her breathing. now was not the time to begin spiraling down useless thoughts. she knew grimshaw couldn't be the traitor.... he couldn't be. she was too tired to think about it.

the pink-haired woman pushed the curtain back as the main doors slid opened, a tired-looking sage entering the medbay.

"ryuujin," she greeted, offering a small, forced smile. "i can take over for awhile. you should get some rest."

shizuka nodded. "thank you." she was grateful her mechanized voice hid her exhaustion.

[ravenzeppeli]

Claimed

Chapter 2- The Eavesdropping Blues |La Squadra x Reader|

Warning: implied sex, strong language, threats. MA.

Formaggios POV

"You don't fucking dress like that in public girl, what's wrong with you?" Formaggio faintly heard Prosciutto snap as he walked past your door, causing him to immediately freeze, his ear immediately pressing against the door. "You can wear a shirt that isn't low cut. Isn't it fucking winter?"

"Why do you have to judge what I wear?" You replied back, your voice sounding defeated. "You're being too bossy. We're supposed to be moving slowly, but you keep trying to control every little thing I do. I can wear what I want."

Formaggio heard Prosciutto scoff. "Take off the top and give it to me, I'll buy you a better top later. You can dress appealing without showing yourself to random men. Your body is only for our eyes."

"Don't you ever buy me anything, I don't need or want any of you buying me stuff. I can take care of myself completely fine," you snapped, heavy footsteps suddenly dashing across the floor. "Prosciutto, I want to keep the top. I'll cry if you take it."

"Oh really?" He snapped, a groan escaping his lips. "You are a dramatic girl, you know that? Fine, keep it, but if I catch you wearing that shirt in public, I'll spank you." That ending remark caused Formaggio to pause; does Prosciutto actually spank you?

You sighed, "Okay. I won't wear this specific shirt in public." The way you said that seemed suspicious like you already had a plan forming. You definitely were interesting, really weird, and you were hot.. Formaggio could kind of go with dating you, but he still wanted to watch ass shaking and get his dick sucked at the strip club. Out of respect to you, he'll wear a condom when random women suck him off, which he always did anyway.

"And you're going to have to spend my money. You are mine, meaning you spend my money and obey me. Women should obey." He heard a squeak of your bed. "Now, why don't you get over here and get on your knees? Be a good girl for me. Go ahead and take your top and bra off."

"Okay," you replied back, and with that, Formaggio quietly left, not wanting to hear you suck Prosciutto off. That's just too personal. "I'm not spending your money," he heard you say as he walked out the front door.

-----

"I love you so much, more than words could ever describe. You are just so fucking beautiful," Formaggio heard Melone say as he went to pass by the kitchen. That caused him to freeze, yet again listening in. He couldn't help it, he was fucking nosey. "Look at you.. you're so perfect. It goes deeper then your looks, I love your soul."

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your tone soft and caring despite the dry response. "You don't need to tell me lies, I'll keep sleeping with you. You don't have to keep going with all this."

"Women don't like me Y/N. I'm well aware that I'm a creepy and off-putting guy. All I get is rejected. You never rejected me," Melone told you, his voice gentle. "I've always wanted just one person to love.. and I told myself that when I find that person, my love would be strong and unconditional. You are that person, and in that, I will be loyal and loving to you."

Their was silence for a good minute before you finally replied, "You are all mafia men. You're all going to cheat on me and treat me bad, that's what your type does. You don't need to keep feeding me lies. I'm okay with what you are."

That offended Formaggio, what the fuck did you mean by that? Are you seriously going to judge them without knowing them? Melone was a fucking weird guy, he had a strong feeling that Melone was being serious. He never got lucky with women either, even the sex workers avoided Melone. Hell, the strippers refused to give him lap dances, he don't even go to the strip club anymore, only ever going three times and creeping the girls out to an extreme. Formaggio wondered, why doesn't Melone creep you out? Clearly you aren't right in the head, which was what Risotto had to find because no normal girl would fit in with them. But you seemed to.. kind of.

"I've already told you I'm going to be loyal, please don't label me. I really do love you and think you are beautiful, and I am glad you're my girlfriend," he quickly replied, this time having a sharpness in his tone. "You are mine, and I will protect you with my life. I've been so lonely, you know? I've been waiting for you, I truly feel like I have. I believe in soulmates."

"Well, I do like you. I can admit that, the others I don't really like yet," you told them, causing Formaggio to frown. "Well.. Formaggio is okay, but I know he's a dirt bag. But he is really funny." He raised his eyebrows - should he be offended or not? He wasn't a fucking dirt bag!

"You just need to get to know the others, I've seen you spend time with Prosciutto. Don't you like him?" Melone asked.

You let out a dry laugh, "no I don't like Prosciutto. He's so fucking bossy and annoying. I'm not an idiot, he's literally trying to train me like I'm some dog. I'm only physically attracted to him." You then sighed, seeming to be annoyed. "Listsn, I'm not the type of girl that won't listen to a man, I get that I sometimes gotta listen, but Prosciutto has weird rules."

"To be fair, baby, I also don't want you to go places by yourself. I don't mind how you dress. Men will always look at you, but I just want you safe, and I always want to know where you are. You're a part of this team now, and you may be an easy target," Melone told you. "I don't mean it like that.. you are strong, but men are viscous, especially men in this field. You can call me anytime you need to go somewhere or need anything. I would never get mad. You are my first priority now."

Melone was really laying it on hard for you. God, Melone was so weird, how did he already fucking dedicate himself to you? It's only been two weeks, Formaggio hardly even speaks to you, mainly just letting Melone and Prosciutto keep you. Well maybe his words would keep you here with them, Risotto keep saying he feels like you're going to try and run away from them.

Nobody would admit this, not even you - but the moment Risotto saw you, he was set on keeping you like he was always meant to find you and take you, claiming you as theirs. It was so easy too.. you were a petty criminal, had a stand, and it was obvious you had some understanding of the mafia. Risotto made it seem like he was asking you, but he was telling you that you now belonged to them. He did sweeten the deal, saying you would never be killed and that you would be safe and protected. He promised that you would have a stable job, knowing how hard it was for a criminal to find a stable job. You seemed to just say yes to him.. and then he kind of arranged you to be their girl.

Sharing a girl.. it's weird as fuck, but Formaggio can't find a girl to settle with. Prosciutto filed for his third divorce four years ago, and Ghiaccio doesn't even acknowledge the existence of women or any life outside of the team. Also.. they were assassins who killed people and committed terrible crimes. Some women knew of their reputation and avoided them. This seemed to be kind of work. With their busy schedules and hectic lives, a shared girlfriend seemed to make a little sense.

"Alright, Melone.. thanks," you told him dryly. "I do appreciate you very much. Thank you. You are easy to like," you told him, your tone softening up.

"I love you. You don't need to say it back. You don't need to love me for me to love you. I'm going out to do some research, want to come with me or stay here?" He questioned, a sigh escaping his lips. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, but I'll be texting you all day, and I'll call you tonight. Please try and answer, but I understand if you're busy."

"Be safe, alright?" You told him as he walked away, Formaggio quietly moving into hiding as Melone left out the front door. Formaggio waited a few minutes, wanting to approach you but stopping when Illuso swiftly entered the kitchen.

"Well, hello, Y/N, don't you look like a cute little girl today?" Illuso questioned, his tone even giving Formaggio the creeps, Illuso was a sick fuck, probably worse then Melone but he hides his urges. "Look at you.. come here, let me get a good look at you girl."

Formaggio let himself peak around the wall, seeing Illuso snake his hands around you, rubbing all over your back, side, his hungry eyes on you. "I am not a little girl, okay? I am an adult."

"Well, you're 12 years younger than me, and look at how short you are. I honestly love your full cock sucking lips the most, you suck dick great," Illuso commented, his hands landing on your ass, you just seemed to stare up at him. "I've had my dick sucked a lot, you definitely are number one. Good girl."

You crossed your arms over your chest as Illusos hand roughly smacked against your ass, a loud pop sound filling the air as you crashed into Illusos chest, his arms tightly locking around you. "I literally don't care. Why are you telling me this? Go away." He smacked your ass again, this time tightly grasping your ass cheek. "What do you want?"

"I came in here to grab a beer, wanted to feel you up first. What's so bad about that? You don't mind, right? I mean, I'm your boyfriend after all, are you uncomfortable?" Illuso questioned, his tone taunting. "Or are you scared of me? Scared I'll do whatever I please with you?"

"Risotto said you can't kill me," you snapped at Illuso, a chuckle escaping his lips. "I'm not scared of you at all, Illuso. You don't scare me one bit."

"Aw, I don't wanna ever kill you, that would be a waste of a good throat," he told you, causing you to frown, attempting to back away from him, causing his grasp to tighten. "But I will punish you if you aren't a good girl. Got that? And I'll punish you real hard." He let you go, only to grab your wrist, grasping it tightly. "Don't be stupid.. don't step out of line."

He let you go, walking past you as he opened the fridge. "Oh, and I'm about ready to fuck that pussy so get ready for that. I'm getting bored of just head, and I'm dying to see how that ass looks." He grabbed a beer, closing the fridge as he walked away, leaving before you could reply.

-----

"You don't have a say in any fucking thing, you're lucky I even let you have a say in yourself," Prosciutto snapped at you, causing you to glare at him. "Don't you glare at me. You did something bad! You do not leave this base without telling someone!"

Now, usually, you just got quiet and let Prosciutto run all over you for these past going on three weeks, but you seemed to be feeling extra feisty today because your reply was actually insane. The fact that you had the balls to say this to Prosciuttos' face without running away impressed Formaggio.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, my husband? My owner? I don't see a ring on my finger, I don't see a fucking stamp on me that says I need to listen to you!" You snapped at Prosciutto, causing Risotto to immediately look up at you. "Like, what the fuck is your problem with me?"

Prosciutto immediately stood up, swiftly approaching you. As he raised his hand, Melone stood up, stepping in front of you. "Don't hit her! She's new to this Prosciutto, just ease up on her a little. It's hard for her to adjust to being with all of us.. don't be mean to her."

Formaggio smirked a little. He couldn't help it, knowing that you may be smarter than everyone thinks. You've been observing them, he noticed that, and in that he noticed you and Melone becoming inseparable. He protected you, defended you - Melone was your pass to permanent survival here, and it was clear that you took notice to him.

Melone was.. he was a nerd, a creepy nerd. He's done sick things to mainly women, and even before he joined the team, he had a problem with killing women who rejected him and laughed at him. You never once laughed at him or called him a creep, instead sitting and talking with him, even accepting him. That's all you had to do.. with being the first chick to accept Melones weird ass you now have a permanent bodyguard. Formaggio sure as fuck wouldn't protect you, it ain't his job, he's just here for the pussy. But it was obvious that Melone and Prosciutto wanted more then pussy. Melone wanted love. What the fuck did Prosciutto want from you?

"Goddamnit, Melone, she isn't just your girlfriend!" Prosciutto snapped, glaring at Melone, his hands balling into fists. "She has a smart ass mouth and deserves to be smacked! Move Melone, let me discipline her as I please!"

You started to slowly back away, the two bickering men not noticing as you slowly began to backward walk towards the front door, seeming as if you were about to leave. Risotto suddenly stood up, causing you to freeze as he walked over to you. He grabbed your wrist, dragging you over to the couch and sitting you down next to Ghiaccio and right next to Risotto.

"Where did you go?" Risotto asked you, suddenly pausing as he leaned closer towards you, getting in your face. "Why do you smell like a skunk? What's that strong smell?"

You leaned back, and your back firmly pressed up against the back of the black leather couch. "It's weed, I went to go pick up some weed."

"From a man?" Risotto questioned, his tone hard. You didn't answer, instead looking down. "Strike one, don't let me get to strike three. If you want weed, one of us will get it for you. You aren't to associate with other men in the mafia outside of us unless necessary. Let this be your only warning."

"Risotto, that isn't fair," you muttered, your eyes staying on the ground. "I should be able to get my own weed. You're taking away all of my freedom. This isn't what I agreed to."

Risotto sat back. "It doesn't matter what you agreed to. You are our girlfriend now, meaning you need to show respect when respect is requested. You need to respect Prosciutto as much as you respect me."

"But I don't like Prosciutto!" You snapped at Risotto, immediately causing Prosciutto to turn towards you. "Nothing personal."

"Oh, you don't like me!? Really!? You don't fucking like me!?" Prosciutto snapped, glaring down at you. "You're lucky that Melone is here.. you are so fucking lucky. Because I assure you nobody else will protect you. You're nothing but a toy to us."

"A toy that most of you can't operate," you calmly replied back, causing Formaggios mouth to hang open slightly. Goddamn you were brave as fuck to say that.

"Who!?" Illuso snapped, that remark getting his attention. "Girl, you better watch what you fucking say to us. You could get knocked out."

"I'll hit you back," you replied back even calmer, causing Illusos face to suddenly harden. "You can't do anything to me that hasn't already been done you fucking idiot. Even if you were to kill me, I wouldn't give a fuck." You looked at Illuso, an actual smile appearing on your lips- damn, you hardly smiled. "Because I would be dead. So how about you and Prosciutto leave me the fuck alone? I don't give a fuck about what either one of you have to say."

"Y/N you gotta shut the fuck up babe," Formaggio finally added in, trying to help you. He knew he said that he would never help you but you were saying some wild shit. "You keep saying things that'll get you smacked, so maybe just shut up." He didn't wanna smack you, he knew you weren't talking about him, but Prosciutto and Illuso wanted to hurt you.

You looked over at Formaggio, blinking as you stared at him. "Fine, whatever," you replied, seeming to calm yourself down a little. "It's just not fair."

Pesci got up suddenly, immediately walking out the front door. Prosciutto gave you a deadly glare before following behind Pesci.

"Y/N, please baby, you need to just.. why did you say most of us can't operate you? What does that even mean?" Melone questioned as he sat next to Illuso. "Did you just insult our sexual abilities?" He frowned, seeming upset.

"I wasn't insulting you," you told him, instantly causing him to calm down. "I was insulting Prosciutto and the guy next to you." Just as you said that, Illuso leaned forward, his large arm stretching out as be roughly smacked your thigh, you hardly mustering up a flinch, instead rolling your eyes. "Okay, sorry."

Melone seemed annoyed by Illuso smacking your thigh, but he said nothing due to your reaction, instead giving you a smile. "Excellent. Now, let's put this behind us and move on. Okay?"

"What do you gotta say about all this Ghiaccio?" Illuso asked, his eyes landing on Ghiaccio who hasn't said a word since you've stepped in the door.

Ghiaccio didn't look up from his computer, shrugging. "Fuck if I care," he replied, his eyes finally glancing over at you, being unreadable. "Can we just get on with this? I'd like to be home before the fucking sun sets." He looked away from you as your head turned to look at him, his dark eyes swiftly cutting back to his computer, ignoring your gaze.

[juststoriesintheend]

Epilogue

Chapter Pairing(s): Osha Aniseya x f!Reader; Master Sol x f!Reader

Chapter Content: angst, canonical character deaths, grief/grieving

Word Count: 1,403

《 [series masterlist] 》 《 I 》 《 II 》 《 III 》

“Since when are you a medic?” You watch her curiously over the rim of your cup.

Osha barely suppresses rolling her eyes. “I know enough to take your vitals.”

That’s hardly an answer, but you don’t push for more. You’d rather enjoy the silence this task requires anyway. There is much to think about. Feelings you thought would never truly see the light of day have been brought to the surface of your subconscious and forcibly acknowledged. The pain of the past and the uncertainty of the future clouds your mind. It’s awful.

You keep thinking about what bits of the previous night you can remember - skin and tongues wet with spit and come, Osha’s body, her voice, the sound of her orgasm and the taste of it in your mouth… You stop that thought before it can go any farther, but you can’t stop it from affecting your body in the here and now. Osha glances at you from the corner of her eyes and if the way you squirm makes her think anything specific, she doesn’t say it. But you feel so embarrassed you could die.

What have you done? What have you allowed yourself to do? You know logically that this isn’t your fault, nor is it Osha’s. There was no way to know that a tumble down a sand dune would infect you with the blinding need for pleasure at all costs, just like there was no way for Osha to have done anything differently. She saved your life. You just wish you hadn’t enjoyed it so much.

“You okay?” Osha looks small in this light, almost as if her stature has shrunk since last night (when she stood over you with her belt in her hands and-).

“Fine,” you reply with a nod. You can’t bring yourself to smile, not even to ease the tension.

It’s just that you’re about as far from ‘fine’ as you can possibly get. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. No self-respecting Jedi would ever lose themselves to such blind sexual passion, not even if they were more liberally minded and chose not to abstain as part of their practice. No self-respecting Jedi would let a former Padawan five years their junior fuck them into oblivion. And no self-respecting Jedi would then wake from their stupor and feel torn between their duties to the Order and the desires of their heart.

Neither would any self-respecting Jedi feel all those deep and intricate feelings, and still manage to feel the bite of affection for that Padawan’s Master. Sol’s been gone for you don’t even know how long, or where he is, and it hurts to feel his absence when you otherwise feel so emotionally stripped bare.

What is wrong with you?

“Look, I know that what we did was… it wasn’t what you would have wanted. But I couldn’t think of any other way to save you.”

Why does it hurt so much to see how deeply the admission cuts for her? Because you know it’s your own fault?

“Hey.” Your hand finds hers. It’s the first time in six years you’ve been in your right mind and also able to touch her. Like you once did. “I’m not upset. You saved my life.”

Osha smiles, and it’s the same sad smile she gave you when she told you she was leaving the Order. The memory hurts more than a saber to your own throat might. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good friend.”

The agonizing realization strikes you then that you want to kiss her sorrow away, to breathe new life into her the way she did for you. That she’s not just pretty, but beautiful, all grown up and brave and so, so strong. She’s not the eighteen year old who left the Order anymore. She’s so much more than that.

“You’re the best friend I could have ever asked for.” Your thumb rubs gently over the back of her hand; it’s the only kiss you trust yourself to give her. “I’m glad it was you.” And it’s terrifying how true that sentiment really is.

Osha knows you, though. She always has. She sees the things you’ve never been able to speak aloud, and she sees them all now, even through the burning sting of her tears. “But it can’t be anything more,” she concludes with all the finality of a true Jedi.

You find yourself crying too as you shake your head. “No. It can’t.”

You never tell her this, not even in the moments after landing on Coruscant or the heartbeats before departing for your quarters because you know it wouldn’t be fair to either of you, but you think you could have loved her if you’d given yourself the chance. Maybe even as much as you love Sol now. It’s for the best that you’ll never know for sure.

The Temple feels empty without him, like it did in the first year after Osha left. You’ve grown so accustomed to sensing his presence through the Force, even if he was far away from you, that to not feel at all is destabilizing. Like how it was with Osha. But it’s more than that.

Master Paan is dead. Yord is dead. So is Jecki. And now Sol…

Master Vernestra has spoken with the Council in your place and asked for a more permanent leave of absence from your usual duties. You would have gone yourself, but the last time you tried you broke down sobbing in the lift.

This is the attachment your Master always warned you about. She tried so hard to teach you how to be a good Jedi, but even in the wake of her death you manage to fail her. Perhaps you’re not the Jedi you thought you were. Perhaps you never were.

You think of Sol. His smile comes to mind, then his eyes. The gentle timbre of his voice, the calm and patient wisdom he always carried with him. You think of Sol, and then you think of the things that Master Vernestra said when she came to tell you why the Khofar team wasn’t coming back, and it feels like a Wookiee’s punching you in the throat. You can’t breathe.

You can’t fucking breathe.

The nerve endings in your legs are ablaze and you reach for the nearest solid, sturdy thing to keep yourself balanced, but you miss. And you fall. And when you lift your head and peer through the gauzy curtain of your tears, you see the overturned chair and the leg of the table and the shattered pieces of the incense pot Sol gave you for your birthday two years ago. And everything feels so hot and tight and wrong inside your head, it’s like you’re back on Savareen and your body’s fighting for its life, but this time there’s no antidote. There’s no Osha to fuck you back to life. There’s no magic potion to stop your heart from giving out. There’s no brilliant, burning sun to light up your life anymore.

Some fucked up part of you feels angry, like there’s someone to blame for all of this. Maybe it was Osha and her cowardice that’s led you here. Or the idiotic blush of love that’s been fogging your mind for the past eight years. Maybe it was Master Paan’s fault for taking you on as her Padawan when she should have known all along you weren’t meant for this life. Maybe it’s Sol’s fault. Maybe it’s yours. Maybe it’s the Force in all its fucked up glory trying to place roadblock after roadblock in your path, frantically trying to reroute you as you barrel into the unknown like a moron.

You don’t realize you’ve been screaming until you find yourself being shaken into the present. There’s a lovely streak of white and green, and a steadying voice that urges you to take a breath, and you try so hard, but fail so spectacularly. How can you breathe when they’re not here? How can you breathe when Sol isn’t waiting in his room to meditate with you? How can you breathe when your Master isn’t here to guide you through her own death? How can you breathe without Osha? Force help you, where is Osha??

“Breathe deeply,” Master Vernestra instructs even as you cling to her desperately. “It will pass.”

But you’re not sure it ever will.

taglist: @wolffegirlsunite @thatlittlered @evyiione @padawancat97

if you'd like to be updated whenever i post, you can sign up here! and if you want a continuation of the story, please let me know!

[melindaaskblog]

They haven't got to the actual questions yet, but a little chit chat never hurt (unless when it wasn't allowed, of course). SMI was unsure how long Melinda had been kept here, but judging from her words she certainly wasn't new. While Blacksite had driven many into a broken mess, too desperate to uphold any boundaries, she seemed to still have some fight left. Something to be respected en͚̊v̯̕ied for.

It could prove a challenge to SMI’s work, but they couldn’t deny it’s a nice change of pace.

- SMI is my actual name. Though, you are not wrong to assume it wasn’t my mother’s idea.

The first note stirred up an old line of thought that SMI was never quite able to steer clear of. ⱳīłł ꞩħē ꞩⱦīłł ɍēȼꝋꞡꞥīƶē ᵯē? Nothing major flared up, and the glimmer that did simply humed in the back of their mind for now, easily ignored. They focused on the blanket monster instead.

- It is what I’m known as down here, and it works just fine for me. Fits my asthetic, don’t you think?

It’s more rhetoric than an actual question. If Melinda had anything to comment, she would need to write back to them on a piece of paper anyways. SMI pressed on.

- What about yours? Did you pick your name yourself?

(Turned out the response was both late and short, not crying but certainly disintegrating - @voice-o-fallacy)

[The voidmass would pause.]

`They really didn't tell you much, did they? Not to mention how much they've stripped your identity away, to the point that you've either forgotten or forsaken your own name.`

◇The fact you don't even realize how much of a privilege it is to even have a name is so disgusting.◇

[Melinda would look almost unimpressed.]

`Melinda, it's not technically my name. It was the name of my first host. She was so kind that I took on her name to continue her legacy.`

`But now that we're on the subject of my "past" which is more like my present. Let me tell you what they decided not to.`

`I've been labeled a parasite, a monster, something that only takes and never gives. (Which is false by the way, I offer protection and very nice healing.) I worm my way inside of human bodies, usually through the mouth, and tame them over completely.`

`I eat away at their muscles so they can't resist, I lap away at the chemicals their brains produce to feel emotions, I hook myself up to their nerves and intercept the signals to feel.`

[Melinda would stare. Dead at them.]

`That's why they're so scared of me. Because they know that if I get too experienced, too proficient with my craft. They wouldn't be able to tell the difference between me and a human.`

[Melinda would creep out of their blanket pile a bit, new eyes opening up and tendrils slid a bit closer across the ground.]

`Are you afraid of me now? Are you sure you even should be? I mean, what would I want with some electronics who can't even use their own name anymore?`

[lunaekalenda]

Hi An I hope you’re doing well and I’ve been feeling hurt, sad, depressed, and wished I could disappear due to losing my new job after two weeks and no longer want to find work anymore especially with the repeated rejections in the past year. Can I request a hurt/comfort/fluff one-shot of Eren x Fem!Reader where Y/N shuts herself in hers and Erens dark shared bedroom with the door locked sobbing uncontrollably in bed wrapped in a blanket covering her figure and head/face and wishing she could be erased from the world after repeated rejections from getting a job she wanted. Then, Eren tries to get Y/N to open the door and begging her to let him in despite her refusal causing him to worry more for her safety, well-being, and making sure she’s not hurting herself until Eren finds a spare key in his pocket to let himself in before he stripped out of his clothes and underwear before climbing into bed to comfort Y/N and cradle her in his naked body. As Eren lifted a part of the blanket off Y/Ns face, he tearfully begs Y/N not to harm herself, how he doesn’t want to be alone without her, and reminds her how much he loves her especially reassuring her there are places for her where she can work before showering her with kisses and rocking her to help her feel better. Finally after Eren calms Y/N down, he laid Y/n down on his bare chest and tells her that even if she was let go, there’s still hope she’ll find work again and he doesn’t want her to kill herself before comforting her with her favorite lullaby to help her rest? Thank you -🌼

hey!! i'm sorry you're going such tough times, and i hope it gets better for you soon! i'm sure you'll be able to recover and keep going, and you're strong to do so! never lose hope, i'm sure a lot of people (including me) are cheering for you!! you're very loved and very much capable and talented! i hope this helps even a little bit <3

warnings: non-sexual nudity, mentions of self harm, intrusive thoughts, anxiety, panic attack. be careful with reading the first paragraphs, as they have strong self-consciousness and negative thoughts that could affect anyone on a crisis. if you wanna read the comfort directly, jump to the red dot.

Your house was silent. Maybe that was the trigger.

Eren had the blinds down, as he usually does when he leaves, and the darkness of the room made you sadder. Alone, silent and dark. Your home was exactly how you felt. You really wanted that job, and still, you were unable to get it. Taking the big grey blanket that Eren bought for you some time ago, and getting changed into your sleeping clothes, you let your fluffy bed hug your body sweetly, covered by the soft fabric, but still it wasn't enough. You still felt the cold on the inside.

You felt how the rejection took root on your heart, and a tree of thoughts started to grow from it. What if you were not enough? If they didn't see you capable? If they didn't trust your works? If they didn't like you? Is anybody going to accept you anywhere?

You take the blanket above your head, covering your shining cheeks, where tears run down quickly. Getting rejected more than once isn't easy to assimilate. Your head hurts from crying and you close your eyes. The world feels way too heavy for you right now, and you wish that burden was taken off your shoulders. You don't know how many time you've been crying, and you don't know when you fell asleep during it.

.

You hear knocks, followed by your name, in Eren's voice. He knocks again, but you don't feel strong enough to stand up and open the door. Your muscles feel tired and your head feels dizzy. Your eyes start to close again, but your hear a key against the door, Eren's steps inside the room, the light from the corridor filling the bedroom. Eren walks quickly towards you, kneeling by your side. He takes a bit of the blanket away, checking your face. Your eyes are swollen from crying and they search his slowly. He smiles softly when your eyes meet his.

"What happened, love?" he asks in low voice, no more than a whisper. You take your body to your side of the bed, and he understands what you mean. Undressing quickly, Eren takes the blanket and slides next to you, taking your body on a hug, his warm skin calming your muscles. You sigh against his body. His hands run over your thighs, your arms ad your back. He caresses you as he lets you speak.

"I got rejected for that work. Again." just remembering it makes you feel miserable again, but you feel his lips pressed on top of your head. His hug gets tighter as his caresses are still sweet on your skin. "I don't know what fails... I have a nice portfolio, I have nice reviews from my past jobs, I always try to answer correctly at all the interview questions for what? To get rejected again and again and again and cry and see someone get the job I've been fighting so hard for." Tears are unstoppable again when he kisses your head again.

"Love. If they didn't get you, it's not your fault. You're incredible, and all your past bosses say the same about you. I'm sure there are a hundred jobs made for you. I know you really wanted this job, but they're the ones losing. Show them who you are. Make them search you. Make them beg you to join. Andm, if that isn't the case, I'm sure you'll enjoy your new work so much you wont' have time to think about the one that rejected you." he takes a tear away with his thumb, feeling how your erratic breath starts to follow his, and he sighs. "You're amazing, and no one, specially an interviewer. should tell you otherwise."

Then, he takes his time to kiss every one of your tears until they stop falling, to rock your body slowly until your breath calms down, to hear every single one of your thoughts and reassure you that there's a lot of people who loves you, who enjoy being by your side, and who feel lucky to have you in their lives.

"And I'm the first one of that list." he whispers. "I don't know where I would be without you, and I'm sure I wouldn't be the man I am today without you. That's your magic. You make people better. You make people happy, loved, cherished. And you should get the same back."

Your eyes feel quite heavy from all the tiredness of crying, and you let your body meet his, more comfortable and more warm. You whisper against his chest. "Thank you. For everything."

As a response, he sings your favorite lullaby for you, keeping the rhythm with soft caresses on your back, until you feel asleep on his arms.