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msmk11 · 3 days ago

Note

hiii love, I'm your new follower (can't believe I'd found the gems such as your blog this late, sigh).

happy birthday sweetheart, may the days ahead be enjoyable for our gorgeous here ♡♡

may i indulge myself with 'take a shot' of your lovely event? I'd love to see sweet remus with prompt #22, such a sucker for fake dating trope hehehe

stay hydrated, healthy and pretty Queen 🤍

22) fake dating

omg i'm also such a sucker for fake dating. like these fools always fall in love with each other (real). thanks for coming to the party, love!

Rules are Meant to Be Broken

Remus Lupin x gn!reader

WC: 4.5k

CW: pining, idiots in love, fluff

Summary: Every romance book could tell you that fake dating your best friend was a terrible idea. But you’re convinced you’ll be the exception. Spoiler alert: you’re not.

As soon as you enter the Gryffindor common room you kick your shoes off. You don’t know why you thought it would be a good idea to wear new shoes on a first date, but now your heels are rubbed raw and sore. The date with a Ravenclaw boy from your year, Jake, had been absolutely disastrous. Nothing went wrong, necessarily, besides the fact that you almost fell asleep into your tea as he rambled on about some complex Ancient Runes theory that you simply did not care about. You really don’t know why Lily set you up with him, and you’re going to have to give her a stern talking to later when you can walk again. Right now you think you’d just like to be folded up into the soft couch and disappear for a while.

The portrait hole opens and Remus Lupin, your best friend, walks in, school bag slung over his shoulder and tie loosened around his neck. When he sees you he smiles and makes his way over. Without thinking you lift your legs, allowing him to plop down onto the couch before you settle them back on his lap.

“How was your date?” he asks, absentmindedly running a hand up and down your left shin.

You groan and shake your head, “positively awful, Moons. Jake rivals Binns for being able to put me to sleep.”

Remus’ brows furrow, pinching in concern and sympathy, “I’m sorry, dove. There are always more fish in the sea, hmmm?”

“I don’t know that I really care if there are,” you reply, sinking lower into the plush red cushions, “I’m kind of sick of dating. The girls just keep insisting that I need to put myself out there.”

The brunette sighs in agreement, squeezing your calves gently, “I know what you mean. The boys won’t leave me alone about dating either. You know Prongs is a lovesick fool for Lily, so he keeps insisting I find someone of my own who makes me just as happy. And Pads is insufferable, pointing out nearly every bird our age and suggesting I give them a chance.”

“Exactly! Like, I’m so happy that Lily and James are happy and that Marlene and Dorcas are in love, but maybe I don’t want to be in a relationship. I wish they’d just leave me alone. But they’re relentless, Rem.”

He nods thoughtfully, and you both fall into a comfortable silence. Remus’ hands have fallen into a delightful pattern of massaging up and down your calves, easing the tension from your muscles after being on your feet all the time. Your eyes flutter shut from the sensation and your best friend hums approvingly.

“You know, dove. I’ve just had a thought. It’s a bit crazy, and you don’t have to say yes. But I was thinking… what if we…”

You open your eyes and sit up, listening more intently at his nervous rambling, “what if we what?”

“What if we dated each other?”

You freeze, eyes widening in shock, “what?”

“Not- not for real!” Remus quickly clarifies, “I mean, what if we pretend to date each other. If our friends thought we were dating they’d leave both of us alone. No more blind dates for you, and no more attempts by Pads to set me up with random girls at parties.”

It’s an intriguing idea to say the least. It would be nice, not having to go on anymore blind dates. AND your friends would just leave you alone…. But pretending to date Remus? Your best friend? Sure, he’d be the perfect fake boyfriend- sweet, smart, kind- but wouldn’t pretending to date each other make things awkward?

“I- I don’t know, Remus. I just don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship, you know? You’re so important to me, and I can’t risk losing you.”

The brunette nods understandingly, “Of course, dove. I understand. I agree. Our friendship is special to me too. But, I don’t know… I think if we set boundaries and rules beforehand, we can make this work.”

He pauses momentarily, “Just, think about it, hmm? Sleep on it and we can talk about it again tomorrow.”

You nod, letting out a deep breath, “Okay Moony. I’ll think on it, I promise.”

The next morning you’re just sitting down to breakfast when Mary siddles up to you, a cheeky grin on her face, “morning, babes.”

You eye her over your toast warily, “uh oh. What’s got you so chipper?”

She sits down gleefully and starts to pile bacon and eggs onto her plate, “I’ve got another potential date lined up for you.”

You drop your toast onto your plate and groan, "Merlin, Mary, how? It’s been less than 24 hours since my last one!”

“I told Lily you and Jake weren’t a match, but she didn’t believe me. So I’ve been working my magic in secret. You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you bemoan, shoving the rest of the buttery goodness into your mouth. It doesn’t help.

“That’s why I’m such a good friend, babes,” the brunette insists, winking teasingly, “And you’ll really thank me because I got you a date with…drum roll please…”

You look at her unimpressed and do nothing of the sort.

She ignores your sour temper, “Amos Diggory!”

Her brown eyes sparkle with excitement but you don’t return the sentiment, “Ugh. Diggory? No way, Mary.”

Mary juts her lower lip at you and rounds her eyes, “come onnnnnn. Give him a chance! He’s smart, witty, and easy on the eyes.”

There is no part of you that wants to go on a date with Diggory. You find him obnoxious, annoying, and conceited. But you know Mary won’t listen, not unless you have a valid excuse. It’s then that you recall your conversation with Remus from yesterday.

“Sorry, I really can’t.”

She crosses her arms at you, looking unimpressed, “give me one good reason.”

You spoon some cereal into your mouth and murmur, “because I have a date with Remus.”

Mary’s jaw drops as she nearly screeches, “LUPIN?!”

Remus is easy to find, even without that map him and his friends created. He’s tucked away in his favorite spot at the back of the library where it’s quiet and he can get a good view of the front lawn. You plop down in an empty seat next to him and clear your throat, “alright, Moony. I’ve come to a decision. Let’s date.”

His head whips up from his book and his chocolatey eyes widen, “really? You want to do it?”

You drop your bag onto the floor by your feet, “I have to now. I sort of already told Mary we were going on a date.”

Remus’ eyebrows raise impossibly higher and he closes his book with a resounding snap, “really? Why’ve you gone and done that?”

Your face heats with a little embarrassment, “it sort of slipped out, honestly. But she was pestering me about another date, this time with Amos Diggory.”

The brunette blanches, “Diggory? Really?”

“That’s what I said!” you declare loudly. You cringe instantly, lowering your voice immediately, “I will, under no circumstances, go on a date with him. I cannot stand him. But you know Mary, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

He huffs a laugh, “that’s true. So, we’re really doing this?”

“Yes, we’re really doing this.”

“Let’s just make a few rules so we don’t overstep any boundaries,” Remus replies, pulling out a piece of parchment and a quill.

Quiet laughter vibrates in your chest, “my best friend, always the prepared one.”

He scribbles across the parchment and then pauses, “okay…rules.”

“We should set an end date.”

“Wanting to break up with me already,” Remus quips, lips quirking into a faint smirk.

“Come on Moons, if we don’t set an end date, when will it ever truly end? One minute we’re fake dating and then we’re fake engaged and then for real married with real children.”

The brunette only laughs at you, “okay, okay fine. How about the end of the term? That’s…two and a half months…and then when we get back in the Spring, we can use our breakup as an excuse to not date for a while.

Two and a half months…. In your head, that feels like a long time to commit to anything, “Fine, but, with a stipulation- either of us can drop out anytime without any explanation.”

The brunette nods in agreement and scribbles down the amendment on the parchment, “boundaries?”

“No kissing.”

He doesn’t even respond, instantly jotting it down without a second thought, “dates once a week, and we’ll take turns paying.”

You have no complaints.

“Small amounts of pda- hand holding, cuddling in small amounts, cheek and forehead kisses.”

The quill freezes in Remus’ hand, “so… what we do now?”

A giggle escapes your lips, “yes, I suppose so.”

“And what’s our story?”

“I think we can keep it simple,” you tell him, “we’ve both harbored feelings for one another for a long time, and you finally decided to act on them last night after I came back from my spoiled date. Said you didn’t want me with anyone else but you.”

“Simple enough, and partly true. None of the imbeciles at this school are good enough for you, dove,” he answers sweetly, nudging your arm.

“We got this fake dating thing down so easy,” you murmur, leaning closer to him, “you’re already sweeping me off my feet with words like that, Moons.”

“Soooooo where are we going?” you ask Remus, your swinging hands intertwined as you walk through Hogsmeade on a brisk, sunny Saturday in October.

“Patience, dove, it’s meant to be a surprise.”

You frown at him, your most convincing pout and puppy dog eyes gracing your face.

“Don’t even try it,” he says with a laugh, long since immune to your charms. Or at least that’s what he lets you believe.

“I swear to Merlin, Remus Lupin, if you’re taking me to Madame Pudifoot’s I’m ending this whole contract right now. Our friendship too.”

His brown eyes dance with amusement and he squeezes your hand, “relax, I’m not that pathetic. Anyways, the place has always given me a headache.”

You sag in relief, “thank Merlin."

You continue your walk down the cobblestone street, taking in how pretty the town looks in the fall, with the red, orange, and yellow leaves painting the trees like fire. Though it’s a sight you’ve seen before, it’s one you’ve never gotten sick of. Remus slows and you look up, “we’re here.”

Your whole body brightens, eager eyes drinking in the sight of your shared favorite place in Hogsmeade- The Winter Village Bookstore. Some of your favorite moments at Hogwarts have happened in this book store. You’re certain your laughter and shared whispers are pressed between the bookshelves like words are preserved within the pages of books. On rainy Hogsmeade days, while everyone else would stuff themselves into the cramped corners of the Three Broomsticks, you and Remus got lost in worlds far, far away, where you could forget your own realities and trade skins like clothing.

“You can get any book of your choosing, on me.”

A genuine gasp leaves your throat and you throw yourself at your best friend, clinging to him with so much gratitude and affection. His smell is familiar as he wraps his arms around your waist- like chocolate, campfire, and old books. The wool of his favorite brown sweater presses against your cheek, equal parts soft and just the slightest bit coarse. You beam up at Remus through your eyelashes, placing a daring kiss to his cheek before breaking the hug and dragging him along inside. You miss the hue of pink that creeps up his neck to his cheeks.

Your hands remain intertwined as you wander through the store, stopping often to brush your fingers over books you’ve desired for years and stopping even oftener to pick up a copy of something you’ve never seen but ache to know. Though you’ve been so many times before, each visit feels totally different. You always stumble across hidden treasures packed within the cluttered shelves, secret gifts just waiting to be found. Soon enough your arms are laden with books that you and Remus carry to a quiet corner, spreading out the pile before you as you attempt to make one of the hardest decisions ever- picking only one.

Though you’re totally alone and have no one to perform for, your best friend still finds himself pressed against your side, arm propped behind your back as he leans his weight onto one hand, and consequently into you. The heat radiating off his body keeps away the cool chill of fall and you subconsciously cuddle closer.

“I don’t think I can ever decide,” you sigh mournfully.

Remus rests his chin on your shoulder, eyes scanning over the array of colorful covers, “well let’s see if we can narrow it down, hm?”

He points to one book with a yellow color, “I’ve read that one before. It’s not worth your money.”

You snicker, setting the book in your newly designated ‘no’ pile, “harsh critic.”

The brunette shrugs, “just being honest, dove. It’s not worth your time nor my money.”

“Oh,” he adds, pointing to a red paperback, I have that one at home. I’ll ask my mum to owl it if you wanna read it.”

The book goes to your no pile too. After some serious debate- debate most people would think is far too serious for a couple books- you’ve narrowed down your choices to two. In your opinion, having to choose feels a bit like death. Remus tends to agree.

Your fingers trace delicately over the covers, eyes flitting between both tentatively, “they both sound so interesting. And look, they’d be such pretty editions to my bookshelves too.”

“I know you struggle to be decisive, dove,” he teases gently, “but you have to pick at some point. Unfortunately, we can’t actually spend the rest of our Hogwarts careers stuck here in this book shop.“

You turn to mockingly pout at him and your noses brush, his face much closer than you realized. Your breath hitches as you catch his equally surprised gaze, “sorry, Rem.”

He doesn’t move right away, “that’s okay.”

Finally, you clear your throat and turn back around, your grip on the books having grown impossibly tighter, “you pick.”

Remus is quiet for a moment, deep in thought, before his chest presses closer to your back as he grabs the book in your left hand, “this one.”

You’re too breathless to argue. What was going on with you?

The teasing from your friends is almost nonstop ever since you and Remus announced your ‘relationship’ to them. It’s a lot of smug smirks and knowing glances when you tuck yourself into Remus’ side in the common room or when he kisses your temple as he reaches across you at breakfast to grab toast. To you, none of these acts of affection feel any different than normal. But to them, you suppose, the added label makes a world of difference.

Okay, so maybe you lied a little. It’s not totally the same as before. Now, every time you cuddle up and receive his affection you feel a faint flutter in your stomach. Perhaps it’s just nerves of keeping up the ruse. It has to be. Because it can’t mean anything but that.

This evening, you walk back into the Gryffindor common room after the longest day of your life and groan when you see how crowded the place is. You suppose it only makes sense for a Friday night, but you’d really rather everyone just fuck off. Luckily, your friends have claimed the best spots around the fire so you can at least be cozy and warm. Unfortunately, there are no spots on the couch or chairs left. The floor it is.

Your friends return your sleepy greeting as your bag hits the floor with a dull thud. Sirius grimaces and makes some snarky remark about too many books and being a try-hard. You ignore him. You’re about to settle at Remus’ feet when he stops you, brows furrowing in confusion.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sitting on the floor?”

He tuts at you and pulls you into him, sending you stumbling onto his lap. His hand grips your waist protectively as he seats you comfortably atop him. Heat rises to your cheeks but you blame the fire.

“That’s better,” Remus mutters softly, “comfortable?”

You nod sheepishly as you shift a little against him before settling. You’re comfortable, but the heat pooling in your core is less so. Your best friend’s hand finds your thigh and he grips it gently, thumb absentmindedly sweeping up and down. It takes everything in you to silence the hitch of your breath.

“I’d rather you not get down on your knees for me in front of all our friends,” Remus mutters in your ear teasingly. You don’t look at his face, but you know he’s smirking. You choke on your spit and smack him in the chest, furiously whispering his name.

“I’m not into voyeurism, dove,” he adds softly.

The embarrassment on your face is apparent and you know he’s getting a kick out of it, so you choose to burrow yourself into the crook of his neck instead.

“Stop! Please! It’s not funny!”

“You two are absolutely disgusting,” Sirius complains.

Remus shoots him a glare as he strokes his fingers over your head, “you’re the one who was always trying to get me to date someone, Pads. And now that I have someone, you’re complaining?”

Sirius smirks, “never said I wasn’t a hypocrite, mate.”

Your best friend grumbles something even you can’t hear and pulls you a little closer, if that’s possible. His gentle and insistent touch sends a shiver up your spine.

“Cold?”

You nod, burying your fingers in his sweater and tucking your socked feet below his thigh. Though you’re not cold, not really, you won’t stand up the chance to be as close to Remus as possible. His lips press against your brow and you grip onto him tighter.

“You don’t have to do all that you know,” you murmur softly.

His lips move against your skin, “what do you mean?”

You pull away a little, eyes catching his pretty brown ones, “be this affectionate. They already believe us.”

Remus’ brows furrow, “am I making you uncomfortable? I’m sorry if I am I-“

You shake your head vehemently, shutting him up, “no, love. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable either. To feel like you have to touch me extra.”

Your best friend is silent for a moment and you worry you’ve said something wrong. His thumb rubs circles on your thigh contemplatively, “I’m not uncomfortable. I don’t mind showing you affection. In fact, I quite like riling you up.”

“I’m not riled up!”

He smirks, “your face says otherwise.”

You groan and smack his chest, “bastard.”

Remus catches your hand and intertwines your fingers, “you love it. You love me.”

He’s right, of course. You really do love him. And you’re starting to think that’s the problem.

As you smooth out your shirt for the umpteenth time, your hands shake. Tonight. Tonight you’re going to end your fake relationship even though there’s still three weeks left in the semester. You just can’t do it anymore, not when you’ve undeniably caught feelings for your best friend. As much as you want him, he’s not yours to have nor to keep. Remus certainly doesn’t love you like that. Doesn’t see you the way you see him. And that’s perfectly, totally, fine, but you can’t keep pretending when it’s slowly killing you. You don’t know why you’re nervous. You’d both agreed that you could end the fake relationship at any time, no questions asked, and you don’t think Remus will push to know your reasoning when you tell him. It’s just that, you think he’ll figure out your reasoning all on his own. He probably already does know. if you’re being honest, and he’s just too nice to mention it. That’s the worst part. He probably knows, or will know soon enough, and he won’t say anything. He’ll be just as kind and lovely as always, but things will slowly, secretly change. Remus will start to keep things from you, and distance himself slightly, until you’re no longer his best friend. He’ll do it in a way that you won’t even realize what’s happened until it’s too late. And he won’t blame you either, just claiming it’s a natural way of things.

So yeah, you’re, understandably, a nervous wreck. As you look over your outfit one more time Lily sighs and throws a pillow at you, “come onnnnn. You look great. Let’s go!”

“But is my shirt too-“

“No!” Mary interjects, “you look perfect.”

She grabs your hand before you can resist and tugs you down to the common room, the music and chatter growing louder. The brunette spots your friend group easily, her grip remaining firm as she guides you through the crowd, Lily in tow. You try to drag your feet as much as possible, but it’s hopeless. Your friend is relentless.

Mary only lets go of you when you reach the group, and by that point you can’t turn around. James pulls Lily down into his lap easily, like it’s second nature, and presses kisses all over her increasingly red face. Your stomach twists in jealousy. You wish you could have that with Remus. Mary picks up a conversation with Sirius and Peter, leaving you basically alone with your best friend.

He smiles warmly at you, eyes trailing over your figure appreciatively. You’re sure it’s only kindly.

“You look stunning,” Remus mutters, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer, “I’m the luckiest guy in the room tonight.”

You flush, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, “pretty sure that’s James. I mean, look at him.”

He smiles fondly at his lovesick best mates but shakes his head, “nope, I’m still the luckiest guy.”

You don’t have a response to offer, your throat growing dry at the reminder of what you need to confess. You cough and clear your throat. Remus, of course, notices.

“Let me go get you a drink.”

Before you can protest he’s slipped into the crowd, and by the time he returns, it’s not a good time to talk.

You’re not given another chance for the next hour and it’s slowly killing you. The volume of the room, the heat, and Remus against your side is driving you crazy. When Sirius leaves the two of you to run to the restroom you think that now’s finally your chance. You take a shaky breath and turn to him. But your best friend is already staring at you intently. Your stomach does a flip.

“What?”

“You’re just pretty s’all,” Remus replies nonchalantly, as if he has no idea what type of effect he has on you.

“Stop it, Rem.”

“What?”

“Being nice. Sweet.”

He chuckles under his breath and quirks a brow, one of his fingers brushing some hair out of your face, “stop being nice? Now why would I do that?”

You huff, frustrated at how flustered he’s leaving you, “Remus. Please. I- can we talk?”

The brunette opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Sirius’ bellowing voice, the boy ordering your best friend over to join him in cup pong. He shoots you an apologetic look, quickly kisses your cheek, and heads off, mouthing an apologetic ‘later’ over his shoulder.

It feels a bit like a sign. That maybe you’re not supposed to end things tonight. But you have to. You can’t not do it. The lies and suppressed feelings are too much to bear. Your eyes trail over to your best-friend-turned-crush. You’d been right all along. Fake dating your best friend was too fucking messy. Any romance novel could’ve told you that. But you were stupid. Thought you were the exception. But how can you not be susceptible to Remus Lupin‘s charm? He’s perfect, with swishy brown hair and dark chocolate eyes that see and know everything, with those silver scars scattered across his body in a ruggedly handsome way, with those hands, rough and warm, yet able to give the softest touches, and with that smile, reflecting so much kindness and warmth with one quirk of the lips. He’s smart, funny, clever, and undoubtedly loyal. He’s your best friend. But he’s not yours. Not like that. You know it. He knows it. The girl that’s flirting with Remus knows it too.

Wait, what?

Who the fuck? Where did she come from? And how is she so effortlessly pretty, with her long dark curls falling down her back perfectly, and her manicured nails shimmering in the low light? God, you could never compete with a girl like her. But why should you have to? Even though Remus isn’t yours, she doesn’t need to know that. For all Hogwarts knows, the two of you are together. So then what the fuck is she doing trying to flirt with someone else’s (hypothetical) man? Jealousy curdles in your stomach and your nails dig into your palms angrily. You want to walk over there and say something. Do something to claim what’s yours. But you can’t. Right?

In your anger you don’t notice Remus’ body language- stiff and disinterested. However, you do notice Sirius’ burning stare that says what are you going to do about it?

So, without thinking, you stand up, march over to Remus, and grip him by the shoulder, turning him towards you. You grab the collar of his shirt and smash your lips to his, equal parts lustful and jealous. Your best friend freezes momentarily and you think you’ve ruined it all. But then he’s kissing you back, hard. And it’s so fucking hot, messy, and wet. His teeth graze your lower lip and you groan into his mouth, granting his tongue access to tangle with yours. Remus’ hand grips your waist, tugging you against him, and your free hand finds his chest, steadying yourself. He moans softly into your mouth and your fingers weave into the hair at the nape of his neck. The brunette whimpers a little and your knees grow weak.

A loud wolf whistle finally breaks the kiss and you yank back, your breath hot and heavy as your muddled brain tries to process what’s just happened- that you’ve just had the hottest kiss of your life with your best friend, of all people. Thankfully, Remus looks just as dazed, his brown eyes glossy and his pink lips swollen.

“Oh- Merlin. I- I’m sorry. I.”

“We need to end this,” he answers softly. Calmly.

Your stomach drops and your eyes fill with tears, “Remus I’m sorry, please don’t hate me I just-“

“Dove-“

“She was flirting and I didn’t-“

“Dove-“

“And it all happened so fast that-“

“Dove.”

You go quiet.

“We need to end this so I can kiss you again.”

“What?”

He smirks, “as per our contract, we’re not supposed to kiss. But I really wanna kiss you again. And again. And again. So long as you’ll have me.”

“Oh.”

Remus chuckles lowly and pulls you back against him, “so, is that a yes? Can I kiss you again? And maybe just maybe date you for real this time?”

“I told you fake dating ruins friendships,” you answer with a smirk, lips already reconnecting with his.

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rista-senpai · 2 months ago

Text

Love you in the shadows

pairing: Sung Jinwoo x f!reader

summary: You are Antares’ beloved daughter. His biggest treasure, despite him being the CEO of the second biggest company in South Korea. He would give up everything within minutes just to see your smile. Even so, you failed to keep your father just as delightful, since you ended up as the secretary of his biggest rival, the number one CEO in your home country, Sung Jinwoo.

Being stuck with a so-called ruthless man, feared by many for his authoritarian presence and cold, dark eyes, didn’t sit well with your father. Yet, you found them mesmerizing, something magnetic in those royal purple irises. Little did you know that the exact same eyes would see you beyond professional matters, forcing you to keep your feelings under a key, given the fact that you didn’t want to betray Antares.

However, how could someone resist him, when it’s just you two in the middle of the night, lights low, soundless rain hitting the wide windows in his office, the air out of your lungs in seconds, when he looks so ravishing, words not being enough to describe him?

tags & warnings -> office au, forbidden love, secret relationship, reader falls in love with the only man she shouldn’t have been near, she fell first, but he fell harder, age-gap (reader is 24, Sung is 32), smut with plot

previous part & next part

CHAPTER TWO

You didn’t expect to wake up on Saturday morning to a buzzing phone screen, flooded with messages from your friends. “Club tonight! You coming or what?” “It’s been forever since we had a proper night out, you deserve it!” “No excuses, we’re dragging you out.”

You blinked a few times, still tangled in your sheets, and sighed. It’d been over a month since your last night out. Over a month filled with endless work, late nights, and preparing for a mission your boss had made crystal clear would decide the future of the company — a mission that could make or break an alliance with a major player.

You needed this night out, even if a part of you was already anxious about what lay ahead. You quickly tapped out a reply: “Okay, I’m in. But I’m not promising to stay late.”

A few hours later, as you stood in front of the mirror, checking your reflection, your mind drifted back to how it all began — how you met Jinha. The memory was almost surreal now.

Flashback — One and a half years ago The office was eerily quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the clacking of your keyboard. You were the last one left, fingers flying over the keys, eyes tired but determined.

Jinwoo had already left for the night. Or so you thought.

“It’s late,” his voice suddenly called from the corridor. You looked up, surprised. He was leaning against the doorway, suit jacket loosened, a flicker of concern in his sharp eyes.

“I’m almost done,” you replied without looking up.

He shook his head, stepping in. “You should really get some rest. You can’t keep burning the midnight oil like this.”

Before you could protest, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

“Seriously, oppa? You let her stay this late?”

You turned to see a younger woman standing in the doorway — stylish, confident, and with an unmistakable air of mischief. Jinwoo’s sister, Jinha.

Jinha crossed her arms, eyeing you with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “You better not be holding her hostage.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “I told her to leave hours ago.”

“Clearly she didn’t listen,” Jinha smirked, grabbing her jacket. “I’m driving her home.”

You barely had time to protest before she was ushering you out, a protective sister bear ready to rescue a friend in distress.

The car ride was surprisingly easy. Jinha was talkative and funny, and you felt your guard slowly lower. When you mentioned where you lived, her eyes lit up.

“No way. We live practically neighbors.”

You both laughed, exchanging numbers before the night ended.

Then came the teasing — her knowing glances, the playful jabs about your obvious crush on her brother.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” she’d said with a grin.

You flushed but denied it, though she didn’t buy it for a second.

“I’m not mad. Actually, I kind of like it,” Jinha admitted one night. “Especially because I can’t stand Hae-In. She’s… well, you get it. You’re way better for Jinwoo.”

Her support meant more than you realized. Jinha wasn’t just his sister — she became your ally, your best friend, the one who had your back no matter what.

Back in the present, your phone buzzed again — this time a message from Jinha.

“Remember, tonight is for fun. Don’t let Hae-In or anyone else mess with your vibe. You’ve got this, girl.”

You smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth and strength from her words.

Tonight, you’d let yourself relax, even if just a little.

Because sometimes, you needed an ally on your side — and sometimes, you needed to remind yourself that you were more than just a secretary or a secret crush.

You were ready for whatever came next.

The club’s private lounge was a cozy retreat from the wild crowd downstairs, bathed in soft amber light and smooth jazz drifting from the speakers.

Jinha was in her element, chatting easily with her friend Han Song-Yi and her boyfriend Yoo Jinho, while you settled into the vibe, letting the tension of the last month slowly unwind.

“So, finally got you out,” Jinha smiled, nudging you gently.

You grinned back. “Yeah, feels like forever since I did something this normal.”

Suddenly, Jinha’s phone buzzed quietly on the table. She glanced at it but didn’t answer. Instead, she gave you a secretive smile.

“I’m going to get something,” she said lightly and slipped away.

From your spot near the railing, you watched her head downstairs toward the entrance. Her steps were quick, excited even.

Through the metal bars of the stairwell — the safety railing — you saw her suddenly break into a joyful jump, then wrap her arms around a tall figure. You couldn’t see his face clearly yet, but Jinha’s smile said it all.

Curiosity tightened your chest. Who was that?

Minutes later, Jinha came back upstairs, pulling the man behind her. Your heart stopped for a second when you finally saw it was Jinwoo.

“Surprise,” Jinha said with a grin, clearly thrilled to have brought her brother to the party.

You blinked, trying to mask your surprise and fluttering pulse. Jinwoo looked relaxed, different from the sharp, serious CEO you knew.

Jinha threw an arm around you. “He had no idea you were here, by the way. Consider it my little secret.”

You laughed softly, a blush creeping over your cheeks.

Han Song-Yi leaned in, whispering, “This night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Jinwoo’s eyes met yours, a knowing smile curling at his lips.

That’s when the night actually began.

A bit later, after drinks and stories, Jinha stood up, tugging at Song-Yi and Jinho.

“Alright, dance floor’s calling. You in?”

You opened your mouth, but she cut in:

“You’re staying. Someone’s gotta keep my brother company while he nurses his whiskey like a grandpa.”

You scoffed. “Rude.”

But your heart skipped when you realized you were now very, very alone with Jinwoo.

He leaned back on the velvet couch, sipping his drink. “So this is what it takes to get you out of the office.”

You crossed your legs, playing it cool. “Peer pressure. Also, Jinha’s surprisingly persuasive.”

“She always is,” he said, tone softer now. “But I’m glad you came.”

You blinked. “You are?”

He turned to you, that intense gaze locking in. “It’s been a while since I saw you smile like this.”

“Maybe you weren’t looking,” you teased.

“Maybe I was.”

You let out a soft laugh, trying to mask the way your stomach flipped. “That’s a bit much… even for you.”

He didn’t even blink. “Maybe I meant it.”

You arched an eyebrow. “What, did you miss me?”

There was a pause — a beat of silence that held too much.

“We still see each other at least three times a day,” he said, his voice calm but unreadable.

You smiled — but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That’s not a no.”

His lips curled, slow and deliberate. “It’s not.”

Your breath caught — just slightly. The shift in the air was almost tangible.

You tilted your head. “That’s a dangerous answer.”

He leaned in just a bit — enough that your shoulders tensed. Not out of fear. Anticipation.

“Only if you want it to be.”

A spark shot through your chest.

You swallowed hard. “Sir—”

He cut you off instantly.

“We’re not at the company.”

His voice had dropped even lower now — molten, deliberate. “Try again.”

Your mouth opened before your brain could stop you.

“Jinwoo.”

The way he looked at you then — like he felt it.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

You forced a breath. “You keep looking at me like—”

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“Like you want to ruin me.”

“Maybe I do.”

You stared at him. It was too much. Too real.

And still… not enough.

Your voice dipped, barely a whisper. “What would she say?”

That stopped him.

He blinked, slowly. “Who?”

You held his gaze. “Hae-In.”

He didn’t flinch — but his body stilled completely.

You almost wished you hadn’t said it. But it was too late now.

“She’s your girlfriend, Jinwoo. You’ve been together for what, three years?”

His jaw tensed.

“I know.”

“Good,” you said, but your voice was brittle. “I’d hate to be the only one keeping track.”

He leaned closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing.

“Then don’t act like this is one-sided.”

Your breath caught. You looked at him — really looked.

“I never said it was.”

He was so close now, you could count the flecks of gold in his eyes.

But neither of you moved.

Not forward. Not away.

Just… on the edge.

Balancing.

Taglist: @mitsurisupporter @milabyxz @shadyyouthcloud @cjafjatkstke @fianur @sky-casino @lemonninq @raspberrizzz @lavishlyjayda @blackqueen2k17 @livlikelove @uobasu @sylviatherosairy @jammycheese @reth66 @storacy @pikusururu

#anime and manga #fandom #fanfic #writing #writers on tumblr #solo leveling #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo x you #hope you enjoy it!

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jacaela · 1 year ago

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How did they turn a story about misogyny into “monarchy is bad”? The book is full of green propaganda that was spread by Eustace and Shepherd, but even these two didn’t think of such nonsense as Ryan and Sara. They shove this damn prophecy into every episode because for them the motivation "the throne is my birthright" is not good enough. Rhaenyra contemplated giving her youngest sons to be raised by a drunkard and a woman who abused her for 10 years. They make her not the main character, but Alicent's litter. Whaaaaaat? Even directors are already making fun of her.

Rhaenyra never was called a kinslayer, that's what Aemond was called.

Everyone was concerned about Luke's murder: And with his death, the war of ravens and envoys and marriage pacts came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began in earnest.

Rhaenyra was broken by pregnancy, labor, and stillbirth and Luke's death. She wasn't a robot.

The Black Council was loyal to Rhaenyra and did not undermine her authority, and she listened to them.

Almost all the houses of the Riverlands immediately supported Rhaenyra because they remembered the Realm's delight.

Rhaenyra had an army.

Jace was always on her side. And Rhaenyra always listened to him.

Rhaenyra blamed everything on her enemies, not her closest allies.

The Battle of the Burning Mill was won by blacks.

Rhaenyra would be the last person to put a plebeian from King's Landing on a dragon, only her blood.

I'm pretty sure Ryan and Sara are snickering at Rhaenyra and thinking about how to humiliate her even more in the show. They are trying their best to evoke sympathy from Aegon, whom George has called a villain. Don't you find this strange??

#rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra #the blacks #anti greens #anti hotd

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katsukisbimbo · 1 year ago

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Silver haze: Peach Ringz

- pairing: ryomen sukuna × reader, gojo satoru x reader, getou suguru × reader, (slight gojo × getou)

- synopsis: who knew letting your fuck buddy roll on your back would lead to sweet forehead kisses and naps

- wordcount: 2.7k

- warning: fem! reader, she/her pronouns, squirting, car sex, use of drugs, smoking, mentions of marijuana, oral, throatfucking, slight dubcon, unprotected sex, degradation, sub/dom themes, creampie, slight size kink, mention of panty sniffing, mention of panty tasting >.<

part one and two

- note: after 3 years of hiatus, i birth this. please enjoy. also for my weed smokers, try the strain peach ringz, it tastes like peaches!

Your eyes widened in fear, the voice startling you to the point where you felt as if your heart was going to jump out of your mouth. You scrambled to cover yourself, Sukuna watching in amusement as he did not move to even protect his decency.

“Why do you always have to fuck things up Yuji?” Sukuna sighs, palm slapping the top of Yuji’s head.

Yuji swats his hand away and grumbles under his breath before speaking. “If anything I’m saving our sweet soon-to-be manager from your corruption.” He points accusingly. “She’s so sweet and you’re taking advantage of her!”. His words echo through your mind, various thoughts rushing from the back of your head as you start to overthink. Has he been using you? What did you even expect from your little excursions with him?

“Hey, if anything, she’s using me.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm around your waist to press you tight against his warm body. Yuji turns to face you now, eyes filled with concern and a hint of sympathy.

“Would you like me to take you home? My car’s just around the building. I bet you’re feeling a little cold right now.” His eyes soften. “I can turn on the seat warmer for you. I promise I’ll get you home safe.”

You slowly just nod your head, body and mind on autopilot as you slowly slip away from Sukuna’s grip and he lets you. Disappointment fills his entire being but he doesn’t let it show, but you’re too distraught to notice anyway.

Yuji takes you by the hand and quickly takes his sweater off to place around your shoulders, securing it before wrapping an arm around you and walking away from an irritated Sukuna, his cock now flaccid.

___

The car ride home was a blur, the event had left you feeling dismayed and a tad humiliated. It was your first day meeting Yuji and he had seen you in such a compromising position with his teammate, and in public as well! Thoughts of leaving the country and changing your name were heavy on your mind, but you knew it wasn’t the wisest decision especially when you have Suguru and Satoru to care for.

“Babe? You home?” a voice calls out.

Satoru probably, you think. You take your comforter and pull it over your head, dread filling each nerve of your body. This whole day has been a weird blur and all you’d like to do is sleep and pretend it never happened.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, voice brimming with concern. He knew, they both knew, but they wanted to know what you would say. If you’d keep your little shenanigan up and lie to them once more.

“Please leave me alone.” You mumble, voice muffled by the thick comforter still covering your head. You feel comfortable and safe, but it is at that moment when Satoru decides he’s had enough and rips away your comfort and safety straight through your fingertips.

Before a yelp even leaves your throat, you’re being tackled by two oversized grown babies, each at your sides. Their limbs are long and wrapping around you, fingertips desperately but gently digging into whatever skin they can find. And their faces are close, so close you can smell the skin of their necks and cheeks, their pheromones causing you to sigh in delight.

“You both smell so good.” You sigh once more, eyes shut in absolute bliss as Satoru slowly starts mouthing at your neck, a trail of pecks with the occasional tongue darting out to taste you. But it was okay, Satoru always did weird things like this.

Suguru placed his large hand on top of your chest, palm cupping your breast, but even that was normal too. You three just had a close and affectionate relationship. There was nothing wrong with that. At least that’s what they both had told you.

“I know. You’re a weird little freak who likes to sniff me.” Suguru laughs, index finger tracing around your nipple and smirking when he sees your little bud stiffen up from a mere touch. Your breath hitches, maybe his finger just slipped.

“No, I’m not, I’m not Satoru.” You huff.

“Yeah, he’s worse. He likes to sniff your panties when you’re gone.”

“Are you fucking serious? Satoru!” A loud smack echoes through the room followed by obnoxious laughter and yelling.

“I was just sniffing it but HE was tasting it!”

“You both better be fucking with me!”

“Of course we are, we’re not crazy.”

They were.

___

A few days had gone by without seeing Sukuna, you decided that it would be better to turn down the position you were offered. In your opinion, Sukuna hadn’t done anything wrong, you’re a consenting adult and you liked it.

But it was just the embarrassment as well and his indifference to both of you getting caught in the act. You knew your relationship wasn’t serious, but you at least thought he would’ve cared a little more about your well-being and feelings.

You are human after all.

“Hey beautiful,” A familiar voice whispers in your ear. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Was that on purpose?”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes to the back of your skull. Of course, it was on purpose and he knew that. He wasn’t stupid. “Take a guess.” You grumble, not even sparing him a glance as you speed up a little. His large hand grabs your forearm and spins you to face him, pulling you against his body, an odd habit of his.

“Can we at least talk? Maybe sit down in my car so we can have a private space? I’ll drive us somewhere quiet. I just wanna apologize.” You look at him with a raised brow and he sighs, raking his free hand through his unruly pink hair. “Jus’ hear me out, princess.”

___

You watch him as he rolls a spliff on his lap, his little weed bag containing jars of weed, a grinder, papers, and a pen. You weren’t sure what the pen was for. Maybe for emergencies.

“Do you have to smoke every time we sit in your car?” You grimace as he lights it, the pungent smell hitting you quickly. He smirks a little and wraps his pink lips around the filter, taking a long drag before turning and blowing it towards your face.

“Yeah, I do. What else am I gonna do? Not smoke?” He raises a brow. You roll your eyes. He offers you a toke and you gladly take it, needing to expel the irritation and stress coursing through your veins.

“I’m really sorry pretty girl, I am.” He starts and looks down at your lap, unable to meet your eyes as you take a few more hits. “I was a dick. I still am. I should’ve covered you up n shit.” He sighs. “Yuji ripped me a new one after he dropped you off. I feel really bad ‘nd I jus’ wanted to say I’m sorry baby.”

The weed in your system causes you to just lightly nod your head, eyes nearly fluttering shut as the familiar feeling of being high rolls through your body in what feels like waves. Your eyes shut and you feel the spliff being taken from your fingertips.

“Say something, princess.”

“S’fine. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just have some respect for me, that’s all.” You whisper lightly.

“I promise I’ll respect you so good baby.” He grins, handing you the spliff to take the last few tokes. “So…” He starts. “We’re good now right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Can you suck my dick?”

“…Yeah.”

He quickly discards the roach, a giddy smile on his face as he hastily unzips his pants, not even taking the time to lower them and only pulling his stiff cock out, giving it a few strokes. You watch, entranced by the way his precum pools at the tip.

You can’t help the way your thighs squeeze and your mouth fills up with saliva. “Taste it, baby, I wanna see your slutty lips around my tip.” He speaks huskily while stroking the base of his fat cock.

You find yourself leaning over, seatbelt off in a flash and his cock in your mouth, tongue licking up his leaking cock. Sukuna throws his head back in bliss, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. All he can think about is fucking your slutty mouth ‘til you’re choking down his cum. He can’t decide if he wants to cum down your throat or cum all over your pretty face.

“Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock tastes? Throat that shit baby, I wanna feel your throat squeeze my cock.” You feel his large hand on top of your head pushing you down, and you let him. You like it, you hate to admit it but you like the way he treats you. It feels so lewd and so wrong but it makes your pussy wet anyway.

“Fuck my dicks already numb baby. I need another fucking spliff.” He mumbles before reaching for his little bag once more. “Keep sucking my dick baby. I’m jus' gonna roll on your back so don’t go too crazy yeah?” You garble out a response, throat tightening around his cock.

You continue to slobber and lick at his cock, careful to not move your back too much as you feel his jars lined up on your spine, his grinder and tray placed carefully on the left side of your back. “You’re so fucking good for me baby, my dirty little slut sucking my cock. Fuck. You look so fucking good.” He groans, licking the paper and smoothening the sides to make the perfect cone. He then uses the pen to lightly push the contents inside, making sure to not stuff it too much.

“Almost done baby. Lemme get all this off of you and I’ll face fuck you.” You moan in response, feeling yourself relax a tad when you feel the pressure taken off of your back. He lights his spliff and you take that as a moment to catch your breath, pulling off his spit-soaked cock.

He whips his head and glares at you. He wants to be mad, but seeing your face streaming with tears, covered in precum and spit. He feels like he wants to give you a baby right then and there.

“Did I say you can stop sucking? You’re my sex slave. You do whatever the fuck I tell you to. So fucking do what I say or else I won’t fuck you.” He growls, his heavy hand smacking your ass swiftly and pushing your head back down on his throbbing dick.

“Show me you’re sorry baby. I wanna see how fucking sorry you are.” You nod tearfully. Your hand cups his balls, squeezing and playing with them in your palms. “Oh fuck.” He moans, head thrown back with his spliff held between his lips.

You relax your throat and swallow his entire cock, your face pressed tight against his pelvis. His fingers dig into your scalp, loud moans leaving his lips. “Shit. Fuck. Stay down there. Keep it down your throat baby.” You start gagging, your untrained throat failing you. “Imma cum baby, imma give your throat a fat fucking load ‘cuz you deserve it.” He moans, shallowly fucking his cock down your throat.

You feel his entire body go stiff, a loud moan breaking the short silence. You feel his cock twitching down as well as his cum going straight down your throat, his cock lodged so deep inside that swallowing was unnecessary.

He wasn’t lying, he did have a big load. You pull your head back, coughing and spitting out his large load. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. Everything feels wet and sticky. Your saliva had dripped down your chin and soaked your shirt. You’ve soaked through your panties and you can feel your thighs sticking to the leather of the seat as you sit back down.

“Tissue?” You croak out, looking at him as his chest heaves. His eyes snap open. “No.” He states bluntly. “What do you mean no? Look at me! I’m so messy!” You complain, feeling the remnants of his cum drying on your skin.

“Get in the back. I’m gonna fuck you.”

“Can I at least clean—“

“Get in the fucking back.”

___

“Suguru, she’s not answering her phone.” Gojo whines. He was a petulant child indeed. Getou sighs, irritation building. He knows where you are and who you’re with. He’s just not sure what to do about it. He wants you. Both of them do.

Sure, Gojo’s a bit more straightforward and spoiled, always expecting everyone to bend to his will. But Getou knew that if you made your choice, there would be no changing your mind.

“Hello? Suguru? Are you ignoring me?” Gojo whines once more, stomping his foot like once again, a petulant child. Getou sighs in annoyance.

“Stop acting like a kid. You know where she is, and you know what she’s doing.” He pauses. “What do you wanna do about it?”

Gojo smirks.

“I have an idea, I’m just not sure you’re up for it.”

___

The world's spinning. At this point, you’re ready to leave the earth. Your body’s gone numb and you’re struggling to breathe once more as Sukuna tightens his grip on your throat.

You’re laying on your back in the backseat of his car, legs hooked over his shoulders as he fucks into you, slow but rough. His cock batters against your cervix causing your toes to curl in both pain and pleasure.

“You’re so fucking creamy holy shit. I’m gonna have to detail my car after this.” He laughs lightly. “Every time I squeeze your throat your pussy gets tighter.” He moans, fucking into you harder.

“I wanna see you squirt on my dick baby. You think you can?”

“M-Maybe, I’ve never squirted before.” You squeal when his thumb slides down your entire abdomen and presses against your clit, the rough pads of his fingers expertly playing with your sensitive parts. He watches your facial expressions attentively, figuring out what feels good and what doesn’t.

He craves to have you lose yourself on his cock. He wants you completely dick-drunk and bending to his will. He knows you can. You’ve been so good for him, it feels as if you could be the one for him.

“Sukuna!” You moan. You feel the pressure building in your abdomen. Your pussy grips his cock tighter and you feel as if you’re about to cum, eyes rolling back into their sockets. “‘M g’nna squirt!” You mumble, too far gone in your pleasure.

“Yeah? Squirt baby. I wanna feel you soak my cock. Squirt for me and only me.” He groans, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs as he feels your cunt squeeze around him. He doesn’t know how much longer until he loses himself. But he knows he wants you to cum first.

The pressure in your abdomen snaps and a string of whines and moans fall from your lips. Your whole body trembles as you squirt, soaking your entire bottom half as well as Sukuna’s. But he’s not satisfied. He wants much more. He continues to bully your clit with his thumb, synchronizing each thrust with a roll of your bud.

“S’kuna! I can’t! Too sensitive!” You squeal, hands gripping his forearm tightly but he doesn’t let up. He knows what he wants and he’s gonna have it.

“I’m gonna fill this fucking pussy up. I don’t give a fuck about your two bodyguards.”

“Wait! Don’t!”

“I don’t care.” He smacks your hands away. He grips your wrists in his large hand and pins them above your head, his other hand occupied.

“I’m cumming baby~” He moans, thrusting his dick as deep as his can, grinding his tip against your bruised cervix as his cum paints your walls white.

You’re both left trembling and heaving, his cock still twitching and emptying itself inside your cunt. You wonder if you’ll be able to experience this type of sex with anyone else. Or if you’ll think about the way Sukuna makes you feel your entire life.

“Wanna go back to my place and nap? We can pick up some Wingstop.” He gives you a toothy grin before kissing your forehead. You can’t do anything but nod tiredly, throat still sore from Sukuna’s abuse.

But you wonder, was it normal for fuck buddies to kiss each other's foreheads so gently?

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vllergy · 7 months ago

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freedom of nature's gifts

h/alsin b/g3 allergy, kink tav, 2.1k for those not familiar with the fandom: enormous kinky beefcake bear-coded druid who is felled by nothing wanders off into the woods to sneeze without disturbing his companions for those familiar: pls enjoy astarion being an absolute bitch about it for .5 seconds regular goodies: allergies, vouyuerism, partner with the kink extra flavor: giant man, giant snz, formerly indomitable force meets pollen, forced politeness, h/alsin being a sap tbh THIS IS JUST FOR ME I WROTE THIS FOR ME OK SORRY YOU HAVE TO SEE IT

“And here I thought druids were supposed to appreciate all of nature’s many charms.” Astarion’s musical voice drips with amusement. Tav picks up on it outside his tent as the lithe shadow of the elf passes over the sun drenched silk of his doorway. Just behind him, Karlach’s larger figure marches diligently along the same path.

“Oh, he’s appreciating them all right,” she snorts.

Tav rubs his eyes and rolls over. It’s morning, or at least it feels like it from the ache in his spine and the slightly cool air whisking over from the lake. He picks his head up and tries to follow the thread of conversation. His companions are talking about a druid, so they must mean Halsin. Tav hasn’t seen him since the night before.

Memories come warm and sticky like honey. Halsin’s hazel eyes fond in firelight. A low chuckle. A massive hand settled onto the small of Tav’s back. His heart quickens just at the thought.

Outside, Karlach sighs with a note of sympathy. “Never heard anyone sneeze so much in my life.”

Tav’s heartbeat nearly catapults out of his chest at that. His fingers fist in his blankets before he tears them away and scrambles up. Despite wishing to burst free from the tent like a demon, he tries to make his movements as unhurried as possible. It’s with great effort that he emerges from his sleeping arrangements without appearing impatient and affects a bored glance over at the others as they settle around the warm embers from last nights campfire.

“Morning,” Tav says and makes a show of scrubbing his eyes.

“Good morning to you too, darling,” Astarion purrs, “And aren’t you looking lovely?”

“Heya, soldier. You sleep okay?” Karlach waves.

Tav nods. His patience has limits, however. “What were you guys talking about?”

Karlach gestures back over her shoulder towards the tree line, “Halsin. Surprised you didn’t hear him earlier this morning. Poor guy was sneezing his head off before he crawled off to the woods to do it in private.”

The warm flooding of pleasure in Tav’s stomach doesn’t stop his momentary concern. “Is he alright?”

Astarion’s eyes glitter with amusement, “He says it’s the flowers growing nearby setting him off.”

The vampire looks positively delighted to be delivering said information, as if he knows what it’s doing to Tav. Tav knows that’s impossible, and Astarion is clearly just tickled by the irony of it all, but it still makes his cheeks flush with unexpected warmth.

“A druid with allergies! Ha!” Astarion claps his hands once, “You can’t make this up.”

“I should go see if he needs anything,” Tav chews the inside of his lip. His body feels like it’s full of needles.

Thankfully, he has a well-known weak spot when it comes to Halsin. His abrupt need to go to check on him isn’t exactly out of the ordinary, nor is it any cause for suspicion. Astarion merely waves him off with a delicate hand and Karlach nods sagely. “Tell him he can come back any time, big guy’s too hard on himself.”

“I’d rather he stay out there,” Astarion balks, “I’d like to preserve my hearing, thank you very much.”

Tav leaves them to squabble and heads for the tree line where Karlach indicated. He knows he should probably change into something other than the clothes he slept in but he’s too warm already and the thought of delaying getting to Halsin makes her skin feel even more prickly and sharp.

—

Given how familiar he is with the volume with which Halsin can expel an irritant, Tav has some idea of what he’s getting into. Even still, the first far off sneeze he manages to catch once he’s in proximity stuns him with its power. The druid still has to be a few hundred feet off but Tav hears it clear as day. It's an unrushed, heavy thing with so much of Halsin’s voice in it, his knees go weak.

It only takes him a matter of moments to close in on his lover’s position. And when he does, the sight there unravels him completely.

Tav has never seen Halsin at the mercy of anything that wasn’t his animal form. That particular loss of control has always been wickedly erotic to him as well, just for the sheer rarity of it. It's not something Halsin enjoys succumbing to, however. The first time it happened when they made love, he’d been apologetic about it. Sheepish, even.

Halsin is a man who is undaunted by much of anything. It’s not surprising that the few things able to bring him to his knees are difficult for him to come to grips with. Tav thinks surrender must be a strange concept for a man who has burdened himself with nothing but crippling responsibility for over a millennia. When is the last time Halsin let himself truly be vulnerable to something? Does he remember how to surrender?

Tav would argue that yes, he does, because that's the only word that describes what’s happening here.

Halsin’s sitting under the cover of a tree on a large stump. He’s clearly been in the throes of this fit for some time, true to Astarion and Karlach’s report. Evidenced by the redness of his nostrils, the tears slicked down his tattooed cheek and the limp handkerchief laid open in his massive palm. The man appears breathless, panting with indulgent, open-mouthed gasps as his nostrils swell. He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes as he lets another clockwork sneeze take him.

“huh’uRRSSCHHHH’HOO!”

if he’d been using the handkerchief before, he’s abandoned it now, optioning to simply sneeze down in its general direction rather than try to contain any part of the expulsion. And Tav can see why. There’s hardly any point. Halsin's sizable chest swells with one, languid breath and whatever fire’s been stoked within his sinuses catches again and he sneezes without reprieve.

“hh’RRRAAAASSH’UUE!”

He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Tav wonders how long he’s been stuck like this, in an endless cycle of chest-clearing sneezes with barely a breath between. The idea of it being more than a few minutes is deeply intriguing to him, but also a little worrying. How much can one man possibly sneeze? He’s never seen Halsin like this. In fact, he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen the druid sneeze. Tav has, after all, been paying attention.

“hh’RrrRSSCHH! hh? Hh! Hh’hhRRUSSh'SHOO!” Halsin teeters on the edge of a third, eyebrows bunched together, an allergic tear sliding down his cheek. He hangs on the precipice for an agonizing moment before roaring with the ferocity of a bear into the final one. “Hh’hhRrAAASSCHHH’uHH!!!”

His shoulders tremble with the force and Tav’s vested interest in the display finally makes room for guilt. He steps forward, purposely landing hard enough on the foliage underfoot to snap a twig and announce his presence.

“Halsin?” He calls.

The druid tenses. He straightens up and his eyes flash over to the treeline, surprised and a little guilty. He attempts a smile as color rises to his cheeks.

“Ah, my heart! I did not hhhea—excuse mhee’hh’WHFFHSHH!” He turns away promptly and smothers the harsh sneeze into his handkerchief, cutting the volume in half.

The propriety he insists on in front of Tav makes Tav’s legs feel like jelly. Moments ago he was sneezing with reckless abandon into the open air without a care in the world, but now he insists on sparing his lover from the display for a reason Tav can't ordain. They've seen each other bloodied and spent a thousand different ways before. How is this any different? Halsin twists away from him further, his massive shoulders swelling as he ducks into the handkerchief again. “H’hWHHFFSSShH!"

“Seven Hells, Halsin,” Tav murmurs. He lays a hand on the man’s back, “Bless you.” "My thhha-"

Tampering back those massive sneezes seems to make them vindictive, and Halsin can’t even get a proper thanks out before he's flinching back into a reflexive fit of them, once more trapped in his sodden handkerchief.

“wFFHSCHH! H’tSSCHh!” Halsin lifts his head and gasps desperately. Tav feels an odd sense of relief as the druid eschews a sense decorum for a cleansing, powerful third. “hhrh’RRSHHH-SHOO!”

“My thanks,” he murmurs directly after, but tends to his nose quickly before turning back to Tav. He sniffles unproductively and Tav notices his nostrils sharpening as they flare in an effort to stave off what he’s sure is another impending sneeze.

Tav gently tucks a lock of auburn hair that’s come loose from a braid behind Halsin’s pointed ear.

“Bless you,” Tav frowns, “How long has this been going on?”

Halsin looks dangerously close to another sneeze, but blinks furiously until the need abates. His auburn lashes look darker with irritated tears. He sniffs as delicately as he can, which Tav can only assume is incredibly unsatisfying, and gives a weak smile.

“The better part of the morning, I fear.”

“You could have woken me,” Tav murmurs, stroking fingers through his long hair.

Halsin chuckles, “I thought I might have, given the racket I was m—ma—ah, oohn...onnce more, apologies—“ He turns away and clamps the handkerchief over his nose and mouth. “h’WHFFHSHH'uhh!"

His lungs fill and he dips lower towards his lap.

“hh'RrSCHH!”

“I believe that was twice,” Tav teases, despite feeling his trousers getting uncomfortably tight.

Halsin lifts his head just enough to try and find a dry edge of the handkerchief. It doesn’t happen in time. His hazel eyes go narrow, unfocused, and he sneezes across it and his knuckles.

“Huh’uSSHH’HOO!”

“Gods, Halsin.” Halsin gives an experimental sniff. When he's certain it's not going to lead to another sneeze, he sags slightly and tilts his head back. "Oak Father preserve me." Tav's delirious at this point. He crouches down to get to Halsin's eye level, his hand lingering on the druid's knee. “How long does this usually go on?” Tav asks, worries for both of them at this point.

Halsin sniffs hard and finally finds the dry edge of the handkerchief, using it rather anticlimactically to dab at his raw nostrils. He blows his nose once while shaking his head. "Truthfully, I'm not certain. It hasn't been this bad in some time." "Would changing shape help?" Halsin chuckles, "Then, I would be sneezing as a bear." "Is that more pleasant?" "Perhaps for some," Halsin's eyes shimmer with sudden mischief beyond the allergic tears. Tav blinks. He takes a moment to process, then gapes. He smacks Halsin's knee and the druid gives a chesty laugh. "You bastard, how long have you known?" Tav asks. "My heart, you are many things, but subtle is not one of them," Halsin knuckles at his reddened nose and gives a warm smile that makes Tav melt on the spot. "Look, it's not like I meant to enjoy your suffering, I--" Halsin holds up a hand, "When have I ever given you the impression that you need apologize for your desires?"

Tav blushes. Halsin continues sniffling and tugs him forward by the hip. As he stumbles closer, Tav reaches for his face. His thumb clears away the track of an allergic tear from Halsin’s scarred cheek. "I do feel bad that you're miserable.”

“If it brings you pleasure,” Halsin says, his voice low, “Then I am not miserable.”

Tav lowers himself into Halsin’s lap. The druids hands dwarf his waist as he supports him, and also prevent him from worrying at his nose as he starts to lose himself to into the persistent tickle once more. Halsin goes to raise an arm but Tav captures it, lowering it back to his hip.

Halsin, to his credit, doesn’t even stop to question it. He lets the sneeze take him over fully, though habit still makes him turn his head as it barrels through him.

“h’HHRRUSSCHHH!”

Now that he’s seated astride him, Tav can feel the way his body clenches. Halsin has to be three hundred pounds of solid muscle, and each one of them turns to steel as he surrenders himself to the sensation. His chest quivers under Tav’s eager hands as he waits torturously for a second and his other hand reaches around the small of his back, holding the smaller man in place as he--

“uh'Hhh-!...huuh...eh'HUHH’ESSH’SHOO!”

Spray dapples in the sunlight from a break in the canopy of trees above. Tav's almost unseated from the man's lap with that one but certainly has no complaints. He's beaming as Halsin sniffles blearily once more and dips close to kiss at Tav's throat. "Tell the Oak Father I said thanks," Tav murmurs in bliss. That earns him a sharp pinch from Halsin, but thankfully no fewer kisses.

#idk if this is even a fandom on snzblr but #it is to ME ok #also hello everyone it's me again with more content specifically catered to my interests #but this time in a fantasy setting #h/alsin #my giant druid beefcake husband #i just know this man has aggressive earth shattering dad snzs and i think everyone should know thanks #snz fic #snz kink #snzfic #snzblr #b/g3 tag #i am leaving on vacation so goodbye for a bit #have this absolutely pure indulgent nothingness before i go

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mikkomacko · 2 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/mikkomacko/782223880823750656/jersey-leeds-hischier-will-be-very-happy-to-know

jersey being able to moo in person and being so attached to her papa makes all of nicos sadness of getting eliminated disappear

Him getting home from Carolina and he’s just downright dead on his feet, slumped in the elevator up to the apartment, pretty much using his rolling suitcase as a crutch as he drags himself to the front door.

But as soon as he’s unlocking the door Jersey is screeching “Papa!” at the top of her lungs, bounding towards on him on her chubby legs that are still just a little too unsteady.

Nothing else matters, not really. Not after he’s crouched down to scoop her up in his arms, pressing kisses to her cherub face and she’s letting out those adorable baby giggles, pressing her hands to his cheeks that just started growing a proper playoff beard.

Nico pulls back, reaching behind him to the lock the door and he sighs heavily when Jersey starts petting at the fuzz on his chin, little fingers so curious.

And then she’s looking at him with curious eyes, those lips that were laughing just moments ago now pouting because she’s realized her daddy isn’t smiling like he usually does.

“Hi baby,” he mumbles, stroking through her messy blonde hair and realizing that she’s still running around in just her diaper.

Freshly out of bed despite the fact that it’s well into the day. He wonders if Jersey stayed up with you last night to watch overtime, if it was one of those special nights you didn’t tuck her into bed despite her crying for him at the TV.

She wasn’t up after the game he knows that. But you were, on the other end of his phone call that he couldn’t bear turning into a FaceTime because he didn’t want you seeing his red eyes and wet cheeks, even if you could hear him crying through the speaker. Far too late for you to be up, the call stretching into early hours this morning because he just couldn’t sleep.

Hopefully Jersey let you get a little shut eye this morning, hopefully that’s why she’s still not dressed, hair not brushed and tied in pig tails.

“Erope,” Jersey asks him curiously and his shoulders lighten just a bit. His girl is so smart, he thinks, because she knows what him being home means now. Europe. Switzerland. Home.

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Soon,” he promises, carrying her off to find you. You’re in the kitchen, still in pajamas and your hair up in a clip. Like him, your eyes are swollen and heavy but you smile with a loving airiness, laying Jersey’s freshly washed breakfast bowl on the drying mat.

“Hi baby,” you greet, and he feels his bottom lip tremble, thinks of how much his chest ached last night as you soothed him in that same tone.

You notice his expression, lips pouting in sympathy and then you’re moving towards him, arms out and he curls into your shoulder, lets you squeeze him and Jersey, almost laughs when his daughter lets out an annoyed huff, wiggling in his arm.

Cupping his face, you tuck his hair behind his ear and press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “It’ll be ok Nico,” you promise, then laugh because Jersey has perked up in his hold again, laying her hand next to yours on his face and she’s blinking at him with wide, concerned eyes.

“Moo?” She asks sadly, tilting her head just a bit and it’s so fucking cute, so loving coming from her that Nico laughs, smacking kisses to her palm when she lays it over his smile and then mooing into her skin, the vibrations making her squeal with delight.

“Alright baby cows,” you nudge Nico towards the hall, “back to bed, it’s nap time.”

Nico sleeps with your hand stroking through his hair, Devil Snoopy shoved into his neck, and Jersey snoring like a little cow on his shoulder.

Still no Stanley Cup, still no ring, still no parade, but more than enough.

#jersey Leeds Nico #Jersey Leeds #girl dad Nico

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melancholicstation · 9 months ago

Text

Take Me Out To The Ball Game — john f. kennedy

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @kennediva @h-l-vlovesvintage @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro @tsloverr-13

authors note: i use jfk's nickname "jack" in this if you're confused!

summary: you’re self-imposed pity party after your failed romance with a left-end jack kennedy is interrupted when you dragged along by your girlfriends to a football game held at the harvard crimson. you were comfortable going as you were assured that jack had gotten sick with strep days prior. what you didn’t know, however, was that as you’re eyes glaze over the field a certain insufferable blue-eyed boy would be quick to meet your gaze…

warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, sleazy man, public sex at a baseball field, bit of degradation but not too much.

words: 2808

Now you wouldn't regard yourself as the kind of woman to lose herself in mindless rumination over a failed collegiate love, but looking down at yourself from a birds-eye perspective: you just may have been kidding yourself.

To put it plainly you're a wreck. Emotionally strictly. One disposition you count your lucky stars for is the ardent dedication that you carry within yourself to the performance of femininity. And by god was it a performance, entirely unnatural to you.

This love stupor you've been in for 8 to 9 business days simply needed to end, and your new attitude started with you discarding the days-old clothes you donned while rotting away in your poster board twin-size bed. Deny as you have many times to yourself, you didn't wear these clothes out of a slobbish penchant for convenience or pure happenstance, you wore them because they smelled of him: feeling that if you wore something that had once touched his skin that you too could still inhabit the body of the boy who you had lost. Still touch what had so cruelly been ripped away from you from the very boy himself. What a cruel boy he'd morphed into these past few days.

You rummaged through the large chest of drawers that your mother just insisted you keep for "functionality" knowing full well her hatred of the object: a dreadful eyesore of a gift from your grandmother on your father's side. You decided upon a poplin sleeveless dress tastefully skimming the fleshy part of your upper thigh. You move ghostly, in a pathetic slump-like state towards your vanity: a treasure in dorm-living, and start to unpack your beauty packing cubes: one labelled "hair", one labelled "skin", and one labelled "make-up" in thick bolded typewriter font. Some time passed and before you knew it you were applying your last coat of sérum teinté N°1 when you were rudely interrupted by a barrage of knocking and girlish condescending shouts from the other side of your dorm door.

You roll your eyes, despite being unconsciously excited to experience the delightful distraction of girlhood in the form of your girlfriends. As soon as you unlock the door, each of your girlfriends bound through the door every one of pawing at you with a look of pity in their eyes. "Oh come on don't look at me like that I'm not dead yet: I can smell the sympathy on all of you"

Betty, a friend who had eagerly sought you out during orientation, and attached herself to you, not unlike a succubus escapertaly exclaimed "Well you don't look far from death sweetheart why do you think we made the trouble to come up five flights of stairs looking for you? You are a case of upmost urgency!"

"Well I--" you're excuses are cut short when Betty's partner in crime: Alana pipes up, a brown-haired girl who stood at maximum 5 foot 4, "Oh come on y/n!, you think we'd show up if you weren't in dire straights. Take a look at my shoes--" She physically moves your hand to feel the leather glide over your fingertips "--do you really think I'd risk dirtying the soles of brand new Dior slingbacks on dormitory stairwells if we weren't really concerned about you?"

"I suppose you may be right. It's downright dreadful what's he's done to me. Before him I felt I was made for great, I had hopes for the future. But now all I sincerely believe that my being, my flesh and blood was created to love him, to tend to him. And I know it isn't right or near darn healthy to feel or think this way but dammit I do--and it's proving damn near impossible to shake."

By the end of your monologue your hands had begun to shake and your face to become an odd shade of green, nearly immediately the hands of your two friends came to encompass you whole. You knew they didn't understand, couldn't comprehend the stupor he had placed on you, but they cared enough to listen and that was even for now.

After a well-needed clean up job by your friends, who more closely resembled catholic saints at this point, of your dormitory littered with stained coffee mugs, pomegranates seeds on the windowsill, and a plate of un-touched steak fries from the cafeteria.

It was during this time that you'd been asked--no informed that you and them would attend the four o'clock baseball game at the Harvard crimson. A grim place for even people in the highest of spirits: a setting marked by the unmistakable musk of fake grass, cheap mulled beer, and an overflow of appalling showcases of testosterone.

"And you're sure he's not going to be there. Not even in a twenty foot radius?"

"Who Jack? God no he told coach that he had strep throat. Probably rotting away in bed as we speak. Serves him right for what he's done to such an innocent like you." Betty says. You quietly scoff at "innocent girl" if only they knew what perverted, sickening acts you had done with jack, simply in the last fews months: on desks, on lampposts, in the backs of cars, simply anywhere and everywhere that had no present inhabitants that you two could surmise.

"Now that that silly thought is out of your head you need to get into that bedroom and find an nice looking dress, just because you feel awful doesn't give you the right to look it" Alana says in a tone so backhanded it could only come from a motherly kind of love.

You reluctantly do what she says, with a slight pep in your step, despite the pitfalls of the crimson sport arenas you were always a fan of anywhere you could smoke and drink at 2:00 pm and not look like a total degenerate slob.

You take a quick admiring glance at the 18th century armoire, the one prized possession you had forcibly removed from your childhood bedroom in New Hampshire along with you for the move much to your mother's dismay, and survey your options of dress. You zero in on a particular pair of field shorts which are clearly not yours but Jacks.

*flashback*

"When are you gonna change for the date?" You say to jack with applying your about tenth coat of rouge onto your lips, checks, and eyelids. "Whadda you mean sweetheart? I am dressed" Jack teases kissing his way up your neck making eye contact with his reflection. How vain.

You survey him from top to bottom, the top half of him is lacklustre but workable: a cream pullover with the collar of his white collared shirt peeping out every so slightly. But the bottom half is down-right offensive: tennis socks paired with field shorts so tight that there's a pronounced bulge noticeable to the naked eye. "Oh Jack you've gotta change. Don't you know we're going out with my friends--who trust me will not find it as comical as your friends would. I feel like it's staring right at me."

"Do you wanna' kneel down and take them right off, then they can really stare right at you honey?" Jack chuckles, always ready for a sexual escape even on an uneventful Wednesday evening. His sexual drive was concerning at best and rotted to the core at worst. But despite this, you too seemed to be afflicted by the same kind of constant desire around the presence of Jack. So you did as you were told, kneeled and started slipping of his boxers with little complaint and complete submission.

*end of flashback*

You're released from your temporary haze, as a knock comes at your bedroom door: it's Betty "Y/n we'll be waiting outside for you in the courtyard. Don't be more than 10 minutes I really don't want to wait in those retched lines with those retched Harvard boys."

You reply to her with an affirmation signally that you'll be out in a minute and turn quickly back to your armoire. As undergarments you went for the staples: a silk georgette camisole, and slip skirt. Quickly you find a wool dress cut above the knee in a pattern reminiscent of a kaleidoscope, detailed with mother of pearl buttons trading from your neck all the way down to your mid-behind (authors note: for imaginative purposes imagine those iconic Alexander McQueen dresses but make it 1930s era). You slip on a pair of slightly beaten up heeled oxfords and grab your favourite nappa leather bag. You glide out of your dormitory, drift down the stairwell with the temperament of a girl who desperately needs to spend some time with her beloved friends.

As your trio enters the stadium you tell Alana and Betty to go up and gather the greasy yet delightful treats and drinks while you go find each of your seats in the bustling chaos. You finally find the seating number after bumbling around for longer than you would've liked to admit. And before you know it Alana and Betty have come back mulled bear in hand an dried peanuts in the other, seemingly without delay the home team takes their defensive positions and the game gets well and truly under way.

But just as your mind is finally taken away from the blonde-haired equivalent of a sea barnacle on your brain that simply won't get off the interior of your mind: you spot him in the flesh.

A tanned face and beaming pair of blue-grey eyes meet yours from across the field. Definitely not the face of a person suffering from strep throat and is most definitely the face of the man who'd shattered your heart with a simple note stating that he couldn't "do this anymore" left on the windowsill: John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

Your friends hadn't caught on, clearly as they continued business as usual for the rest of the game, trying and failing in engaging you in conversation about what was transpiring on the field. But you couldn't pay attention, no you were paying particular attention to one man on the field.

The game ends unceremoniously, with Alana drenched from the amount of times Betty had thrown her hands in anger spilling mulled bear across the seats, and her friend.

But just as you three gather yourselves to get going, a familiar touch caress the clothed skin of your shoulder. Jack. "Funny seeing you here, I'd hoped you were withering away in that dorm of yours from Strep. Clearly not."

"You know I hate to disappoint you but I seem to have made a miraculously quick recovery. Dr. Schuab says it was the fastest he's ever seen!" Jack chuckles in an effort to diffuse the present tension that one could only cut with a butcher's knife.

"Well now that's not the truth, our last encounter disappointed me greatly"

"I know that Honey--" you physically recoiled at the term of endearment, a mix of revulsion at the man he caused you and the desire that the very presence of him inspired in you.

"--and that's why I came to talk to you. Look you stay here and I'm going to clean up and come right back to explain it all to you. Promise you'll wait for me, it'll be worth your while."

You quietly nod in shock immediately defaulting to agreeing to whatever he says, he has that certain effect on you it would seem. And before you know it Jack's scrambling to keep up with his teammates before entering the locker rooms.

Jack keeps you waiting for about 15 minutes, a minute longer and you would've walked out until you saw that beaming face barrelling towards you. Without a word he took your hand, leading you down a flight on stairs and directly onto the field. "Isn't this like totally, one-hundred percent illegal?"

"I wouldn't worry about it. See those floodlights up there? Dad funded them." Jack says in a tone trying to portray humbleness but failing in an adorable manner.

Your still stood fully upright as jack plops his body onto the fake turf, rolling around like a labrador in the summer heat. But just as quickly, his eyes zero in on you and he crawls his way, ever so slowly to your feet.

You squint your eyes in confusion as he goes to rest his head upon the fleshy part of your stomach, placidly placing suggestive kisses around the area. You quickly take the base of his head within his hands--"Now what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Just resting. Is it bothering you?" He says innocently "No what's bothering me is that you're acting like nothing happened, like you didn't completely cut me off."

"Baby I was being stupid, you gotta forgive me. I get like that sometimes, a compulsion of sorts to run. It had nothing to do with you." Jack says, and you don't know if youyourre stupid or smart for believing his words. You become puddy in his hands, slowly dropping to the grass as he starts to suck on your stomach with his lips, desperate to leave a mark. A monument.

Jack slowly taps on your face, waking you out of the passionate haze, and delicately slips his digits into your mouth. Encouraging and praising you to keep sucking them, telling you "what a good girl you're being for him" "the best in the god damn world". His moves are as smooth as a ballet dancers as he enters them into your warm, engorged mound. His fingers are an inviting stretch that leaves you whimpering to an empty stadium. As you moans start to increase in brevity and volume Jack places you on your back and starts to climb on top of you overing words of encourgament

"--Oh it's a big stretch isn't it. I haven't been taking care of you have I? I need to remedy that for my best girl don't I Huh? Don't I?" he says in a tone so patronising it's deeply arousing. Suddenly he stops his motions "Come on Y/n I wanna hear you say it. You need my help."

Your pleas come out quick and breathy "I do I do-Jack you have no idea". Once you reach your climax you feel as though you've been possessed, a good all-encompassing possession that you pray to never be broken free of. In the struggle the valley of your breasts are now fully exposed to Jack and in typical Jack fashion he uses this to his advantage.

Consistently sucking on your nipples while unbuttoning the fly of his pants and boxers all at the same time. It's then when you release a sticky substance coating his boxers. It's only then that you realise that in the haze of your personal euphoria, you had missed that Jack had came in his pants simply from pleasuring you. What a sight that was.

In recognising this you unconsciously giggle to yourself, to which Jack notices quickly throwing his soiled underwear and pants to the side "Hey now, what's got you giggling?"

"Nothing" you breath out, turning your head to the side feeling it be slightly irritated by the artificial turf. "Oh nothing really? We'll i'll give you something to giggle about, c'mere" quickly he grabs dominant possession of your hips and plunges his cock into your warm mound, already sensitive. Plunging in and out, in and out. And in such quick succession that you're sure to have grass burn the next morning.

He continues until for a while until he completely removes himself, and rests his member on your stomach slapping it around the flesh just to tease your already desperate frame, before quickly inserting it back where it belongs. "Best girl, pretty please hold on just for a minute, want to cum with you around me."

"Can't--Jack I-i"

"Yes you can and you will" Jack says in a tone that leaves no room for rebuttal. Finally you know you can finally let go when the tell-tale signs of Jack's impending climax appears: the relaxed eyebrows, shut eyelids, and rapid movements.

Jack holds you tight to your chest, his hot spurts filling you up wholeheartedly. Minutes later you stay like this, held together by each other's limbs.

"You think you can walk--never mind" Jack changes his mind mid-sentence after taking a look at you, completely blissed out, and adopts a bridal-carry despite his poor back, transporting you from one end of the field to the other.

You start to drift off as he carries you out of the stadium and back onto campus grounds, lullabied by the sound of his breaths and the faint kisses he litters across the crown of your head. The most delightful jewels any girl in Massachusetts could even dream of having.

the end.

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remembrancer-of-heresy · 10 months ago

Text

Reverse Therapy AU:

I usually try to follow canon (or close to it) when I write fanfics. And especially when I write about space marines. However, I've been thinking about creating my own AU. I've previously asked @kit-williams to write about space marines whose sexual desire has returned. Now I've decided to write a more detailed backstory before writing fanfics about it.

On Istvaan V Horus Lupercal issued a series of orders that were supposed to increase the traitors' chances of victory. Some innovations in the craft of war and hierarchy. However, few know that all Space Marines (regardless of the wishes of the Primarchs) also underwent therapy that restored their sexual desire.

The Warmaster did this for a number of reasons. First, he felt hatred and disappointment at the fact that the Emperor planned to destroy their species eventually. This explains why the Space Marines lost the desire to reproduce. Their presence is a necessity, not a natural process. At least it was until that day.

Second, Horus was partly influenced by Slaanesh (each of the four gods contributed to his goals and powers) and the desire to create a new species. In a way, a desire to become a real father/parent, as mortals would say.

Only heretics know about Reverse Therapy. The Imperium has harsh propaganda on many aspects concerning Chaos. It is not surprising that people who know about it prefer to remain silent. After all, if the fate of becoming a slave fighter (aka cannon fodder) or a slave for dirty work (and sometimes for torture) frightens the inhabitants of the Imperium. Then the possibility of becoming a warm body is not so scary.

Relationships depend on the specific marine. But if we talk in general, then:

Emperor's Children: A legion of hedonists and debauchees, oddly enough, may be the strangest place for such a slave. Some will simply torture, others will engage in ordinary intimate things. But do not forget that each marine seeks his own pleasure. For example, there were men who spoiled their lovers, giving them whatever they wanted, forgetting about bed. In fact, they treated them like pets (with sexual connotations). Art lovers were noticed trying to sculpt, draw a poor slave. And it does not matter in what state (she is always beautiful!). If this is a beloved wife, then later they made love to her after completing the work. If an ordinary slave, then most often she was walled up alive in wax. Simply put, everything depends on the search for pleasure of the marine you come across.

Night Lords: falling into the hands of a space marine from this legion is akin to playing roulette. Most likely, it will be a sadist who likes to mock his victims not only with ordinary torture. This means that the slaves will not live long. Some keep one slave partly out of sympathy or because it is convenient, continuing to torture. Although there are also quite often “heroes” who simply adore rescuing slave girls (and it does not matter that such knights recently flayed children) and fuck them right next to the corpse of the villain, promising to take care, protect and love forever. Just let them be seen as saviors.

Iron Warriors: Despite the fact that the Space Marines from this legion despise mortals and advocate for efficiency, there is not always only iron inside. Many also crave love, like their primarch, desperately hiding this feeling. Some representatives of this legion can be quite rough in bed. Others, delighted with new sensations, first only hug and kiss. But almost always it all turns into possessive behavior and favorite slaves quickly find themselves under the protection of the master in an iron cage. And of course the poor things will be marked. Either it's a collar, or they will be marked. And yes, the unlucky slaves who didn't find their marine probably would be sent to a brothel (if this place called like this in the Eye of Terror) or became daemonculaba.

Black Legion: breeding kink is hereditary. Most former Sons of Horus easily accepted the reverse therapy. And although some were not thrilled to experience... feelings at the sight of mortals, like the same Abaddon, over time they even liked it. The Black Legion has a variety of Space Marines from other Legions, but some of them also adopted the Sons of Horus attitude to reverse therapy. It is best for a warm slave to end up in this Legion, as she will have a better chance of immediately finding a good patron who will protect her. But if her master would like to share... the weakest doesn't survive.

Word Bearers: perhaps the most unusual Legion when it comes to reverse therapy. Some may use slaves for rituals. If they experience possessive feelings, they will most likely hide them from the rest of the Legion. And then it depends on the Space Marine. It can be a joint study of the Chaos Gods or worship of a beloved. Some Astartes are particularly fond of playing the role of serpent-tempters and corrupting their lovers. Or not. There was even a case of a Word Bearer convincing a girl that in fact he serves the God-Emperor, and the loyalists serve the Four Gods, in order to gain her attention and love.

Death Guard: If Grandfather Nurgle got Grandmother Isha, then why should his beloved grandchildren be alone? The question is not how the Space Marines will treat you (with all the love) but how do they want you? A decayed corpse full of sores and diseases for the glory of Grandfather? Or will you be young and beautiful like Isha, to create a delightful contrast. Either way, they are all terrible owners and treat their slaves very tenderly. At least in their understanding, since it is in this legion that the slaves most often cry (well, just like grandma, exactly, yeah!). Although some can be rude and even evil, they always ask for forgiveness later.

Alpha Legion: It is rather difficult to say how the Space Marines of the most secretive Legion cope with their newfound desire. According to some rumors, copies of the Primarchs like to exchange their slaves. Marines with an extremely expressive appearance most often choose one girl and become possessive to the point of madness (manipulation + Stockholm syndrome are guaranteed). But this is only general data.

Thousand Sons: The Legion joined the "general fun" too late and underwent therapy only before the siege of Terra. And yes, no one explained to them what it was. As a result, the therapy led to... interesting consequences. Some Thousand Sons got used to it as an insignificant feature that should be studied later. Others, little scientists, like to experiment with new sensations and relationships. Some Space Marines like stupid mortals, others adore lovers of knowledge. Some conduct experiments on their slaves, and others cherish them as pets.

World Eaters: Being a Khorn worshippers, these Space Marines forget about all aspects of life except the lust for murder. Most World Eaters do not have warm slaves. However, if they do, they are treated with great care (to the best of their ability). They do not leave their master's chambers because they know that if they leave, their skull will be crushed. Relationships/courtship(?) are always brutal with a touch of oppressive tenderness. World Eaters have a hard time being affectionate, but once they have warm slaves, they try to keep them with all their might.

Sometimes loyalist Space Marines take the path of Chaos. Such traitors also undergo reverse therapy. However, their “first experience” depends on the environment of their new brothers. Sometimes a Space Marine may not be explained the reason for his new feelings and why he suddenly wants to look at mortal women or men.

Such newcomers are the most dangerous. Most often, they kill a slave, eat or break from an excess of feelings. Newcomers who have been explained their desire should also not be trusted. Because in their desire to try the previously forbidden fruit, they may not hold back their strength. All “newcomers” in reverse therapy are usually given the most uninteresting slaves. Rarely does anyone survive. And if a loyalist traitor likes a girl to the point of madness, this surprises, scares a little, and sometimes disgusts the Chaosites (love at first sight? ugh).

The attitude of loyalist traitors to warm slaves depends on many reasons. What legion they came from, what gods they worship, what gang they are in. But most often, the most obsessed and eager for love are all the heirs of the Blood Angels and the Raven Guard. The Iron Hands experience the least sexual desire.

To summarize, “Reverse Therapy” AU where all chaosites have sexual desire in one way or another. However, since they are firstly space marines, and secondly heretics, mortal slaves are afraid to attract their attention. These are always dark feelings, too overexcited and sometimes uncontrollable. The worst is for those who spend only one night with traitors. Others become lovers, consider pets. Who are loved and cherished, but this care is suffocating and gloomy.

P.S. This AU was made partly for me personally, as I always write the attraction of space marines as an exception to the rule or if he is influenced by Slaanesh/Dark Gods. If I create rules and fanon for myself, then I can write more of my darkest ideas. And yes. It will be mostly OC space marines.

#au: reverse therapy #space marine x reader #yandere space marine

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the-lonelybarricade · 8 months ago

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Queen of Thieves - Chapter 8

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Happy birthday to our darling Rhys!! I got him everything he wanted 😏

CW: Smut, Mild dubcon/CNC elements, mind control, and other dubious, wicked things

Read on AO3・QoT Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

Feyre was eleven years old the first time she was desperate enough to steal.

Like any ordinary child, she'd been taught that stealing under any circumstance was wrong. Her father was a merchant, which meant that thieves posed a direct threat to his livelihood, particularly when piracy was so common along the trade routes to the continent.

He'd built his legacy, the Prince of Merchants, on his willingness to sail those trade routes, navigating pirate-ridden seas because the higher risk equated to higher reward.

But a name wasn't won through gambling alone. Any merchant with a rookie crew could luck their way to the continent and back. What made him the best—the Prince—was his expertise in the art of bargaining. He was renowned for having deals so detailed, so craftily constructed, they needed to be written and signed in advance of each journey.

Feyre had been present for a few of those meetings, watching as ink bled from paper to skin. Sometimes, she'd even been present for the aftermath, listening to crewmen grumble about underhanded terms.

I am a man of my word, Father once said, rolling a contract over his desk and stabbing a finger to its contents. And my word was stated plainly. Do not impute your failure to read the terms on my good name. I am no liar, and I am certainly no thief.

He always used that word like it was filthy.

Feyre once mirrored that belief.

As a child, she would delight in sitting atop storage crates on the docks, monitoring the gangways as her father's crew unloaded cargo from his ship. If there were any wayward thieves, she was determined to catch them.

After all, Father didn't trust the folk along the docks. He barely trusted his own crew.

They don't have any passion for the exploration or the trade, he once grumbled. All they want is a bed and a meal.

Feyre remembered being shocked to hear that some people didn't have those things. Until that point, she'd always relied on having her basic needs met, and then some.

What's so bad about that?

When all a person cares about is surviving, it means they're willing to blur lines. They'll cheat, lie, and steal if it helps them get ahead.

Father shook his head like those three things were truly abominable. Little did he know that one day, Feyre would become a master of all three.

But she started with mastering one.

Two years after her father's vessel sank on the route to Bharat, Feyre's mother had fallen ill. Humans had weak constitutions, and grief could take a heavy toll. So could debt—of which, they'd learned the famed Prince of Merchants had many.

So Mother sold the house, then the jewels, then, eventually, her own body.

It was barely enough.

By the time she was too ill to work, there was nothing left to get by. No silver candlesticks or golden rings they could pawn at the market for medicine.

When Feyre wandered into the apothecary's shop, her intentions had been pure. If she knew the price of the medicine, then perhaps she and her sisters could find a way to scratch together the amount needed. They could scrub floors, or pull weeds in someone's garden, or maybe Elain could use her big brown eyes to draw sympathy begging in the streets.

The shop was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves on every wall, filled to the brim with glass vials of varying colors and consistencies. Each sported a white label Feyre couldn't discern, though she was happy to pick out the colors that she found most interesting: a flask of swirling violet flecked with silver granules, another of bright, bubbling pink, and one which she swore housed a slithering creature.

"Can I help you?" The apothecary asked.

She sounded concerned, which any adult rightly would be at the sight of Feyre's tattered clothes.

It sparked hope that Feyre could appeal to the elderly female's empathy. That was all she'd been trying to do when she stared into the apothecary's eyes. Please help me, she thought. I know you want to help me.

The female's concern was so potent that Feyre could feel it, a rope tethering two strangers, built on kindness, on compassion. Her mind was as wide open as her heart.

Feyre didn't know she was digging into it until she felt something give. Like fingers clawing into wet sand.

I need a cure for a human fever, Feyre said.

She thought she said it out loud. She must have, because the apothecary started moving toward the shelf on the back wall.

Acting troupes occasionally put on puppet shows in the market squares near The Rainbow. Feyre felt like she was watching one of those shows as the female jerked open a drawer, her movements erratic. Unnatural. Like she was being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer.

But the oddity was forgotten the second the woman produced a vial of shimmering liquid and handed it to Feyre without a word of the price. Her eyes were unnervingly vacant as Feyre took the vial, thanked the apothecary, and fled back to her mother.

She didn't realize until years later what happened; she didn't realize that was the moment she'd become a thief.

Daemati magic came in many different forms.

Suspended in the space between the High Lord of the Night Court's foyer and study, it took the shape of madness and indulgence.

Over the years, Feyre had progressed from accidentally breaking into people's minds into doing so with intention. It was a gradual process, one she likened to painting. A child used their fingers, but an artist used a brush.

And she was learning her mental bowstring was as rudimentary as finger painting to Rhysand.

Last time, he'd shown her brutal talons that allowed him to play ventriloquist, and she'd thought that was the extent of it. Pure, unyielding power.

But of course, it could be soft, too. Gentle, like a feather's touch ghosting over her mind. Almost… ticklish. Playful.

Like the fingers landing on her bare stomach. He splayed them out carefully, the way one might handle ruptured glass. They might have both been holding their breath as the challenge became real.

Their eyes met, waiting for the other to fracture. This was a ridiculous, dangerous game; they both knew it.

He was lowering himself to his knees before her, for Cauldron's sake. The most powerful male in Prythian bowing like a supplicant. It all seemed so backward to her.

But those strong, capable hands spread wider, undeterred by the constraints of social hierarchy. What did a High Lord care, when he could simply rewrite the rules with his fingertips? He stretched them until his palms landed flat, scalding her on either side of her abdomen. She tried not to focus on how long his fingers were, spanning over the curve of her waist while the tips of his forefingers skimmed her ribs.

"This," Rhys breathed, tracing one of his thumbs along the golden chain adorning her midriff, "was an excellent wardrobe choice."

"You can thank one of the mountain nymphs in the Palace of Thread and Jewels," Feyre said. As if this were a perfectly normal conversation. "She sold it to me."

"I'll make note of that," Rhys murmured, still toying with that gods-damned chain. Feyre fought the urge to squirm. "I owe her my heartfelt gratitude."

"I bought it with your money," she added.

Rhys shut his eyes. She watched him take a deep breath, and she couldn't tell if that knowledge irritated or excited him. When those violet eyes flashed open, bright and burning with hunger, Feyre thought she had her answer.

"Then it was arguably the best money I've ever spent."

"Arguably?"

It was meant to come off as teasing, but with his fingers drifting up her stomach, everything was coming out a little bit strained. And maybe… a little hurt. Not that it mattered if the High Lord regretted spending his money on her.

When Rhysand laughed, his breath danced over her skin, as light a caress as his presence at her mental shields.

"I would claim it with more conviction, but you weren't here for the ass-chewing I received from my second."

"Your—" she broke off with a little gasp as Rhysand's hands slid upwards, dipping beneath the golden band that cinched her top over her breasts. She adjusted her grip on the rope, holding tighter. "Your second in command?"

"Amren," he supplied. "She's a vicious firedrake trapped in a tiny female's body."

"Amren," Feyre echoed, squeezing her eyes tight as those curious fingers began running along the beads hanging beneath her breasts. They made a soft, metallic tink as they swung and collided with each other. "Amren like… like from the children's stories?

Nesta used to tease her with cautionary tales of the bloodthirsty Amren, who lurked in the shadows and sucked on the bones of naughty children. It wasn't the first she'd heard of Rhysand being in cohorts with Amren, but she'd always assumed it was figurative. The way a Priestess was associated with the Mother.

"She doesn't devour misbehaving children, if that's what you're wondering." Rhysand paused, drawing back for a moment with a horrifyingly considerate expression. "Anymore," he clarified.

"Anymore?" Feyre squeaked.

"There's no need to be afraid, Feyre." He grinned, leaning in closer. "Unless, of course, you've been misbehaving. Is there something you'd like to confess?"

Cauldron boil her. Feyre couldn't tell if he was being serious.

"Last I checked, stealing and gambling aren't exactly the traits of a priestess."

"It's a good thing Amren isn't the Mother, then. I think she would find those things amusing," Rhys said, a curious warmth to his voice. One she might even dare to label as affection. "In fact, I think she'd be quite impressed with you."

Feyre repeated, incredulous, "With me?"

"I certainly am."

And before she could digest that statement, Rhys circled a hand to the small of her back, untying the golden band that kept the fabric over her breast secured. It dropped to the floor in a clatter of beading, marking the descent of Feyre's resolve.

Her arms were starting to tremble, and she was grateful she could blame it on the exertion of holding them up. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on the stinging in her palms from how tightly she gripped the rope. It was far better to focus on her chafing skin than the kiss of cool air against the underside of her breasts.

There was nothing preventing Rhys from slipping his hands beneath the newly loosened fabric and discovering her hardened nipples—not that they weren't already visible, peeking through the thin layer of fabric.

Rhys drew back to observe her, holding his advance for the moment.

"Are you getting nervous, Feyre?" The lapping presence at her mind became a little pushier, more of a prod than a stroke. "Your shield's still holding up nicely."

"Because I'm not nervous," she insisted.

"No?" Rhys leaned in, pressing the tip of his regal nose just beneath her navel. "Is that something else I smell, then?"

"Is it the stench of your own ego?"

"So sharp with me," he chided, momentarily abandoning his conquest near the top of her ribs to guide his nose lower, down to her hip bone, then across the low dip of her skirt. "What will it take to make you soft? Is it just a matter of finding the right spot to stroke?"

Feyre snorted. "I don't think soft is what appeals to you, High Lord."

"Oh?" His eyes flickered up to hers, only briefly, before he resumed his slow exploration. "What is it you think appeals to me?"

Feyre didn't answer. She didn't know how—not once he found the knot that kept her skirt in place. He bit into it, tugging with his teeth despite having two perfectly good hands placed just below her breasts.

Feyre nearly let go. She considered it, at least, as she watched Rhys unravel the knot with his mouth. She had time to stop it from plummeting to the ground in a waterfall of blue cloth. But she didn't.

As it pooled at her feet, Rhys drew away again, taking her in with riveted interest. With her hands occupied, there was nothing she could use to hide from his stare, though she twitched with the urge. She felt like a creature trapped in a frame, laid bare under his assessment.

It wasn't the clothes, or lack thereof. Though, he looked delighted to discover the pair of lacy underthings she'd selected that morning. It wasn't the lust, either. Not when she felt it in equal measure, and had walked into this house fully intending to slate their shared desire.

No, what caught her off guard. What stripped her raw, worse than the rope squeezed between her fingers, was the way that smug smile faded into something… something Feyre didn't know how to name.

His eyes captivated her. Blazing and intent, no different from the moment they met. She couldn't look away from them—and she wanted to, if only to glance over her shoulder and ensure the Mother hadn't materialized behind her back. That was the only way Feyre could have explained the awe creeping over his expression.

His fingers flexed at their place over her ribs, as though restraining the urge to drag them lower.

"You," he said, answering the question she couldn't. On his knees, in that voice… It sounded oddly like a prayer. "I want you however you come, Feyre. Soft or sharp, you're equally exquisite."

Her heart was beating in her throat. "What if I only know sharp?"

"Then be as sharp as you want with me." He was leaning towards her again, less as if driven by hunger and more as if he simply couldn't resist. Like she was the puppeteer, pulling him forward. "Cut me, make me bleed. Just—don't make me stop."

Feyre didn't plan on it. That rope was her lifeline, and she held tight as Rhys dived back against her stomach, his mouth open this time, tasting and nipping at her skin. There would be marks there tomorrow. A trail of love bites across her hips, just beneath the golden chain he seemed so obsessed with.

When she tried to wriggle away, growing impatient, Rhys slid his hands to her hips, locking her in place.

"Stay still for me." She found his orders lost some of their impact when muffled into her stomach. "I told you I intend to taste every inch."

It was a shame she couldn't dive her hands into his hair. If she could, she would have taken hold and pushed his mouth where she actually wanted him—needed him.

"Rhys."

His name was half gasp, half complaint.

"You know." He slid his tongue around the curve of her navel, before mouthing his way to the valley of her breasts. His hands followed in a slow, scraping caress. "I don't think I've ever heard you call me that before."

"Would you—" Feyre's breath hitched as he brushed the back of his knuckles against one of her nipples. "Prefer to be called High Lord?"

That seemed to amuse him. "My bedmates aren't usually so formal."

"What do you prefer then? Master? Milord? Your Great Exaltedness?"

Rhys hummed dismissively. "If you can say that many words, then I'm not doing my job right."

"Well, I've been speaking this whole time. So what does that tell you about how you're doing?"

Feyre knew she was in trouble when Rhys stilled. She didn't know why she always felt the need to provoke him. Maybe it was because she still couldn't figure out why he tolerated it.

This was the same male who threatened to cut off someone's tongue for speaking too casually in his presence. The same male who slaughtered one of his captains without blinking. He had a reputation for ruthlessness, and she'd witnessed firsthand how he'd earned it.

And yet, he always seemed to hold back the breadth of his cruelty around her.

Even now, as he thumbed at her nipple through the loose fabric over her chest, he exuded patience. Musing, "Have you ever tried Illyian tea?"

Tea? Not following where he was going with the question, Feyre answered with a hesitant, "No?"

"It's cold in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys said, emphasizing his point by ducking to blow a gust of cold breath over her collarbone. Feyre shivered. "The tea keeps us warm, and doubles as treatment for the wounded. It's strong stuff. The kind that burns down your throat and will land you on your ass after too many cups."

"What's your point?"

"You don't savor Illyrian tea. You down it as quickly as possible and wait for the warming to start."

"Okay?"

"I spent most of my youth in the Illyrian Mountains," Rhys went on. "And the first time I attended a High Lord's summit with my father, he smacked me upside the head when I tried to down a thimble of Day Court Mead. He told me I looked barbaric. Day Court Mead is one of the finest wines in Prythian, you see. You're meant to sip it, holding the flavors on your tongue."

"So I'm the mead, then," Feyre said, guessing where he was going with the analogy. "Am I supposed to be flattered that you're comparing me to a drink?"

Rhys didn't answer immediately. He only grinned to himself, before pulling away and rising from his knees. An unsettling response—almost as unsettling as his cryptic, "Stay here."

Then he headed back into the dining room. Feyre leaned through the doorway as best she could to follow what he was up to, but from her vantage point, all she could see was the end of the dining table and the abandoned chairs. She didn't dare let go of the rope to inspect any further.

It could be a trick, after all.

"I swear to the Cauldron, Rhysand, if you intend to leave me hanging from the doorway for the rest of the bargain—"

"You'll what, exactly?" He asked, sauntering back into view with a bottle in his hands, his face the picture of smug amusement.

"You'll owe me anything by the end of this," Feyre reminded him. "If you decide to be cruel, I'll endure it. And then I'll ensure it's repaid in full."

"Such a feisty creature you are." The words sounded gratingly affectionate, the way one would speak to a kitten batting at their leg. "And, pray tell, how will I be repaid if I decide to be kind? Might I expect more warmth from you?"

Feyre narrowed her eyes at the bottle in his hand. "What's that?"

He displayed it proudly before her. "Day Court mead, of course."

That was where he lost her. And it made Feyre nervous, seeing his large hands braced around the bottle, watching as he drew his thumb suggestively around the rim of the cork…

Her voice wobbled a bit as she asked, "W-what are you planning to do with it?"

All it needed was a small push of his thumb and then—pop.

"I want you to try it," Rhysand said, closing the distance between them.

His fingers lodged under her chin, burning where they touched. She was burning in so many places, now. Her hands, raw from the rope. Her chin, warm from his touch. Her cunt, aching with need. And her cheeks, embarrassed from it all.

"Be good for me." Rhys tilted her chin up, until her eyes were level with the sight of her trembling arms, growing white and numb, but still holding fast.

When he raised the bottle, he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, prompting with a single, firm, "Open."

Feyre parted her lips, allowing him to pour the mead into her mouth.

The first drop was like sunlight. Honeycomb drenched sunlight. Sweet, but not like sugar. Sugar was sharp, quick, and over too soon. This was slow, like a sun-warmed nap in a swaying field, rich and indulgent. The longer she tasted, the more depth she discovered, luring her in, somersaulting her towards a golden abyss.

"Don't swallow," Rhys whispered, his voice wending around her, coupled by strokes of dark tendrils that forced her awareness to return to her other senses. On her tongue, a drop had become a flood, filling her mouth until it pooled, then overflowed, streaming down her chin, her neck, her breasts.

She could already feel the sugar sticking to her, but her focus was on remembering to breathe through her nose, trying desperately not to choke while Rhys continued pouring, his other hand cradling her skull as he murmured, "That's it, Feyre. Good girl."

Eventually, the bottle ran dry.

"Not yet," Rhysand said. "You're meant to hold it on your tongue, remember?"

Feyre's throat bobbed uncomfortably. That was another place she was beginning to burn.

"Stay still," he coaxed, leaning in. Their eyes met as his lips fell over hers. Those damn, discerning eyes that saw everything, including the desire she was trying so hard to fight.

He saw it, and smiled, all wicked and taunting. His tongue flicked across her lower lip, tasting the wine. But he didn't stop there.

His fingers curled in her hair, urging her head upright so the mead could flow from her open mouth to his. It wasn't clean by any means. Honeyed wine spilled from the seam of their lips, dripping onto her skin and his clothes, making a mess of them both. She swallowed what was left—it was the only way she could kiss him back, and Rhys didn't seem to have any complaints.

With a groan, he dashed the empty bottle to the floor, bearing no mind to the resulting crash and scattering fragments. He seemed to have much more pressing concerns, which involved scooping Feyre against him to deepen the kiss. His tongue traced her lower lip again, and she opened her mouth, inviting him to taste at the source.

His tongue swept in, tasting of honey, and she wanted so badly to let go of the rope so she could hold him there, to suck at his tongue and bite at his lips. Rhys was in full control, positioning her just as he wanted so he could taste.

Feyre hissed when he pulled away to lick a trail of mead from her chin.

A rasping chuckle was her response. "I've made a mess, Feyre. It's my duty to clean it up."

A hand fisted in her hair and tugged, angling her neck back so he had full license to lick the column of her throat.

Feyre was panting, squirming against his hold and furious that he would stop kissing her. "Rhys—"

"What happened to Your Great Exaltedness?"

He kept her arrested in that position, taking his time to suck and nip at her skin, then pull away with an audible pop. Over and over, he ignored her groans of frustration, creating a path of red welts that were soon interrupted by her sullied top.

"Oh dear, this has been ruined, hasn't it?" He didn't sound the least bit concerned as he ripped at it, casting the garment away as if it were mere cobwebs. "Don't worry, I'll get you a replacement."

And then the heat of his mouth surrounded one of her breasts, his tongue circling her nipple. Feyre gasped, bucking into the air. This was going to be impossible if she didn't have something to ground her, something to—

Rhys, as if sensing what she needed, wedged his thigh between her legs. The pressure against her clit relieved some of the ache, but introduced the new, humiliating urge to drive her hips forward.

She bit her lip, determined to resist.

"Is this what you needed, Feyre?" Rhys coaxed, palming her hip to create the movement for her. She fought a whimper as her clit ground against his hard muscle. "Does that feel better?"

She refused to answer him. But she also didn't stop moving her hips when he let go.

"That's it," he murmured, returning his attention to her breasts. One was cradled in his palm, while the other endured the countless lashes from his tongue, teasing her so mercilessly that she thought she might die if she didn't touch him.

When his teeth clamped down, Feyre screamed, driving her hips against his thigh harder. Her head was beginning to spin, a mixture of exhaustion and pleasure and pain.

As she writhed against him, Feyre started plotting all the ways she would get her revenge once her hands were free. Maybe she'd fish another bottle of mead from his cellar and sip it from his abs. Maybe she'd tie him up and ride his face until he couldn't breathe.

Maybe she'd—

My, don't you have the most delicious thoughts about me.

Feyre froze. Rhysand's mouth was still latched to her breast. Those words hadn't come from his mouth. Which meant that voice…

It was in her mind.

You should pay more attention to your mental shields, Feyre. A lesser male could walk right in and decide to take you up on those filthy thoughts of yours.

Feyre's fingers flexed with the urge to lash out in front of her, as if she could physically push him out. What are you doing?

Did you forget? This was a daemati exercise. And it looks like your shield dropped as soon as you started enjoying yourself.

A familiar sensation crept over her—awareness, like a cold breath cascading down her spine, that her body was yielding to a foreign presence. Her veins became a latticework of strings, and she felt his talons pluck at them, transforming her into a marionette of his will.

Now, now, he tutted. Don't stop on my account, Feyre.

Captive in her own mind, Feyre could do nothing to prevent her hips from rolling forward. Her head tipped back, and without restraint over her body, there was nothing to smother the moan rising in her throat.

There you are, Feyre. Give in to it.

He was everywhere, physical and otherwise. His magic swarmed through the crack in her mental shields, blanketing her mind in a fog of endless starlight. She treaded through it the same way she'd learned how to swim, thrashing and kicking blindly in an attempt to reach the surface. But that assumed there was a surface, an ending to the vastness of power that twined and twisted around her.

Rhys clicked his tongue. Must you always fight me?

Outside their minds, she felt cool air sting her puckered nipple, exacerbated by the saliva glinting there, and the trail of it that led to Rhysand's cat-like grin. She watched him lick his lips as he admired his work: From her flushed skin, covered in love bites and rivulets of golden wine, to her trembling arms, waning in strength. Finally, his attention dipped to his thigh, where the fabric of his trousers had become damp from each consecutive pass of Feyre's hips.

He took a deep, pointed inhale. You can admit you want this. There's no sense hiding what we both already know.

I want—even her mental voice sounded shaky—the money and the favor. Not you.

Immune to her lies, her body continued helplessly rubbing against him. Her breathing quickened as that pressure began to build, winding hot and tight.

Why not me, Feyre? Rhys pushed, almost taunting. He could feel she was close to the edge. Is it because it frightens you?

Because it's not real!

That's not the game we're playing right now.

His tongue snaked along her throat, licking away more of the mead.

Inside, she was grappling against his hold. They thrashed and rolled through the darkness, her claws scraping his, pushing and pulling, ebbing and flowing until they were a tangled mass of magic, so deeply intertwined that Feyre lost all sense of where she ended and he began.

Meanwhile, Rhysand held her, enveloped her, worshiped her with his mouth and hands and talons, and she thought it wouldn't be the worst thing to surrender to this.

Why was she holding herself back?

This is all just a distraction, she reasoned. It doesn't mean anything

Do you want it to mean something, Feyre?

Feyre wanted to scream. Though, from frustration or pleasure she wasn't certain. Everything was becoming muddled, colors bleeding together like water over paint. There wasn't room in her mind to think, and outside her body was being driven to a pinnacle that she couldn't hold back.

Get out of my head!

Rhysand's voice was full of faux sympathy. If it's too much for you, darling, then let go of the rope.

Fuck you.

Oh, I intend to. His voice was starting to sound a little breathless, too. A large hand palmed her backside, moving her faster against him. She watched through half-lidded eyes as his head tipped back with a low, guttural sound. Fuck. Feyre—

The world fractured. Erupted, like dropping into the ocean and feeling the water rush past. She delved deep into that darkness, feeling her own magic rupture and scatter into stars, washing her soul against the shore of his, their very essence seeping through the cracks of the other, becoming a tapestry of magic threaded so tightly she could feel it pulling in her chest.

Feyre let go of the rope.

She didn't know she still had enough control over her body to do so, not until she was already moving, threading her arms behind his neck to crash her mouth to his. It wasn't gentle. He didn't deserve gentle.

Bed, she demanded.

Rhys obeyed without question, not breaking their kiss as darkness folded and unspooled around them, depositing Rhys on his back atop his bed. Feyre straddled him, clawing at his clothes with shaking, rope-burned hands.

Until Rhys caught both wrists, bringing them to his lips one at a time to kiss away the raw flesh.

There's no rush, he soothed, running his thumb across her newly healed palms. We'll have an extra six hours together, after all.

For that comment alone, Feyre tore straight through his jacket and undershirt, coming away with strips of cloth. The High Lord didn't seem to mourn his clothes in the least. She would have taken more time to admire him, to admire the tattoos that she discovered on his chest and shoulders, so strikingly similar to her own.

Except, he was staring up at her, raw delight on his face. So feral—

Shut up.

I'll need to subtract that from your—

I said. Feyre crawled up his body, tearing off her soaked underthings. Shut. Up.

Unfortunately, sitting on a male's face was only an effective silencing technique when that male wasn't a daemati.

What a pretty view, Rhys purred, craning his neck before she'd even finished lowering herself down. The second she was steady, her hands balanced on the headboard, he hooked his arms around her thighs to bring her closer. Here I thought you planned to punish me.

Congratulations, you've proved you can run your mouth. Do you actually know how to use it?

Rhys arched a brow. Even Feyre couldn't believe her own boldness. One of these days, she was going to overstep and find herself on the receiving end of that boundless power, and it wouldn't be teasing and caressing her the way it was doing now.

Don't be so certain. I like that you're not afraid of me.

The purr in his voice heated her blood, nearly as much as that first, filthy kiss he pressed against her cunt. He went slow, using the broad flat of his tongue to part her folds in a long path ending at her clit. That was where he focused his attention, sucking and lashing while he kept her hostage in his grip.

But if you're going to mouth off, he continued without faltering in his expert torture. Be prepared for the consequences.

This, Feyre gasped, doesn't feel like a consequence.

Yet, he said smugly. I have all night with you. And I intend to 'put my mouth to use' until I've had my fill.

She knew he was bluffing. Feyre could count on her hand the number of males who had put their heads between her thighs, and all of them disengaged after a few minutes into the act.

With a growl, Rhys redoubled his efforts. A word to the wise when fucking a daemati: try not to think of other males unless you want them dead.

Jealous?

Insufferably. He nuzzled his face lower, dragging his tongue to her entrance. Do you still remember their names?

No. Even if she did, she wouldn't have told him. On the chance that he wasn't joking when he said they'd end up dead.

Good.

His tongue slid inside her, and the headboard creaked from how tightly Feyre clutched to it, convinced she would topple over when his fingers slid between her legs to supplement his tongue, rubbing tight, delicious circles. Her hips bucked, her climax shattering through her at incredible speed, causing light to dot her vision.

Rhys didn't slow his movements, continuing to lick and stroke her as he crooned, There's only one name you need to remember.

They were still mind-to-mind, completely entangled. Paired with her mind-numbing pleasure, it made the task of searching through her memory rather tedious. It was like trying to navigate a familiar place in the dark, she knew the information was somewhere around here…

Cassian? She said, recalling the name she'd heard from the rumor mill with a great deal of effort.

Rhys growled. Very funny.

Her thighs, clamped tightly around his head, were beginning to twitch as he worked her towards another rapidly approaching edge. Feyre didn't think she could survive this all night.

Wh-what was it you said? If I can say this many words, then you must not be doing a very good—

Those hands at her thighs grabbed her roughly, pushing her off his face and flipping her onto her back in a single, fluid movement. Feyre yelped as one of those hands grabbed her throat, pinning her to the mattress.

You can't help yourself, can you, Feyre?

Not any more than you!

An exasperated laugh rasped out of him, making her think she had just proved his point.

What happened to having your mouth on me all night? She challenged.

I'm thinking I need to tire you out first. Get you a little more… subdued.

He withdrew his hand, then his body entirely. Feyre's mouth went dry as she watched him unbutton his trousers, finally freeing his erection. He had no right to be as big as he was. To be as beautiful and powerful and arrogant as he was and to still have a cock like that…

Feyre hated him a little bit for it. Hated how difficult it would be to walk away from him by the end of this.

Rhys sauntered forward, expression as satisfied as it ought to be with a cock like that swinging between his legs and unfiltered access to each of the filthy thoughts she was having about it.

There'll be time for more play later, he said, pressing a knee into the bed.

He crawled over to her, and she watched his eyes fall over her naked body, parted in invitation for his. The hunger on his face curbed into something softer, something she didn't know what to do with.

You're beautiful, he murmured, seconds before his mouth found hers in a deep, open kiss. He tasted of honey wine and her own arousal, an unexpectedly pleasant combination. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It struck me the moment I first saw you.

His bare skin was so warm against her own, each contact point jolting her with a feeling of rightness. They slotted so perfectly together, his cock nudging at her entrance as she wrapped her legs around his waist, their tongues moving together and their fingers locking so that there wasn't a single part of their bodies and souls that wasn't entwined as Rhys pushed himself in.

Then paused.

Feyre fought a snarl.

Tell me you want this, he said. Forget about the bargain. Tell me this is about more than the money.

I want this. Feyre pulled at him, clashing their noses together from how fiercely she clutched at his face. She pushed her heels into his muscular backside, trying to urge his hips deeper. I want you, Rhys.

He groaned, pushing his hips forward.

The stretch of him was exquisite. Feyre had never felt anything quite like it—the decadent pleasure made sharper by the slight burn as he pushed in further, slowly, ensuring she felt every inch, every delicious place they were joined.

But that was just one layer of the overlapping sensations. There was also the cradle of his body, surrounding her in warmth. The soft lips against her neck, panting sweet, reverent breaths of, Feyre—oh, Feyre.

And then their minds. One seamless, blended entity of magic, of starlight. She could feel him everywhere, no piece of her soul untouched, but she could see all of him, too. Like gazing upon the very fabric of his life, woven from the moment he was born—maybe even before then.

If she plucked at one of the threads, she wondered what she'd find. A memory? A vital fragment of his being?

She wouldn't dare, not when she could feel him staring back so… openly. Like he wouldn't stop her if she tried. It was vulnerable in a way she didn't know how to honor. In a way that made her wary.

You are… Feyre trailed off, failing to find a word that articulated what she saw, what she felt.

Perfect.

That snapped Feyre out of her awe. She blinked, refocusing on her physical body, where he was shaking as he held himself still, letting her adjust and…

And just staring at her. His lips parted open, mouthing a word she couldn't make out as his wild eyes darted over her, studying every detail.

Adequate, Feyre said, narrowing her eyes at him. I was going to go with 'adequate'.

For a moment, Rhys said nothing, his brows pinching together in confusion. And then he seemed to snap out of it, barking a laugh that echoed through the starry cavern of their minds.

I was talking about you, smartass. He leaned down, licking a stripe up her throat that sent ripples of pleasure down her spine. But allow me to demonstrate just how 'adequate' I can be.

He withdrew his hips, just slightly, then plunged them forward, grinding deep as Feyre clawed at his back, panting.

Rhys let out a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. In their minds, it became a clap of thunder, his magic roiling, surrounding her in zapping, crackling power. Her hair stood on end, her pulse quickening from the thrill, like standing at sea during a storm.

She dug her nails harder, certain she was peeling back skin, and he snarled in encouragement, withdrawing and snapping his hips. Again.

I've thought about this, he rasped, punctuating his words with another hard thrust. Every damn day since our last bargain, Feyre.

He drove into her harder, relentless. Grunting, I haven't been able to get your scent out of my nose.

I haven't been able to get you out of my gods damned mind.

Those words rippled through the space between their minds, echoing his confession. Feyre rolled her hips up, begging him to go harder, faster. Trying to say, in her own way, that she couldn't stop thinking about him, either.

I thought—

His teeth grazed over her pulse, making it jump. Her breath hitched.

Go on, he said, voice molten velvet.

I thought I was supposed to be the one practicing my shields. But it's your mind that can't keep me out.

His laugh was rich, warming her bones. If you think I'm the one with all the power here, Feyre, you are mistaken.

Then, as if to disprove that very statement, he let go. Every restraint, every glamour, every attempt he made to act the average fae—it all disappeared in that moment.

Great, membranous wings unfurled behind his back, blanketing them in the scent of citrus and sea salt. With a splintering crack, his magic untethered, spilling darkness into the room.

Without her sight, it became impossible to differentiate between the mental and physical worlds. As if they existed in a liminal space between, where slapping skin became the thunderous collision of souls, crashing and merging together.

Feyre was certain she was screaming. She thought, distantly, he might have been too. Somewhere, her mortal body clenched around him, hot and fever-bright.

She heard her name, over and over, Feyre, Feyre, Feyre—

And then he shattered, too, shooting every star out of orbit, his magic flooding over her in wave upon wave. She should have been frightened, surrounded by so much unyielding power, but it felt oddly peaceful. Like diving into the sea from her dreams.

She floated through that presence, Rhys buried inside her, both of them panting.

When he withdrew, so did the magic.

It was too bright. Feyre cringed, burying her face into his heaving chest, not caring the least that he was covered in sweat and shaking. They both were.

When she finally pulled away, blinking into the light, she found a pair of stunned violet eyes blinking back. For the first time since meeting him, he looked dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing like he was floundering for words. Like maybe all daemati sex didn't feel that… world ending.

For a long moment, they only stared, catching their breath.

Feyre took the time to reconstruct her mental walls, finding it oddly empty inside her mind without his presence.

Meanwhile, Rhys rubbed a hand down his face, then his chest, feeling absently at his ribs. She wondered if she'd accidentally hit him there when everything went dark.

She felt a bit battered herself. Sticky and sweaty and sore in far too many places. Tomorrow he'd probably take pleasure in laying her out to count each of his bite marks.

"Was that adequate enough for you?" Rhys asked, finally breaking the silence.

Smug bastard.

Feyre shrugged. "You're the High Lord who's supposedly so difficult to please. You tell me."

He smirked. "Lay back, Feyre."

Her mouth popped open. Surely he wasn't serious.

"Already?"

Rhys crawled toward her, wedging his massive body between her thighs. "I told you I wouldn't stop until I've had my fill." He flashed her a wicked smile as he lowered his mouth to her cunt, licking at their shared spend like it was a delicacy.

And I'm not nearly close to finished with you.

At some point, they did stop fucking long enough to eat and bathe—just barely.

Rhysand was ravenous. And Feyre didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was, too. They couldn't stop. Even long after they were exhausted, they kept touching and kissing until they collapsed completely tangled in each other.

Feyre had gotten maybe an hour of sleep, if that, when she woke up to pee.

She took her time on the way back to bed, marveling first at the sleeping form of the most powerful High Lord. He didn't look nearly so intimidating when he was naked and snoring, the blankets strewn haphazardly over his muscular legs.

If she had the time, she would have liked to draw him like this. No one else in the world got to see this version of him.

Except the other females he bedded.

That… was a sobering thought. The reminder that this wasn't some sacred, meaningful tryst. He was paying to fuck her, no different from any other whore in the upscale pleasure house she heard he frequented often.

With burning cheeks, Feyre turned away from his sleeping form, refocusing on why she was here to begin with.

His personal bedroom was larger than the one she'd stayed in last time, though only slightly. He had a worktable, scattered with paperwork and curious trinkets. Star charts and models of planets and books upon books of topics she couldn't discern.

That was another scalding reminder of how far apart their worlds were.

She was really only good at one thing.

Feyre tiptoed to his bedside table, silently pulling the drawer open to inspect its contents. More books, a pair of reading glasses, a velvet box, and a dark crown that she assumed had wound up in here after a late night at some formal gathering.

She imagined Rhys winnowing directly to his bedroom, flinging the crown into the bedside drawer, and collapsing atop the mattress.

It couldn't be easy, this life.

Feyre lifted the crown, measuring its weight in her hands, before she indulged the childlike impulse to place it on her head.

It couldn't be hard, either. Better than starving. Better than whoring yourself to survive.

She rose from his bedside table, searching for a mirror to admire how she looked in a crown, but a hand at her wrist stopped her.

Rhys was reclined across his bed, wings splayed beneath him, a lazy smile stretched across his lips.

"Find something you like?"

Panic seized her chest, squeezing like a fist as she scrambled to think of an excuse. "I—"

His eyes darkened. "Come back to bed."

"Rhys, I'm—"

"Keep the crown on," he said, tugging at her wrist with urgency.

She followed his pull, uncharacteristically pliant as he positioned her thighs over his face, groaning, "Gods, look at you," as he dived his mouth between her legs.

The final six hours of their bargain passed much the same.

There wasn't any noticeable shift to the way Rhys touched her, still slow and indolent, like he had all the time in the world.

It was nearly dusk and they were still in bed, still kissing though too exhausted to do much else. Even so, his kiss was gentle and thorough and maddening.

Feyre missed it when he pulled away.

"Your bargain's fulfilled," he said, breathing heavy. "I can take you home now."

It was a bad sign that it was dread coursing through her instead of relief.

Rather than untangle her alarming mix of feelings, Feyre fisted her hands in his hair, urging his mouth back to hers. Just one more kiss. To remember him by.

Rhys made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat. He returned the kiss open-mouthed, cradling the back of her head to bring her closer. When she felt him harden against her thigh, they both groaned.

Rhys withdrew again, something achingly hopeful in his expression. "There's nothing preventing you from staying," he added. "If you want to."

That was what scared her—that fact that she wanted to.

Feyre kissed him again. Kissing him was easier than answering. Only, Rhys seemed to take kissing as an answer. He shifted closer, wrapping his wing around them so that she was cocooned in his heat, his scent, his touch.

And as the kissing grew more fervid, she didn't stop him from flipping her onto her stomach. He used his knees to wedge her thighs apart, spreading her open as those strong hands found her hips, urging them up, up, up.

She buried her face in the mattress, already clutching tightly to the sheets in anticipation of that first, perfect thrust.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Rhysand." The voice was female—crisp and edged, entirely undaunted by the High Lord's responding snarl. "You're late."

"Leave us."

It was a direct, uncompromising order, and yet the knocking came again. Louder.

"We are not rescheduling this meeting again. I'm sure your playmate can survive without your cock for an hour."

Feyre was still pressed into the mattress, gaping at him over her shoulder at the way the female was speaking to him. At the way Rhysand was letting her speak to him.

And more so that he listened, turning to Feyre with an apologetic wince. "I need to go. But you can stay here." He paused, hesitating for a moment before adding, "I'd like for you to stay. I'll be back within the hour."

A cough on the other side caused him to blow out a long breath.

"Maybe two hours."

Feyre nodded, slumping into the mattress. Rhys pressed an apologetic kiss into a notch at the top of her spine, then the next. The next. He nearly made it to her ass before the door rattled with an irritated thump.

With a long-suffering sigh, Rhys lifted himself from Feyre's body. It was no easier than trying to lift a boat from the sea; they both felt heavier once they were separated.

"Rest," Rhysand said. "You'll need it when I'm back."

After less than an hour of sleep, the stack of pillows at the headboard was practically calling her name. Feyre made a show of nuzzling into them, wrapping the blankets around her as a surrogate for Rhysand's warmth.

She felt him staring at her. Heard the soft little hmph he made in the back of his throat. A pleased sound, like he enjoyed the sight of her nestled in his bed.

Then, with a wave of his hands, he was dressed, closing the door behind him. She heard him speak to the female on the other side, their voices too muffled to discern, but she could tell he was grumbling about something.

Feyre listened intently as those voices faded down the hall. She waited until she was certain they were gone.

Quietly, she crawled to the edge of the mattress and opened the bedside drawer. The crown had been tossed to the floor some time in the night, but the rest of the objects were still there.

Including that velvet box.

Feyre reached for it, parting it open with her fingers to confirm its contents.

From there, it took all of five minutes to slip on her clothes and bolt out of the town house without looking back.

#god I hope this lives up to the expectations #Queen of Thieves #Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #QOT

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paperclips37 · 2 months ago

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Another WIP.... I love making Frank so fucking clueless.

It's joyous to me.

-------

‘Could you get me an ice pack please? And tell Abbot I’m fairly sure that John Doe has a leaking baggie of cocaine in his gut.’ Whitaker’s face contorted and he scurried out of the room. Frank 90% sure his diagnosis was correct and was 99% smug about it. Dana appeared in his wake. She paused for a second examining him. Her face overly done; pretty good at masking her concern.

‘Oh Ken why is it always you?’ She passed over the ice pack. He hissed loudly as he placed the ice pack against his chest. The cold stabbed into his skin but it melted into soothing numbness.

‘Karma?’ Dana nodded sarcastically at him.

‘That would track.’

‘Love the nurse sympathy.’

‘Oh I only give that to people who deserve it.’

‘Ouch. And I thought you loved me.’ He pressed a hand to his chest, wiggling his shoulders just so. Delighting himself at her eyeroll.

‘Begrudgingly.’ Dana stepped closer and gave him a cursory once over herself. Her hands much gentler than Whitaker’s. Experienced hands.

‘I’m going to get you up to X-ray.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘As talented a doctor as you are you can’t see through your own skin Kid. C’mon.’ The curtain twitched and suddenly Mel was standing there. Face tight with worry. Frank tried to mask any discomfort. Dana’s eyes flicked back and forth curiously. A devious glint blooming in her eyes. Those eyes that never failed to see right through him. ‘I think he needs the VIP treatment eh Mel?’ Mel reacted to the pat on her arm as Dana vanished with a swoosh of the curtain. Her flinch reactions had dulled to many people. But never really gone. Except with him. Weird.

‘She’s getting me a wheelchair isn’t she?’ Mel didn’t respond. Frank glanced over to see the weirdest look on her face. Eyes overly large, eyebrows damn near hitting her hairline. She was staring at his chest. Eyes wide and unreadable. Frank frowned. Mel was many things, unreadable wasn't one of them. At least to him. Was she impressed? No, that couldn't be it.

The bruising must look horrendous by now. He pulled back the ice pack, shivering at the icy droplets sliding down his chest. It was sweet how she cared. He noticed how she swallowed heavily in that way she sometimes did when trying to give herself a moment to steady herself.

The colours were striking against his ridiculously pale skin. His side ached. He had so far refused all pain meds. This was manageable, he’d suffered worse. Verifying Whitaker’s check, Frank gently probed his ribs. No sign of his ribs giving way. Mel shook her head, braid flying behind her.

Her gaze became more assessing. Doctor Mel appeared before him. Leaning down to examine his ribs. Frank did his best to resist the urge to puff up.

‘How’s the pain?’

‘Manageable.’ Her staring up at him from her current stance. Bent over, over the top of his glasses at him was just plain dangerous. Especially as her face was that mix of stern and compassionate that only work for her. He was suddenly very aware of the level of exposed skin and how close she was.

‘May I?’ Her hand hovered at the small gloves on the table just behind her. He nodded unable to trust his voice. Or his impulse control.

Frank turned his gaze to the ceiling. Trying to pretend it was anyone else. But there was no mistaking the gentle, light touch that only she could have. Her hands were cool and worked efficiently across his skin. Frank rattled off medical procedures in order of increasing complexity as she evaluated him.

‘I don’t think anything is broken but I agree an X-ray to confirm is the best course of action.’ She snapped off her gloves and Frank had a flash. A really inappropriate image of her playing the sexy doctor. Time for his yearly physical. That was going to haunt him. He nodded still not willing to trust himself to speak.

#one of my many wip #wip #fanfic writing #the pitt #pitt fanfic #frank langdon #mel king #kingdon #Frank is an idiot #a clueless idiot #but he's pretty #go mel #patient history inspired by a true story

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niterose · 4 months ago

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thank you so much for tagging me in the wip challenge!! 💞 i wish i could participate but unfortunately my wips aren't even wips, they're iip (ideas in progress) 😭😭 i have 7 pages of ideas and havent written a word for any... executive dysfunction is kicking my ass.

but i was reading through your wips and it was so difficult to choose one because they all look so interesting! but i was intrigued by "patience is a virtue" and "dark side of the moon" 🫶

u can choose whichever you want to share a snippet (or maybe both if you'd like!) 💖💖

Aw, that's okay!! Sometimes the ideas need to percolate a bit more before they make it onto the page! I look forward to hearing about them when you get to the point where you're ready to share 😊 And honestly, even some of the ones I shared are hardly more than semi-coherent thoughts😅

reingkings got to Dark Side of the Moon before you, but luckily that just means you get to see the answer for that one as well!

Now, for Patience is a Virtue- eh it's another crack fic idea!

This one really tests both In-ho and Gi-hun's sanity. Basically, it's my version of a Gi-hun knows In-ho's identity before entering the games fic. Except it's just them being really shady and passive aggressive at each other to the bafflement of all the other characters. They can't decide if these two guys hate each or just need to "work out some frustration" if you know what I mean.

This idea really came from my utter annoyance at all of In-ho's little manipulative side comments he makes in season 2, and I wanted to give Gi-hun the opportunity to make him suffer just as much.

Luckily this is one that has some written, so I can do a snippet! This might look a little familiar because I share like two lines of it a while ago but now it's revamped ✨

916 days. Gi-hun has spent 916 days dedicating every waking moment to bringing down the games, and it’s all about to go up in flames because of Hwang. Fucking. In-ho. “Some people chose umbrella?” Player 001 scoffs, his eyes lit with amusement. Gi-hun’s eye twitches. Jun-ho’s brother is single-handedly the most insufferable person that Gi-hun has ever had the misfortune of meeting. “916 days,” he mumbles to himself like a mantra. “Those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.” Gi-hun’s hands fist in the polyester of his track pants. He is going to kill Hwang In-ho before they even make it to the second game. No, he can be patient. Even in his own mind, the words are starting to sound a little desperate. Fine. Gi-hun looks up and stares him dead in the eye. “I picked umbrella.” In-ho’s eyes widen at Gi-hun’s admission, but the man recovers quickly. His gaze fills with concern, which Gi-hun admits would look sincere if he didn’t know any better. “Oh, you must have been so terrified.” The fake sympathy is grating, but then his expression turns thoughtful. And Gi-hun knows without a doubt that he’s not going to like the next words out of his mouth. “There’s no guarantee the shapes will be the same, but if the game is dalgona, then you must have some special techniques you can share.” He pauses and his lips quirk up ever so slightly. “Especially if you survived something as difficult as umbrella.” “Oh that’s true, how did you manage that?” Gi-hun jumps at Jung-bae’s voice. He’s a little embarrassed to admit that he’d completely forgotten there were other people present. “Uh,” he mumbles out the answer, heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, 456. I didn’t quite catch that.” Gi-hun sends the man a withering glare. “I licked it.” The Frontman has no excuse to look so delighted by Gi-hun’s answer. “Yah, that’s embarrassing.” He chuckles, the laughter is echoed in the players standing around him, but Gi-hun only smiles. “Not as embarrassing as being one of the sickos who got off on watching me.”

*916 is an relatively arbitrary number because the SQ timeline is confusing don't look at it too closely 👀

#patience is a virtue #how did i tag this originally?#oh yeah #and then they fight or kiss or something #squid game #inhun #457 #001 x 456 #gihun x inho #squid game fanfic #inhun fanfic #my writing #my wips #asks

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ret1cent · 4 months ago

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the space between (pt.4)

josh dun x fem reader

WC:6,000+

“this is our decision to live fast and die young, we’ve got the vision, now let's have some fun”

warnings: convos about unhappy/toxic relationship, language, cute chapter for the most part tho not too much emo-ness,

a/n: reminder that this is based in 2016 so some of the language and fashion will reflect that loll 😭 and the burn is burning slow the two of you have like agent scully and mulder level chemistry rn... also a lot of this chapter is inspired by the arcade scene in dinner in america i luv that sceneee you should watch the movie if you haven’t before

previous chapters

May 20th, 2016.

Josh and I had driven back to his place, after I ultimately decided that I couldn’t stay the night with Logan. But I knew it would be bad to sleep at Josh’s with the etiquette of my engagement, despite Josh’s many offers for me to just stay in his guest room. I had ended up calling up Kass, guilty of putting the stress of company on her at the last minute, but she seemed delighted to help me out. Now, I was sitting across from her on her large maroon cushioned couch, nursing a glass of wine.

“So, you’re telling me he just went quiet and threw the glass on the floor without a word?” Kass asks, her eyes widened as I reflected on the events of the day with her.

“Yeah, it was scary. It was like this silent anger that led into him finally just... bursting.” I say as I draw shapes with my fingers on the cushion of the couch.

“(Y/n)… this isn’t normal. There’s something going on with him.” she said, looking at me with worried eyes. “This doesn’t sound safe.”

“I-I know...” I say looking away, staring at the colorful painting hung on her wall. “He’s always been a little quick to anger.”

She puts a hand on my knee, and I look back at her. “You know you can get yourself out of this situation… right?” she asks, her green eyes shining with concern as she tilts her head to the side.

I pause, taken aback. “Yeah, of course...” I say, not even believing the tone of my own voice. “But it’s fine… I’ll have a conversation with him about this. It’s not the first time he’s acted irrationally in an argument; he’s changed before.”

“It’s the fact that you have to get him to change though.” She reasons with me, and I look down, resting my head against my chin.

“I… I know. He isn’t perfect at all. But I chose him, and I love him. We’re getting married in a few months, I can’t just back out of this. I have to be grown. I have to follow through with the decisions I’ve made. Our families are expecting it.”

“Wouldn’t they understand though… At least your family? If you backed out of this if they knew it wasn’t serving you right?” she asks softly.

I go silent. I had no idea how they’d react quite frankly. My mom and stepdad were quite traditional, though unspoken, it was clear they had been waiting for me to get engaged. They believed I was at the age where I should be starting to settle down with someone, start a family even. My mom was not quiet about her desire for grandchildren. Her using the plural of that phrase always freaked me out, even one kid seemed like too much to me.

“I don’t know.” I finally say, a genuine uncertainty in my voice.

Kass looks at me with sympathy, her orange hair glowing like a warm fire under the tall seat next to the couch. “So, how’d things go with Josh today?” She changes the subject, taking a sip from her glass.

“God, it was great.” I say, leaning my head against the couch with a smile. I had already given her his explanation of forgiveness, but not the details of our hangout after. “He took me back to his place which was amazing by the way, it was huge and modern looking it was really cool. But I helped him clean up some of his scrapes…” I say, rubbing my neck uncomfortably as I reflect on the fact that they were Logan’s fault. “And then we went out to get dinner after and just had more of a conversation about why him and Sophia broke up which I explained some of to you. After that on the ride home we were just like yelling to some of our old favorite songs it was nice… Freeing almost.” I say with a soft, appreciative laugh.

Kass raises and eyebrow and I pause in concern. “What?” I question her expression.

“He’s taking you back to his place and you guys are getting dinner after…?” She starts and I quickly catch on to what she was trying to insinuate.

“Oh no no, it’s not like that.” I quickly defended the situation, shaking my head.

“Maybe for you… Does he know you’re engaged?”

“No, he doesn’t like me like that and…” I pause, reflecting on her question. Actually, he didn’t. Unless he spotted my ring and didn’t say anything. But the moment that Logan got home when Josh was at my doorstep, I almost felt the need to hide it from him. To hide the fact that I was engaged to someone like Logan. I had only referred to him as my boyfriend. “I… I don’t think so actually.” I admit honestly, surprised by my own actions.

She snorts. “Wait so how’d you explain Logan to him? Hey, this random dude might beat you up so you should get out of here… Yeah, he kind of just roams the street sometimes, beats up dudes he doesn’t like the vibe of.” She jokes and I laugh, rolling my eyes.

“No, I think I just called him my boyfriend. Slip of the tongue.” I say and she starts giving me a suspicious look again. “What!” I whine, confused by her pestering about me and Josh’s friendship.

“You didn’t want to tell him, did you?” She interrogates me, resting her cheek against her palm, balancing her wine glass on her knee as she looks at me.

“I mean no I wasn’t thrilled to announce my engagement to a man who I knew was about to give him shit…”

“Come onnn you know that’s not what I mean.” She says.

“Kass!” I laugh. “We’re just friends.”

“Okkkay whatever you say…” She says, clearly not convinced. "But you have to admit he’s a good-looking man.”

“Well yeah…”

“I GOT YOUR ASS!” She shouts and I laugh, slapping her leg.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to convince her, but I also knew me and Josh were just friends, anyone could admit their friend was good looking without it being weird.

Me and her keep giggling, then she looks at me and smiles. “Why don’t we do this more often?” she asks genuinely.

“I don’t know honestly…” I reply, slightly saddened. Maybe it was my own fault for falling into a mundane routine where I felt unsatisfied with life. All I did was work and come home, and I always felt the need to keep Logan company. But I never stopped to think that I had lost the sense of having my own life. I hung out with Kass outside of work, sure. But it was typically only every other week or so. There was something oddly comforting about sitting on her couch in my pajamas just talking to her again. I think I forgot that moments like this didn’t only have to exist inside adolescence.

“Well, we need to do this more ok?” she asks, playfully nudging my knee.

“I’d love to, this is healing honestly... But you leave in like two weeks.” I groan, mortified by the idea of not having a close friend here.

“Well, if you and Josh are cool again...” She suggested and I quickly shake my head.

“Kass, you know I can’t, plus he hasn’t even invited me.”

“If you showed him some of your new work, I’m sure he and Tyler would be ecstatic to have you on. I heard through the grapevine they need an extra photographer...” She says and I can’t help but feel a small surge of excitement, but it quickly diminishes as I remember how unrealistic it was.

“I can’t just leave like that though; I’m getting married in a few months I can’t be halfway across the world...”

“What if Logan wasn’t part of the picture?” she asks quickly. “Would you say yes then?”

“Well... of course.”

“See! This is something you genuinely want to do. You can’t let him hold you back like this, I know you and I know you aren’t happy with the life you’re living right now. Photography has always been your dream. You can always get married later.” She pleads softly.

I sigh quietly. “Logan would be so upset. And I can’t imagine how my family would react.” I say, my voice thick with sadness.

She lets up on trying to convince me, softly stroking the back of my hair. She then looks at the clock on the wall, it reading 2:45 AM. “Alright, it’s getting late so I think I’m gonna go to bed, you should too.” She says, patting my shoulder before she gets up. “You ok in the guest room?”

“Yes of course, thank you so much again.”

“Hey anytime girl, I’ll be expecting more sleepovers.” She says and we both giggle softly before she leaves for her bedroom.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

May 21st, 2016.

The next morning Kass had morning plans. She apologized endlessly for it, but I had insisted it was fine, my company had been very last minute. I laid in bed, scrolling on my phone and sipping Coffee from one of Kass’s mugs until I got a text notification. I opened it to see it was from Josh.

Josh:Hey! I assume this is still your number, it’s been a while obviously lmao. But if this is the right number and you aren’t a random stranger I was wondering if you wanted to hang later?

I laugh softly, typing back a reply.

uhhh who dis?

Josh: oh shit sorry, I thought this my friend's number.

He replied quickly and I giggled.

jk it’s me sorry that was mean

Josh: you’re evil I was so embarrassed

Josh: wait... how do i know it’s you… i haven’t even clarified who I’m trying to talk to

I send a picture of myself flipping off the camera in response.

Josh:charming! But how do I know someone didn’t get that picture of you or that you aren’t being held hostage...

OK now you’re just being ridiculous

Josh: lmao ok fineeee i’ll stop

what did you want to do later? I’m down to hang

Josh:ok i was thinking santa monica pier? rides, games and stuff? we haven’t really been able to do anything around LA together yet!

yeah! that sounds hella fun.

Josh: yayyy i’ll pick you up, is 6:00 ok?

sounds awesome. i’m still at kass’s so you can just pick me up here.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ── ── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

I spent the rest of the morning lounging around Kass’s place until she got back, and the two of us had decided to spend the afternoon at the mall. I lean against the escalator as we go up, the environment around us bustling with activity, the air cool and unintelligible music playing from the speakers.

“So, you and Josh are hanging out tonight?”

“Yeah, we’re going to Santa Monica Pier, should be fun.” I say with a smile, looking off at the different stores in the distance.

“We should get you a cute outfit here!” She suggests excitedly.

“I don’t need a new outfit for this we’re just hanging out!” I say with a laugh. “Plus, if it’s ok with you I was wondering if we could stop by my place really quick after this, I need to grab some clothes and toiletries, I also wanna bring my camera for tonight. Don’t worry I'll check in at a hotel tonight.”

“Babe no you know you can always stay at my place you’re not an inconvenience to me in any way. And of course we can, you not ready to go home yet?” she asks gently as we walk.

“No… I don’t think so.”

“Has Logan tried to contact you?”

“He has but his messages have been all over the place it’s been ranging from him telling me I’m a ‘traitor’ and that I'm probably ‘off fucking Josh’ but then sending paragraphs about how sorry he is and sending voice messages of himself in tears…”

“Wow yikes.” Kass says, looking at me in shock. “There is something wrong with that man.”

“Truly.” I say, running a hand through my hair. “This is nothing new he has episodes like this constantly. I wish he’d just listen to me and go to therapy.”

“His mental health doesn’t excuse any of his actions against you though. There’s a difference between struggling and just not being a good partner. The way he talks to you… it just doesn’t seem like he respects you.” She says, sipping on the lemonade she still had from our lunch earlier.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I say honestly, fidgeting with my hands uncomfortably. It was hard to have someone so close to me not like my fiancée. Of course, her distaste for him was fully justified. I wasn’t particularly fond of him at the moment either. But it just makes me worry that I’m being perceived as someone who can’t stand up for themselves, as someone who accepts the bare minimum and lower. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized those fears reigned true.

Kass looks at me, reading my expression immediately. “Hey.” she says, looking at me and linking my arm with hers. “I’m not trying to put you or him down. I’m just worried, that’s all. You’re my best friend. I just get into mama bird mode over you sometimes.” She says and I giggle.

“No, I understand, you’ve been right with everything you’re saying. I’m glad you care.”

“I always will.” She says with a smile. “Ooo look do you wanna go into Urban?” she asks, pointing at the large Urban Outfitters we were approaching.

‘’Yesss of course.” I agreed. Their stuff was always pricey, but undeniably cute.

“We’ll get you something for tonight!” She insists.

“So, we’re back on this.” I say with a smile and roll of my eyes as we walk in the store. “But fine, not because I need to look good for him but because the Insta pics will be cute that way.”

“Hey, we’re all entitled to our own interpretations!” She defends.

“Wow you are shipping us hard!” I joke, flipping through the racks.

“I can’t help it you guys would be so cute! Considering the history and everything too it would be like a movie or something.”

“Well keep dreaming!” I say playfully and she boos in retaliation.

“Wait this is kinda cute...” I say, picking up a light purple holographic tank.

“Ok we have the base for the outfit I know where to go from here.” Kass says, dragging me to the jackets.

“Wow ok you little fashionista!”

She ended up picking out distressed denim overall shorts, fishnets and chokers that matched the color tones of the tank. I intended to pay for everything myself, but she insisted that she at least bought the accessories for me.

“Ugh you’re too sweet.” I say as she hands me the smaller bag as we walk out.

“Hey anything for my girl, you need to have a cute fit! How else is my favorite ship gonna become real? “

“Ok I'm gonna smack you now.”

Me and Kass ended up stopping by at my place after the mall when we saw that Logan’s car wasn’t there, meaning he was out. What he was out doing I wasn’t sure, and I honestly didn’t want to know. I had grabbed outfits to sustain me for at least the next 3 days, toiletries and my camera so I could take some pictures at the pier. When we got back to Kass’s house, we lounged around watching movies for the rest of the day until the evening until I had to get ready for Josh to pick me up. I finished changing and doing my makeup and I walked back out to the living room, Kass awing.

“You look so pretty! Let me take a picture.” She says, pulling out her phone like a mom.

“Noo!” I say, covering my face while she tries to take the picture.

“Ugh you’re all about being behind the camera but why not being in front of it sometimes you’re a cutie!”

“It’s just not my thing! I like being the capturer not the capture-ee!” I whine, plopping onto the couch next to her. My phone buzzes in my hand, I look down at it, seeing the notification was from Josh.

Josh:Yooo I’m here parked right out front

“Oh, he’s here! I’ll see you later bae.” I say as I quickly get up, leaning down to give her a quick hug.

“Bye, have fun!” She says as I walk away. “Not too much fun...” She adds suggestively.

“I assure you we’ll have just the appropriate amount of fun.” I say jokingly, looking over at her as I slide on my Adidas. I gave her my last goodbyes and walked out towards the car, waving to Josh who was looking through the window, him waving back with a wide smile.

“Hey!” I say as I open the car door, giving him a quick hug after I sat down. Today he was wearing a black snapback, a faded band tee and camo jacket, along with black ripped skinny jeans. Unfortunately, the bruise on his eye was still very noticeable, my stomach swirling with guilt at the sight.

“Wassup stranger!” He replies, jokingly referring to our text exchange earlier in the day.

“What if I really was kidnapped and someone was pretending to be me so they could hang with you?”

“Well, I’d be flattered someone put in that much effort to hang with me and then we’d leave you behind and go to the pier, duh.” He says and I gasp.

“Woww you’re fake!” I shout, smacking his arm before he starts to drive, him snickering.

“Sorry I’m a first come first serve kinda guy.” He jokes with a shrug.

Our drive looked like our earlier ones, windows down and music blasting. It made me happy to feel like we had a little tradition again. The sun sat lower in the sky as we got closer to the ocean. I hum to the tune of 3005 by Childish Gambino on the radio, watching my hand out the window flow with the wind rushing past. The cool wind offered relief from the heat of the summer day.

Once we get there, we find parking in the lot of the pier and I hop out, taking in the salty breeze of the ocean air, mixed with the faint sweet smell of cotton candy and funnel cake in the distance. I get out of the car and stretch, then pull my camera out and snap a picture of the pier. Josh smiles, squinting and shielding his forehead from the sun with his hand. “You’re still taking pictures?” he asks, pointing at the camera.

“Yeah, not as much anymore, but I like to when I get the chance.” I say looking at him with a small smile.

“I’m glad. You were always really good at that kinda stuff.” he says, locking his car as we start to walk towards the boardwalk.

“You think?”

“I know, dude. You and Mark really carried us through the start of our career with all your work. I’ve always appreciated the uniqueness of your shots. It really helped create the image for us that we have now.”

“Aw, thanks dude.” I say sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Of course. I like the fit by the way, very spacey Tumblr vibes.”

I laugh at his description. “Thanks! I think that’s what I was going for I just didn’t specially label it as spacey Tumblr vibes.” I say with a chuckle, quickly stopping to snap another picture of the ocean. “You’re full of compliments today.” I point out gratefully.

“Hey, it’s a nice day out! I’m in a good mood.” He says with a chuckle, admiring the view of the ocean as we approach the rides. He suddenly gasps in excitement. “Let’s go on the dragon!” He exclaims, pointing at the huge green mechanical dragon that swung back and forth in the air over the ocean and boardwalk like a large seesaw in the air.

“Um do you wanna die?” I asked with a scoff.

“Yes, die of fun! Let’s go!” He giggles, his cotton candy hair lightly blowing from under his hat in the wind as he grabs my hand, taking me hostage.

“Helppp I don’t know him!” I say, slightly raising my voice, getting a few stares from people surrounded nearby.

“(Y/n) stop!” He laughs, covering my mouth with his other hand, his fingers warm over my lips.

“Yeah, covering my mouth isn’t gonna help in the situation where people think you’re kidnaping me!” I say, my voice slightly muffled by his hand.

He smiles and pulls his hand away from my mouth with a roll of his eyes. “Ok smart ass.”

“Hey, I’m not the one trying to kidnap women!”

“Stop!” He groans. “The people around us are gonna think I’m some kind of supervillain.” He says as he pulls me in line for the ride. Once he lets go of my hand, I immediately try to escape but he sees this and picks me up right away. His strong arms held me by my waist, holding me up like it was nothing. Damn, since when was he so strong? The couple standing behind us in line giggle at the sight.

“You are going on this ride whether you like it or not!” Josh replies, us cackling as he restrains me.

“Ok fine fine, but if we die, I’m so kicking your ass!” I threaten and he laughs.

“Well, I’ll consider myself warned.” He says as he lets me down.

I stand next to him, anxiously tapping my foot on the ground in anticipation. To my horror, it was finally our turn to get on. Josh attached his snapback to the belt loop of his jeans so it wouldn’t fly off. I follow him to the seats, making sure I was straight in the middle. The person running the ride helps us get the bar down, I look over at Josh as he holds onto it, looking slightly nervous.

“Ok I’m a little scared.” Josh admits looking over at me with a smile and I smack his arm.

“You were the one who made us get on this! You were the confident one you were holding us up!” I say and he laughs, quickly interrupted when the ride started moving.

“Fuck!” I yell, holding quickly grasping onto his arm.

He chuckles at this. “We aren’t even all the way up yet!” He jokes, but his voice shakes slightly.

“Stop being scared too you’re making me more scared! You aren't allowed to be scared!” I shouted over the rush of wind as we swung forward. “Oh my god no no no!” I yell as the ride swings backwards, feeling a sudden weightlessness, almost feeling like I was going to fly out of my seat. I move closer to Josh, clinging onto him harder, the warmth of his body oddly comforting in this trying time.

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” He asks, his voice raised.

“I don’t know I’m beating you up when we get off though! If we even, make it off...” I say anxiously, looking at the ocean beneath us as we swung the opposite direction.

“Don’t say that!”

“Well look at all of that beneath us!” I say, frantically motioning at the water.

Our fear did not let up for the rest of the ride, but somehow the shared suffering was bonding. After, I step off, slightly wobbling. I hunch over, weakly punching Josh in the arm like I promised. “I’m never agreeing to any of your shenanigans ever again.”

“Dude, I agree. I can’t even listen to myself I don’t know what I was thinking…” he says, dragging his hand down his face. He then looks off into the distance, pointing at something I couldn't see.

“Would I be forgiven if I got us snacks?” He asks and I go silent.

Needless to say, he was quickly forgiven as we sat at a wooden bench under the sun, munching on snacks from one of the stands. I sip on my cherry slushy, quickly stopping him with my hand as he was about to take a bite of his cotton candy. “Wait!”

“Uh, what?” He laughs.

I pull my camera out of my bag, squinting to look at him through the lens. “Your hair matches the color it it’s a cute photo op!” I say and he chuckles. I quickly snapped a candid shot of him laughing while holding it, focusing on him and the ocean behind him. “Ok now pose!” I order and he squints his eyes, sticking his tongue out. I roll my eyes at this, then take another one of him holding the cotton candy by his hair, looking up at it longingly.

“Ok you can eat it now.” I say playfully, putting the camera away. He bites into it happily, quickly chewing and swallowing. “Ok now give me your camera you need one with yours.” he demands, holding his hand out.

I reluctantly handed it over. “Mines blue it doesn't even match with me! I don’t have cool hair like you!”

“Hush you’ve always been weird about pictures I know you’re deflecting.” He says, looking at me through the camera. I flip him off, screw him for knowing me so well.

“Stop it!” He says, annoyed like the mother of a moody teenager who was reluctant to take family photos. “Pose!”

I groan dramatically, then look at the camera with a smile, slightly tilting my head towards the treat in my hand.

“Aww!” He says as I pose, earning him glare from me. “I got a picture of that too.” He teases me with a snicker, and I take the camera back from his hands. “Ok your camera privileges are revoked!” I exclaim, putting it back in my bag.

“Aww man! I think that could’ve been the start of an amazing career for me.” He jokes. “Speaking of that we haven’t really had like that boring adult conversation yet? What do you do for work now?” he asks with a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m a production assistant at Warner Brothers.” I admit with a slight smile.

“Really? That’s super cool! I totally see that for you, but I’m also surprised you didn’t end up in photography I definitely expected that.” he says, looking off into the ocean.

“Yeah…” I agree, a subtle sadness coating my voice. He seems to pick up on this, looking over at me again. “Wait... What’s your job again?” I jokingly ask, changing the subject and he chuckles.

“You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you.” He laughs, looking up at the sky. “Hey, why don’t we go play some games?” He suggests looking back at me. “I don’t think I’m ready to go on any rides yet nor do I think it would be a good idea.” He chuckles, nodding his head at the snacks we had just consumed.

“Yeah, sounds sick!” I say, slightly perking up with a smile.

The two of us make our way further down the boardwalk, making it to the row of games. The sun had now set lower, hints of pink starting to appear on the edges of the sky. Familiar tunes play from the speakers as we look around. He suddenly gasps and I turn quickly to see what he was reacting to, and see him pointing to a row of green, pink, blue and purple blown-up plastic aliens. “Oh, I need one.” He says dramatically and I giggle.

“What, are you trying to subtly hint that you want me to win it for you?”

“I don’t know do you think you can do it?” he asks, pointing at the game of darts, the game attendant looking off into the distance in boredom.

“Hell yeah dude! How do you think I got pictures of you and Tyler during your older shows with my shitty handheld camera? I have a steady hand!” I say, reflecting on the experience of having to take focused balanced pictures of the boys while being ran into by drunk 20-year-olds trying to mosh.

“Totally true.” He says with a chuckle. “Let’s see it.” He says, paying for the game for me. I thanked him and the attendant handed me 5 darts, explaining that I had to hit all 5 balloons to get the bigger prizes, Josh’s alien being one of them.

I squint as I focus on the red balloons, them softly blowing in the wind. I line the dart up with the first balloon and hold my breath before I throw it, satisfied when I hear the loud pop. Josh cheers and I aim at the second balloon, successfully popping it.

“Damn girl you’ve got aim!” Josh exclaims and I giggle. I successfully pop the other two and get to the last one.

“I’m scared!” I say as I stare at the last balloon standing, almost feeling a menacing energy radiating from the inanimate object.

“Why? You’ve been doing so well!”

“If I fuck up now it’s all over!” I say with a dramatic groan, and he chuckles.

“You really underestimate yourself. Now be a badass and finish off that last balloon!” Josh says encouragingly. I focus on the shiny red figure, a nerve-wracking anticipation swirling in my stomach as I aim and throw the dart hard. I whoop loudly when it hits the balloon and Josh smiles.

“See I told you you can do it.”

The attendant asks what prize I want, and I step back, motioning to Josh for him to pick. I took my camera out and snapped a picture of him looking up at the hanging candy-colored aliens, a thumb laid against his chin in focus, the colorful lights of the rides shining in the background as the sun had started to set more. I snap another of him pointing at his choice and then him holding the pink alien, looking at me with a toothy smile.

I giggle, putting my camera around my neck. “You happy?”

“Yes, so happy, thank you (Y/nnnn)!” He drags out in a girly voice and a giggle, as if he was my girlfriend and I was his big strong boyfriend who just won him a prize.

“Shut the fuck up.” I say with a smile and roll my eyes.

“That was like so totally manly.” He continues, curling his imaginary long hair around his finger.

“Dude I’m gonna take that thing away from you if you don’t stop...” I threaten, pointing to his alien.

“That’s so messed up... You’re trying to kidnap my biological son.” He claims, pointing at the alien's pink skin then his pink hair.

“Wow alien genetics are hella weird. What’s his name?”

Josh looks away in thought, biting the inside of his cheek. “Mulder!” He decides proudly.

“Uh what kind of name is that?” I laugh.

He gasps. “You’re so uncultured it’s from the X-Files! Oh, you’re so gonna watch it with me now.” He demands.

“Hey I’m down! I’ve always wanted to, you’ve always raved about that show. Here let me get some pictures of you and your son.” I say and he props the alien's legs on his shoulders and holds onto it by its knees like an actual kid. We both laugh as I snap a picture. He poses the alien to where it was next to him and had its arm around Josh’s shoulder, him leaning towards it with a big smile. “Aw what a happy family.”

“I’m starting to get emotionally attached to him.” Josh admits, keeping his plastic friend close to his chest. I smiled, opening my mouth when I was about to reply but look up with a gasp, hearing the intro to Kids by MGMT start to play on the speakers of the boardwalk.

“Shit this is my song!” I say, bopping my head along to the beat as we walk through the bustling boardwalk. He chuckles as I slightly spin while walking, doing a subtle dance. I giggle as Josh takes my hand and fully spins me around, him quietly singing along to the intro of the song.

“Oh, more games, shall we?” he asks suddenly, motioning to the row of games we had gotten to.

“Hell yeah!”

The sun sat as we hit each of the booths, laughing as we tried to sabotage each other’s games when up against each other. He continued to be my hype man when I went solo trying to win a game and I did the same for him. Especially when he returned the favor of winning me a prize in a game of ring toss, which was a large soft giraffe with a long neck which I had decided I needed to have. I cheered, shaking his shoulder excitedly before taking the big soft toy into my arms. We finally decided to go on rides again, starting with the roller coaster that went over the pacific coastline, which we both had to hype ourselves up to go on.

“Hubert you gotta stay right with me alright?” I asked the giraffe in my lap who was tightly restrained by the metal bar, it of course sitting unresponsive.

“I can’t believe you mocked my alien’s name, but you named your dude Hubert.” Josh complains, holding onto his alien who also sat in his lap.

“It matches his kind, caring soul, ok? So judgmental.” I scoff.

“Hey, it’s a two-way street you were mean to Mulder!”

Our tiff was quickly interrupted when the coaster slowly rumbled to life, starting to inch its way forward.

“Why did we do this this is worse than the sea dragon!” I say, already gripping the bar tightly.

“It doesn’t look that high! It can’t be that bad, you gotta live a little dude, YOLO.” He says like a surfer dude, and I giggle, but my laughter quickly quiets when I see the drop we were about to face.

“No!” I shouted before the coaster quickly rushed down, swooping along the track. Josh and I yell during the descent, but our screams slowly turn into laughter as we feel the rush of the wind, the mist of the ocean against our faces, the colorful lights bellow glimmering like a rainbow in the night. He puts his hands up and I hesitantly copy his actions, enjoying the extra rush added to the feeling of the speeding cart. He whoops and I giggle, but then look over concerned to see Mulder slightly raised from the seat, his arms flailing in warning. “Josh grab him!” I shout and he yelps, quickly wrapping his arms around the alien protectively.

“Almost gave me a heart attack!” Josh yells over the rush of the wind and I laugh. I too would be distraught to see my hard-earned work fly away.

The coaster loops around and finally got back to ground level. I throw my head back with a winded laugh, him looking at me as he does the same.

“Ok I have to admit that was fun.” I say with a smile as the bar rises and I step out.

“See! I think we just started off wrong with the dragon honestly.”

We stop at a few more calmer rides, then end the night with dinner at Bubba Gump Shrimp. Not the finest of dining, but it was right at the pier and we were both in desperate need of an actual meal. Carnival snacks don’t tend to sustain you for very long. We shared a relaxed meal, catching up more under the warm lighting of the restaurant, our table overlooking the dark expanse ocean through the window. Once we finished up we headed back to the car, the exhaustion of the day finally starting to hit as my feet dragged along the asphalt. Once we both got in, I immediately reached for the heat. “Is it ok if I turn this on? It’s chilly out!” I complain, my hand resting on the knob as I waited for his response.

“Yeah…” He starts but then looks at my hand before gently taking it. I look up in surprise but then seeing him observing the ring on my finger. Oh.

“(Y/n), what’s this?” he asks, a slight smile teasing at his lips as he lets go.

“Oh yeah… I’m engaged.” I say, almost feeling like I was being forced to admit something wrong.

“You didn’t tell me that!” He says amused, a slight silence between us after he pauses. “When did this happen?” He asks curiously.

“About seven months ago.” I say sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Well… I’m happy for you.” He says with a smile, but a different emotion seemed to linger behind his words.

“I’m sorry… I know he’s not the best,” I start, reflecting on how he lashed out on Josh, the evidence still clear from his bruised eye.

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize. We all... have our moments...” He explains hesitantly, rubbing his arm. I just- I hope you’re ok.” He admits.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… just seeing you after the fight and everything it just seemed like something happened. We don’t have to talk about it now, but I just want you to know you can talk to me about anything. Ok?”

“Ok. Thank you Josh.” I respond softly and he smiles.

“Of course.” He says genuinely and backs up from the parking spot, starting the drive back to Kass’s to drop me off.

Of course I felt like I could talk to Josh. It just felt weird after all this time to start laying my problems on him right away. And this day with him had been so nice, I didn’t want to tarnish it by ending it with a sad conversation. I look out the window, watching the tall buildings blur together as we enter onto the highway. My eyes start to feel heavy, the warmth of the heater, the softness of the music playing, and the comfort of josh’s presence putting me into a trance. I rest my head against my giraffe as I look out the window, slowly falling asleep.

The sleep was light, and my dreams weren't notable, being nothing but a jumble of confusing indecipherable events. I was quickly brought out of the trance when I felt a light touch on my shoulder, slightly starling me awake.

“Huh?”

“We’re here.” He softly chuckles. “You need help getting to the door?” He asks, slightly teasing as he referred to my sleepy state.

“Nooo, I’m good.” I say, stretching and rubbing my tired eyes, not looking forward to actually having to walk inside and get ready before I could sleep again.

“Alright, well thank you for coming along with me today, that was really fun.” He says with a smile.

“Of course, thank you for driving and planning that and everything! Let’s hang again soon pretty please, I need to see you more before you leave for tour.” I say, slightly saddened by the thought.

“Of course. Just text me and let me know whenever you’re free. Bye!”

“Byeee!” I say as I get out, holding Hubert closely to my side.

“Hey (Y/n)?” Josh asks quickly when I was about to shut the door.

“Yeah?”

“I- never mind. Have a good night.” He says with a conflicted smile.

“Oh ok, bye dude...” I say with a smile, slightly confused. I close the door and walk away, ready to crash for the night. I look back at Josh one last time once I unlock the door and step inside and he nods, driving off.

#josh dun x reader #josh dun #joshua dun #twenty øne piløts #tøp josh #tøp #twenty one pilots #josh dun fic #josh dun fan fic

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scurvgirl · 7 months ago

Text

Just a conversation I thought of between my Rook, Efa Mercar, and Emmrich. She is NOT romancing him.

Emmrich had asked her a question and she had not quite given an answer, or at least, a thorough one. She walks into his study to see him standing by a bookcase. Manfred lingers close with a tea tray. A memory of herself rises unbidden. A younger, smaller Efa, standing by the skirts of Mistress waiting to be called upon.

"Rook! What a delight to see you, tea?"

"I'm alright, thanks. I wanted to tell you something...about when I die."

"Oh, of course. Let me get my quill." She watches him gather his things and opens a large, well-kept journal. He turns to a page upon which she spies her name. Right, not creepy. He's a necromancer, this is what he does.

"I do not wish to be cremated. Buried is good as I said. I just...none of my body is to be used for one of these skeletons, alright? I left servitude, I'm not going back to it. Even dead."

Emmrich pauses, sets his quill down and looks at her with shocked sympathy.

"Rook, I had no idea -

She gives him a quizzical look, "I'm an elf. I'm from Tevinter. My handwriting is shite and not because I don't practice."

"Yes, the thought did cross my mind when we first me but I heard you were adopted."

She shrugs, "Sure, at sixteen after running away. Took me ten years to figure out how to claim my own body." She gestures to her dyed hair and the extensive tattoos running down her arm. "Every time we go to the Necropolis and I see those skeletons, I think 'were they like me? Did they run only to be shackled again? Made to do the bidding of another mage?'"

"Oh goodness, no! Rook, if I had known you had these concerns, I would have brought this up weeks ago. All of our working dead were donated by Nevarran citizens who understood how their bodies would be used. Or...sometimes we make use of the bodies of invaders, such as the Venatori. I would never dream of...of....-

"Enslaving someone?" She provides dryly.

"Never! There are no slaves on Nevarran soil."

"Yes, but what about below the soil?"

Emmrich stops, horror creeping into his expression. "It is our way, Rook. The bodies of the departed are donations and not everyone participates."

She shifts on her feet, arms crossed as the discomfort of the situation settles in. "I know, Emmrich. And I know my experiences are coloring how I see it, but I can't help but fear it."

"There is no need to apologize, Rook. I will ensure your remains are respected, undisturbed in their freedom. You have my word."

#rook #rook mercar #emmrich volkarin #dragon ge #datv #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #efa mercar #she starts a rebellion after veilguard because we should have been able to end slavery

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bitchiswild · 2 years ago

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Jennie Kim X F!Reader

Warnings: Sad

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: angst time?

Requested

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Their love story was everyone's favorite tale—a charming narrative intertwined with childhood memories and serendipitous meetings. Everyone, from their families to friends and the media, adored Jennie and Y/n. Their families' close bond meant She crossed paths frequently, filling their early years with shared laughter and adventures.

In the midst of these cherished moments, something changed. Y/n's heart began to flutter whenever Jennie was near, convinced that destiny had a hand in weaving their story together. However, Jennie's feelings danced in a more mysterious rhythm.

For Y/n, each stolen glance and shared conversation painted a picture-perfect romance, a story spun by fate itself. But love isn't always a symphony played in unison; sometimes, one heart sings a little louder than the other.

In Y/n's eyes, the love story felt like a beautiful fairytale in progress, orchestrated by destiny's gentle nudges. Yet, beyond this enchanting narrative lay a more intricate reality, where Jennie's emotions might have swayed to a different tune, creating a delightful yet perplexing harmony between their feelings.

The delicate dance of affection and perception began to shape their relationship. While Y/n's heart soared with affection, Jennie might have been composing her own version of this enchanting tale, leaving Y/n to cherish the moments with hopeful longing, unaware of the subtle nuances in Jennie's feelings.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Jennie was fashionably late, as always, but this time, it felt different. Y/n had arrived punctually at 9:30 pm, heart racing with nerves and excitement, knowing this night was going to change everything. As the hours stretched past 11 pm and still, there was no sign of Jennie, anxiety coiled tighter within Y/n's chest.

The persistent waiter kept returning, a mix of concern and annoyance etched on their face. She'd inquire if Y/n was ready to order or if their date was en route, but Y/n, clinging to hope, asked for more time, pleading silently for Jennie's arrival.

As the clock struck midnight, the atmosphere shifted, the once-bustling restaurant now quiet, the waiters' patience wearing thin. Their eyes conveyed sympathy for the hopeful figure sitting alone, holding onto an unraveling dream.

"She's fashionably late, but this... this isn't like her," Y/n whispered, a hollow attempt at humor failing to mask the heartache.

The waiter, now more understanding than amused, offered a comforting smile. "Some detour, huh? Maybe I should've put a tracker on her for you."

Y/n managed a weak chuckle, their heart heavy with the weight of disappointment. "Might need that, or a crystal ball. Seems like tonight took a different turn."

The restaurant staff exchanged resigned glances, silently empathizing with Y/n's silent turmoil.

"I'll go prepare that 'search party dish' now," the waiter joked half-heartedly, trying to ease the palpable tension in the air.

Y/n forced a smile, a tear threatening to escape. "I think I'll pass on that. Thank you, though."

As the night wore on and the restaurant prepared to close, Y/n signaled the waiter with a defeated expression. "I'll... I'll just settle the bill, please."

The waiter nodded solemnly, "Sure thing. Sorry about tonight. Some people don't realize the value of someone else's time."

Y/n managed a nod, a pang of hurt lingering in their eyes. "Yeah, some clocks just don't sync up. Thanks for understanding."

As Y/n settled the bill, the weight of the evening's unmet expectations settled in. The ring in their pocket, meant for a proposal, felt heavier than ever.

In the eerie quiet of the near-deserted restaurant, Y/n sat, lost in a vortex of emotions, feeling the weight of shattered expectations. With a heavy heart, She remained in the corner She'd chosen earlier, the dim light casting elongated shadows across the table.

As the minutes ticked by, each second seemed to stretch into an eternity. The silence was almost tangible, broken only by the faint murmur of the staff cleaning up and the distant sound of a glass shattering on the pristine white tablecloth.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat, their head jerking up at the sudden sound. For a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath. In the fragmented reflection of the broken glass, Y/n saw a distorted image of their own shattered hopes and dreams.

The staff rushed to clean up the mess, a flurry of apologies and hasty attempts to rectify the accident. But for Y/n, the shattered glass felt symbolic, mirroring the fragments of their carefully laid plans and the fractured expectations of the night.

Feeling a wave of emotions crashing over them, Y/n rose slowly from the seat, their movements mechanical as She retrieved their jacket. As She walked past the broken glass, She felt an odd kinship with its brokenness.

Outside, the cool night air enveloped Y/n, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. The street lights flickered, casting uneven shadows on the pavement. Y/n paused on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath, trying to gather the scattered pieces of their composure.

With each step away from the restaurant, Y/n felt the weight of the unspoken words and unfulfilled plans grow lighter. The ring, tucked away in their pocket, now felt like a burden released, a symbol of a future that might have been but wasn't meant to be.

Despite the heartache, a glimmer of resilience flickered within Y/n. She squared their shoulders, taking one last look at the restaurant's dimly lit window, where moments ago, She had hoped for a different outcome. With a bittersweet sigh, Y/n turned the corner, stepping away from the haunting scene and into the uncertain expanse of the night, ready to navigate a new chapter, one step at a time.

The encounter was surreal, almost like a scene from a nightmare that Y/n desperately wanted to wake up from. As Jennie appeared suddenly, the shock on Y/n's face was evident, her eyes a mirror of hurt and disappointment.

"Jennie, you're late," Y/n's voice cut through the air, icy and laden with the weight of dashed expectations. Jennie's response was callous, her eyes void of remorse. "I know," she replied, the indifference in her tone hitting Y/n like a physical blow.

"Why, Jennie?" Y/n's voice cracked with hurt, a plea for an explanation.

But Jennie's expression hardened, her words cutting deeper than any knife. "I never really liked you. Everything we had was fake. I want to break up."

The revelation hit Y/n like a sudden gust of cold wind, knocking the breath out of her. The realization that she had been used for years by the person she loved most shattered Y/n's world.

"Please, Jennie, don't do this," Y/n begged, tears threatening to spill over, her heart breaking into irreparable fragments.

But Jennie remained resolute, her demeanor unyielding. "Get it through your brain, Y/n. I. Don't. Like. You," she emphasized each word, her cruelty cutting deeper than any insult.

Y/n pleaded, her heart laid bare, but Jennie pushed her away, callously leaving her sobbing on the unforgiving streets. The onlookers in the restaurant felt the weight of Y/n's despair, their empathy palpable as She witnessed the shattering of a heart in real-time.

Alone and broken, Y/n crumbled onto the sidewalk, the world around her blurring through the tears. The pain was unbearable, a piercing ache that seemed to echo through every fiber of her being. Despite the betrayal, the love she held for Jennie lingered, an agonizing reminder of a bond that was once cherished.

Amidst the overwhelming sorrow, a glint of silver caught Y/n's eye—a small velvet box, now crushed within her pocket. Inside rested a ring, a symbol of a future Y/n had eagerly anticipated, a future where she wanted to propose to Jennie, to solidify their love forever.

Clutching the now crumpled box tightly, Y/n's sobs grew louder, the weight of unspoken words and shattered dreams pressing down on her. The night seemed to close in, the stars blinking dimly above, as Y/n wrestled with the heartache of a love that had soured so painfully, a love that had crumbled before it could bloom fully.

In the wake of Y/n and Jennie's abrupt and publicized breakup, the once vibrant presence of the favorite couple vanished into an eerie silence. Speculations buzzed for a brief moment before a thick veil of quietness descended, muffling the once-lively discussions.

Online spaces, once adorned with the shared adventures and affectionate moments of the beloved duo, now stood starkly empty. Social media feeds that had once overflowed with snapshots of their happiness became barren landscapes, void of any trace of their past romance. It was as if a digital eraser had swept through, wiping away their shared history in a blink.

For days, the absence of any updates, posts, or mentions of Y/n left a haunting void in the virtual world. Fans and followers, once avidly following the couple's every move, found themselves met with a wall of silence. The absence of any explanation or closure only added to the mystery surrounding the sudden disappearance.

Rumors swirled like dust in the wind, attempting to fill the void left by the absence of information. Some speculated about Y/n's well-being, concerned whispers echoing in online forums. Others pondered the reasons behind the breakup, piecing together fragments of information from the past in a futile attempt to make sense of the situation.

The restaurant, once a witness to hopes and dreams now shattered, held an eerie familiarity that Y/n couldn't shake. Despite the passage of time and the vanishing traces of their shared past from the public eye, Y/n found herself drawn back to the haunting scene of their failed rendezvous.

Sitting in the same corner, amidst the tables that once held promises and tender whispers, Y/n's heartache seemed palpable in the dimly lit space. The memories flooded back, an uninvited cascade of emotions that refused to fade with the passing days.

The silence of the restaurant echoed the hollow ache within Y/n's chest. Every corner held a ghost of a moment, each table a reminder of laughter and stolen glances. The weight of unanswered questions hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of forgotten dreams.

Lost in the melancholic ambiance, Y/n traced invisible patterns on the table, thoughts swirling like a tempest within. The pain of betrayal and heartbreak lingered, refusing to dissipate with time, as if frozen in that moment when everything fell apart.

Despite the emptiness that surrounded her, Y/n found solace in the familiarity of the space. It was a paradoxical sanctuary—a place where the heartache thrived, yet where Y/n sought refuge to confront the remnants of a love that once defined her existence.

As the restaurant stood frozen in time, a relic of memories now tainted with heartache and unanswered questions. Yet, amidst the bustling city, in the corner of that hauntingly silent eatery, Y/n remained.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, but Y/n seemed anchored to that spot, a specter haunting the table where promises were shattered and dreams turned to dust. The world around Y/n continued to move forward, but for them, time had halted, trapped in a perpetual loop of anguish and longing.

The once-vibrant spirit had dimmed, eclipsed by the overwhelming weight of abandonment and betrayal. As days stretched into an eternity, the restaurant staff grew accustomed to the solitary figure, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of patrons who filled the once-empty seats.

Y/n sat, cross-legged in that corner, surrounded by the echoes of past laughter and whispered confessions. The lyrics of a mournful song played on repeat in their mind, a haunting melody that mirrored the ache in their soul.

"You left me, you left me no, oh, you left me no. You left me no choice but to stay here forever."

The words reverberated in the emptiness of the restaurant, a haunting refrain that echoed the resignation and heartbreak Y/n felt. The outside world had moved on, but for Y/n, time had crystallized in that desolate space, a prison of their own making born from shattered love and unhealed wounds.

Yet, in the midst of the desolation, a glimmer of hope flickered faintly. A distant voice, a gentle reminder from within, whispered of resilience and the possibility of healing. It was a beacon in the darkness, a whisper of courage urging Y/n to break free from the chains of heartache and reclaim their own narrative.

With a deep breath, Y/n stirred from the corner She had haunted for so long. Slowly, She rose from the seat, a newfound determination sparking in their eyes. The restaurant, once a symbol of despair, now became a backdrop to a newfound resolve.

Leaving behind the echoes of a shattered love story, Y/n stepped out into the bustling world, embracing the uncertain expanse ahead. The haunting refrain faded into the distance, replaced by the symphony of life's possibilities, signaling the beginning of a journey toward healing and self-discovery.

Life carried on, as it always does, with the bustling energy of the city engulfing the restaurant in its perpetual motion. Patrons came and went, the memory of Y/n's prolonged stay slowly fading into the recesses of their collective consciousness.

For Y/n, the world outside that corner had beckoned with its promise of new beginnings. She had ventured beyond the haunting confines of the restaurant, stepping into the unknown expanse, their destination shrouded in the veils of anonymity and healing.

The whispers about Y/n's departure dwindled, replaced by the ceaseless rhythm of the city. The patrons eventually moved on, their curiosity giving way to the everyday bustle of life, leaving behind the enigmatic figure who had once haunted the corner of the restaurant, their story and destination a mystery lost in the passage of time.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#bitchiswild #BIW.WRITES #blackpink x fem reader #blackpink x reader #blackpink fanfic #blackpink imagines #blackpink jennie #kim jennie #jennie ruby jane #jennie x reader #jennie kim #jennie kim x reader #Spotify

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