#thanks for all the support though!! i really appreciate it lol

[lotus-lamps]

Spitting out my vitamin c water how did my 15 minute doodle summon so many notes (in my standards at least lmao)

just a quick doodle.

(i would do oneshot freeware challenge but i dont have the energy lmao. i should also start making refs for artfight... oh well)

[loderlied]

sharing some thoughts about deactivating here because it’s been difficult pondering idk.

[allylikethecat]

January OTP Prompts

Remember when I said yesterday's prompt was the hardest one for me to write and the words just weren't wording? I lied, this one was the hardest to write and the words REALLY were not wording. I am not happy with it, but alas I want to go back to reading my new book so here it is, it all it's subpar glory. I'm proud of myself for finishing it though, and sticking to my goal so far for 2024! ❤️

9. Slippers

George always ran hot. He was happy to wander around in a tee shirt and jeans while Matty was required to be bundled up in at least two layers and a scarf. He would then still complain that he was cold. Luckily, George was always happy to share his warmth with Matty, tucking him into his side, with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. However, despite being Matty’s own personal space heater, George had the coldest toes of any partner Matty had ever shared a bed with. He would lounge around their shared home in nothing but boxer shorts and wool socks, complaining on even the hottest of days that his feet were freezing, jamming his toes under Matty’s thigh when they sat on the sofa, causing him to squawk with outrage.

Matty had gotten him a pair of slippers for Christmas two years ago, feeling silly as he ordered them off the Ugg Australia website. He wanted to get George something useful, something thoughtful and was worried that he would think the slippers were silly, or not enough. But George’s face had lit up when he unwrapped them, a grin on his face and tears in his eyes as he pulled Matty into his arms, pressing a kiss to the side of his head in thanks. The slippers became the most important item in George’s wardrobe, worn constantly at home, and a must bring when he packed for tour. 

Which was why it was so shocking, so distressing to George that he had forgotten them at home when packing for a month in the countryside with the boys. They had rented a house in the middle of nowhere, just the four of them, reconnecting with their roots as they worked to write and record their sixth album. He had planned to pack his slippers last, he had been wearing them as he filled his suitcase with jeans and tee shirts and joggers and sweatshirts that Matty would inevitably steal. He had then slipped off his slippers and shoved his feet into a pair of trainers and brought his bag out to the car, he had then gone back into the house to get Matty’s as well when he realized that he had left it sitting in the kitchen, getting distracted on his way out to the car. 

George always gave Matty a hard time for being forgetful, like nearly leaving for a month with no luggage at all, teasing him that he would forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his body. But this time it was George who had forgotten something. He could clearly picture his slippers sitting in the front hall by the door where he had kicked them off. His toes were freezing and he was beyond frustrated with himself. How was he supposed to record an album with cold feet?!

Matty had just scoffed when he had complained. “Babe,” said Matty slowly, like he was talking to a child, “why don’t you just order another pair on Amazon.” 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

[kookiestarlight]

Lines of fate: 01 | jjk

➵ pairing: tattooist!jungkook x f. reader

➵ genre: apocalypse au, exes to lovers (?) dad!jungkook, survival, angst, smut

➵ summary: the last thing Jungkook ever imagined was an outbreak that turned the dead into the living. But even more unexpected is seeing you���an ex he’s known nothing about in the past four years—with a small child who bears a striking resemblance to himself. As Jungkook grapples with the shock and the city spirals into chaos, the two of you are thrust back together, forced to confront unresolved feelings, long-buried truths, and the horrors of the deadly virus taking over.

➵ word count: 11.9k

➵ warnings: swearing (jk says fuck way too much), graphic depictions of violence and death, blood and gore, seizures, virus and zombies ofc, brief mentions of alcohol consumption.

➵ series masterlist

➵ a/n: it’s finally here!! <3 sorry this was postponed way longer than expected, all I can say is: life :,) anyway!! posting my writing again after years on hiatus definitely feels nerve wracking lol. this idea has been in my wips for literally years so I’m so excited to finally be sharing it with you all!! I would greatly appreciate your feedback and thoughts as it is something quite different from anything I usually write (it’s definitely been a kick in the ass) it’ll also really help me stay motivated to continue writing it. thank you for all the hype and excitement you showed for this fic before it was even released cause like hello?? that’s crazy to me😭 thanks for always showing my stories love and support🫶🏻 I’ve taken inspiration from all the zombie movies and videogames I’ve ever seen and played over the years (thanks dad). I should also mention, I had a very thorough plot for this planned out and it kinda went to shit in the process of writing so we’re kind of going off vibes only and 20% of the plot I had originally planned so yeah, bare with me🤪 I also want to say, updates on this will most likely be slow, but I will try my best to get them out as fast I can for you🙏 now that that’s over, I hope you enjoy this series as much as I am enjoying writing it!! this chapter is just the very beginning <33

The autumn sun filters through the large window with an amber glow as you take a slow sip of your coffee, the warm bitterness spreading in your chest as you attempt to chase some kind of comfort. But the loud hum of the city just outside and the muffled chatter of the bustling cafe are very much a grounding reminder of where you are — and where you really wish you weren't.

Your gaze travels down to your daughter sitting on the booth beside you, her little legs swinging off the seat contentedly as she picks away at her blueberry muffin. Completely oblivious to your ongoing little inner torment. Her big eyes flicker up to meet yours, brimming with glee. Brushing a crumb off her cheek, you force a little smile for her. 

Like a dull sting under your skin, you feel how little teeth of guilt gnaw away at you, not only because it’s been almost impossible to offer her a genuine smile in the past two days since you stepped foot in this dammed place, but because you simply wish you could share the same excitement as she does, and perhaps…feel more positive about this whole situation. For her.

But all you’ve been able to feel is guilt.

An incessant amount of it. Guilt and fear. Slowly brewing up inside you like some sort of poison that has had you feeling a little sick to your stomach.

”You’re spiraling again.” Hoseok pulls you out of your absentminded state, studying you over the rim of his half finished iced americano.

You blink. You often tend to forget how well he’s capable of reading you. Though you suppose that’s a skill acquired with nearly twenty years of friendship, and an unavoidable consequence of growing up constantly together, practically like siblings. 

Hoseok has been the only constant in your life for as long as you can remember, like a brother to you — conjoined at the hip as his mother always used to joke. It all began when you moved next door. With your parents always working late and often times far away from home, Hoseok's home slowly became your second one — the place you spent most of your childhood and adolescence and formed some of your fondest memories. A place where you were never alone.

You do suppose it’s no surprise the years and the unbreakable bond you’ve formed have given you exceptional abilities to know when something is off with just a simple glance. But it's never less surprising.

The corners of your mouth tug upwards into a tiny smile at his words, brows pinched in a pathetic attempt to hide your truth. “I am not.”

“You are. You’re thinking too much,” he stirs the ice in his drink with the straw, eyes flicking up to meet yours again. “Which if I may remind you, is one of your fatal flaws.”

You scoff, only slightly offended as you watch him take a slow sip. Pushing your sunglasses further up your head as you lean back. “Thinking too much is not my fatal flaw.” 

He’s may very likely be right about that, but of course, you’d never actually admit it.

Hoseok snorts, clearly unconvinced. His voice just above a whisper when he murmurs, “Right. Sorry. It’s definitely lying.”

Before you can argue, he leans forward to accept some crumbs of muffin Jieun is so eagerly offering him. The sight tugs at something deep in your chest, watching his expression soften to mush as he thanks her with that brightest, tender smile he only ever uses for her before he brings his attention back to you. 

“If it weren’t your fatal flaw, you’d actually be enjoying that overpriced coffee and oh—, maybe being reunited with your best friend again. I haven’t even seen you in like three months.” He shakes his head in utter disappointment, sitting back with a dramatic sigh.

“Hobi, I am so thrilled to be reunited with you, truly.” You roll your eyes ever so slightly and place a hand on your heart rather sarcastically as you say it, but deep down you hope he knows you’re only half joking. No one has done for you more than what hoseok has in the time you’ve known him.

You suppose all the change has got you in a rather sentimental state. But you bury it away. Hoseok deserves a nice time out with a friend for once too. He’s seen enough of your tears.

“Yeah?” he leans in, studying you with mock concern. Though not falling for it even a bit. "That's your thrilled face? You sure about that?” You almost laugh in response, but then, he shifts, looking more serious than just seconds ago. “You know,” he pauses, crossing his arms over his chest. “For someone who finally landed a nice new job and has everything working out, you don’t look all that thrilled to me, actually. That’s all.”

You press your lips together and glance down at your coffee, suddenly the truth a little too hard to face. You should be happy. He’s right. Because things really are starting to look up for you again. Everything you’ve spent the last few months wishing for has finally become a reality. And yet, you can’t shake the fact that there’s a deep buried sense of dread that seems to be getting in the way of that, a familiar fear that's been present for years, but only intensified since you stepped foot in Seoul again. 

Hoseok follows your gaze, watching you carefully, then nudges your foot under the table gently. “Come on.” He murmurs softly, eyebrows raised gently. “What is it?”

You suppose your real fatal flaw is your emotions showing up as flashy neon subtitles over your head apparently, or the fact you are simply terrible at hiding them, because Hoseok doesn't budge. He sees right through your little facade — always has. And as much as you know he is a great listener and that he genuinely cares to hear it all, always ready to give you a helping hand in any way he possibly can, you just don’t want to sound ungrateful. Not when anyone else in your position would be feeling over the moon right now.

Besides, you’ve never liked burdening him, or anyone for that matter. Never wanted to add more weight to the heavy things he already carries himself. He deals with so much of that at work already. So many problems significantly worse than your own worries. So you simply shake your head, putting on a small smile once again in hopes to appease him.

“I’m alright, Hobi. It's just…strange. Being back here. Overwhelming, I guess,” you admit, though only to half of the truth. “It’s so calm on the island. I suppose I got used to it. Everything here is just so intense. But that's all.” You cross your arms on the table as you gaze out at the busy streets. Hoping you don't sound as pathetic as you feel. Though in truth, this whole things isn't just strange. It’s all actually fucking terrifying.

In many ways it seemed like nothing here had changed since the day you left four years ago. The cityscape is as bustling as you remember – a stark contrast to the quietude and stillness of Jeju, where you had been building your new life up until now. People in suits rush back and forth and push into each other with no care, everything is always shadowed by a maze of buildings that don't seem to have an end. Cars weave through traffic like they want to crash into each other, and neon signs and billboards still flicker blindingly even in the daytime. 

The fact that everything remains the same, terrifies you. The rush, the stress, the chaos. That constant hustle and bustle that seems suffocating. It wasn't the reason why you left. but it was certainly a factor that made your life here something you wanted to escape from. It feels like stepping back into the life you thought you’d left behind for good. Like stepping onto a moving treadmill, when you no longer know how to run. Not sure if you’ll ever find your place here again.

Hobi hums in understanding, and the warmth in the familiarity of his smile helps lessen the knot that's been forming in your stomach all morning. And though you've only let out a tiny portion of what's on your mind, you already feel like you can breathe with more ease.

Sometimes, it’s not so bad that he can see right through you. Because you also tend to forget he’s the only one that truly gets you, understands you when even you struggle to understand yourself, and has never once been one to judge you, no matter how small or ridiculous it may be.

“Yeah, I get it. It can be overwhelming.” He nods slowly, letting the words settle. “But if I were you, I’d be damn proud of myself.” His expression is calm and his words full of sincerity as he speaks. “You did what you had to do, and now you’re doing it again. Making more big changes. Really tough decisions, and I know that’s not easy.” He pauses. “But you've always made it after all. This time won't be different. Besides, think about this, we’re close to each other now. I’ll be here for anything you guys need, you know that.”

Your heart softens at his comforting words, and the reassurance feels like it melts some of the tension off your shoulders. And for just a split second you feel that roar of confidence, thinking about everything you've accomplished, but it's not lasting, and deflates with the weight of your heavier thoughts.

You want to believe what he says — you really do. For your daughter's sake. Because this is finally your chance to start over and build something better. To give Jieun the life she deserves, something stable, a chance to thrive in a place full of new opportunities. 

A fresh start. 

After all, isn't that all you've ever been chasing?

You don’t want to allow your fears and the past to come in the way of that. But it's never so simple. At least, definitely not here — definitely not for you.

Because the truth is, being in Seoul again feels like roaming a haunted city. Tainted and plagued by shadows from the past, by who you used to be, and everything and everyone you left behind all those years ago when you ran and didn’t dare to look back. Being here now, you can’t shake the feeling — the apprehension and fear that everything you once left behind is lurking around the corner, ready to jump out and haunt you, making everything you've finally built up crumble to pieces once again. This place just gives you an indescribable feeling of…dread. Eeriness even. Enough for it to linger gut deep with a painful sense of discomfort that hasn’t eased since the day you arrived. As if you can never truly let your guard down.

But after all, it was an opportunity you couldn’t pass up, even if it meant returning to the city you swore you’d never step foot in again. The offer came at just the right moment, a lifeline after months of uncertainty and dead-ends. After losing your job, and endless nights crying yourself to sleep with the heavy burden of becoming a failure of a mother and not knowing how to make ends meet. You practically cried with joy the morning you finally got the call, and ignored the pit that formed in your stomach when you heard where it required you to move to. It had felt like you were about to reach the peak of a mountain, only to drop all the way back down to the bottom. But it was a steady paycheck, and a chance to finally give Jieun some stability. It wasn’t glamorous or grand — a position in a small marketing firm. But it was enough to rebuild. The breakthrough you so badly needed to start over and secure a future for your little girl. 

How could you possibly turn it down?

That was your biggest and only goal in life.

There was nothing you wouldn’t do for her. So you knew in that very instant you had to take it. Even if it meant returning to the place that broke you beyond repair. So you packed up your life and now, here you are. Back where you never thought you’d be. So far from the tranquility of the home you had made for yourself in a secluded tiny seaside town four years ago. Where you were happy. Where you didn't live in constant fear.

“I know this is what I need right now,” you speak softly, more to yourself than anything. You reach out, gently brushing your fingers through Jieun's baby soft hair, watching as she focuses intently on her muffin, completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. “I just don’t want to mess anything up…the job, you know, our new life here. I want to get this right. I don’t want anything, getting in the way of that.” You swallow thickly, fingers tightening around the mug of coffee in front of you, and Hoseok knows exactly what you mean by that. You hesitate, letting out a quiet breath before speaking again. “I know there's so many opportunities for us here but…I was happy in Jeju. Jieun was happy.”

Hoseok nods, slow and understanding. “I know you were. A city like this takes some adapting to, you know that.” He reaches out and gives your arm a gentle squeeze, “but give it time. You’ll settle right back in.” He says warmly, reassuring. You return a tiny smile, more genuine this time.

“Seriously though. Change is good. New home, new job, meeting new people…maybe even someone special…” he adds.

You scoff, eyes widening, only half incredulous at how fast he swerved the topic there. So typical of him. 

“Yeah no, thanks. You can stop it right there.” You shake your head.

“What?” Hobi leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he waggles his eyebrows, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, completely unbothered despite your clear opposition. “I'm just saying,” he adds in, raising his hands in mock innocence, though he feels like your glare could actually kill him. “You’re young. You’re no longer in that tiny ass town full of old drunk married cheating men. Everyone deserves a little fun. It wouldn't kill you to-”

“Hobi,” you sigh, cringing internally at the memories of disastrous dates you told him all about over the phone. You throw a pointed look in his direction, but Hoseok just chuckles. “I’m done with all that. Seriously.”

“Come on,” he presses.

“No. No way. I told you.” You interject, tone firm, not even allowing space for the idea. “I’m a single mother, Hobi. That’s been off the cards for years. I have different priorities now.” You straighten in your seat, making a point to scoop Jieun's hair back and out of her drink. These are your priorities now.

Hoseok raises a brow, watching you carefully, but there's no judgment in his expression now — just silent understanding. He leans back in his chair again, smile dying down, tapping his fingers absently against his iced americano before his gaze drifts over to your little girl. His expression softens, fondness flowing in his eyes.

“I know,” he says after a moment, his tone a tad more gentle. “But I’m just saying…you’re allowed to let yourself be happy again, you know. You deserve that.”

Something uncomfortable twists in your insides. Happy. What a simple word, but what a complex thing. 

You lift your eyes to meet his, the sincerity in his gaze cutting right through. You could argue, explain that you don't agree, that romance is a door locked for good. Not only out of fear, but out of necessity. It’s no longer just about you. You don’t have the luxury of reckless choices or fleeting little flings like you did before.

There's simply to much buried history to let anyone new into your life.

And deep down, you don't believe you deserve it. But you don’t voice any of that. There's no need to explain. Hoseok knows your history better than anyone, the pain etched deep into you, the one you carry like a scar beneath your skin. He knows Jieun's father plays a big role in that, even though you don’t dare to mention him and haven’t in years. He knows his existence and every memory he’s involved in is something you merely refuse to acknowledge. And though Hoseok wants nothing more than for you to thrive, he knows better than to press on the matter. 

Still, he hesitates before speaking quietly. “I’ve been here four years, and I’ve never seen him again.”

He says it gently, in hopes the information is comforting to you, to maybe put you at ease, but instead it feels like a small jab between your ribs. You stiffen, for just a second. You feel your heart begin to race a tiny bit faster. And you wonder when the mention of him will stop having this goddamn effect on you.

Hoseok notices, and regret quickly flickers across his face. He realizes he might have overstepped, treading on thin ice that he fears may slowly be cracking beneath him.

But it doesn't. You take a deep breath, and you simply nod. It’s okay. You know you can’t avoid it forever. Besides, who’s to say he even still lives here? The thought should be reassuring, bring you some sort of peace, be relieving. But it isn’t. Because the thought of ever seeing him again makes your palms sweat, and your chest a little tight.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. “You’re right. Who knows.”

You don't mention how many late nights you've stayed up, haunted with thoughts like if ever did make it out of here. If he ever made it to the states and accomplished all those things he wanted. If he's perhaps settled down and started a family or if he's stuck right where he used to be, how he used to be. You don't mention that sometimes, you mind even attacks you with the intrusive thought of if he’s even still alive.

You don't dare mention any of it.

Hoseok exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just-” He pauses, voice lowering as he checks Jieun to make sure she's not listening, not that she would know or understand, but you appreciate that he does. “I know we’re not meant to talk about him–“

You push past it, giving a small dismissive shake of the head. Instead, you plaster on a small practiced smile, turning to glance down at the little girl beside you as well. It isn't something easy to avoid. But for the past four years, somehow, you’ve managed it. 

“Anyway. I am happy,” you say, voice softer now, steering the conversation elsewhere. “I get all the love I need from my little lovebug right here, don’t I?”

The little lovebug in question remains completely unaware of the heaviness of the conversation. Instead, her wide eyes are fixated on something outside, her eyes big and small fingers suddenly clutching your sleeve.

“Mommy, look!” She gasps, tugging desperately for your attention, she calls you again, tearing you away from your conversation. “The birdy!”

You follow her gaze, a small black bird just on the other side of the glass, and the simplicity of her joy softens you, eases the heaviness for a second. It really doesn't take much to amuse a child, and you’re glad to see at least someone enjoying her time here so far. “I see, baby.”

You smile with her, that is until, just a moment later, you notice… the small bird is no longer pecking at crumbs on the pavement. It’s… acting rather strangely. Its head twitches sharply to the side, body jerking with twitchy erratic movements as it flaps it’s wings like crazy, then suddenly, it freezes, before twitchting again.

Your brows furrow, unable to take your eyes off it. What the hell? Something about it sends a strange chill through you, suddenly understanding what had Jieun so surprised.

“Oh, I think that poor bird might have gone a little coo coo.” Hoseok turns his head to take a look himself, and you both exchange a puzzled glance, to which Hobi just shrugs with a mildly disgusted expression.

“What, you know I hate birds.” he whispers, shrugging like someone just walked over his grave, and you swat his arm and shush him, suppressing a laugh. You wouldn't want your sweet animal loving daughter hearing that. 

“Isn't that so weird. I’ve never seen one do that before.” You say, and hoseok tilts his head, staring at it with a mildly grossed out frown. “Probably has some kind of parasite or something. Not sure.”

“It’s gonna die?” she looks up at hobi, her little face full of worry. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her in closer.

“Not necessarily, bub. I’m sure it’ll be okay,” Hobi answers, trying to be tactful, however, Jieun doesn’t look convinced, but she nods sadly and resumes eating spoonfuls of her hot chocolate that's long gone cold. 

“Yeah, it’ll be fine baby.” You kiss the top of her head, as you glance out the window once again, only to see it’s no longer there. 

“So odd.” You shake your head, taking another sip of your coffee, and Hoseok nods and lets out a low hum, taking another sip himself.

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day? Are you actually gonna start unpacking, or are you going to let those suitcases rot in your living room for another week?” He taunts.

You chuckle. “I’ll unpack eventually. This little girl and I have a long list of errands left to do today.”

“Uh-huh.” He gives you an unconvinced look, then looks at Jieun with a dramatic pout, cooing. “My poor little monkey. Prisoner to moms to do list. I remember that feeling.”

She giggles, and you speak up. “Shhh, she loves errands with mommy, don't you-”

Suddenly, a loud crash sound from the back of the café, startling you all.

The sharp clatter of metal rings out and you hear a young worker gasp, emerging hastily from behind the counter as the previous muffle of conversation begins to die down. Heads immediately start turning towards the scene unfolding before them. 

“What the hell?” you murmur as you hastily turn around yourself, pulse spiked from the jump.

Near the back of the cafe, a chair is knocked to the ground, a mans body hunched over on the floor, shaking and convulsing with an unnatural force that seems to take over him completely. The man sitting beside him instantly scrambles to the floor next to him, shaking his shoulders in a failed attempt to break him out of whatever is happening as he calls out for help in a trembling voice, panicked.

“Oh my god, Hobi-” You gasp and your stomach twists as you take in what is occurring, grip instinctively tightening around your daughter's hand, turning her away from the scene. One of the members of staff pulls out her phone, announcing that she will call an ambulance right away, the man on the floor now surrounded by two other workers that instantly made their way over to him.

Hoseok takes just a few seconds to register what’s going on. “Shit.” He mutters, “A seizure.”

Instantly, he’s up on his feet, leaving you and Jieun behind and rushes over to help, but before he can reach the man on the floor, a young worker steps in front of him, his hands raised. 

“An ambulance is on the way!” he blurts out, eyes darting between the unconscious man and the crowd gathering around him, Hoseok noticing his eyes full of panic. “Please, just give him space.”

“It's alright. I’m a nurse,” Hoseok urges, trying to step around him. “Please, let me-”

This time, there’s no resistance — only relief in the young man's panicked eyes as he steps aside, allowing Hoseok through to where the man is convulsing on the floor.

Jesus christ. On his one day off. He thinks internally.

Without hesitation, Hoseok drops to one knee. “Don’t hold him down,” he instructs the mans friend beside him as he proceeds to unbutton the first few buttons of the man's shirt to facilitate his breathing. He presses his fingers to his wrist as best as he can, taking a pulse. He attempts to roll him on his side, but he seizes with too much force, limbs jerking far too erratically for him to do so. 

“Has he ever had seizures before? Is he epileptic?” Hoseok asks without tearing his eyes away from the man.

The man's friend just shakes his head. “No…no- he was fine right before.”

“Ambulance is just two minutes away,” the barista yells, phone still pressed to her ear. Hoseok nods but keeps his focus on the young man. Face contorted in concertation as he's checking his pulse once again before tilting his head to ensure he’s breathing properly.

You sit speechless few tables away, watching the scene unfold, your heart erratic in your chest. But feeling so much relief Hoseok was here. Jieun's small hand holds yours tightly, grip strong. She shifts in her seat, trying to peek over the booth to the commotion, but you gently pull her in beside you. Pulling her close, you brush a soothing hand over her hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” your whisper. “That man wasn’t feeling very well. But uncle hobi is helping him. Isn’t that so good? He’s really good at helping people remember. It's okay.”

Jien nods slowly, though her brows are still drawn together in concern. She doesn’t fully understand, but she doesn’t doubt your word, or her uncle's abilities.

Across the large space, Hoseok presses his lips into a thin line, his eyes watching carefully as the man's convulsions finally begin to slow, the violent jerking finally seeming to ease up. But just as the worst seems to have passed…Hoseok stiffens. 

There’s a concerning, deep purplish hue creeping up the man’s neckline, peeking through the gap of his unbuttoned white shirt. Dark veins snaking against his pale skin, spreading like ink through thin cracks. Hoseok swallows hard, alarm bells ringing at the back of his mind. 

That…that doesn’t look right. His medical knowledge kicks in, a thousand possibilities racing through his mind, digging for the most fitting answer. Is it cyanosis? an undiagnosed vascular disease? Possibly an infected wound? blunt trauma?

His mind dashing for answers in an instant, but before he can take a better look and unbutton his shirt completely, after what feels like a lifetime, the piercing wail of sirens cuts right through his thoughts, and just moments after, paramedics burst into the café, pushing past the gathered crowd near the Hoseok and the patient on the floor. Hoseok quickly regains focus, stepping back to allow them to take over. 

“He had a seizure. Approximately a minute long. His breathing is stable but—“ He hesitates for a second, then presses on, giving them a brief diagnosis and rundown. “I think he may have another underlying condition. Possible hypoxia.”

The paramedic beside him nods, wasting no time as they swiftly load him onto a stretcher. He stands back, his jaw tight, fingertips tingling with the urge to do more, watching as they wheel him out through the entrance. The murmurs of the coffee shop begin to start up again, confused and concerned looks turning left and right, but Hoseok can’t shake all the questions in his mind. 

He just hopes the guy turns out to be okay. The same way it goes with every patient he sees. You have to do your part and let go. That's how it works. but this time, he's left with a weird feeling bubbling inside.

After a few minutes, Hoseok turns back to your table. The moment his eyes meet yours, you’re already standing and asking, “God, is everything okay? He’s okay, right?”

“It’s alright,” Hoseok reassures you, though his tone is softer than usual. “They've got it under control.”

His gaze flickers toward Jieun, who’s still clinging to you, her small face twisted in worry as she glances between the two of you. She tugs your sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mommy…what happened to the man?”

“The ambulance people will take care of him and take him to the hospital so they can help him.” You say gently. She blinks up at you, then glances toward Hoseok, as if waiting for confirmation.

Hoseok lips form a small smile, crouching slightly to be at her eye level. “Your mom is right,” he says carefully, patting her head. “Sometimes when people don’t feel well they need a little help. That’s what doctors and nurses are for Jieun. It’s okay.”

Jieun watches him for a moment, and gives him a slow understanding nod. He then straightens and exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back toward the road in front of the entrance where the ambulance is now setting off.

You nod, now feeling a weight of unease in the crowded space. It would probably be best to give them space to handle the situation, and to get some fresh air after that. So you retrieve Jieun's little pink puffer vest from off hobis chair and gently help her arms into, zipping it up snuggly to keep her warm from the afternoon chill, before taking her hand in yours.

As the three of you finally step outside, you're grateful for the crisp autumn air that lifts some of the heaviness off you. God, that was stressful. The distant sounds of the city hum around you, and life moves as if nothing happened.

“God, I hope that guy is okay.” You say quietly only for Hoseok to hear, taking your daughter's hand as you let out a slow breath. “First that weird bird and then that poor guy.”

Hoseok hums in agreement and gives a small reassuring nod, pushing his concerns aside. But you know how hard it is for him to switch off. How even when the emergency is over, his mind replays it again and again, analysing— wondering if he could have done more, if he could’ve done better. Even when he deals with stuff like this everyday, it’s never been easy.

“Jesus Christ. What's that saying, bad things always come in two’s? Three’s? ” He chuckles, letting out a huff. “I told you, there’s never an uneventful day out here.” Hobi shakes his head, forcing a smile to lift the mood. But his body still buzzes with tension. Then, in one swift movement, he scoops Jieun up, swinging her into his arms. “Now, time for ice cream?”

Jieun giggles loudly, kicking her feet excitedly at his words, all her earlier worries forgotten. “Yes!”

“Hobi, she just had a hot chocolate. Do you even have space for ice cream, Jieun?” You say, trying to sound stern, but the sight of them giggling together pulls a real smile out of you. And something inside already tells you you’re going to give in.

“She’s with uncle hobi now, there’s no rules.” He sing songs, walking ahead of you with your daughter in arms, all smiles as she squeals at his gentle tickling. The spitting image of joy if you ever saw it.

And for just a moment, you try to push away the nagging feeling that’s been pressing at the back of your mind. 

Because maybe, just maybe, this time, everything will be just fine after all.

Jungkook steadies his hand, a quiet hiss of pain getting lost in the low thrumming of the tattoo gun that fills the quiet studio, lulling him into that comforting sense of calm he knows so well. It’s a fairly big piece, he’s been here hunched over for hours now, that familiar dull ache creeping up his back, but he barely registers it. Because all that matters is the art taking form beneath his touch. 

Here, in these moments, it's when the feels most himself. Distracted, at peace, In control. Something he’s never found that easy outside of these four walls.

Every stroke, every line falls exactly where he intends it to. In a way, the rest of the world seems to fade away — no worries, just ink and skin, art coming to life. And it grants him a satisfaction nothing else can quite offer. And if there’s one thing Jungkook prides himself on, it’s his work and dedication. He built this place with steady hands and relentless effort, and he knows damn well he’s good at what he does. Confidence hasn't always been second nature to him, but time and experience have definitely sharpened him.

He leans back slightly to take in the work before him, his disheveled strands of dark hair falling over his eyes as he uses a paper towel to wipe up some excess ink from the client's forearm before glancing up. “How are we holding up?”

The young guy shifts in the chair, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Let’s just say I felt that last bit there.”

Jungkook nods, noting the slight sheen of sweat on the guy's forehead. He’s just glad he’s not a squirmer. That shit makes his job so much harder than it needs to be. 

His own body is the canvas of plenty tattoos. All colours, shapes and sizes. He's more than numb to the pain now. But he gets it.

“You’re doing really well. I won’t torture you much longer. We’re almost done with the worst part.” Pressing the pedal again, he feels the familiar vibration travel up his arm, he tongues with his lip piercing, a habit that signals his concentration. His hair is dusting over his eyes as he continues with the last bits of shading and does the final touch ups of all the smaller details. Another forty five minutes pass, broken by lighthearted conversation here and there. Though Jungkook never used to be one for making conversation before, he has long mastered the art of letting his mouth wander while his hands and precision remain steady and focused.

“Alright, and we’re done,” he wipes down the fresh ink one last time before setting the tattoo gun aside, letting out a silent exhale as he wheels back, peeling off his black gloves to grab the aftercare instruction sheet, ready to spew his usual little lecture he knows most people don’t even pay much attention to.

“Sit up slowly.” Jungkook instructs.

When the guy finally stands, he marvels at his tattoo in the mirror. Jungkook feels a flicker of pride swell in his chest. No matter how many times he does this, seeing the completed, polished work and his client's expressions of amazement never gets old. “Looks sick man. Better than I imagined.” He beams, twisting his arm under the light, his smile spreading all across his face.

“Good choice with the design.” Jungkook replies with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He then places the protective film, gives him a quick rundown of the aftercare and hands him the sheet. “Take care of it. Follow the aftercare instructions and it’ll heal nicely. And you know, any issues just come by or give me a call and I’ll check it out.”

“Will do. Thanks man, it’s perfect.”

As the last client of the day slips out with a final wave and he hears the bell over at the entrance ding, Jungkook finally feels the exhaustion set in — the kind that only comes after hours of steady concentrated work. Fuck, he really does need to work on his posture. He stretches his back, then cracks his knuckles, stretching his toned, inked arms over his head. But despite the tiredness, he feels no rush no rush to get back to his empty apartment.

He never does.

Instead, he takes his time wiping down his station, tidying all his clutter and ink in the methodical and organized way only he understands — something Yoongi always grumbles about when borrowing his space. But this is his sanctuary. He makes the rules. And yoongi may complain, but he accepts it.

When he's done cleaning up, Jungkook emerges into the entrance area of the studio, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his hair at the nape.

Yoongi stretches in his chair behind the front counter, arms lifting above his head as he lets out as wide yawn, smacking his lips as his eyes land on the younger. “Christ, I thought you were dead in there,” he says deadpan, watching as Jungkook attempts to roll out the tension coiled in his shoulders, stifling a yawn himself. “Or are you? I genuinely can't tell.”

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, slumping onto the leather couch with an over dramatic sigh, throwing the back of his arm over his eyes as he lets his body sink into the plush cushion. It’s moments like this he’s really fucking glad they invested in a good sofa. He wants it to swallow him.

“Sure you can survive the schedule tomorrow? We’re fucking packed.” He says.

Jungkook’s brows knit together as his eyes dart over to Yoongi, eyeing the printed schedule in front of him as he rubs his jaw. “What? You think I can't handle it?”

Yoongi shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He coughs into his fist, a rough dry sound that echoes through the quietness of the now empty studio. “I know you think you’re some kind of machine,” he gives the younger a pointed look, “but let me just remind you that you are, in fact, very much not.”

Jungkook's lips quirk. “Woah, woah. I’ll be fine. Unlike someone who sounds like they've caught the plague.” Lifting his arms from his eyes just enough to peer at Yoongi, he swings his arm as if to push him away. “Stay away from me with that. I can’t afford a day off anytime soon.”

Yoongi scoffs, waving a dismissive hand as he coughs into his fist again. “Relax, it's just the dust. Or if you’re lucky enough I've caught that shit going around. Won't be on your case anymore for at least two weeks. That's if I survive.”

The sound is muffled by his arm as Jungkook lets out a tired chuckle, but his eyes remain closed. “Now you’re just trying to get out of work tomorrow, hyung. I know your little tricks.”

“If anyone should be trying to get our work, it should be you. Admit your running on fumes.” Yoongi drops the piece of paper to the desk and crosses his arms, looking right across to Jungkook, his eyes squinting lightly.

Jungkook feels his heavy gaze, but he's not in the mood to face one of Yoongis lectures right now. He can’t exactly argue that. Because he knows Yoongi is not entirely wrong. 

He's working six days a week, morning till night, barely stopping to take a breath. Hell, it would've been the entire seven days of the week if Yoongi hadn’t raised hell the day he suggested it. Jungkook had tried to reason with him, insisting that Yoongi would still get his days off as usual, that he’d open up the studio alone on weekends and get everything sorted for the week ahead. But it was never about that, and he knew it.

Jungkook has always had a knack for picking up self-destructive tendencies. A slow brewing kind of self destruction, pushing himself way past his limits, working himself down to the bone until he can barely function. And Yoongi simply wasn't going to stand back and watch it happen all over again right in front of his eyes.

Most days, he only eats because it’s Yoongi who shoves food his way, whether he wants it or not.  Prepping meals and stashing them away in their mini fridge in the back room where Jungkook can find them, labeled with a little note in his unmistakable messy handwriting that reads “eat.”

Because behind his serious facade, Yoongi had always tried his best to care for him. 

From countless nights of dragging his black out drunk body home back in college, and many times after college as well. To picking him up from the streets at 4 am after he got into a nasty fight, bruised and bleeding and sobbing his heart out alone on an empty sidewalk. Yoongi didn’t question it back then, didn't hesitate. He never does. He just helped quietly with no second thought, allowing him to sit with his silent sobs on the car ride home. He had always been there, offering him a home when he had nowhere else to go, offering everything he had if it helped Jungkook from drowning.

It was Yoongi that had seen the potential in him and had patiently guided him to finally see it for himself, helping him build this studio from nothing — helping him build every piece of furniture, putting up every shelf, painting every wall, making sure Jungkook finally had something to call his. 

And now, despite all the hardships, he’s come further than they both could have imagined.

Yet deep down, Yoongi knows no amount of help can stop Jungkook from being who he is, not when he has it so deeply rooted in himself to self sabotage in every way he possibly can. It's simply how he’s wired. Yoongi has long accepted that some things are simply beyond his reach, and that Jungkook won’t ever fully change. And he may never admit it out loud, but somewhere in his heart, as the eldest, he’s always felt an unspoken weight of responsibility for Jungkook. That's why he tries relentlessly to guide him towards better choices.

Even though Jungkook has matured and come a long way from his troubled past and the reckless kid he used to be, he’s far from eradicating his bad habits entirely. He knows he’s working himself down to the bone. He knows it's not healthy. Unrealistic for him to sustain in the long run. But he doesn’t like himself when he’s unoccupied. 

He doesn't like the quiet.

Because when there’s silence, there’s space for his mind to make noise.

So that’s what he does. He works, works until he can exhaust himself to the point of passing out, too drained to even feel. It means no thoughts can haunt him when his head hits the pillow. And he’s okay with that.

Besides, he loves his job. That's a fact. The only thing he’s passionate about. All he’s ever found himself to be good at. He doesn’t need anything or anyone else. 

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Fumes are still fuel,” Jungkook shoots back. He reaches behind his head to grab an old vintage manga off the small side table, flipping through the pages without really reading.

Yoongi studies him for a moment, his sharp gaze softening just a fraction. He shifts in his seat, resting his elbows on the counter, zeroing in on him as if he were ready to throw out a serious scolding, like he did back when he was a kid. But his next words are nothing but gentle. “You know, if you wanna keep up with that schedule, you’re gonna need sleep. I can close up if you wanna head out first.”

Jungkooks expression falters — just a flicker. But he covers it with an exaggerated groan. It does get on his nerves ever so slightly, just slightly. What is it with everyone always underestimating him? Treating him like he's not capable of making his own decisions. But his tongue toys with his lip ring as he continues flicking through the pages, feigning nonchalance. “I’m good. I wanna sketch out a few new designs first. Got some ideas ratting around.”

Yoongi squints at him, clearly unconvinced. “You do know that old couch isn't a substitute for a bed, right? and you could just…do that at home.”

Jungkook tosses the comic aside as he shrugs, already bored of the conversation, his inked fingers drumming relentlessly against the worn red leather. “I focus better here.” Is his simple answer, but before Yoongi can speak, a loud siren cuts through their conversation, blaring jarringly as it flashes by across the street. Almost instantly another follows, and then another.

Instinctively, both of their heads turn towards the window, though it only gives view to a small glimpse of the larger front street, most of their view blocked by the building across from them, all they can see is the bright lights flashing as they rush past.

“The hell’s that about,” Yoongi mutters, straightening in his chair.

Jungkook furrows his brows, pushing himself up on his elbows to get a better look outside. But from what he can see, everything seems normal enough — cars passing by, people going about their night and a few students heading home from late study sessions. Nothing in particular out of the ordinary.

The studio is located on a fairly quiet smaller side street, on the outskirts of the city, just a little further from the booming heart of Seoul. It’s never as busy or chaotic here, much quieter.

“Accident, maybe?” Jungkook guesses, a tired breath slipping past his lips. It’s still Seoul after all. When is it ever completely quiet? 

Yoongi hums in agreement, but as if on cue, another set of sirens blares through the streets, overlapping with others as the noise grows, this time it’s police cars too, wailing violently and urgently before fading into the distance as they speed away. Jungkook glances at Yoongi, who meets his gaze with an equally puzzled expression.

“Must be pretty bad.” Jungkook says.

Yoongi just pulls out his phone to check the time and sighs. “Well, whatever it is, I'm not sticking around to find out.” He pushes himself to his feet, patting his back pocket to pull out his dented pack of cigarettes before reaching for his jacket draped over the back of the chair.

A slight sense of uneasiness crawls up Jungkook's spine. That was about four ambulances and three police cars if not more. That’s….that’s a lot. But he soon brushes it off. “I’ll check the news later.” He mumbles, letting his heavy body drop back against the soft cushion, with no energy or intention to move.

Yoongi tugs his jacket on, tossing him a small glance. “Well, if you’re gonna stay here, at least don’t fall asleep on that damn couch again. You drool, and it’s gross.”

Jungkook chuckles, though it's half hearted. “I won’t ruin your sacred couch, hyung. Don't you worry.”

“Good.” Yoongi deadpans, heading toward the door. He flips the neon sign to closed before turning back to Jungkook once more, his tired features softening just a touch. “Don't stay too late. Tomorrow is fucking packed and you’ll regret it when youre half dead in the morning. And don’t forget about that girl you booked in at 9.”

He presses his eyes shut for a moment, letting out a breath. The girl needed some touch ups to her tattoo but had a busy schedule and no time to visit any other day or at ay other time. So Jungkook did the favour, and offered to book her in before opening time. But fuck. He really does need to stop bending his schedule for people.

He knows he’s going to regret it.

Jungkook just waves a dismissive hand, already getting comfy on the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave soon.”

Yoongi doesn't believe him, but he doesn't argue, just pulls out a cigarette from the pack and raises his hands in surrender before he pulls open the door. “Alright. See you tomorrow.”

Jungkook hums in acknowledgement. “Rest up, Hyung.”

The studio fades to dead silence once the door closes. Though sirens still echo faintly in the background.

Stretched out on the couch, Jungkook stares at the ceiling a little longer than necessary. His limbs feel heavy, exhaustion pressing down on him heavily. He wants to work on those sketches, he wants to push his limits a little further. But his body seems to know what's best for him. And within minutes, he’s passed out.

When Jungkook’s eyes crack open, it’s to the gentle sound of rain pattering against the windows. But it’s not rain the noise that woke him. Distant voices shout over one another, and the erratic wailing of car alarms and sirens blast in a near distance, sounding like he’s still stuck between consciousness and a dream. Jungkook blinks, then suddenly, screeching tires follow into a loud crash, something heavy and metal hitting the pavement. His heart spikes, and his body jerks up instantly before his mind can register what the hell is going on. The sudden movement makes him lightheaded, blinking as he tries to shake the disorientation fogging his mind.

Shit. How long had he been out?

He curses under his breath, his head throbbing. Did someone just fucking crash their car outside? In his dazed state his fingers fumble for his phone in the front pocket of his jeans. He squints, the bright screen glaring back at him painfully in the darkness of the studio.

11:48 PM.

The first thought that comes to mind is drunk people causing a ruckus. It certainly wouldn't be unusual for Friday night. But then… he stops to listen. Are they breaking in? then his mind steers more towards the possibility of some petty street fight, or some idiots causing trouble. It’s the only conclusion his sleepy can come to.

But then, he hears it. 

Raw, panicked, screams erupting from the streets outside. It sounds close. Really close.

What the fuck? 

Jungkook feels a sickening pit form in his stomach.

Because that's definitely not the drunken shouts of a fight, not the sound of some petty fight or a car accident. It’s the kind of scream that crawls under your skin. And Jungkook knows the sounds of panic when he hears it. He feels his heart beating in his chest now, fast and strong. Something isn’t right. Before his mind can think  further, he pushes off the couch and yanks his leather jacket from the armrest, pulling it on in a swift motion, feeling a little dizzy as the room slowly begins to spin from getting up so fast. 

Behind the front counter he crouches, reaching for his motorcycle helmet. But his grip isn't steady, his palms suddenly feel a bit sweaty. The air in the room slightly suffocating.

His mind scrambles as he finally strides for the door, all he knows something is telling him he needs to get out. He’s ready to leave and check on what's happening outside, but just as his fingers brush the cold metal door handle—

A loud bang crashes into the large front window of the studio.

The impact rattles the entire front window, the glass shuddering violently as something smacks right into it with bone crushing force, causing large cracks to expand from the center like a spiderweb, blooming outwards across the glass. The helmet drops to the ground with a loud thud and Jungkook stumbles back in the darknesses, almost crashing back into the front counter as his breath gets stuck in his throat.

Jungkook freezes. His entire body completely paralyzed as he watches a thick, dark gush of red begin to trail down the ruins of the window. His eyes slowly follow it upwards and then…then he sees it.

A face, wedged between the shards of glass.

Jungkook sees the face of a man...except, it can't be. The skin is unnaturally pale, sickly white, dark veins bulging beneath the surface, tiny pieces of glass wedged everywhere into its flesh. Blood coats its entire mouth, dripping to the floor beneath — but it's the eyes… They send a shot of terror right down Jungkook's spine. 

They’re clouded and gray, almost white and eerily vacant, yet somehow, they’re locked right onto him.

Jungkook feels like he can’t take a breath, his chest tight as his eyes grow with complete shock and confusion.

Then, it moves.

Its head twitches in a slow agonized form before it seems to fully register Jungkook's figure standing right across. It cocks his head towards him completely with a grotesque sound of craking and lunges forward, slamming its hands against the glass with inhuman strength. Giving it all his power to break inside. It lets out another groan, a guttural broken sound as it reveals a row of blood stained teeth, the deep red liquid dripping from its mouth.

Jungkook swallows hard. If he moves will it move too? Will it...chase him? He feels like no oxygen is reaching his lungs, or his brain, his mind struggling to even process what he is seeing. That…that can't be real. It can’t be human. All he can do is watch as his heartbeat pounds like a hammer in his chest, louder than the sirens and screams growing outside, louder than the animalistic banging against the window.

That…thing is trying to kill him. It’s going to kill him.

It doesn’t stop. It claws at the glass, smearing the blood, desperate, mindless — growing more violent as it seems to realise its stuck. But the glass creaks more with each hit, trembling under the pressure of each movement, and Jungkook realizes it might not hold up much longer. He has no time.

Move.

He has to move.

Like a spring snapping, his body finally kicks into action. He stumbles backwards, feeling glass beneath his shoes as he tries to hold in a breath, his eyes fixed on the creature as he tries to back away with steady steps. After a beat, he sprints towards the back of the studio, running as his body pushes through the beaded curtain into the back room. 

His hands fumble frantically in his pocket — keys, keys, keys — but his hands are trembling too much to grip them. Fuck.

Jungkooks mind races with a thousand questions colliding all at once. But none of them make sense. None of them are even remotely rational.

That thing. It wasn’t human. Then what the hell was it?

Another jarring bang echoes in the studio, followed by a loud screech. But Jungkook doesn’t look up. He doesn’t have time. His only thought is to get out of here. Fast. He needs to get away from whatever the fuck that is. He needs to get to his motorcycle. He needs to get the police.

His fingers finally curl around cold metal. The keys. With a sharp inhale, he yanks opens the heavy back door leading into the tiny side alley and slams it shut behind him as he rushes out.

It’s dim, lit only by a flickering street lamp near the end, casting eerie shadows across the brick walls. The air is cool and damp, the smell of rain fresh on the damp asphalt and the sound of sirens and shouting voices in the distance become even clearer than before. But Jungkook can't see the one thing he’s looking for. His gaze darts around frantically and he feels a dreadful realization claw at his throat. 

His motorcycle is gone. The spot where it’s always parked is empty. 

Jungkook panics, his hands coming to his hair. Fuck, fuck, fuck. As he looks around helplessly, his breath only grows more erratic. He finds no other option but to run, so he runs to the end of the alleyway, running right towards the screams and tumult, and when he reaches the end, the scene unfolding before him almost kicks him to his feet.

The once quiet street had turned into a horrifying scene. People mindlessly running away from something. But what his eyes land on almost immediately is on a young woman in the middle of street, clutching her neck with both hands, her body swaying as she chokes out for help before she drops to her knees, her body shaking. Jungkook watches in horror as someone else runs right past her, coming from the same direction, white button up shirt soaked in something dark as his features display a kind of terror he’d never witnessed before. Across the street, an older man is pulling down the storefront gates as he locks himself inside, letting two kids in high school uniforms scream and kick as they beg to be let in, screaming and crying.

“What the fuck...” the words escape involuntarily in a quiet mumble to himself, his hands coming to his head.

Jungkook blinks repeatedly, completely aghast. But he doesn’t think— just moves, bolting down the street. His thick leather boots slam against the wet pavements as he runs, his dark hair blows in the air, his skin covered in a layer of sweat as he weaves past a fallen trash can and then a body, his breath ragged as he tries not to slip on the broken glass. The rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins too strong to even feel his body protesting.

Rounding a corner, he nearly collides into another person, but his hands instinctively come up to push them away, almost knocking them to the ground. He doesn’t have a space in his mind to think about it or time to dwell on it. His body acting on autopilot. The more he runs, the more people seem to be running in the opposite direction. Away from something. His legs burn as he sprints faster, but coming off onto the main street of Jongno, he comes to a halt as he takes in the state of the streets, pupils blown as something terrible dawns on his expression.

The city is in shambles.

Everything.

Chaos.

Cars sit abandoned in the middle of the road, their doors flung open, some have crashed into street lamps and traffic signs, into each other at intersections, even buildings, the smoke clouding up into the dark sky. Blending with the red and blue of wailing sirens. People are everywhere. Hundreds of people are running in all different directions — some screaming, some covered in blood, some sobbing and some seemingly unmoving on the ground. Pushing and tripping against each other, running, but most don’t even know what they’re running from, simply following the crowd. 

How many more of those rabid people were there? How far had this spread? 

He wants so badly to be wrong, but something deep inside him tells him this is something big.

He stills for an instant, trying to orientate himself. He scans the street hurriedly for the best route to avoid getting stuck in a crush, to avoid more of those things…but all he sees is the panicked chaos spreading by the second. 

Jungkook feels like he’s outside of his body, like this is a dream, a nightmare he’ll wake up from any second now. He closed his eyes for a second and inwardly prays for it to be just a bad dream. But the air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, and the pounding in his chest is too real. The world around him still screams, set aflame.

This can’t be real.

This…this can’t be happening.

Just a few meters away from him two figures wrestle on the ground — except one of them isn’t fighting back anymore, and the other is hunched over them, their head buried in the victim’s throat. Jungkook staggers back, his stomach lurching at the gut wrenching sounds of someone being mauled alive, bile burning the back of his throat when he watches infected pulls back, large chunks of flesh dangling from its bloody mouth, dripping crimson.

The truth slams into him, but his mind is till fighting to accept it.

People are killing people. Eating people. Except…they're not people. They’re monsters.

Jungkook scans the crowd for an escape route, desperate. After a moment, he catches sight of the least crowded street, it's right on the way to his place. He takes a sharp breath and runs, runs non stop down a dozen blocks. But as he navigates the frantic roads, he spots something as he runs past a small street. Stopping him in his tracks. He notices a tiny figure huddled up alone at the beginning of an alleyway, wearing bright pink, shoulders trembling and hands pressed over her ears as she sobs violently. 

A child, no older than three or four if Jungkook had to guess. He halts, heart pounding as he registers her small frightened face, streaked with tears. 

He should keep running, he knows he should. His body is urging him to just keep moving, his insides shaking with adrenaline. That’s not his responsibility. He hasn’t stopped for anyone. But the burning images of what he’s just witnessed flash fresh in his mind. And something deeper roots him in place. Something inside him twists, snaps almost, an unfamiliar instinct that overrides his own confusion and fear.

Ah, fuck it. 

Before his mind can catch up with what he’s doing, he rushes into the alley, approaching the child cautiously with slow steps as he gets closer. He crouches down to her level, looking over his shoulder nervously. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is gentle but hurried as he searches her face. “Where are your parents? Are you lost?”

The small girl just looks up at him with large, wet eyes and a trembling pout, her hands balled into tiny fists. She doesn’t answer, just stares, whimpering and hiccuping softly, like she’s been warned to not talk to strangers — especially not ones clothed head to toe in black, covered in tattoos and piercings like himself. He glances around, hoping to see someone rushing towards them, any sign of this child's parents so he can just hand her over and run, but there’s nothing, just the crowd at the end of the alley pushing past in frantic waves and yelling, no one stopping to even look in their direction. 

He has to do something.

“Do you…where did you see your parents last-” a loud metal bang echoes in the distance, making Jungkook and the child flinch, a heavy breath escaping him. Fuck, his mind races as he realizes she’s truly alone. The girl just sobs more and he curses under his breath, eyes pressed shut as his mind scrambles for what to do.

He can’t just leave her alone in whatever the hell this is. But what the hell is he supposed to do?

“Uh, alright,” he coughs, throat dry, and speaks softly but hurriedly, trying to mask his unease as he reaches out his hand. “Come with me. It’s not safe here. I’ll… I'll help you find your parents.”

He’ll take her home, get her out of danger and call the police. That’s what he should do. 

It’s the right thing to do.

Okay. 

He hopes she knows he’s only trying to help. God, his pulse races every second he’s standing here still. They need to move. Now. She just stares at him, uncertain, then slowly reaches out with her tiny fingers, clasping his much larger hand with a surprising grip. She must see past his intimidating exterior, or be so terrified that she’ll take up any offer of being reunited with her parents, either way, her innocence makes Jungkook's heart sting a little. He can't just leave a child out here, he has to help her before something terrible happens to her or she falls into the wrong hands. He doesn't know what the hell to do, all he knows is they have to run, run right now and get away from this, and-

Suddenly, a piercing, desperate voice breaks through the havoc of noise, loud enough to catch Jungkook's attention.

“Jieun!” 

The sound makes his entire body lock up, his heart jumping in his chest as he turns toward the voice. 

Running towards him, just feet away, eyes filled with worry and tears, he sees you.

Jungkook feels the blood drain from his face. 

For a split moment, the world seems to fall silent. The noise, the screams and chaos, the sirens — all of it blurs into a distant hum in the back of his mind. He feels like the air is knocked straight from his lungs as he slowly takes in your face, a slightly more matured version of a face he once knew every inch of, a face he’d buried away along with every memory he’d tried so hard everyday to annihilate ever since you disappeared from his life. A face he could never forget, not even after four painful years.

It can’t be.

No, no, no-

But it’s real, because there you are. Lunging forward and arms out reaching for the little girl beside him with thick tears of relief flooding from your eyes. The child lets go of Jungkook's hand instantly and her tiny feet pat across the concrete as she launches herself into your embrace, leaving him behind to watch, frozen and stone cold like a statue. 

“Mommy!” She cries.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop. He thinks he's going to throw up.

He must’ve heard that incorrectly.

Mommy? That child is…

He feels like he can’t move, blood cold as he watches you crumble to your knees, gathering the little girl into your arms with a grip that looks suffocating, as if she might disappear into thin air again. Your whole frame trembles as you hold her close, relief pouring from you in loud, choked sobs, your fingers getting tangled in her wet hair as you comb though it desperately.

That’s.. your child?

“Jieun, oh my god, baby. You’re here, you’re okay,” your voice cracks with all the pain your body just underwent, whispering against her temple. “Are you hurt? You’re not hurt are you, baby?”

The last thing you remember is being in the convenience store when the chaos began. When you walked out you had no choice but to run into the crowd. How Jieun was holding your hand and in the blink of an eye, her hand slipped from yours. You turned back, screaming her name, but she was gone, just another small figure lost in the stampede of a city falling apart.

By the time you fought your way out of the crowd, Jieun was nowhere in sight. Your heart is still hammering loudly between your ribs, mind stuck on the past horrifying minutes since she disappeared from your side.

But as you finally look up… all your relief shifts, eyes darkening with shocking realisation that mirrors the expression in the man standing just feet away when you. Heart hammering in your chest as if it recognized him before your eyes do.

You blink once, twice to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. Completely distraught.

If Jungkook thought he was stuck in a bad dream before, he’s certain now this is all a cruel, sick and twisted nightmare. He feels his stomach churn. The weight of clashing emotions and utter disbelief thrown over him. So many questions he can’t yet voice crashing into him like a bucket of ice cold water, making his blood run cold.

This has to be some kind of sick joke. 

All of it. 

“Jungkook?” Your voice trembles, barely a whisper, as if the sound of his name out loud might shatter you to pieces.

He’s standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, his wet dark hair hanging messily in his face — so much longer than it used to be. He has new piercings on his face, and his features have definitely matured. He looks…different, yet somehow exactly how you remember him. His big dark eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you feel your world stop. 

“Y/n?” His voice cracks slightly, like he’s just been punched in the gut. “Wh…what are you doing here?” but there’s no anger in his voice, just confusion, and perhaps, a hint of something painful. His words hang heavy between you, getting lost in the sounds of the burning city beyond this tiny street, and you feel a paralysing weight on your chest. Your mind reeling beyond comprehension.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to say something, anything. But you feel like you’ve forgotten how to form words. So you close it again, no words come out. His eyes flicker from your face to the little girl clutching your side, and you feel a pit sinking in your stomach. God, please no.

This can’t be happening — not here, not now. 

Not like this.

You want to bolt, to run and not look back like you always do. You wish the earth would just swallow you entirely. But all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding faster in your chest, mouth dry.

You try to step around him, desperate to move forward, to escape this horror. But before you know it, his hand catches your arm. He grips you gently, but with a force that indicates he won’t let you slip away again. His touch almost makes you fall to your knees.

“Come with me.” 

Your body stiffens at his words, and you swat your arm loose of his grip. You lift Jieun into your arms instinctively, fingers curling around her small body as if the mere act of holding her can shield you from everything. From him, from all the pain, from all of this living nightmare.

“No,” you say, the word coming out broken, like your breath is caught. “I can’t go with you. I need- I need to get hobi-” 

“My apartment isn’t far,” he cuts in, not giving you space to say more. “We need to get off the streets.’’

You hesitate, watching his gaze scurry between you both again. Everything in you is telling you to just run, to put as much distance as you can between yourself and Jungkook. Willing this conversation to die before it can even begin. Before he can start asking questions you’re not ready to answer. Before you have to face things you’ve already buried deep. Before it’s too late.

You need to leave. But Jieun is shaking, clutching onto you for dear life as she whimpers against your chest, and the sounds of screams still ringing in your ears. And there’s infected everywhere. You’re stuck in the middle of a warzone, and you have no idea what to do, no idea where to go.

All you know is you need to get Jieun out of this. Away from danger.

“Have you not seen what the fuck is going on? People have gone fucking insane!” His tone grows harsher now, trying to knock some sense into you. “We need to move.”

A gut wrenching scream echoes from somewhere beyond the alley, closer than before this time. Too close. 

Jungkook swears under his breath, running a hand through his hair, torn between a storm of brewing emotions and the immediate danger closing in. His jaw tightens as he looks behind him then back to you. “Y/n, we need to go. Now.”

You shake your head violently, and you can feel hushed tears burning behind your eyes. You can’t breathe, can’t think clearly. All you can feel is Jieun trembling in your arms.

“Please-” his voice drops, raw and desperate. Almost a plea.

And don’t know when or why it happens, but the next thing you know, your feet are moving. You’re running with everything you have left in you.

Somehow, the world is ending, and you’re allowing yourself to be guided by Jungkook down streets devoured by chaos, heading to the only safe place around you. 

His home.

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[confused-mushroom]

You could always be a gender non-conforming cis woman! There's no shame in that! And pronouns =/= gender so feel free to use whatever pronouns you want irregardless of how you identify! She/her gays and he/him lesbians have been around for a loooong time! (You can be a she/her guy or a he/him girl without being gay/a lesbian too though :)) messing around with gender is fun :) good luck!

Thanks!!

I've definitely been gender non conforming for awhile, but sometimes the little itch in my brain comes back like "hm... I don't exactly know if I am a cis woman... or if that's even what I'd like to be." And lately it's just been hitting hard.

Kinda thinking about he/she pronouns. I might be boy but also girl if that even makes sense?? Sometimes it really just... I'm both it feels like.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Baby Daddy || Jacob Elordi x reader

Summary: Jacob being a protective dad 😌

Warnings: fem!reader

Wc: 475

A/n: can we just agree that Jacob holding a small baby in his HUGE arms would be the cutest and hottest thing ever 😃😭 I need to see this irl. Posting a Coryo fic later today!!! Also really need to do a Jacob Elordi masterlist lol, will do later today!

Emerging from the grocery store, you held bags in both hands while Jacob effortlessly juggled your one-year-old daughter in one arm and a bag of groceries in the other.

The California sun casts a warm glow as you make your way to the car, Jacob holding your precious daughter, Sydney, in his strong arms. His large frame makes her appear even tinier as he cradles her close.

As you approach the car, Jacob’s keen eyes spot a group of paparazzi in the distance. He instinctively shields Sydney’s face, a protective gesture you’ve both mastered in these public moments.

Jacob glances at you, concern in your eyes, “We should be fine, they’re far away anyways,” Jacob assures you as you unlock the car.

As Jacob secures Sydney in the car seat, you glance over at the paparazzi. Some of them notice Jacob’s protective actions and start snapping pictures even more eagerly.

You could feel their invasive gaze, but your focus remained on Sydney, shielding her from the intrusive lenses from the front seat of the car.

As Jacob buckled up your daughter, he could sense you were uncomfortable, glancing at the paparazzi from time to time. He knew how much it meant to you to keep Sydney’s upbringing away from cameras as much as possible.

“I’m going to go talk to them,” Jacob says as you look at him with surprise. “Are you sure?” You lightly bite your lip as he nods, “Yeah, I’ll be quick,” Is all he says before he shuts the door.

You watch as Jacob makes his way to the group of paparazzi. You couldn’t hear what was being said of course but they seemed understanding about what Jacob was saying to them.

Jacob approached the group with a calm but firm demeanour. “Hey guys, I’m not sure if you’re aware but Y/n and I want to keep our daughter away from the public eyes as much as possible. And I know this is your job but could you please make sure to blur out Sydney’s face in the photos you’ve taken?”

One of the paparazzi’s, seemingly more considerate than the rest, responded, “Sure thing, Jacob. I don’t think we managed to photograph your daughter’s face,” He and the others all take a look through the photo’s they’ve taken whilst showing Jacob.

“But if we find one, we’ll make sure her face is blurred. No problem.” The man says as Jacob nods. “I appreciate it. Have a good day guys.”

As Jacob walked back to the car, you exchanged a relieved glance. As he climbs into the car, you felt a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion from the constant vigilance required to protect your family’s privacy.

You intertwine your hands with Jacob’s, expressing your gratitude, “Thank you for handling that.” A grateful smile adorns your face as he grins, bringing your intertwined hands close to his face and gently kissing your hand.

“Of course, I don’t need to think twice about doing something like that to protect Sydney,” Jacob affirms. He adjusts the rearview mirror, stealing a glance at Sydney in her car seat. Her curious eyes are fixed on the window, captivated by the passing palm trees.

Later that day, you were sent a tweet from Jacob’s sister. It’s from one of the paparazzi who interacted with Jacob earlier. The post details the encounter and emphasises Jacob’s kindness in handling the situation.

The tweet read, “Just had a run-in with Jacob Elordi, and gotta say, he’s one of the nicest celebs I’ve encountered. Asked us to blur out his daughter’s face, and even though we’re paparazzi, he handled it with grace. Big respect for him!”

As you read through the comments, you couldn’t help but smile at the overwhelming support from Jacob’s fans. Messages of admiration for his commitment to Sydney’s privacy flooded the comment section.

yourusername

Liked by jacobelordi, caileespaeny, hbo, zendaya, sydney_sweeney and 10,937,274 others

👶🍼💗💋🧸

view all comments

jacobelordi: love you both so much ❤️

↘️ yourusername: 💗

caileespaeny: aweee

sydney_sweeney: I need to see little Syd like rn 😭

↘️ yourusername: your godchild misses you!

↘️ user1: Is anyone just finding out now that Sydney Sweeney is the the god mother of Jacob Elordi and Y/n Y/l/n’s daughter 😃

↘️ user2: I mean, it kinda makes sense ngl. Y/n and Sydney are childhood besties and then she names her own kid after her best friend.

user3: sometimes I forget Jacob Elordi isn’t single and has a child

user4: those recent pictures of him holding Sydney is doing something to me 🙂

↘️ user5: RIGHT!

↘️ user6: oh for sure.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 9.9k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: UEUEUE I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY DONE!! thank you so much to everyone who has been here and read this — whether you were here when i just had the masterlist up or if you only read part one/two five minutes ago, i appreciate all of you and your sweet comments + support more than you know!! this series was definitely an experiment for me so being met with so much positivity has been so 🥹💖 that said i hope you all enjoy how things wrap up here and maybe i will see you again on another story / shitpost of mine!!

Where once the sounds of the sea had sung you to sleep, now it was Mydeimos’s rattling breaths which were your lullaby. He never allowed you to protest, frowning and telling you that it was wrong to argue with the wishes of a dying man before extending his arms and pulling you against him, caging you there until you fell asleep with your cheek pressed to his heartbeat. His chest would rise and fall, unsteady with his lungs’ impending failure, but the promenade of his heart remained strong and true, for he was after all a warrior, and warriors were not so easily put down.

“It burns,” he whispered to you one day, when you were on that hazy brink of unconsciousness where you knew what he was saying but did not have the means to respond to it. “Y/N, it burns.”

“Hm,” you said, though in your mind you were frantic, clawing back to wakefulness. Your grip on him tightened; it would’ve been imperceptible to anyone else, the way the sling of your arms tensed around his waist, but he was always so keen, and keener still when it came to you, so he exhaled.

“Every time you leave, it is as though I am set alight,” he admitted. “I have never felt it before, this fire, which is not doused until you return to my side. I am mad from it — if your husband does not kill me first, I am sure it will spell my end. ”

“Then shall I never leave you?” you mumbled, your words barely coherent but insistent, pleading. 

“If I had my way,” he said, and then he chuckled. It was a sad, resigned sound, though you were sure he did not mean for it to be, and, as if in apology, he stroked the back of his hand along the column of your neck. “If this were Kremnos, you certainly wouldn’t.”

You still dreamt, but now, instead of those memories of the end of your existence as Y/N L/N playing on loop, you saw visions of a different life, the one you had been denied, the one where you were the princess of Kremnos instead of the lady of this empire. In these dreams, the sky was blue and your father sent you fond letters from the sea, tucked in green envelopes that smelled of salt when you opened them, so that you did not miss it too terribly. You played with Verax, who followed you around as faithfully as a puppy, nudging you with his trunk to gain your attention and then lifting his head, pretending like he had no idea what you were referring to when you chided him through your laughter. You spoke your mind against anyone and everyone, teasing the great lords when their ideas were foolish and then suggesting better, kinder methods of approaching the spirited people, tempering the fire of their many victories with the sweetness of the sea’s peace.

In all of these scenes, there was one constant: Mydeimos, always Mydeimos. He remained at your side no matter how mundane the situation, and yet you never really grew accustomed to the quality of his presence, so that every time your gaze flicked to him, you lost your voice — but you did not hate it so much when it was him, when it was done of your own volition.

He was so beautiful, his leg unmarred from the chains which crossed over it, his voice steady and painless, his hair lively in the wind, his face smooth and free of shadows. He smiled more, too, finding great amusement in everything you said, and each time was like a sunrise, just as bright, just as warm. You loved him, the Mydeimos of your dreams, who would, on the rarest occasions, touch his lips to yours and then hold you in a different way, a way you could not ask the prince himself to in your waking moments.

“Is there medicine I can bring you?” you asked him another night, one of the few where you had convinced him that he needed the rest far more desperately than you did. He lay between your legs, coughing and coughing until you became frightened that red would dribble from his lips and stain the hem of your nightgown. Petting up and down his back in a vain attempt to soothe him, you tried to focus on anything but how suddenly fragile he seemed, how delicate his sturdy frame was growing. 

“Only when I am free of this place will I be well,” he said, his voice hoarse as he caught his breath. “It is this darkness, this air. Medicine will alleviate it only momentarily, but nothing barring freedom will cure me, and that—”

He broke off into another fit of coughs, and you redoubled your efforts, massaging at his muscles, squeezing his hands, cradling his head. All he could do was groan, adjusting himself so that he was sitting up straight and could muffle it in his hands. His face and ears were pink; at first you thought it was from exertion, but then you realized he was ashamed, shying away from you.

“That is the only thing you cannot give me,” he completed. “I am sorry.”

“Why do you apologize?” you said. “Of all the people, why must you apologize?”

You wiped at the corners of his mouth with your thumb, and then you leaned your forehead against his, the most affection either of you permitted. How could you allow anything more to burst forth in the confines of this jail? This was the safest option, the only option, or at least the only one which might save you both from the spiral of grief your destinies seemed headed for.

“Perhaps it will come for me soon,” he said. “The death your husband hopes for.”

“Don’t say that,” you said.

“It will be easy,” he said. “I think that I will just go to sleep one day and never wake back up.”

“Mydeimos,” you said. “Please.”

“Can I ask one thing of you? You can deny me if you’d like, but please consider it to be my final request, and take that into account when you do,” he said.

“No,” you said. “No, you will make so many incessant demands of me that I will grow tired of them — but never of you, I will never grow tired of you—”

“Listen to me,” he said.

“Why do you speak as if you are already dead?” you said, your voice bordering on hysterical. “Why are you calling it your final request?”

“You can hear me,” he tried. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“You don’t know!” you said. “You don’t know that, so don’t act as if it’s certain!”

“Y/N,” he said, and then he was dabbing at your eyes, which was the most unfair part, because why between the two of you were you the one who wept? “It is certain. If I do not succumb to the conditions of this cellar, then do you really think your husband will simply ignore my existence? I am the prince of Kremnos. I am his greatest enemy. I cannot be allowed to live.”

“You are Mydeimos,” you said, nervous tremors wracking through your body. “You are mine. I want you to live. Tell me you’ll live.”

“I can’t,” he said. “Don’t ask me to lie to you.”

“Then I will make you,” you said. “You have to. I say you will, so you will.”

His breath was warm and sweet and heady, and he was so close, only a hair’s breadth away from you but still keeping that agreed-upon distance. For a while he allowed your words to hang in the air between you, and then he let out a sigh that made you dizzy and lightheaded with longing.

“This isn’t the Southern Sea,” he said. “You cannot command me, beloved princess. Nor is it Kremnos, where I could order you around; I recognize this, and so all I can do is beg you to take heed.”

“What is it, then?” you said, your teeth clenched in the hopes that the scratching in your throat would abate. “Your request.”

“If I should come to my end in this cellar—” You whimpered, and he shushed you, his index finger resting against the seam of your lips. “Y/N. If I should come to my end in this cellar, then I wish for you to be there. Let the last thing I see be so beautiful. Let there be light to guide me on my way. I know it is selfish of me to ask you to keep vigil over my corpse as it cools, just so that I may have one more moment of warmth, but that is all I can fathom wanting.”

You thought of rebuking him. You thought of telling him to never ask something like that of you again, but then you imagined him curling into himself the way Verax had, left alone in the dark, shuddering as death descended upon him as swift as nightfall, and all you could do was cling to him, stuttering out promises as your knuckles stamped divots into his shoulders: I will, I will, my dear Mydeimos, I will stay with you until the very last. You needn’t beg me anymore; I will stay with you. No matter when or how it must happen, I won’t let you leave this empire alone. 

There were times when neither of you could find sleep, and then you both would entertain one another with stories. He would tell you of his youth, of his love for the flush of dianthuses in the spring and the tart sweetness of pomegranates in autumn, how his people adored him for his unprecedented magnanimity, especially towards the children, who flocked towards him in droves when he strolled the streets of Castrum Kremnos.

“Such dear little things,” he said while you brushed his hair, the most care you could lavish upon him without a hint of dissent on his part. “How can anyone be cruel to them? I don’t understand it. They are so guileless.”

“Not everyone has your patience,” you said, for that was what it really was. How strange, how contrary you would’ve found it just one year ago, the mere thought of saying that. Mydeimos, the beast from Kremnos — who in their right mind would call him patient? Yet what other word was there for the boy who had slept every night in an elephant’s stable? What other word was there for the prince who knelt so that the children of the streets could tie flowers into his hair when he passed? It was patience, there was no doubt about it, pure and enduring as it was. “If only they did.”

You could not tell him of your past, not when you were so bound, so instead you made up fantastical tales and told them with great animation, waving your hands about for emphasis and to make up for the fact that you could not show your heart to him the way he had to you. He did not complain, and after every story he would cock his head before nodding, always too clever for his own good.

“So,” he said. “This jellyfish princess, who nobody loved because of their fear…what became of her?”

“She spent the rest of her life floating about in the depths of the sea,” you said. “She thought she might be lost for good, but then she met the prince of dolphins, and instead of shying away from her, he smiled and told her that she was beautiful, that he knew who she was beneath those stinging moon-tendrils. And you know what the strangest thing is, Mydeimos?”

“What is it?” he said. You traced the mark underneath his right eye, the one which meant clarity — of vision, of mind, of heart. He blinked but did not cower away, instead remaining very, very still.

“She was never venomous in the first place,” you said. “They were frightened because they thought she might kill them, but she didn’t even have that capability, let alone the desire.”

“I see,” he said. “How horrible it is, to be thought of as a monster when you are anything but.

“Yes,” you said. “I should hope that anyone who is in such a predicament may find at least one person who looks at them as if they are something beautiful. Something more than what they are called by the rest of the world.”

“Well, my lady of dolphins,” he said, covering your hand with his own, keeping it held against his face. “At least I am so lucky.”

As rumors of a Kremnoan counterattack solidified into genuine intelligence, your husband and his cousin both grew more and more involved with their generals and their advisors, leaving you alone more often than you were not. You did not dare visit Mydeimos in the daytime, for his warning that the army-men often came to mock him rang in the back of your mind, but now you did not wait for midnight, instead fleeing to the cellar at dusk, as soon as your obligations to appear at dinner were fulfilled. He welcomed you, of course he did, though he was always more careful than you were, telling you that you had to return before the bakers awoke to make the day’s bread.

The days stretched on, and your will to return to the world of the palace faded until it was nothing but a weak, flickering candle-flame, wont to be extinguished at the slightest breeze. Let me die here, too. If I can be with you for a little longer, then I will gladly accept it. You never said it to him, but you thought it, every time he ushered you out of the cellar with the reminder that you might be caught. Let them find me, Mydeimos. Let them kill me if they will, but let them know that I was never their perfect empress. Even in the throes of docility, I was still Y/N L/N, the princess of the Southern Sea, who lay with the prince she was meant to hate.

“Dear lady!” 

The banging on your door at such an hour was out of the ordinary, but even more alarming was your husband’s cousin’s voice, frantic yet shot through with something like ecstasy. Outside, the sun had not yet risen, though there was a watery gathering of light on the horizon that said there were only a couple more hours until dawn, and although you had already had slept as much as you would, back in the cellar you had just returned from, you were still confounded for a moment by the repetitive knocking, your voice coming out groggy and dazed.

“Whatever is the matter?” you said with a yawn, rubbing your eyes and flinging the door open with no small amount of irritation. “Why have you — ah!”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you after him with a cackle of glee. “My dear lady, the time has finally come!”

“What are you talking about?” you said, almost tripping as you attempted to keep up with his sprint. He paused, whirling to face you, and you furrowed your brow when you saw that his eyes were glittering. “Why do you keep calling me that? ‘Dear lady,’ I mean. What mood are you in?”

“The Southern Sea has refused to cooperate,” he said. “The king says that they will not join in the war against Kremnos until the ruler of this empire is of the blood of the tides. That is after all what was promised in the treaty of our alliance, though I believe we all imagined he would not be so stubborn as to genuinely withhold aid from us when his own daughter is the empress.”

“Why are you happy about this?” you said, despite your own joy, which flowered with abandon at the news of your father remaining as stubborn as ever, uncompromising through sadness and sickness alike.

“Wars are costly, and without the aid of the Southern Sea, our empire will surely feel the effects of another conflict,” he said. “But the Kremnoans are coming to us, whether we want them to or not, and with my brother’s latest actions, they will only come sooner. We will lose…or, that is, he will lose. All that our family has built will crumble to nothingness at the hands of those barbaric, uncivilized warriors. It is known — by delaying the execution for as long as he has, he essentially set his fate in stone — but his fate needn’t be mine. No, indeed. Once I deliver the Southern Sea to the people of this empire, I will depose my dear brother, and then, with the combined might of both kingdoms behind me, I will defeat the Kremnoans for good.”

“You mean to overthrow my husband?” you said, and you should’ve felt surprised, but it made so much sense that it was more of a relief than anything, an explanation for every bewildering move he had made thus far.

“The life of a second son is spent ever waiting, ever watching, pliant until the moment to strike becomes evident,” he said. “You must know it’s not a coincidence that I have ingratiated myself with the soldiers and the councilmen alike — I am sure if it comes to it, they will support me over him, who they all but detest for his peacocking, his pointlessly grandiose gestures. They would follow me anywhere, and those who might protest, who might cling to the old regime, will fall in line when faced with the wealth of the Southern Sea, which is so vast as to be incomprehensible to those of us who have lived our entire lives here.”

“You speak of the sea, but how do you expect to win it when even my husband could not? You are gambling so much on something that is not even assured,” you said. “The king is not so easily swayed, this I can promise. If he has refused this empire once, he will surely do it again and again, for what does it matter who is asking? Why should he give you any different of an answer than he would my husband?”

“For a while, my plan was longer, more gradual,” he said, and then the two of you were walking again, although this time with consideration for your pace, which was about half of his, and with his arm heavy over your shoulders, companionable and careless, like you both were old friends out for a stroll. “The first thing I had to do was arrange for the course of your thoughts to turn my way. I thought this would be the most difficult, for my brother is after all such a charming, handsome man, but he neglected you to the point that it was an invitation, really! He made it so you would have loved anyone who showed your desperate, starving self any shreds of affection, and from there it was simple on my part. The seeds of infidelity were sown by my brother himself; all I did was water them, and is that such a sin? 

“You would’ve taken me into your bed eventually. It is why I made such a crude suggestion all those days ago, though of course I never meant for you to genuinely allow a stableboy to father your heirs. All along I spoke of myself, who you — and therefore the Southern Sea — would then be bound to, even after the death of your husband rendered you free of your obligations to this empire,” he said.

“Why are you telling me this?” you said, for you were unsure of what else to say, unsure of what else to feel besides a discomfort at the fact that he had been toying with you. Even this, however, was mild, because who in this empire was not playing with your life? Since the day you had come here and sworn yourself to that statue, the people in this palace had treated you as little more than a vapid, sickly woman who brought nothing with her but senseless tears and parsimonious promises from a family that had sold her to save themselves. For your husband’s cousin to reveal himself in such a way was a foregone conclusion, and perhaps it should’ve hurt you, but all you could muster was a detached sort of acceptance. 

“Things have changed,” he said. “He is distracted at present, and so, in this brief moment while the world’s eyes are averted, I can tell you this: today, your husband is signing the order for his own death. The palace will be thrown into turmoil, and without the protection of your marriage to him, you will find that once the Kremnoans come, you will be the first to fall. Who would defend the princess of a kingdom that refused to come to our assistance? But it needn’t be that way. Escape this fate with me, dear lady. Promise you will marry me, and when all is said and done, I will even let you go home.”

“Home?” you said, and he nodded, maneuvering you so that you were tucked away in an alcove where he could cup your face in his hands without fear of discovery.

“Yes,” he said. “Once this war is won and our heir is born, relations between the empire and the sea will be established. I will have no further use for you here, so why should I not allow you to return to where you came from? Certainly your father will not mind, sentimental old fool as he is.”

You swallowed back a lump in your throat before nodding, taking the insult to your father quietly, not wanting to upset him when this was the first glimpse at freedom you had been given. Home. He was promising to let you go home. You would marry anyone if they gave you that assurance, and something behind your eyes prickled the longer you thought about it.

They would welcome you so grandly, wouldn’t they? The palace would be covered in pearls, and the sea would be so blue, and the whales might even sing again in jubilation at your return. Your father would be there, his face lined and gaunt but alive and happy, so happy it’d carve a hole in your intestines, the kind of hole borne from an incapability to handle that much delight.

“Come with me, then,” he said. “We must run from this palace and make ourselves scarce for the moment, in order to gather our forces. This opportunity may not present itself once again, so we have to take advantage of it while we can.”

“Wait,” you said. “You have mentioned only vaguely what my husband is doing at present. What can possibly demand so much of his attention and also be such a fatal mistake?”

“Mydeimos,” he said. “Your husband has finally deemed it time for him to meet the lord of death, and so he is utterly preoccupied with that, but with the Kremnoans so close, this is nothing but folly. He is making a martyr out of the very man they adore so much; rather than cowing them, this will only fuel their efforts further. If we can escape during the execution, we can mobilize the army to cut them off, turning us into the indisputable heroes of the empire. It will be difficult, but it can be done, and with both him and the prince taken care of, there will be nothing standing in our way.”

“No,” you said immediately, ice shooting through your veins, the rest of his explanation blurring together as you elbowed him off of you with an unprecedented vigor, earning a yelp out of him. “No, Mydeimos is mine. He’s mine, he’s mine, he can’t die without my permission! He can’t, and I haven’t given it yet, so that means he won’t!”

“I was sent to fetch you for the event,” he said, dusting himself off and giving you an odd look. “Don’t throw a tantrum. They await us in the throne room, though you know he is impatient. I wouldn’t be surprised if he just kills him to end the waiting, which is all the better for — where are you going?”

You were already running in the direction of the throne room, smacking his hands away when he tried to reach for you. He hissed in dismay before yanking on your sleeve, holding you securely in place and scowling at you. The expression was so reminiscent of your husband that you actually recoiled, an nagging voice in the back of your mind reminding you of what you had sworn: duty, obedience, docility. 

“If you leave now, then everything will be lost. He will know by your presence what I plan to do, and I will be seized,” he warned as you fought back the instincts that demanded you go limp in his grasp. “Do you understand? You will die here, and for what? Your own possessiveness? Your childish greed? How spoiled you are! To think that you would throw away everything, all because someone touched your favorite toy! I had heard the whispers that you were such a brat in your home, allowed to run unchecked by your father as you were, but this is unprecedented. Think for once, won’t you? If you do this, you will never go home again.”

Never go home again. Never go home again. Never go home again.

“I don’t care,” you said, and near tears though you were, reluctant though you were, you pulled away from him. “How many times must I say it before all of you listen? He is mine. I will never, ever leave him.”

That was the last thing he had asked of you, the only thing he had ever asked of you. If I should come to my end in this cellar, then I wish for you to be there. And you had sworn you would be, so how could you break that promise? Not for anything. You would not break it for anything, not if it meant your husband’s ruin, not if it meant you could go home again, not if it meant your father would embrace you for the rest of your life. You would give up all of these things if you had to, but you would not leave him to die alone.

The throne room was as cavernous as the last time you had been in it, empty and hollow like the stomach of a titan. In the center, the statue of your husband loomed, as unfeeling as the day you had wed it, and in the back, upon his raised throne, was your husband himself, staring down at you imperiously.

“Where is he?” you said, your voice meek, yet somehow stronger for its trembling, for the proof that you could not ask such a thing and yet were doing it anyways. “My lord. Where is he? Where — is — Mydeimos?”

By the end of it, you were gasping the words out, and you glared at him as well as you could, the most rebellion you were allowed. He did not say anything about it, but you knew he saw, for the faintest hints of humor flickered in his cold eyes, as if you were a jester he had hired, a clown instead of a wife.

“Why are you so worried? Haven’t you been telling me to kill him since the day I brought him here?” he said before laughing in earnest. “I should be asking you where that treacherous cousin of mine is, but I know the answer to that all too well. Did he ask for you to come with him? He has always been so insatiable. Everything that is mine, he longs for. Such is the nature of second sons, though that’s not something I’d expect either of you to understand.”

There he was, chained to the base of the statue in the same fashion he had once been bound to the wall of the cellar, his left leg heavy with gold but the rest of his limbs free: Mydeimos, his tether shorter now, but still loose enough that he could shift to watch you as you took one step and another, trudging towards the inexorable pull of the throne, of your husband, who regarded you with a careful disdain.

“You can stop there,” he said. “I know you want to remain at his side, so you needn’t force yourself to go any further.”

You halted immediately, just close enough to Mydeimos that if you were to reach out, you could grasp at his arm, just close enough that you could almost feel the warmth he always emanated, like he was your very own furnace — but also far enough that there was still a sharp pang in your lungs with every breath you took, far enough that your heart still ached from the distance. You wanted to embrace him, to run your palms up and down his shoulders, to ask him if he was alright while you tended to every wound that had never been inflicted upon him but which he still stung from, anyways. Yet in front of your husband, the most you could do was hold your breath, keeping the scent of him in your lungs for safekeeping.

“The prince of Kremnos and the princess of the Southern Sea…what a collection of delegates I’ve gathered here,” your husband said. Both you and Mydeimos had to crane your necks to look up at him from the dais his throne rested upon, and you knew he found some satisfaction in that, in the simple reminder that he was above you in every way that mattered. What was a prince or a princess compared to an emperor? Your titles were more of mockeries than anything, reminders of what you had once been but what you never would be again, now that you were so soiled by this place — a prince-turned-prisoner and a princess-turned-wife.

“You can’t kill him,” you said, taking yourself aback with the boldness of it, the urgency of the request. “My lord, I will do anything, I will bear your children without complaint, I will beg my father to give you the Southern Sea, but please — please let him live, please — I will take responsibility for him, I will drag him around by his chains until we both die if that’s what I must, but don’t kill him today, please, I will have nothing to my name if you take him, too—”

“My pretty wife,” he interrupted you. “Your fretting is endearing, but it is unnecessary. I do not intend to execute him just yet. There is still something I need from him, and he can hardly accomplish it if he is dead, after all.”

“Is that why you have brought me here? Whatever it is, I won’t do it. I have no interest in being your accomplice,” Mydeimos said. His words were still thick with drowsiness, and you realized with a start that they must’ve poured a sleeping draught down his throat in order to bring him to the throne room from the cellar. You shivered, and once again you wished you could hold him against your breast, could defend him from the tribulations of this empire, of this place and these people that found such particular and cruel pleasure in beating him down, over and over and over until he was ground to nothing but dust.

“I think you’ll find that this is a mutually beneficial deal,” he said. “You see, I’m in a bit of a dilemma at the moment. My own cousin, set to betray me; my father-in-law, refusing to support me; the Kremnoan army, marching towards my city.”

“None of these are my problem,” Mydeimos replied. 

“No, of course not,” your husband said. “But your captivity is, right? You have been locked away in a cellar, kept from the sun until you have been reduced to this waifish state. Don’t you wish to be freed?”

“You mean to free him?” you said. Your husband raised a placating hand, silencing you immediately with the casual gesture.

“He must free himself. Even I cannot break thrice-blessed chains until their condition is fulfilled,” he said. “But you can say I have a...vested interest in the completion of this specific condition.”

“What is it?” Mydeimos said warily. All three of you knew that this was a trap being laid out for him; after all, this was your husband, who was known above all else for his tricks and cheats, for being a serpent instead of a lion, a man with nothing resembling honor to his name. Yet already the two of you were ensnared, and so your only choice was playing out his script until the end, following his plans until they came to fruition, no matter how unwillingly.

“You know already,” your husband said. “That’s the thing about thrice-blessed chains: as much as they long to bind their target, once they have accomplished that, they wish most avidly to be destroyed, and so they whisper to their prisoner the methods of their undoing. After all, such immortal power is not meant to remain on this earth for very long.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you refer to,” Mydeimos said. “Tell me plainly; I have no interest in these games of yours, snake-emperor. I have played one too many already, and I don’t have the patience for any more.”

“Indulge me this final time,” your husband said. “I am sure you have some idea as to what I’m talking about. The thing which you desire above all else, which quells that remarkable fire that has blazed within you since your capture…oh, you really are lost. What a comical surprise! The prince of Kremnos is an idiot!”

“My lord,” you said softly. “Don’t torture him like this. Haven’t you done enough already?”

Perhaps you should’ve been more careful, but you did not want to mind your words more than you already did, and anyways, you had a sense that hiding anything from him was futile at this point. He could see through you as certainly as if you were made from glass, and he did so with impunity, with the same beguiling set to his mouth as ever. His eyes, unclouded and bright, rested on you for a while, and then he snorted, nodding like he was indulging in the whims of a child making some impossible demand.

“Fine, then,” he said. “It’s not such a difficult thing, anyways. In fact, it’s simple, especially for a man such as he. Mydeimos, prince of Kremnos, heed my words: if you wish to be freed, you must kill your master.”

“Easy enough,” Mydeimos said immediately, any traces of lethargy long gone with this news, even the false sleep bolting in face of his vehemence. “I can feel it in my bindings that you are telling the truth. Well, come down here, then, coward! I have wished to destroy you from the moment I heard your name. Shall I tear out your throat? Your heart? Don’t just sit there and stare at me, emperor. If this is your wish, then challenge me as a man would —  as you refused to at our last meeting!���

“You can do that, if you’d like,” your husband said, his voice lilting and musical. “My heart and my throat, with your nails or with your teeth, whichever you prefer. I’m sure you’d even enjoy it, filthy brute as you are…but no matter how you go about it, it’s inconsequential. My death will not release you.”

“What?” Mydeimos said. “Why not?”

“Because,” your husband said, and then he glanced at you and you swore, you swore his pupils were slitted, his teeth sharp like fangs, the corners of his mouth blue with venom, “I am not your master. She is.”

“I’ll kill you,” Mydeimos said, baring his teeth, a snarl in his voice when he shoved you behind him, standing between you and the throne. “You lying mongrel, I’ll kill you—”

“I’m not lying,” your husband said. “What, did you think I just gave you to her for no reason? As soon as I summoned the chains and became aware of the condition, my plan began, and her stewardship over you was only one of my contingencies. You can tell I’m being truthful, can’t you? The chains are affirming it. You’re drawn to her. You want to be near her. You want to kill her.”

“That’s not why,” Mydeimos said, and then he was turning to you, his eyes wild with pleading. “Y/N, that’s not why, that’s not—”

“Don’t tell me,” your husband said with a chuckle. “All this time…you actually thought you loved her? No, you don’t. You don’t even have that capacity, prince of terrors. It’s the chains. It has always been the chains.”

“Why?” you said, and it came out as it always did: demure, gentle, when all you wanted to do was scream and throttle him. “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand it. Why do you want me to die?”

“In truth, this confrontation is the most desperate option,” he said. “I was hoping he would’ve killed you long ago. That’s why I had you go to the cellar, after all.”

“You…?” you said.

“The prince of Kremnos,” he said, and your stomach dropped. “He calls for you. With the blessings of the messenger lord, it was not so difficult to fool you, dear lady, especially when you have the kind of sweetness that all but begs to be manipulated.”

“You made her this way,” Mydeimos said. “Don’t you dare put her down for something you did to her. It is your fault.”

“You may be right, at that,” your husband said. “Well, anyways, does it matter who did it? Regardless, she is such an amenable woman, so easily led astray, straight to the cellar which should’ve spelled her doom. What a story to tell your father, don’t you think? His most beloved daughter, slaughtered by the savage prince Mydeimos. The Southern Sea and Kremnos would bleed one another dry in their fury, and thus there would be no resistance left to oppose us when we came en masse to conquer them both.”

“But he didn’t kill me,” you said. “He never even tried to.”

“Yes,” your husband said. “This has always confounded me. That morning, when I came to see the state of you, to raise the alarms that my wife had been murdered in cold blood, I found you sleeping peacefully in your bed, without a trace of worry in your lovely expression. Then I thought you might awaken and bawl to me of your near-escape from death, but to my everlasting shock, you were entirely unaffected; furthermore, that night, you returned to his side, and with food in your hands, to boot!”

“Y/N,” Mydeimos whispered fervently. “Y/N, you must believe me, I would never — I know I said I considered it, but I would never hurt you, I would not, I love—”

“Oh, but you will,” your husband said, cutting him off. “Or else you will spend the rest of your short, miserable life as a prisoner of this empire. Kill her, and then kill me if you want. My cousin is far from this place, thinking that he is taking advantage of me, and through him, my blood will remain on the throne; it is the only reason I have not dissuaded his attempts at a coup, which were so clumsy that even a child could see through them. Forever and always, he will remain my heir, and I suppose there is some irony in that.”

“This will not work the way you think it will,” Mydeimos said. “I will tell the king of the sea what you did to her. With the support of the Southern Sea, Kremnos will demolish you. Perhaps we are not so wealthy, but our army is infinitely stronger, and with the south at our side, you will never be able to defeat us.”

“Who will he believe, I wonder? The one who married his daughter, or the one who killed her?” your husband said. “Because you will not be able to lie about that, Mydeimos, and you do not know the old king as I do. The circumstances are irrelevant — the mere fact that you killed his darling will be enough to turn his mind to darkness. He will never stand with Kremnos, and the sea itself will never welcome the rabid prince that murdered its most beloved.”

“What if I give him to you?” you said, interrupting their argument, which strangely enough was being held over your fate. “If he is yours, then you will be his master. He will kill you, and then he will be free.”

Your husband did not falter. “Yes.”

“You are not frightened of this outcome, although it is contrary to everything you have planned for,” you said. “Why is that?”

“Did you think I would not account for such a simple escape?” he said. “Oh, my dear lady. Come here.”

You were moving before you knew it, moving until you stood at the foot of his throne in wait. He did not say anything for a while, and you realized he was looking at Mydeimos, who was staring at you in abject horror. This was the first time he was seeing the extent of it, the first time even you yourself were experiencing the full strength of your devotion, and the expression on his face clawed at your throat even as your husband caressed your hair. He was grieving you already, you thought, that wise, tender prince — he knew what your husband did not, he knew that you were little more than a marionette, already killed long ago by the very man who pet you now as if you were his lapdog.

“Duty, obedience, docility,” he recited. “Go on, then, my wife. Try and give him to me. Your prince, your prisoner…give him to me.”

“Mydeimos,” you said. “I—I—”

Your words dissolved into a flurry of coughs, and you hunched over from the violence of it, pressing your forehead against your husband’s knees as the entirety of your chest collapsed in on itself. There was an invisible fist barging past your lips, imaginary ropes binding your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and so every time you tried to form those words, you were left with nothing but a weak series of inhales and exhales, body rejecting the mere thought of such a betrayal.

“You swore to me, too,” you choked out. “Didn’t you? How can you do this to me when you swore you wouldn’t?”

“Trust,” he said. “And so I trust that your death will bring me what I need. Favor; and so I am favoring you with the honor of sacrificing for the empire. Companionship; and so I will not leave you to die alone. Surely I will chase you into the afterlife, and then we can be together for the rest of eternity.”

“Let go of her,” Mydeimos said. “If it is promises that we speak of, then let me make one to you as well, you asinine half-wit: whatever becomes of you, I promise you that today will be the last time you ever place your hands on her. Don’t you presume that you will get to touch her again. Don’t even think that you will get to lay eyes on her.”

“How passionate, prince of terrors,” your husband said. “But you would do well to remember that she is my wife. You can make no declarations as to her outcome — the only claim you have regarding her is your persistent desire to kill her, and even that is borne from your bindings. If not for the condition of the chains, you would not think of her.”

“And if it weren’t for the Southern Sea, you wouldn’t think of her, either,” Mydeimos said. “But I would. I don’t care for her father’s wealth or the fact that she can free me. I don’t care for the food she gave me or the sleep she brought me. I don’t care for any of it. I would love her if she were nothing more than the princess of seals and whale-song, because she is mine. Yes, it is so; I may belong to her, but she is mine in a way you can never understand.”

“Then take her,” your husband said, nudging you, which was all the permission you needed to scrabble backwards, stumbling over your feet as you retreated to the safety of the shadow cast over Mydeimos by the statue. “Take her and kill her and desecrate your body when you are done with it, if that is what you please.”

“You—”

“Mydeimos,” you said, cutting him off before he could hurl back some insult at your husband. “He’s telling the truth, right?”

His eyes were beseeching when he took your hands in his own, holding them against his heart so you could feel in the vascular pounding the reluctant and yet unquestionable verity of it. Your husband was many things, but this time, he was not a liar. This time, when you wanted him most to be baiting you, he was whole in his honesty. Mydeimos, if he ever wished to be free again, would have to kill you.

“I won’t do it,” he said. “I won’t. I don’t care what he says or what he plots or if it’s the truth. I won’t kill you.”

He was being earnest. He who was so abrasive and harsh, the hostile man you had found in the cellar and come to love, the man who had not killed you yet despite everything which told him to — even now he would not. He would remain in chains for the rest of his days, but he would not kill you. It was your father all over again, your father who would’ve lost the sea if you bade it, who would’ve fought such a pointless fight to save you from the empire, and so you found yourself shaking your head. Just as then, you would not allow yourself to be saved. Just as then, you would not be the reason why he fell.

“You must,” you said, your fingers soothing over the red designs running up his neck and over his shoulders. “Mydeimos, you cannot allow yourself to be swayed by something which doesn’t exist. You heard him. You don’t care for me; it is the chains which cause you to feel this way. How can you give up your life for a falsehood? You must kill me. Kill me and be free, my prince, kill me and run to my home as fast you can. Ignore the words of others, who know nothing of our ways; I swear the sea will welcome you, it will welcome you and love you as surely as I did. Run to my home and tell my father everything, tell him that I sent you — I by my name, I by the title you bestowed upon me. He will believe you. The whales will sing at your arrival, and he will believe you.”

“What is my life?” he said. “What is my freedom? I cannot have either if they must be tainted by your death, brought about by my own hands. I can hardly bear to kill my enemies. Don’t beg of me to do such a thing to you, to you who I have loved so well since I heard your name for the very first time…”

“Do you think that you will be the one to kill me?” you said. “I have been dead for so long. You are not slaying me in some vicious or cruel manner; you are only dealing the final blow and freeing us both from this torment.”

“No,” he said. “I am not one for eloquence, so I cannot say it more elegantly, but I refuse, I refuse, I won’t be the victim of his schemes again, and I won’t let you be, either. Take my chains in your hands and walk me as if I am your hound, jerk me when I am disobedient and allow me enough slack to kill those who stand before us, but do not die.”

“Think of your kingdom,” you entreated. “What will Kremnos do without you? What will become of them if they fall to the empire? And what of my home? My people? I have died one death for them, when I swore fealty to that husband of mine. I cannot bear their suffering, I will die so many times if I can relieve them of it, and do you not remember what I said to my father all those many days ago? I will find love in it. I will find happiness. Even in this loveless place, I found you; so, too, in death will I find escape. Kill me now — if it is you, I should not mind so much, I think.”

“Why must you be so trapped?” he said. “Why can I not free you in any other way? Why is death the only end to your bondage?”

“That is the nature of it,” you said. “Only by his death or mine will this marriage end. Only by his death or mine will I be saved. But he knows this, and so he remains ever out of your reach. Mark my words, he will not allow you to kill him until it is convenient for him. There is no way to outsmart a man whose power we do not even understand, a man who is so loved by divinity itself.”

Your husband was silent, observing the argument with the self-satisfaction of one whose prey was within the reach of his jaws. All three of you knew that Mydeimos could not win; the desires set upon him by the chains combined with your persistent appeals would sway his convictions until he turned his mouth upon your heart and tore it out with his canines, sinking his incisors into your chest for lack of a better weapon with which to do the deed, lapping at the rivulets of blood until your own body resembled his own, covered in streaks of irate crimson that wrote out your accursed predestination.

“The next time we meet,” Mydeimos said, closing his eyes and thumping his forehead against yours in resignation. “The next time I find you, I will steal you from him. I will come to your wedding before you can swear your vows, and I will take you away. Such a beast, they will say, such a brute, snatching a bride from her groom, who awaits her most eagerly upon the altar. But then again, to the world, that is just the way of Kremnos, and next time, I will prove them right. Next time, I will make you the queen of my horrible kingdom, and you can scream and slap at me if you’d like, but you will be mine in full, mine and not at all his, so even if you hate me, I will accept it.”

“The altar,” you repeated, and then, in the back of your mind, you thought of such a faint, silly thing that it almost did not bear vocalizing. Yet what other choice did you have but to say it? Even if it was imprudent and rash, even if it would come to nothing, you had to tell him, in whatever way you could manage. “Mydeimos, listen to me.”

“Hm?” he said as you grabbed his jaw, holding it firmly so that he could not flinch away, keeping him steady and facing you. “Y/N?”

“Everything I have ever wanted to say to you, you have heard. You told me that, once,” you said. 

“Yes,” he said, his brow furrowing. You brushed his hair back, pushing it off of his forehead, marveling at how his wellbeing was already so improved. You doubted he had been back in the sun for more than an hour or so, but the color was returning to his skin, and there was genuine vitality to him. His breaths came steadily, evenly, and his eyes were like gemstones set in his strong, handsome face, which was flushed with a despondent sort of verve.

“My marriage,” you said. “Do you remember what I said of it? I cannot repeat it now, I am not able, but you must recall what I told you. The day of my wedding, everything I said…it is desperate and slim, but there is a chance. You must remember, please, you can forget everything else, but remember that. What did I tell you?”

“What are you talking about?” your husband said, and for the first time, he stood, alarm creeping into his tone. “Dear lady, what lies are you espousing? Kill her now, prince of terrors, before she can deceive you further! Kill her and free yourself!”

Staring into the churning gold of Mydeimos’s irises, praying to the sea that your own spoke everything you could not, you ignored your husband. There was not much time, and so much was left unsaid; all you could do was trust in the prince, trust that he knew you and thus knew what you were trying to convey.

“The gods of this empire are not on your side, but I am,” you said, and as his eyes widened, you tilted his chin towards the statue. “No matter what, I always will be.”

Ramming his shoulder into you, knocking you to the ground by the foot of the throne, Mydeimos gathered the drooping chains that lay on the ground. Pushing yourself up, you clambered backwards, away from the vengeful figure who, in that moment, was a god unto himself, one who did not request the help of any other deities but commanded it, who ordered their assistance as easily as a general might.

“What is he doing?” your husband said, the collar of your dress tearing as he used it to haul you to your feet. “Kill her, you idiot, what business do you have with that statue?”

“He is not the idiot,” you murmured. “You are, my lord.”

Mydeimos swung the chains around the neck of the statue, and then, with the strength of three squadrons of soldiers, his braid gleaming bright with the unwilling blessings of the gods you had invoked that day in the cellar, he yanked it taut, causing dark cracks to form in the marble.

“Mydeimos!” your husband roared, but Mydeimos did not stall, the muscles in his arms straining, sweat pouring off his forehead as he continued to tug on the metal, slicing into the stone with his own effort, the unbreakable chains digging into the white expanse. “Cease your actions immediately!”

With a great crash, the head of the statue shattered against the ground, bursting into a thousand pieces that sprayed into the air, forming clouds of dust and debris that filled the throne room. As the one you had sworn your vows to died a miserable death, its weight lifted from your shoulders, and so, gasping for breath — not from the muddied air but from your regained sovereignty — you seized your husband by the front of his shirt.

“Imbecile,” you hissed, ignoring the wounds he clawed into your forearms as he fought off your grip. “I never did give you a wedding gift, did I? My apologies for the delay, but you’ll find that this present is entirely worth the wait. The finest of plunders for the finest of husbands: the prince of Kremnos himself!"

“You can’t,” he said.

“I can,” you said. “And know this, you foul worm: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs are conducted in your backwards empire, but where I am from, it is not so.”

You pushed him towards the waiting Mydeimos with all the strength you had. The prince descended with a swiftness, not even allowing him to stand before catching him, snapping his neck as easily as a butcher might snap a pig’s, tossing him aside and then lifting his gaze towards you, both of you frozen with anticipation.

The chains melted into sunbeams, sparkling against him for a moment longer before vanishing entirely, the braid in his hair coming undone as he raced towards you on unsteady feet. You met him halfway, and when his legs gave way, you were there to catch him, kissing the crown of his head over and over as he sank into your arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I had some ideas of coming to greet you so bravely, and here I am, in such a state.”

“Don’t say sorry,” you said. “Don’t say sorry to me, Mydeimos, you have done something that ought to be impossible, and with it you have freed me. There is no one braver. You must never say sorry.”

“I killed him,” he said, like he could not quite believe it himself.

“Yes,” you said, and then you were crying into his hair, shuddering with the ache and exhaustion of everything that had just transpired, the scratches gouged into you by your late husband’s dying efforts biting from the touch of the open air. “You killed him. That putrid, dastardly coward…you killed him.”

“We mustn’t delay,” Mydeimos said. “They will come looking for the emperor soon, and at present, we cannot fight off an entire army. We have to flee while we still have the chance and that cousin of his is still too focused on saving himself to realize that there is nothing left for him to be safe from — or nothing of this empire, anyways.”

“Where should we go? Kremnos?” you said.

“No,” he said, using your bicep to balance himself as he drew himself back to his full height. “The Southern Sea.”

“The Southern Sea?” you said, your voice catching. He smiled at you slightly.

“The wars and the fighting can wait. The empire has been weakened enough that they will bide their time before making any decisive moves, and the Kremnoans have survived thus far, so what is a little longer? Before I return to the strife and violence of battle, I will take you home. After everything, that is the least you deserve,” he said, taking your arm and dabbing at the droplets of blood which welled where the skin had broken, a frown etched on his features at the sight. “Come. A few elephant keepers will pose no difficulty to me, even like this; let us fetch Verax and use his might to escape this empire.”

“Wait,” you said. “There is something I must do first.”

As Mydeimos watched, you strode over to your husband’s limp, cold body. Drawing your leg back, you kicked it, over and over until his features were all but unrecognizable, mangled and swollen as they were. Then, gathering saliva in your mouth, delighting in the barbarism, which felt sickeningly appropriate despite how uncharacteristic it was of your typical refinement, you spat on him.

It splashed against its cheek, the frothing bubbles washing away the salty tracks of his dried tears, and only then did you turn, rejoining Mydeimos so that the two of you could leave the empire behind for good.

taglist (now complete, thank you to everyone who joined!): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker @academiq @chokifandom @voiddance @qwnelisa @duckydee-0 @anti-social-fox @iwumrndbm @elenaishere05 @belovedoftheanemoarchon @lannnu @ariichive @nightmarewasheree @seyboo @moons-and-mistakes @she-yaa @nayukiyukihira @sillykawa @yoyach @sugilitez @guineverewaves @pe4rlple @celestial--atlas @4acoffee @itseightamineedsleep @sunnywrites101 @moonskins @yourfavoritefreakyhan @fleuriion @luvether @lum1nesc3nce @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @lasrlo @hythlodayus @ryuushyroooooooo @96jnie @xioseu @mavuika-marquez @quincymaru @goodvibesonlyxd @glitchy-mai @justyelln @sjsjslil @weird-dere-writes @hiqhkey @thatisayouproblem [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

[ladyannemarie5]

I finally got to watch “The Witcher: Sirens of the Deep” again, so here's the third part of:

Things we learned/confirmed about our bard in “The Witcher: Sirens of the deep”

Geralt is always ready to protect his bard on hunts.

He and Geralt share the coins from the hunts and his performances as a bard (awww like in the fanfics). 

He often suffers from financial problems thanks to sharing Geralt's coin and moral code (but he never leaves him alone)

Geralt lets Jaskier touch him as he pleases even though physically Jaskier couldn't move an inch of the witcher if Geralt didn't want to (you know, that scene at the beginning where they're in the tavern, Geralt gets up to leave and Jaskier with a firm hand on his shoulder puts him back in his sit)

He went to Bremervoord, his old town where no one appreciated him and he suffered from bullying and from which he fled so desperately to be himself, just because Geralt was avoiding you-know-who.

He never misses an opportunity to badmouth Yennefer LOL.

He was the driver of the carriage on Ellander's trip to Möen that Yennefer was talking about in S3E1 where she and Geralt did everything but talk (to be honest, I'm not really sure on this point but in the scene where the driver is seen steering the carriage you can see a blue doublet that may be Jaskier's trademark, but maybe I'm just projecting my bard on everything LOL)

It's Jaskier The Bard, The Song Don of Oxenfurt, The Crooner of the Continent

Essi “Little eye” is like Jaskier's little sister and the bard's #1 defender (Sooo cute and sad considering that probably, and following canon, that was the last time Jaskier saw Essi)

Geralt only learned that “Julian” was the bard's real name 20 years later. 

He used to say he was originally from Oxenfurt (considering this point, it makes me wonder at what point the Viscount of Lettenhove thing came in).

He was meant to be a man of the sea, but he was “creative and different and they treated him horrible because of that” (MY SHYLAAAAAA, I liked that they gave more lore to his past, is it better than what I've read in fanfics? I don't think so, but it's appreciated anyway)

He's a superstar, master of the scene (we already knew this but it never hurts to remember it).

Jaskier steals Geralt's beer 

Geralt is quite used to Jaskier's nonsense and dramatics (that scene where Jaskier spits out the beer, which he took from Geralt, for knowing that Essi is a bard and the witcher just shakes the drink off without blinking)

“If you know my name, it's because you know his songs” (What the hell???? Geralt was so ready to defend his bard's honor).

Jaskier is Geralt's official wingman (he just doesn't want him to be with Yennefer). 

Geralt hunts and cooks for him (awwww)

Jaskier doesn't like Geralt's cooking.

Jaskier knows that Geralt has a big heart and is a softie. 

And there was only one tent, Geralt sleeps outside the tent (probably to keep watch, but there's no way they haven't shared a tent at least once)

Jaskier is a very heavy sleeper

As a bard, he is aware of political, social and economic issues in many parts of the Continent (which helped Geralt to solve the Sirens' problem). 

He is the beauty and moral support in the team (he is gorgeous).

Geralt removes Jaskier from the path of danger (that scene where Melusina in the form of the princess goes for Geralt and he removes Jaskier)

No matter what anyone says, Jaskier solved the case. 

Moral support of Geralt when they call him “sewer cleaner”. 

“And yet, for all the talk of Witchers lacking emotions, I know how to hurt you *proceeds to order Jaskier's death.

Jaskier was already saying goodbye to Geralt and blaming himself for returning to Bremervoord.

Jaskier may always be the damsel in distress, but when the situation calls for it he knows how to use a sword and fight in spite of his fears (keep the swords away from the bard when he is shocked and scared)

Zelest, welcome to Jaskier's harem.

Despite all the drama and commotion in the fights, Geralt constantly checks that his bard is alive and well, always ready to drop everything and help if needed.

Jaskier is quite used to Geralt's favorite technique of being eaten.

Jaskier has been to many royal weddings 

Jaskier gave up his life and everything he knew in order to fulfill his dream of being a bard (and he made the right decision) 

“But for now, looks like Jaskier will have to do” (To be honest, I don't know how to take this lol).

Jaskier is the one who decides where to go in his adventures with Geralt. 

The whole Sirens of the deep is set immediately before the dragon hunt (and that breaks my heart)

And last but not least, Joey Batey is the love of my life (and I love that they respected his incredibly blue eyes). 

(I didn't think this would turn out to be so long but here we are, sorry for the verbal vomit).

You can check the previous parts here and here

[favorvn]

Favor Feb into March Update

Howdy!

Another little monthly update~ Last month I had 15,259 dialogue blocks, containing 133,928 words as of now Favor has 19,879 dialogue blocks, containing 172,737 words

So in a month's time I wrote 34,000 words, that's a bit insane to think about lol. I'm getting really close to the end of having the whole thing written (Though I'm sure it will still be another 20k + words at least for the remainder of the game)

I'm really proud of myself, and I'm proud of the game so far. It's close to my heart and I'm super excited for everyone to play it and for those who understand it, to hear their feedback.

I also want to give a kind reminder to everyone who may not know, I work a full time job and I am literally working on this project with nearly every second of free time I get. I am a solo dev, I am not a team of people I am just one person doing everything. This project means a lot to me so I want it to be to my standard of quality which in my mind means that I need to write the whole thing (as I'm doing now and have been doing) all the way through so I can be sure the story is cohesive and as tight as it can be. Writing the whole story in one go takes far more time than writing each episode individually. I am also not a fast painter, every painting I do takes at least 10 hours, backgrounds taking double that usually. That being said, because of all of these things, I am not able to release updates as quickly as maybe other devs can, but I can assure everyone this project is still being worked on.

To the kind people on here who have been patient and encouraging: Thank you so much, I really appreciate your support and patience as this project develops. Your words of encouragement mean more than you know, especially in the moments where I get really burnt out over writing this thing lol.

[pierroettie]

TWEWY SWAP AU 3/4

Two this time ! It'll be two next time as well

click 2 read abt them <3

Shiki Misaki (swapped with Beat)

Here's where things start to get interesting; as I've mentioned in the previous posts, the characters entry fees are the same. So in this case, Shiki still looks like Eri. Only this time, Eri (who is swapped with Rhyme) is actually a player and Shiki's game partner in week one- Eri's dreams are her entry fee. Like Beat with Rhyme, Shiki loses Eri who gets turned into noise. Of course, Shiki becomes a reaper as well (both pictured in the art above).

In og TWEWY, Shiki's arc has her able to figure out why her entry fee was what it was, and work through her turmoil and identity struggle through the (kind of) support of Neku and catalyst of Higashizawa. Neither of those things are true for this au. In this case, she has to figure it all out on her own. Initially upon realizing that Eri no longer remembers wanting to be a designer, and upon realizing the nature of her own entry fee, Shiki would feel incredibly guilty. A mix of guilt and determination is what drives her.

og Shiki's bubbly nature is her mimicking Eri, since Eri is actually a player and very much present this time, Shiki would no longer do this. She's still kind, loyal, and occasionally stubborn, she just doesn't play the part of Eri since it would be kind of awkward. She'd be a bit more shy but still eager to work with everyone during the first week. Like Beat, her kindness would prevent her from doing any real harm as a reaper in week two.

Joshua and Shiki don't interact much if at all during the course of the og game. After the first two weeks, Joshua will have opened up and softened up a bit more. In week 3, when the two of them are partners, I think Joshua and Shiki would get along quite well. Shiki no longer has to bear her burdens on her own, and Joshua would appreciate the company. Also it's a plus that they both like shopping this would be like girls week fr.

Design Notes:

For Shiki, I wanted her outfit to be pretty similar to her real appearance in both og TWEWY and NEO, but following a closer silhouette to her outfit as Eri. Mr. Mew is like an oversized plush keychain though honestly that was just cuz I didn't want to draw her holding him lol. Shikis hair is also a little different since its not being held down by a hat and also because I wanted a little more visual distinction between her and Eri, it's a bit shorter and more compact.

For Eri, I just wanted to give her a simple and cute outfit to reflect her interests. I used mostly the same colors from her original design aside from the hat & belt. Her noise form is a cat, and it's based off of Mr. Mew.

Next up will be Beat and Rhyme! Thank you all for the love so far I'm really glad everyone is liking this so far :)))

[moonstruckme]

It's me once again! Bothering you twice in a day, I'm annoying like that, ha just kidding. But yes James is soooo wholesome, it's crazy how he became my favorite boy. So Mae, I suppose you are super busy because being such amazing writer is no easy job when you have requests coming all the time but, if you have the time, whenever that is, could you write something about James? Like James being so wholesome, the best boyfriend, the fluffiest thing you can think of, maybe something with words or affirmation and kisses and hugs and just very lovely things, feel like I need that. If you can of course.

Hope you are having a very cool weekend and my username is basically my favorite colors and it has something to do with Van Gogh and my favorite singer but this kid knows something, haha it's so funny, kind of serendipitous if you ask me :) love that. Well, I'm going to set you free, read you soon.

P.S. Sorry this was so loonng

Hi lovely, thanks for requesting!! Sorry this took so long lol, I had to wait until I had an idea that wasn't already in my requests but I appreciate your patience! This is perhaps more hurt/comfort than straight fluff lol, but he is the most wholesome ever <3

cw: concussion

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 603 words

James’ hand is especially gentle as he strokes over your hair. Your nose dents into his thigh, and his jeans are coarse and scratchy but the slight pressure is nice. 

“Still dizzy?” he asks, carefully quiet. 

“A little.” Your own voice is thin, fraught. “Not as bad.” 

He sighs, and you feel too weird to decipher whether it’s in relief or dismay. “I’m sorry, angel.” He lifts one of your hands to his mouth, kissing the side. “Is it hurting in any one place?” 

“It’s my whole face. But most in my forehead.” 

James’ touch is featherlight, ghosting over the spot where you’d smacked your head on the stairs. “Here?” 

“Mhm.” 

He makes a worried humming sound in response. You sit in silence for some time, and it’s not uncomfortable, but nothing is comfortable for you right now. You feel terrible, unlike yourself and unsettled because of that and also weepy but not as much as you are embarrassed. And dwelling upon any of this for too long makes your head spin worse. You don’t think you’re dying though it feels like you might be. 

The warm bead rolling down your nose brings you to the realization that you’re crying. James’ coo follows a moment later, and his hand splays protectively atop your head. 

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Do you feel alright to sit up?” 

“Okay,” you mumble. 

He does the work for you, though it’s hard to keep track of the movements. One second your head is on his lap and the next you’re propped against his chest, one muscled arm supporting your back while James rests his lips against your forehead. 

“You’re okay,” he promises. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” 

“I don’t really feel like going to dinner anymore,” you admit, tasting salt as a tear finds its way into your mouth. 

“Oh,” James lifts his lips to look you in the eyes, “honey, I didn’t expect you to. I’m going to call Remus and cancel in a minute, okay?” He brushes a lock of hair away from your face with his pinkie finger, stroking a sweet line down your cheek. “If you go anywhere, it should probably be to the doctor.” 

“No.” You close your eyes, too upset to care about the low whine that escapes you. “What’re they gonna do?” 

“I don’t know, baby.” James traces the same line again. “They might want to do an MRI or something. I’ve had a concussion before, they’re serious business.” 

You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder. The material of his jumper is soft beneath your cheek. “I can’t think about it right now.” 

There’s a brief pause. 

“Okay. Okay, we can talk about it tomorrow, if it’s still bad then.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry.” James’ arm wraps around your middle, squeezing lightly in a gentle sort of hug. You think that he’s being very careful with you, which you appreciate. You don’t imagine you could handle much more sensation at the moment. “I know it sucks, angel, and you’re handling it so well. We’re gonna do our best to get you feeling better. I love you so much, you know?” 

You feel like you might cry again. You don’t think you have the energy to stop yourself. “I know,” you tell him. “I love you so much, too.” 

“Heaps and heaps.” He gives you another little squeeze, his ability to repress his affection tenuous at best. “Probably the most anyone has ever loved anyone, if we’re being honest.” 

“James.” 

“Yeah?”

“I can’t do that kind of math right now. I love you a lot, okay?” 

“Okay. Same here.”

[drtyelvisfantasy]

SAVE YOUR LOVE

LINEMAN!RAFE X STRIPPER!READER AU

note: Thank you to all who sent in questions about my au. I really appreciated it🩷 if any of you have any more questions, feel free to send them in 😊 I promise to write some more happy stuff for this au soon lol

summary: You and Rafe finally have a baby together, but things don't go as planned

warnings: childbirth, pregnancy, toxic relationship, yelling, feelings of abandonment, swearing,

The physical changes of the pregnancy took a toll on me, leaving me feeling exhausted and drained every minute of the day. I eventually had to stop working at the strip club when my bump became more noticeable. Rafe promised he would help me find a new job. He said he knew some people down here in Vegas, and he managed to secure me a position at a construction company, creating schedules for the workers. Although the work was boring and the pay was much lower than what I was used to as a stripper, it provided enough income to support myself and the baby. The hours were manageable, and I found some sense of stability in this new job.

Instead of meeting at the hotel like in the past, Rafe started coming by my apartment. His visits were less secretive, yet a sense of unease and tension still hung in the air.

“Are you staying the night?” I asked, my voice laced with a mix of hope and hesitation.

Rafe walked over where I was sitting on the couch, his expression unreadable as he considered my request. “Yeah, I’ll stay for the night.”

“Do you think you’ll be here for the birth?” I pressed, trying to remain calm. “I think it would be good for both of us if you came to the hospital with me.”

Rafe didn’t seem happy, his voice flat. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I can’t make any promises. Things are complicated right now.”

I felt a pang of disappointment. I thought this pregnancy would make things better between us, would force him to become more invested, but clearly, I was wrong. He seemed so uninterested, almost detached from the whole thing.

“I mean, would you at least try to make an effort to be there?” I asked, desperately seeking something from him.

Rafe sighed, avoiding eye contact. His voice remained neutral, but I could hear the reluctance in his words. “I just told you, I don’t know. I’ve got a lot going on. But... I’ll try my best to be there, if I can.”

Even though Rafe didn’t know if he’d be around for the birth of our baby, at least he did his part when it came to the nursery, leaving the decorating to me. He made it clear that it was “a woman’s job.” He might’ve pitched in with some of the more physical tasks, like putting together the crib, or perhaps offering some financial contributions, but the creative aspect of the nursery was entirely mine to handle.

A few months back, when the doctor revealed that the baby’s gender was going to be a girl, I was excited. I had always told Rafe that if we were to ever have a baby, I wanted the firstborn to be a girl, and now that dream had come true. However, Rafe didn’t seem nearly as excited. His tone remained indifferent as he stated that he didn’t care about the gender as long as the baby was healthy.

-

The months of pregnancy were emotionally draining. Rafe’s unpredictability and inconsistency only added to the stress. Sometimes he’d show up, but his presence felt more distant than comforting. Most of the time, I faced doctor’s appointments and navigated the challenges of pregnancy alone.

“I have one last doctor’s appointment before my due date,” I told him.

Rafe nodded, his expression remaining unbothered. “Oh yeah, right. That’s next week, right?”

“Yeah… will you come?” I asked, hoping for some show of support.

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then gave an indifferent shrug. “Sure, I’ll come.”

“I was thinking we could do a bit of shopping before the baby gets here, you know? We can buy her some cute little dresses.”

Rafe’s expression started off indifferent, but a small sigh escaped him. His shoulders sagged slightly as he replied, “Yeah, I guess we can do some shopping. But forget it, I don’t care for all that pink stuff. You know I like the more natural colors.”

“Oh, come on, pink is essential,” I teased him, trying to lighten the mood.

Rafe rolled his eyes, a slight hint of annoyance in his voice. “Essential? You’re going to make our baby look like a walking cotton candy or something?”

“Yes, and she’ll be the cutest cotton candy to ever exist,” I replied playfully.

After the doctor’s appointment, Rafe and I went to a few stores to pick up some last-minute necessities. He followed me around, slightly frustrated, bearing with the shopping trip. He picked up some items with a hint of annoyance, mostly focusing on the practical things.

“Oh, Rafe, look at this! Isn’t it adorable?” I gushed, holding up a tiny Hello Kitty onesie for him to see.

I held up the onesie, but he barely spared it a glance. “Yeah, it’s cute,” he mumbled, his tone flat and uninterested.

“I’m going to get it,” I said while walking to the checkout line.

Rafe nodded, his expression betraying his lack of enthusiasm.

-

The birth went smoothly, thanks to the epidural. Rafe had come down to Vegas a week before the due date to make sure everything went smoothly. And while he wasn’t exactly bursting with excitement, there was a hint of anticipation in his eyes when he saw his baby girl for the first time.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” I said, my voice calm but full of affection.

As Rafe looked down at our newborn daughter, a flicker of admiration sparked in his eyes. His voice, softer than usual, added, “Yeah, she is. And she’s ours.”

“I’m going to name her Margaret. A beautiful name for a beautiful baby,” I said, my heart swelling with love for her.

As Rafe heard the name I chose, he nodded, his expression neutral. But there was something in his voice, a subtle approval. “Margaret, huh? That’s a nice name. Definitely better than some of the other ones you had thrown around earlier.”

“Oh, stop it,” I laughed, rolling my eyes playfully.

Rafe smirked, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Hey, I’m just being honest. Some of those names you suggested were ridiculous.”

“Do you want to hold her?” I asked, wanting him to have a moment with our daughter.

He hesitated for a moment, his usual confident demeanor faltering. “Uh, sure. I guess I can hold her. Just for a minute.” As Rafe held the tiny baby in his arms, his expression softened. The usual boldness melted away, giving him a tender tone. He spoke to her in a sweet voice, his words filled with awe. “Hey there, little one… You’re just a tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

-

Initially, it seemed like things might improve after the baby’s birth, especially when I came home from the hospital. However, over time, Rafe’s behavior changed back to his usual, uncaring demeanor. The brief baby bliss he displayed in the hospital quickly faded.

The phone rang for a few moments before Rafe picked up, his voice slightly irritated as his usual nonchalance seeped through. “What’s up?”

“You promised you’d be here a week ago. Where the hell are you?” I asked, frustration lacing my words.

Rafe sighed, clearly annoyed by the question. His voice remained apathetic as he responded. “I told you, I’ve been busy. I’ve got things to deal with, you know?”

“You have a daughter now. I know you’ve got a wife and two kids back home, but you can’t just abandon us like this,” I said, my voice shaky but firm.

Rafe grumbled, his irritation sharpening his voice. “Abandon? I’m not abandoning anyone. I’m just handling things with my family. I can’t drop everything just because we have a kid now.”

I stayed silent for a moment, processing his words. Does he not think before he speaks? Does he not realize how much his words sting? “Okay, Rafe. Well, make sure you come by... please.”

His tone softened slightly, but his voice remained neutral. “Alright. I’ll swing by in a few days, okay? Don’t keep nagging me about it.”

Six months have passed since Margaret’s birth, and she’s growing cuter and bigger each day. Yet Rafe’s behavior remains unchanged. He continues to act distant, rarely showing any real interest in me or the baby. Rafe is at the apartment again. I thought it would be a calm visit, just the two of us, so he could spend some time with his daughter. But it seems like we can never be around each other without arguing.

“Seriously, can you just relax? You’re being overdramatic about everything,” Rafe says dismissively.

“I’m not being overdramatic! You’re barely here, it’s like we don’t even exist to you,” I snap, unable to hold back the frustration anymore.

Rafe rolls his eyes as he gets up from the floor, where he was playing with Margaret. His voice laced with anger. “Oh please, just because I’m not here 24/7 doesn’t mean you don’t exist to me. I’ve got another family back home. I can’t just ditch them for you.”

“That’s not the point!” I shout, hurt and angry. “At least make an effort to show you actually care. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s fine, but at least try to be in your daughter’s life.”

He groans in frustration, clearly annoyed by my point. “I do show I care, alright? I provide for you, don’t I? And I’ve been over here plenty of times to see her. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to be a man,” I yell, my voice shaking with anger. “I don’t even know how you can call yourself a father!”

Rafe’s irritation boils over as Margaret starts to cry from the shouting. He shoots me a glare before shouting back in an authoritarian tone, “For Christ’s sake, stop yelling! You’re scaring her!”

“You should blame yourself for this,” I snap, my voice cold. “If it wasn’t for you, this argument wouldn’t have started.”

Rafe’s patience snaps. His frustration morphs into full-blown anger. He steps closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m the one paying your rent, so you better watch your fucking tone. ”

“Or what?” I challenge him, my heart racing.

His eyes narrow, his voice more menacing. “Or you’ll regret it. I’m warning you, don’t test me, not when I’ve got you living under my dollar.”

Rafe walks past me and storms out of the apartment, and the moment the door slams shut, I let the tears fall down my cheeks. I try to hold back my sobs, attempting to stay strong for Margaret’s sake, but the weight of the argument makes it impossible. The situation has reached a breaking point, and I can’t help but wonder how things have gotten so out of control between us.

[kyri45]

Can you do another q&a

Sure thing

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 18/02✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@snsp6 ha chiesto: Don’t know if this was answered but what was the inspiration for bio parents au??

no inspiration. just my stupid brain not being able to like something without taking my whole life.

@roseltelle ha chiesto: Are you ok with AUs I was thinking about writing a fanfic. Basically with a younger Mk. Events of the show haven't happened yet, Wukong and Macaque aren't on ok terms yet (Slow Burn) unlike the show.

I don't think I understood. You're asking if you can do an AU of my AU?

@mistress-of-nightmares ha chiesto:YOU MENTIONED YOU HAD MK'S FINAL OUTFIT READY SINCE LIKE SUMMER, IS IT GOING TO BE THIS PRINCE-RELATED THEMED??? (sorry for all caps it just came to me and I screamed)

that's not the only one I already had in mind.

@shaya21 ha chiesto: Hey kyri I have a question maybe that was already ask and you answer it, so sorry if you did but does macaque, wukong and mk purr in your au ? When they are really relaxed and with someone they trust, like mk when he fall asleep in redson arm in the last chapter. That’s all And thanks you for making such a good au, that’s something I really appreciate (my life his based on😅)

No I don't think they purr.

@mysticanchorcheesecake ha chiesto: I just wanted to say.. I LOVEEE UR ART AKCIFdkfkdKckd!!! *Calms down mentaly* i a HUGE fan of ur parenting au.. thats it luv u ^^

Thank youu!!!!

@kilani-123 ha chiesto:Does Mk know that Wukong and Macaque are still engaged?👀

no

@deafeningcolortastemaker ha chiesto: Hi Kyri45!!!I have a little question for you and for Spicynoodleshipping.....WILL THERE BE MORE MK AND RED SON KISSED???I'm very worried. I really love spicynoodleshipping, and I would like you to release some pictures of spicynoodleshipping more often.😆 Well, good night to me, since it's 11 pm in Russia.Well, good! It's time for me to sleep, until the next Kyri45 meeting!!!

yes

@angelsbunnies ha chiesto: Was MK freaking out when he got sucked back cause he couldn’t finish adding more details to his little doodle?

poor baby yes he was.

@metalheaded-freak ha chiesto: Kyri, I just wanted to say… thank you, for creating the Bio Parents Au, it’s been such an emotional journey and honestly? If it wasn’t for you then I wouldn’t have gotten into the fandom the way I did. I guess what I’m trying to say is, you were the gateway for me to fully embrace this fandom and not be afraid to show what I do, so once again thank you!

awww tysm!!!

@ddle-lrd ha chiesto: GELLO (help gello lol) IM A HUGE FAN OF YOUR SHADOWPEACH BIO PARENTS AU AND CURRENTLY TAKE YOUR ART COURSE! I really wanted to know if the series will (unfortunately and reasonably) come to an end? Will S9 be the last or second last? (Like before the last season) Again, big fan and big supporter of your art even though i can’t support you financially besides the art course -L0S :))))

Awww tysm for all the support!

Also yes the Part 9 is the last part of the main story.

@peachy-pies-random-stuff ha chiesto: Hi Kyri! Me and my partner have been reading the Shadowpeach bio parents AU together and we're both addicted to it! Also the thing you said about writing uncharted territories..... Should we all be worried??? 🤨🤨🤨

I mean.... yes and no?

@land-of-frogs-and-dragons ha chiesto: Your monkie kid au is gonna get me to watch Lego monkie kid ngl,,,, saw your au on TikTok and went "oh I can't NOT watch this" and haven't regretted it since. 10/10 I love your art style and you draw mk's hair so fluffie I love everything about your art style and your au

thank you! heheh he has fluffy hair.

@pensoul2 ha chiesto: I was looking back at the LMK Bio AU and Redson's hair. His hair got me wondering if he ever tried cutting it. Would the scissors or the object cut his hair melt?

omg I want to believe that yes, if his hair is too hot it would melt the scissor. But I also like to think that they aren't really made of hair. It's they fluctuate between solid and plasma.

@shaya21 ha chiesto: Hiiiiiii I wanted to ask, you drew redson in bloom outfit from Winx. Do you think you can do macaque in musa outfit ? Oh and thanks for your amazing shadowpeach bio parents au it's amazing

@mysticewya already did the whole wix club team as LMK character, you should check them out.

@onyxxess ha chiesto:hiii!! ive been a fan of your artwork for a whole, esp the shadowpeach bio parent au. theres one thing i havent been clarified withCan we make edits of your art and post it on other socials like tik tok or insta?? (with creds)i would really love editing your artwork!

Yes you can. with credit. I'm both "kyri45" on IG and TT

@misagiiza ha chiesto: Hi Kyri45! My name is Izadora and I'm a huge fan of yours. I'm Brazilian and would love to translate your comic so other people could have the opportunity to know your talent!

Thanks, Iza.

Hello Izadora, there's already user "wukong_lmk" on TikTok that's doing the brazillian translation

@twilight-bai-he ha chiesto: Will we see a dance party in the celestial realm lol 😆🩷🩷😊

yup

hellopollon ha chiesto: Wait, so Macaque's scroll is close to theirs too or...?

Yup!

@mkthemonkiekiddd ha chiesto: Have you ever thought about doing different lmk AU’s after the current AU youre working on? (Like for example, infection AU, swap Au, etc.)

mm nope. I prefer to keep building on what I've already created

@whatdaflippityfloppity ha chiesto: I absolutely adore your comics and the way you draw Nezha! (He's my favourite character and needs more screen time and ✨angst✨ T-T) Quick question; Is Nezha ever going to rebel against his father? 🥺 Maybe to like, stop his father from using the pagoda or something?

he did it in the past multiple times he will most likely do it again

[laseracronym]

hi there this is my first ever request and i'm kinda nervous lol

but i was wondering if the nsfw alphabet could be requested? if so could i request it with iida/chubby fem reader? & if not that's totally okay!

or if not maybe a smutty lil drabble where he's completely feral for chubby reader (i know he's very prim & proper, but just something about him going crazy/being a whiny mess for reader's pussy does something for my little goblin brain)

thank you & i hope you have a good day! 🍄

(Laser: omg I'm so honored to be your first request! I decided to do the drabble for now, but I'll definitely do the NSFW alphabet as well one of these days. Though, it's no longer a drabble, I really got into it. Iida really needs more love!

I hope you enjoy!)

Iida/Chubby!Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Dating a high-profile hero like Tenya meant that at least once a month, you were dressing up in something fancy and spending the evening at his side as you attended some important dinner or event involving other important figures in the industry. You didn't mind it, not at all. You were a sociable type, and you also worked with heroes because of your career in the hero support field. Half of the time, these events felt less like business and more like catching up with friends and interesting acquaintances.

Besides, you really liked dressing up. It wasn't often you got to feel glamorous, holed up in your workshop sweating over prototypes and making repairs. Sometimes it was nice to set the work gloves aside, wash off the grease, and get all dolled up.

Tonight was a charity gala hosted by Commission President Takami, and you were at Tenya's side like always. You were particularly happy with tonight's outfit. You bought a new dress that was a deep dark blue, almost black, form fitting, and when you moved, the light would catch on some subtle gold detailing in the fabric. You matched it with some killer heels and jewelry Tenya had gifted you over the years. Your hair and makeup was perfect, and you'd even gotten your nails done (a rare treat because of your work) which you had to stop from admiring every time they caught your eye.

You felt so pretty, and Tenya thought so, too.

You had to arrive separately that evening, Tenya getting held up with an incident that needed his last-minute assistance. When he saw you waiting for him out in front of the venue, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He had that tell-tale blush up his neck and to his ears and you watched his Adam's apple bob as his eyes flitted up and down your figure in your tight dress.

He cleared his throat, tugging at the tie around his neck as he took a moment to compose himself. "(Name)! You look...splendid," he said as he approached you, his eyes full of admiration. It was obvious he was struggling to put all his thoughts into one simple word. You'd clearly wowed him tonight.

You smiled wide, pleased that you’d blown him away. "Thank you! You look good, too," as he came to a stop before you, you could appreciate just how amazing he looked in a suit. It was a sight you would never tire of, how his broad shouldered, muscular body seemed to be made for formal wear. He'd coordinated his suit to match your outfit, and it made you even more excited to be dressed up tonight.

"Thanks, honey," he pressed a kiss to your temple, the contact brief and chaste. He often kept PDA to a minimum, it was just the way he was. You didn't mind, you understood there was a time and place for everything, and he was plenty affectionate in private.

When he pulled back, he took another moment to look at you, and his glasses did little to hide the desire in his red eyes. It made your heart skip a beat. He gave a little sigh, lifting his hand to brush the back of his knuckles along your cheek, "honestly, I don't know how I'm going to be able to focus tonight with you next to me, looking like this," he said quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself.

You felt your face heat up, suddenly bashful at the admission. But before you could reply, Tenya had his hand placed lightly between your shoulder blades and he was guiding you inside.

The rest of the night went as expected. Lots of listening to speeches and mingling, some catching up with the people you knew. All the while, Tenya was his polite, proper self. He kept you close, but his hands never strayed anywhere inappropriate, he lavished you with compliments and fond smiles but nothing too heated.

To anyone else, Tenya might not have seemed very affected, but you knew him, and you knew he was enamored by your appearance tonight.

There was a tension to him in the set of his shoulders, and a restlessness belied by the tapping of his finger against his champagne glass. His eyes lingered on you just a tad too long before he seemed to catch himself and look away. By the end of the night, you could tell he was eager to leave.

You two said your goodbyes and exited the venue, entering an elevator to get back to the ground floor.

As the doors of the elevator closed, leaving the two of you alone for the first time that evening, you felt Tenya's strong arms wrap around you from behind, the hard line of his body pressing against your back. His hands pressed to your stomach, giving a light squeeze.

You blinked, feeling his face press into the top of your head, his shuddering breath soaking into your body, "...Tenya?"

"Sorry, (Name), I'm just..." he took in another deep breath, pulling you even closer to him, his hands kneading your stomach almost absently, "I've been thinking about you all evening. It feels rude, but I'm not sure if I heard a word anyone said. All I could think about was how you look in this dress, all I wanted was to take you back home and do things I shouldn't think about in public."

You could feel a light thrumming from his body, a result of his engine quirk, a sign of his excitement. He grew semi-hard as he spoke, his arousal pressing against your back. His voice had a growing neediness to it, and in response, heat pooled, slow and sweet, between your legs. You licked your lips, resting your hands atop his, your thumbs brushing along his knuckles.

"Let's go home, Tenya," you said, hot desire coating your voice. You tilted your head up, back against his chest, and smiled up at him, "and we'll take care of you."

Getting home was sweet agony. Despite the promise of what awaited him at home, Tenya would not drive above the speed limit, ever the rule-follower. He didn't seem particularly happy about it, either, which made it even funnier to you despite your own impatience.

Eventually, blessedly, you made it home. As soon as you stepped through the front door, Tenya was sweeping you off your feet.

You gasped, your arms going around his strong shoulders as he held you bridal style and all but marched towards the bedroom. It never failed to turn you on, just how easily he could pick you up and carry you around. You were by no means petite, but that didn't pose a problem to Tenya. In fact, he seemed to prefer it in a lot of ways.

He laid you down on your bed, climbing on top of you and kissing you immediately. Neither of you had even had the chance to remove your shoes, that was how impatient he was to taste you. He covered you with his body, slotting himself between your legs. One hand cradled your face, the other wandered your plush curves. As his hips pressed against yours, you could feel his hardening length nudge up against your core.

“I’m sorry, (Name),” he murmured between his insistent kisses. His face was flushed, his glasses askew, “I don’t know what’s come over me.” His hand slid under your dress, caressing and squeezing your soft skin.

You giggled softly, returning his kisses, “you have nothing to apologize for…” He made it seem as though this was unusual for him to get this worked up, but it wasn’t. When he got in a particular mood, Tenya could become quite needy, and you loved him for it. You carefully removed his glasses, twisting and trying to reach the nightstand so you could safely set them aside, but he didn’t want to be apart from you for even a second, catching your wrist and drawing your attention back to him. You released his glasses, letting them get lost somewhere on the bed.

“I need you,” he said, such desperation in his voice, kissing from your lips down to your neck and cleavage, smudging your lipstick all the way. He pushed the hem of your dress, up, up, up, until it bunched beneath your breasts. His hands smoothed over your stomach, one of his favorite features of yours, and his hips rutted against you.

“Mmm…” you squirmed beneath him, your eyes fluttering as his hips pushed against your clit, stimulating you through all the layers of clothing. He was so perfect like this, so hot when he lost his composure. Such a sight was just for you, and you would hoard it greedily.

“Tenya, love, get those clothes off,” you ordered breathlessly, and he was eager to obey, hurriedly ridding himself of his clothing with your help. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, hard and weeping pre-cum for you, the way it begged for your attention just like the rest of him. You reached out, wrapping your hand around it, and Tenya whined so sweetly.

You smiled at him, stroking slowly, twisting your wrist just so, and he responded with a throaty groan. His engines revved, and he moved to hover over you, gently guiding you back.

“I need you,” he kept saying, your dress was bunched up even further, exposing your breasts, he palmed at one, “I need inside of you, need to feel you,” he reached down, giving the waist of your panties a questioning, pleading tug, “please, (Name)?”

You nodded, “yes, Tenya, of course, sweetheart,” you lifted your hips slightly and he removed your underwear while you removed your dress, peeling it up over your head without bothering to unzip it.

It felt so good to feel him without any barriers, and he pressed into you. A wet, delicious glide that had you both moaning.

“(Name), (Name)… you feel so good…” Tenya murmured, his face nuzzling into the side of your head. He had a firm grip on your outer thigh, keeping your leg secure over his hip. His other hand braced against the mattress as he began to thrust into you at a hurried pace, pushing sweet sounds out of you as your normally patient lover gave in to his pent up lust.

“Mm, Tenya,” you gasped out, holding onto him, panting into his ear, “yes, love, yes…!” Your body bounced with the rhythm of his thrusts, your head tossed back against the mattress, and you could do little more than let him do what he wanted.

His hands began wandering your body, worshiping your curves with his touch. He babbled nonsense into your skin as he pressed distracted kisses wherever he could reach. Sweat coated his body, and you marveled at each flex of gorgeous muscle beneath his skin.

His thrusts became more insistent, his hold on you tightening, it wasn’t a surprise to you when he came with one final thrust, filling you to the brim. Tenya held you in place, his own body still, as he panted against your sweat-slick shoulder. You panted beneath him, hands restlessly stroking his biceps, your pussy stuffed but still craving release.

With a long, slow breath, he relaxed, the frenetic energy from before finally soothed. He lifted his head, a painfully tender smile on his face as he kissed your cheek, “that was...perfect, honey,” his voice was warm, his hand drifting up and down your side.

“I’m glad, sweetheart,” you said fondly, letting out a soft noise of surprise as he lifted your lower body, arranging you effortlessly into an angle that you knew would have you seeing stars. You could already feel him growing hard again inside of you, his stamina like nothing else.

He looked down at you with a heated grin that made your heart flutter, “now allow me to return the favor.” He leaned down, folding himself over you, “let me take care of you, (Name).”

(Requests)

[riddlesrizzler]

Hello! I just wanted to say that I absolutely adore your writing! You're doing an amazing job! 🫶 If it’s not too much, could you write a story where Mattheo comforts his girlfriend who’s having really bad period cramps? I’d really appreciate it! 🩷 Thanks a bunch!

OH!!! thank you so much!! that literally means the world. :')

I am also sorry this has taken so long but I was waiting until I was close to my period because I also wanted comfort lol. BUT THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE

also matty would be so sweet with this.

The Slytherin common room was cloaked in its usual moody ambiance-deep greens, flickering candlelight, and the dull echo of rain tapping against the windows that peeked into the lake. It was quiet for once, most students having drifted off to dinner in the Great Hall, leaving behind only the hush of fire crackling in the hearth.

Mattheo stepped through the entrance, tugging off his tie and muttering something under his breath about Pansy being dramatic during group work again. He was ready to complain, to drop onto the couch with a groan and maybe even coax you into helping him with Charms homework.

But then he saw you.

Curled up tightly on the couch, one of the thick, green blankets wrapped around your shoulders, knees pulled to your chest like you were trying to disappear. Your face was pale, jaw clenched, and your eyes fluttered shut in pain. One hand was clutching your lower stomach like it physically hurt to move.

His heart dropped.

“Love?” he said softly, instantly crossing the room. You didn’t answer. Just let out a low, miserable whimper.

That was all it took. His annoyance from earlier vanished.

He kneeled beside you, brushing your hair out of your face as his eyes searched yours. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You finally looked at him, lips trembling. “Just… cramps. Really bad ones. I’ve already taken something for it, but it’s not helping much. I feel like I’m being stabbed from the inside out.”

Mattheo’s brows furrowed in concern, his voice gentling. “Why didn’t you get me or send me a message?”

You shrugged weakly. “Didn’t want to bother you…”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You could never bother me.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’ll be right back, alright?”

You blinked after him, confused as he disappeared up the stairs to his dorm. Less than five minutes later, he returned-his arms full.

He had one of your favorite oversized jumpers, a hot water bottle charmed to stay warm, a bar of Honeydukes chocolate, and even a glass of water. You stared at him in disbelief as he set everything down carefully like it was sacred.

“You’re a wizard,” you murmured as he tucked the hot water bottle gently under the blanket against your stomach.

“I’ve heard,” he said, grinning softly. Then he slid in behind you, pulling you into his lap so you were nestled against his chest. One arm wrapped around your middle, warm and grounding, while his free hand rubbed soft circles into your lower back.

“You don’t have to stay,” you whispered, even though your body melted into his.

Mattheo leaned forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re in pain, and I’m your boyfriend. This is literally in the job description.”

You let out a shaky laugh, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from a mix of pain and how gentle he was being.

He kissed your cheek, then your temple. “Just rest. I’ll be your hot water bottle and emotional support pillow all night if I have to.”

And he meant it.

When your breathing evened out and your body stopped trembling quite so much, he stayed-stroking your hair and holding you close, whispering terrible jokes in your ear until he got the softest laugh.

Because maybe he couldn’t take the pain away, but he’d be damned if you had to face it alone.

[3igbootyl0ver]

A New Face Pt.3

pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

summary: You and Tara finally went out on a date and feelings are revealed.

word count: 2453

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.4

a/n: Hey all, I hope ya'll enjoyed this last part for this one-shot. I tried putting in more details so lmk your thoughts. I also made Sam a little laid back for this part since I honestly didn't know how to make her intimidating without ruining it lol. Anyways, I'm always open to feedback!! Thanks for all the love and support! (p.s. i got motivation for the flower scene from tasm where peter gave gwen her flowers hehehe so just imagine that because i still have no idea how to add a collage of pictures here)

Tara was walking back and forth the apartment while waiting for you to pick her up. She had suggested on going to yours instead but you insisted on picking her up for some reason. Sam was just observing her sister roaming around the living room, amused by her antics. She was picking her fingernails and fixing her hair every 15 seconds. It was 3.45 p.m and you were supposed to be here at least 15 minutes ago. Her mind was going through a ridiculous amount of scenarios as fast as the speed of light at this point. Did you suddenly decide to ditch her or realised that she wasn’t good enough for you? 

“Tara, relax. You’re freaking out so much- I can see your brain working overtime,” Sam simply stated, laying on the couch while rewatching Modern Family for the fifth time. Just as Tara wanted to give a snarky remark, she heard the doorbell rang. If she was wearing a heart rate monitor, she was sure it would give her a warning about her sudden heightened heart rate, assuming she was getting a heart attack. She looked at herself once again and fixed her hair after the 55th time before opening the door.

There you were. Looking all cute and flustered while holding a bouquet of flowers and a posy on one hand while balancing two motorcycle helmets on the other. While she appreciated and blushed and the gesture, she can’t seem the ignore the fact that the bouquet and posy is a little… lopsided.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. I went to buy this for you but it’s a little harder when you’re riding while holding it, which explains the snapped stem for one of them…Oh! And I bought a small one for Sam, if she doesn’t mind, of course.” You explained with a little blush from the awkwardness. “How embarrassing, this is your first date and you’ve already messed up. Nice one, Y/N.” You thought, mentally slapping yourself for forgetting that it’s nearly impossible to hold a bouquet of flowers while riding and not mess it up. While you were having your own crisis, Tara was in her own head too.

“Seriously? Is there even a flaw flowing in their bones? ” Tara pondered internally while struggling to put out actual words, holding onto both the bouquet and posy, when Sam came to rescue after hearing the painfully awkward one-sided conversation.

“Wow, nice job, Y/N. A liiitttle crushed, but I like the effort. You’re own my good side, for now. Just make sure you bring her home by 9..or I’ll hunt you down.” Sam stated sarcastically, enjoying how you squirmed after her statement. She’ll never tell you this, but she appreciated the gesture and the thought of buying her a small bouquet. The few people Tara had tried dating has never thought of that, so she really meant it when she said you’d “earned a point”. She was impressed surprisingly, and it was hard to impress THE Sam Carpenter.

“Y-Yes ma’am” You replied with faux confidence, even though both the sisters could tell you were intimidated, rightfully so. Tara rolled her eyes at her sister’s statement and dragged you out of the apartment, after placing her flowers nicely by the table beside the entrance, of course.

“I’m sorry about Sam, she can be a bit.. Much.”

“Don’t worry about it, I have to admit I almost peed my pants though.” You joked, trying to ease the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Your attempt was successful when Tara giggled effortlessly, while staring at you with those big doe eyes.

-

The engine roared beneath them, vibrating through Tara’s body as she clung to Y/N’s back. The cool evening air brushed against her face, the city lights streaking by in a blur. The smell of gasoline and fresh rain mixed with the earthy scent of Y/N’s jacket, and Tara could feel her pulse racing in time with the bike’s engine.

Tara knew she would be your ‘backpack’ as you informed her about riding your bike for the date a few days prior. That doesn’t mean she didn’t freak out when you went up a needle on your speedometer though. She was hugging you so tightly around your waist, it could almost suffocate you. You said you didn’t mind it though, and Tara took every opportunity to hug you tighter, and shamelessly run her hands from your back to your shoulders, caressing and admiring the flexed muscles from handling the two-wheeled vehicle every chance she had, enjoying your warmth that contrasted with the chilly weather.

 Her heart was pounding as she felt the warmth of Y/N's back against her chest, the gentle hum of the motorcycle beneath them. She noticed how her grip tightened instinctively, wanting to hold on to something solid as her thoughts swirled in a mess. “Is this real? Is this really happening?"

After finding a parking spot near the theaters, you helped Tara with getting off your bike seeing as she couldn’t even reach the floor if she wanted to. You assisted with taking her helmet off and fixing her hair, pushing her messy bangs away and tucking it behind her ears absenmindedly without her needing to ask for help. Tara wanted to take you right then and there. “Who cares if it’s public indecency? Both of us are hot.” Tara thought. She had never met a more thoughtful and respectful person before she laid her eyes on you; You really knew how to please a girl. 

-

You proceeded to lead her to the entrance of the theatre, which was filled with people that was keen on watching the premier of The Terrifier 3. Tara was buzzing with excitement, practically hopping up and down and effortlessly having a conversation with you after easing her nerves, while waiting on your turns to get some snacks and get seated.

The film was amazing. It was almost concerning with how Tara didn’t even bat an eyelid during the more gory scenes, but you were glad she enjoyed it. You mentally gave yourself a pat on the back after successfully making her glee and rambling about the film afterwards. You both decided to walk to the restaurant you were having dinner at, since it was only a few blocks away. You couldn’t ignore the fact that both your and Tara’s hands kept brushing against each other. You finally made the courage to hold her hands while she was still rambling about the show, your heart leaped when she interlocked your fingers together and continued talking, not commenting on the sudden act of affection.

Meanwhile, Tara was so damn glad you made the move first because she was overthinking too much to make the first move. She tried to act as nonchalant as possible, making it seem like your  gesture didn’t really affect her even though she had her heart in her mouth. When you both arrived at the restaurant, you had to wait for a while to be assigned a table. She finally made the courage to let go of your hands and to hold onto your ridiculously toned biceps, running her hands up and down your arm. She was tracing her fingers on the outline of your tattoo, making you shiver.

“You never told me this, but what’s the meaning behind your tattoo? I mean- It’s fine if it’s personal and you don’t wanna talk about it, though!” Tara stated with a slight panic in her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable and share something so intimate to you. You found it cute that she was trying to be mindful and considerate.

Tara was tracing your tattoo, which was full of different designs, mainly two dragons being intertwined and a date underneath it. “It’s fine- I don’t mind, really. It symbolizes the Chinese zodiac calendar. My mum and dad was born in the year of the dragon. I initially didn’t think of having a tattoo, but I considered it to honor them. They died a few years ago from a car crash, which explains the date beneath it.” You explained your tattoo in detail, including all the different strokes and lines on your hands. 

Tara wanted to cradle your head and hold you tightly, hiding you away from society after hearing that your parents are gone. It must’ve been tough handling life alone in your twenties. “At least I had Sam,” Tara thought. She gave you her condolences and you took her hand and kissed it, specifically where her scar is, before shrugging it off with a smile, not wanting to ruin the mood of the date. 

-

Dinner went by quickly, with Tara having a glass of wine (not you though, you knew you had the responsibility to send her home and you didn’t want Sam to kill you either) and getting to know each other more. Tara’s indication of having too much to drink is that she often hiccups, and that’s when you knew you had to pay the bill and send her home. On your way back to your bike, you and Tara were giggling and she kept trying to squeeze your face cheeks together, with your hand swatting her away. You decided to make a pitstop at a small bodega and buy a bottled water for Tara, attempting to sober her up, knowing she can’t ride on the bike being that drunk. You slowed your pace, allowing Tara to recover while interlocking your hands. She was effortlessly flirting with you, probably from the liquid courage she was sobering up from.

You finally reached your bike, with having an intention of helping Tara putting on her helmet when she hugged you, her arms wrapping around your neck and leaning her chin against your chest, staring at you. “I really, really like you y’know. Like, like-like you.” She stated, staring at you with her brown doe eyes that resembled a deer. 

Tara’s heart skipped again, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from a sudden realization—this was different. She hadn’t felt this kind of pull in a long time. And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t just hoping Y/N would kiss her. Maybe she was ready for it. And when the moment came, she wasn’t going to hold back. You softly chuckled, your cheeks tinting slightly at her sudden confession. “I’m glad you like me Tara. I really, really like you too,” you reciprocated and hugged her waist, embracing the intimate moment. Both of you leaned in, nose touching each other before you decided to lean away; Making Tara whine and roll her eyes. 

You really wanted to kiss her, but you didn’t want it to be in a random street where some creeps can be watching you both kiss for their own entertainment. Tara huffed in frustration and wore her (your) helmet, stubbornly trying to get on the bike without needing you assistance (she needed it, she was practically falling off that damn bike if it wasn’t for you). You softly chuckled at her act before wearing yours and turned on the bike, the engine growling. Throughout the ride, you knew Tara was still upset at you since she held her hands on your shoulders instead of your waist. 

After reaching her block, you followed her up to her apartment, making sure that she’s safe. Tara was being grumpy, having her arms crossed which prevented you to hold her hand. After reaching her apartment, she went to open the door, trying to enter before you had to chance to talk to her. “Tara- wait, give me a mi-“ 

“I don’t get you, Y/N. First you bring me out to this date, held my hands and now you don’t want to kiss me? Are you serious-“ Tara’s blabber was disrupted when you grabbed her by her cheeks and leaned in for a kiss, lips colliding. 

Tara melted in your hands like putty and wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you in and craning your neck, trapping you in her spell. You could taste her cherry lip gloss, secretly hoping that you get to kiss her more often to get accustomed to the taste. She lets out little sighs in between the kisses to take a breath, before pulling you in again for more. You bit her lip which made her gasp, having the opportunity to slip your tongue in, making her moan and kiss you fiercely and fight with you tongue to tongue.

You pulled away gently, making her whine at the sudden end of the passionate makeup. You gave her tiny pecks and chaste kisses which made her giggle before you pulled away. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, Tara. I just wanted it to be private, I can’t let the creeps down the street see me kissing the girl I like,” You confessed, blushing heavily now that Tara’s attention is all on you. 

“Aw, you sap. I don’t mind letting them watch, at least they know you’re all mine now.” You gave another kiss, when the door opened abruptly.

“Well, well, well, look who’s grinning like a cat that got the cream.” Sam smirks, glancing between Tara and Y/N, making both blush out of embarrassment.

“So, did you two finally make it official, or am I gonna need to take out the old shower and have a little chit chat with Y/N? I know you have no problem with public declaration of ownership.” She gives Tara a teasing look, knowing full well that her sister’s not shy when it comes to flirting. “Shut up, Sam. I’m fine.” She rolls her eyes but it’s clear that she’s still caught up in the moment.

Sam shrugs dramatically, leaning closer to Y/N, lowering her voice with mock seriousness.

“You better keep your hands to yourself, or I will find out where you live, and I’ll have a serious talk with you. That’s your warning.” She threatens, almost breaking character but keeping it cool.

Y/N, clearly caught off guard but managing a nervous chuckle, nods quickly. “Yes ma’am. I’ll take good care of her, I swear.” They look at Tara, a little embarrassed, but there’s warmth in their eyes. They’re obviously not intimidated, but they know enough to respect Sam’s warning.

“Good answer, Y/N. Good answer.” She flashes a grin, pretending to be serious before stepping back from the door. ”And for the record, I’m definitely expecting a full play-by-play tomorrow, Tara. I’ve got all kinds of questions…”

Tara shakes her head, but there’s no hiding the smile on her face now. She turns back to Y/N, giving them a peck before slipping back inside her apartment with a soft click.