#then 'this is like breathing for me' is how natural and easy his relationship with WILL is

[porcelainbirdss]

forget me not

you gently twirled the small, blue flower between your fingers. you had always held a special fondness for them, as they were like living symbols of memory, reminders of things that should never be forgotten.

“what do you think of forget-me-nots?” you asked softly, letting your gaze settle on Mydei, sitting beside you.

“they’re…” he began, as if weighing each word. “they’re alright, i guess.”

his response was cautious, almost indifferent in a way, but there was something more lurking in his voice — something you had yet to decipher.

cw: fem!reader, thief!reader, descriptions of death, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, but also hurt/no comfort, descriptions of violence, blood, alcohol consumption, hinted depression, relationship established at some point of the story. || wc: 25k

"that was the last time we heard of [name]." Phainon explained, his posture stiff as the palpable tension in the room seemed to crush him under its weight. Castorice nodded along, fidgeting nervously with her fingers.

Aglaea took a moment of contemplation before finally sighing with defeat. even though the story they presented her with seemed almost unbelievable, her golden strings registered not a single waver. they were not lying.

"and what about Mydei?" she questioned, though the answer rang clearly in the back of her mind.

Castorice opened her mouth, but Phainon spoke first. "unresponsive. refuses to talk about it." he confessed, his eyes downcast. "i’m terribly worried about him. what in the gods’ name happened?"

the woman replied with silence, keeping her mouth pressed into a tight line. if only she eradicated the problem from the start, none of it would’ve ever taken place. alas, some things, no matter how tragic in their nature, cannot be undone.

———

your eyes narrowed at the blonde man, now idly talking to one of the many vendors who resided in the Okhema’s town square. Mydeimos. the crown prince of Kremnos, the Undying. at this point, there wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t know about him — long days of digging through information, listening on to another people’s stories, tracking and getting to know him better. Mydei was powerful alright, and if he was still there, he’d probably laugh at your face in that rumbling voice of his, saying "oh, you brainless girl, always biting off more than you could ever chew!". your lips twitched upwards at your own imagination, and even though you knew he was right, you simply couldn’t help yourself. Mydeimos wasn’t only popular, being one of the Chrysos Heirs — he was also dirty rich. it wasn’t hard to tell by the first look at him, golden necklace adorned with lazurite gemstones hanging heavily on the toned chest.

you licked your lips in anticipation as you lowered yourself behind the stacked boxes, the platform big enough to obscure your form entirely. robbery in the broad daylight was never no easy feat. you seldom did it this way, especially to someone of such high status, but the prince rarely wandered the streets during late night hours. you wouldn’t dream of mugging him — he’d knock you out within a second. instead, you’d use your wits and techniques, instilled within your instincts long before you were even taught how to properly hold a fork. patience was the key, and you waited in complete silence until the man finally bid goodbye to the seller, securing the big pouch of money to his belt. he was either as stupid as a donkey, or the holy city simply lacked in crime, hence why he felt no need to look after his belongings.

unfortunately for Mydeimos, you weren’t as honorable as the rest of the citizens, and you needed to steal from him — whether you wanted to, or not. it’s something you always did, and most likely will continue to do until your last breath. a fleeting memory of your old man flashed, and you grimaced, seeing his face in the eye of your mind, worn by age and hardships. your past wasn’t something you enjoyed reminiscing about. perhaps there were some fleeting moments of happiness — when your "Pa" finally managed to get you that doll you dreamt of, or when you both celebrated a generous surge of money, eating and cheering to your hearts content. however now, as you thought of the nameless man that raised you for those long years, all you could see is his agony state, once vigorous body destroyed by pneumonia.

you have struggled to make just enough to afford the medication you couldn’t steal, seemingly endless weeks of psychological torture and beatings you received from the victims of your (more often than not) failed robbery. as fear squeezed at your gut, you began to slip-up constantly, and most of your attempts ended up in vain. it was hell. living in a poor city was never easy, but at least you had Pa by your side. then, fate decided to sneer straight at your face, and take him away too. he wasn’t your biological father, yet you loved him like your own.

just as you thought things couldn’t get any worse, a sudden natural disaster decided to hit your town, hurricane ruining everything in sight. some people managed to survive, some died under the rubble. you wished you had joined the latter group.

your only desire was to lie in the middle of the place you once could call a home, and wait until your consciousness slipped into the nether. but you weren’t like that — fortunately (or maybe not), your drive to survive was much stronger than the grief pulling you down. you have traversed many cities since then, heart still wrenched by despair, but somehow you managed. leading a life of a vagabond was exhausting, and yet, you simply couldn’t give up. perhaps what helped was your rather unique talent — clairvoyance. it was useless most of the time, only allowing you to see brief snapshots of the future, not even on command — however the assurance of a promised tomorrow kept you going.

i’ll show you what i’m made of, old man. you thought to yourself as you got up from your crouching position, steadily tailing after Mydei. you kept a safe distance for now, your keen eyes glued to his back as you calculated what your best option of approach is. you knew you wouldn’t fail, as yesterday the vision revealed to you was of a big bathhouse, meaning — you weren’t imprisoned. unfortunately, the stealing part was still tricky, so you needed to focus, else you could miss your chance and go another hour or so without anything to eat.

you pretended to look at your own feet, 'accidentally' bumping into the man. there it was. you felt the pouch’s weight in your hand as you swiftly slipped it into your bag, the movement so brief no one around would be able to spot it. your head snapped up to look at Mydei with feigned apology. "oh, i’m so sorry, sir. are you alrig—"

you felt your heart jump up straight to your throat as he suddenly seized your wrist, the glare he sent your way sending shivers down your spine. did your vision fail you? no, that simply wasn’t possible — sure, it was just a brief glimpse of a bathhouse, but — gods, on the other hand, you never knew when it’s exactly taking place. it could have been a few weeks from now on, months, years! that stupid clairvoyance, was it supposed to help or torment you?!

you gritted your teeth, adrenaline instantly rushing through your body. Mydeimos was much stronger, it was obvious from the way his fingers clenched around you — but perhaps he didn’t mean to harm you, because the grip faltered slightly when he spotted your distraught expression. you didn’t want to cause a scene, however you had to break free, so you swiftly stepped to the side, pushing your body weight downwards before rapidly jolting yourself up. he seemed to underestimate you — by some miracle — his balanced stance faltered, if only just slightly. you hit the man’s arm with your whole might, wincing when the sharp metal of his gauntlet sent a painful wave through your muscles. with the impact, you managed to twist your wrist, and practically tear it away from his grasp.

you held back the triumphant smile that threatened to creep onto your lips, internally sneering at how Mydeimos’ pity caused you to take advantage of it, and give you a chance to flee. you turned on your heel, accidentally bumping into someone — you pushed that person to the side, making them collide with the prince. without looking back, you sprinted forwards, your calves starting to burn from the mere speed of your run. your vision narrowed as you kept moving between the crowd, your eyes searching for the best escape route. you’d have to leave the holy city as soon as possible.

you ran into a tight alleyway, almost stumbling over your own feet — you were fleeing for some time now, and so you risked a glance behind your back. nothing. you felt as if your lungs were on fire, and you gasped for air, leaning on the wall. you’ll have to resume your sprint soon, but now, you had to rest, else you’d collapse. after a few wheezes of exhaustion, you pushed yourself forwards, and you turned to the left, your eyes widening before you bumped into the very man who was chasing after you just a few minutes ago. how— when?! your mind started to panic as you wobbled backwards, his hand catching your collar just when you wanted to turn away and bolt.

"you damned—"

"what made you think you could steal from me, thief?" he seethed, tone dangerously low. you swallowed, trying to calm your hammering heart. you must think, think!

"let! me! go!" you growled, flailing your limbs around, your fists hitting blindly at him. "i didn’t steal anything!"

it was a poor excuse, you knew about that, but fear way too truthful for your liking started to bloom within your heart, and your usually sharp mind failed you. perhaps you weren’t as cunning as you deemed yourself. nothing other than pointless arguing came to your rescue, and you cursed yourself for your over-confidence.

Mydei swiveled you to face him, grasping both of your arms in just one hand, the other one unceremoniously reaching into your bag and pulling out his pouch. "what is it, then?" he asked, dangling the thing before your eyes. you felt the need to spit at his face.

"that’s mine."

"no, it’s not." the corners of his lips itched upwards, as if the whole situation was slowly starting to amuse him. "have you seen that vendor from earlier? he can confirm it belongs to me."

you huffed under your nose — it’s high time you switched plans. you forced the look of defeat, your shoulders hunching as you let out a big sigh, all resistance simmering down from your body. you could have begged for forgiveness — but you forbid yourself from falling this low, and you were sure Pa would be rolling in his grave from laughter if he saw you on your knees, crying and sniffling as you made up some hardly-believable story about your starving family.

you shook your head, keeping your tone coy. "alright, alright. you got me there."

the sudden surrender seemed to slightly surprise Mydei, but at least he didn’t point it out. "fine then. now let’s see what the Goldweaver will have to say about the whole situation."

Goldweaver. Aglaea. you knew who she was. you’ve never seen her personally, but the stories about her unmistakable beauty and coldness of character stuck, making a rather big impression on you. the woman wasn’t exactly ruthless, but she kept the entirety of Okhema on a tight leash, and you were sure the sentence she’d give you wouldn’t be lenient. damn your luck.

"so what? you’ll just drag me there?" you questioned, starting to feel Mydei tug you forwards. in response, he only nodded. heat of irritation crawled up your neck, as you thought you’d rather have him bind you into chains than pull around as if you were a small child.

for the whole length of your walk, you kept looking for opportunities to break free and run, however none came. people kept giving you dirty looks, but you paid little attention to them, well-used to the scrutinizing glances everyone would grace you with as you stumbled back home with a bruised face, a few dimes held tightly in your palm. when the time of your judgement came, you expected anything but this.

five months of cleaning the public bathhouse. no parole.

well, at least your vision wasn’t faulty after all.

for the first month, you were trying to run away. when the second and third came, you kept on seething, ferociously smacking the rag around as you polished the ceramics. by the forth you begrudgingly accepted your fate, and when the last month of your punishment came, you were almost grateful for such a forgiving penalty. they even gave you food, and a bed to sleep in — although the cell was rather cold. it could’ve always been worse, no? what surprised you furthermore, Mydei seemed to take no personal offense, and sometimes came to accompany you (or rather — make sure you caused no trouble, as during your first day you decided it would be a great idea to spill dirty water everywhere, and bang at the windows). at first you were very skeptical, swinging your broom at him as you tried to chase the man away, convinced he was there to just poke fun at you. as the weeks went on, it became obvious he harbored no ill intent.

"what’s this?" you asked as you bit off a mouthful of some pastry, your speech muffled by the big piece of sweetness.

Mydei chuckled dryly at your lack of knowledge. "you seriously don’t know?” you sent him a warning glare, still chewing on that certain something, so delicious and foreign to your tastebuds. growing up poor, you had no chance of ever experiencing such luxuries as tidbits. "it’s an eclair, [name]. pretty common, if you ask me."

you swallowed, wiping your mouth as you lazily leaned on the mop. "well, i’m sorry that i’ve never seen any of your fancy foods." you mocked, though it lacked in a real bite. "now, give me another one."

"no way, you’ve already had three of them—" he didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence as you snatched the 'eclair', or whatever the thing was called from his tray. at least now your quick reflexes were actually good for something. you immediately stuffed it into your mouth, delight seeping through your senses as the saccharine melted on your tongue.

Mydei sighed in resignation, and you giggled at him, starting to swipe the floor with more vigor than before. it’s something he often did — bringing you snacks, and while you didn’t understand why he was acting so kind, you never dared complain. truth be told, when he first walked in with a plate full of pastries, you genuinely thought he wanted to poison you. it took some convincing — and eventually a small fight — but you caved in, and decided to give it a try. when you took the hesitant bite, you felt as if your whole world collided and got rebuilt anew in a span of two seconds. ever since then, Mydei kept gracing you with the sweet treats, and you definitely deemed him as a godsend, the merciful cakes and donuts calling out to you while you struggled to clean up the entirety of the bathhouse.

"goodness, what do you put in those little ecleres of yours?" you mused, briefly glancing at his tall form, now leaning against the pillar.

“eclairs.” he corrected bluntly.

"yeah, yeah, whatever, eclairs—" you rolled your eyes, dipping the mop into the bucket of water, "how do you make them? they’re amazing."

he cocked one eyebrow at you, amused expression starting to pull at his face. "want me to write you a recipe? i doubt you’ll remember anything when you finally get out."

you huffed, now looking at Mydei with a feigned hurt. you had to squint your eyes due to the setting sun, its bright rays blinding you. "do you really think my memory is so bad?" you whined, your lips curling downwards before an idea sparkled within your mind. "oh, i know! what do you say — once i’m free again, you’ll just teach me. doesn’t that sound wonderful?"

you had no plans of staying in the holy city any longer than you were forced to, but you doubted you’d meet anyone as talented as Mydei, and your baking skills were practically zero. getting yourself a cooking book, and attempting to lean how to make everything from scratch by yourself sounded… well, it didn’t sound like anything, because you’d probably fall back into the whirl of crime and thieving, so taking up a hobby was out of question. perhaps those few months in Okhema made you too soft, but you desperately clung to the vision of sparse comfort. just a few more weeks, and you’ll be gone, but you still needed to try everything that once seemed completely out of reach. you had to.

Mydei blinked at you, as if your offer took him aback. "i don’t see why not." he shrugged, pretending your enthusiastic expression was of an indifference to him.

you jumped up, cheerily clasping your hands together as the forgotten mop clattered to the ground. both of you cringed at the loud noise, and after a second of awkward silence, you bent down to pick it up, thinking it would be best to get back to work. for now, you had to focus on being meticulous, so that Aglaea wouldn’t prolong your punishment — then, you can think about all the joys the holy city had to offer.

———

in the retrospection, your stupid resolve to flee, and abandon Okhema now seemed almost laughable. you remembered it clearly as a day, your past-self swearing that you wouldn’t stick for long. well, as it turns out, four years have passed since then, and you were striving. you can’t really recall what made you stay — perhaps your nervous system finally calming down, pushing the ever-present urge to "fight" or "run" aside. maybe it was your own indecisiveness, crumbling into one, solid resolution as you got tired of the constant back and forth with your mind. just one week longer, and after that you’ll leave. when the week passed, you usually repeated the same sentence, ultimately making it obvious you weren’t going anywhere. months stretched into years, and you could pat your own back with pride, surprised by your ability of making the right decision for once. you no longer had to fight for your own survival, prolonged days of starvation and dangers looming over your shoulder completely gone. it was comfortable. you were warm, you had enough food to eat, so the need to steal and mug others died simultaneously when the threats finally dissolved away from your life.

it’s not like you had it very easy, though. you had to make money somehow (because, as it turns out, stealing was out of question), and so you decided to use your rather unethical skills to improve your living situation. you have done it previously, and it wasn’t exactly demanding. at first, it was just a small tent on the side of the road, and the fraction was poor, however soon your ‘clairvoyant' career started to bloom. yes, you could predict a future in a way — but that was mostly useless, reserved only to your own person. what really came in hand was a thing called "cold reading". when you were young, your Pa taught you this unbelievably nasty trick, and you knew it was only supposed to make your thieving expeditions easier — however now, you could play an ever-seeing clairvoyant maiden, deceiving others into thinking you actually had some mysterious abilities.

people like this sort of thing, and it’s awfully easy to impress them. locals, tourists, children and adults flocked to your tent, asking you to read their fortune and give some good advice. you’d chuckle in response, your intent gaze catching on every single syllable of their words. how they dressed, how they spoke, all the mannerism and attitude engraving itself into your mind as you cracked them open. you offered them seemingly innocent questions, only pushing to explore further. it came to the point where you’d constantly hear how good you were at this, and you only expanded the trickery you previously fed to others on a silver spoon.

cold reading soon turned into hot reading, and you would spend long hours trying to find out everything and anything about your regulars. it wasn’t morally right, and you were completely aware you were scamming them, but hey — it’s their fault for being so gullible. sometimes, when you had an especially tough case, and couldn’t exactly deduce any sort of important information from your client, you’d just hit them with something extremely universal, like "true love always waits", or "soon your troubles will cease, and you’ll be back on your feet”. every time you cringed internally, afraid if it was too obvious — but five or six days later, they’d crawl back, saying how right you were. you only smirked under your nose as the money effortlessly filled up your wallet. of course, you had met people against the idea, and they seemed to enjoy criticizing your ways — you paid no mind to them, even though you knew they were right, and all the others were in the wrong, blindly believing in your words.

finally, all of your hardships payed off, and you were able to buy a place to live in. it was small, and quite suffocating, but you remember squealing and tearing up from happiness as you gripped the keys to your new house in your hand. he would be so proud of you. now as you had more opportunities, you set up a special place dedicated to your divination within the safe walls of your home. it was going great — both the business, and your life. long gone was searching for any scrapes of food, and worrying whether you’d soak in the rain as the night’s cold air shook your bones.

as for Mydei — and your other friends who were smart enough to see through your dramatic theatrics — they were rather… opposed. that’s a good word to describe it, you thought. it’s not like you’ve ever told them straightforwardly — "it’s a fraud", no, they simply knew of your eccentric nature, and couldn’t believe you’d possibly let go of your old ways. well, good for them, at least they won’t be milked from money just for a few half-assed prophecies. Mydei would often visit your house, so cluttered with trinkets (sometimes he questioned where’d you get all of the stuff from, you simply grinned mischievously in response), and chastise you for shamelessly deceiving innocent citizens.

he kept repeating how wrong you are for this, yet what he did to mar your business? nothing. absolutely nothing. you could barely suppress the salves of laughter creeping up in your throat as you watched someone ask Mydei about his opinion on your divination. the man swallowed, nodded stiffly, took a deep breath — and said it was the best one in area. you recall having to turn your head away, else the awfully contained grin spreading across your lips would betray you. he was so bad at lying, and yet for some reason he tangled himself into your own mess, covering up for you. what’s even better — Mydei’s recommendations were sought after, so the queue before your house was… rather long, at least for a few days.

truth was, Mydei and you decided to stick together, so perhaps that’s why he decided to look out for you. you would’ve never guessed the victim of your miserably failed robbery would carry so much importance to you, brightening up your days with so much more color. every single second here meant a ton for you, as the fleeting nature of life became more palpable than ever. you don’t know when the line got so blurred, smudging like fresh paint.

perhaps it was a long time ago.

you twirled with joy as you excitedly nursed your belongings by your chest — the day of your release turned out to be unbelievably sunny, sky’s hue a deep lazurite, devoid of any clouds or breeze. Aglaea returned your possessions, although now lacking in all of the lock-picking tools and knives. fortunately, you held little sentiment towards physical objects, and so you didn’t cry after the loss.

"okay! so what do we do now?" you asked, enthusiasm dripping from every syllable of your words.

Mydei huffed, running his fingers through the blonde locks. "you never run out of energy, do you?" he asked, his gaze fixing on your form as you skipped beside him.

"oh, i know! you promised to teach me how to bake, didn’t you? let’s go do that!" you blatantly ignored him, your eyes jumping across every other thing as you took in your surroundings. in exchange for your rather 'easy-going' sentence, you were also forbidden from taking walks, so now it felt as if you just got born into the world anew.

"you seriously want to do that now?" he sighed, your idea bemusing him. "wouldn’t you rather… i don’t know, go sightseeing, or—"

"sightseeing? Mydei, please, don’t make me laugh!" you giggled, knocking at your own forehead, "we’re as free as the birds, we should do something more exciting than that!"

"so you think baking is more worthy of your interest than actually learning about the culture?"

you nodded, "you know me so well! but if you’re really so opposed, then—" you paused, mulling over your options, "is there a bar anywhere? we could make bets on who’s going to win a fight."

the man shook his head with resignation. "y-you don’t want to do that? okay, so how about we go and roughhouse up a few of—"

"let’s just stick to the baking, alright?" Mydei muttered, starting to feel overwhelmed by the multitude of your unconventional ideas of spending one’s free time. he also wanted to point out how you’re definitely due for a bit of resocialization, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

he lead the way to his house, and your jaw slacked to the floor as you took everything in. while he prepared the ingredients, you walked about the space, your eyes glimmering with genuine wonder, and you had to grit your teeth as you resisted the urge to pack half of his belongings into your bag. it’s not like you wanted to steal from Mydei, but it was buried deep within your instincts. all of the expensive-looking artifacts, and gemstones… you swallowed thickly, wiping the sweat off of your forehead. it was a small fortune (or rather an endless wealth, at least in your opinion). while the man busied himself in the kitchen, you could swipe some of the stuff, and bolt through the window. you glanced at the glass, measuring the height of your fall — two meters. almost laughable, compared to your previous ones where you’d hit the ground with a sickening thud, feeling the breath get knocked out of your chest. then again, was it really worth it? you weren’t some ungrateful brat, biting at the hand that feeds you.

your fingers trailed over the small stones, their golden-brown color drawing you in. you wouldn’t take them — you just wanted to touch the smooth texture, smiling to yourself at the nice, cool sensation.

"enjoying yourself, [name]?"

you jumped up with a yelp at the sound of a familiar voice behind your back. you quickly turned to face Mydei, your expression twisting with the slightest of distress. "i—i swear i didn’t steal anything!" you pleaded, surprised that he was able to sneak up on you so effortlessly.

"i know you didn’t," his face eased into something more pleasant as he stepped closer to you, "i just asked if you like them."

you breathed with relief, letting out an awkward chuckle as you turned back to the stones. "yeah, i do. they’re beautiful."

the corners of Mydei’s lips tugged upwards. "this one is called tiger’s eye. i have plenty, so you can take one, if you want to."

"really?!" you beamed, selecting the smallest one from the collection. "thank you, thank you!"

the man observed as you placed the tumbled stone into your bag, his eyes briefly locking onto your overjoyed features. “i have prepared everything, so go back to the kitchen."

you gave an understanding nod, falling into step behind him as he led the way. as you reached the countertop, your gaze swept over the assortment of ingredients — flour, sugar, milk and melted butter, eggs. amongst the familiar things sat a peculiar fruit, it’s skin a pretty shade of red. "what is this?" you inquired, picking it up.

"a pomegranate." he responded, and you blinked twice at the name. you’ve heard of it before, though you had no chance of seeing it with your own eyes. you sniffed the fruit, and the vague smell didn’t remind you of anything. just before your teeth sank into its thick skin, Mydei snatched it out of your palm. "that’s not how you eat it. anyway, we’ll need it for later, so be kind and try not to eat anything."

you rolled your eyes at his strictness, but decided it would be better not to argue about it. "well, fine. so, uhh, what are we gonna make with all that?" you pointed towards the stuff lined up before you, wondering what it’ll change into.

"pancakes."

"oh! you mean those flat-like things?" you scratched your nape, starting to feel abashed by your lack of general knowledge. during your whole life, you managed to survive on simple food like potatoes, groats, rarely meat if you and your old man were lucky enough to rob a vendor, or make just enough to buy yourselves a piece of cold cuts. you had no idea of what the world could really offer, your sight focused solely on the basics.

"exactly," Mydei affirmed, taking the bowl and placing it in front of you, "they’re easy to make, so your brain won’t have any problem to catch up."

“hey!" you whined, though you paid no mind to the lighthearted bicker.

"take the flour, baking powder, sugar and salt. whisk it in the bowl." he explained, and you gave him an unsure nod, pouring the previously measured ingredients and starting to mix them together, even though you saw no point to that. in the meanwhile, he set another bowl by your side, his studious gaze watching over you, as if he was sure you’d mess up something as simple as that. "that’s enough. now stir the butter, milk and eggs in the second bowl."

you obediently followed the instructions, wondering why you had to do everything in the separate containers. was it really necessary? still, Mydei would probably sentence you to ten years in prison if you decided to do things your way. you whisked everything, and although the process was monotone, you found yourself enjoying it. it was slow, and calming. you didn’t have to fight, or run while the ferocious barking behind your back rapidly picked up in volume.

"now mix it into the flour."

"why couldn’t we do it with just one bowl?"

"because it wouldn’t work. do as i say."

you huffed, thinking that maybe you preferred the hounds chasing you. you stirred the batter together, seeing as the consistency started to thicken. "when do i stop?" you asked, your eyes glued to the work at hand.

"when you deem it fit." Mydei answered vaguely, causing your eyebrows to narrow together. how do you know once the batter is ready? when it came to cooking, you were absolutely clueless, and you berated yourself for not trying to learn it earlier, even if it was useless to you. after a few minutes of mixing, you decided to put it down, thinking it would be best not to overdo it.

you looked at the man, searching for his approval. he briefly glanced into the bowl before turning on the stove, and starting to heat the skillet. "hey, is it any good?" you questioned, but your voice seemed to fall deaf on his ears as he melted the butter on the pan’s surface. he was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he?

"pour the batter on the skillet. but not too much," he said, completely ignoring your earlier question, "remember to keep it at medium heat, else you’ll burn the pancake."

you rolled your eyes once again this day, but ultimately complied, pouring the bowl’s contents out. you listened to the sizzle, and after a minute or two, Mydei grabbed the skillet’s handle and effortlessly flipped the pancake over. you hummed in acknowledgment, watching it take on a nice, auburn shade. "that’s how you do it. now, your turn.” he instructed, swiftly moving the ready food onto the plate.

you enthusiastically followed the steps, tracking down the minutes. after you counted to one hundred, you started to doubt yourself, your thoughts falling into disarray as you wondered whether that’s enough. just to be sure, you counted down to another hundred, finally grasping the pan’s handle and throwing the pancake up. you gasped in horror as the food flew into the air, way too high for your liking, finally landing with an unsatisfactory plop onto the counter. one of its sides was charred, and the other one looked definitely undercooked.

a stretch of silence filled the kitchen as you observed the atrocity you just made with your own hands. "so, uhh, Mydei… do you think it’s edible, or…?"

he sighed, taking the thing and throwing it into a trash can. "i guess not. try again."

"but—"

"try again."

you huffed, repeating the steps. alright, now you won’t mess this up — it was so easy, after all. when enough time passed, you carefully flipped the pancake, trying to control your strength, and you cheered with celebration when it turned out alright on one side. it could have been better, but you were still proud of yourself. gods, you were getting really good at this, weren’t you?

"what do we think?" you asked, taking in the beautiful sight of pancakes stacked over each other.

Mydei crossed his arms over his chest, a small smile tugging at his lips. "great job. you actually didn’t burn my kitchen." you laughed at his comment, patting his arm with a self-satisfied smirk on your face.

"me? burn your kitchen? oh, i’m way too talented for such mistakes." you boasted, even though you knew it wasn’t impossible for you to accidentally set everything on fire. "by the way, what do we need the pomegranate for? decoration?"

"it’s messy, so i’d rather you leave that to me." he answered, taking out a knife, "while i’m busy with that, you can clean up."

the protest died on your tongue when you realized you probably shouldn’t complain — after all, Mydei dedicated plenty of his free time to teaching you, and for that, you were grateful. you scooped everything into your arms, putting it away in the sink before wiping the countertop. you didn’t even get to finish your task when the man announced he was done.

you swiveled on your foot, clasping your hands together at the sight of the finished dish. a stack of pancakes, dripping with syrop and pomegranate seeds generously sprinkled on top made your stomach rumble with hunger. you exclaimed with excitement, practically bolting to the chair and sitting down.

however, as you two got busy with eating, you started to feel a little guilty — Mydei was giving you food, and you had no way of saying thank you. how’s that fair? what’s worse, what if he demands you pay him back? stress squeezed at your gut as you kept on mulling over all of the grim possibilities, remembering the awful things you were faced with once you couldn’t pay your debt to someone.

"Mydei, i—" you began before he cut you off.

"[name], would you like to learn another recipe some other time?"

you blinked at him, stopping your chewing. "i mean… yes, of course. but why? you don’t have to do this, and i have nothing to give in return."

"you’re foolish if you think i want anything from you." he chuckled dryly, placing the fork down. "and a mere pancake recipe won’t be enough. you have plenty of other things to learn."

you felt your chest swell — perhaps the concept of kindness was still quite foreign to you. you swallowed, your eyes fixating on the table.

"i’m not sure if i’ll stick around long enough for you to teach me." you admitted, though the vision of leaving the holy city behind seemed almost unpleasant.

"we’ll see about that." Mydei announced nonchalantly, and you wondered if he really was so self-assured about you staying in Okhema. still, maybe his gaze reached way further than yours, and he was able of deciphering what your heart really desired.

one year flew over your head like a flock of birds, and the roots connecting you with this place seemed to tighten around your ankles for good.

it was the afternoon. the weather was nice that day, and you thought taking a break from your work could do you some good. the business was booming, and you didn’t lack in money for a change, but the effort you put in made your bones heavy, and sometimes you felt as if you were falling asleep inside your own body. you needed to rest — if only just for a few hours.

you invited your friend to accompany you, even though your body demanded a while of loneliness. still, with how things were going, you were sure that you and Mydei spent way too little time together, both busied with your own responsibilities. earlier on, when you had nothing better to do, you’d constantly stick by his side, trailing after the man, and demanding he tells you more about the history of Okhema. he’d scoff and huff at you, even though you knew he wasn’t really annoyed. people often gave you weird looks, wondering how much audacity you could possibly harbor to unceremoniously bother the prince of Kremnos — however, you simply felt no need to follow the authority. it was as simple as that.

seated by the bank of a shallow stream, you let the cold water lap at your feet, its refreshing touch a nice contrast to the sun beaming on your nape. fortunately, you were already used to the holy city’s climate. a soft hum of contentment escaped your lips as your fingers brushed against the wildflowers swaying near your legs — you plucked one, smiling to yourself.

you gently twirled the small, blue flower between your fingers. you had always held a special fondness for them, as they were like living symbols of memory, reminders of things that should never be forgotten.

“what do you think of forget-me-nots?” you asked softly, letting your gaze settle on Mydei, sitting beside you.

“they’re…” he began, as if weighing each word. “they’re alright, i guess.”

his response was cautious, almost indifferent in a way, but there was something more lurking in his voice — something you had yet to decipher. you nodded with understanding, turning your body to face him as you tugged the petite flower between the stands of his golden hair. "there. now you won’t ever forget me."

you laughed at his perplexed expression, getting up and skipping into the stream, the water barely reaching your calves. you beckoned Mydei to join you, but he shook his head. truth be told, most of the time he didn’t understand you. every day, you managed to do things that surprised him, or say something so bemusing his mind failed to comprehend your words. you were from two completely different worlds — maybe that’s why he felt so drawn to you. your mannerisms and thoughts you’d often muse to yourself out loud, the way your feet fell so gently on the ground, bitter smiles as you failed to catch the grasshoppers into your palms.

you were different. that’s easy to say about someone, yet he genuinely had this kind of conviction — a brick wall separating you from all the others. you traversed unorthodox paths, your nonconformity ringing heavily in your steps as the trail of beargrass grown in your wake. at first he didn’t think you’d decide to stay, preferring to flee the city as soon as possible, yet here you were, splashing the water around as your eager hands clasped on little fishes, watching them wiggle until you let them swim again. you called out to him again, but he refused once more.

you were so pretty, and puzzling. the color of your eyes came out vividly in the sun, and you glanced at him, but he was already staring at you. he often pondered — how can you stay so positive all of the time? even as the rain poured down, you were still packed with energy, hiding under that makeshift tent of yours as you smiled up at him. perhaps that was the face of a person who was denied anything good throughout their whole life.

"how’s business going?" he asked, interrupting your wild chase after the dragonfly. you stopped, wiping the sweat off of your forehead, and slowly dragging your feet closer to the bank.

"good enough." you answered vaguely, that mischievous smirk pulling your lips upwards. "at this rate, i’ll be much richer than you."

Mydei chuckled quietly, taking in your breathless form. "and do you plan on buying a house? or will you spend the rest of your days in your poorly-made tent?"

"hey, you!" you groaned with feigned irritation, splashing the water at the man. a few droplets reached his face, making him grimace at the sudden coldness. "of course i will buy a house! i’m very close to it, actually."

"is that so?"

"yes! and you’ll be the first one to visit me!" you exclaimed, the look in your eyes turning dreamy as you imagined all of the comfort and possibilities once you’ll get your own place to live in. "oh, i’ll be baking tarts and cookies everyday, and i won’t need to worry about the weather, and—"

you kept listing all the stuff you wanted to do, and Mydei nodded along, listening with intent. it was so obvious you desired a home more than anything in this world. he remembers offering you to stay at his house, but you refused, stubborn on remaining independent. short after that, an idea born within your cunning mind, and soon you were making good money on clueless people who got themselves scammed. it came so easily to you, and he often criticized your shady business, feeling bad for all those innocent citizens blindly believing in your lies or guesses made on a whim.

at the same time, he was happy for you — and he didn’t want to admit it, even in his mind, but the way you danced oh-so carefully around your mirage of trickery and deception made him even more infatuated. you were unconventional in every sense, laughing at the fate as you provoked it with astonishing clarity. then, after you were done with your work for the day, you’d search for him and poke fun at the surprised expressions of your clients, mimicking their reactions as you retold the lies you fed to them.

he knew it was wrong. he knew he should oppose it harder, yet all he did was snicker at your silly faces, reminding you to be more mindful.

with the corner of his eye, he noticed the small forget-me-not that you earlier stuck into his hair, now falling out due to a brief gust of wind. he didn’t need it to remember you forever. even though he knew you for only a year, the image of your face was already buried deep within his brain, the unmistakable whimsy and slyness appearing engraved into his eyelids.

you finally plopped down beside him, sighing as you drained the water out of your attire. with you next to him, he felt as if everything he carried within his heart meant something more. more sacred, more precious. even the simplest "hello" sounded like "come here, [name]. it’s late and i missed you."

your back met with the lush grass, and you looked into the honeyed irises. you wished you could merge into one with the soil, the dirt and vegetation swallowing you whole, and he’d still be there, equally entangled within the vines and stems. but that wasn’t possible.

by the second year of your new life in Okhema, you were sure it’d be a place where you’d stay until the sorrowful moment. there was no other way.

"and here is my living room!" you announced with unconfined pride, stretching your arms in the rather small space, still lacking in any furniture or ornaments. "do you like it?"

Mydei sent you a wide smile, infected by your contagious happiness. you were showing the man your new house, a thing you worked for harder than any other. it took some sweat, and unbelievable amounts of effort (at some point you genuinely thought your mind would give up on you, and sizzle away, leaving your skull empty), but here it was — a place you could call your own. it was still devoid of anything other than a bed, basic kitchen equipment, and the most humble bathroom, but you were satisfied. properly decorating the space can wait.

"it’s nice, [name]." Mydei replied, his eyes scanning the 'living room', dimly lit by two oil lamps sitting in the corner. in the middle of the room stood a singular, low table, a deck of cards along with few tumbled stones he let you take from his house spread across its surface. there was nothing else.

you kneeled by the table, tapping its wooden plane. "i see you’re intrigued by my divination area, dear guest. want me to tell your fortune?" you giggled playfully as you picked up the cards, their corners battered from the flow of time.

Mydei cocked one eyebrow at you, amused expression starting to tug at his face. "no, thank you. i have no need of vixens trying to deceive me.”

"oh, come on, Mydei, just this one time!" you pleaded, patting the place beside you. "i promise it’s free of charge, since you’re my best friend!" he sighed at the sight of your pitiful face, sitting in front of you as your feigned hurt immediately shifted into a self-satisfactory smirk.

"fine then. let’s see what you come up with."

you shuffled the cards vigorously, the movement so fast, even his eyes had problem focusing on the way your nimble fingers shifted the cards between each other, changing their placement. "now, dear guest, please cut." you placed the perfect stack down, and Mydei begrudgingly separated the top half of the cards.

you kept an artful smile on your lips as you spread the cards along the table’s surface. he thought that if he were an unknowing client of yours, he’d definitely believe in your fraud too.

"alright, because i am only telling your fortune, we’ll skip over the rest of the steps.” you announced, your words slow and calculated as you already thought of whatever dramatic prevarication you’ll hit Mydei with. "please, choose one card. don’t show me yet.”

without further ado, he quickly picked out the third one to your left. his eyes studied the illustration on the card, lips itching upwards as the whole charade was starting to genuinely intrigue him.

"what now? you’ll guess what card am i holding, oh great clairvoyant?" he mocked, though it lacked in any real bite.

you chuckled lowly, batting your eyelashes at him. "why, of course. how could i not? my eyes are all seeing." you boasted, having one final glance at the card before you were absolutely sure. "it’s the chariot."

Mydei blinked at you, his eyebrows tugging together as he put down the card on the table — indeed, it was exactly as you said. by the look on his face, it was obvious he was pulling your leg earlier, not actually expecting you to guess. you grinned at him, happy with yourself.

"the chariot, huh… well, dear guest, it seems you need some encouragement. my instincts tell me you have been struggling with maintaining your direction. but worry not! you’re full of fierceness, and strength, aren’t you?” you got met with silence, pushing you to continue. "you need to hold onto your convictions, and your goal. i see bright future for you, though… shall we draw another card?" you mused, the absolute confidence radiating off your body. you were in your element, all the words slipping so effortlessly from your tongue as your fingers steadily tapped against your cheek in feigned contemplation.

Mydei shook his head. “i think that’s enough. now tell me how you did that."

"did what?" you teased, barely containing your amusement.

"don’t play a fool, [name], you know exactly what i mean." he urged, finally making you groan with resignation as all the mysterious atmosphere from the room dissipated.

"you see my cards are a little messed up in some places, right?" you offered, pointing out the bents and imperfections along the thick paper. "i just memorized their backs. people think i’m really all that, meanwhile i’m simply perceptive. well — i can’t say it works all the time, so i also count the cards, just to be sure."

the man nodded, having to admit it took him by surprise. to think you’d go such long ways — on the other hand, people wouldn’t fall for something too simple either, so what you were doing was probably necessary. "color me impressed, [name]."

you thanked for the compliment, quickly shoving the mess on the table to the side. "okay, you have seen the entirety of my house, i already told your fortune — what else would you like to do?"

Mydei shrugged in response, his gaze falling to the window. "i’m not sure. it’s pretty late, and you must be tired."

you huffed, an unsatisfied noise slipping from your mouth as you rested your forehead on the table. you didn’t want him to go yet, so you had to find a way to entertain him. he won’t play any card games with you, since you’ll cheat the hell out of them, and baking was out of question too, your house lacking in any ingredients. you could converse about something of not much importance, but the energy was still filling every fiber of your being, and your brain demanded more stimulating activities.

suddenly, through the dull darkness of your thoughts, an idea sparkled, bright as a day, and yet to stupid. still — you couldn’t help yourself as you rapidly got to your feet, starting to bolt towards the kitchen.

"[name]?" Mydei called after you, watching you sprint out of the room.

you ignored him, crouching by the cabinet under your sink, opening its doors to grab a big bottle of champagne, a red ribbon tied around its neck. it was supposed to be a gift for your friend’s birthday party — you honestly had no clue what to buy her, and alcohol seemed like the only available option. you were never big on drinking, however that’s… probably what people get each other as presents, no? you paused for a second, wondering whether your idea was really so brilliant, but you ultimately cast your concerns to the side, thinking you’ll buy another one tomorrow. even if it’ll hurt your wallet.

you paraded into the room with the champagne in your hand, dangling it proudly in the air. Mydei rolled his eyes in disappointment, but the corners of his lips itched upwards as he took in your form, relishing in yourself. "don’t you think we’re due to some celebration?" you hummed, setting the bottle down with a 'thud!'.

"what’s the red ribbon for?" he inquired, turning the thing around as his eyes searched for the percentages. Mydei didn’t particularly like drinking, especially when the alcohol was strong, and so he felt slightly unsure to see it wasn’t necessarily light. usually he’d refuse altogether, but since it was your big day, he couldn’t say no. you have gone such a lengthy way, prevailing through all the hardships, and finally reaching your dream — of course, it was only logical you’d want to honor your achievement.

you stepped by the window, opening it widely as you leaned forward, looking at the street. from this side of the road there wasn’t anything attention-worthy, your neighborhood stretching into the further horizon. no one was out, and the silence of the night got interrupted solely by the night birds, chirping away to their hearts contents.

"ah, don’t mind it. i bought it like that." you lied quickly, though it was hardly believable. if you told the truth, the man would surely deny drinking, chastising you for being so thoughtless. you grabbed the bottle, beckoning Mydei to stand by your side. he lifted himself off the ground, dragging his feet over to the window.

"want me to help you open it? it won’t spill out." he offered, but you shook your head, retracting the alcohol away from him.

"no, i’ll do it my way.” you announced, a mischievous smirk stretching your lips as you took the safeguard off the bottle, and he barely stopped himself from taking a cautious step back. you gave it a light shake, prying the stopper off with your thumb.

before Mydei could even open his mouth to warn you, the cork practically flew off, a loud 'pop!' piercing through the stillness of the air. the champagne’s contents exploded, rapidly spilling down your arm along with the road, and you bursted out into untamed laughter as you watched the pure-white foam gather everywhere.

"damn, it’s—" you wheezed, wondering what made it so funny, "it’s spilling everywhere! Mydei, please," you paused, feeling the salves of joy fold you in half, the muscles in your stomach and cheeks burning, "do something! do something!”

he swiftly grabbed the bottle, covering its opening with his own hand. you let go, shaking off the liquid from your fingers as you continued laughing, tears starting to gather in your eyes as you observed his half-panicked, half-amused expression. "[name], for gods’ sake, i told you i’d open it!" he exclaimed, your contagious emotions quickly spreading to his face.

you breathed, your laughter now easing into giggles as you tried to calm yourself down. when was the last time you let yourself feel this way? it must have been a long ago. "yeah, yeah, i admit it would’ve been better if you took care of it." you cackled, gently taking the bottle from his hands. "next time, i’ll listen to you."

with that, you cleaned your hands, and wiped the champagne dry, sitting back by your small table, surrounded by nothing in the empty living room. the alcohol’s contents were already reduced to a half, even though none of you tasted it yet. unfortunately, you didn’t have any cups, so you had to drink straight from the bottle. with the first swing, you grimaced at the bitter sensation spreading on your tongue, but you didn’t dare complain. Mydei seemed equally unsatisfied, however the both of you kept chugging, feeling more lenient than usual.

you never had much to drink, so you probably wouldn’t know, but as it turns out — you were a lightweight. an hour passed, and you were already lying on the floor, your gaze swiveling and doubling as you looked at the ceiling with a dumb smile. Mydei was completely unaffected, still sitting upright, forced to listen to your blabbering.

"so, you know," you slurred, gesticulating with your hand as you tried to gather your disarrayed thoughts, "he comes to me — crying, you know, snot running from his nose, and all that — and he tells me: '[name], please, steal that ring for me!'. i tell him to get lost, and he starts crying some more. you catching up?"

"uh-huh."

"uhh, well, i told him to get lost, but i went to steal that ring anyway. i felt bad for the guy." you explained, as if it was the most interesting story in the whole world. "i couldn’t— you know, pick the lock, so i—" you paused, trying to remember what you did, "so i broke the window with a brick. i come inside — guess what, that damn shopkeeper is still there, sleeping behind the counter. well, uh, not sleeping, cause i woke him up."

"and what did you do?" Mydei asked, his tone bordering on interest.

"i panicked, obviously." you chuckled, recalling how absolutely terrified you were at that moment. “he pulls a gun out on me — don’t know how he did it so fast, but he did. good thing the poor bastard was drunk out of his mind, and he kept missing, else i’d be turned into a strainer."

the man remained silent, his brows knitting together in quiet contemplation. though you recounted the story with laughter, the weight of your experience settled heavily on him. he couldn’t summon even the faintest chuckle, no matter how much he wished to. the thought of you enduring such a reality dulled any trace of amusement he might have mustered.

you yawned, starting to feel sleepy. "somehow, i survived that… frenzy, and i ended up snatching the ring. it wasn’t even the one he wanted, nor was it the right size — but oh well. he proposed anyway, and uh, they’re either dead or still married to this day. pretty funny, no?" you rubbed your eyes, stretching on the floor.

"was it worth it?"

"what?"

"risking your life for that man. you didn’t even like him, right? you could have died."

"Mydei, you don’t understand it, do you?" you giggled, trying to pull up your body into a sitting position, though you failed miserably, your head spinning as if you were sitting atop a carousel. "if i weighted— ugh, if i weighted my every single decision through the prism of a possible death — then i wouldn’t have moved a single inch throughout my whole life."

he sighed, drumming his fingers against the cold ground before finally deciding to get up, and check up on your well-being. you smiled as you saw him kneel next to you, carefully pulling the troublesome hair away from your face. "and anyway, i think that — you know, love is important. he wanted to propose, and isn’t that, i don’t know. something to die for, maybe?"

"perhaps, but you were still foolish to do what he asked you for." Mydei nagged, his looming silhouette obscuring your view of the ceiling. his eyebrows were tugged together, and you felt bad, because you didn’t want him to be somber. you both were supposed to be happy tonight.

you reached your hands upwards, catching his cheeks in your palms. even though your vision was still woozy, you didn’t fail to notice the glimpse of embarrassment flashing through the man’s face. that evoked a hum out of you as you pulled his head closer to your face, amused by how easily he got abashed (or perhaps what you were doing was already too much, but you were too drunk to realize).

"Mydei, would you go and steal a ring for me, if i asked you to?"

he huffed, starting to feel the heat crawling up his neck due to the close proximity. "don’t ask me weird things."

"answer me." you demanded, trying to form your features into something more threatening.

he scoffed as his golden irises focused on yours, and you swear there was four of them now. "let’s say i would."

"wrong." you warned, the clarity returning to your eyes for a split second. "don’t ever do anything for me. you’ll only waste away."

the tension seemed almost palpable, filling the room as the smell of champagne on your breath mixed with lilacs growing outside. Mydei’s gaze kept flickering over your whole face as he tried to decipher your words, and you smirked to yourself, sending him a challenging look.

"i don’t think i care." he finally retaliated, returning your expression.

"no?"

"no."

a beat of silence passed as you studied him, the satisfactory answer making your lips stretch into a wide smile. you finally took note of his deeply narrowed eyebrows, and laughed, flicking his nose. he flicked your forehead back.

"don’t grimace at me, i’m starting to get scared." you snickered, simultaneously letting your arms down.

Mydei only scoffed, straightening his back out, and mouthed something that didn’t quite reach your ears. your head lolled to the side as a certain realization slowly cut through your mind — you liked him. it didn’t wash over you like a sudden plummet of the rain — if you had to describe the feeling, it was akin to the lake’s gentle flow of the water, the cool feeling encompassing one’s body as they stand by the bank, ankles dipped. it was peaceful. you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t grow too attached, but it was midnight, and you were laughing way too hard, lying on the cold floor inside an empty room. something foreign gripped your gut, and at that moment, you knew you were absolutely doomed.

life was treating you well. you had friends, you had a stable job, all of your old habits safely repressed into the back of your mind, as you long forgo the ways of a criminal. everything seemed to fall into place, and you rarely thought of the past. you simply forgot. those four years of comfort coated your mind in a blissful veil, obscuring the dark memories from your eyes. one might say you lost a part of yourself in the process, but you didn’t like the sound of that — it wasn’t true. you just no longer needed her. the cracked claws, and bloody canines lied abandoned, already covered in cobwebs and dust.

each morning, you would wake up not with dread, but with a deep appreciation for the life you once despised. the same existence that felt like a curse now appeared as an eerie sort of beauty. you worked as always — your hands submerging themselves in deception, your mind sharpened by years of perfecting the art of illusion. guilt never crept in, because why would it? you had long convinced yourself that no one could see through your facade.

then, you would open the windows of your cluttered home, letting in the crisp morning air. the scent of lilacs, blooming wild along the roadside mixed with the warm smell of sun rays. everything felt almost disturbingly perfect.

alas, all misery and pain in the human life usually starts with evident happiness.

———

"what do you mean?!" you practically screamed, feeling your knees start to buckle under the weight of your own body. your hands convulsed around nothing, and you felt the need to grab the woman, serving one of your daggers to her throat, even though you stopped carrying them with you a long time ago.

Aglaea sighed deeply, obviously fed up with all your shouting as she massaged her temples. "i said what i said, [name]. i was lenient enough."

just this morning, Aglaea requested a visit from you, and you suspected she might have a problem with your business of a questionable nature. what you didn’t expect is her demand you close it for good. when the announcement first hit you, you began laughing, your brain coming up with a lag. then, when the woman’s expression darkened, you felt a mixture of terror and anger rapidly building up in the pit of your stomach. it was all you had. if she takes that away from you, you’d be left with nothing. the life you built for yourself over the years was now crumbling, bricks falling down from the sky and ruthlessly hitting your head as you stood in the middle of it, your hands tied behind your back.

as you started to furiously question what led to the decision, she slowly explained it was for the bigger good, and it was the high time you stopped scamming the poor citizens of Okhema. you retaliated, saying they were always visiting you out of their own volition, and nobody was forcing them to spend money on your services. in exchange, she started listing all the times your faulty prophecies and divinations turned people to ruin — gambling, physical fights, broken bones and hearts over something that could’ve easily been avoided. you wanted to burst out how it was their fault for being so gullibly stupid, yet you held your tongue back.

"and what if i don’t listen to you, huh?" you seethed, narrowing your eyes at her.

"well," Aglaea began, the look on her face cold, "i’ll be forced to banish you from the city."

you gritted your teeth, knowing there was no way of convincing her — to only add to your dismay, you actually had to control your emotions, else she’d throw you in the jail, which would be way worse than actually suppressing the anger. still, the fact remained — you were officially stripped away from the only source of money.

"anything else?" you murmured grimly, gripping your attire as you tried to stop your fingers from clenching into fists.

"i expect you to close your business immediately. and don’t go to Mydei with that, because i assure you, he won’t be able of convincing me either."

you huffed out a dry, humorless laugh. "i wouldn’t dream of doing so."

Aglaea nodded, turning away from you the second she deemed the conversation over. you turned on your heel, feeling the resentment burst through every fiber of your being, bile gathering in your throat as you tried to calm down your trembling joints. your vision narrowed as you stormed off, practically running outside, thinking that any second longer spent there will make you puke over yourself — from the way your stomach squeezed, and amount of saliva pooling in your mouth, it was likely. you felt sick, stopping outside when the fresh air hit you. it was sunny as always. sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to lean on one of the pillars, else you’d collapse.

everything. everything you worked so hard for. four years of relentless dedication.

perhaps you had it coming, the moment you started to snicker under your breath when people came crying to you, begging for advice. the guillotine was already hanging dangerously close to your neck, and it was only matter of time before someone above you would cut the rope.

you tugged at your hair helplessly as your brain seemed indecisive whether to make you wail in the middle of the street, or yell in frustration as you knocked the trash cans over, kicking their metal surface in until you’d create a cavity, and someone would have to drag you away.

a groan escaped you as you considered your options — you had to do something, otherwise you’d fall to your knees and never get up. you could go home, or you could take another road, leading to Mydei’s place. the answer rang clear, and soon you were quickly rendering the distance, tears welling up in your eyes, however none fell. you blinked them away, gently knocking at the door, fighting the urge to bang at them with all your might — no, actually, you’d much rather just break the window, and invite yourself inside. you nursed your lower lip between your teeth, patiently waiting for the man to open the door, wondering what would you do if he wasn’t there. yeah, you’d definitely break in.

finally, the sound of the lock clicking caught your attention, and you almost breathed in relief when you finally saw the tall silhouette. "[name]?"

"hi." you responded, shoving past him to get inside, immediately reaching the stove as you frantically began to make you both tea. you didn’t know why, you just did it, your shaking hands pouring the mild water over the dried herbs as you tried gathering your thoughts. it wasn’t working.

Mydei stood silently, watching the whole charade with a concerned expression. after a while, he opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted him by taking the cup and drinking the half-made concoction in one go, your face devoid of any grimace, as if it was the best "tea" you’ve ever made, and not disgusting water with leaves. you wiped your mouth, ultimately sitting down, and sending him a slightly unhinged smile.

"are you—"

"Aglaea made me close my business."

Mydei gaped at you, dumbfounded. "what?"

you shrugged. "you heard me right. funny, isn’t it?" you practically forced the words out, feeling your throat clenching. it wasn’t funny. none of it was.

the man sat beside you, his brows furrowing together as he contemplated your erratic behavior, the words dying on his tongue. perhaps if you were crying, or shouting with anger — then, he’d know what to say. but all you did was shrug, your wide eyes fixated on something above his shoulder. "why?" he inquired, tone unsure.

you glanced at your nails, the corners of your lips dragging downwards. "she told me i had a bad effect on people. i was doing them harm, or something… well, it doesn’t matter now. case closed."

tension in the air made the room suffocating, even though all the windows were open. "i told you to be more careful, didn’t i?" Mydei slowly weighted his words, afraid you might explode any moment. looking at the twitch of your eye, it was possible.

you shrugged, picking up the second cup and taking a big swing.

"what will you do now?"

another shrug.

"you really don’t know?”

you shrugged once more, placing down the tea back on the table with your trembling fingers.

"[name], for gods’ sake," he grimaced, gripping the bridge of his nose, "talk to me. i’m trying to help you." he hissed, the slightest of agitation laced through his voice.

"help me how?" you started after a short moment of silence. "Aglaea told me not to bother you about it, because she’s not willing to hear you out either." you scoffed, your eyes flickering over to the tiled floor.

"i guessed that much." Mydei sighed, his hands itching to reach out for your shaky hands, and hold them in place. "do you have any money left?”

"yes.” you nodded, even though the amount was rather meek. after you bought your house, you irresponsibly cast away the concept of saving, rather living from paycheck to paycheck. now you were starting to see how fatal of a move that was.

"what about work?" he urged, searching for any solutions, "do you have something in mind?"

you slowly shook your head, remembering how eagerly you kept searching for any kind of employment the moment your sentence ended. all of them turned you down, either saying you lacked in experience, or you didn’t meet the basic criteria. even the simplest labor seemed too high for your qualifications. "not really, no."

Mydei’s leg started to bounce. "i’m going to help you out until you get back on your feet."

no, please, anything but that. please, don’t make me your burden. please.

"i’ll manage by myself." you chuckled dryly, finally looking at his face. he was already staring at you.

"how?" he instantly retaliated, evoking a wince out of you. you didn’t know.

you leaned back into the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. "maybe i’ll just leave the Okhema, and start somewhere else, or…" you trailed off, the vision of throwing everything away just because of an inconvenience starting to sound absurd, but not out of question.

the man scorned at you, a certain sense of deep-rooted anxiety seeping through his expression. "no, you won’t.”

you’d smile at him, but the rage and hopelessness in your chest made you unable to. "alright, alright. i didn’t come here to ask for your help, i just— well, i thought i should tell you."

(no one else would be so understanding).

"why, though? you know i can give you money, or food. it’s what i’ve been doing those four years ago, and—"

yes, he was supporting you when you were absolutely lost, but the situation was different back then. right now, you’d rather rip out all of your teeth than accept any kind of help. you liked Mydei so much, and he would surely start to perceive you as an unnecessary load on his shoulders. more trouble than you’re worth. a cumbersome deadweight. you suddenly remembered your Pa — you haven’t thought of him in a while. he always instilled the independence in you, saying how relying on people would lead you astray. was Mydei the type of a man to leave you on thin ice? no, he was your best friend, he’d surely…

"please — just stop." you cut off his sentence, getting up from your seat. "i told you i’ll be okay."

he measured you from head to toe, feeling ire starting to bubble up in his chest at your refusal. prolonged silence filled the space of his house, and you wondered whether you should add anything, but no meaningful words found their way onto your tongue. you slowly began to drag your feet to the door, all the intense emotions starting to simmer down, and melt into an engulfing emptiness.

before you could reach for the door handle, Mydei suddenly got up from his place, reducing the distance between you two. you looked up into his eyes, unexpectedly starting to feel the need to curl up on yourself, and fall into the pits of nether.

"[name], i—" he paused, his fingers timidly reaching towards yours, "i’m sorry if you don’t think you can rely on me. i should have been more clear."

a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. you grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, even though you were in the need of consolation, not him. "don’t worry. if things get really dire, i’ll tell you." you cringed internally, ashamed by how easily lying straight to his face came to you.

Mydei nodded, and you let go of his palm, quickly walking out the door, not knowing that day would mark the begging of an end.

———

four weeks passed since then. a full month, then.

you swore to yourself you wouldn’t do it, but you relapsed into your old habits. the realization of no other choice crept over your senses progressively throughout the prolonged days of hunger, and absolute despair. your life was still seemingly the same — you kept visiting Mydei, and your other friends, telling them how poorly your search for a new job was going, laughing a bit too hard whenever your stomach rumbled. it was driving you crazy. could a normal person function like that? surely not, you thought to yourself as you finally made your decision, tugging the bag onto your arm, and dropping one pocket knife into your right shoe. it wasn’t supposed to end like that, but your mind bent under the feeling of starvation. your ran out of money three days ago, and your food storage was now reduced to one canned peaches. there was no other way.

you gripped some woman’s pouch in your hand as you swiftly traversed the streets, finally stopping in a shaded alleyway, your fingers rapidly prying it open. you’ve been trying your luck for the past twenty-four hours, and the amount of people who fell a victim to your theft was growing steadily. one watch, three wallets, overall five apples and a piece of cold cut. nothing satisfactory yet, but a good start. you glanced into the contents of the pouch, quickly counting the coins. still too little to even pay the upcoming bills. you scoffed under your breath as you tossed the few dimes into your bag, discarding the pouch behind your back.

the sky was overcast, for a change. you watched the small birds hug into each other, thinking your life would be so much easier if you were one of them. you’d spread your wings and fly into the endless horizon, uncaring of such trivial human-matters like money or proper housing. the wind would billow through your feathers, and once you got tired, you’d stop on some branch, hiding in the comfort of leafy twigs — but you were no bird, and you needed to think.

you pushed yourself forwards, your keen gaze narrowing on some unsuspecting men, now standing around and chattering idly about stuff that held little importance for you — one of them looked somewhat wealthy. you rendered the distance between them, feigning a cordial smile on your lips.

"good day, gentlemen." you chirped, your eyes quickly scanning their clothes for potential belongings. "i don’t want to trouble you, but there’s a thief roaming around somewhere… he stole my wallet just a few minutes ago. you wouldn’t happen to see someone fishy around here, would you?" you asked, forcing the innocent hurt to lace your tone.

they looked at each other with confusion, shaking their heads. "we’re sorry, but unfortunately no. perhaps you should ask the guards for help?"

you sighed with resignation, your keen gaze observing them as they patted their pockets, checking if everything was in its place. got you.

"i will. thanks for your help." you replied, turning on your heel and starting to walk away. you stopped behind some platform, away from the reach of their eyes. now you just needed to wait until they’ll separate, and go after the richest looking one. that’s exactly what was so burdensome about stealing — the constant wait. of course, you could blindly go after some other people, but it was much riskier.

you leaned on the stacked crates, picking out an apple you managed to snatch earlier from your bag. the hunger was starting to get to you again, so you wiped the fruit’s skin on your attire, sinking your teeth into its flesh.

"i think that doesn’t belong to you, [name]."

you practically jolted at the sound of the voice, accidentally biting your own tongue. you dropped the apple, it’s small form rolling away from your feet as you turned to look at Phainon, that ever-present friendly expression painted across his face. you grimaced at him, instinctively gripping the handle of your bag, as if you were certain he wanted to take it away from you too.

"how can you be so sure?"

"[name], you need to stop." he said, his tone calm in contrast to yours.

"i asked — how can you be so sure?" you barked out, taking a step back.

he huffed, shaking his head. "don’t act like a wounded animal. i’m not here to harm you, or anything like that."

"answer my question, damnit!"

(how can you be so unkind to your own friend? why is the spite seeping from your mouth?)

Phainon’s eyebrows tugged together at your defiance. "Aglaea sent me. don’t take offense, but you must be really slow if you thought she wouldn’t notice your wrongdoings."

you scoffed, barely stopping yourself from spitting on the ground. "why did she send you instead of just throwing me in the prison like she did the last time?"

"oh, don’t think she wasn’t planning to." he chuckled humorlessly, "but since you’re close to us, she decided to ask about your well-being first. Mydei and i vouched for you, and so she sent me to knock some reason into your head."

you felt your nerves calm once you understood you weren’t in a critical situation, and you slowly nodded your head in reluctant understanding. perhaps Aglaea wasn’t as ruthless as you deemed her to be, after all. "okay. i— i’ll stop."

with a heavy heart, you took off your bag, handing it to Phainon. his smile returned, but you didn’t have the strength to reciprocate the gesture. "i’ll give it back to you the second we’re done fixing your mess, alright?"

you nodded again, your eyes falling to the ground. the man patted your back with compassion, even though you probably didn’t deserve it. then, he walked away, and you slumped down the wall, reaching for that apple you dropped earlier — it tasted almost rotten.

all hopes for a better tomorrow were staring to simmer away from your body, just like the fog dissipates from above the ground. you tugged your knees close to your chest, resting your weary head, and you shut your eyes tightly, praying — praying for a vision. you felt as if you regressed back in time, the younger version of yourself hiding by some gutter with her eyelids closed, waiting for her mind to grace her with a flash of a future. it didn’t have to be anything great — you just needed the assurance of survival.

the sounds of the environment around you turned into one, disharmonious cacophony, and you felt as if you were separate from every other thing. no visions came. they were rarely useful, never working much in your advantage. however, there was one that made your breath stop — you don’t remember how old you were when you saw it. maybe ten, or eleven. it was clearer, and more vivid than any rest of them — your own premature death.

you remember panicking, and screaming in horror as your Pa held you, wiping the tears away from your eyes, even though he didn’t understand what happened. you never told him.

all you can recall is a view of your own, blurry hands — they were bigger, yet still devoid of any wrinkles, only a rash scar stretching across your thumb. you must have been way older than only eleven, at that time of your passing. perhaps much closer to your current age. you lifted your head, looking at your palms — exactly the same size as from that nightmarish flash, except for the scar. they were covered in absurd quantities of blood; in that vision, you looked down, briefly catching the sight of your own slashed stomach before everything suddenly vanished.

for the past four years of your life, you’ve been searching for any kind of solace, deeply aware of your impending end. Okhema seemed just like the perfect place to spend one’s last few beats of existence, and so you cherished it. the relentless sun, and the flowers, constantly in full bloom. streams, soft grass under your bare feet, friends, money, tasty pastries and the liberation from fear. right now your own sky darkened, and perhaps your current situation was the first harbinger of the inescapable fate.

there was nothing you could do but weep.

———

you sat amidst your empty living room, the space devoid of any kind of ornaments or furniture, except for the small, low table in the middle, a row of tumbled stones you got from Mydei settled on its surface. you dragged your mattress over to there, thinking you’d much rather sleep in this room, for whatever reason. it almost felt like that day when you invited Mydei to see your brand-new place, excitedly showing him every single corner of your house — however, he wasn’t there now. he hasn’t in a long time.

you began selling your belongings three months ago, practically for pennies, as you were in a desperate need for money. you didn’t want to wait until someone would buy your stuff for a reasonable price, even though it was the better route of action. instead, you demanded small amounts of money or food in exchange for your things, happily giving them away, simply satisfied with the knowledge you’d be able to pay the bills on time. your home quickly turned into a soulless building, and so you didn’t invite anyone over.

life was still the same, except for the fact you currently lacked in any things to sell. once it gets really bad, you’ll cash in your mattress along with the table — you didn’t have the heart to get rid of the stones. you have long forgotten about searching for a job, so at least you had enough free time to spend it with Mydei, or any of your friends. however, sometimes you felt as if their gazes turned more… careworn. cautious. not Mydei’s though — he didn’t treat you with any sort of judgement, nor forced pity. at least that’s something.

you have tried to fight through the negative thoughts, making yourself stay positive — it worked, rarely. you’d smile to yourself, forcing your mind to keep being hopeful as you sorted through your cabinet, counting how long you could survive on your food supplies. six days, or so. that was enough. then, you’d open the window, breathing in the sweet lilac as you tried to imagine it was yourself from the past.

truth is, you wanted everything back, the way it once was. you still yearned for that awful champagne, and pancakes coated in pomegranate seeds, but the taste wouldn’t satisfy you as much — you crave the scent of lilacs, and forget-me-nots, but you mean those from two years ago. you keep forgetting all of your needs are never going to be satiated.

you felt the urge to simultaneously curl up on yourself and run, sprint so fast as if you were being chased by a pack of bloodhounds. and as you sat in the dark room, night birds still singing so cheerily, you felt the silly need to cry. why can’t you accept help like a normal human being? why must you struggle, stumbling over the path of your own ruin?

you heaved, tears welling up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, not allowing yourself to shed any. you got up from the floor, quickly putting on your shoes, and you bolted out of your house, a familiar destination clear in your mind. you had to see him. you had to see him, else you’d do something unbelievably stupid. you traversed the streets at a high pace, quickly turning a few times until you finally stood in front of the door. you knocked without thinking, uncaring to explain why you were visiting him so late — perhaps he was already getting ready to bed, or sleeping. you fidgeted nervously, hoping you were wrong, as you couldn’t stomach the vision of dragging your feet back home.

finally, the sound of distinct footsteps made you breathe out in relief. there he was. you smiled genuinely at the sight of Mydei’s surprised face as he opened the door.

"[name]? did something happen?" he inquired, worried as always. you chuckled nervously in response, kicking a small pebble.

"no. i just wanted to see you." you answered, swiftly walking in once he stepped to the side.

Mydei closed the door, and you noticed he was already dressed in his sleeping-attire — maybe the hour of your visit was too late, after all. still, you didn’t want to leave now, so you anxiously shifted your weight from one foot to another, waiting for him to say anything.

he sighed, turning to look at you, his eyebrows knitted together. "are you sure you’re alright? it’s almost midnight. why aren’t you sleeping?"

you shrugged, nonchalantly stepping over to the couch. "i told you, i just got lonely. life’s pretty boring without a job, you know." you plopped down, stretching out your legs. "i hope you don’t mind, though?"

the man shook his head in response, grabbing you a glass of water before handing it over. your first instinct was to refuse, but you were thirsty, so you took it without complaining. you sipped at the liquid, soon placing it down on the table. "so, uh… i reckon you were going to sleep, no?"

"yeah, you could say that." he tapped his fingertips against his arm, as if awaiting some kind of explanation. what was there to explain? you simply felt the hinges of your brain start to loosen, so you did what everyone else would do.

(any second longer in that empty house of yours, and you’d go absolutely crazy).

"well," you began, finding a more comfortable position on the couch, "don't bother yourself with me. you must be tired, so i’ll just sleep there."

Mydei cocked one eyebrow at you, his expression turning bemused, as if what you just said was illogical. "you’re always welcome here, but you could’ve at least told me in advance. now i don’t even have a bed prepared for you."

you dismissed him with a wave of a hand, huffing out a breathy laugh. you didn’t need such accommodations — you’re not some kind of a spoiled girl who throws tantrums once she has to sleep on a couch. "Mydei, i’ll be fine. you go rest in your bedroom."

"no, you won’t. i’ll change my sheets, and you’ll sleep in my bed. i can stay on the couch."

your eyebrows rose at the sound of his decisive tone. why was he so hellbent on it? you were already causing him trouble just by coming in so late at night, and now he was burdening himself with your comfort. "gods, no!"

"gods, yes." he mocked with a straight face, starting to step in the direction of his bedroom.

you rolled your eyes at his attitude, shooting up from your seat as you caught the man’s wrist in your hand. "okay so — if you want to be so stubborn, why don’t we just share your bed?" you offered, thinking your idea was simply brilliant, even though it sounded a bit silly when you spoke it out loud. "it’s big enough to fit us both.”

Mydei blinked at you, his eyes widening. you blinked back, the corners of your lips curling upwards. "i mean…" he started, weighting his words, "if that’s alright with you, then i suppose i see no obstacles."

you clasped your hands in success, starting to skip towards the room, obviously happy with yourself. he followed in your track, wondering if this really was the right decision to make. when he looked at you, what did he feel? the desire to protect, most likely. what if he slips up, and says something he shouldn’t? what if his resolve cracks, and he offers to help you out once more, and you’ll give him that scornful look you’d always grace him with whenever he proposed it? he has tried before, he really did. he pretends not to see the strain in your smile, or how hollow your irises seemed as of late — he knows you don’t like when he points it out, but it’s not like he doesn’t notice. would you get mad, if he tried one last time? would it really be so bad if he ceased your suffering, even if a little bit? would—

"Mydei, i don’t have any clothes to change into." your voice suddenly pulled him out of the reveries, making him stop in the middle of the bedroom.

"i’ll give you my robe. i doubt it will fit, but…" he sighed, opening the wardrobe and pulling out the garment. you accepted it with a grateful smile, gesticulating at him to turn away.

you swiftly changed into your new attire, securing it around your waist before jumping into his bed, feeling at how plush the sheets were in contrast to the hard mattress. you stretched out your legs comfortably, breathing in contentment. the man followed suit, albeit with much less energy than you, slowly sitting down and turning off the lamp. the room instantly got swallowed up in darkness, and so you lied down on your back, sensing your body relax for the first time in forever.

silence fell between you, and you itched to say anything, but no meaningful words found their way onto your tongue. Mydei didn’t seem to be in a need of conversation, so you kept your mouth shut, turning to lie on your side.

minutes stretched into an hour, yet you still couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, accidentally knocking your feet against the man’s legs a few times. you apologized in a quiet voice, and every time he’d respond, saying it was okay — meaning, he wasn’t asleep either. guilt gnawed at your bones, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for interrupting Mydei’s sleep. he didn’t even get mad at you, making your conscience ever so heavier.

your thoughts turned onto a darker rail, knowing that once the morning comes, the shaky veil of tranquility will be swept again, and you’ll leave the place with a heavy heart, having to face your grim reality — whether you wanted, or not.

a huff of frustration escaped your mouth as you kicked the sheets away, starting to feel overly hot for no reason at all. perhaps you weren’t the ideal partner for sharing a bed, because Mydei turned to face you, and you could decipher the slightest frown on his expression through the darkness.

"[name], why can’t you sleep?" he questioned, keeping his tone barely above a whisper, "if you’re uncomfortable, i can go lie down on a couch."

"no, no. i’m alright." you assured, though the waver of your voice definitely betrayed you.

Mydei’s grimace deepened. "are you?"

you nodded, your line of vision moving towards the window as you stared into the blackness of the night. the sky must have been overcast, because you couldn’t spot any of the starts that usually illuminated the inky firmament so brightly. honestly, the lifeless sight made you even more depressed.

another long stretch of silence passed between you before you gathered up the courage to speak.

"if i asked you to run away with me, would you do it?"

the man seemed taken aback by your question, taking a while to respond. "run away? to where?"

you hummed in quiet contemplation. "i don’t know. somewhere far away, maybe."

he turned on his back, and you wished you could fix him into place, gripping his jaw so intensely he wouldn’t dare move his eyes away from yours. "[name], i couldn’t do that, even if i wanted to. i have my people to take care of. they rely on me more than on anything."

you held back a sigh, instead offering a half-forced giggle. "stop being silly Mydei, i was just kidding. you don’t need to be so serious all the time, you know."

"then don’t speak in such a gravely tone when you’re jesting." he retaliated, and you wanted to wince, afraid he caught on to your true intentions. fortunately, he didn’t say anything else.

you tossed on your side, now staring into the wall, and you berated yourself for even suggesting something so utterly ridiculous out loud. of course he wouldn’t agree — throwing one’s life away on a whim could never bring anything good, especially if he were to stick with the likes of you. Mydei was the crown prince of Kremnos. his people needed him. he was important. he mattered.

but you needed him too, did you not?

———

the atmosphere felt unusually light that day. Mydei’s gaze lingered on you as you sat cross-legged atop one of the chairs in his kitchen, absentmindedly eating the sandwich you had prepared for yourself earlier. you had started with small, measured bites, but the relentless hunger gnawing at your stomach quickly dimmed all of your remaining restraint. soon, you were ravenously wolfing down the bread, its jam-smeared surface disappearing far too quickly.

when your meager supplies finally ran out, you had no choice but to swallow your pride and reach out for Mydei’s rescue. the act stung — however, as the discomfort in your guts gradually dissipated, you couldn’t help but quietly smile to yourself, eternally grateful for the man’s unrelenting kindness.

little did you know, if only you asked — he’d give you all of his possessions, all of the food and stupid little tumbled stones you loved collecting, and he wouldn’t bat an eye at the loss. seeing you happy meant way more than those physical objects — he’d bake you all of your favorite pastries, and snap the lilac’s twigs off, gracing you with new bouquets everyday. if only you allowed him. if only you would finally abandon your resolve.

the silence of the space, only interrupted by your meek shuffling, made him remember the conversation he had with Phainon not so long ago. after they were done with sparring, they fell to the ground with satisfied huffs, but as they kept catching their breaths, his face shifted into a grimace (or at least that’s what he thinks his expression looked like), and the man sitting beside him spotted the way his brows narrowed. Phainon asked about you out of the blue — for a second, Mydei wondered whether your spirit possessed him, suddenly making him so perceptive and all-seeing.

"why are you frowning so much? are you thinking about [name]?" he teased, a playful lilt tangible in his tone. it came off as a joke, but it was obvious Phainon genuinely wanted to know. they were worried about you — both to their own extent, of course, as in contrast to his friend, Mydei seemed pushed up the wall, his mind constantly nagging him for not being able to help you.

he scoffed. "wouldn’t you want to know."

Phainon laughed in response. "there’s no shame to it. although… i’m starting to wonder if she really is only your 'best friend'." Mydei glared at him, evoking another snicker. he definitely knew too much.

"she is, so mind your own business." he muttered, sensing the heat of frustration creep up into his chest.

the other man hummed, a short while of silence stretching between them before he came up with a verdict. "so, if there’s really nothing going on with her and you, you wouldn’t mind if i asked [name] out on a date, would you?"

Mydei’s head suddenly snapped in his direction, his scowl only deepening. of course he would mind, what type of question is that?! "[name] deserves someone of higher intellect than you, so don’t you even dare.”

Phainon’s laugh never seemed to cease, only picking up in its intensity as he patted his arm with an almost pitiful expression. "oh, you’re really in love with her!" he announced through salves of giggles, a bit too loudly for Mydei’s liking.

that was absurd. sure, he cherished you, sometimes he thought he wouldn’t be able to imagine a life without you — but love? that was definitely a stretch. there was no place for romance in his heart, and from the look of things, neither was in yours. he’d continue to look out for you, provide if you asked him to, and that’s how it was supposed to be from the start. confessions of any kind would never take place, no, absolutely no. after all, what would he do if you rejected him? how would your expression look? what would you say to him? but, oh, what if you accepted? no, no, what is he thinking about? that’s… ridiculous. yes, it is, he needed to abandon this track of thought before it’d get out of hand, else he’d spiral down into the depths of something he could never crawl out from.

"no, i’m not."

"you’re in denial."

"i am not in denial!"

Phainon sighed, shaking his head with resignation. "doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Mydei, it’s so obvious it’s almost painful to watch. you better take care of your mess, before it’s too late."

he got up from the ground, sending Phainon a scornful glare, finally dragging his feet forwards. he huffed under his nose, mulling over the man’s words — 'before it’s too late'. what a dumb thing to say, he thought as he walked away.

however now, as he looked at you, already finished with your sandwich, he couldn’t help but feel as if there was a profound truth to his friend’s words. he really is in denial — there’s no doubt. the way his heart clenched at anything you did, at every grimace and look of that wicked self-satisfaction you sent in his direction, sly, yet fond smile stretching your lips. sometimes you genuinely drove him mad, and he wished he could bite at your throat to silence you — but what was the difference between the clench of his teeth, and a kiss? they were both touch, equally fatal in their nature.

"thank you for the meal." you breathed out, the tone of your voice content. Mydei’s mind focused back on reality, suddenly pulled out of his reveries. you had smeared your nose with jam.

he quickly pulled out a napkin, reaching forwards. "you got jam on your nose." he announced bluntly, wiping the thing off of your face. an abashed smile found its way onto your mouth as you giggled at his gesture.

"i can clean myself, you know!" you retaliated playfully, gently pushing the man’s hand away. right, you could do that on your own, so why did he…?

Mydei suddenly felt embarrassed by his action, but the blush on your face made it easier to swallow down. you straightened out your legs, getting up from the chair and putting the plate in the sink. "do you want me to make you something to eat too?" you asked before turning on the water, and starting to scrub the ceramic.

he blinked twice, taken aback by your question. "no, thanks. i’m not hungry." he said, leaning forwards on the table, his keen eyes watching your silhouette as you bustled by the countertop.

it was domestic, in a way. you have been residing at his place for the past week, and you never explained exactly why, but he had no problem with it. you were helping out with the chores, washing the dishes, and windows — he told you countless of times you didn’t have to do that, but you seemed hellbent on having your way. whenever he chastised you for doing the things that a guest shouldn’t, you’d only smirk at him, saying you were merely trying to be useful. why were you? you didn’t have to be useful. you didn’t have to do anything. you could as well be lounging on his couch with a magazine, lazily sipping at the lemonade, and he still wouldn’t mind.

you turned off the water, quickly swiveling on your heel. "i’ll go hang up the laundry."

"no, [name]—" he protested, but you were already out of the room, soon carrying the basket filled with clothes on your hip, opening the door outside. he sighed, pulling himself upwards and following after you.

Mydei stepped out, squinting at the relentlessly bright sun rays of the morning. you threw one of the sheets over the string, reaching upwards to clip it in place, then bending down to grab another. he huffed at your efforts, guilt creeping over his conscience as he observed the shadow of your silhouette, it’s blurry outline peeking through the thin material. "you don’t have to do that, you know."

"why not? i love helping you. it’s the least i could do." your head peeked from behind the white sheet, a wide beam stretching your lips as the slightest gust of wind disheveled your hair.

you loved it? Mydei’s eyebrows tugged together as he stood on the patch of soft grass, ever so still. he watched you work, thinking — yes, perhaps he really did love you. the realization washed over him, and he barely registered it, because it wasn’t sudden — it was there for all the years, pushed back into the further corners of his mind, barely obscured by seemingly innocent adjectives such as 'cherished' or 'treasured'.

if he didn’t love you, then certainly he wouldn’t allow you to practically live in his house, rarely coming back to your own. he wouldn’t let you sleep in his own bed, tucked just next to him as you conversed about insignificant things, only to wake up the next day and ask whether you could bake a pie today. and he most certainly wouldn’t feel so lost, yet so fulfilled at the same time, hoping you’d never dare to leave. he already got so used to seeing your sleepy face in the morning, and listening to your singing as you showered, and the way you cursed under your breath when you accidentally spilled the milk, and how vividly your laugh resonated whenever he told you something mildly funny — he can’t imagine you going away.

Mydei stepped forwards, bending down to grab a piece of your attire from the wicker basket. "i’ll help you." he said, securing it on the string oh-so carefully, as if he was afraid it’d turn into dust in his hands.

you send him a grateful nod, feeling the sweat gather on your nape as the sun shone straight onto your form. yes, it is the truth you enjoyed helping the man out — you wished it could stay like this forever, but you knew all the sweetness is always quick to disappear from your life, and you already overstayed your welcome.

there were three reasons why you decided to stay at Mydei’s place for so long — first, you ran out of food, and the hunger made your head swim with indescribable discomfort, crumbling your resolve. second, you hated being alone at your house, the emptiness rendering you mad. third — you simply yearned for the man’s company.

now, as you stood side by side, hanging up the laundry, playfully bickering over something silly, a silent realization settled in — you needed to leave. you were never meant to linger, never meant to grow so accustomed to his generosity, or presence. it wasn’t fair — to him or to yourself. you promised yourself independence, no matter how dreadful, no matter how cold the world might feel without Mydei’s kindness. and yet, even as you resolved to go, a part of you ached at the thought of leaving this ease, this comfort, this fleeting moment of something that almost felt like home.

———

you sat by the familiar stream’s bank, your fingertips gently caressing the small, blue flowers as you tried to distract your mind from all the complex emotions you were forced to go through everyday. lately, you distanced yourself from everyone — even Mydei.

maybe you were really going insane, but you convinced yourself it was for the better. two weeks passed since you had the time of your life, living at his place, and when you decided to return, you sold your mattress along with the small table from your living room. the food you bought with the newly-gained money lasted you up until now — you didn’t even think about the bills, their impending presence now appearing indifferent to you.

you will have to leave Okhema soon. it was as simple as that. you’d sell your house, bid goodbye to everyone, and disappear. you will travel to another city — but you doubted there was a place for you in this world, so you’ll continue traversing from one place to another, watching the life go by, waiting for the moment of your upcoming death. maybe it won’t be so bad, after all? you had fun in the holy city, at least for the majority of your stay — you don’t have to grieve what could’ve been. you were already satisfied with the brief taste of freedom, grateful to the gods who decided to look in your direction, and allow you to truly live instead of surviving. a short moment of blinding pain, and your body will fall onto the ground, earth reclaiming what belonged to her.

that’s why you decided to keep all of your friends at distance. you weren’t sure if you could imagine your disappearance as something worth crying over, but maybe some of them would be a little sad. if they take a certain disliking to you, marred by you ignoring their existence, then surely it will hurt a little less. perhaps it won’t hurt at all. they will eventually forget, because what were you if not a passing glimpse of their lives?

you smiled to yourself, finally plucking a few forget-me-nots from the dense patch, twirling them in your fingers as ease washed over you. the quiet humming of the water, and the melodies of birds lulled your distraught brain into a state of tranquility, as you thought — it’s finally coming to an end. everything will, no matter how hard you try to hold it in place. you glanced up at the setting sun, slowly hiding behind the horizon line. there is a day, and there is a night. that’s the ultimate truth of human life.

suddenly, your peace was interrupted by characteristic footsteps. you’d recognize the sound of them everywhere, and usually your heart jumped up in joy, however now it caused your stomach to squeeze with stress. he was the last person you wanted to see right now, and you weren’t sure whether you could look him in the eyes after fourteen days of ignoring.

"[name]." the slightly harsh tone of the man’s voice urged your head to turn, facing him. Mydei’s expression was of the same nature as his words — unpleasant. he must be mad, the scowl tugging his eyebrows together as he rendered the distance between you.

you forced your face to shift into something similar, although you felt as if you failed in obtaining the same look. "what?" you barked back, getting up on your feet.

he stopped just before you, and you had to crane up your neck to look into his eyes. "i knew i’d find you here." he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "what do you think — pretending i don’t exist? acting as if you can’t hear me knocking at your door everyday?"

you balled your hands into fists, else you’d start to nervously fidget with them. "Mydei, i—"

"do you take some joy in making me wait at your doorstep like a dog?" he cut you off, and for the first time since forever, you felt the need to spit at him. you knew you were in the wrong for treating him like that, but you genuinely had no bad intentions, and it was his fault for acting like a fool!

"no, of course not!" you retaliated, stress merging into one with anger, "but— but who’s saying you have to visit me, or anything? nobody’s forcing you to—"

Mydei interrupted you once again, "do you even hear yourself? maybe all of the incense in your house finally fogged your mind?" he sneered, and you thought there’s no incense in your living room anymore. there’s nothing, except for the stones he let you take from him — tomorrow, you’ll throw them in this stream, watching their colorful forms sink to the bottom, yes, that’s what you’ll do!

"maybe i just don’t want to see you anymore, how’s that?" you snapped at him, but you instantly regretted it, watching his expression involuntarily fall, if only just a bit. you were so unbelievably cruel, you almost wanted to fall to your knees and apologize — but you wouldn’t.

"why?" he asked, "you were so eager to stay at my place not so long ago — and maybe i’m remembering things wrong, but you were happy back then, weren’t you?"

you winced, hearing his tone gradually become more livid. you wanted to take a step back, but you’d tumble into the water, only embarrassing yourself. "yes, yes i was, but times have changed, Mydei, and i don’t know what else to say to you." you seethed, gathering up more resolve.

"then at least tell me what made you change your mind about me!" he bit at you, and you wondered what kind of explanation you could muster up before your argument changes into a screaming match.

your mind worked faster than ever, but you failed to reply in any sort of way, remaining silent. it urged Mydei to continue. "really, who would have thought… you don’t want to see me again, you can’t even respond—" he paused, weighting his words as his eyebrows narrowed even further, "maybe you never were my friend to begin with. i should have seen this coming, looking at the way you—"

"no!" you interrupted, the hardened facade crumbling once you couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore, "i was— i am, still! but Mydei, i just— i just couldn’t handle it anymore, constantly relying on you, acting like some kind of a burden!" you said, trying to control your wavering voice, "i didn’t want to use you, i never could, i never will, so please, try to understand me!"

his scornful gaze finally seemed to ease, and a deep silence fell between the two of you, the only sounds being the chirps of the crickets, and the ever-quiet hum of water. the man closed his eyes, as if mulling over your words. "and is that really the only reason why you distanced yourself from me?" he finally asked, cracking his eyelids open.

no, it wasn’t the only reason, but you’d rather lie than confess to your upcoming plans of departure. “yes. i’m sorry."

he sighed, brushing his fingers through his blonde locks. "[name], sometimes i have a really hard time understanding you. you really don’t see it, so you?"

"i— what?"

"how important you are to me." he confessed, his eyes flickering away from your face for a second. it must have taken a lot of courage to say these words. "i do cherish you. i want you in my life, no matter what you think. if— if you really want me gone, so be it, but i need you to know that you’re precious to me, and i genuinely cannot fathom… cannot fathom to imagine you leaving me over something like that."

your blood pressure arose instantly, and you swear you heard the ground under your feet crack, threatening to devour you whole. your hands trembled, and you blinked twice, feeling your heart pounding so rapidly at your ribs. the inside of your mouth suddenly got so dry, so unbelievably dry, and a fleeting thought passed your mind — perhaps, all of the suffering comes from craving, and attachment — there was no other explanation for the way your stomach squeezed around itself, as if it was silently threatening to kill you. your gaze rapidly flew around in search of anything that could come to your rescue — a rock, dragonflies, the setting’s sun reflection on the water, a lime tree, a bird, the grass — your eyes returned to Mydei’s, and you swallowed.

"are you saying that…?" you asked, your voice unsure.

he nodded. "yes, i’m saying exactly what you’re thinking, [name]. i love you. is it not obvious?"

"i— i mean, i’m not… i don’t know, all the time i thought…"

"it doesn’t matter. if you’ll have me, then i’ll make sure you—" Mydei paused, as if forcing such vulnerable words out loud took a toll on him, "i’ll make sure you won’t suffer alone anymore."

you finally offered him a small smile, reaching out for the man’s palm, and he immediately interwoven your fingers together, clenching them around your hand so tightly it made you think — i’ll stay. i’ll stay here with you, Mydei, and i won’t leave. i’ll fight tooth and nail to bend my fate, i’ll rip the gods beating hearts out if it means i can live by your side. i don’t want to die, no, not when you look at me like that, with so much adoration in your golden irises.

"but i’m tough." you responded, your vision flickering over to his lips, suddenly so inviting.

"i’m aware." he leaned in much closer, as if understanding what you were thinking about, his free hand gently moving to your cheek, securing your head in place. "you are tough. you are. but it doesn’t mean you have to face all the hardships by yourself."

your forehead knocked against Mydei’s, and you hooked your arm around his neck, thinking the tangle of your limbs resembled a rattlesnake’s nest. "if that’s what you think…" you whispered, pressing your body into his, deeper, deeper, praying every single fiber of your muscles would fade into his, and a few days from now on you’ll be waking by his side again, brushing the mischievous strands of hair away from his sleeping face. you’ll push your mouth to his brow, mumbling: 'i know it’s been so long, and i’ve been awful, but now we’re together.'”

finally, Mydei’s lips crashed into yours — it was obvious he was trying to hold back, but all the pent-up emotions and desperation seemed to implode over your senses, and you gripped his locks, causing your teeth to accidentally clash against each other. you’ve never kissed anyone. it was your first time, and you didn’t know what you were doing, but his hand seemed to lead the way, tilting your head at the right angle, serving as the last anchor of control.

you closed your eyes even though you didn’t want to, rather drinking in the sight of the man’s face from up close. as the warmth of his lips embraced you, a sharp shock suddenly ripped through your mind, and you saw the vision — your curse, your blessed gift — an unfamiliar path, your legs taking fast, wide steps forward, a line of trees in the distance — it disappeared, causing you to whine into the kiss, a mixture of dread and elation merging into one noise. you didn’t know what it meant, that flicker of future.

Mydei pulled away, his pupils dilated, and then you couldn’t bring yourself to care. "i’m sorry, did i hurt you?" he asked, and you almost laughed at the way his blushed face twisted with innocent anxiety. you shook your head, finally registering how out of breath you were — you gasped for oxygen, pulling the man back into your arms as you leaned your head on his collarbones. you stood like that for a longer while, taking in his scent, so terribly familiar. the loud rush of blood in your ears dissipated, and you could clearly hear the songs of cicadas, cutting through the overall silence of twilight.

you were the first to let go, finally stepping back. to think your earlier fight would lead to such events, unfolding things you had no knowledge of previously. you felt fulfilled, and happy, and determined anew — so you smiled brightly at Mydei, smoothing out your disheveled hair. "it got late, huh…" you muttered, looking up at the sky, navy and pink melting into one, stars splattered over its surface.

he nodded along to your words. "right. are you coming home?" he asked, and you cocked your head to the side.

"you mean my house?”

"no, mine." his short answer caused your breath to hitch, an encompassing sensation of finally belonging somewhere, being a piece of something bigger, swelling within your chest. his house. our home. how wonderfully did that sound?

you shook your head, sighing. "i’m— i’m okay for now, i guess if you want me to stay at your place, i’ll have to pack a few things."

"don’t you want me to help you with it tomorrow? knowing you, the suitcase will be on the heavier side." that made you snicker, playfully hitting him on the arm — however, you knew your belongings wouldn’t even need a suitcase — all you had to your name was a few necessities such as toothbrush, some clothes, and the tumbled stones you wanted to throw away in the stream earlier on.

"no, i’ll be fine, really."

Mydei hummed, acknowledging your words. his hand reached towards you for the last time, giving it a small squeeze. "everything is going to be alright from now on. understood?"

the corners of your lips curled upwards. "understood."

you affirmed with a tone full of confidence — so why did you feel as if you were still lying?

the man walked you back to your house, and you waved him goodbye, waiting for his silhouette to disappear in the darkness of the streets. you didn’t want to be there, and now that he was gone, the vision you received of your legs treading an unfamiliar road made you genuinely ponder over its nature. a feeling of unease settled deep in your stomach as you pushed yourself off the porch, starting to wander around. you passed through a few familiar points, thinking, thinking way too deeply for your liking. your thoughts swiveled around in your brain, creating scenarios and visages that caused your very marrow to shake with dread, but, for some reason, you couldn’t stop.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking around. the sky was already black, and there wasn’t many people outside, only a few individuals stumbling back from their bar-hopping escapades, or fighting through the insomnia. you were neither of those, simply traversing through the Okhema like some kind of a ghost, slowly dragging your feet forwards.

your conscience hung heavy over your shoulders, making you sigh every so often. you were happy just a few hours ago. what happened? nothing.

you shoved your hand into the pocket of your attire, starting to become slightly cold — you sensed something inside, feeling at the delicate petals, and you pulled the flowers out. forget-me-nots. when did you put them here? most likely when you were playing with them, and Mydei decided to take you by surprise, sneaking up on you. you must have absentmindedly placed them in your pocket, because there was no other explanation. you kept walking, staring at the now barely-visible blue on your palm, and you suddenly thought — when did you forget?

you gripped the stems in your hands, crushing them under the pressure of your fingers as the now slightly blurred image of your old man’s face appeared before your eyes. it was so long since you really reminisced about him — not just a passing flash, but rather really thinking. allowing yourself to weep as you recalled the memories, something you were never supposed to push back, repressing the man you loved so much deeply in your mind. that’s exactly what you did — repress. you repressed him. through the chase for money, a better life, occupied by your friends, and seemingly endless food — you almost forgot.

did his voice always sound like this? were the wrinkles on your Pa’s face truly so deep? what was the color of the doll’s hair he gave you? what were his last words? what were his last, very last words? your heartbeat seemed to stop as you couldn’t recall them, causing you to hyperventilate. you can’t remember, you can’t, you can’t — what now? what should you do?! tears welled up in your eyes as you clutched the forget-me-nots in your hand harder, feeling their sticky juices seep onto your fingers, and now, you couldn’t stop the warm sensation rolling down your cheeks. you heaved, stumbling forwards as the blue petals fell from your hands, and you tugged at your own hair in frustration.

how dared you forget? you should have been more careful, embedding the words, and his face, and voice, and the rough feeling of his calloused palms on your face as he consoled you, saying how this world was cruel, but at least you had each other. what could have been if Pa didn’t die? would you still live in poverty, or maybe your resolve would harden over the time, and you’d make enough money to run away from that awful town together, finally paying him back for all the kindness he kept offering you throughout your whole life. maybe then, you’d move to Okhema, by some miracle — and you’d meet Mydei as a softer version of yourself, your old man could taste all the delicious pastries, and perhaps then — perhaps then you wouldn’t feel as if you were incomplete from the start.

you laughed through the tears, remembering your Pa’s words: "loss and pain make one stronger, so you have to embrace it." you didn’t understand it back then, and surely you don’t understand it now — how was it supposed to work? it didn’t make you stronger, it only made you more stupid, clinging to whatever comfort the holy city had to offer. it caused you to push back the memories of terror, stripping you away from what you once were. you betrayed yourself, didn’t you? and you betrayed your father, who kept instilling independence and fierce-temper in you for all the time. you threw away his legacy, rather focusing on your own well-being. and wasn’t that selfish? dear gods, wasn’t that so terribly, awfully selfish?

you loved Mydei, and he loved you, but how can you love with such a hell in your head? how can you possibly live? you sniffled, wiping your eyes, and suddenly your lament got interrupted by a hard shove to your arm. your head snapped towards some man, obviously drunk out of his mind, his face twisted in a disgusting grimace.

"hey, watch where you’re going, y-you damned strumpet!" he slurred, stopping in his track to spit on your shoes, a self-satisfied sneer stretching his lips.

you felt a surge of rage run through your body, instantly washing away all the sadness from earlier. "what the fuck did you just say to me?" you seethed, taking a wide step forward, and shoving the man into the wall of an alleyway you were currently in.

it was hard to tell through the way tears still clouded over your vision, but the man’s confident expression seemed to falter. "i— i said— damn you, you—"

he couldn’t finish his sentence, because you swung at him, gritting your teeth when your fist painfully collided with his jaw. you felt it rattle, and he stumbled to the side, still miraculously holding his balance. the man pulled himself up with a groan, obviously stunted, and tried to mimic your move, his staggering arm reaching out to meet with your face. you dodged the pathetic punch, feeling an enormous amount of fury gather up in your gut.

remember, [name], if someone attacks you, your best choice is to run. but… truth be told, i was never a 'runner', if you know what i mean! running, you see, is for cowards. and you aren’t a coward, my girl. you are smart. hmm… yes, wits are important, they definitely are. but, ah, you know how it is in life, even the most reliable things can sometimes fail you, no? once that happens, and you seem out of options, just swing at that fool who decided to fight you — it’ll hurt, you see, so fists aren’t always the best solution. do you know what’s harder, and sturdier than hands? knees and elbows. use them. use your head. use everything i’ve taught you.

you gripped the man’s hair with much more force than necessary, and he flailed his limbs, throwing blind punches at you. "try to say that again, i dare you!" you growled, and all he did in response was scream. you threw your leg up, your knee hitting him in the face, and you heard a crack, probably of his nose. you repeated the action, thudding his head against your bone before you threw him on the ground. it was enough. it was enough, and yet you still crouched next to his whining form, gripping the collar of his shirt.

"apologize." you demanded, but the man wailed in pain, touching his busted nose and lip. "apologize to me right now!"

all you were met with was another whine, so you swung your fist at him again, and again. you don’t know what possessed you. your vision narrowed, deafening out the sickening cracks and snaps, and you heard the bustling of your hometown street. you heard the excited yells and whistling, a multitude of voices cheering you on as you got into your first fight with a boy you particularly didn’t like. you heard the gunshots next to your ear as the drunk shopkeeper tried to stop you from stealing one of his rings. you heard the coughing of your old man as pneumonia drained the life out of him. you heard the screams of terror, and the unbelievably loud hurricane wind as it destroyed everything in its wake, rubble falling around you with thuds. then, you heard the soft sobbing, and realized it was your own voice.

you snapped back to reality, the image before you rendering you frozen. the man’s face was now reduced to a pulp, and his gurgling seemed to finally cease. you slowly got up from your position, the stench of blood making you want to puke all over yourself as you took a step back on your wobbly legs. what have you done?! you killed a man — no, you didn’t kill him, surely not! you practically fell back on your knees, searching for his pulse, neck, wrist, temples, wherever — nothing. there was nothing. you grasped your face in horror, before realizing your hands were all bloody.

you heaved, thinking — i’ve finally gone mad. yes, now you could say it with your whole chest — you were insane. a lunatic. you killed him, and for what? because he said something mean? because you were sad, and angry?

the promise you made to yourself earlier — to prevail your own death, and stay in Okhema, by Mydei’s side — it all seemed so distant now. there is no changing of fate. it’s just a stupid thing to believe in, to make the fear of impending doom a little more bearable. you have to flee. you have to run away from this damned city, but first you needed to see him, you had to, else you’d crawl back here at the most unexpected moment, and become a prisoner for the rest of your life.

you pulled yourself up, sprinting towards the oh-so familiar house. when you got there, you were completely out of breath, banging on the door as tears streamed down your face, washing away the dried blood. he wasn’t opening. you bent down to pull the pocket knife out of your shoe, extending the blade with your trembling hands, and you attempted to shove it into the lock, because you had to break in somehow, and you cherished Mydei too much to shatter one of his windows. you struggled to see what you were doing, tears and the darkness of the night obscuring your vision. your shaky palm accidentally slipped to the side, and you felt the knife rip through the skin on your thumb. you gritted your teeth, fighting back the howl of pain as you finally managed to force the blade into the lock, twisting it open.

you stumbled inside, shutting the door, and you instantly walked into the bathroom, turning on one of the lights. you let the water run in the sink as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, absolutely horrified to see your face. it was smeared with blood, your hair disheveled, and your eyes red from crying. you quickly began scrubbing yourself, tears still falling down as you frantically tried to clean everything away. the traces of your crime gradually dissolved along with water, pinkish stains swirling down in the drain. you finally ceased your efforts, giving up on your nails when the blood didn’t want to disappear.

you dried yourself with a towel, and you turned off the light, practically running to Mydei’s bedroom. you stopped before the door, trying to open them carefully, as you didn’t want to scare him, in case he was still asleep — and he probably was, looking at the way he didn’t come down to check out the commotion you made a few minutes earlier. you stepped inside, watching his resting form, his breaths so quiet it managed to calm you down, if only so slightly.

you leaned over the man, gently trying to lie down next to him. he didn’t have to wake up — maybe it would be better if he didn’t. you settled yourself, observing his face, and you thought it looked more innocent than ever. he’ll be better off without you in his life. someone of such golden heart shouldn’t associate themselves with a criminalist, let alone a murderer — neither should your other friends, but you doubted you’d be able to say goodbye to them too.

your breath trembled a bit too loudly, and Mydei opened his eyes, at first slowly, still dazed by his sleepy state — then, when he recognized you, his eyelids shoot wide, and he gasped in sudden surprise, instinctively jumping back. "[name]? what—"

"i’m sorry if i scared you, Mydei." you tried to smile at him, pretending to be happy as always, but the crack in your voice seemed to betray you. you sniffled, quickly reaching to wipe your eyes.

"[name], in the gods’ name, how—" he forced out, his mind still only half-awake, "how? how did you manage to get inside, and what’re you doing in my bed?" he questioned, lifting himself up on his elbows. "and why are you crying?"

you shook your head, reaching for his golden hair, and lacing your fingers through them. "i’m sorry. i just— i got lonely, you see, and…" you paused, taking a big breath, "i broke in. i swear i didn’t do anything, your lock is still intact, so don’t worry."

"that’s not what i’m worried about!" he retaliated, but your touch seemed to soothe his nerves, coaxing him into lying back down. "you break into my house, you’re crying, it’s the middle of the night — do you see what’s the issue here?”

"i’m sorry." you apologized once again, retracting your hand, afraid he was angry at you. he should be.

he finally sighted with resignation, pulling you closer, and gently wiping the tears away from your downcast eyes. he didn’t know what was going on with you — but from the look of things, i’d be better not to ask now. you held back a sob, wishing you could reverse the time, or everything that happened was just an extremely realistic, intricate nightmare, and soon you’d wake up — but this was your current reality, still.

"what happened to your hand?" he asked, his vision locking on your thumb, constantly bleeding onto the sheets. you shrugged, not wanting to explain how erratically you jabbed your pocket knife at his lock, accidentally stabbing yourself in the process of your struggles. "i’ll go fetch the bandages, you should wait—"

you grabbed his wrist, holding him in place. "no, Mydei. please, stay with me now. we’ll take care of it in the morning, alright?" you almost begged, thinking that if he went away now, he’d never go back. it was your last few moments together — before dawn, you’ll have to flee — and so, you couldn’t imagine being separated from him for even a second.

the man nodded unsurely, his lips pulled into a thin line as he was trying not to frown. there was something wrong, so obviously wrong, yet you refused to elaborate, so he kept silent. Mydei’s hand petted your head, and you kept on wiping your tears, alarm ringing loudly somewhere in the back of your mind, urging you to either hold onto him with your dear life, or bolt through the door and never look back.

after a longer while, he finally spoke. “can you tell me why are you crying, [name]?"

you shuddered, your breath hitching. you could never tell him. "i just got sad all of the sudden," you feigned a giggle, though it didn’t sound like one, "i don’t know what’s wrong with me, i’m sorry."

Mydei seemed to contemplate your words, as if he didn’t believe you at all, but he ultimately didn’t point your lie out. "alright. i just hope you didn’t do anything foolish." he murmured, his palm moving onto your back, resting between the shoulder blades.

you swallowed thickly, feeling the dread gnaw at every fiber of your being. "and… and what if i did? what if i did something so utterly wrong and awful— would you still love me, then?"

he smiled at you, and it reminded you of an unbearably hot and endless summer. his eyes crinkled in the corners, and he pushed you into himself, placing a chaste kiss on your temple. "i’m not sure if you’re aware," he began, a little hesitant, "but you’ve been doing wrong things ever since we met. well — i’m not saying you’re a bad person, but scamming people for four years straight is not the most righteous thing to do."

you huffed, your nerves eased by the amused lilt of his voice. "and?"

"and i’ve never deemed it as a reason to stop loving you. you’re much more than that, [name]."

but mere fraud could never compare to your biggest sin. you sighed, knowing he’ll hate you endlessly.

"that’s… good. thank you." you said, even though the words were barely consoling. "what do you want to do tomorrow?"

"tomorrow?" he mused, his fingers running up and down your spine, "we’ll have to move some of your things over to my house. did you pack already?"

"no, not yet." you replied truthfully.

"that’s fine, i’ll help you. what else shall we do?"

"i want to go buy ingredients, and then we’ll bake a strawberry cake." you decided, lies easily slipping off your tongue, as you imagined the conversation was completely honest, and nothing bad ever happened. in the morning, you’ll go shopping, holding onto the man’s palm, and you will make the best cake of your lives. after you’re done eating, Mydei will help you move your stuff, effortlessly tugging the two heavy suitcases behind, filled with all your trinkets and clothes that you sold so long ago.

"sounds good to me. i’ve been craving strawberries for some time."

"and after that, i want to lie down on the couch and do nothing."

that evoked a quiet chuckle out of him, and you felt the sound reverberate through his chest. "if that’s what you want, then so be it."

you smiled to yourself, your eyelids fluttering shut. yes, it was good to pretend for now. tomorrow, when Mydei wakes up, he will find out about everything, but you’ll be already gone — he won’t lament, nor grieve your loss. he’ll only think to himself that it’s a good thing you left, and eventually, he’ll forget.

but did you want him to?

you felt something terrible squeeze at your throat, and you had to steel your resolve, else you’d start to cry again. you didn’t want him to forget about you nor all the things you both did, ever. you didn’t want to die. you still had so much to see, and to experience, and taste — your relationship with him only began, and it was going so well — why did you have to ruin it? why do you always have to wreak devastation? why did you have to take that route, instead of just staying home? why did your fists met with that man’s face?

you could ask yourself — why do bad things happen to good people? why did Mydei have to meet you? why did he have to fall for someone of your nature? why are you allowing his hands to caress you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world? won’t his fingers become stained with blood, too?

why did your Pa have to die, while you survived?

your breath shuddered, and then you thought that your premature death is a fair punishment for all your deeds. the gods aren’t cruel — they’re simply all-seeing. it’s better to eradicate the problem before it spreads its disease to others.

still, you were alive, and you wanted to strive more. you didn’t want to throw your life away, and yet it happened. it seems that we, humans, truly hold no control over our existences. it’s inevitable.

your gaze flickered over to the clock, its face dimly illuminated by the moon outside. a little after two in the morning. you will have to get up in one hour. if Mydei wakes up, stirred conscious by your movements, what will you say to him? that you’re going to the bathroom — most likely — not to worry, you’ll be back soon.

you sighed morosely, starting to count down the very seconds. one, two, three, four, five. you’ll love him always. time was nothing.

when the clock struck three, a hollow weight settled in your chest, sinking deep into your stomach. you forced yourself upright, your fingers clutching the sheets with desperation, as if holding onto anything could make you stay. you thought you had already cried all of your tears, none falling from your eyes as hollow emptiness filled you.

you leaned over Mydei, letting your gaze trace the contours of his face, memorizing every delicate feature, etching his peaceful expression into the depths of your mind, so that you wouldn’t forget. how long did you linger there? a minute? an eternity? you wouldn’t know. if you could, you’d remain by his side forever, frozen in a picture, unmoving.

at last, you pressed a gentle kiss to his brow, a final act of goodbye. he would go on — the crown prince of Kremnos, destined for great future. you only wished fate had been more merciful, allowing you to be there for him, through every hardship, and every triumph. but time wasn’t working in your favor as it urged you to get up, treading over the floor with utmost care, afraid that if you made any kind of sound, he’d wake up. you looked around his house — the kitchen, living room, halls. you’ll never return here.

all before you would soon turn into a memory, engraved somewhere deep. you’ll leave, and then most likely slip back into crime — mugging, thieving, street fights, the loud gunshots, and the taste of blood residing on your teeth, dripping quickly from your busted lips and gums. you’ll have to soak in the rain, your coat barely obscuring you from the wet weather as your feral eyes of a hunted animal trailed over some unsuspecting people, wondering what their wallets have to offer. you’ll sit by the gutter, counting how much money you have left, praying it’ll last you until the next day. your calves will burn constantly, and you won’t taste pancakes, or eclairs ever again.

but gods, wasn’t that still more merciful than the guards shoving you to the ground, binding your wrists in cuffs, pushing you into the cell, and shutting the grates before you’d manage to get back on your feet? surely, because you’d rather have to suffer, and remain free, instead of looking up at the blue sky from behind the bars. maybe one day, you’ll grow wings and return to Okhema, observing the small silhouettes of people traversing the streets. you’ll see Mydei, and Phainon, and all of your other friends — talking about something trivial, their mouths smiling as they kept on laughing, and their voices wouldn’t reach you. you’ll cease to exist to them.

it was then, as you stepped towards the door, that you thought of writing a letter. you doubted it will be of any use, but perhaps it’ll give others some closure about your whereabouts, assuring them you won’t be returning. you quickly glanced out of the window, checking if anyone was there — nothing. you were safe, for now, so you quietly rummaged through Mydei’s belongings, searching for a piece of paper along with a pen. finally, you leaned over the table, squinting your eyes as you tried to start.

you rarely had anything meaningful on your tongue, and now that your life seemed to lose its point, it was especially tough to come up with anything. you glanced at your hand, holding the pen — the exact same size, wound across the thumb present. you huffed out a humorless laugh, coming to a conclusion that fate was really inescapable. oh, how could you ever think it was in the first place? humans are phenomenally, genuinely stupid creatures. nothing will change that — they are gullible, and cruel, and loving, and they think they can be the blacksmiths of their own destiny, bending the gods’ will to their liking, just like they do with scalding iron. perhaps that’s why they are so fascinating.

you threw the paper on the countertop’s surface as you finished writing, and walked out the door, shutting it loudly behind you.

my dear Mydeimos,

i regret that our parting must happen this way, and even more so that i must say goodbye to you through a letter. i suspect you’ll struggle to make sense of my handwriting, because the clock now indicates half past three, and i cannot see well, as it’s still dark outside. soon, i will leave home, and Okhema — for good.

my house is no longer mine nor should anyone expect my return. i sold my belongings long ago, so you needn’t worry about that.

by the time you read this, you may already know of my crime. if not, you will soon, and for that, too, i am sorry. i will not offer excuses, as there are none to be made, and that is also the reason why i decided to flee. a brief thought urged me to stay — my father always said running is for cowards. and i am a coward — yes, i am. but i would rather perish in some ditch than waste away in a cell for the rest of my days. you know me well enough to understand that, i believe.

still, despite the fact that those few past months were filled with hardships, i cannot say my life here was without joy. for that, i am grateful. it was an honor to live in this place, to know you, to witness the soul of the holy city with my own eyes. i would have stayed forever, if not for what happened.

but what have i left behind, if not disorder and chaos? i constantly deceived others for a living, selling false visions to those desperate enough to believe in them. ironically, i do, truly, possess clairvoyance. the only thing revealed to me, which stuck to my conscience throughout all the years of my life, was my own death. i’ve never told anyone about this. most likely, you’ll be the first and last to know. and so, if it puts your mind at ease, know this — i do not have long.

what a shame, that it had to end like this. if i could turn back time, i would. i would fix my mistakes, undo all the harm i have brought. alas, it simply doesn’t work like that. i pray that maybe, just maybe, there’s a place for us in another life, where you’d meet me, and my body would no longer reek of horror.

i have been a burden to many, but to you most of all. i am endlessly sorry. even so, i will cherish these four years we spent together until my last breath, no matter what you may think of me. but you, Mydei, must not. do not seek me. do not think of me. and if you would grant me one final kindness — forget me.

[name].

[muqingslover]

[ Back on my doomed childhood boys agenda yippieeee!! This one is a more long kinda fic style of my take on their relationship! For the people who are new: I'm basically just exploring their vulnerability and dynamic with each other bc I think it's neat!

I'll be splitting this one into two parts that I plan on posting as soon as im done proofreading \⁠(⁠๑⁠╹⁠◡⁠╹⁠๑⁠)⁠ﾉ FYI: First part is more centered around Caleb and the next one around Zayne!

Also! Please give me tag name ideas specifically for these posts!! ]

-----------------------------❆❦❆❦⁠--------------------------

Zayne and Caleb have a complicated relationship. It wasn't hard to realize if anyone was to spend more than ten minutes in the same room as them.

You were their everything; Their first love, their most precious person and the one they'd both do anything for. They wanted nothing more than to make sure you were happy and safe regardless of where you were.

That fact soon extended into looking out for each other so you never needed to worry about either of them. Or well, that's how it started as anyway.

Caleb sometimes got into fights without your knowledge to protect you from the neighborhood troublemakers that wanted to bully you. It wasn't a big deal, really. But, during that time, he wasn't the biggest or the strongest and naturally he came out looking a bit rough.

"Again?" Zayne sighed when he found the other sitting near your house like a watch dog, looking all bruised up and disheveled. He expected this 'phase' of his to naturally pass as they grew older, but it didn't quite fully go away. Well, nothing that involved you ever simply disappeared with Caleb.

"Piss off." He huffed roughly as he wiped the blood from his split lip and crossed his arms over his chest like he was a pouty child instead of an edgy teen. Zayne was always amazed by the stark contrast of how he acted when you weren't around— The boarding on childish sulking, unmeasured words, constant grumpy or simply uninterested look on his face and his boyish, petty behavior. Part of him couldn't begin to imagine how exhausting it must be to always be putting on an act in front of someone he loves, to repress everything about who he is for the sake of being flawless.

"Let me take a look." He sat next to him as he reached into his bag for some of the emergency supplies he carried with him exactly for situations such as these. In the beginning there was a lot of "acting tough" from Caleb but by bringing up the fact you would be very upset if you were to find out the real reason as to why he was all beaten up he quickly piped down. This was basically routine now— The way Zayne would receive nasty glares because the alcohol stung, the grumbles about how this was nothing "compared to the other guys" and how the other refused to meet his eyes while he patched up the small wounds that littered his skin.

Caleb found...uncomfortable how he was always so earnest. Zayne always had that same "dumb, dead fish" look on his face and yet he was so....Genuine. More than he will ever get to be. His sharp, green eyes seemed to peel away each layer that he so carefully kept wrapped around himself to stay hidden from the world, hidden from you, laying him bare effortlessly and he didn't like that. No, he hated it.

After all, to Caleb, love is about being everything you want and more. It's about twisting himself into knots for your comfort. It's about living and dying for you without hesitation because nothing else, not even himself, matters if you're by his side. He will be who you need him to be and if that means throwing away who he truly is then he will do it gladly.

Still, sometimes, only sometimes, his mind would beg for a break. Only a small moment of respite where he didn't have to overthink about each of the expressions he made or triple check his actions.

Zayne never needed to find out that when he was by his side it was as if he could really breathe. It was just...easy. He didn't expect anything from him nor did Caleb want to impress the other in any way. Sure, he wanted to prove he was better than that "four eyes" was for you, but he never felt the desperate need to keep that facade he kept with you when it was just them. Nothing between them felt rehearsed or forced, not even when they lent each other a hand. How can someone Caleb dislikes so much bring him such peace remains to this day a mystery to him.

[hihomeghere]

Nightmare | Arthur Morgan x f!reader x Charles Smith

Summary : Arthur has a recurring nightmare. Part of the series Baptized by Fire

Word count : 3k

Warnings/tags : Mention of death, slight panic attack for Arthur, talk of dead child (Isaac), feelings of inadequacy, poly relationship, Arthur morgan x reader x Charles smith, reader has female gentalia and menstruates, talk of children and pregnancy, talk of natural contraception

this will be the last chapter in Spring! This is my favorite that I've written for these three so far, so if you enjoyed it please let me know!

divider by @saradika

Arthur knew this trail by heart, the map in his satchel long forgotten as he led Boadicea along it. The sun peeked through the trees, golden rays guiding him through the spotlights from above. He tipped his hat a little lower on his face, shielding his eyes from the rays. 

Birds raised their melodious voices into a natural chorus, accompanied by Boadicea’s hooves clopping along the dirt path. A breeze rustled through the leaves, pulling his attention away from the path for only a moment. Arthur’s heart felt light, as though whatever weight had been pulling him down was lifted. A sense of anticipation built in him the longer he rode. He wanted to set his heels in Boadicea’s side, urging the horse into a sprint, but he refrained. Letting her easy trot take him along. He emerged from the canopy of trees, leaving his sanctuary from the blistering heat. 

Still, he would endure whatever Mother Nature sent his way. There was nothing that could damper his spirits today. He was going to see them today. The thought sent a flutter through his stomach, his hands tightening around the reins. The worn leathering creaking under his hands. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, dryer than ever under the smoldering sun. 

The fauna felt it too, the further he ventured the more barren it became. The wildflowers and ferns, wilted and yellowed against the harsh conditions. Arthur felt sweat run down his temple, wiping the salty streak away from his face.

Jesus, it was hot. 

That trickle had now turned into rivulets, pouring off of him the longer he rode. He raised his eyes, catching the waves of heat as they danced on the horizon. Turning the sky and earth into a watercolor, the two bleeding into each other. 

He pulled out his handkerchief, wiping it haphazardly across his face. Boadicea’s hooves crushed the scorched dirt beneath them, although all Arthur cared about was in front of them. 

His life was ahead, in that tiny house. Those tiny fingers and toes, that mop of sandy brown hair much like his own. Her warm and welcoming smile, never changing no matter how long his sorry ass had been gone. 

He had made up his mind, the pack on Boadicea’s rump confirming it. This time, this time, he was staying. 

No more running, no more being a damn coward. He was gonna own up to his actions, not mistakes, never a mistake. The ruby ring weighing down his pocket, never straying far from his mind. He would do it right, after being wrong for this many goddamn years he could do right by her. He could be happy with her.

Despite the sweltering heat, damn near stealing the breath out of his lungs with every breath, he smiled.

And finally, finally, the house came into view. He couldn’t help himself, digging his heel into her side with a resounding ‘hyah’, they raced towards the house. 

Only they didn’t make it far before he saw the graves.

His stomach sank like a rock, the world fading away as his eyes fell upon the two crosses. He urged her to go faster, as though that would clear the image like a mirage. He slung his legs over her back, his knees almost buckling as he hit the ground. 

He smacked his lips together, all the moisture sucked out of his body, he didn’t know if it was from the sun or… this. Two graves. 

He raced towards the small house, tears clouding his vision. He hastily wiped them away, swallowing past the growing lump in his throat. 

But this wasn’t right. It wasn’t like before, the graves… they weren’t packed with dirt. They were open, and instead of Eliza and Isaac’s bodies buried deep in the ground, it was you and Charles. 

“No.” He whispered, his voice shaking as he dropped to his knees. “No- no, no, no.” He repeated as though his words could turn back time. Could undo what monstrosity had been done to the two of you. His heart thudded against his ribs as he jumped into one of the graves. He gathered you in his arms. “C’mon sweetheart- c’mon wake up. Open- open those pretty eyes f’me.” He babbled, pleading for you to look up at him. His hand gripped your hip, feeling the ice cold flesh under your blue dress, now stained with dirt. It was one of his favorites. He held your lifeless body, his hand brushing against your stomach. It was like he was shot, the air knocked out of his lungs as he felt what was obviously a bump. Your stomach rounded with a child, their child. He drug himself out of the grave, pulling you with him. He laid you down on the ground, his body pulled towards Charles, his body much heavier and bulkier than yours, but he still managed. His eyes moved from you to Charles, bile held behind his clamped jaws until he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Bracing himself on his knees as he emptied his stomach onto the grass. Tears streamed down his face, his nose running like a spigot. How damn pathetic he looked was the last thing on his mind. 

You looked so peaceful, like you were only sleeping. His angels, just sleeping, that’s all. 

But the cold chill of your bodies brought him back to reality. He clasped Charles hand in his own, pressing kisses to his palm as he dragged you into his lap.

He had failed again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ He cried, his chest constricting painfully with each ragged breath. “I love you, I’m sorry!”

Arthur woke with a start, his heart pounding as he sat up in bed. He hadn’t had that dream in a while. Charles' warm back radiated heat to one side of him, while you slept curled up on the other. He panted, running his hand down his face as he tried to gain control over his sporadic breathing. He didn’t need to wrack his brain to figure out why his subconscious had pulled it forward.

You were late. It wasn’t something that didn’t need to be spoken out loud to be known. You were quite regular with your monthlies, sometimes they were a day later or perhaps a day earlier. But never for three days.

They were always prepared. Extra sheets set out on the trunk at the end of the bed. In case the red devil came when you were sleeping. Charles would have tea ready to be brewed once the cramps started in your lower belly. The cloths you used were cleaned and laid out, ready for use, along with your sanitary belt. 

But you hadn’t needed any of them yet. 

He supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised, him and Charles were always spilling into you. But only on the so called ‘safe’ days. Arthur still didn’t quite understand how there were days of the month you weren’t ‘fertile’. Although he wasn’t well versed in the way women’s bodies worked despite having gotten Eliza pregnant all those years ago.

But it didn’t matter to him, you said you couldn’t get pregnant on certain days, so he believed you. So why the hell were you late?

Sure, you and Charles had times where Arthur didn’t join you. It didn’t matter, he trusted the two of you. There were times when it was just him and Charles, or just him and you.

But he didn’t believe that you’d go behind his back trying to get pregnant without at least talking to him about it first. 

It was moments like this that the little bug began to whisper in Arthur’s ear. Telling him he didn’t belong with the two of you, that he was only bringing you two down, that you’d both be better off without him, that you didn’t need him.

Normally a kiss from Charles or your arms wrapped around his waist would silence this little bug, but this one couldn’t seem to be quieted. 

He groaned, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. You shifted, seemingly disturbed by the noise. You swung your leg up onto his hip, pressing yourself against him. Instinctively he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. He felt something against his thigh as you cuddled up against him. Something wet.

Arthur nudged Charles, pushing the bigger man’s shoulder. 

“Hm?” Charles mumbled, looking over his shoulder at Arthur. His eyes squinted in the low light of the dawn. 

“Reckon, we're gonna need to change the sheets.” He said softly, looking back down at you. Charles nodded, immediately getting out of bed. Arthur shook your shoulder, gently rousing you from your sleep.

“C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you up.” He said softly, rising from the middle of the bed. Charles was lighting the oil lamp on the bedside table, casting a golden glow over the three of you.

You quickly realized what was happening. A low sigh leaving your lips as you started to strip out of your blood stained nightgown and bloomers. Arthur went into the main room, grabbing a wash rag from the kitchen. He wet the cloth in the basin before returning to the bedroom. Charles pressed a kiss to your crown as he moved to the other side of the bed, collecting the sheets. Arthur handed you the rag, letting you clean your thighs off before you put on your sanitary belt.

He headed back into the main room, working on getting the fire going before you eventually made your way out to join him. 

As he added the logs to the hearth, he couldn’t get the image of you and Charles’ lifeless bodies out of his head. The almost waxy look of your skin, the unmistakable bump under your dress… He shook his head, trying to clear the image as he sat down in his chair.

You shuffled out of the bedroom, Charles poncho falling to your thighs. You curled up on his lap, resting your head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around your waist, feeling your body heat under his fingertips. So unlike his nightmare, you were alive, both you and Charles were alive. 

The only sound was the gentle creak of the rocking chair and the light crackle from the fire. But it wasn’t tense or awkward, just comfortable.

Charles came out of the bedroom, laying the sheets in the basin to soak. He sat down on the identical rocking chair, rubbing his eyes as he let out a yawn.

“What woke you up?” He asked, looking over at Arthur. Of course he would ask that.

“Nothing.” He mumbled, brushing his fingers through your hair. He knew he had given himself away almost immediately. You stiffened just slightly before you lifted your head off his chest, sparing a glance at Charles. 

He understood what you meant now. When you had first come to live with him and Charles you would complain about the ‘silent’ conversations that were had. Arthur was now on the outside of one of these conversations. 

“Arthur, are you alright honey?” You asked looking back at him.

God damn that sweet honeyed voice, how could he ever lie to you? Not that he was the best liar anyway, not when you and Charles could read him like a damn book. 

“You know how I was almost married before.” He asked, his fingers running over the ruby ring resting on your finger. 

“To Mary.” You nodded, furrowing your brows as you tried to figure out where he was going with this. 

“After she… after she called it off there was another girl. She- she was young and I was a fool.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I got her pregnant.” He didn’t miss the way your eyebrows shot up. “She had Isaac my- my boy. I’d visit when I could but each time I was gone it just- just felt like an eternity. Christ, he’d go from sitting to walking, babbling to talking. But I had the gang and I’d send her money, not that that counted for much.” He knew he was rattling on but he couldn’t help himself. “I was such a fool back then, still am in some ways I suppose. I was so focused on the gang, on Dutch…” He trailed off, anger and guilt burning deep in his belly, only cooled by the gentle touch of your palm on his chest. “One day I rode out there and-“ He cut himself off, the lump in his throat growing too large to speak.

“Oh Arthur,” You said softly, running your thumb over his cheek. “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t deserve to be comforted, but he couldn’t bear to push you away.

“All over a few dollars.” He shook his head, “I didn’t know the first thing about being a father and- I doubt I’d be any better now.” He muttered, looking into the low burning flames. 

“Did you know?” You asked Charles, raising your head to look at him. He nodded, moving his gaze back to the fire.

“I… I used to dream of them, finding the graves…” His voice broke as he fought to speak, “But this time it- wasn’t them. It- it was you n’ Charles.” He saw Charles wince out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh honey.” You sighed, his words tugging at your heart strings, “Honey it’s okay, it’s okay.” You said cupping his cheek, running your thumb over his cheekbone. Brushing away any stray tears. “What happened was a tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault-“

“If I had been there-“ He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head, “I could’ve saved them. If I would’ve done right by them they’d still be alive.” He choked back a sob. 

“Arthur-“ Charles sighed looking over at the two of you.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling his head to your breast. He melted in your embrace, holding onto you like you would disappear into thin air if he let go. He listened to the thump of your heart against his ear, his tears slowly drying as he took in a few shuddering breaths.

How the hell did he manage to find two of the most understanding people in the world, and how did he make them both fall in love with someone like him?

The awful part was he was disappointed when you started to bleed. He wanted it. He wanted to see you grow round with Charles and his baby. To feel the babe shift and kick under your skin. To watch as you grew into a mother, he knew you’d be perfect. To see Charles be a father. To have a second chance at what he missed with Eliza and Isaac, to make them proud.

But he didn’t deserve it.

“We’ll be careful Arthur.” You said, petting his hair, “We’ll just keep track of the days and if you’re really worried we don’t have to-“

“I don’t want to be careful.” He huffed, pulling away from you. He got to his feet, pacing in front of the fireplace. “I don’t want to be careful I want-“ He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he probably looked like a fool. “I want- I want…” He trailed off, biting his lip as he shook his head.

“Arthur?” Charles asked, his deep timbre voice setting his blood ablaze.

“I’m making a damn fool of myself.” He grumbled, running his hand down his face.

“Arthur.” You stopped him, grabbing the hand that had been clenched into a fist at his side. “If… if having a- a family- is something you want,” You started slowly, looking over at Charles before you continued, “We want it too.” You said, running your thumb over his knuckles.

“You mean it?” He asked breathlessly, looking from you to Charles.

“Yeah.” Charles nodded, an easy smile on his plump lips. Arthur looked between the two of you, seemingly stunned for a few moments before he pulled you towards him. His hand grasped at Charles' shirt before he too was pulled into Arthur's embrace. 

“Yer serious?” Arthur asked, his voice slightly muffled as he pressed his face into Charles' neck.

“We’re serious honey.” You said wrapping your arms around the two of them. “I mean, it ain’t no secret that Charles has wanted to see me in that way.” You giggled. Charles let out an amused huff, shaking his head. “Just didn’t know you wanted it too.” You hummed, moving back to kiss his cheek.

“I’m a lucky son of a bitch.” Arthur said, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he looked from you to Charles. The loves of his life, here in his arms, agreeing to start a family.

“We’re pretty lucky too, cowboy.” Charles chuckled, squeezing your waist before pressing his lips to Arthur’s, “Now I’m going back to bed, and I think you all should join me.” He said with a yawn.

“What do you say honey?” You asked, leaning your head on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed.” He nodded, letting you and Charles walk him back to bed.

Arthur fell asleep, tucked in between you and Charles.

He dreamt of Boadicea, riding her along the dirt road. His heart in his throat as he watched the door open, Isaac’s sandy brown hair flying in the wind as he raced towards him. Arthur jumped down from her back, his arms flung wide as he caught him in his embrace. Through tearful eyes he looked up towards the house. Eliza stood on the porch, her warm gaze finding him. From the inside of the house you and Charles walk out, his arm around your waist. That pretty little blue dress hugging your figure as Charles cups your belly.

“C’mon pa!” Isaac said in that sweet boyish voice, tugging on his hand as he led Arthur to the house.

He never had that dream again.

Tag list :

@photo1030 , @emerald-ranch @highlandhour , @buffkirby2020 , @esquilone , @cyb3rsx , @whalecage , @idekraeven , @calcarius445 , @heloixe , @heron-feathers , @bluebxrrxl , @youngwhisperstree , @snoorio , @punctatum

[kooklovee]

HOLD ON TO ME (m) - JJK

Your husband forgets your second anniversary. What starts as disappointment and heartbreak soon spirals into doubt—about your love, your marriage, and whether he even sees you anymore. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, he’s willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered. Can he make it up to you, or is it already too late?

Pairing - CeoHusband!Jungkook x Wife!Reader

Genre - 18+, established relationship au, angst, fluff, smut, some more angst MDNI

ONESHOT - 11k words

Warnings - angsty ride, hurt/comfort, workaholic Jungkook, miscommunication, emotional distress, crying, deep emotional intimacy, slow build, Jungkook is an idiot but trust me he's sweet alright😭, Explicit smut- unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom Jk, nipple play, slow & passionate sex, lots of kissing, love-making, creampie, pet names <3, praises, happy ending (sad ending's not in my veins🫸)

a/n- snsjkqkw It's my first fic🥹 do let me know your thoughts on it <3 n consider a reblog if you like it, thank you for reading! 🫶

Masterlist

---------------------------------------------------

The soft glow of the overhead light casts long shadows across the dining room, but its warmth does nothing to chase away the cold emptiness creeping into your chest. You sit in one of the dining chairs, fingers idly tracing the gold band on your ring finger—the once-familiar weight of it feeling heavier than ever. The house is silent, except for the distant hum of the city beyond the windows.

Jungkook is late. Again.

You’ve lost count of how many nights have passed like this—curled up alone in bed, the space beside you growing colder with each passing hour. He always has a reason. A meeting that ran overtime, a last-minute project, something urgent that demands his attention more than you do. And you’ve always understood. Until now.

Your second anniversary is just around the corner, and for the first time in weeks, you have something to look forward to. Something that, surely, he wouldn’t forget.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched dinner on the table. It’s the third time this week you’ve set two plates, only to eat alone. The food has long gone cold, but you still can’t bring yourself to clear it away. Some foolish, desperate part of you still hopes Jungkook will walk through the door, pulling you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin.

But the door stays closed. Your phone stays silent.

You check the time—almost midnight.

He used to call. Even when he was busy, he always found a way to let you know he was thinking about you. A quick text. A voice note. Something. Now, hours pass without a word, and you’re left wondering when exactly you started feeling like a ghost in your own marriage.

You clench your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This isn’t you. You don’t doubt him. You don’t overthink things. But these days, love feels a lot like waiting, and waiting feels a lot like breaking.

And you’re so damn tired of breaking.

You close your eyes, trying to remember the Jungkook from before—before work took over, before the distance set in. The man who, despite his quiet nature, always found a way to make you feel cherished. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his words had always carried weight. Small, simple confessions once meant everything. Now, silence is all you get.

It wasn’t always easy with Jungkook. Back in college, he was cold, reserved, a storm you could never quite predict. But little by little, he let you in. His love had been careful, deliberate—whispered promises in the dark, stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing against yours like a secret only the two of you understood.

And now, it feels like you’re losing him.

The thought sends a sharp ache through your chest. You tell yourself it’s just work, that the weight of being CEO is heavier than either of you expected. That he still loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often.

But love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

The clock hits midnight.

You don’t know what you were expecting. A text? A call? Maybe the sound of the front door unlocking, Jungkook stepping in, exhausted but still managing to hold you close?

But there’s nothing.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the small cake sitting on the dining table, the frosting slightly uneven, the decorations a little clumsy. You were never a good cook—Jungkook knew that better than anyone. But in the early days of your marriage, you had tried. Because back then, cooking together had been something special. Flour-dusted fingertips, shared laughter over burnt pancakes, stolen kisses between stirring batter.

So tonight, with him too busy and too stressed, you thought a quiet, cozy celebration would be enough. Something small, something just for the two of you.

But now, looking at the untouched dinner, the unlit candle, and the cake that no longer seems worth eating, you realize how foolish that hope was.

You glance at your phone—no messages, no missed calls.

You put away the plates. You put the cake in the fridge, even though you know it’ll probably stay there, forgotten.

And then you crawl into bed alone, wrapping your arms around yourself because if Jungkook won’t hold you, who else will?

-----------------------

You stir, feeling the warmth of an arm lazily draped around your stomach. The weight is familiar, grounding, and for a moment, it feels like everything is okay.

Jungkook is still asleep. Shirtless, his toned chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his face soft in the morning light. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his skin, and his lips—parted just slightly—make him look so much younger, so much more at peace.

You take your time looking at him, memorizing the exhaustion on his face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. He must’ve come home late—so late that you hadn’t even heard him.

Still, he’s here. Beside you. And that alone is enough to make something flicker in your chest.

Maybe he’s planned to stay home today. Maybe he remembers.

You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft, loving kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like it used to.

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent, his brows knitting slightly before relaxing again. A small, sleepy noise escapes him, and the sound makes you giggle softly.

He stirs, his grip on your waist tightening just a little before his lashes flutter open. His dark eyes, still hazy with sleep, land on you, and for a second, there’s nothing but quiet warmth in them.

"You're up early," he murmurs, his voice thick with drowsiness. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your waist, a touch so familiar yet so foreign all at once.

You smile, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't sleep much," you admit softly.

Jungkook hums in response, his eyes falling shut again for a moment. He nuzzles into the pillow, his grip on you still firm like he has no intention of letting you go. And for a brief, fragile second, the weight of last night, of the distance, of everything, seems to disappear.

Maybe he really did plan to stay home today. Maybe this morning means something.

Your heart clenches with the smallest trace of hope.

Jungkook lets out a long breath and shifts onto his back, stretching his arms above his head before blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His warmth leaves your side, the air turning cold almost instantly.

You watch as his expression shifts, sleep slipping away as his screen lights up. His brows furrow, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Then, with barely a glance in your direction, he mutters, "Shit, I need to get to the office."

The hope you held onto so desperately?

Gone.

You blink, your mind scrambling to catch up.

Maybe he's kidding. Maybe this is just one of his teasing games, the kind where he acts all nonchalant just to catch you off guard later. That’s how it used to be—him pretending to forget something important, only to turn around and surprise you in a way that left you breathless.

So you wait.

You wait for the smirk to tug at his lips, for him to toss his phone aside and pull you into his arms. You wait for him to kiss you insane, to murmur a husky "Happy anniversary, baby," against your skin.

You wait for him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook swings his legs over the bed, rubbing a hand down his face before standing up. He moves through the motions—grabbing a fresh shirt from the dresser, checking his notifications again, already half-immersed in whatever work emergency is pulling him away.

The realization settles in, slow and suffocating. He’s not playing. He’s not pretending. He really forgot.

And with that, the last flicker of hope inside you dies.

-------------------------

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut barely registers in your mind. The faint rush of water follows soon after, but you’re still frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Jungkook was just moments ago.

Your fingers grip the sheets as you try to process it—try to make sense of the ache settling deep in your chest.

He forgot.

The thought circles endlessly, refusing to fade. It should be simple, just a mistake, an oversight, something easily fixed with an apology. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like another crack in something that’s already been fragile for weeks.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, the screen lighting up with messages from friends and family. Warm wishes, sweet texts—all reminders of the day that Jungkook should have been the first to acknowledge. And of course, they must have messaged him too.

But you know the answer before you even have to question it. Jungkook has two phones—one for work, one for personal use. And these days, his personal phone sits untouched, collecting dust somewhere in the house while his work phone never leaves his side.

Your throat tightens.

Even if someone did remind him, would he have even seen it? Would it have even mattered?

You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

Maybe you should say something. Maybe you should remind him.

But a part of you—one that you don’t want to acknowledge—wonders if it even matters anymore.

You push yourself up from the bed, the weight in your chest making it harder than it should be. You don’t want to sit here, waiting—waiting for him to remember, waiting for an apology that might never come.

So you move. Just as you step toward the bathroom, the shower turns off. The door opens a moment later, steam curling into the cool morning air as Jungkook steps out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest.

For a brief second, your eyes meet. He looks at you, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his expression unreadable. There’s no sign of realization, no flicker of guilt or hesitation. Just the same tired, distracted gaze you’ve been seeing for weeks.

You say nothing. Instead, you walk past him, entering the washroom to go about your usual routine—brushing your teeth, washing your face, anything to avoid the tightness in your throat.

The sound of the sink running is the only thing filling the silence between you.

By the time you step out of the washroom, Jungkook is already dressed for work. His tie is slightly loosened, one hand adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the other holds his ever-present work phone. He looks like he’s in a hurry, but that isn’t surprising. He’s been having breakfast at the office for weeks now—always rushing out, always too busy.

Still, you can’t grasp that he’s actually forgotten.

Some part of you still expects him to pause, to turn around and say something. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on his screen, scanning through emails like today is just another ordinary morning.

Your chest tightens. You need to look away before the emotions creeping up inside you spill over. So, you pretend.

You settle at the table, opening your laptop like it’s just another workday. Since you’ve been working from home for the past couple of months, this isn’t unusual—but today, it’s not about work. It’s about avoiding him. About keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble slightly.

If you act normal, maybe it’ll hurt less. Maybe you won’t break in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, if you pretend hard enough, you can fool yourself into believing it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Baby, can you help me with the tie?”

His voice is smooth, familiar—like every other morning before this one. Like today isn’t supposed to mean more.

You hesitate for half a second before standing up, walking toward him. Your fingers move automatically, looping the fabric, tightening the knot, straightening it against his crisp shirt. You should pull away the moment you’re done, return to your seat, to your laptop, to pretending like everything is fine.

But just as you step back, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist.

Before you can react, he tugs you closer, his warmth enveloping you as his large hand cups the side of your face, fingers splayed against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. His touch is tender, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours for a beat too long—like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, for the first time in days.

Then, he kisses you.

Slow, warm, lingering. Like he actually means it. Like he actually feels it.

“Need it for good luck,” he mumbles lovingly against your lips, his voice deep, hushed.

You blink up at him.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, offering a small smile. “Big deal with the Kims today.”

And just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your mind struggles to process, to understand how he can be like this—how he can kiss you like this and still not remember.

His mind is somewhere else. His thoughts, his focus—none of it is here. None of it is with you.

You force a smile, nodding wordlessly. Because what else is there to say?

------------------------

Jungkook moves around the house, gathering his things—his wallet, his keys. You stay where you are, settled on the couch with your laptop open, pretending to be busy, pretending that your heart isn’t sitting heavy in your chest.

Just as he’s about to leave, he steps toward you, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

Before you can even respond, he’s already halfway through the living room, his focus elsewhere, his steps hurried.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

You remember a time when things were different—when he used to whine, pout, and nudge you relentlessly if you didn’t say it back right away, just to tease him.

Flashback

The movie playing in the background had long been forgotten, the dialogue drowned out by the soft moans slipping from your lips. The purple neon glow cast dreamy hues across the living room, painting Jungkook’s skin in shades of violet as he moved above you.

His fingers laced tightly with yours, grip tightening slightly as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“J-Jungkook…” you moaned softly, nails digging into his hand.

He groaned against your neck, his breath hot, voice wrecked. “Fuck, baby…”

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure building to something uncontrollable. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, voice deep and rough, sending you tumbling over the edge.

You both unraveled together, gasping, shaking, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Jungkook pressed lazy, loving kisses all over your face, his lips brushing over your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. “You alright?” he whispered.

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. But then he just stared at you. A little too long. A little too intensely.

And then, barely above a whisper—like a secret meant only for you—he said, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you bit down on them, trying to contain your smile. He’d been saying it more often lately, slowly getting used to voicing what he felt.

But when you took a second too long to respond, he groaned dramatically, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like a kicked puppy.

“Say it back,” he grumbled.

“What?” you teased, laughing.

Jungkook huffed, then playfully bit down on your shoulder. Not hard—just enough to make you squeal.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice muffled against your skin.

Still giggling, you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I love you, you big baby.”

His grin was instant, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you even closer, like he could never get enough.

End of Flashback

Now, he just says it in passing—quick, thoughtless, already moving on.

The front door clicks shut, and just like that, Jungkook is gone.

You sit there, fingers motionless on your laptop’s keyboard as the weight of what just happened settles deep in your chest. He forgot. He kissed you, held you, told you he loved you—but none of it was because he remembered.

Is this what your relationship has become?

Work, work, work. Always work.

It’s not that you expect Jungkook to run behind you all the time, to ditch his responsibilities just to shower you with affection. Hell, you supported him through everything—through college, through late nights chasing his dreams, through every stressful moment leading up to him becoming CEO. You believed in him.

But what about your love? Your marriage? Communication?

You’ve been patient. Too patient—more understanding than any normal wife would be. And you know Jungkook. You know he loves you, would bring you the whole damn world if you asked. But then why—why are you beginning to question it all?

Jungkook stepped into the CEO position a few months ago. At first, things were fine. He handled it well, still made time for you. But then… everything became about work. Slowly, then all at once.

You can’t even remember the last time you had truly loving sex. Not that Jungkook doesn’t love you—but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s tension in his touch, frustration in the way he moves against you. It’s not the warmth, the desperation to be close to you like it used to be.

Is this how life is going to be from now on?

Sure, you could talk to Jungkook about your feelings. Tell him that the distance is starting to feel unbearable.

But when?

When he’s always checking his phone? When he barely even looks at you in the mornings? When you feel like you’re living with the CEO rather than your husband?

Well, happy anniversary to you.

------------------------

Your gaze drops to your hand, to the delicate band wrapped around your finger.

Your wedding ring.

For the first time in a long time, you really look at it—tracing the intricate details, the subtle shimmer in the morning light. And suddenly, it feels… heavier. Like you’re only noticing the weight of it now, as if it’s trying to remind you of everything it once meant.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your fingers slip beneath the band, sliding it off. It’s only when the cool air brushes against your bare skin that it hits you.

Your breath catches, eyes widening at the sight of the ring resting in your palm. You hadn’t even thought about it—you just did it. And now, staring at the small, beautiful piece of jewelry, something inside you cracks. Tears gather before you can stop them.

Jungkook had spent weeks searching for this ring. Dragged you to countless jewelry stores, analyzing every cut, every design, obsessed with finding the perfect one. And no matter how many times you had told him that anything would make you happy, he had refused to settle for less.

"It has to be special," he had murmured against your temple the day he finally found it, slipping it onto your finger with the softest smile. "Because you’re special."

A broken sob escapes your throat as you clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

How did you end up here?

-----------------------

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he watches the final contract details appear on his screen. The deal with the Kims had gone smoothly—better than expected, actually. It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, of relief.

Instead, he just drowns himself in more work.

The hours blur together, his coffee going cold beside him as he moves from one task to another. Another meeting. Another report. Another email. The same routine, the same cycle.

It’s later than evening when a familiar voice interrupts the quiet hum of his office.

“So you’re really here.”

Jungkook glances up, his fingers still typing as Taehyung steps into his cabin, arms crossed, a deep frown on his face.

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greets, barely looking away from his screen.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head playfully. “I really didn’t believe it when Yuna said you were still in your cabin.”

Jungkook blinks, confused. “Why?”

Taehyung gives him a look like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Y/N must really love you to let you work even today. My wife—dude, she would’ve killed me.”

Jungkook hums absentmindedly, still typing, still lost in work. “Mmm.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, watching him for a second before letting out a chuckle. “Anyways, you’re still an asshole for working on your anniversary.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. The realization crashes into him all at once—like a punch to the gut, like ice spreading through his veins.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s fingers hover motionless over the keyboard.

His mind races to catch up with Taehyung’s words, but they don’t make sense—not right away.

Anniversary?

No, that can’t be right. His brows furrow slightly as he glances at the date on his laptop screen.

November 22.

His wedding anniversary.

For a second, he just stares, as if the numbers might shift into something else, something that doesn’t prove what an absolute idiot he’s been. His heartbeat picks up, but his body doesn’t move. It’s like his brain refuses to register it fully, like if he doesn’t react, it won’t be real.

He’d forgotten.

Completely.

No hints, no reminders, no last-minute realization before heading out this morning. Just an entire day of emails, meetings, and a deal he had been so damn focused on that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for you.

His wife.

But—no, that can’t be right. He would’ve remembered. He should’ve remembered.

His jaw tightens, his mind scrambling for some excuse, some reason—anything—to justify how this happened. But no matter how many ways he tries to twist it, the truth doesn’t change.

You had expected something. Of course you had. And Jungkook had given you nothing.

Taehyung’s voice barely registers now, his casual teasing just background noise to the way Jungkook’s pulse is starting to hammer against his ribs.

His wife. His love. His anniversary.

And he had let it pass him by like it was just another day.

How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

Taehyung squints at Jungkook, waiting for some kind of reaction—any reaction. When Jungkook stays quiet, his fingers frozen over the keyboard, Taehyung lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, palms flat on Jungkook’s desk. “You just realized, didn’t you?”

Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Hyung, not now.”

“Oh, no. Especially now,” Taehyung shoots back, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Y/N must really love you to put up with this shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his mind already spiraling. He checks the time—late. The entire day is gone. He’s spent hours sitting here, drowning himself in work while you—

Fuck.

He pushes his chair back abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His coat is next, yanked from the back of his chair as he moves on instinct.

“Whoa, whoa.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “So now you care?”

Jungkook levels him with a glare, his voice lower, sharper. “Hyung.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in surrender, though his smirk lingers. “Go. Try not to get divorced on your second anniversary.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for another word. He’s already out the door, moving faster than he has all day.

And for the first time today, work is the last thing on his mind.

-----------------------

Jungkook’s mind races as he grips the steering wheel, his fingers tightening with every passing second. The city lights blur past, but all he can focus on is the suffocating weight in his chest.

How the fuck did he forget?

His phone vibrates in the passenger seat—probably another work email—but for the first time in months, he ignores it. Instead, he swipes through his contacts, pressing the first name that comes to mind.

“Pick up, pick up,” he mutters, jaw clenched as the dial tone rings.

“Yes, Mr.Jeon?”

“Yuna.” His voice is rushed, urgent. “I need you to get me something. Flowers. A gift. Something big—just—fuck, anything.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Now,” he snaps.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before his assistant hesitantly speaks again. “I…Mr.Jeon, it’s almost 10 p.m. Most places are closed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. Of course they are. Because he’s too fucking late.

His grip tightens around the wheel. “Just—check. Call whoever. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Understood,” Yuna replies before hanging up.

What the fuck is he even doing?

No expensive gift, no overpriced bouquet, no last-minute grand gesture can erase the fact that he forgot. That he spent an entire day drowning in work while you—his wife, his love, the woman who has stood by him through everything—sat at home, waiting for him to remember.

His hands clench the wheel.

How much had he missed? How much had he ignored?

And the worst part—the part that makes his pulse spike, that has panic clawing at his ribs—is the question he doesn’t have an answer to.

What if you’re done waiting?

Jungkook slams his foot down on the gas.

He’s not losing you. He won’t.

------------------------

Jungkook steps into the house, and immediately, something feels off. The air is still. The silence stretches, suffocating, pressing against his chest. Almost all the lights are off, the space eerily empty, like no one has been here for hours.

His throat dries. “Baby?”

No answer.

He frowns, dropping his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink. His feet move quickly, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the hallway leading to the bedroom—nothing.

A weird feeling starts creeping up his spine. His heart beats faster as he strides toward the bedroom door, pushing it open—only to find the bed untouched, the sheets exactly the way he had left them this morning.

You’re not here.

His pulse spikes, a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. His hands tremble as he yanks his phone out, immediately dialing your number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Straight to voicemail.

His stomach drops. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at his screen, the call log mocking him with the lack of response. His fingers tighten around the device, his mind spiraling.

Where are you? At this time of night—alone—where could you have gone?

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His lungs strain for air.

Then, another thought claws its way in, violent and unwelcome.

Did you leave?

No. No. His chest tightens, his breath coming faster now. That’s not—that’s not possible. You wouldn’t just leave him. You wouldn’t—

He swallows hard, shaking his head. Don’t go there, Jungkook. Don’t even fucking go there.

But the panic is already curling around his ribs, suffocating, unrelenting.

You’re not here. And right now, that is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble as he redials your number.

Voicemail. Again.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out uneven, panic clawing at his throat. His hands are clammy, his chest tightening with every passing second. Where are you?

His mind is spiraling now, every worst-case scenario flashing through his head. His jaw clenches as he swipes to his contact list calling your friends.

Each time, the same response.

No, I haven’t seen her.

Did you check with—

Wait, what’s going on?

Jungkook grits his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist. His breathing is shallow, his pulse out of control. You weren’t with your friends. You weren’t picking up. You weren’t home.

And he still had no idea where you were.

Jungkook grabs his car keys with shaky hands, his mind racing. He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t have a plan—all he knows is that he has to find you.

His feet move on instinct, carrying him toward the door. But just as he reaches for the handle, something catches his eye.

A small glint.

His breath stills. His gaze shifts toward the couch, and that’s when he sees it.

Your wedding ring.

Sitting there. Abandoned.

For a moment, everything stops. The pounding in his chest, the rush of his movements—everything.

The air in the room feels heavier, suffocating. His fingers twitch at his sides as he stares at the delicate band, his stomach twisting into something painful.

You never took it off. Never.

Jungkook swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He steps forward, slowly, almost cautiously, like touching it will somehow make this nightmare real.

His hand trembles as he picks it up, the cool metal pressing into his palm..

Jungkook stares at the ring in his palm, his vision blurring as a lump lodges itself in his throat. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

You wouldn’t just leave him like that… would you?

The thought alone knocks the air from his lungs. His grip on the ring tightens as his mind spirals, drowning in questions that only make the ache worse.

Were you thinking about this before today?

How long have you been feeling like this—so alone, so unloved—that taking off your ring even crossed your mind?

A sharp breath escapes him, shaky and uneven. His knees buckle, and before he can stop himself, he’s sinking onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

The ring feels heavier than it should, pressing into his palm like a cruel reminder of everything he’s neglected, everything he’s taken for granted. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a slow, trembling breath.

He needs to find you. He needs to fix this.

Before it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales shakily, forcing himself to move. His legs feel unsteady, but he pushes through, gripping the wedding ring so tightly it bites into his skin.

Somehow, he manages to stand, his entire body tense with desperation. He stumbles toward the door, his heart pounding, his mind racing with every possibility of where you could be.

But just as his fingers reach for the handle—

The door swings open.

And there you are.

Jungkook freezes, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, everything stills—his panic, his thoughts, his entire world narrowing to the sight of you standing in front of him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he moves.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His grip is desperate, his hands fisting into your clothes, his entire body pressing against yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You stand there, stunned, your own arms hovering slightly, unsure of what just happened.

"…Jungkook?” your voice comes out confused, hesitant.

But he just clings to you, burying his face into your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

You don’t know what’s going on.

But Jungkook?

He feels like he just got his heart beating again. You feel it before you hear it—the way his body trembles against yours, his grip impossibly tight, like he’s holding onto you for dear life.

Then, the sound reaches you. A broken, uneven breath, followed by the unmistakable hitch of a sob.

Your heart clenches. “Kook…” Your voice is soft, laced with worry as you try to pull back, just enough to see his face. But he doesn’t let you. His arms only tighten, his body curling into yours, as if letting go would physically hurt him.

Panic bubbles in your chest, your hands instinctively reaching up to cradle his face, your fingers threading into his hair. “Hey… what happened?” Your voice wavers slightly. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

But Jungkook just shakes his head against your shoulder, another quiet, shaky breath leaving him.

You don’t understand.

But whatever this is—whatever’s breaking him like this—your own heart aches just watching him fall apart. Your concern deepens with every shaky breath that leaves Jungkook. He’s still clinging to you, his body trembling slightly, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but seeing him like this—Jungkook, your Jungkook—completely unraveling, is enough to make panic rise in your chest.

Gently, you pull back, your hands cupping his face. His skin is warm, slightly damp from his tears, and when his glassy eyes finally meet yours, your stomach twists painfully.

“Come inside,” you whisper, your voice softer now, coaxing. “Please.”

He swallows thickly, nodding ever so slightly, but his grip on you doesn’t fully loosen. You guide him inside anyway, one hand wrapped around his wrist as you lead him toward the couch.

He sits down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair as he exhales shakily. His shoulders are still tense, his whole body radiating something raw and unspoken.

You kneel in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he doesn’t lift his head.

Your worry deepens. “Jungkook… please tell me what’s wrong.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His fingers twitch against his temples, his breath uneven.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, cracking slightly. He swallows hard, gripping his knees. “I thought you left me.”

You blink, his words settling in, but it takes you a moment to fully process them.

He thought you left him?

Your brows furrow slightly as you shake your head. “Jungkook, I was babysitting Hanuel.”

His breath is still uneven, his hands gripping his knees like he’s trying to ground himself. His eyes flick up to meet yours, confused, searching.

“Hana and Seokjin had a date night,” you explain gently. “They asked me to watch him for a few hours.”

Hanuel, your neighbour's son. Jungkook stares at you, his body still tense, like his mind hasn’t caught up yet. You watch as his lips part slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the ring still clutched in his hand.

His fingers tighten around it, his knuckles paling. A beat of silence passes before he swallows thickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Then why was this on the couch?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if he’s afraid of the answer. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

“I…” The word barely escapes your lips before you stand up, turning away from him. You can’t meet his eyes—not when your emotions are still raw, not when the weight of everything is pressing so heavily on your chest.

Jungkook notices immediately. Panic flickers across his face, and in an instant, he’s scrambling up after you. “Wait—baby, please.” His voice is desperate now, thick with emotion, his hands reaching out like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I—fuck, I forgot—I don’t know how, I don’t even have an excuse, but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his eyes glassy as they plead with yours.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t.” But you still don’t look at him. And that alone is enough to make his heart sink.

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself as you stare at the floor. His words, his desperation, his guilt—they all swirl around you, but they don’t erase the ache in your chest.

“Do you even realize how much this hurt?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it makes Jungkook flinch. “I spent the entire day thinking—hoping—that maybe you had something planned. That maybe you were just pretending to forget.”

Jungkook’s throat bobs as he steps closer, hesitating before reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold onto him either.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I fucked up, baby. I—I was so caught up in work, I just…” He trails off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not an excuse. Nothing is. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

You let out a hollow laugh, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Jungkook… this isn’t just about today.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You take a shaky breath. “It’s been weeks—maybe even longer—since I felt like your wife instead of just… someone waiting for you to come home.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And it’s not that I don’t understand. I do. I’ve always understood. But at what point do I stop being understanding and start being invisible to you?”

Jungkook’s breath catches, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not invisible,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “You never could be.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Silence.

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he exhales unsteadily. “I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he murmurs. “You are everything to me, baby. Everything. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Then show me, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.” The vulnerability in your voice nearly breaks him.

He’s been losing you, piece by piece, for a while now. And he hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, the weight of your words hitting harder than any argument, any fight you could have thrown at him. His grip on your hand tightens, but you don’t squeeze back.

He’s losing you.

And it’s not because of one forgotten anniversary—it’s because he hasn’t been here.

He swallows hard. “Baby…” His voice cracks, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, but you step back before he can touch you.

The distance, however small, is enough to make his chest ache.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together. “When was the last time we sat down and had breakfast together? When was the last time you really looked at me—not just kissed me on the forehead before rushing out the door?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “When was the last time we made love without it feeling like you were trying to release your stress instead of loving me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

You let out a slow exhale, your voice calmer now but even heavier with hurt. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fancy gifts or a picture-perfect romance. I just… needed you to see me.”

His entire body feels cold. Because the truth is—he doesn’t have an answer.

He’s been so caught up in his responsibilities, his work, his stress, that he’s let the one person who has always been there for him slip through his fingers.

And the worst part? He didn’t even realize it was happening until now.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, his hands running through his hair as he looks at you—really looks at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re holding back everything.

His heart clenches painfully. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t know, Jungkook. Did you?”

Jungkook's breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling too quickly as he stares at you—at the distance between you, the weight of your words suffocating him.

He moves. Before you can react, his hands are cupping your face, his touch desperate, almost shaky. His forehead presses against yours as he exhales a trembling breath, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I see you,” he whispers, his voice raw, strained. “I swear to god, I see you, baby. I just—I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I didn’t even realize I was dragging us down with me.”

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, a silent plea laced in his touch. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t push him away. You should—you should make him sit with this, make him feel what it’s been like for you all this time. But then his grip tightens, his voice breaking.

“Please, baby.” His lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

His vulnerability shakes you to your core.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to lose us either, Jungkook,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep being the only one holding on.”

Jungkook shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. You won’t be.” His lips ghost over your forehead before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let me prove it to you. Please.”

His desperation is tangible, seeping into every word, every touch. And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he really does see you now.

Jungkook watches you, searching for something—anything—in your eyes that tells him he hasn’t completely lost you.

Before doubt can settle in, he takes your hand, pressing it over his chest, right where his heart is hammering wildly. “Feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. Always.”

Your fingers twitch against his shirt, but you don’t pull away. You don’t move at all, just staring up at him, your expression unreadable.

He swallows hard. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but fuck, Y/n—” His hands tighten around yours, his voice barely above a breath. “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

You let out a slow exhale, your gaze flickering, like you want to believe him—like a part of you does, but the hurt is still too fresh. So he gives you more.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises, his thumb brushing soft circles over your wrist. “Not with flowers, or gifts, or some last-minute bullshit—but with me. With us.”

His voice drops lower, thick with emotion. “Just tell me it’s not too late.” Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. Instead, you finally—finally—press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically beneath your touch.

It’s enough to break something inside Jungkook. His grip tightens as he leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, then your cheek—soft, slow, hesitant, as if he’s still afraid you’ll slip away.

And when you don’t—when you let him—he exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Like if he says it enough, he can make up for all the times he didn’t. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll believe him again.

Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, his forehead still pressed against yours, his grip on you unwavering. His words linger in the air between you—raw, desperate, filled with a love that had always been there, even when he’d failed to show it.

You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision. He’s waiting—watching you so intently, so hopelessly, as if your next words will either put him back together or completely shatter him.

You take a shaky breath. “Jungkook…” Your voice wavers, and his grip tightens instinctively. “I love you too.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his entire body sinking slightly in relief. But before he can say anything, you continue. “But this hurt,” you whisper. “More than you realize.”

Jungkook stiffens, nodding quickly, his hands cupping your face again, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. And I hate myself for it.” His voice cracks, his jaw clenching before he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want promises, Jungkook,” you murmur. “I just… I need to feel like I matter to you again.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down, wrapping around yours. He lifts them to his lips, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to each of your knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You do,” he whispers. “More than anything. And I’m going to spend every damn day proving that to you.” His voice is steady now—no hesitation, no doubt. Just quiet, determined love. And though the ache in your chest hasn’t fully faded, something shifts.

Because this time, you don’t just hear him. You believe him. Even if just a little.

Jungkook presses another lingering kiss against your knuckles, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in you. But before he can lose himself completely, you gently murmur, “Have you eaten?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shakes his head, gaze still searching yours. “No… I—"

“Go freshen up,” you say softly, stepping back just a little. “We’ll eat together.”

His fingers twitch against yours, hesitating to let go, but eventually, he nods. With one last glance—like he’s making sure you’re really here—he pulls away and heads toward the shower.

While he’s gone, you move to the kitchen, setting out dinner in quiet contemplation. The ache in your chest hasn’t completely faded, but there’s something else now—a warmth that wasn’t there before.

------------------------

By the time Jungkook emerges, hair damp, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, you’ve already placed the food on the table.

He hesitates for only a second before joining you, sliding into his chair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod, offering a small smile as you take a seat. The conversation is light—simple, effortless. Jungkook fills the silence, stealing glances at you like he’s still memorizing you all over again. And through it all, his hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

After dinner, he helps with the dishes, working beside you in quiet understanding. The air between you feels lighter, yet still fragile—like something delicate being pieced back together.

Jungkook sets the last dish onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on the towel before turning to you. There’s a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes—like he’s clinging to this moment, to the quiet togetherness you’ve shared over dinner.

You step away, hesitating for just a second before opening the refrigerator. Jungkook watches in silence as you carefully pull out the cake, placing on the counter, your fingers grazing the edges of the plate, before finally speaking.

“I…I’d made this.”

The words are quiet, but they hit harder than any raised voice ever could. Jungkook’s entire body stiffening as guilt crashes into him all over again. His eyes flicker to the cake—to the careful details, the effort, the thought you had put into it, for him—and suddenly, it feels like the walls are caving in.

His throat tightens. His fingers curl at his sides. He can’t look at you. He doesn’t deserve to. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision, his heart breaking all over again—not just because he forgot today, but because he had broken you in so many ways without even realizing it.

And that? That’s something he doesn’t know how to forgive himself for.

“Jungkook..”, your voice is soft—barely above a whisper—but it cuts through the heavy silence like a knife.

He wants to look at you, wants to say something—anything—but he can’t. His head remains bowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, as if holding himself together takes everything in him.

You take a small step forward, the space between you feeling larger than it actually is. His silence is deafening.

“Jungkook,” you say again, a little firmer this time.

His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, but no words come out. He wants to speak—to apologize again, to tell you how much he loves you, to somehow fix this—but his throat feels tight, his chest heavy.

He doesn’t know if words are enough.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” Jungkook chokes out, his voice trembling as he finally speaks. His hands shake at his sides, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been an asshole—a terrible husband. I don’t even know how to make this right.” His breath stutters, his words spilling out faster now, raw and desperate.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you left me,” he continues, shaking his head. “You should’ve. You deserve better. I—I can’t believe I—”

“Jungkook.”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have already begun to fall. His lips part in surprise, his rambling cut off as you rise onto your toes.

A gentle kiss on his lips.

Soft. Loving.

Tear-streaked and real.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips, his whole body melting into yours. His hands find your waist, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

The kiss is slow—no desperation, no urgency—just you and him, emotions raw and bare. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks, mixing with his, salty and warm, but neither of you pull away. Because in this moment, there’s no need for words.

Just this.

Just love.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, your tears still wet against each other’s skin. Jungkook’s grip on your waist is firm, like he’s grounding himself in your touch, afraid to let go. His lips part, like he wants to speak, but before he can, you whisper,

“You’re not a terrible husband, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes glisten with more unshed tears, his lips pressing into a thin line, unable to speak. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, offering him the smallest smile. “Just… love me better, okay?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, nodding again, more determined this time. “I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you believe him.

You press one last gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back, glancing at the cake still sitting on the counter. “Come on,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s cut this before it melts.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, wiping at his face as he nods. He steps beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours again as you both move toward the small cake. The two of you cut into it together, Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours around the knife handle. He doesn’t let go, even as you both take small bites in comfortable silence.

Once the plates are cleared, you tug at his wrist, nodding toward the bedroom. “Come to bed?”

Jungkook exhales, relief washing over his features as he nods. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, you’re both under the covers, warmth surrounding you as Jungkook pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you, his breath fanning against the top of your head as he whispers,

“I love you.”

This time, you don’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms, where you’ve always belonged.

Jungkook’s fingers still tremble against your skin. Even as he holds you, his grip is laced with hesitance, a silent fear lingering beneath the warmth of his touch. It’s in the way his hands press into your back yet remain careful, as if he’s afraid of holding on too tightly.

You can feel the erratic thud of his heart beneath your palm, his breaths uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to keep himself steady.

And something about that—about him—makes your own heart ache.

Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your eyes locking onto his in the dim glow of the room. His lips part slightly, his gaze unreadable, but the moment you lean in, his breath catches.

You kiss him.

It starts soft—gentle, longing, filled with everything you can’t put into words.

Jungkook melts into it instantly, his grip on you tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his lips, the slight hitch in his breath when you press harder—it sends a familiar heat curling through you.

The kiss deepens, your fingers gripping his t-shirt with urgency, needing to feel more. It’s desperate, heady, the space between you charged with something deeper than just want—something raw, something that had been missing for too long.

Jungkook pulls back gently. His forehead stays pressed against yours, both of you panting softly, but his hands shake slightly as they hold you in place.

His lips part, his breath uneven. “I… we shouldn’t…” He swallows hard, voice thick with hesitation. “I mean… I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fix this with sex.”

His words cut through the haze of warmth between you, grounding you both back in reality. You understand. Because even now—even now—he’s afraid. Afraid that this isn’t enough. Afraid that he isn’t enough.

Your eyes soften as you take in his hesitance, the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his breath trembles against your skin.

You reach up, your fingers threading gently through his hair, grounding him. “I’m never gonna think like that, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quiet but sure.

His lips part slightly, his brows still knitted in concern, but before he can say anything, you lean in again. This time, the kiss is slower—softer—filled with nothing but love.

You linger for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “I just… I need you.” Another soft kiss. “Please.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his entire body shuddering under the weight of your words.

And just like that, whatever hesitation he had left—it’s gone.

Your breaths grow uneven as your lips move against his, the heat between you intensifying with every passing second.

Jungkook shifts, his body hovering over yours, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel him. His hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his touch still hesitant, fingertips ghosting over your waist like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again.

But you don’t want hesitation.

You tug at his shirt, a silent plea, and Jungkook obeys without question, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Before he can think, you pull him back in, capturing his lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

A quiet groan escapes him, his hands finally exploring freely, pressing against your skin, feeling the warmth beneath his palms. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath warm as he presses soft, lingering kisses there.

You shiver when he reaches the collar of your shirt, your own hands moving to help him remove it. Dark, love-filled eyes roam over every inch of your skin, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the words—but nothing he could say would ever be enough. Still, he tries.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucking perfect.”

Your breath catches when he lowers himself again, his lips planting soft, reverent kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower—over your shoulder, your chest—his mouth mapping you like you’re something sacred.

His lips slowly wrap around one breast, his tongue flicking teasingly before sucking softly. A moan escapes you, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging lightly as he hums against your skin. His other hand moves to your neglected breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he keeps mouthing sweet nothings against you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers between kisses, his voice muffled against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

And as the heat between you builds, his touch grows bolder. A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your fingers tangle deeper into Jungkook’s hair, your body arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

He groans against your skin, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another lingering kiss to your chest before trailing lower, his lips tracing the curves of your body. “Let me take my time… let me make love to you.”

The way he says it—love—makes your stomach tighten, your heart aching as much as your body craves him. His hands glide down your waist, slow and purposeful, before slipping between your legs. His fingers find the damp fabric of your panties, pressing just lightly enough to make you gasp. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing his touch, and Jungkook groans at the feeling.

His dark eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all he needs.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he tugs your panties down, dragging them slowly along your legs before discarding them somewhere behind him. His gaze never leaves you as he lowers himself further, trailing kisses down your stomach, over the sensitive skin of your hips.

He settles between your legs. You feel completely bare under his intense gaze, the way his lips part slightly, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something reverent, something devoted. His hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing along your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“My wife.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, making your core clench in anticipation.

Finally, he closes his mouth around you. One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and you fall apart instantly, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as your head tilts back against the pillows.

Jungkook hums against you, pleased, his hands gripping your thighs as he licks another slow, teasing stripe through your folds. “So fucking sweet,” he groans, the heat of his breath against your slick skin making your body tremble. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He isn't just making love, he's devouring you.

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moves with slow, deliberate strokes—learning you all over again, savoring every little gasp and shudder that escapes you.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, almost pleading, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans at that, the sound reverberating through your core as he laps at you with more purpose. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, testing, before he sucks gently, making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—” You whimper, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands keep you spread wide, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushing your sensitive skin as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick, his dark eyes burning with desire.

Your cheeks burn, he dives back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue moves in tight circles, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deeper, firmer licks that have your breath hitching.

One hand slides up your stomach, fingers splaying across your skin before reaching your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. The combined sensation makes your thighs tremble, a moan tearing from your lips as your hips buck against his mouth.

Jungkook groans, clearly enjoying how responsive you are, his grip on you tightening as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. He flicks his tongue over your clit again, then sucks, harder this time, sending sparks shooting through your body.

“-fuck, Jungkook—” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

The heat inside you is unbearable now, hot and consuming. You nod desperately, your moans spilling freely as you grip his hair, your body teetering on the edge. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He pushes you closer, his mouth working you over with expert precision, his hands holding you steady as your body starts to tremble.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your heat. “Let me taste you.”

And with one final flick of his tongue, you shatter—Pleasure crashes over you, your back arching, thighs trembling as you moan his name like a prayer. Jungkook groans, drinking in everything you give him, his hands stroking your body as he helps you ride it out.

Only when your body goes slack does he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs, his voice thick with pride and adoration. “You’re so perfect,” he breathes between kisses, his voice thick with adoration. “My love. My wife.”

Jungkook moves up, trailing kisses along your body—over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone—When he reaches your lips, he captures them in a deep, languid kiss, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile, something cherished.

Your fingers roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles before moving lower, brushing over his abdomen until you reach the hardness straining against his sweats.

A groan rumbles from his chest at your touch, his hips twitching into your palm as you cup him, feeling just how ready he is.

“Baby…” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. You tug at the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for more. Jungkook obliges, sitting back just enough to push them down, kicking them off entirely.

He’s fully hard, the sight of him making your stomach tighten, heat pooling between your legs again. But before you can do anything, before you can even reach for him Jungkook takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The intimacy of it overwhelming.

His other hand moves between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching, making sure—

With a final nod from you, he pushes in, slow and careful, stretching you inch by inch.

A soft moan escapes your lips, but Jungkook kisses you instantly, swallowing the sound, his own groan muffled against your mouth as he sinks deeper. The moment he’s fully inside, he stills, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in. And as he holds you close, as your bodies mold together so seamlessly, you realize—

This isn’t just sex.

This is home.

Jungkook moves slowly, each roll of his hips deep and deliberate, as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he let slip away. His body is pressed flush against yours, warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, his breath shaky against your lips as he kisses you between each movement.

Your fingers dig softly into his back, nails pressing just enough to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him. One hand moves to his hair, your fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your heart ache.

It’s slow, it’s deep—it’s love.

And then, suddenly, you feel it.

A faint tremble against your body.

Something warm and wet against your neck where Jungkook has buried his face.

Your breath catches as realization dawns—he’s crying. Tears gather in your own eyes without warning, the sheer weight of the moment crashing over you all at once.

You tighten your hold on him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press a soft kiss into his hair. “Kook…” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

He shudders at your touch, at the way you hold him, like you’re not just letting him fall apart—but falling apart with him.

“I—” His voice cracks as he exhales shakily, his thrusts faltering for a moment. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His lips find your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he presses kisses there—apology after apology, praise after praise.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs between kisses, his words thick with emotion. “You always have been.” A tear slips down your cheek as you cup his face, guiding him up until his forehead rests against yours.

“I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I know, Jungkook.”

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss slow and deep, his movements resuming—gentle but full of something raw, something unspoken. His hands grip your waist tighter, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, as if this moment is rewriting everything.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, voice laced with love. “I’ll always have you.”

Jungkook shudders, gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your shoulder, his movements slowing but never stopping. You can feel the love in every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath against your skin.

And when the pleasure builds to its peak, you come undone together, your bodies melting into one as waves of warmth crash over you. His name spills from your lips, his deep groan following right after, his arms holding you so tight you swear he never plans on letting go.

Silence lingers, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then, Jungkook shifts, lifting his head just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of devotion. “I don’t deserve you… but I swear, I’ll spend my life proving that I do.”

You cup his face, your thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. “Just love me like this, Jungkook,” you whisper, voice steady. “That’s all I need.”

His hands tightening around you as his forehead presses against yours. “I’ll love you more,” he vows, his voice breaking slightly. “More than this, more than anything. Always.” His words settle deep in your chest, warm and real, and when he pulls you impossibly closer, tucking you into his arms, you believe him.

His heartbeat is steady now, no longer frantic with fear—just warm, solid, home.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you hear him whisper one last thing against your hair.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

---------------------------------------------------

[countlessimagines]

Your World [ Wolverine x Reader ]

Summary: your Wolverine was your whole world.

A/N: I like writing angsty stuff and this movie provided me with the best possible scenarios <3 hehehe I love wolverine

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of blood

Marvel MASTERLIST Link here

SPOILERS BELOW

-

It wasn’t an ideal love story that brought you back to Logan.

Being a mutant with incredible healing abilities and a broken heart made it so easy for Stryker to capture you. Your Wolverine had been the one to rescue you from the clutches of Stryker and the horrible fate that loomed over your head. All the days of experiments and cold rooms where you’d be injected with who knows what, it all lead to him.

But you always had to remind yourself that Logan had gotten you out, made you a X-Men, but found the brutal truth of how dangerous it was to be loved by you.

You loved deeply and endlessly, like a void waiting for eternity to be loved and to love. Logan was exactly what your heart desired for years.

Someone who could never die, never leave you.

Fighting alongside each other became a beautiful symphony. And God protect anyone who caused you harm, because Logan would only see red and slice them to pieces. It was a miracle none of the X-men had been torn to shreds, but Scott always came close.

The team would always joke about your relationship, saying how could an innocent soul be in love with such a brute like Wolverine.

But Logan knew the only way he could breathe was to be with you, to hold you, to kiss and love you.

He would always find his way to you no matter the circumstance.

Beast was holding you in the infirmary because he wanted to run tests? Logan was there.

Storm and Jean wanted to have a girls night? Logan was sitting outside the room in case anything happened.

Scott was training you in hand to hand combat? Logan was definitely there.

Your world consisted of him and him only.

And maybe that is why it hurt so much when he let your entire team die, because you had not made them your whole world.

You had been away on a mission by yourself when you received the news of their passing. You returned to a bloodied home, no sign of Wolverine to be found.

Life began to blur after what happened. You had to go into hiding, because people blamed you for what happened, too. And there was no one there to stop you from spiraling into a flurry of self hatred.

Hatred for what you had become. A love sick puppy so consumed with Logan only. Maybe if you had been there, maybe if you hadn’t put so much trust in him, maybe if you could have taken the hits for your team.

And the thought that stuck with you the most, if you had been there, screaming for help - would Logan had only saved you and left the rest to die?

Because the love you shared was slowly becoming so obvious to you that it was not pure or natural, but rather so simple it would have made you and Logan public enemy number one.

But you supposed that had already happened, too.

Your mutant abilities were the only thing you had left, so you consumed yourself in underground work. Becoming exactly what the X-men had fought against.

Shedding your uniform, you had to separate yourself from the X-men because people recognized you too easily. It was hard to find any work where people wanted a tainted mutant.

You tried your hardest to not let every moment be consumed by the thought of Logan. He had never reached out to you after the event, despite the grief between you so overwhelmingly strong. He couldn’t face you and love someone who would have stepped through hell and back for him.

He felt as if he didn’t deserve it.

So time continued to pass as the bond between the two of you was severed so deeply that it was suffocating to be apart.

But it wasn’t until Deadpool showed up to your apartment that you were finally addressing your past.

“Leave, now. I’m not hearing any of your bullshit.” You tried to close your door but he stopped it.

“Please, c’mon. I need you! Wolverine needs you!”

You tensed at the mere mention of him. “If he needed me so desperately, it is far too late for him to come back.”

“But you’re his one and only, for fuck’s sake! Every variant I’ve met of him has had a you stalking around like a lap dog. You know how many of you’s have beaten the shit out of me?” He rambled on, and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t care to understand what you’re saying, so goodbye, Wade!”

Deadpool sighed before kicking the door in and stabbing you through the chest with one of his blades. You stared at him in shock and couldn’t register anything as he flung you over his shoulder into an orange portal.

You landed on a hard ground that pushed the blade out of you. “Wade, you’re a dead man.”

He stepped through the portal and leaned over your body. “Sorry about that, but I can’t die so you’re stuck with not only me, but Wolverine!”

Deadpool giggled and ran off, making sure to rip the blade out of your stomach. You winced but felt your regeneration cells working to stitch you back together.

Slowly sitting up, you spat out blood.

“I tried to tell him not to bring you into this.”

You froze at the voice you fought to forget, willing calm into your fast beating heart.

Sitting up fully only made your legs wobble and your head spin. But you had to look up into the eyes of the man you still loved.

Logan looked different, healthier and happier. It only made you feel sick.

“I’ve been busy.” He said it so casually that it made you want to slap his chest for the lack of greeting. “Wade gave me a second chance. I helped save his world.”

“You haven’t seen me in years and you choose to brag?” You scoffed, removing your shirt to assess the damage Wade had done to your shirt.

Logan sucked in a breath as he took in your battle worn scars. Despite your healing factor, you still kept every scar from every wound you had endured.

He remembered the last time he saw you, you only adorned a few on your chest and stomach.

Now it was littered with them.

“You’ve been busy too, I gather?” Logan said with a hint of sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Why am I here?”

“Wade thought that I needed you.” He admitted it with such ease, like he knew it to be true in his heart.

“And? Do you need me?”

He hesitated before answering. “I’ve always needed you… and I think that’s why I let myself go for so many years. Because I knew that no matter what I did or said to you, you would never forgive me. I would always be the one who let our team die… let you go.”

“Well you’re right, because I never would forgive you. Not after abandoning all of us,” you choked out, the tears beginning to creep into the corners of your eyes. “I loved you fiercely, Logan. All it would have taken was one call during those first few days and I would have been there for you. We could’ve been healing together. But you chose this life of despair for both of us, Logan.”

“I know.” He said, his own eyes watering.

“I despise you.” You said, but your heart was breaking, letting out the true feelings. It was bleeding for him and for him only.

Logan stepped closer and you did not stop him.

“I want nothing to do with you.” You said, your voice cracking.

“I understand.” He said, five feet away from you now.

“I hate you.” You began to weep, the blood in your heart revealing what you wanted truly.

“I don’t blame you.” Logan closed the gap between the two of you, holding you close to his chest. You cried into his shoulder, holding on for dear life. “I’m never leaving you again.”

All you could muster was a small nod, your tears staining his shirt. His own were dripping onto the top of your head.

And in the empty apartment, you and Logan stood, holding onto each other.

Holding your world together.

[solxamber]

How to Tame Your Dragon - Malleus Draconia x reader

Since you and Malleus have gotten into a relationship, you've become a bona-fide dragon soother. But whenever you fumble, the entirety of NRC faces the consequences.

aka the 7 times you cause ecological disasters and the 1 time it works out for you.

this is one of my favorite works i hope y'all enjoy it too

Instance 1: The Unbirthday Party Fumble

It all started so innocently, as most disasters do.

You were sitting on a bench in the gardens with Malleus, who was in one of his "look at my shiny things" moods. He had decided to show you his prized possessions from his extensive, possibly cursed, hoard. Usually, this was an easy gig. You’d nod, say something like “Wow, so shiny,” and then give him a kiss. Easy peasy.

But not today.

Because today, your brain decided to take a little vacation while your body stayed behind, stuck on autopilot.

You were half-paying attention, your focus more on the distant ruckus over at Heartslabyul’s tea party, where Ace and Deuce were most definitely in the middle of doing something stupid. Riddle was probably screaming about proper fork placement, Trey was juggling a thousand responsibilities, and Cater was... doing whatever Cater does.

You could hear the faint sounds of plates clinking and people panicking about the sugar cubes being uneven. It was practically a symphony of disaster waiting to happen.

Meanwhile, Malleus was holding up what looked like a teapot. But not just any teapot—this thing was ornate. Gleaming, intricate patterns, probably blessed by some ancient fae god of beverages. You didn’t notice any of that, though.

Instead, when Malleus asked in his deep, romantic, “I’m-giving-you-a-piece-of-my-soul” voice, “Do you like it, my treasure?” you waved him off like he’d just shown you a half-eaten sandwich.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Looks fine.”

Silence.

Not just any silence. The kind of silence where the air pressure changes and you suddenly realize you might’ve done something very, very bad.

You blinked, finally looking over at Malleus, and oh no. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pursed, and a shadow seemed to fall over him—literally. The sky darkened as if the heavens were in on his mood. His grip on the teapot tightened, and you could swear the wind started to howl.

Oh, no no no.

The moment you realized your mistake, the storm was already brewing. Quite literally. The sky went from clear to “about to smite someone” in about two seconds flat. You could feel the temperature drop, and leaves started swirling around like they were auditioning for a role in a natural disaster movie.

You were in for it now.

Meanwhile, at the world’s most cursed tea party:

Riddle was just getting ready to pour the first cup of tea when the wind decided to yeet the tablecloth right off the table. Teacups clattered, pastries took flight, and the entire garden descended into chaos.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE QUEEN’S LAWS—” Riddle screamed, clutching a teapot like it was his last lifeline.

Ace, currently dodging a rogue scone, looked over at the sky. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Is this a Malleus thing?”

Deuce, who was using a sugar bowl as a makeshift helmet, shouted over the wind. “It’s always a Malleus thing! Why do I even ask anymore?!”

Cater, hair blown sideways and desperately trying to keep his phone in hand, was trying to snap a selfie in the chaos. “Guys, this is prime MagiCam content—wait, no, my phone’s gone!” He dove after it as it got carried away in the wind.

Riddle, already on the verge of a meltdown, turned to Trey, who was trying to shield a cake from the incoming storm. “I demand an explanation!”

Trey, forever the calm one, glanced up. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say the prefect did something to upset Malleus.”

“OF COURSE, THEY DID,” Riddle shrieked, practically levitating with fury. “Why do we suffer every time they breathe near him?!”

“I don’t know, but we need to fix it before Riddle explodes!” Ace said, dodging a flying plate.

Deuce grabbed Ace’s arm. “We need to talk to them! Make them apologize or something!”

And so, in the middle of the flying teapots and pastries of doom, the group sprinted to find you, dodging airborne desserts and Riddle’s wrath.

Back at the epicenter of destruction:

You were still sitting there, eyes wide as you watched Malleus literally brood so hard it summoned a small hurricane. “Uh, Malleus…?”

He didn’t respond. Nope, he was fully in Pouty Dragon Mode™. The sky darkened even more, the wind howling, the trees bending, and you could faintly hear the sound of Ace, Deuce, and the others screaming in the distance.

Your casual dismissal of the teapot had, quite literally, ruined lives.

Before you could say anything else, the chaos squad came barreling toward you like a human avalanche, looking like they’d been through a war zone.

Ace was covered in frosting, Deuce had bits of shattered china stuck in his hair, and Trey was holding onto what looked like the remnants of a cake stand. Cater was still trying to get a selfie in, even though he looked like he’d been through a tornado.

“FIX. THIS.” Ace wheezed, dropping to his knees dramatically. “BEFORE WE ALL DIE.”

“Riddle’s about to combust,” Deuce added, his eyes wide. “Please. We’re begging you.”

Trey just gave you a calm look. “If you don’t make this right soon, I don’t know if we’ll make it to the end of the day.”

You sighed, realizing there was no escape. You’d have to face the storm—literally—and make things right.

Turning back to Malleus, you slid off the bench and stood in front of him, gently tugging on his sleeve. “Malleus?”

His eyes, still stormy, met yours, but he didn’t say anything. The wind continued to howl, the sky still dark.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, your voice soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to dismiss your teapot. It’s beautiful, really. I was just…distracted.”

Malleus’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the wind died down just a little. Progress.

“I’d never intentionally dismiss something that’s important to you,” you continued, taking his hand in yours. “Please forgive me? I’ll pay more attention next time, I promise.”

The storm finally started to calm as Malleus’s expression softened. The sky cleared up, and the wind turned into a gentle breeze.

He sighed dramatically, though it was more theatrical than anything. “Very well, my treasure. I suppose I can forgive you this time. But you owe me proper attention.”

Relieved, you grinned and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I give you all the attention you want right now?”

That did it. The storm completely vanished, and Malleus’s mood visibly brightened. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a possessive, yet affectionate embrace. “I suppose that’s acceptable,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head.

Behind you, the chaos squad groaned.

“Oh, sure,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. “One cute kiss, and suddenly the hurricane stops. What even is our life?”

“Let’s just never bring up teapots again,” Deuce muttered, shaking bits of pastry out of his hair.

Cater, who had finally managed to get a decent selfie, grinned. “Well, at least we survived!”

You chuckled as Malleus nuzzled into your hair, clearly pleased with your apology. At least for now, disaster had been averted. But something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you’d have to apologize for accidentally setting off your dragon boyfriend.

But hey, at least you had kisses to fix everything, right?

Instance 2: The compliment conundrum

It started as one of those innocent slip-ups—the kind that makes you wonder why you even opened your mouth in the first place. You were lounging by the side of the spelldrive field, watching NRC’s teams practice. Malleus, busy handling his own royal duties, hadn’t been able to make it to practice today, so you’d spent the afternoon watching Leona and his squad dominate the field.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything wrong. You were just… appreciating talent, right? And Leona was talented. You couldn’t help but admire the way he effortlessly dodged tackles, sending spells whizzing through the air with precision. The guy was annoying, sure, but he had undeniable skill.

So when you casually mentioned to Jack and Ruggie, “Man, Leona’s got some impressive moves,” you thought nothing of it.

Until you felt the ground crack beneath you.

You froze mid-sentence, glancing around as a creeping, eerie silence settled over the field. The other players stopped in their tracks, confusion spreading across their faces. The once lush, green training grounds were slowly transforming before your very eyes—the grass yellowing, the soil drying, the sky dimming. It was like nature had collectively decided, Nope, we’re out.

Jack blinked at the ground, then at you, his eyes wide with dawning horror. “Did… Did you just—?”

Ruggie, a master of putting two and two together, slapped his hand to his face. “Oh, no. Not again.”

Before you could even ask what was happening, you heard the faintest sound of rumbling in the distance, like some ancient, angry being had woken up from its nap. And that’s when the full weight of your mistake hit you.

You’d praised Leona. And Malleus, who was more possessive than a dragon guarding his hoard, definitely heard you.

“Oh, crap,” you muttered, already starting to backpedal. “Oh, crap, crap, crap—”

The drought spread faster, draining every last drop of moisture from the air. The once-pristine spelldrive field now looked like a scene out of some post-apocalyptic desert movie. Cracks snaked across the ground, the once-refreshing breeze now felt like it was straight out of the Sahara, and the remaining players started wheezing from the dry heat.

Leona, of course, was the first to piece things together. He sauntered over, glancing at the parched earth beneath his feet, then back up at you with a deadly glare.

You tried to stammer out an excuse, but Ruggie was already grabbing your arm and yanking you toward the nearest path off the field. Jack, looking somewhere between worried and resigned, trailed after you.

“Listen,” Ruggie said in a panic, “we gotta fix this now, or the whole school’s gonna turn into a wasteland.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you protested as they half-dragged you across the desertified landscape. “It was just a compliment!”

“You can’t just compliment Leona when you’re dating Malleus!” Jack huffed, sweat dripping from his forehead as the oppressive heat intensified. “You should know better by now!”

You felt a bead of sweat trickle down your temple as you tried to keep up with their frantic pace. “I didn’t know he was that possessive!”

“Oh, he is,” Ruggie muttered, glancing nervously at the sky. “And he’s sulking. You know what that means.”

You groaned. Yes, you did know what that meant. A sulking Malleus equaled world-ending storms, natural disasters, and in this case—apocalyptic droughts.

Leona, who had followed you guys, clearly had enough of this nonsense. He stomped up behind you, glaring daggers. “You’ve ruined my field,” he growled, voice dripping with irritation. “Do me a favor and never say anything nice about me again.”

“Don’t worry, Leona,” you sighed, exasperated. “I’ll only insult you from now on. Promise.”

“Good,” Leona grumbled, adjusting his collar. “Now fix your dragon before I lose my mind.”

By the time you reached Malleus, the situation had reached catastrophic levels. The entire island felt like it was one sunny day away from turning into a desert. The sky was an angry, cloudless blue, and even the birds had fled, probably deciding they didn’t want to risk spontaneous combustion.

And there, in the middle of the courtyard, sat your dragon boyfriend, arms crossed, looking as grumpy as you’d ever seen him. His aura was practically radiating misery.

“Malleus,” you called out, panting from the trek across the sun-baked campus.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge your presence, but didn’t say a word. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed, and you could practically see the pout written all over his face.

Ruggie gave you a light shove. “Well, go on. Apologize before we all die of thirst.”

You shot him a look, but he wasn’t wrong. Sighing, you stepped closer to Malleus and knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey… I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He huffed, his gaze fixed stubbornly ahead. “You praised another.”

“I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only have eyes for you, you know that.”

Malleus remained silent for a moment, but you could feel his mood softening. The tension in the air eased ever so slightly, the heat less intense, the grass no longer crumbling beneath your feet.

“I don’t like sharing your admiration,” he murmured, still not quite looking at you. “Especially with him.”

“Leona’s not a threat,” you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “He’s too busy napping to notice, anyway.”

That earned a tiny smirk from Malleus, though he was clearly still in sulk mode. You couldn’t help but smile as you nuzzled into his neck, placing little butterfly kisses along his jawline. “Come on… I’ll make it up to you. I’ll praise you for hours if you want. No one is more worthy of my compliments than you.”

That finally did the trick. His stiff posture relaxed, and he let out a deep sigh. “Very well,” he murmured, turning his head to look at you. “I suppose I can forgive you… this time.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Malleus, now fully basking in your affection, wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on top of your head. The sky finally returned to normal, the air cooling down, and the earth itself seemed to let out a relieved sigh.

Meanwhile, back on the now-saved-from-death spelldrive field, Leona collapsed onto the cracked ground with an annoyed grunt. “I swear, if they ever break up, I’m moving to a different continent.”

“Honestly, same,” Ruggie groaned, lying down beside him. Jack just nodded in agreement, too tired to even complain.

But as the world finally returned to normal, and you cuddled up against your not-so-grumpy-anymore dragon boyfriend, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you’d be more careful with your compliments from now on.

…Maybe.

Instance 3: Dinner Downpour

It had started out as an innocent evening. Just you, Malleus, and a nice dinner at the Mostro Lounge. You figured it was a good idea—a cozy meal, some quiet time away from the usual chaos. Plus, Malleus had never been to the Lounge before, and you wanted to show him a little piece of what passed for fine dining at NRC.

Everything was going smoothly. The candlelight cast a soft glow over the table, and Malleus seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he occasionally side-eyed the giant aquariums and questionable dishes swimming in ink. You were halfway through your meal when it happened. The moment that would soon be known as The Great Mostro Lounge Flood of the Century.

Malleus, eyes warm and his tone utterly princely, leaned toward you as the waiter left the bill on the table. “Allow me to cover this,” he said, reaching for his wallet—or whatever it was that dragons carry their horde in. “I would like to treat you.”

You, not sensing the danger, waved him off with a smile. “No need, Malleus. I’ve got this.”

Oh no.

If you could rewind time, maybe you would’ve noticed the way his expression faltered ever so slightly. The tiniest furrow of his brow, the faint tightening of his grip on his silverware. But you didn’t. You were oblivious. You, poor unfortunate soul, paid the bill yourself.

And that’s when the first clap of thunder rolled through the building.

It didn’t take long for things to go from zero to we’re-all-gonna-die levels of chaos. The sky outside darkened almost instantly, rain pouring down like the heavens had just decided to empty all their buckets at once. But it wasn’t just rain—oh no, this was a full-blown, hurricane-tier downpour. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shocked faces of the Mostro Lounge patrons as water started seeping in through the windows.

Inside, chaos erupted. The once-elegant ambiance of the Mostro Lounge turned into something out of a disaster movie. Jade was frantically trying to keep the dining area dry with what looked like twenty towels, but the water just kept rising. Floyd was sitting on top of a table, cackling at the sheer absurdity of it all, while Azul was on the verge of a mental breakdown, clutching his ledger to his chest as if it could somehow save him from bankruptcy.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Azul’s voice broke through the chaos as he practically teleported to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a maraca.

“I—I don’t know!” you stammered, still processing the fact that the place was flooding. “We were just having dinner!”

“Oh, you were ‘just having dinner,’” Azul mocked, his voice climbing an octave as the water level rose past your ankles. “Sure, just dinner—and now I’m watching my profits swim away!”

Jade appeared next, a suspiciously calm smile on his face despite the absolute catastrophe around him. “You didn’t happen to upset the prince of Briar Valley, did you?”

Floyd leaned in, grinning like a maniac. “Yeah, did ya snub him or somethin’? This is hilarious.”

Your face paled. Oh no. You replayed the scene in your head—the offer to pay, your refusal—and realization hit you like one of the lightning bolts currently striking outside. “Oh my god. He’s upset because I didn’t let him pay.”

“That’s it?!” Floyd burst out laughing, clutching his sides. “All this ‘cause you didn’t let him foot the bill? Man, that’s rich!”

Azul’s eye twitched. “Fix. This. Now.”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal!” you protested, feeling the water slosh against your calves as the storm outside intensified. “I just wanted to treat him for once!”

“Clearly, that was a mistake,” Jade said, entirely too serene for someone standing in knee-deep water. “I suggest you… rectify it.”

“Rectify it,” Azul echoed, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Or I swear I’ll have you and your little dragon both in debt until you’re ancient fossils.”

Floyd, still howling with laughter, gave you a light shove toward the entrance. “Better hurry, Shrimpy, before we gotta start charging people for canoe rentals!”

You rushed outside, braving the storm as the winds whipped around you. The ground was already flooded, rain pelting down so hard you could barely see two feet in front of you. But there, standing in the middle of it all like some tragic figure from a gothic romance novel, was Malleus.

He wasn’t even trying to shield himself from the rain—he just stood there, soaked, staring up at the stormy sky as if summoning the wrath of the heavens. His mood was palpable, the air around him crackling with discontent.

“Malleus!” you called out, running over and nearly slipping in a puddle. “Malleus, wait!”

He glanced down at you, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes quickly masked by his usual regal composure. “I thought… I could treat you. It seems you do not trust me to do even that.”

You winced. He wasn’t angry, not really. He was hurt. You should’ve known better—Malleus was always thinking about how to show you he cared, and this was just one more way for him to do that. And you’d brushed him off without realizing the significance.

“Hey, that’s not it at all,” you said softly, stepping closer and taking his hands in yours. “I just… I wanted to treat you this time. But I didn’t realize how important it was to you.”

The storm rumbled ominously overhead, but you could feel his mood starting to shift.

You squeezed his hands, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Malleus. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t appreciate it. You always take such good care of me.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing from his posture. “I simply wished to show you how much I treasure our time together.”

“And I treasure you,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “So how about this—I’ll let you treat me next time. Dinner, ice cream, whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “You promise?”

“I promise,” you replied, kissing him again for good measure. “But for now, maybe we could, uh… ease up on the weather a bit? I think Azul’s about to have a heart attack.”

Malleus chuckled softly, the storm clouds above beginning to break apart as the rain slowed to a drizzle. “Very well. I shall spare them—for now.”

Back inside the Lounge, Azul was clinging to his precious ledger like a lifeline, watching with wide eyes as the floodwaters slowly receded. The place was still a soaked mess, but at least it wasn’t Atlantis anymore.

Floyd, leaning against the bar, gave you a lazy grin as you walked back in, hand-in-hand with Malleus. “Well, looks like you managed to cool down your dragon, huh? Good job, Shrimpy.”

Jade smiled pleasantly, though you could tell there was relief in his gaze. “The Lounge owes you a great debt.”

Azul, drenched and looking like he’d aged ten years, just sighed. “Please. Next time… just let him pay.”

You grinned sheepishly. “Noted.”

Malleus, still holding your hand, glanced down at you with a fond expression. “Shall we continue our evening?”

You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his affection, even if he had almost accidentally drowned the entire restaurant. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And as you left the Mostro Lounge, water still dripping from the ceiling and Floyd’s laughter echoing behind you, you couldn’t help but think that for all the chaos that came with dating the prince of Briar Valley, it was worth every second.

Instance 4: Deserted Dreams

It all started with an innocent suggestion over breakfast. You and Malleus were sitting at your usual spot in Diasomnia, peacefully munching on breakfast. Things were nice, calm—Malleus was in a good mood, the sun was shining, and there hadn’t been any catastrophic magical incidents for a solid two days.

But, of course, you just had to ruin it.

"So," you said, casually buttering a slice of toast, "I was thinking… maybe for our next vacation, instead of going to Briar Valley again, we could head over to the Scalding Sands? I heard Kalim raving about the heat and all the festivals, and I thought it might be fun to experience a little warmth for a change."

Malleus, who had been sipping his tea, froze. He looked at you, his eyes wide and a bit too intense. "The Scalding Sands?" he repeated slowly.

"Yeah, you know—sun, sand, maybe a beach or two. Something different!" You smiled, clearly not reading the massive red flags flying in the air. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, Briar Valley is great and all, but we always go there. I thought a change of scenery would be nice!"

And that, was when the Dorms of Scarabia and Diasomnia turned into a hellish desert wasteland.

It started slowly—just a bit of extra heat creeping into the room, making you fidget in your seat. Then it escalated. The temperature spiked dramatically, and before you knew it, the dorm felt like someone had thrown open the gates to the underworld and invited the sun to personally burn it all down. You swore you could hear the sound of sand shifting beneath your feet, though you were still indoors. Indoors, for crying out loud!

Malleus sat in silence, clearly displeased. His usual dark, moody aura was now tinged with the kind of slow-boiling frustration that made you realize: you’d made a huge mistake.

Just as you were about to apologize and backpedal your way out of the desertification of Diasomnia and Scarabia, a loud crash echoed from outside, followed by a chorus of complaints.

You stepped out of the dorm and were met with chaos. The whole area around Diasomnia had transformed into an arid, sweltering desert. The grass? Gone. The trees? Withered. The nice, cool breeze that used to blow through? Now replaced by blistering heat waves. Students were dragging themselves around, sweating profusely as the once lush grounds became a scorching wasteland.

At the heart of the chaos stood Kalim, as cheerful as ever, while a very sweaty and very done Jamil stood nearby, looking like he had reached the end of his rope.

Jamil spotted you immediately and marched over, steam practically rising off his skin. “What did you do?!” he hissed, looking like he was five seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

"I—" you stammered, glancing at Kalim, who was happily waving a fan like he was at a resort.

"Isn’t this great?!" Kalim chirped, smiling ear to ear. "It feels just like home! Now we can have all the desert parties we want! Thanks for the heatwave!"

You blinked. "Um… you’re welcome?"

"No," Jamil interjected, glaring at you like you’d personally set him on fire. “Don’t thank them! What possessed you to turn Scarabia into a furnace?!”

You grimaced, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not my fault! I just suggested we vacation in the Scalding Sands instead of Briar Valley and—"

"You did what?!" Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. "So because you didn’t want to vacation in Briar Valley, this happens? Do you know how long it’s going to take to get the dorm back to normal? Or the fact that I’m now stuck babysitting Kalim in what feels like the surface of the sun?"

Kalim, still oblivious to the suffering around him, beamed. “You should make up with Malleus! Then maybe we can have two vacations!”

Jamil’s eye twitched.

It didn’t take long before you were escorted (dragged) back to Malleus, courtesy of a very sunburned Jamil and a still-chipper Kalim. They deposited you at the door to Diasomnia, giving you the kind of look that screamed fix this, or we’ll make you regret it.

Sighing, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. Unsurprisingly, it was even hotter indoors than it had been outside. Malleus was sitting in the corner of the common room, his arms crossed and his gaze distant, like he was contemplating the deep mysteries of life—or brooding over your vacation suggestion. Probably the latter.

“Malleus?” you called softly, approaching him carefully as the air around him practically sizzled with residual magic.

He didn’t respond, still looking like a dragon that had just been told his gold stash was getting replaced with copper coins.

You sighed and knelt down in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you said, resting a hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just thought it’d be nice to see a new place, but if you want to go back to Briar Valley, that’s totally fine. We can go wherever you want.”

Malleus blinked, finally looking down at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You wished to travel somewhere unfamiliar,” he murmured, his voice low. “I should have taken your desires into account. But… the thought of you preferring another land over mine… it unsettled me.”

You blinked. “Wait, is that what this is about? Malleus, I love Briar Valley! I just wanted to try something new, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back. We could go anywhere, and I’d be happy as long as I’m with you.”

He softened even more, the heat in the room fading as his magic began to relax. “You mean that?”

You smiled and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course I do.”

His arms, once tense, reached out to pull you into his lap, holding you close as if the idea of you slipping away to some other land without him had weighed far too heavily on his mind. You snuggled into him, feeling the last traces of heatwave melt away into nothing but warmth and comfort.

Malleus nuzzled his face into your hair, his voice a soft rumble. “Then we shall go wherever your heart desires. As long as we are together.”

You chuckled, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Okay, deal. But, uh, maybe we avoid any more heatwave-related disasters? Jamil might actually combust next time.”

Malleus chuckled softly, his mood lightening as he held you close. “Very well. I shall spare them from further torment… this time.”

And as you cuddled into him, the remnants of the desert wasteland outside slowly returning to normal, you couldn’t help but think that as long as you had Malleus (and could keep him happy), the world—weather catastrophes included—would be just fine.

Instance 5: Fashion Fiasco

You and Malleus were at one of Vil’s fashion shows, sitting in the audience with everyone else as Vil strutted his stuff on the runway, looking absolutely flawless as per usual. The lights sparkled, the music boomed, and Vil practically radiated beauty and grace in an outfit that could only be described as something plucked straight from a dream.

"Wow," you breathed, eyes wide as you watched Vil pose dramatically at the end of the runway. "Vil really does look amazing, doesn’t he? Like, how is anyone supposed to compete with that level of perfection?"

Malleus, sitting beside you, went absolutely still.

It didn’t register right away. You were too busy marveling at Vil’s next ensemble to notice Malleus stiffening beside you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. But as the next model waltzed down the runway, you felt a sudden chill in the air. Literally.

You blinked. Was it just you, or was it… colder? You glanced up at the ceiling, frowning as tiny snowflakes started to drift down from nowhere. The air grew icy, your breath visible as the temperature plummeted in mere seconds.

"What the—" You stood up, just in time to see the entire fashion show being transformed into a literal winter wonderland. Snow was now falling heavily, frosting over the runway, the lights, and, most importantly, Vil’s perfect hair.

The shriek that followed was one of pure, unbridled horror.

“No! My HAIR!” Vil screeched, desperately clutching his head as snowflakes clung to his golden locks, which were slowly wilting under the weight of the ice. “This is a disaster!”

Models fled the scene, their designer clothes dragging through snowdrifts that were rapidly accumulating on stage. The music cut off, the audience panicked, and Vil looked like he was about five seconds away from declaring the end of the world.

Amidst the chaos, Rook Hunt stood in the middle of the snowy storm, spinning in circles with glee. “Magnifique!” he cried, twirling with open arms as if he were auditioning for a Broadway production of Frozen. “The raw beauty of nature meets the elegance of fashion—oh, how the world has blessed us with this miracle of frost!”

“ROOK!” Vil screeched again, eyes wide and wild as he tried—and failed—to maintain some sense of composure. “This is NOT a miracle! This is a CATASTROPHE! My show—my hair!”

Epel, looking somewhere between terrified and confused, rushed up to you, nearly slipping on the snow-covered floor in his haste. “We need your help!” he gasped, grabbing your arm and shaking it with the desperation of someone who knew what was at stake here. “You have to do something! Malleus is causing the storm!”

You blinked, still processing the fact that this wasn’t just some freak weather event but a full-on emotional meltdown from your very moody fae boyfriend.

“Malleus is… mad?” you asked, finally connecting the dots.

“Of course he’s mad!” Epel huffed, snowflakes clinging to his own purple hair. “You complimented Vil! Now he thinks you like Vil more than him! We’re all gonna freeze to death if you don’t fix it!”

“Oh… oh no.”

It took a few minutes (and a shove from a panicked Vil) to find Malleus, who had retreated to the far corner of the room, looking like a grumpy snow dragon with his arms crossed and snowflakes swirling around him. His expression was dark, brooding, and way too dramatic for someone who was causing a blizzard in the middle of a fashion show.

You approached cautiously, trying not to slip on the ice that was now coating the floor. “Malleus?” you called softly, inching closer. “Are you… okay?”

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I see you were quite taken with Vil’s appearance today.”

You blinked, a bit thrown off by the sheer seriousness in his tone. “Uh, I mean… yeah, Vil’s always beautiful. But, um, you know that’s just how he is. It’s his whole thing.”

Malleus’s frown deepened. “So you find him more beautiful than me.”

Oh. Oh.

You nearly facepalmed at the realization. “Malleus, no, that’s not what I meant!” you rushed to say, waving your hands in a flustered manner. “Vil is beautiful, but you—you’re, like, otherworldly! You know, fae beauty and all that. No one could possibly compare!”

Malleus eyed you warily, his lips pursed. “So… you do not prefer him over me?"

“Of course not!” you said quickly, stepping closer to place a hand on his arm. “You’re the most beautiful person I know. No one comes close to your level of magnificence, I swear.”

There was a long, heavy pause. Then, ever so slowly, the storm began to die down. The snowflakes stopped falling, the icy chill in the air dissipated, and the temperature returned to normal. Malleus’s expression softened, his moody sulk fading as he looked down at you with a much gentler gaze.

“Is that truly how you feel?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You smiled up at him, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Of course, Malleus. You’re my favorite, always.”

Malleus visibly brightened at that, his usual regal aura returning as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close in a warm embrace. “Very well, then. I shall forgive this transgression. But only because you have reassured me of your affections.”

You giggled, snuggling into his chest. “I’ll make sure to tell you more often how beautiful you are.”

Vil then walks directly up to you and stares you down. "If you're done wrecking my show, could ypu please keep your dragon in check?"

All you can do is grin sheepishly at him.

Instance 6: Gaming Shenanigans

It all started because of that one last raid. You and Idia were deep in an epic gaming marathon, tackling a boss so difficult that even Idia—self-proclaimed gaming god—had to break out his limited-edition controller. It was all good fun, hours flying by without you even noticing, as you spammed attacks and worked together like the perfect gaming duo you were.

That is, until Idia hit you with a question that made your stomach drop.

"So, uh, aren't you supposed to, like... do something tonight?" Idia asked, mid-battle. His voice was a little too casual, almost like he already knew the answer but was waiting for you to figure it out yourself.

You froze for a split second, still pressing buttons but no longer fully paying attention. Something... tonight? What could he—

Oh no.

You had plans tonight. With Malleus.

Specifically, your nightly walks around campus, which had become somewhat of a ritual. Every night, you’d stroll through the darkened grounds, hand-in-hand, talking about anything and everything. It was Malleus’s favorite part of the day—something he eagerly looked forward to.

And you’d… forgotten.

Your eyes darted to your phone, which was lying face down on the desk, completely ignored for the last several hours. You didn’t even need to check it to know what you’d find: missed calls, unread messages, probably a voicemail or two from Malleus, wondering where you were.

"Oh no," you whispered, voice barely audible over the sounds of explosions and battle cries on screen.

"Wait, what?" Idia’s character paused for a second as he glanced at you. "Did you just say 'oh no'? What 'oh no'? Are we talking minor 'oh no' or, like, 'I've-angered-a-final-boss-oh-no'?"

You gulped, heart sinking as you realized just how much trouble you were in. "Um... the second one. Definitely the second one."

Before Idia could even react, the room went dark. The power cut out so fast, you barely had time to process it. The glow of the screens, the hum of electronics—all gone, leaving only the soft pitter-patter of rain against the window.

Idia's horrified gasp echoed through the sudden silence.

"No. No, no, no, no, no—this can’t be happening! We were in the middle of a raid!” His hands flew to his hair, the blue flames flickering wildly as panic set in. "Dude, you forgot your dragon?!"

The color drained from your face as the gravity of the situation fully hit. “I—um—got distracted?”

Idia’s eyes widened, and he stood up so fast his chair rolled backwards. "Distracted?! You forgot about your nightly walks with the dragon fae, and now we’re sitting in a power outage caused by his emotional spiral?!”

In the faint glow of Idia’s flame-lit hair, you saw Ortho zip into the room, looking far too calm given the circumstances. “I detected a sudden shift in weather patterns around campus. It seems like the storm has caused a widespread blackout. Should I assume it’s related to Malleus Draconia’s emotional state?”

"YES!" Idia practically screeched, pointing at you in betrayal. "They ditched Malleus for gaming, and now we’re all suffering the consequences! Ortho, tell them to fix it, please! I beg you!”

Ortho turned to you with his usual chipper smile. “I suggest you go to Malleus and make amends before the entire campus loses power. I’ve already calculated a 98% chance that further emotional distress will result in structural damage to the dorm.”

Idia groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is why you never piss off boss-level boyfriends. It’s just common sense.”

So, that’s how you found yourself trudging through the stormy night, rain soaking your clothes as you made your way to find Malleus. The lightning flashed overhead, thunder rumbling ominously as you approached the usual meeting spot for your nightly walks.

And there he was—standing alone, looking very much like the picture of heartbreak. His tall figure was framed by the pouring rain, his expression a perfect blend of hurt and brooding. The storm seemed to swirl around him, almost as if it were a physical manifestation of his emotions.

“Malleus,” you called out, rushing toward him, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain. “I’m so sorry!”

He turned slowly, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “You did not answer my calls.”

“I know, I know! I got caught up in a game with Idia, and I didn’t check my phone, and—well, now we have a blackout.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly, his gaze softening just a fraction. “You left me waiting, and the storm came.”

You winced, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to forget about our walk. I love spending time with you—I swear.”

Malleus let out a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I do not wish to be a burden to you.”

“Burden?” you echoed, stepping closer until you were right in front of him, the rain pouring down between you. “Malleus, you’re not a burden. I love our walks. I love spending time with you. I just… lost track of time. That’s all.”

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound being the rain hitting the ground. Then, to your surprise, Malleus looked away, a faint hint of vulnerability in his expression. “Do you… truly mean that?”

Without thinking, you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I do. There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, and slowly—so slowly—the storm began to quiet. The rain lessened, the wind died down, and the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over the campus lifted. He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face as if looking for any sign of doubt. When he found none, he finally let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth turning up in a faint smile.

“You always manage to calm me,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

You smiled back, feeling warmth spread through your chest despite the cold rain. “I guess I’m just good at soothing dragons.”

Malleus raised a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Perhaps.”

The rain had stopped entirely by now, leaving only a light mist in the air. You let out a relieved sigh, brushing some stray raindrops off Malleus’s cheek before standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I’ll never forget our walks again,” you whispered against his lips, earning a quiet hum of approval from him.

“I shall hold you to that,” he replied, his voice warm with affection. “Now, shall we take that walk?”

You nodded, intertwining your fingers with his. The world felt calmer now, the storm gone, replaced by the soft glow of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Malleus’s mood had lifted entirely, and as the two of you strolled through the now-quiet campus, you couldn’t help but feel content.

And, of course, Idia and Ortho’s screens flickered back to life, much to their relief.

Instance 7: Dessert Disaster

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and you were about to partake in a picnic with none other than Malleus, Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. Everything was perfect. The blanket was laid out beneath a sprawling tree, food arranged carefully across it—courtesy of Malleus himself, who had spent hours in the kitchen the night before, preparing what he considered to be the pièce de résistance: a pie.

Not just any pie. No, this was a Malleus Draconia-crafted masterpiece. The filling was made from rare berries he’d harvested himself, the crust baked to a perfect golden brown. You could practically smell the love (and maybe a little lightning) that had gone into it.

Malleus, with a glint of pride in his eyes, carefully handed you a slice. "I hope it meets your expectations, my love."

You eagerly took a bite, eyes widening as the flavors exploded on your tongue. It was amazing. No, better than amazing—it was downright phenomenal. How did he even manage to bake something this good? A prince of darkness and a master chef? This was unfair.

"This slaps," you declared, totally unaware of the impending doom those words were about to unleash.

The moment the words left your mouth, you noticed a visible shift in Malleus’s expression. The proud smile he’d worn just seconds ago faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. His green eyes darkened, clouds suddenly appearing overhead. You could feel the electricity in the air as the temperature dropped.

"I see," Malleus murmured, voice tight. "So… you dislike it."

Wait. What?

You blinked, realization dawning far too slowly. Oh no.

Before you could correct him, Malleus was already raising his hand, a faint crackle of magic sparking between his fingers. You could practically hear the thunder rumbling in the distance as he stared down at the pie slice in your hand, preparing to smite the poor, innocent pastry.

"No, no, no, no—wait!" You waved your arms frantically, standing up so fast you nearly tripped over the picnic blanket.

Sebek, meanwhile, had already leapt to his feet, eyes blazing with righteous fury. "How dare you insult Master Malleus’s baking?!" he shouted, fists clenched. "His skill is unmatched, and yet you have the audacity to call his creation—"

"Sebek." Silver’s voice, calm but firm, interrupted the impending tirade. He was still sitting, but his eyes were half-open now, watching the situation unfold with mild concern. "They didn’t mean it that way."

Lilia, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He was absolutely delighted by the chaos unfolding, his laughter ringing out across the clearing. "Oh, this is too good!" he cackled, practically rolling on the blanket. "I haven’t seen this much excitement at a picnic in centuries! You modern humans and your strange expressions never fail to entertain!"

You shot him a look that screamed, Please stop encouraging this.

Silver, bless his soul, finally spoke up again, this time turning his attention to you. "You might want to explain before the weather gets worse." He nodded toward the now very ominous-looking clouds gathering above Malleus.

Right. Explaining. You could do that.

You turned back to Malleus, who still looked like he was contemplating whether to zap the pie or not. You could tell his feelings were hurt—his brow was furrowed, his lips set in a tight line. And the thought of him feeling like that, all because of a misunderstanding, made your heart clench.

"Malleus," you said, stepping closer and reaching for his hand. "When I said ‘this slaps,’ I meant it’s really good. Like, insanely good. Amazing. Best pie I’ve ever had."

Malleus’s stormy expression faltered slightly, though the dark clouds remained. "But you said it ‘slaps.’"

"That’s modern slang," you explained, gently squeezing his hand. "It’s a compliment. I promise."

Malleus blinked, the magic at his fingertips dissipating as he processed your words. "So… you enjoyed it?"

"Absolutely. You knocked it out of the park with this pie." You gave him your most reassuring smile. "I could eat the whole thing."

The storm clouds began to thin, sunlight peeking through once more. Malleus tilted his head, considering this new information, and slowly—very slowly—a smile returned to his face.

"It pleases me to hear that," he said, his voice softening.

Meanwhile, Sebek was still standing there, sputtering indignantly. "W-Well, if that’s what they meant, then… of course Master Malleus’s pie is the best! I knew that all along!"

Lilia, still chuckling, waved a dismissive hand at Sebek. "Oh, calm down, boy. No harm done. Besides, now we know modern slang! What other fascinating phrases do you have, I wonder?"

Silver sighed, finally sitting up properly. "Maybe let’s avoid any more slang for today."

With the situation calming down, you took the opportunity to lean in closer to Malleus, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek. "I’m really sorry for the confusion," you murmured. "You’re an amazing baker, and your pie is delicious. I meant that, okay?"

Malleus’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly at the affection, and he gave a small nod. "I believe you."

Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you pressed another kiss to his lips, slow and tender, savoring the warmth of his skin and the way his hand gently squeezed yours in return. The last of the clouds above you finally cleared, leaving the sky blue and bright once more. The storm was over, and everything was at peace again.

"Shall we enjoy the rest of our picnic, then?" Malleus asked, his voice much lighter now.

You nodded enthusiastically, sitting back down beside him. "Absolutely. And just so we’re clear—your food? Total banger."

Malleus raised a brow, clearly still unfamiliar with the term but now much more accepting of your strange modern ways. "I see. I shall take that as a compliment."

Sebek, still recovering from his earlier outrage, grumbled something under his breath, but you didn’t care. Lilia was still snickering, Silver was finally getting comfortable again, and Malleus was happy. Everything was right in the world.

And hey, now you knew—if you ever wanted to spice things up at a picnic, all it took was a little modern slang.

Instance 8: Destruction of NRC (Well, almost)

Crowley’s “magnanimous nature” was, quite frankly, killing you. Whether it was sorting mountains of paperwork, being sent on endless errands, or handling Grim’s regular chaos, you were exhausted. Every muscle in your body ached, your eyes had dark circles deeper than any pit, and you were pretty sure you were on your third day of functioning on nothing but caffeine and sheer spite.

Grim, bless his fiery little heart, watched you from his perch on your bed, tail flicking in irritation as you barely managed to drag yourself into Ramshackle after another long, thankless day.

“Ugh, henchhuman! You look like death warmed over,” Grim sniffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “How long do you plan on letting that featherbrained Crowley walk all over you?”

You groaned, flopping face-first into your pillow. “As long as it takes to survive this semester, Grim. No one else is going to deal with his nonsense. Not like I have a choice.”

Grim was silent for a moment, watching you with uncharacteristic concern. Then, in a low mumble, he said, “Well, I’ve had enough. You’re my henchhuman, and I won’t let him destroy you.”

You thought Grim was just being dramatic. But when you woke up the next morning to the sound of distant thunder rumbling ominously across the sky, you had a very, very bad feeling.

By the time you made it to NRC, the situation was in full swing. You arrived just in time to witness Crowley practically on his knees, looking like a man who had stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale—barely.

The sky above NRC was pitch black, clouds swirling and crackling with magic as the wind howled through the campus. A storm of epic proportions had descended, and it wasn’t just any storm. This was a Malleus Draconia-grade storm. The kind that didn’t just bring rain or wind—it brought devastation, and everyone was cowering indoors, peeking through windows, afraid to go outside.

Crowley spotted you immediately, rushing over with his cape flapping dramatically behind him as he stumbled, nearly slipping in the mud.

“Please,” he cried, hands clutching your shoulders as if you were his last lifeline. “Please, you must calm him down! I beg of you, prefect, do something!”

You raised a brow, half-expecting some pitiful excuse, but the Headmaster, in all his avian glory, had gone straight to the begging stage. “What did you do this time?” you sighed, knowing it had to be his fault.

“I did nothing! Absolutely nothing! Well, perhaps I’ve… been a little harsh on you, but that’s no reason for him to destroy the entire campus!” Crowley wailed, looking pitiful as a gust of wind nearly knocked him off balance.

“I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you an actual wage! I’ll give you a budget to renovate Ramshackle, and I’ll personally sponsor your vacation! Just please—stop him before there’s nothing left of Night Raven College!”

You blinked. Did… did you just get a salary offer? And a vacation? And a renovation budget? This was new.

Before you could process the sheer absurdity of the situation, Professor Crewel passed by with his coat dramatically billowing in the wind. “Honestly,” he muttered under his breath, “about time that birdbrain faced some consequences for his incompetence.”

Professor Trein, walking with his trusty feline Lucius, shook his head gravely. “At this point, the Headmaster deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

“Do you not see the storm?!” Crowley shrieked, pointing to the lightning that was now dangerously close to striking the bell tower.

Both professors exchanged a look before continuing on their way, Crewel muttering something about how this was Crowley’s mess to fix.

You couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction seeing the Headmaster squirm. But at the same time, NRC was at risk of being blown off the map if you didn’t act soon. And judging by the way Grim was laughing maniacally in the corner, proudly declaring how he “fixed” your problems, this was going to be on you to clean up.

With a sigh, you gave Crowley a nod. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But if you go back on any of those promises—”

“I won’t!” Crowley promised, hands clasped as if in prayer. “I swear on the very foundation of this school, you will be compensated!”

You rolled your eyes but turned on your heel to head toward Diasomnia. The storm seemed to know you were coming, the wind parting just enough to allow you passage. The moment you stepped into the courtyard, the thunder seemed to quiet, though lightning still flashed ominously in the distance.

And there, standing at the center of it all, was Malleus. His expression was dark, eyes glowing faintly as he stared up at the storm he’d summoned. His hands were clasped behind his back, and even with his composed stance, you could sense the simmering frustration beneath the surface.

You approached carefully, calling out softly, “Malleus?”

His head turned slightly at the sound of your voice, though he didn’t fully look at you. “Ah, my love. I see you’ve arrived.”

You moved closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Grim told you what’s been going on, didn’t he?”

“I cannot stand to see you work yourself to exhaustion for that foolish crow,” Malleus muttered, still staring at the storm. “He takes advantage of your kindness. It is unforgivable.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. He was genuinely upset—for you. But, you also couldn’t let NRC be reduced to rubble, and you needed to calm him down before it got worse.

With a soft chuckle, you stepped in front of him, gently cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay. I appreciate how much you care about me, but you don’t have to destroy the school over this.”

Malleus’s eyes finally met yours, the storm above softening ever so slightly. “But you’re suffering.”

“I was,” you admitted, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But not anymore. Crowley’s going to make it up to me—he promised me a wage, a renovation budget for Ramshackle, and a vacation.”

That seemed to catch his attention, the storm clouds above beginning to dissipate. “A vacation?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, leaning up to brush another kiss against his cheek. “In fact, I was going to ask if you’d like to come with me.”

Malleus blinked, his earlier frustration melting into a look of surprise—and then, a small, pleased smile tugged at his lips. The storm overhead faded into nothing, the sky returning to its usual clear blue.

“I would be honored,” he said softly, pulling you closer to him. “A vacation, just the two of us. That sounds… delightful.”

You grinned, pressing a final kiss to his lips, feeling his arms wrap around you in return. “It’s a date, then.”

And just like that, the storm was over. NRC was safe, and more importantly, you had managed to calm your dragon—and score a well-deserved vacation in the process.

As for Crowley? Well, you’d make sure to enjoy every moment of watching him squirm while you cashed in those promises.

Masterlist

[theetherealbloom]

You Got Me So In Love, I've Never Been This Possessive

Summary: While on a scenic boat trip along the coasts of Malta, you bask in the crystal-clear waters, and laughter with Pedro’s cast and crew. Despite his injured arm keeping him on the boat, Pedro can’t keep his eyes off you.

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Swimming, Bikini, Flirting, Teasing, Cast, Pedro Fell Down The Stairs, ER visit, Hurt-To-Comfort, Mild Spice, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 5K

A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS!!! Y’know how I said there would be a part two? Yup. Also, I know no one asked, but back in High School, I fell down the stairs… A LOT. Like every year for six years. No major bones were broken, only a sprained ankle every time I fell down the stairs, so in a way I guess I was lucky. PSA to always hold the hand railing, and like Pedro said, it can happen to anyone!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Te Quiero by KISS OF LIFE

← Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist |

PASCAL RESIDENCE, CHILE — AFTERNOON  

The sun bathed the Pascal family home in a golden glow, the air filled with the scent of freshly baked empanadas and the gentle hum of conversation. You were seated on the patio, your legs tucked under you, watching as Pedro animatedly retold a story from his teenage years. His siblings—Javiera, Lux, and Nicolás—listened with rapt attention, their laughter bubbling over when Pedro’s dad chimed in with his version of events, insisting Pedro had exaggerated again.  

“Exaggerated?” Pedro placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I would never! Everything I say is 100% true and scientifically proven.”  

“Scientifically proven to be full of nonsense,” Nicolás teased, earning a round of laughter.  

You couldn’t help but grin, soaking in the easy camaraderie of the family. Pedro’s hand found yours under the table, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt like second nature. He glanced at you, his dark eyes soft with a love so deep it made your chest tighten.  

“Tell them,” Pedro said, turning to you with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “Tell them I’m not lying.”  

You bit back a laugh, tilting your head in mock consideration. “Well… the story did sound a bit too good to be true.”  

“Et tu, mi amor?” he groaned, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile.  

Javiera, ever the ringleader, stood and declared, “Enough storytelling! Let’s put her to the test. If she’s going to be part of this family, she needs to learn brisca.”  

Pedro leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Fair warning: They’ll gang up on you.”  

“Good thing I’ve got you on my side,” you murmured, a soft blush rising to your cheeks.  

“I’ll always be on your side,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple that sent a shiver down your spine.  

A FEW HOURS LATER…  

The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Pedro had wandered inside to grab more drinks for everyone while you stayed on the patio with Lux, discussing her latest project.  

The sound of a crash shattered the peaceful air. You froze, the glass in Lux’s hand slipping and shattering on the ground.  

“Pedro!” you gasped, bolting toward the house.  

Inside, you found him crumpled at the base of the stairs, his face pale and contorted in pain. Nicolás was already at his side, his hands hovering uncertainly as if afraid to make things worse.  

“Call an ambulance!” you shouted, your voice shaking as you knelt beside Pedro.  

He looked up at you, his breaths shallow and uneven. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said through gritted teeth, but his wince betrayed him.  

“You’re not okay,” you said, your hands trembling as you gently brushed the hair from his forehead. “What happened?”  

“I missed the last step,” he muttered, trying to manage a weak smile. “Guess I’m not as graceful as I thought.”  

“Pedro, this isn’t funny,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes.  

Javiera appeared with the phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapidly to the emergency dispatcher. Lux crouched beside you, her face pale as she reached for Pedro’s uninjured hand.  

“Help’s on the way,” Javiera assured you, her voice steady despite the panic in her eyes.  

Minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You kept your focus on Pedro, your hand gripping his tightly. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You’re going to be fine.”  

THE ER — EVENING

The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit you as you paced the waiting room, your heart pounding in your chest. Pedro had been whisked away for X-rays, and you felt helpless, the absence of his hand in yours leaving you cold.  

When the doctor finally emerged, you rushed to meet him, Javiera and Nicolás close behind.  

“Mr. Pascal has a broken arm,” the doctor explained. “It’s a clean break, but he’ll need surgery to set the bone properly. We’re scheduling it for late January.”  

Relief and worry collided in your chest. “Can I see him?” you asked, your voice small.  

The doctor nodded, and you followed the nurse to Pedro’s room. He was sitting up in bed, his arm in a temporary sling, his face pale but his smile still intact.  

“Hey, troublemaker,” he said, his voice softer than usual.  

You crossed the room in a few quick steps, perching on the edge of his bed. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” you said, your voice breaking as tears spilled over.  

Pedro reached for your hand with his good arm, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. “I’m sorry, mi amor,” he murmured, his eyes glistening.  

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “I thought… I thought something worse happened. I couldn’t breathe until I saw you.”  

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the pain. “And I’ll be fine. Especially with you by my side.”  

You kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of love and relief into the touch. As his lips moved against yours, you felt the fear begin to fade, replaced by the overwhelming gratitude that he was still here with you.  

“I’ll take care of you,” you promised, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”  

Pedro smiled, his gaze tender. “I don’t deserve you.”  

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek. “You deserve the world.”  

And in that moment, surrounded by beeping monitors and the sterile walls of the hospital, it felt like nothing else mattered but the two of you.

FORT RICASOLI, MALTA — DAY  

The sun was high over Fort Ricasoli, the Mediterranean breeze carrying a salty tang as waves crashed against the nearby shore. The reconstructed Roman Colosseum loomed grandly in the fort, its grandeur a perfect backdrop for the epic Gladiator II production. You stepped out of the transport van, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the bright Maltese sun, a bag slung over your shoulder filled with Pedro’s essentials—medication, snacks, and a cold water bottle you knew he’d try to avoid drinking unless reminded.  

As you walked toward the set, Pedro spotted you first, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart ache with affection. He was seated in the shade near the makeup tent, his left arm encased in a royal blue cast that made him look both ridiculous and endearing.  

“Hi,” you called, setting your bag down beside him. “I’m here to be your nurse.”  

Pedro’s grin widened, his dark eyes softening. “You’re more than my nurse. You’re my lifesaver. And I love you so much.”  

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “How’s the arm?”  

“It’s humiliating,” he muttered, holding up the cast as if it were a mark of disgrace. “Everyone keeps staring at it. Or laughing. Or both.”  

“There’s nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while, my love,” you said gently, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Besides, it’s a great conversation starter.”  

“Oh, yeah. Real smooth. ‘Hi, I’m Pedro Pascal, and I fell down a flight of stairs like a medieval jester.’”  

You smothered a laugh just as Joseph Quinn sauntered by, pausing dramatically to give Pedro an exaggerated salute. “How’s the mighty warrior today? Still battling gravity, I see.”  

“Go away,” Pedro groaned, waving his good arm dismissively.  

“You’re a walking PSA now,” Fred Hechinger added as he passed. “Don’t text and walk down stairs, kids!”  

Denzel Washington approached next, shaking his head with mock solemnity. “And here I thought I was the one who’d pull a stunt like that.”  

“Traitors,” Pedro muttered, pulling you closer as if you could shield him from the teasing.  

Coco, his ever-sassy hair stylist, smirked as she fixed his curls. “Just make sure she doesn’t trip over your ego next.”  

“Coco!” Pedro whined, but his cheeks flushed, his pout making him look boyish and undeniably adorable.  

Ridley Scott ambled over, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. “Take it easy, Pedro. You’re not 25 anymore.”  

“Gee, thanks, Ridley,” Pedro huffed, pulling you against him as if seeking comfort.  

The day pressed on, the heat making Pedro’s clinginess somehow both unbearable and heart-meltingly sweet. Despite the steady teasing from the cast and crew, he stuck close to you like a second shadow whenever he wasn’t on set, his blue cast drawing as much attention as his ever-present pout.  

During a break, he tugged at your hand, a soft whine slipping from his lips. “Go with me?”  

You glanced up from the book you were pretending to read. “Go where?”  

“Craft services,” he said, gesturing toward the shaded area where snacks and cold drinks awaited. “I’m starving, and I need moral support.”  

“You literally just had a protein bar,” you teased, but stood anyway, slipping your hand into his.  

“As long as you hold my hand,” you added with a smirk, letting him lead the way.  

His good hand entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin as you walked. “You know I’m not letting go, right?”  

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”  

Reaching the craft services tent, Pedro made a beeline for the iced lemonade, his cast making the process comically awkward. You reached over to help him hold the cup steady as he poured, ignoring the amused glances from the crew around you.  

“I got it,” he insisted, though his pouty tone betrayed his frustration.  

“Sure you do, Mr. Dexterity,” you teased. “Here, let me.”  

As you steadied the cup, Paul Mescal appeared beside you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. “What’s it like being Pedro’s personal assistant and cuddle therapist?”  

Pedro narrowed his eyes, his body shifting slightly as if to shield you from Paul’s teasing. “She’s an angel,” he declared, his tone defensive. “Unlike all of you degenerates.”  

Paul laughed, grabbing a handful of chips. “Touché.”  

Connie Nielsen joined the growing group, her warm smile softening the teasing atmosphere. “An angel with the patience of a saint,” she agreed. “He’s lucky to have you.”  

You squeezed Pedro’s hand, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eye. “Oh, I know.”  

Pedro leaned down, his voice low and sweet in your ear. “Remind me to buy you something shiny and expensive later.”  

“I’ll hold you to that,” you whispered back, brushing a kiss to his cheek just as Coco walked by, her ever-present smirk firmly in place.  

“Are we making out by the lemonade now?” she quipped, adjusting Pedro’s wig as she passed. “Just don’t knock over the drink dispenser, Casanova.”  

Pedro groaned, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching, betraying his amusement.  

When Pedro was shooting, you stayed nearby, perched under an umbrella with a bottle of water and a timer set for his next dose of medication. He’d been restless all morning, constantly checking in between takes to make sure you were still there.  

The moment the director called cut, Pedro scanned the area until his eyes landed on you. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made a beeline toward you, his costume slightly dusty from the action sequence.  

“Hydrate,” you ordered the moment he reached you, holding out the water bottle.  

He wrinkled his nose but took it, his good hand struggling to unscrew the cap. You wordlessly reached over to help, earning a sheepish look from him.  

“You know,” he said after a long sip, “you’re bossier than Ridley.”  

“You love it,” you countered, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel you’d tucked into your bag.  

Pedro’s lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze lingering on you. “I do,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “A little too much.”  

Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his tone, and you reached up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. “Good. Now go back to work. Ridley’s glaring at us.”  

He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the director gesturing for him to return. “Fine,” he grumbled, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.  

As he walked back toward the set, Ridley shook his head, a faint smile on his face. “That woman of yours has you wrapped around her little finger.”  

Pedro shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t I know it.”  

THE XARA PALACE RELAIS & CHÂTEAUX, MALTA — EVENING  

The day had taken its toll on both of you, but by the time you returned to the cozy luxury of the hotel suite, Pedro’s exhaustion only seemed to amplify his need for affection. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he flopped dramatically onto the small couch, casting a forlorn look your way.  

“Come here,” he said, his good arm extended toward you like a lifeline.  

You chuckled, slipping off your sandals. “I thought you were tired.”  

“I am,” he replied, his lips twitching into a pout. “But I’ll sleep better if you’re right here.”  

Shaking your head fondly, you joined him on the couch, only to be pulled down against his side the moment you were close enough.  

“It’s too hot for this,” you teased, trying—and failing—to push against his firm hold.  

“Don’t care,” Pedro murmured, nuzzling into the curve of your neck as if you were the only source of comfort in the world. “You make everything better.”  

You sighed softly, your resolve melting as your fingers found their way into his curls. They were still slightly damp from his post-shoot shower, and you gently combed through them, marveling at how they always seemed to spring back into place.  

“I think that’s the heatstroke talking,” you quipped, though your voice was warm with affection.  

“No,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “That’s the love of my life talking.”  

Your hand stilled for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you like a gentle wave. You pulled back slightly to look at him, but Pedro didn’t let you get far. His warm brown eyes met yours, brimming with sincerity that made your breath catch.  

“You’re insufferable,” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed how deeply his words had affected you.  

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, his tone so soft and certain it made your heart ache in the best way.  

Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned down to press a tender kiss to his temple. “You’re lucky I love you,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin.  

Pedro grinned, his good arm tightening around you as he pulled you even closer. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”  

For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the distant sounds of the Maltese evening outside. Pedro’s breathing began to slow, his head resting heavily against your shoulder as he drifted off. His cast was awkwardly propped up on his chest, and you carefully adjusted a pillow beneath it, not wanting him to wake up sore.  

As you gazed down at him, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, your heart swelled with a familiar ache—one born of overwhelming love. He might’ve been clingy and dramatic, prone to complaints about his cast and the heat, but he was also tender and selfless, with a way of making you feel like the most cherished person in the world.  

You traced the curve of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, marveling at how even in his sleep, his hold on you never loosened. He was steady and constant in a way that made you feel safe, loved, and utterly at home.  

He might’ve fallen down the stairs, but it felt like you were the one falling—deeper in love with him every single day.  

Later that night, as the two of you lay tangled together in the king-sized bed, Pedro stirred, his voice groggy but laced with warmth.  

“Are you still awake?”  

“Barely,” you murmured, your head resting against his uninjured shoulder. “Why?”  

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing over your arm in lazy circles. “Just wanted to say… thank you.”  

“For what?”  

“For taking care of me. For putting up with me being clingy. For loving me even when I’m ridiculous,” he said, his voice soft but earnest.  

You smiled in the darkness, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It’s not putting up with you, Pedro. It’s just loving you. And it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”  

His breath hitched, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his words carrying the weight of unspoken emotion.  

“You deserve everything,” you replied, your voice firm despite the tears prickling at your eyes.  

Pedro’s arms tightened around you, and in that moment, the world outside the four walls of your suite seemed to fade away. There was only the two of you, tangled together in love and gratitude, the promise of another day together stretching out before you like a gift.  

And as you drifted off to sleep, cradled in his embrace, you couldn’t imagine a place you’d rather be. 

COASTS OF MALTA — MORNING  

The morning sun bathed the harbor in a soft, golden glow as you and Pedro stepped onto the pristine deck of the yacht, greeted by the lively chatter of his castmates and the crew. The day promised adventure—an exploration of Malta’s dazzling coastlines, including the famed Blue Lagoon, Crystal Lagoon, and the secretive caves on Comino. The air smelled of salt and freedom, and the water, impossibly blue and inviting, stretched out like a gem-laden carpet before you.  

Pedro lingered close to you, his blue cast slung in a casual sling, though it didn’t stop him from giving your hand a light squeeze. He leaned down, his voice low and teasing.  

"Don’t get too excited," he murmured with a grin, his dark eyes gleaming. "You’ll make me look bad."  

You bumped your shoulder into his, rolling your eyes. "I can’t help it if I’m more fun than you."  

"More fun? Or more distracting?" His gaze flicked briefly to the bikini peeking out from your cover-up, his expression bordering on predatory before he quickly masked it with a playful smirk.  

“Behave, Pascal,” you teased, your cheeks warming under his intense stare.  

As the boat cruised toward its first stop, the Blue Lagoon, the mood was light and cheerful. Connie and Fred lounged near the bow, animatedly swapping stories with the crew, their laughter carrying over the soft sound of the waves. Coco flitted around like a hummingbird with her camera, capturing candid shots of the lively group. Near the railing, Paul was attempting to teach Denzel a ridiculous dance move, the two of them tripping over their own feet and causing more chaos than rhythm.  

You stood near Pedro, feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin, the gentle breeze teasing at your cover-up. A playful grin spread across your face as you untied the knot at your waist, sliding the fabric off and tossing it onto a nearby lounge chair. The vibrant bikini beneath was perfectly chosen—bright and bold against your skin, hugging your curves in a way that made you feel confident and beautiful.  

Pedro, seated comfortably in the shade with his injured arm resting on a cushion, froze mid-sip of his drink. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes darkening as they traced every inch of your form. Appreciation was clear in his expression, but it was the simmering heat in his stare that sent a thrill down your spine.  

You stretched your arms over your head, feigning oblivion to his attention as you joined Coco and Paul in their antics. The movement made your waist curve just enough to draw a quiet groan from Pedro’s lips, which didn’t go unnoticed by Coco. She smirked, leaning down to whisper as she passed him.  

“Subtle,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.  

Pedro didn’t even attempt to hide his grin. His eyes stayed glued to you as he shrugged, unapologetic. “Can you blame me?”  

Coco snorted. “Not one bit. But maybe cool it unless you want everyone else to notice how thirsty  you are.”  

“Let them,” Pedro muttered, mostly to himself. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched you laugh with Paul, the way your body moved under the bright sun making it nearly impossible for him to look away.  

When you caught his eye and shot him a playful wink, his good hand flexed against the armrest of his chair, the urge to pull you back to him almost too strong to resist.  

Later, as you leaned over the edge of the boat, peering down at the water with Paul pointing out fish, Pedro’s voice rumbled low behind you.  

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”  

You turned to find him standing close, his cast resting awkwardly at his side. “I am. The water’s beautiful,” you said with a smile, but his eyes weren’t on the water.  

“They’re not the only thing,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist.  

Heat bloomed on your cheeks, but you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. “Pedro Pascal,” you teased, stepping closer. “Are you flirting with me on a boat in front of all your castmates?”  

“Flirting?” He scoffed, his voice rich with amusement. “I’m just admiring. Can’t a man admire his girlfriend?”  

“Girlfriend?” you repeated, arching a brow.  

He smirked, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “The girlfriend,” he corrected, his voice dropping into a tone that sent a shiver racing through you despite the heat.  

You bit your lip, glancing around at the others, who were too distracted to notice the charged moment. “Behave yourself,” you whispered, though your heart raced at the way his good hand brushed lightly against your hip.  

He grinned, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m trying, but you’re not making it easy, sweetheart.”  

The way he said it, rough and low, had your stomach doing flips. The teasing sparkle in his eyes told you he knew exactly the effect he was having on you—and he wasn’t the least bit sorry about it.

When the boat anchored near the Blue Lagoon, you practically bounced with excitement. “I’m going in!”  

Pedro chuckled as you grabbed your snorkeling gear, pausing to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Try not to miss me too much,” you teased before hopping off the boat with an elegant dive.  

“Not possible,” he called after you, his voice tinged with laughter.  

The water was cool and crystal clear, every ripple catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds. You swam alongside Coco and Paul, laughing as he tried to outswim everyone only to splash clumsily when Coco teased him about his lack of grace. Schools of fish darted around you, their silvery bodies glimmering in the lagoon’s shallows, and the thrill of the moment made you forget the world beyond the sparkling blue waters.  

Pedro watched from the deck, his good hand cradling a drink as his cast rested on his lap. He smiled softly, his heart swelling at the sight of you. You were so effortlessly kind, so radiant, laughing and splashing with his friends as if you’d known them your whole life.  

“She’s really something,” Ridley remarked as he joined Pedro at the shaded table.  

“Don’t I know it,” Pedro replied, his voice warm with pride.  

“She’s good for you,” Ridley said simply, his tone laced with a rare softness.  

Pedro glanced at the director, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. She’s my soulmate.”  

Later, you clambered back onto the boat, droplets of water clinging to your skin, sparkling in the sunlight as they traced lazy paths down your arms and legs. Your grin was infectious, the kind of radiant joy that could light up an entire room—or, in this case, the deck of the boat. Pedro’s eyes were glued to you, as though the rest of the world had faded into the background.  

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement but warm with affection.  

“The best,” you replied breathlessly, grabbing a towel and wringing out your hair. “You should’ve come in with us. The water is incredible.”  

He raised his cast dramatically, pulling a mock grimace. “In case you forgot, I’m a bit handicapped here.”  

“Oh, poor baby,” you teased, crouching beside him. You leaned in to press a playful kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just long enough to make him sigh. “Next time, I’ll stay on the boat with you. We can sulk together.”  

Pedro’s good hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer before you could stand. “Don’t you dare,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Watching you have fun out there is the next best thing to being in the water myself.”  

You arched a brow, motioning to your bikini with a teasing grin. “You mean you like the view.”  

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow, devilish smirk. His mouth brushed your ear as he whispered, “I love the view.”  

The heat of his words sent a shiver down your spine, making your cheeks flush. You swatted at his chest playfully before standing and tossing the towel over your shoulder. “Careful, Pascal. You’re not supposed to overheat with that cast on.”  

The boat anchored near the caves on Comino, the turquoise water shimmering like liquid glass. Pedro waved you off with a mock sternness, insisting you go explore while he stayed behind.  

“I’ll hold down the fort,” he said, settling back into his chair with a small smirk. “Don’t get lost in there.”  

You rolled your eyes, blowing him a kiss before diving into the water with Paul and Fred. The group swam toward the darkened entrance of the caves, their laughter echoing off the limestone walls. Inside, the sunlight filtered through cracks, casting dancing patterns on the rocky surfaces.  

Pedro, stuck on the boat, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. His gaze followed you like a shadow, lingering on the curve of your body as you moved effortlessly through the water. Every so often, you glanced back at the boat, catching him watching you. He didn’t even pretend to look away, his expression soft, adoring, and entirely unguarded.  

When you returned, dripping wet and exhilarated, you plopped down beside him with a dramatic sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder.  

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” you teased, your tone light but your heart pounding at the intensity of his attention.  

Pedro turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your temple. “Can you blame me?” he murmured. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your hand finding his on the armrest. “You’re laying it on thick today,” you joked, though your voice wavered just slightly.  

“It’s the truth,” he countered simply, his thumb brushing across your knuckles.  

Your moment was interrupted by Paul’s exaggerated wolf whistle from across the deck. “Get a room, you two!”  

Fred chimed in with a loud groan. “Some of us are single and fragile!”  

You laughed, your head falling back briefly before you turned to Pedro, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “They’re just jealous.”  

“Damn right, they are,” Pedro said, leaning in close. “You’re all mine.”  

The possessiveness in his tone was playful but sent your pulse racing nonetheless.  

Later, as the boat rocked gently in the open waters, you sat on Pedro’s lap, his good arm wrapped securely around your waist. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold.  

“Pedro,” you said softly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his thigh. “Can we stay like this forever?”  

His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his smile tender. “I’d stay here with you forever if I could,” he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.  

The weight of his words settled over you, grounding you in the moment. You bit your lip, leaning in closer until your noses brushed. “Please just kiss me already.”  

Pedro didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of unspoken promises and a depth of feeling that took your breath away. His hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as the world around you seemed to disappear.  

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a soft laugh. “I think you might be my soulmate,” he said, his voice a mixture of awe and certainty.  

Your eyes searched his, and for a moment, the noise of the others and the gentle lapping of the waves faded entirely. “I think you might be mine too,” you whispered, sealing the moment with another kiss.  

Laughter and chatter echoed around you, the boat a hub of joy and togetherness, but for you and Pedro, time seemed to stand still. In his arms, surrounded by the beauty of Malta and the warmth of his love, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[bernardsbendystraws]

𝐑𝐚𝐰 — 𝐌.𝐒.

Synopsis: all the first-times in your relationship with Matt that are so pure — so raw.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, doll .ᐟ reader, soft dom Matt, this has a LOT, but it's soft and romantic.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Matt couldn’t believe he met a girl like you, someone so brutally soft. 

Silence spoke volumes between you two. Ever since the first date, it never felt awkward. The quiet air never made either of you scramble for words to say. It was so soft, so calming – so delicate. 

Neither of you rushed into intimacy. Long nights were always spent cuddling, watching the moonlight pool through his window as your limbs tangled in his silk sheets. Kisses had been exchanged with such a passionate and slow rhythm. Neither of you wanted anything else but to bathe in the velvety aura of something so soft and pure. 

It was like rocking a baby. Falling didn’t seem scary – it seemed inviting and peaceful. The sweetness of the love never deterred. Fears were buried by each push further and deeper into the relationship, every word and action guaranteeing the dream-like reality. 

There was no rush. Since day one, it’s always been so slow – so sacred. Something so delicate that neither of you could dare to push too hard, following each other with calm, light footsteps down a new path of something foreign yet nostalgic. 

00 . . . the first time he kissed you. 

You felt like a puddle in his gaze. It’s so easy to follow him down the sand, listening to the waves as stars glisten on the water. Normally, you wouldn’t let a guy take you out this late with no one around. But, you feel like you can trust him. 

“I have to take you home soon, but…I really like spending time with you,” Matt says. 

Usually, butterflies of excitement would be in your stomach. But they’re everywhere. Especially in your chest. 

He’s taken you on three dates. Your friends had pestered you about the ‘third date’ standard – sex, but you had told them he hadn’t even kissed you yet. There didn’t feel like there was any pressure for anything. You both just liked each other’s company. You didn’t need some physical connection to prove something here was worth exploring. You already knew. 

“I like spending time with you.” Your toes dig into the stand as you both pause to stare at each other. 

There’s something about his eyes. Something so familiar. It feels like you're looking at the moon, something so untouchable. 

Kiss me.

Your eyes peer into his with the silent plea. Words aren’t forced, a silent understanding makes him lean in closer, his hand holding yours as his other wraps around your waist. 

His breath is fanning on your lips, his eyes searching for permission as you feel something within you completely collapse, no walls or guards up as you let him truly look at you. 

“Can I…” his hand moves from your waist, fingers softly brushing your hair behind your ear as he looks at you with curiosity. “-can I kiss you?” he breathes, his hand tangling in your hair as you nod your head, your chest tightening with anticipation as he starts to lean down.

It feels like a dream. 

You don’t remember your eyes closing. You don’t even remember how cold the air had become. 

There’s nothing but him. Only him. 

His lips land on yours so gently, a type of tenderness you’ve never felt before. It’s a kiss, but it’s so much more than that. There is no spark scaring you away from intensity. It’s just this – it’s just him. 

Matt’s lips are appreciating yours, the way it just feels so natural, so comfortable. The sand seems to sink beneath your feet. You’re held hostage in the feeling of vulnerability. But you don’t even wanna run. You don’t care however much sand the wind is blowing into your hair. You don’t care about anything except for how welcomed you feel, how cherished you feel. 

And it’s just a kiss. 

But there’s no rush. 

01 . . . the first night.

Swarms of anxiety – something unfamiliar for how you typically felt spending time with Matt, but it’s uncharted territory. He’d never asked if you wanted to stay over for the night. You’re not sure what this means, what’s expected of you. 

Did it mean that he wanted more?

You shared long kisses, but nothing quite pushed past a soft moan humming between your lips from how passionately he always kissed you. 

Matt can feel your uncertainty. You’ve both gotten ready for bed, but he can see the slight reluctance in your posture, prohibiting you from completely relaxing. 

“Okay – what’s going on? Talk to me.”

Your eyes stare at the wall nervously, your hands playing in your lap as you feel Matt sit down next to you on the edge of the bed. 

“I…um, nothings wrong–” Matt cuts you off, taking one of your hands into his before placing his lips on the back of your palm. “Somethings wrong. Just talk to me, I can practically hear you thinking,” he remarks. 

Your shoulders sink. The anxious babble of words is racing through your mind, but you don’t know how to say it. 

“I just…you want me to spend the night, Matt. We’ve…we’ve never... just, ugh,” you sigh, frustratedly helpless in expressing the vicious thoughts consuming your mind. 

Matt tugs on your hands, grabbing your attention as your eyes shift over to his. You can see the same moonlight as always, a reassurance washing over you as he starts to speak. “I just wanted to cuddle you. You…you’re more than enough just being next to me, okay? We don’t need to do anything. There’s no rush.” 

Your head falls onto his shoulder as you let out an exasperated sigh. 

It’s Matt, why did you think anything else?

“I’m sorry. I’m just…just getting in my own head,” you explain. 

“I do it too, it’s okay,” Matt reasons, hanging his arm around your shoulders as he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. 

“-it’s just me, remember? There’s no rush.” 

02 . . . the first of something more. 

Your lips are addicting to him. He can’t get enough of the feeling, the comfort and relief he gets from it, how he can make you feel his devotion through his lips desperately chasing yours. 

“Matt,” you whisper, breathlessly as he slowly devours you, your lips tingling from how long you’d been kissing for at this point. 

But you can’t get enough of it – of him. You love the way he pours himself into you through his lips moving against yours, a pattern completely lost and forgotten as you both succumb to such a natural rhythm of movement. 

His hands rest on your hips. He’s so lost in you that he doesn’t realize what has made you so breathless. “-hm?” he hums into your mouth, a vibration of your moan making his chest pound with a loud drum of his heart. 

Your hands clasp into his shoulders tightly, your chest pushing into his as your back arches slightly. 

And then he realizes. 

He had been so drunk off you, so intoxicated by you, he hadn’t even meant to roll his hard bulge up into you. But he did. And it felt good. 

Matt tries to be more mindful, his kisses getting even more desperate and sloppy as he reminds himself to stay still. “-’m sorry, sorry. Just…can’t get enough of you like this, princess,” he rasps.

You’re more than comfortable. In all honesty, you didn’t mind in the slightest. Heat pools between your legs, a pulse becoming painfully recognizable as he keeps himself contained, only his lips showing all his desperation. 

“No, I,” you gasp, your mouth falling open as his lips start to venture to your neck. He’s just so hungry – so viciously romantic with each passionate kiss. “-more.” Your hands tug on his hair. Matt loses his composure, his hard length grinding up against you as his lips fall flat, a moan vibrating against your neck. 

“God. Are you sure? I – fuuccckkk,” he groans, his teeth nibbling onto the delicate skin of your neck as you grind your hips. 

His hands clutch onto your waist. He’s not pushing you down, he’s simply holding onto you tightly, a desperation to hold you and reassure you making his hands stay planted against your skin, heavy breathes falling from his mouth and onto your neck covered in his saliva. 

“Matt,” you pant, your head falling into the crook of his shoulders as he takes over, grinding himself up into you as your hands pull on his hair. 

One of his hands slides down to your hip, keeping you in place as he slowly circles his hard cock through both your clothes, relishing in the heat radiating from your core. His other hand slides up, cupping the back of your head as he soothes you.

“Shh, I got you, sweetheart. I – mhm,” he whines, his thighs tensing more and more with each movement. “-fuck, is this okay? Does my princess feel good?” he purrs, his head leaning further over your shoulder as he feels your legs tense over and over, the whines spilling from your lips into the crook of his neck telling him you feel good, really good. 

“I – yes, it’s,” you shriek as your gut tightens even further. Matt coos, holding you even tighter and continuing the same lazy grind of his hips. “-’s so…so,” you gasp, clutching onto him even tighter. He’s sure to keep his movements the exact same. His cock twitches every time the whimper falls from your lips as he presses himself hard against your clothed heat. 

“Thaaat’s it,” he says, petting over the back of your head as he feels your body go rigid. “-just let go, baby. I’m,” his words get cut off from a groan ripping from the back of his throat, “-’m right there with you, fuck.” 

It’s so warm between your bodies. Every motion is so addicting, the feeling of him so close to you absolutely consuming you. A harsh, deep noise is ripped through his lips as he feels your legs shake on either side of him. Somehow, it gets even warmer, even more addicting as he feels his dick pulse while sticky cums spurts from his tip and soaks his briefs.  

Your heaves for air are concerningly shaky, your legs still quivering on either side of him as he pets through your hair, trying to catch his own breath. “Fuck – can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers, hugging you closer as his hand sitting on your hip moves to hug around your waist. 

You whine as you feel his hips rock one more time, the feeling of your panties sticking to your dripping heat so overwhelmingly euphoric. 

“Did so good for me,” he soothes, “-letting me have you like this. Fuck – I love it. I love you.” 

03 . . . the first time.

The same thing had happened so many times. Grinding on his clothed cock until you were both heaving for air. But this time it wasn’t enough, this time you needed more. 

“Fuuuuccckkkk,” Matt’s head drops, his lips brushing against your ear as he lets his hard length rub against you, the only barrier being your panties. 

You can barely see anything. The lack of distractions makes the pleasure consume you even more. 

“Matt, please. I – I want more,” you cry, your hands tugging in his hair brutally as he tightens his muscles to push himself even closer against you. 

Your statement is more than enthusiastic, an obvious desperation in your voice making it clear that you need more this time. Matt’s elbow supports his weight, caging in your head as he loops his fingers around the waistband of your panties. He nearly falls as his hips continue to mindlessly sputter into yours. 

“Are you…are you sure?” he asks. 

You’re left with nothing but desire, your hips lifting as you mumble another plea. Matt slides your underwear down your legs, the hot air gathering beneath the blankets making you even further aware of just how wet you are. 

The lack of fabric makes you whine as you feel the slick drip down. Your legs go to close shut, pulling Matt closer as you feel his bare length brush against your folds. 

An embarrassingly loud moan echoes from the both of you. Matt reaches over, grabbing a condom from his nightstand drawer before standing on his knees and sliding it on. 

“You’re…” he’s hypnotized as he runs his fingers through your wet pussy lips, nearly drooling at the sight of you writhing from the simple touch. You’re pulsing for him. “--you’re so wet, sweetheart.”

“Please.” you beg, dignity seeming to disappear as you lock your legs around him, pulling him against you. 

“Yeah?” Matt purrs softly, caging your head with his arm as he keeps himself propped above you, his lips tickling your ear as his other hand guides his tip along your wet slick. “Want me to fuck you, princess? Fill you up?” he husks, hissing as your hips move, desperately trying to suck him in as his tip glides right over your entrance. 

Your nails digging into his shoulder tell you how much you need him. “Please, Matt. Please, please–” 

“Shhh, shhh,” he coos, letting his tip line up with your dripping hole. He’s too sweet to torture you any longer. The pleas spilling from your lips were beyond thrilling, but all he wants to do is give you everything and more. “Relax for me, okay?” 

It’s hard to relax. Your muscles are tensing with anticipation and need. The second you feel his cock slipping into you, you’re a puddle of euphoria. It’s not even just the physical sensation. You just feel so close, so vulnerable and safe. 

“Oh,” your mouth drops open. The sensation of him stretching you open is blissfully perfect. So slow, so tender. 

“Yeah, god – just – just gonna fuck you nice and slow, okay? Just,” he starts to slowly rock his hips, pulling out after only half his length is buried in you. “-fuck, princess. You’re suckin’ me in,” he strains, gritting his teeth as he feels just how tight your walls are pulling him in. 

“-’m sorry, I,” your babbling nonsense. Matt huffs at your blissful state, a sense of pride from your vulnerable state making his dick sink deeper into you. He’s so close, he’s a part of you right now, carefully plunging his length into you slowly. 

“Oh – oh my god,” he breathes, hesitantly pushing himself deeper with each thrust, the twist of your hands in his hair giving him endless encouragement. 

Your mouth falls open, your head digging into the pillow as you let yourself be utterly consumed by every sensation. 

Matt’s cock is digging into you passionately. Every slow thrust is gliding right against such sensitive nerves inside of you, your walls gushing against him from how excessively wet he had already made you. 

“Shit,” he seethes, his elbow supporting his weight shifting as he lets his hand slide under your head, pulling you into his shoulder as he fucks you sweetly, romance oozing from his passionate movements with each rock of his hips.

You claw into his back. It all feels so intimate, so raw. 

“Matt, I — I,” you breathlessly heave, his motions faltering as a whimper falls past his lips. 

“Tell me. Please,” he cradles your head even closer into the crook of his neck. “-tell me how good I make you feel, sweetheart, I — need it, god,” he rasps. 

A sharp gasp pulls from your lips. He’s so deep, crawling into you with care and desperation to be closer – to make you feel good. 

“-so good, it’s—” 

Your words are cut off by a loud cry pushing past your lips. The sound of his pelvis smacking against yours as he completely bottoms out is everything. Pure devotion leaks through his aura as he clutches you impossibly closer, his hips unsteadily and sloppily fucking into you. 

“Mmmph, yeah…just…just wanna make my girl feel good, my – my pretty girl,” he hisses, your walls taking his length greedily. 

His intentions are displayed with nothing but love. His hips digging into yours over and over again as you feel a warmth spread inside your gut and your chest. 

“Matt, I’m –’m,” you swallow, completely blinded by waves of pleasure as he sinks into you over and over again, his whines becoming more frequent as his pace becomes more erratic. 

“I, please,” he begs, his fingers tangling in your hair as he hugs you even tighter, “-cum with me, princess. Need it, need you – need, oh, oh my,” he breathes your name over and over again, completely entranced as your pussy pulls him in, clenching and convulsing around his cock. 

“Matt!” you cry, completely stricken with vicious pleasure pulsing through every pore in your body, the overwhelming sensation making you feel so emotional as you cry his name. 

“Oh – mmmm,” Matt’s voice is completely strained. His cries and hums are muffled, his lips pursing as he focuses on fucking you so deeply, his love pouring from his mouth as he whispers sweet praises while riding out his high. “--fuck, so good, princess. Always so perfect for me, I – fuck,” his voice cracks, a cry of pleasure and raw emotion leaking from his heart, “-I love you. So much. Love, love, love you,” he repeats, heaving as he slows his hips to a stop, letting his weight rest on you as you both gasp for air. 

Matt can’t help but breathe his devotions. The words spill, making your chest tighten and relax at the same time. 

It’s just so pure.

So raw. 

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  sharing a bed with them 𓏸

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

content: pre-relationship bed sharing, flirty/mildly sexual implications

It's truly unfortunate that, while on a mission for the Agency, you have to share a bed with DAZAI — or so you think, at least. He doesn't share the sentiment in the slightest, instead smiling as innocently as possible the moment his gaze falls onto the single bed in the hotel room booked for the night. While he pretends to offer you the bed, he'll guilt-trip you about the couch being way too short for his long legs and about his back already aching until, eventually, you give in and share it with him.

Naturally, he gets into your space more than necessary at night, pretending he's asleep while cuddling close to you, given how, then, you can't cuss him out for wrapping an arm around your waist and burying his face in your neck, breath warm against your throat. It's worse that he knows if you won't get any amount of sleep whatsoever, much too busy with fighting off arousal while he's pressed flush against your back.

“Hm? No, it's alright. I don't mind taking the couch. What kind of man would I be if I let you sleep on there? Still, it's just — it's way too short and hard. Couches this uncomfortable shouldn't exist, really. I doubt I'll be able to get even a wink of sleep tonight, what a shame.”

When there turns out to only be one bed in the hotel room you're supposed to stay in for the night, CHŪYA doesn't even hesitate before offering you the bed, immediately going for the couch instead. He won't accept any protests either; no matter whether you're worried about his comfort or just think it's polite to refuse his offer, he won't allow you to spend the night on a sofa. He's not making a huge deal out of it and, if you keep being annoying about it, he gets more and more exhausted by the minute.

Eventually, he might give in to the idea of sharing the bed. He has no trouble keeping to himself — or so he believes, because, once he's actually asleep, softly snoring into your ear, he's moving wildly, one leg eventually thrown over your body, arms stretched out. If you mention it to him in the morning, his cheeks flush soft pink.

“Hm? The fuck you mean, you'll be taking the sofa? Definitely not. I'm already here — and I don't mind. Go lie down and get some sleep. We've got a busy day tomorrow.”

RANPO, the very moment he steps foot into the room, decides he wants the bed to himself. The idea of taking the couch doesn't even cross his mind; instead, he makes his way over to the bed all too quickly, though, when you end up either glaring at him or asking him to share, he just shrugs.

Really, he doesn't make too big of a deal out of sharing a bed, not even seeming a little nervous at the idea of lying down beside you for hours on end. Meanwhile, at night, he cuddles up close to you — actually asleep, unlike a certain someone —, arms wrapped around you, for once completely unaware of you being all flustered because of him. In the morning, it'll be like nothing happened, even though you can't quite stop thinking about

“What are you looking at me like that for? I said we can share. If you're hoping to have it for yourself, tough luck. I was here first, just saying. Just get in or move to the couch already, I'm tired.”

All of FYODOR'S decisions are based on logic; this one is no exception. If the bed is large enough to fit two people, it's large enough for the two of you to share — though, if you feel like taking the couch instead, he won't protest. That's your decision to make, after all.

While actually sharing the bed with him, it's basically like you're alone in there, anyway. He doesn't move when asleep, doesn't make a sound; it's all too easy to imagine he's not even there, even though, occasionally, a dark strand of hair might brush against your face. What you don't know, however, is that he, at night, while you're fast asleep, he takes the time to watch you up close, lilac eyes tracing over every plane of your face.

“I do not mind sharing the bed with you. I hope you feel similarly. We both are adults, are we not? I doubt this will be an issue. Just lie down.”

NIKOLAI is undoubtedly amused by the idea of sharing a bed with you. He doesn't waste a single thought towards either of you taking the sofa instead; nonsense, just why would you do that? There's a perfectly fine bed right there, and surely both of you are mature enough to share one without any issues, right? Wrong.

He makes a point of being as obnoxious as possible, cuddling close to you the very second you lie down. It doesn't help that he's both tall and strong, his arms closed around your waist so you can't even try to get away or up, and he makes a point of whining whenever you attempt to squirm away. It's going to be a long night.

“What's the matter? Why are you moving so much? Stop it, I won't be able to fall asleep this way. Or — ah, are you trying to rile me up on purpose? That's naughty of you, sweetheart.”

SIGMA immediately makes a beeline for the couch the second he notices the dilemma of having a double bed rather than two separate ones booked. He won't even discuss the topic with you; he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable or forced to sleep on a sofa, so he'll do it instead. There's no whining or guilt tripping from his end; he simply accepts his fate for the night. There's worse things to endure.

If you're incredibly serious about convincing him, however, he might just give in, even though his cheeks feel a little warmer than usual when he lies down next to you, making sure there's an appropriate amount of distance between the two of you. If there's anything he doesn't want, it's you thinking he's trying to be creepy after you've decided to trust him — he probably ends up barely getting any sleep, just because he's worried about accidentally getting too close to you.

“Are you sure you're alright with this? I really don't mind spending the night on the sofa instead. ... Well, if you're sure — thank you.”

NEW POST AGAIN FINALLY AA my commissions are open, by the way!! dm me if interested! 💜

join my tag list!

tags: @irethepotato @beandaifuku , @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @Chxrry-doll @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff @serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha

@xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @Aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential @ashthemadwriter-uwu @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat @yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou @hellgirlwhore @c4xcocoa @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646nsfw @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur @Senpaible @hyunlixie143 @dababyurmom @4nthonyyliving @scinclaitnoir @Snips18 @satohruu @flowzel

[pumpkinbxtch]

hi!!! I was wondering if you could do hcs for what arguing would be like with the HOO boys

Don't talk me like that! | headcanons

— arguing with the hoO boys

warnings: angst, language, boys being...boys

who's here: jason grace, leo valdez, frank zhang ands percy jackson.

a/n: ohh ohh ohhh, yes. I can. I love drama.

— jason grace:

To get into a real fight with him, you must have come a long way because he's so peaceful and always tries to negotiate calmly, making sure both of you communicate effectively. But at the end of the day, you're like any other couple and sometimes end up having real fights.

The big issue is Jason's nature. He goes silent when he's really upset, his emotions hard to show.

When he’s that mad, you can see it on his face. It’s scary, let’s not lie.

When the ice breaks, he tries to take charge to explain what's wrong, which often makes things worse.

He keeps his distance when you argue, tense and rigid. He’s like a handsome, angry log.

Sometimes he says things reluctantly, like "don't act childish," which is so him.

Yes, he raises his voice and gets frustrated, "no, I said NO, THAT’S NOT HOW IT IS, gods…"

If you're wondering if his powers show, the answer is NEVER, or at least not against you. His mouth might taste like metal or his fingers might spark, but that's just him being really stressed.

His eyes get cloudy and grey.

He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples while muttering.

When things finally start to work out, he breathes better and starts talking more because he knows nothing will work if he doesn’t.

He’s practical, coming up with solutions to problems.

When the fight's over, he hugs you and kisses your forehead, relieved to be out of that situation.

Can he stay mad for days? Depends on the problem, but he’d prefer it doesn't last more than a day.

— leo valdez;

Leo and you usually argue over small things because you have that kind of relationship where you bicker and tease for fun, but when things get serious, the arguments can get heated (get it? heated? laugh, please).

That’s when things get tough. He may seem easy-going, but Leo has a strong temper and is very stubborn when he's mad. Whatever made you really fight doesn't matter because he’ll be stuck on his point.

"No, that's not how it happened." You could be contradicting each other all day until you both turn away and stop talking.

"Well, screw you!" you say, and he growls back, "Yeah, you too," swearing in Spanish. "vale ma-" "me lleva la ch-"

Yes, he switches languages mid-sentence.

"I already told you no! CUANTAS VECES TENGO QUE DECIRLO, carajo!-"

If you know Spanish, you can reply; if not...

"I don’t understand you, idiot. Say it in English or fuck yourself ." (just in case because you’re not sure what he said)

Swearing is common if he's really mad, but it's more his way of dealing with it than being mad at you.

That or sharp sarcasm.

Yes, he might cry if the argument is really bad.

His rigid feelings and insecurity can come up.

Leo is attached, so he’s constantly thinking of ways to fix it because he can’t stand being away from you for too long.

He keeps his distance, terrified of hurting you with his powers, which makes him nervous. "No, DON’T COME NEAR ME." It's for your safety, but it hurts him to see the look in your eyes when he says it.

Can he stay mad for days? Absolutely, but he misses you a lot, though his pride might keep him from showing it.

Don’t worry, he’ll eventually sit down to talk it out, and you’ll both calm down and fix things.

Then he'll give you a big hug and kiss your cheeks.

— frank zhang:

it’s hard to imagine: WHAT DID YOU DO TO FIGHT?

Yes, Frank is Mars’s son, but he’d never choose the battlefield for his lover. He’s very careful and always considerate, but yeah he can be severe when things get bad, and when isn't enough just have a serious talk.

You end up fighting in not-so-quiet whispers, with your faces and gestures being the most expressive.

"Of course not, I already told you, hey!" He raises his hands, and his body tenses up threateningly.

Frank tries to understand your point and make himself heard, always mindful of both your feelings. He knows how to set boundaries.

Sometimes, he just can’t take it anymore and signals a pause. "You know what? This is getting too much, and neither of us is in the best shape. Let’s talk tomorrow or later, please."

Does he raise his voice? Hardly, only when he really needs to make a point.

His eyes are bright, tinged with sadness and anger. The deadliest is his calm face or the way he slightly curls his lip, almost growling.

His eyebrows always seem to be touching, even if he doesn’t want them to.

He keeps a cool head to solve things.

Can he stay mad for days? Yes, while clearing his mind and thinking. He’ll come up to you, and you’ll talk it out, making things work in the end.

He’ll take your hand. You might feel guilty for pushing a guy like Frank to his limit, but he doesn’t mind having relationship problems with you:

"I hope we fight many more times, but about totally different things because it means we’ve really solved the previous issues."

— percy jackson:

wtf did you both do to get into a fight?

Percy won't waste a second, trying to resolve it immediately by asking and reflecting on his own actions. "What did I do wrong?" if it was his fault. "Can you listen to me for a second?" if it was you.

He hates being mad at you, just can’t stand it. But if the fight starts, he wants to start or finish it (or both).

Yes, he might cry.

Yes, he might raise his voice. "No, I didn't do anything. LISTEN TO ME."

Then he apologizes for it because he lost it.

He tries to hold your hands and says, "Babe, babe…"

He makes you both breathe and talk calmly.

He argues, of course, but differently. He’ll stop the conversation. "You know what? I'll think about it." He leaves or makes you leave.

Consequently, he might stay mad for days, or both of you might be mad at each other, but he’s thinking of what to say rather than just calming down. (Nothing wrong with that, everyone handles feelings differently and that's valid.)

Yes, he asks his mom.

Yes, he asks Paul.

You both end up fixing things, and he hugs you tight, giving you kisses all over your face while pouting.

"I missed you, babe."

[sugarcoated-lame]

Easy Like Sunday Morning | Joel Miller x Reader

pre-outbreak joel x reader

all of my works are 18+ only, minors dni!

Summary: You wake up before Joel and decide you want to take care of him.

or

giving 2003 pre-outbreak Joel some head on a sleepy Sunday morning

a/n: i was inspired by this post by the amazing @mrsmando 🤍 and her delicious joel thoughts that never fail to have me spiraling and swooning 🫠 if i had a nickel for every time i’ve written a joel fic about someone being woken up with some head, i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice (sorry i had to lmfaoo). also this is probably the quickest thing i’ve ever written, so i’m sorry if it sucks!

wc: 2.8k

content warnings: no outbreak/pre-outbreak 2003 joel, kricket sucks at writing summaries we know this, smut, oral (m receiving), slightly rough oral, hair pulling, no physical description of reader except that her hair is long enough for joel to pull, pet names (darlin’, baby, sweetheart, pretty girl), no use of y/n, joel miller has a big dick because i said so, established relationship, somno (kinda? joel is like not really awake at the beginning of the smut), this is basically just smut :)

joel masterlist

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

⋆ . ˚ ✩ comments, reblogs, and feedback are greatly appreciated! ⋆ . ˚ ✩

Lazy Sunday mornings have become your favorite in the weeks since you moved in with Joel.

Nowhere to be, neither one of you has to get up before the sun and go to work. No rushing around to make sure Sarah gets to school on time — just sleep. It’s the one day a week both you and Joel get a chance to sleep in, to wake naturally without the shrill ringing of alarms, and just relish being wrapped up in the comfort of each other’s presence.

Eyes still shut as you begin to stir, your mind is only just waking up and the first thing you feel is warmth.

Warmth of the bright, golden Texas sun shining through Joel’s — well, now your — bedroom window and behind your closed lids. Warmth from the plush, gray comforter draped just over your calves, where it had been kicked down in the night in an attempt to curb the relentless, sticky summer heat.

You find yourself cocooned by the furnace-like warmth that is Joel as he lies on his back beside you — a warmth that would probably be overwhelming if it wasn’t such a comfort to you.

Your cheek is pressed to his broad chest, the steady beating of his heart a calming rhythm beneath your ear. Your torso flush against his side, you have an arm wrapped snug around his middle, and a leg draped over both of his. You and Joel both lay almost bare, each clothed in nothing but your underwear after the previous night’s activities — hot skin on hot skin.

When you finally let your eyes flutter open to the bright, morning light, you look up to find Joel still fast asleep and take a moment to admire the peaceful expression on his handsome face.

Long lashes fanning over his cheeks, his brows free of the worried crease that often rests between them, plush pink lips parted as he lets out quiet little snores, his strong chest slowly rising and falling, up and down beneath your cheek with each calming breath. Tanned skin warm and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, dark chocolate locks especially curly due to the humid Texas heat, a few sweaty strands clinging to his forehead.

Seeing Joel laid out like this only reminds you of the way he looked last night — all flushed beneath you, cheeks pink, head thrown back and brown eyes clenched shut in bliss as you hovered above him. Pulling quiet, deep grunts from his parted lips as you rode him, his big hands on your hips, guiding your movements as you lifted yourself up and down on his cock.

The reminder of just how full you felt with him inside you — of how goddamn good he makes you feel — has dampness forming beneath the thin fabric of your panties, thighs attempting to clench shut in search of friction to quell the wave of slick that’s building between your legs, though they’re unable to do so with Joel’s thick thigh slotted between them.

And, though you know Joel is still resting so peacefully beside you, and that you should probably let him sleep in for once, you can’t help it when you feel the sudden and urgent need to kiss him. To feel your lips on his skin.

These lazy Sunday mornings with Joel are your favorite because you know he’s always so busy, always working hard, always so stressed. And, that despite it all, he always takes such good care of you.

So, you want to take this opportunity, when he doesn’t have to be up for work, or take Sarah to school — and you know it’s a couple hours before she’ll be waking up — and you want to do something nice for him. Take care of Joel for once. To make him feel good.

Lifting your head from Joel’s chest, you press your lips to where your cheek had just been. Beginning at his pec, and over his heart, tasting the salt of his sweat-damp skin as you work your way up the broad plane of his chest, dotting feather-light kisses up to the juncture of where his shoulder meets his neck.

You gently untangle yourself from his side, and Joel begins to stir just slightly as you softly mouth along the column of his throat and move to hover over him, your thighs straddling his hips and hands on the mattress on either side of him to hold yourself up.

He’s still mostly asleep, but you can already feel through the layers of both of your underwear that he’s beginning to harden beneath you, his body waking up faster than his brain, always so responsive to your touch.

You continue to kiss across Joel’s strong jaw, over the patchy hair that tickles your lips, dotting a trail of sweet kisses up his cheek and to the tip of his sharp nose, then back down to his mustache and over the corner of his lips.

He stirs again when your lush lips press against his own just once, not quite awake enough to kiss back just yet, but this time a soft hum of approval leaves him at the pleasant feeling.

With one more peck to his soft lips, you begin your descent back down Joel’s body, leaving behind another smattering of kisses in your wake.

From his Adam’s apple to the rounded bone of his shoulder, then back down to his chest. You know he’s a bit more awake when you feel him begin to stir again — his strong body shifting ever so slightly beneath yours, dick twitching against your core underneath the layers of cloth as you place a barely-there kiss to each of his nipples. Joel lets out a sleepy groan as your tongue darts out to lick at the sensitive skin before continuing on your way.

Shifting your body lower on the bed, your kisses become a bit more feverish, less soft as you work your way down Joel’s torso. Your hunger for him only growing as you get closer and closer to the bulge in his boxers, spurred on by the breathy little grunts and groans leaving his parted lips as his mind begins to catch up to the pleasure that his body is feeling.

Joel lets out a content sigh, head still resting on his pillow, eyes still shut and still about half asleep. Unsure if he’s dreaming when he feels you press a firm kiss to the skin just above his navel.

He’s quickly pulled out of that dream-like state, though — breath catching in his throat, jolting beneath you as your warm tongue darts out lick a broad stripe over his soft belly.

You can’t help but grin as you look up to see his face, those pretty brown eyes now open but still bleary with sleep, pillowy lips parted in a gasp, sweaty curls falling over his forehead as he shifts his focus towards you.

“Morning, baby.” You whisper into the quiet of your bedroom, your chin resting on Joel’s tummy as you gaze up at him sweetly.

Your smile only grows when he cards a hand over his tired face, groaning out a tired ‘fuck’.

Now that he’s awake — just barely — you press your lips to his belly one last time before heading lower. Fitting yourself between Joel’s thick thighs, you kiss along the fine hairs of his happy trail, then his hip bones, and you know he’s fully hard when your hands glide up his thighs to palm him over his black boxers.

Joel releases a throaty groan as you stroke him through the soft fabric, one of his large hands coming up to the side of your head. Calloused pads of his fingers running gently through your bed-mussed hair. “Please, darlin’.”

The use of the pet name combined with Joel’s sleepy, Texan morning voice actually makes you whimper, clenching your thighs as a new gush of arousal floods between them. Needy for him as your fingers move to his waistband, gingerly but quickly pulling down the black, cotton fabric and freeing his impressive length.

A quiet, raspy moan escapes Joel’s lips as you spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock. He’s long and thick and heavy in your hand, your fingers hardly able to wrap around the girth of him, his tip an angry red and leaking pretty pearls of precum.

He lets out a quiet hiss as you begin to stroke up from the base, leaning down to kiss along his tip before kitten-licking at the slit, a pleased hum leaving you at the salty, heady taste of his arousal. Joel’s mind is still a bit hazy with sleep, but he swears he’s died and gone to heaven when you lick a hot stripe along the underside of his cock, tongue laving over the thick vein that runs along his shaft.

The hand in your hair tightens its grip when you oh-so-delicately take Joel into your mouth, emitting a pleased hum from you as you gently suckle on his tip. The vibration sends a jolt up his spine, cock twitching in your grasp as you continue to stroke up and down his length with increasing ease as your spits begins to coat his skin. Delicate fingers wrapped tight around him moving up and down to meet your lips as your tongue swirls around the bulbous head.

You take your time, enjoying Joel’s quiet, raspy moans, the whispered curses, and shallow breaths all falling from his lips as you slowly take him deeper and deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth.

When you’re about halfway down his length, you suck in your cheeks, lips tightening around him as you begin to suck with more fervor and Joel has to bite back a desperate moan as you bob up and down his length. His hips buck up of their own volition — the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him is just too good — the two of you groaning in unison as the movement sends his cock further between your lips, the tip just grazing the back of your throat and causing you to gag around him.

“Fuck, m’sorry, baby.” Joel drawls, gently smoothing a hand over the crown of your head. He lifts you up his length just a little bit, just enough to gather your bearings.

You release him from your mouth with a wet pop. A string of saliva still connects the two of you between his swollen, red tip and your now swollen lips, and Joel thinks he’s a goner when you wrap a hand tight around his shaft, leaning back in to kitten-lick at his slit.

You smear delicate kisses all along his tip, then up and down every inch of his length, all the while gazing up at him with doe eyes before you bring him between your spit-slicked lips once again.

“So good for me. Always so good for me.”

His morning voice is deep — deeper than normal — and it has your eyes rolling back into your head as you whimper around him, tears collecting at your lash line from having just taken him so deep so abruptly. Nodding your head as much as you can with his cock still in your mouth, you let Joel know that you’re okay to keep going.

You want to please him. He deserves this. You want to make him feel good.

You know that Joel is getting close from the way he’s fighting himself to not buck his hips and fuck up into your mouth, the hand that’s not in your hair clinging to the gray sheets like a lifeline. His chest rapidly rising and falling as he tries his hardest to keep at least somewhat quiet — he knows that his daughter is sleeping right down the hall — biting back gravely grunts and groans that you so wish you could hear at full volume, his cock twitching against your tongue with every little move you make.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you decide to take him as deep as you can go. Swallowing around him as his tip reaches into the depths of your throat, those tears are now spilling freely from your eyes as the coarse hairs at his base tickle your nose.

You suction your cheeks taut and lick along the underside of his shaft, the wet sounds of your sucking growing sloppy, Joel’s pubic hairs now shiny with your spit and his fingers are now pulling hard at your hair, the slight sting in your scalp a pleasurable one and only spurring you on.

A particularly harsh suck has Joel throwing his head back onto his pillow, sweaty curls falling like a halo around his pleasure-wrought features. Whiskey colored eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, nose scrunched, and lips parted in a quiet, guttural groan that lingers in the warm, sticky summer atmosphere of your shared bedroom.

“I’m— fuck!” He damn near whimpers when your free hands reaches out to caress his heavy balls, squeezing getnly as you continue to arduously suck and stroke his length, your hand and mouth working in tandem and meeting in the middle. “I’m close, sweetheart.”

You moan hungrily around him, the vibrations nearly sending Joel over the edge, the hand on your head now pushing you down onto his cock without hesitation – he knows you can take it. Hips thrusting up and chasing the velvety, wet warmth of your throat as you gag on him once more, drool spilling out the corners of your mouth all around him, the wet, sucking sounds filling the room obscene.

Joel practically growls when he feels your nails dig into the meat of his thigh, his chin dropping to his chest and he looks down to find you gazing back at him. Your cheeks hollowed, lips stretched around his aching cock, taking all of him like the good girl he knows you are. Your pretty, tear-filled eyes gazing up at him with so much love, and that’s what is his undoing.

You feel it when Joel’s whole body tenses beneath you, fireworks shooting up his spine as he starts to cum with a heavy groan that was lodged deep in his throat. You can’t help but moan around him as he fills your mouth, painting your throat with the hot, salty ropes of his release.

He mutters a string of broken moans, a mixture of curses and grunts of your name as you work him through it. The grip Joel has on your hair starts to lighten up — though, only a bit — but it’s enough for you to pull back on his length a bit to allow your hand to join your mouth in its ministrations. Slowly, but firmly, stroking him and sucking at his cock until you’re sure you’ve swallowed down every drop he has to give you, his stomach practically caving in by the time you’re done with him.

Until he’s reduced to shallow pants and hushed whimpers, Joel’s entire body shuddering as your lips lay one last kiss to his sensitive tip, and he drops an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the now overwhelming light as he takes a few moments to catch his breath.

You let Joel take all the time he needs to recover, carefully tucking his softening length back into his black boxers.

It’s a few minutes before Joel uncovers his eyes, slowly blinking to adjust the the increasing brightness of the hot summer sun shining into the bedroom, and he’d swear you’re an angel, still nestled between his thighs. You’re busy littering the soft, tanned skin of his thighs and his belly in sweet little kisses and love bites when that deep, sleepy morning voices speaks up again.

“Well good mornin’ to you too, pretty girl.”

Before you can respond, two strong arms are pulling you up the bed — and up Joel’s body, a firm hand on the nape of your neck pulling you in so he can smash his lips to your puffy ones in a longing, appreciative kiss.

His deft hands then slide down your hips to grab your ass, squeezing at the soft flesh with a groan against your lips, before Joel is flipping the two of you over so he’s now the one hovering over you. A little yelp escapes you, but is quickly transformed into a stifled moan as his lips begin kissing a path down your body, now fully awake and more than ready to return the favor.

⋆ . ˚ ✩

⋆ . ˚ ✩

Thank you for reading!! x

[lalunanymph]

୨୧ zayne decides to take matters into his own hands when he notices you've been neglecting your health lately

✧･ﾟboyfriend!zayne, fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, reader neglects her health, reader calls zayne 'sir' once, spanking, soft dom!zayne -> lifestyle dom!zayne, light Dom/sub elements, swearing, unprotected s[e]x, petnames (my aurora, my darling), thigh humping, size kink

✧･ﾟthought about lifestyle doms from an anon's ask and suddenly this idea came to me about zayne doubling down on making sure you're taking care of your health ugh i need this man biblically

The life of a Hunter is anything but easy, and Zayne knows that well.

However, he can't help the feelings that surface every time he sees you coming back home, tired and even more worn down than when you had given him a goodbye kiss this morning.

And this isn't the first time, either.

He notices—he always does. It's in his very nature to be trained to catch even the slightest deviation of the norm; a blip in your composure, your routine.

Nowadays, you were sleeping for 4 hours max, pushing your body everyday at work until bruises litter your limbs; skipping meals to hand in Jenna's reports before the stipulated deadline, barely finishing up your 500ml water bottle he so diligently helps to fill up every morning...

... and all of it piles onto the guilt he feels when he realizes how little he can do to take care of you.

It festers and festers and festers till he snaps the very second you come back home, exhausted and puckering your lips for his usual welcome back kiss.

"No."

It breaks his heart—truly, it does—to see the hurt shining in your eyes.

Why? You struggle to understand why he's being so cold all of a sudden. From warm snuggles to an icy cold glare—Zayne's mood shift was scaring you. 

Instead of answering, he goes into the kitchen and reappears a second later, holding a cup of water.

"Drink this all up and then I'll kiss you." 

His tone is deadpan, sharp green eyes never losing their sternness. 

To add insult to the injury, he scoffs, "Your breath probably smells after a whole day of not drinking water. The bacteria on your tongue alone could kill off a mouse." 

You gape, affronted. "Hey! Don’t be mean—" 

"Drink. Up." He leaves no room for you to argue; to huff your disbelief. Deciding to not be too difficult, especially when you've already had a hard day at work, you gulp down the water dutifully; a little too quickly until you choke and he pats your back. 

Once your coughing fit subsides, he tilts your head up, and like the first touch of cool morning dew on skin, his lips meet yours.

"More," you mumble, nails sinking into his soft dark hair, tugging slightly on his roots to voice your need.

Something about your sweet primary care physician boyfriend who's always yielding and gentle—restraining you from indulging in him until you did, as he said—made you throb all over. 

Zayne's minty cool breath fans across your face, his voice smooth as dark chocolate when he whispers, "You need to eat first. I know you haven't had a full meal today." 

Rubbing your nose against his, you whine. "If I do eat, can you kiss me more?" 

In answer, Zayne wraps his arms tightly around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "Of course," he mumbles into your skin. "I'll give you so many kisses till you're sick of them."

Never, you thought. You would never get over the feeling of his lips on yours. Or the rough rasp of his palm on your thigh, gently kneading the flesh as you quickly ate the meal he cooked. 

If you thought his spur of tough love would end after tonight, you were sorely mistaken.

Kisses held hostage turn into refusals of even hugging you until you promise to finish your lunch at work. 

You feel Tara's stare burning holes into your side profile, brows crinkled as she looks past her desktop at your antics. 

Today, your phone leans against your monitor, and you were taking huge bites of the noodle dish Zayne prepared the night before.

"Filming a mukbang?" Tara inquires innocently. 

You shake your head, expression sour. "No," you quickly swallow your bite of food, and fix her with a look that speaks volumes. "Zayne." 

"Ah." 

Tara nods. "Dating a doctor isn't easy. I bet he tells you to pay attention to your health all the time, huh? But, you know what they say—an apple a day keeps the doctor away. At least, he'll stay off your case if you take care of yourself." 

Only she could make it sound so easy.

When you were called into the city to investigate a strange flux pattern, you had forgotten to let Zayne know you weren't coming home in time for dinner. 

How were you to know that the very second you stepped foot at home, he was already waiting with a scowl in place? 

"Zayne—" you start when you see him leaning against the kitchen doorframe, expression impassive.

He shushes you, tall and imposing; still in his pristine work suit from today.

"Have you at least had something to eat in the last 6 hours?" 

Remembering the little pact you both made, you nod quickly. "Mhm hmm! All my food is finished—cross my heart." You even remove your container from its insulated bag, shaking it lightly. "See? All empty." 

A shadow of a smile graces his lips. "Good. And how many cups of water did you drink?" 

Immediately, the smile drops from your face. "Uh... one? maybe two. I can't remember..."

The look in his eyes would've made you shrink away, if you couldn't already predict your boyfriend's next words.

"You are highly irresponsible with your own health, my darling." 

You wait for him to nag, but back up when he starts to approach you; the look on his face is unreadable. 

"What do I do with you, Y/N?" he sighs, and before you can react, cages you against the wall. The smell of his cologne—fresh and expensive—invades your nostrils.

Your head spins, all the blood going straight to your toes; your stomach falling when he leans forward, lips right at your ear.

"I guess I have to force you to take your health seriously. How do you think I will do that?" 

Zayne doesn't wait for you to answer. In one swift move, he has you in his arms, using his strength to carry you into the bedroom.

"Zayne," you squeak and gasp when he tosses you onto the bed. 

The mattress dips under his weight, his face inches from yours. Despite the change in his behavior, you tilt your lips up, needy and ready to feel his kisses. 

But, he never gives it to you. 

Instead, his large hands pin your wrists to the headboard, those sharp green eyes peering at you through half-mast lids. 

Zayne licks his lips, and subconsciously, you track the minute movement, biting on your own lower lip. 

The air turns heavier; sweetened with the promise of an unforgettable night. 

You accidentally tick your hips up, catching the front of his slacks. Your eyes widen when you feel an unmistakable bulge digging right into your crotch; Zayne's loss of composure pushing right into the heat of your thighs, demanding for your attention. 

In contrast, his expression doesn't change; an almost bored emerald gaze fixed on your every reaction. 

"You do know what will happen tonight, right?" 

Trying hard not to shiver, you nod. 

"Yes," you mumble, suddenly meek. 

"Yes, what?" 

You swallow, darting your gaze over his shoulder. He grunts, squeezing down on your wrists with enough pressure to make it throb, but not enough to leave a bruise.

"Sir!" You yelp. "Y-yes, Sir." 

One corner of his mouth ticks, and exhales a short huff. "Good. You still have your manners intact, I see."

Leaning up, he unbuttoned his vest. Using one hand to gather your wrists together, the free one was left to tug on his tie; Windsor knot giving way to a strip of his pale skin. 

You eyed the expanse of his neck hungrily; unabashed, even when his lips curl into a sinful smile.

“It seems like someone here has missed me,” Zayne whispers, and you fight back a shiver when he leans in, close enough for his breath to stir the loose locks on your cheeks. 

“I’m… sorry,” was all you could offer him weakly. Zayne’s thin lips curl into a smirk. At this point, you weren’t even sure why he wasn’t fucking you yet—what he was waiting for. “Please…” without a second thought, you clip your hips against his, trying to ease the tension between your thighs. “I need you, Zayne.”

His grunt was low—a warning. “Do you think you deserve it? I can’t keep reminding you to put yourself first, my darling. What if I’m gone? What would you do?” 

Even though it was a hypothetical question, your chest couldn’t help but squeeze at the thought of a Zayne-less life. You would rather feed yourself to a Wanderer than go a day without him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, earnest this time. “I was careless. I should’ve listened to you. I… I’ll try my best to take care of myself.” 

Zayne gives you a look, like he doesn’t believe you for a single second. It has you scrambling your ringing mind to say something else. 

But, before you do, the world tilts, and you’re in his lap. Zayne’s lips were an inch away from yours. You zero in on them. Missing how they would feel gently slotted against your own—when you disregard the hesitation to plant your mouth on his. 

Patiently, like a martyr or a long suffering saint, Zayne lets you kiss him. He doesn’t respond back, at least not like what you expect.

No flames, no passion. It was as good as kissing a stone statue.

There was no yield in his gaze; those flinty green eyes refusing to thaw.

You repress a full body shiver. 

Suddenly, the coolness of the room becomes more pronounced. You feel the chill on your skin, where his long fingers wrap around your fleshy hips spilling past the Hunter-standard pants.

“I should punish you for that.” 

A flurry of movement. Your face meets the downy mattress, mouthful of cotton stoppering your protests. 

Sharp, stinging pain explodes across your ass. The sound of a large palm meeting skin echoes around the room again; your surprised yelp bouncing from wall to wall.

Soothingly, he rubs the ache from your tender globes, and in a voice dripping with sympathy, whispers, “I apologize for having to do this, my Aurora.”

Your back arches, the sudden awareness of your vulnerability penetrating your fuzzy mind. Pinned to the bed, his bigger frame pressing down on yours—you were trapped in the eye of a frigid storm.

“Zayne,” you whine, too aware of how warm his body felt on yours. 

I promise to take care of you, his voice rings in your head. Of memories during summer nights, skin stuck to skin, your head on his chest. I can’t lose you—not to the Wanderers or your own carelessness.

Zayne ceaselessly kept that promise—his devotion unmatched. And you were carelessly throwing it away every single day, right in his face. Denying his care, his treatment.

It all became clear to you in that split second.

He was past waiting for your excuses and apologies; all he wants is to make sure you never forget yourself ever again. 

Zayne props you on his lap once more, leaning back against the headboard.

“I want you to cum—”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you perk up only to be let down when he disclaims his generosity with a contradictory footnote.

“—without my help.”

He rests his head back, the arch of his neck tempting you to plant kisses down the pale stretch of skin; his Adam’s apple bobbing. The silence grows; you feel like you could suffocate from the chill spreading between your two tense bodies.

You shift forward, incredulous. “What the heck do you mean by that?” 

Zayne flickers his gaze to where your crotch snugly fits on top of his thigh. “You’re a smart girl… I’m sure you will figure it out soon.”

You huff, a pout pushing your displeasure right into his face. 

“You’re mean. I already said I was sorry.” 

But, he wasn’t going to budge. If there was one thing Zayne would never compromise on, it was caring for you. Sometimes, it scared you—how utterly serious he took his job as your caretaker in and out of the hospital walls. 

No amount of reasoning could change his mind. It was either you play his game, or walk away with that pit gnawing right at the bottom of your stomach—unfulfilled and gaping.

You lean back. Friction, burning hot, zings up your spine, and suddenly, what he wants you to do clicks in. 

“Oh.” 

You swallow. Outside, rain begins to splatter on the windowpane. The world goes blue and dark, holding its breath in tandem with yours.

Locking your hands on his shoulders, you lean forward. Then, shift back. And do it again and again until you feel the heat burning you up; razing your self control down to ashes as you let out a small, shaky moan. 

“Good girl,” Zayne whispers into the dark of your room. “You’re so pretty like this—getting off on my thigh.” 

You peel your teary eyes onto his softening ones. His jaw clenches, and a vein throbs in his temple. He fights back the urge to thrust up—to meet your sensual grinding. It was a losing battle. Every needy whimper slipping past your wet lips sends a pleasurable jolt to his cock. But, he can’t give in just yet. You had to learn your lesson the hard way. 

There’s an indecent spot of wetness staining his slacks. The dark material of your pants hides your arousal well, but Zayne can practically smell you. 

Sweet musk and a fragrant vanilla. 

His heart thrums wildly, staccato beats that match the constant pulsing of his aching cock. 

I need her so badly. He wants nothing more than to be buried in you; to watch you fall apart under his tender care. 

Every mellifluous whimper dripping from your lax mouth makes him see stars; coated with ecstasy, your eagerness continues to seep into the expensive fabric of his slacks. 

Zayne makes a mental note to get it dry cleaned at his earliest convenience. 

It should’ve annoyed him—this extra chore on his already burdened shoulders. But, he doesn’t care much for the cost of sending his expensive, tailored suits to the best dry cleaners in Linkon City. 

He would let you squirt all over them ten times over if it meant he could bring you to your zenith of pleasure and back. 

Those beautiful emerald eyes never leave yours; devouring every reaction. Studying your shifts and dips. Calculating his next move in his head.

You might’ve thought Zayne was hewn from rock with how quiet he was. 

But, if you would look closer, you would’ve seen how his hands were stuffed into fists right by his side. The shake in his breath when you toss your head back. How he could barely keep his jaw from tightening when you mewl out his name.

I promise to take care of her—no matter what. Caleb and your grandmother were witnesses to his solemn vow. 

He would keep his word. Do everything in his power to keep their precious girl in line—even if she thought it was unfair.

“Zayne, please,” you try to beg again. He only scoffs. 

Mean. He was so, so mean. 

You were aching all over, yearning for it. Needing his touch and attention on your body to drive yourself over the edge. 

Unfortunately for you, his self-control is immaculate. It doesn’t fold nor break. In the operation room, and outside of it, his priority was to maintain a level-headed calm wherever he went. 

But, inwardly, with you on his lap; all pouty, kissable lips and pussy dripping her excitement on his thigh, Zayne finds his famed composure cracking under the weight of your desire.

“Zayne,” you hiccup. “Please. Please. Touch me.”

Large, veiny hands grip your thighs, dragging you close. 

His mouth finally presses on yours, and it feels like a sparked flame striking near a mountain of straw.

He tries to keep his wits—he really does. Reminds himself not to indulge you again; to finally make you see how much he cares for you through this cruel game.

Like a fluctuation cutting through permanent winds that flow steadfastly North, only you had the power to sway his decisions. 

"Zayne," you moan into his mouth.

Then, in an instant, the flame sparks. The mountain of dry yearning goes up.

Every carefully constructed ploy is destroyed. 

Zayne kisses you like his life depended on it. Messy, clacking teeth, spit mixing and running down chins; hot hands grappling any inch of skin available. 

Your clothes were pushed off your body and onto the floor. Zayne’s luxurious vest and button down shirt was almost torn from his body by your eager hands. 

The bare lines of his torso and muscular thighs fit perfectly with yours, his body slotting in between your spread legs. 

Sharp lines bloom down his back, your nails dragging down his skin; his eyes almost rolling back into his head when he sinks into your heat.

“Shit,” he cusses, almost inaudible. The sound of wetness meeting in the darkening room, your moans and his heavy pants fill the air. 

Good girl. Move your hips like that. You’re doing so well for me. I love you. I love you. If you disobey me again, your punishment will be more severe. You’re everything to me, my Aurora. 

“Zayne!” your cry shatters like a bullet unloading from a smoking gun. He almost flinches back when you squeal right in his ear, back tensing and arching like a taut string.

Slipping a hand in between your bodies, he nudges and plays with your clit, drawing your high to an unbearable tension.

He feels your heels digging into his hips, your sweet pussy squeezing down on his length like the world’s most precious love declaration. You bury your face into his neck; feel his pulse fluttering against your lips.

“Inside,” you whimper, as if you could read his mind. “I want you inside, Zayne.”

He grunts, his entire body trembling from the force of the tight band around his lower body. 

Zayne ruts up into you, little more than an animal in heat—the ridges and bumps of your pussy gets him in a higher state of mind, delirious enough to start moaning shamelessly. 

You grip his face, touching your foreheads together. Zayne’s lips find yours, and within that split second you believe something fundamentally true. 

That in every life, every form, every stretch between space and time—you would never forget how his lips feel like on yours. 

A shuddering breath right on your neck. The twitch of his cock nudging right on your sweet, golden spot. 

You tense, toes curling—

—and shatter around his cock gloriously. 

Warmth spreads deep in your body, taking over your toes and fingers. Driving you heady with the taste of him on your tongue. 

Zayne finishes inside you, breathing hard against the shell of your ear. 

The silence is broken by his soft gasp, and you feel the wet pull of his cock out of your puffy pussy. Immediately, he replaces the emptiness with the full circle of his arms around your tired body.

You sigh, sticky and filled with longing, face protected right in the crook of his neck.

“Zayne?” 

“Hmm?” 

He plays with a loose lock of your hair. Not one for many words, Zayne’s actions speak louder and sweeter than any poetry you had ever read.

Rolling you over, he hovers close, lips gently brushing your cheeks, temple and finally, your lips.

“I love you,” your confession spurs something primal and tender in his soul. He kisses you once, twice, to wipe out the dark need to claim you again and again until every fiber of your skin is written with his name.

“I love you, too.” 

He presses one long kiss onto your forehead and chuckles to himself.

"Come on. Follow me to the kitchen. Don't think I forgot about those 8 glasses of water you didn't drink today..."

a/n: if this man wants me to watch for my health, i'll make sure my medical report comes back with an A+

— feedback and reblogs are loved in this house iykyk

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[heartsbyani]

love is , beyond the height

[ 승민‎ ] ✷ ‎ your boyfriend is taller than you . . and he's annoying , but cute‎ . . ?

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 idol𝑏f!seungmin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑔n!reader g. fluff , humour , established relationship . 3OOOw. ⎯⎯⎯ L𝒾BRARY . 𓋜 . cw. bantering , jokes , intimacy . ✦ requested headcanon ! ࿐

yani's note ! ✿ hihi!!! so i was gonna post another hannie drabble today… however, i got this req. today and i was too excited. i completed it in a few minutes so…. editing took a while. it’s literally 1am here but enjoy reading hehe !! also ong. i js crossed 700 followers. i’m posting tmr about this !! tysm :( comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

⤷ okay, so as all of us are aware.. this man is an absolute menace/tease to those around him. now, that said, his lover’s height just gives him endless material.

"did you shrink overnight, or did the floor get taller?"‎

⟡ he always bends down dramatically to look you in the eyes when teasing you, like, exaggerated squatting with a smug grin.

⟡ has IOO% given you nicknames like 'pocket-sized', 'travel-friendly,' or just casually refers to you as a mini 'keychain' of his.

⟡ you'd glare at him, standing on your tiptoes to appear taller, and he immediately leans back to make it worse, probably smirking, "whoa, calm down there, skyscraper."

despite the teasing, he’s incredibly soft when it comes to you !!

⟡ loves how easy it is to rest his chin on your head with literally no effort. when you’re standing together, doing anything, he'll absentmindedly place his hand on top of your head like it’s second nature—sometimes just to annoy you, sometimes because it’s comforting.

⟡ "you’re so small, it’s like hugging a heated pillow," he'd mumble when cuddling, nuzzling into your hair.

bickering is part of the charm, of course. it's ksm.

"keep making fun of my height, and i’ll hide all your snacks on the top shelf." "bold of you to assume you can reach the top shelf, dopey."

⟡ he lives for these exchanges, but he’s also the type to laugh quietly under his breath when you try to retaliate.

protective in the most seungmin way possible.

"don’t walk so fast. your legs are like… ten inches long, babe."

⟡ he'd adjust his pace automatically when walking with you, but he still has to comment on it every time.

⟡ when he has a concert or a fanmeet, and you're attending, he’d subtly check on you in the crowd, texting, “can you see? or do i need to bring you a step stool?” ..because like, your height is definitely a topic all the DANG time.

acts like he’s not a clingy boyfriend, but he 100% is.

⟡ so he loves loves LOVES when you cling to him, wrapping your arms around his waist because it makes him feel all big and protective.

⟡ when sitting together, he'd pull you into his lap, and rest his chin on your shoulder because it’s convenient—definitely not because he likes being close to you or anything.. (he totally does !!)

"why are you sitting on me." "because you’re warm. and you're my boyfriend?"

⟡ he'd grumble, but his arms are already wrapped around you tightly. he's loving it, literally, he just doesn't wanna admit. might make you sleep on the bed though while he tortures you back, holding onto you like you're gonna disappear.

clothes-sharing struggles..

⟡ you’d try to steal his hoodies, but they’re comically too oversized on you.

⟡ he’d pretend to complain and laugh at that, “that hoodie’s eating you alive,”but secretly loves how adorable you look practically drowning in his clothes. like a little dwarf, his dwarf.

⟡ sometimes he purposefully leaves his sweaters lying around because he knows you’ll wear them.

affectionate in quiet, understated ways.

⟡ tugs you closer by the sleeve of your shirt when he wants attention.

⟡ lowkey obsessed with patting your head or gently poking your cheek to annoy you—but the soft glint in his eyes betrays how fond he actually is.

⟡ when you’re upset or mentally exhausted, he’ll pull you like a ragdoll, into his chest without saying much, resting his chin on your head, rubbing small circles on your back. “it’s okay, love. i’m here.

⟡ his favorite thing? when you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him.

⟡ he’d lean down just a little to meet you halfway, but not enough to make it easy. of course, he’s gonna edge you about it

⟡ he’d tease, eyes crinkling with amusement, smirk on his pink lips that you wanted to kiss so so so bad. :(

“struggling, are we?” “i hate you.” “sure you do, darling.”

⟡ then after a little more, he’d cup your face and finally kiss you properly, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

⟡ at the end of the day, no matter how much he teases you about your height, seungmin’s absolutely smitten. you’re small, sure—but you’re the biggest part of his heart. not in size or shape but emotions.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld

[lullxby]

THEODORE NOTT LISTENING TO RAVENCLAW READER WARM UP TO HIM AND LETTING HER RANT ABOUT HER BOOK TO HIM PLEASE IM BEGGING🙏🙏

—🏍️ (if thats taken? idk lmao)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ WHIPPED (t.n.)

summary : in which a boy is willing to do anything to convince a smart girl to go out with him.

w.c. : .8k

a/n : i loved writing this request and no 🏍️ isnt taken!! enjoy! 🤍

should i do a part 2 of the actual date??

wattpad : poeticmystery

warning(s) : none!

| harry potter masterlist | navigation |

theodore nott couldn’t deny how ultimately whipped he was for you. he was in love with everything about you. the way you’d ramble about your books, the certain face you’d make to him after you see somebody doing something less than smart.

he even respected how log. it had taken for you to let him in. he had quite a reputation with women, and he knew it’d make it more difficult to convince you to be in a real relationship with him.

so, he waited. he was patient, he was kind, and he defended you.

he seemed like the perfect guy on paper, but whenever you got close to letting him in, letting him finally take you out, you’d hear another story about a girl he hooked up with then left right after.

the thought disgusted you, and you didn’t want to just turn out to be another one of those girls with a horror story of hoe you were treated by the slytherin boy. you were smarter than that.

that was another thing he liked about you. how smart you were. he loved how you could explain extensive theories and spells to him in a simple enough way to make it easy to understand. it was like a breath of fresh air.

lately, he had been in an even better mood, something his friends even noticed about him. you were starting to finally let him in. you were letting him walk you to class, letting him take you to his favorite hidden spots in the castle.

most importantly, though, you were starting to talk to him. not just some insignificant conversation about homework, or the weather. real conversations.

you were telling him about books you liked, about something funny one of your friends had told you. you were rambling on and on to him, and he loved hearing it.

he loved seeing the way your eyes lit up when you were speaking about someone you were close with, or a new book.

the expression he held when you rambled to him like this could only be explained as pure love. he had waited months to even get you to open up to him, and it was finally happening.

he always made sure you knew he was listening, whether that was by asking you questions as you went, keeping his eyes trained on you, or even buying you the second book in a series you had mentioned liking.

even despite the way you’d protest your rants, saying you didn’t want to annoy him, or something of the sort, he loved hearing tour voice. he’d listen to anything if it was coming from you.

he noticed everything about you.

none of his friends, or even himself, could think off another time where he was this head over heels for someone. it was like his former self went out the window as soon as you walked in. he couldn’t even imagine himself with a girl that wasn’t you, and he didn’t want to anyways.

you were all he need- all he wanted.

“theodore, are these flowers from you?” you called out when he stepped into your dorm.

you gestured to a beautiful array of red lillies, the scent they put off filling the room with a pleasant, light aroma.

“yeah. saw ‘em and thought of you,” he admitted casually, as though he hadn’t specifically looked for flowers of that kind, knowing you paid attention to the meanings of flowers and whatnot.

aside from that, he just thought they were pretty. naturally, you had popped into his mind.

you flashed him a genuine smile, a sight that looked straight out of his dreams.

“thank you,” you grinned, the sentiment behind the flowers being one of the sweetest things you could think of.

“finally gonna let me take you out?” he asked, a small smirk on his face.

despite his confident demeanor, he was one step away from straight up begging. he had waited months, all he wanted was for you to say yes.

you thought over it. you had heard girls in the hallway talking about how he hadn’t given them the time of day recently… and he had been so sweet lately. he had been trying repeatedly, not being deterred at all by your rejections. plus, what was the harm in just one date? one date didn’t mean anything was set in stone.

it was just… one date.

“yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, noticing the way his smirk turned into a large grin.

he felt like a child with how smiley he got around you, especially now that you had given him a chance to take you on a real date.

theodore nott taglist: lmk if you’d like to be added!

dividers made by h-aewo!

[lay-z]

I wrote this at work. Yes, I might be a secretary and personal assistant. Unfortunately, I do not work for Captain Price or TF-141...*sobs quietly* It's a little filthy. Minors DNI.  – 18+ Only! I might write more. Pairing: civvie!f!reader x Captain John Price (for now)

Warnings/Info: Personal assistant/secretary reader; flirting; age gap; restraints; orgasm denial; fingering; semi-public sex (I guess?); boss/employee dynamic

Landing the job as Captain Price’s personal assistant and secretary came as a total surprise to you – personally. To Captain Price, it was a no-brainer.

Speaking multiple languages, being discreet and introverted by nature and yet experiencing the constant craving for more adventure, variety and independence in your life, made you the absolute perfect fit. Furthermore, you were more than willing to leave your civilian life behind and move to the military base in the UK, where the TF-141 HQ is located. More plus points, because your work ethic is based on tidiness, determination and a no-bullshit attitude.

Work is easy enough for you; you help with translations, organise meetings, briefings and debriefings, help the Captain with his appointments, and more – typical personal assistant and secretary work.

Your work relationship with Price is based on mutual respect and it’s comfortable enough; he is nice to you, always polite, and makes sure you always know how much he appreciates your work.

One late Friday evening, while you’re still engrossed in a particularly difficult and, more specifically, classified transcript, Captain Price approaches you at your desk in your own office space, and you don’t even notice him, until he clears his throat loudly.

“Working late again, lass?” He asks you with that gruff, deep voice of his, and you can practically hear the slightly accusatory undertone in his voice. Price never likes it when you work unnecessary extra hours.

“Yes, sir. I just want to finish translating this transcript for you, so you’ll have it for the briefing on Monday morning,” you reply with a sheepish smile, leaning back in your office chair to stretch your back. You do catch the way his deep blue eyes roam over your outstretched form, albeit briefly, and Price notices how the buttons of your olive green blouse nearly pop open as the soft fabric strains over your ample breasts and how your curves look in that position, covered and accentuated by that tight black pencil skirt you like to wear at work.

“Fine,” the Captain responses gruffly, caving in immediately, because he appreciates the effort you put in your work.

“But if yer boyfriend shows up at HQ one day, trying to murder me for keeping you away from home all the bloody time, I’m not responsible for what might happen to him.” He adds good-naturedly, shooting you one of those rare, cheeky smiles of his.

“Ach, don’t worry, Captain,” you retort with a mock scoff, waving him off in a playfully dismissive manner – one only you’re allowed to display, because after working closely with Price and the rest of the 141 for over half a year, you’ve developed a sort of light-hearted friendship with all of them.

“There’s no one waiting for me at home anyway.” You admit fleetingly and when Price doesn’t comment on that little insight you’ve just given him on your personal life, he does look rather contemplative. He lets out a small huff.

“Aye, then,” he eventually says with a curt nod after a few beats of oddly tense silence between you two. “Don’t forget to lock up again once ye’re done, lass.”

Then he turns on his heavy combat boots, shaking his head while muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he leaves your office again, and suddenly, you can’t shake the feeling that you might’ve just made a huge mistake.

By Monday, you’ve all but forgotten about that interaction between your boss and yourself.

However, it doesn’t take long for you to notice the subtle changes in the work dynamic you’d carefully established with Captain Price over the past six months.

After bringing him his morning coffee – something you’ve more or less insisted on doing once you started working for him, because you’re nice and you enjoy doing little gestures for people you genuinely like – the Captain stops you in your tracks, before you can leave his office again.

“Aye, lass?” He calls after you, not looking up from the report he is currently working on as he sits behind his large and cluttered mahogany desk.

“Yes, Captain?”

You can see him hesitate for the briefest moment as his jaw works and clenches beneath his thick sideburns.

“Just call me John, yes? No need for formalities when we’re alone.” He tells you, still not making eye contact with you as you practically gape at him for a few seconds, unsure how to process the sudden and new privilege. Your eyelashes flutter briefly as you finally nod, though he’s still not looking at you and thus not seeing the slight smile now plastered on your lips.

“Yes, Ca – uh, John.”

As you step outside his office eventually, closing the heavy door behind you as you leave, you miss the sly yet pleased smirk that suddenly plays on the Captain’s lips.

And suddenly, Captain Price – John – who’s previously always been very considerate of your time on and off work and the boundary between your work life and privacy, becomes more present in your life and demanding of your attention than any ex-boyfriend of yours has ever been.

It starts with needing your help – a lot – with tasks and chores he’d never needed nor asked for your help before, like sorting and filing reports inside his office, while he himself is present.

At first, you’re just working alongside each other, going about your tasks, but once you notice him silently sipping his coffee, watching you, while you’re organising some old files and reports, you start to become suspicious.

“You used to always do this yourself, John,” you remark bluntly at some point after feeling his intense eyes on you for minutes on end, categorizing a pile of reports by date and classification, while he’s leaning back in his office chair, chewing on a cigar.

“Didn’t want me to mess with your work routine at all.” You add with a soft huff.

“True that, but see,” Price retorts nonchalantly. “I’ve come to terms with the fact that ye’re better at it anyway. Plus, I like to have ye around, darling. Helps keeping me sane.” He tells you with a low, rumbling chuckle – one that makes a sudden tingle run down your spine at his blunt admission.

“Yeah…right.” You scoff in return, keeping your back turned towards him as a hot blush creeps up your neck, tinting your cheeks red.

After the lingering gazes and cheeky comments, come the pet names and then the random gifts and then...the touches, and soon you find yourself in a whole new dynamic at work.

Your lips are shut tightly with only the occasional shaky and shallow breath blurting past them – because more is not allowed when John is in a work call.

With your back pressed flush against his broad chest, wrists tied together behind your back with a shoelace of a combat boot and your thighs spread wide apart as you’re sitting on his lap with your pencil skirt bunched up around your hips, Captain Price has pushed aside the flimsy fabric of your thong a while ago and is currently rubbing lazy circles around your slicked up clit with the calloused pad of his right forefinger while his left arm is embracing your midriff loosely, his large warm hand occasionally palming and squeezing your breasts over your white blouse.

You don’t know what he’s talking about with his superiors. As usual, your mind has shut off some time ago, now completely focused on not making a sound as he has ordered you to. All you can feel rather than hear is the vibration of his gruff voice as it reverberates from his chest against your back, his breath fanning over the side of your neck whenever he shifts and leans in to you on his office chair, and his thick fingers toying with your pussy, almost absentmindedly.

“It keeps me grounded, luv. Keeps me sane during these bloody conference calls.”  – That’s what John tells you whenever he randomly calls you into his office and asks you to lock the door behind you. Sometimes it happens multiple times a day and you’ve stopped bringing spare underwear to work, because your laundry keeps piling up. At this point, John calling you into his office is enough to get you wet, like some trained dog – Pavlov’s bitch. Classical conditioning.

“Doing so good for me, darling,” he murmurs against your ear and his accent has become somewhat thicker, his beard scratching over your flushed skin as he speaks only adds to the  sensations, after muting himself briefly, like he does sometimes – whether it is for praise or to chide you to stay quiet.

There’s that familiar needy plea burning on the tip of your tongue again, but you know uttering it will only end up with him biting back a rough chuckle and muting the call again to mock you, before edging you even worse for insubordination – long after the work call has ended.

“I might let you cum once if you keep being such a good little assistant for me,” He mutters lowly though there is a hint of teasing in his low, rough voice and he unmutes himself again, before he speeds up his ministrations on your throbbing clit, his fingers rubbing and flicking the sensitive bud mercilessly.

Then your back arches, wrists straining painfully against the bindings behind your back and your head lolls back against his hard shoulder while you choke back a desperate whine, swallowing it down helplessly, clenching your teeth while the tension in your lower abdomen coils deliciously and the muscles in your thighs twitch relentlessly, chasing after the release that John keeps denying you.

But before you can take a sharp inhale through your nose to brace yourself for the inevitable, eyes already rolling back into the sockets as your body tenses and your hips buck into his touch, the Captain withdraws his hand before lightly patting his fingers over your slick, pulsating cunt condescendingly.

“I said…I might, luv.” John whispers against the side of your neck, nuzzling his nose against your fluttering pulse point as you writhe on his lap, not bothering to mute himself this time.

“Uh, what was that, Captain?”

[inside-lees-mind]

Is multiple characters(separate) allowed? I was thinking a NSFW with a reader that gets flustered easily for Gen, Senku, and Ukyo!

Hi! Yes, multiple characters is allowed! Also, sorry, I only half assed listened to the request because Senku's felt so much more natural to write sfw.

WARNINGS: NSFW (only in Gen and Ukyo's)

Gen Asagiri

Once this man notices that you easily get flustered, he is wielding that knowledge like a weapon.

He'd be good with his words to be able to fluster you without even having to resort to close proximity.

Just silly compliments can fluster you, so soon he's taking it a step closer.

He likes to say things that take you a second to comprehend the meaning of. He'll tell you something that could mean 2 things, one more innocent, one not so much, in passing. By the time you realize, he's not even in the room anymore.

You're usually super embarrassed, but he just finds it cute and endearing.

The times that he stays after flustering you with a suggestive comment, he'll wait until you get it, then use close proximity to fluster you next.

He goes from verbally teasing you, to tilting your chin up with his pointer finger. He'll get so close you can feel his breath on your face, and from here, these interactions could go one of two ways: he may say you have something on your face, dust it off, and walk away as if he's done nothing, or the latter would be he FINALLY kisses you.

Definitely the type to tease you by pushing your legs apart with his knee, keeping it there. Don't question me on that.

Most likely character to tease you in public, but refuse to do the real thing. That's a private matter, he's just sneaky enough to tease you.

Praise or degrading in bed, whatever you'd prefer, he's using it to tease you. The blush on your face spreads down your body and that drives him crazy (or the heat if the blush wouldn't be visible)

"use your words" makes you say things you don't really wanna say out loud even if he understands what you mean.

(this man can make you cum without touching you and nobody can convince me otherwise. I don't accept critique.)

Senku Ishigami

Accidentally flusters you half of the time.

He thinks nothing of getting right in your face for something or touching you to measure you or something like that. He's unbothered because he's simply not worried about that right now.

And honestly, most of the time he won't bother to go out of his way to fluster you.

Eventually he'd realize from time to time

Like the time he pulled you out to stargaze with him.

Sure, he'd intended for it to be a date of sorts, but he doesn't really swoon at the idea of how romantic it is. He enjoys stargazing and space and all that, and its time he could be spending with you so why not just combine the things he loves into one activity?

You, on the other hand, were super nervous to speak or anything. The still of the night made it romantic, but also terrifying. It's just you, him, and the moon and stars.

He's probably talking your ear off about space and what you're looking at, not that you mind, but eventually he turns onto his side to fully face you.

You get super flustered, and for once he can't help but notice and honestly, now that he's thinking about it, you make him little nervous.

He feels that it's illogical to feel like some giddy, hopelessly in love teenager when he looks at you, but he can't help it.

Now he's just as flustered.

He struggles with initiating physical contact, but he's direct with it. He'll scoot closer and kiss you.

Then you'll both just stare in silence, occasionally opening your mouths to say something and getting nothing out.

He'd take your hand and let you both fall into a comfortable silence where you both almost drift off in each other's company.

Ukyo Saionji

It's easy to forget this man was pretty cocky.

I think at first in a relationship, he'd just be sweet and very humble, but now you've been with him for quite sometime and he won't let you forget how much he turns you on.

He's soft whispers and gentle touches to send your mind in a spiral right into the gutter and your stomach to a butterfly farm.

His favorite thing would be a back hug where he breathes in your scent and whispers against the shell of your ear, his hands running up your hips, gradually rising higher with each pass as he begins to move under your shirt.

He knows the power he has over you, but he's going to drive you crazy with whispered sweet nothings and gentle gestures.

He's an honest flirt, and that naturally flusters you. He's aware of that.

Eventually, the gentle touches get a bit more obvious and brass.

Those hands on your hips would pull you back against him.

Flusters you by insisting you be vocal in bed and then moaning about how pretty your noises are.

You'll never meet a man more in love with you. He'll fluster you by never letting you forget this.

He praises every part of your body, every noise you make, anything really.

Not related, but Ukyo would send you love letters if he had to go away on a trip and you couldn't go (pretend that's possible in the New Stone Age)