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smartkookiee · 4 months ago

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Wounds We Never Show // Ch.6 — jjk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・ ❥pairing: Jungkook x Reader (she/her, afab) ❥genre/rating: 18 +explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, enemies with benefits ❥chapter warnings/tags: More of a funny chapter, some fluff, Taehyung being the biggest menace on the planet, Some touching (Not sexy touching sorry lol, its worth it), hella tension, dirty thoughts hehehehe, more confused feelings, stress, yoongi mentioned, seokjin continuing to make vics life hard, Jungkook is bad at feelings, drinking, swearing, smoking, y/n continuing to be the biggest avoider of the century, they are getting better just trust me, healthy communicating??? Ji-eun continuing to be my fav ❥word-count: 11.6k ❥Series Masterlist Previous Chapter ||❥|| Next chapter ❥Playlist fic is cross posted to ao3 send an ask or comment on post to be added to the taglist! a/n: This is like 85% edited right now so sorry if there are mistakes but I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as possible! So enjoy and if you see a mistake no you didn't and Happy Holidays! .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Five years ago

“Come on! Let me take you out. You don’t even have to think about the breakup anymore,” Taehyung called out, trailing after Jungkook as he moved from his bedroom to the kitchen, then back again.

Namjoon had texted Taehyung earlier, saying Jungkook had been sulking around the apartment for days. The breakup was mutual—or so Jungkook claimed—but it was still a gut punch. He and his girlfriend had been together since the start of college, and the shift from something so constant to nothing at all wasn’t easy to navigate. Jungkook hadn’t gone into much detail, just muttering something about them not wanting the same things anymore.

His silence, though, was worrying his friends.

Jungkook barely acknowledged Taehyung, focused on shoving notes and books into his backpack. “I can’t, Tae. I have to meet my project partner.” he muttered, his voice laced with mild frustration.

Taehyung leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “The one who already doesn’t like you? Sounds like a good enough excuse to put it off.”

“I can’t,” Jungkook said, sharper this time. “She already doesn’t like me, so being late will just make it worse. I’m barely tolerated as it is. We’ve been working on this for weeks, and it’s been nothing but cold shoulders and annoyed muttering.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder, heading for the front door.

Taehyung wasn’t giving up so easily. “So...is this the same partner you were complaining about before?”

“Yes.” Jungkook groaned, not breaking stride.

“Well, maybe I should come along. I’m great with people. Could smooth things over—”

“No,” Jungkook cut him off, opening the door. “Anything connected to me seems to make it worse.”

Taehyung kept pace, still grinning. “But you’re already late. What’s five more minutes? I can be a neutral third party. Mediate, make her laugh, maybe even—”

“No.” Jungkook protested again, but Taehyung followed him. Then kept following him all the way to the library.

Once inside, Jungkook scanned the study area. He spotted you almost immediately at a small table in the corner, papers spread around you like a protective barrier. You were frowning, your hand moving quickly across a page as you scribbled something down, a furrow of frustration etched between your brows.

“Alright, time for you to leave.” Jungkook hissed, spinning around and shoving at Taehyung’s shoulder.

But Taehyung wasn’t going anywhere. He caught sight of you, and his playful expression shifted to one of delight. His mouth fell open, and then a slow, mischievous smile tugged at his lips. “Well, hello, gorgeous.” he muttered under his breath.

Jungkook frowned. “What?”

“You didn’t mention she was hot.” Taehyung said, his grin only widening and a wiggle to his eyebrows. “I can work with this.”

Jungkook groaned, grabbing at Taehyung’s arm to stop him, but Taehyung sidestepped him easily, practically skipping as he made his way over to you. You were deep into some calculations for your math class and you felt like you were going insane when someone sat across from you, you peered up to see a stranger swiftly pulling out another chair at your table.

“Hi.” He said warmly, tilting his head as if he’d just stumbled into a casual coffee chat.

Raising an eyebrow to him, you blinked, your pencil pausing mid-air. “Hi? I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Taehyung shook his head, “No, I’m Taehyung.” He held a hand out to you to shake.

You hesitated for a beat, then placed your hand in his for a quick, polite shake. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m actually waiting for someone.”

“Ah, don’t worry. I won’t take up too much of your time.” Taehyung said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m here on a mission.”

You let out a heavy sigh, “If it’s to ask for my number or anything like that. I’m not interested.”

Taehyung waves you off, not that he would mind slipping you his number, “Nothing of the sort… I mean unless you like what you see.” Taehyung leans back posing in his chair, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of him. “I’m actually here to get some information.”

“Okay?” You cross your arms over your chest, an amused grin on your face. Jungkook from a small distance amazed you haven’t bitten Taehyung's head off.

Taehyung nodded gravely, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ve come on behalf of my dear, troubled friend, Jungkook.”

Your polite smile faded instantly, replaced by a tight line of irritation. Casting a quick glance past Taehyung. Sure enough, Jungkook was standing a short distance away, half-hidden behind a bookshelf. His expression torn between embarrassment and dread. “I have to apologize Taehyung–”

“You can call me Tae.” He grins with a wink, and you roll your eyes.

“Okay Tae. I don’t know you well enough to get into all those details.”

“How about we have dinner and discuss it then?” Taehyung scoots his chair closer to yours leaning his arms on the table. Just at that moment a hand comes down on Taehyung's shoulder, he glances up to see an annoyed Jungkook towering above him.

“That’s enough.” Jungkook wants to avoid your annoyance at him increasing any further by Taehyung's antics.

“You’re late,” you said pointedly, your tone icy as you picked your pencil back up and focused on your notes. Refusing to look at Jungkook.

“Can you see why?” Jungkook gestured to Taehyung and took another seat at the table. Taehyung rubbing his chin glancing between the two of you with some amusement.

“Wow, there really is some hostility here… almost electric.” Taehyung leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as his gaze shifted between you and Jungkook. His grin was as sharp as a knife, cutting through the tension with deliberate ease. “For the sake of Jungkook’s sanity—and mine—I have to know. Did he ghost you? Forget a birthday? Sleep with you and never call you again?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief freezing you for a beat before your voice finally squeaked out, “Excuse me?”

“Tae.” Jungkook kicks his leg under the table and Taehyung winces.

“I was just curious!” Taehyung raises both of his arms up in surrender, “Seriously, what did he do?” He pressed, eyes sparkling with mischief as he ignored Jungkook’s obvious irritation.

You shifted in your seat, feeling caged in under their expectant stares, but your posture stayed composed. You refused to let them see you squirm. “I thought I already said I don’t know you well enough for the details?” You replied coolly, hoping to deflect.

“Well,” Taehyung said, clearing his throat as if settling in for a monologue. “I’m Kim Taehyung. I’m a Capricorn. I enjoy wine and find most other alcohol kind of overrated. Jungkook’s one of my closest friends, like, ever. I love dogs, but I have a massive respect for cats. See? We know each other better already.”

His brazen confidence was so unexpected it caught you off guard, drawing a small laugh from your lips despite yourself. “That’s all fine and good,” You said, shaking your head, “but this is personal, Tae.”

“Can I at least put in a good word for him?” Taehyung raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, gesturing toward Jungkook like he was trying to sell a piece of furniture.

You hesitated, glancing at Jungkook than back to Taehyung. “Alright.”

Jungkook was surprised you were even entertaining his theatrics. Taehyung’s face lit up in triumph, and he shot Jungkook a smug look before leaning in like he was about to share a juicy secret. “Okay, listen. Whatever he did to earn this… frustration from you, I can guarantee it wasn’t on purpose. Either that, or he’s completely oblivious. Probably the second one, honestly.”

You tried not to let his words affect you, but the sincerity in his voice was hard to ignore. He didn’t seem like he was messing with you.

“Here’s the thing,” Taehyung continued, his tone dropping lower as if the next part was especially important. “Jungkook’s one of the best people I know. Seriously. He’s somewhat dumb sometimes, sure, but he’s also loyal and… well, kind of a big softie. I think whatever’s going on here is probably just a huge misunderstanding.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his words.

Then, as if he couldn’t resist, Taehyung grinned again and reached over to pinch Jungkook’s cheek. “Plus, he’s a big baby and such a cutie, right?”

Jungkook groaned, swatting Taehyung’s hand away. “Stop.”

“No, seriously,” Taehyung insisted, turning to you with exaggerated curiosity. “He’s cute, right?”

You froze like a deer in headlights, eyes darting between them. “I mean… he’s alright, I guess.” you said, shrugging in an attempt to play it cool. It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed Jungkook’s looks, they were hard to miss, but you weren't really on the market these days.

“Okay, but what about me?” Taehyung tilted his head, all innocent. “Am I more than just ‘alright’?”

“Goodbye, Taehyung.” Jungkook stood abruptly, tugging Taehyung up from his seat. “We’re leaving.”

Jungkook got up from his seat trying to pull Taehyung away from his own. Taehyung resists for a moment, snatching your pencil to quickly scribble his number down on a blank piece of paper you had out.

“Call me.” Taehyung lifts his hand up to hear ear to motion for you to call, as he is getting dragged away by Jungkook. Far out of your sight from your table. You glance down at the number, it was poorly written but you could still make it out.

You knew you wouldn’t call but Taehyung's genuine honesty and unabashed personality was a breath of fresh air. At least you could really only hope everything he said was real and not him covering for Jungkook.

After a minute Jungkook returned to the table, annoyance written all over his face. He took his seat again with a heavy sigh. “Sorry… about him.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I could tell he meant well.” You brush him off and continue to write something in your notebook. “Seems like a good friend.”

“He is.” Jungkook nods, finally taking the time to pull out his own books and notes. “Just a tad nosy.”

“You think?” You raise an eyebrow with a small smile, presenting the phone number. “Severely cocky too.”

Jungkook laughs, shaking his head at the horribly written numbers on the page. “Yeah, you’re welcome to burn that.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

Present Day

Taehyung had always been nosy, maybe even intrusive at times. He really just liked being in people's business and being in the know. This time though, he just happened upon this information and wasn’t really trying to be involved. He really couldn’t help himself in this case.

“If you tell me what’s going on with you and Y/N.” Taehyung said, propping his chin in the palm of his hand. His elbow rested on the table as he studied Jungkook with a knowing glint in his eye.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice steady, though a flicker of unease slipped into his tone. He casually raised his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip as if the conversation was of no consequence.

Taehyung grinned wider, his head tilting. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb. I saw you.”

Jungkook frowned faintly, still feigning confusion. “Saw me what?” Jungkook didn’t react—not outwardly, at least. Years of navigating intense courtroom scrutiny made him a master of keeping a cool exterior. But beneath the surface, his pulse quickened.

“You and Y/N. Leaving together after emo night.”

Jungkook blinked once, twice. “Okay?”

“Okay?” Taehyung repeated, drawing the word out mockingly. He leaned forward just enough to make Jungkook feel cornered. “Y/N wouldn’t share a fry with you, let alone a ride home. It doesn’t add up. So I started thinking.” He paused, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, each tap feeling like a provocation. “At first, I let it go. People share cars sometimes, sure. But then Jimin mentioned you’ve been acting... off. Quiet. Weird.”

“It’s called maturity,” Jungkook quipped dryly. “You should try it sometime.”

Taehyung snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Maturity? You? The guy who stress-ate three bags of gummy worms during trial prep and then tried to convince us it was a ‘tactical’ decision?”

“They were sour gummy worms,” Jungkook shot back defensively. “Completely different vibe.”

“Sure but you’re usually unbearable before a trial.” Taehyung raised a brow. “Pacing around, running through every tiny detail like your life depends on it. Hell, last time you made me and Namjoon sit through your entire case just to ‘practice.’ You even roped Melanie into being the jury. Still can’t believe she ruled against me.”

“She has great judgment,” Jungkook quipped, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure. But here’s the thing: this time? No pacing, no rambling, no pestering me to play the opposing counsel. Just radio silence. It’s weird.”

Jungkook shrugged, his shoulders stiff with tension. “Maybe I’ve gotten better at managing my stress.”

Taehyung snorted. “Yeah, right.” He turned in his seat to face Jungkook fully, his expression sharpening. “When Jimin said something, I started piecing it together. Thinking on the last few weeks. I thought maybe it was family related but, you hadn’t mentioned anything recently. So then I thought, who’s the only person who throws you off your game? Y/N.”

Jungkook’s stomach dropped, but he kept his face neutral. Barely.

“I also thought it might have just been the forced proximity. You two always go nuclear when you spend too much time in the same 500 yards. Except I remembered how weird you two were acting at the wedding, and how you guys disappeared for a while during the rehearsal dinner.” Taehyung continued, his voice dropping just enough to feel like a warning shot. “You think I didn’t notice?” He tilted his head, his gaze cutting. “So, one more time—what’s going on with you and Y/N?”

A silence hung between them in quiet confirmation. Jungkook's face was hot and he was flustered, but also… filled with relief? Like a weight was lifted? Jungkook hadn’t told anyone what had been going on with you two but Taehyung figuring it out made it suddenly so easy. It had all gotten him so wound up and freaked out that he hadn’t realized how much he really wanted to talk. Talk it through, you certainly weren’t going to want to discuss it.

Taehyung’s face morphed into a relaxed and understanding grin, clearly reveling in his own detective work. “Hey, listen. If you’re not ready to talk about it… whatever! I think it’s great. Whatever it is, friendship, relationship, sex. You’re both adults. Have fun.”

Jungkook let out a breathless laugh, adjusting in his seat. “I don’t even know what’s going on. Definitely not a relationship, I’ll tell you that much.” His lips curled into a shy smile, but his voice carried an edge of uncertainty.

Taehyung nodded knowingly, leaning back in his chair. “Well, start by telling me how this all started.”

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, organizing his thoughts. “What’s weird is that, thinking about it now, it feels… insane. We fought at the rehearsal dinner. Like, properly fought. Then we went outside to cool off, and I don’t know—something shifted. We started talking about how we’re terrible at communicating. Like, talking has never worked for us.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “So, I said maybe we should try something else. Something physical.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows shot up. “You suggested that?”

“Yeah. Why is that surprising?”

“Because Y/N would never suggest that, and you’re usually too uptight to even think about it.” Taehyung took a long, deliberate sip of his drink, clearly enjoying the moment. “So you guys…?” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging even though it was painfully obvious.

Jungkook sighed and gave a reluctant nod.

“Oh my god,” Taehyung said, leaning forward with wide eyes and a grin. “I knew you two had chemistry.”

Jungkook frowned. “No, you didn’t.”

“Did too! The first time I met Y/N, it was so obvious. Sure, she was silently plotting your demise, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t heat. You can have tension and attraction, you know.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. “You’re delusional.”

“So,” Taehyung pressed, clearly not planning to drop the subject anytime soon, “How does Emo Night fit into this?”

Jungkook leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Honestly… it’s kind of a blur. We were fighting, then we weren’t. Then we were laughing, and the next thing I knew, we were going back to my place.”

Taehyung let out a low whistle, giving Jungkook a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “Wow. Good for you. It was only a matter of time.”

Jungkook blinked at him, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Taehyung shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, come on. You’re both hot. You’re both single. Nothing wrong with playing around and seeing what happens.”

Jungkook hesitated, his expression shifting. “I don’t think it’ll happen again.”

“Why not?” Taehyung asked, his tone light but his gaze probing.

Jungkook shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “I don’t know. Every time it’s happened, I’ve felt this… weird sense of guilt afterward. Like I’m doing something I shouldn’t. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I’m not even living in my own skin.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m not the type to just hook up, you know that. I don’t have the time or the mindset for it.”

Taehyung tilted his head, studying him thoughtfully. His voice was softer this time, almost careful. “Do you feel guilty because you think you’re not supposed to? Or is it because it actually feels good, but since it’s with Y/N, you’re telling yourself it shouldn’t be happening?”

The question caught Jungkook off guard. He blinked, his brow furrowing as he thought about it. “I… don’t know.”

Taehyung chewed on his lip for a moment, his expression pensive. “If I’m not overstepping,” he said cautiously, “I think you are enjoying yourself. And sure, I know you only like to sleep with people if you’re considering a relationship—”

“That’s the thing,” Jungkook cut in, his tone sharper than he’d intended. “I’m not looking for anything right now. Let alone with Y/N.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Taehyung held up a hand, his voice calm but insistent. “I’m saying maybe… let the chips fall where they may.”

Jungkook frowned, his confusion evident. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly against the tabletop as he chose his words. “You’ve had so much going on in the last year. Maybe this—whatever it is—is happening at the perfect time. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be forever. But maybe it’s exactly what you need right now.”

Jungkook snorted, shaking his head. “I’m not like you. I can’t just sleep around. Plus, work takes up all my time.”

Taehyung laughed lightly, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Oh, I’m not saying with just anyone or all the time. I’m saying just whenever it comes about naturally… with Y/N.”

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Taehyung said, grinning now. “Funny enough, I think Y/N is perfect for this. She’s not going to get attached to you, and you already know you have chemistry. It’s like the universe handed you the ideal situation on a silver platter.”

“No,” Jungkook said firmly, shaking his head again. “It’s too complicated with Y/N. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Taehyung pressed, his teasing grin fading into something more thoughtful. His voice softened, but the curiosity behind it remained sharp. “Have you even talked to her about it? Like, actually talked?”

Jungkook let out a dry laugh, the sound short and humorless, as he rubbed his chin. “Sort of. Not really. We talked about the wedding for about five seconds, and then we fought about… well, the last time.”

Taehyung snorted, propping his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Wow, groundbreaking. Gossip of the century. You and Y/N fighting? Stop the presses, I’m shocked.” His voice was thick with sarcasm, and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth made Jungkook glare.

“You act like conversations come easy for us,” Jungkook shot back, his tone defensive.

Taehyung tilted his head, his expression shifting to something softer—almost amused. “You know,” he began, his voice thoughtful, “I’ve gotten to know Y/N pretty well over the years. She’s not as stubborn as you make her out to be. If anything, she’s way softer than she lets on.”

Jungkook looked at him sharply, his brow furrowing. “Okay?”

“It means,” Taehyung said patiently, “you should at least try. Y/N is actually pretty reasonable once you sit down and actually talk to her.”

“Talking to her isn’t as simple as you’re making it sound,” Jungkook muttered, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “You talk to people you don’t even like all the time at work. How is this any different?”

“Where do you think I got all that practice?” Jungkook retorted dryly.

Taehyung let out a bark of laughter, his head tilting back briefly before he fixed Jungkook with a pointed look. “Fine. You’re going to Namjoon’s tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.” Jungkook said, crossing his arms like the question was ridiculous.

“Perfect,” Taehyung said, clapping his hands together. “There’s your opportunity. Just try to have a normal conversation with her. Just… be casual. You can do that, can’t you?”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know me?”

Taehyung ignored the jab, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m serious. You don’t have to solve the world’s problems tomorrow. Just talk. And for the love of all that’s holy, keep your clothes on. Since that seems to be difficult for you two now.”

“Alright I’ll try.” Finishing off his drink, Jungkook stood. “I should go now. I need to get some more work done tonight.” Jungkook started to leave when Taehyung called after him.

“Hey!” Taehyung called after him as Jungkook made his way to the door. “Just think about it, alright? You might even realize I’m right. It happens more often than you’d think!”

Jungkook just waved to him as he left. He was going to make his way up to his car but he paused. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Taking one and lighting it. He hadn’t been smoking as often lately, but he felt he deserved one after the success of the week. Jungkook took a long drag letting the smoke fill his lungs before blowing it out through his nose. A small buzz washed through him, cigarettes didn’t really have the same hit these days but couldn't quite kick the habit.

He knew the smell would stick to him, would linger and cling to these clothes. He started to walk up the street to his car. Just finishing off the cigarette slowly and making sure he was more than safe to drive. Thinking about what Taehyung told him, he hadn’t thought he had been so stressed. Hooking up with you continuously was just a recipe for disaster, it had to be. He was just asking for something to go wrong and you two were always on thin ice as it was. Not that Jungkook would ever bring up any of Taehyungs advice to you… again.

Last time was the last time, a very specific set of circumstances had to come together for the last two times to even work out.

All though Jungkook had become the furthest thing from your mind this evening. You were entering the hospital at the ungodly hour of 10:30pm because you decided yeah I can totally switch shifts this weekend! I haven’t done a night shift in a while so this will be fine! You are majorly regretting it now. You had slept most of the day but you were still somehow exhausted.

“Good morning beautiful.” Vic greeted you as you trudged your way to sit next to her at the nurses station. You shot her a glare sitting down in your chair pulling out one of the tablets.

“I hate the night shift. Why did I agree to this?” You groan, typing your password multiple times and failing.

“Because you are lovely and wonderful and Maya really needed the switch.” Vic stood up and behind you and rubbed your shoulders. “You can do this, it’s pretty simple at night anyways.”

“Ugh please don’t jinx me. You’ll say that and suddenly everything’s gonna go wrong.” You lay your head back looking up at her with a small pout.

“You’ll be just fine, plus Yoongi is here all night with you. He’s fun to torture during the night shift.” Vic patted you before she grabbed her bag and rounded her way to the elevators.

“Have a good night.” You call out to her but then dive your head into your work. Since it was so easy going you knew this would be a good opportunity to finish up paperwork. There was always plenty to catch up on, you could maybe even get a medication inventory count done tonight as long as everything goes smoothly.

You spend the next little while just working. Yoongi came and joined you after a while and you both just made small conversation here and there. The two of you had actually gotten closer in the time you’ve been up here. He’s actually super nice and much funnier than anyone gives him credit for. The quiet exterior thing was mostly a professional front but when he’s around you and Vic he loosens way up.

Once one of the other night nurses, Kay, had arrived you stole him away to help you with meds.

“Okay would you rather broadcast your thoughts to everyone around you at all times or never be able to think in words again?” You ask as you write down some notes about things that need to be ordered.

Yoongi thought for a moment as he is opening up a box to inspect the contents, “Can I think in pictures?”

“Hmm I’ll say yes but you can’t imagine pictures of words.” You tap your pen against your mouth.

“I’ll never think in words again. I don’t need everyone knowing my thoughts.” Yoongi says and you nod. “What about you?”

“You know what, I agree. I don’t need everyone knowing how often I think about quitting.” You snort under your breath. Yoongi smiles amused.

“We all know, you don’t need your thoughts broadcasted for that.” Yoongi teased and you push his shoulder.

“I’m quitting right now.”

“Right.”

You sigh looking around. “Well we’ve barley made a dent. I’m going to going do a loop and check in, will you see if Kay needs anything?” You hand him the notepad you had been making notes on.

“No problem, and we can totally finish this tonight. Plus we have like 10 more hours.” Yoongi points around the room. It’s true you guys just needed to stay focussed.

“Nah you have better things to worry about tonight. I’ll just force Wendy to help me when she gets in.” You wave your hand back and forth, leaving the closet.

You make your way up and down the wing. Most patients were asleep and you would slip in just to make sure there was nothing you guys were missing or not being alerted about. You had pretty good systems and alarms to make sure that didn’t happen but you always liked to check just to make sure. Everyone seemed in good shape for the night, you decided to ends your rounds with checking in on Ji-eun. You poked your head into the room to find she was in fact awake. She was looking at something on her Ipad. The light dimmed.

“What are you—” You step into the room, Ji-eun's attention pulled to you. At that moment your attention is immediately pulled to the couch that came into view. Someone was asleep there with blanket pulled over them and they were facing away. You drop your voice to a whisper. “Oh my god I’m so sorry. I didn’t know someone was here with you.”

You try to backing out of the room, but Ji-eun waves for you to come back. Her voice also a whisper, “No no no come back in. I’m happy to see you, you’re never here this late.”

A sigh of exhaustion leaves you, “Yeah one of the girls needed to switch shifts due to an emergency. So here I am.”

“That’s nice of you. I can’t imagine overnight shifts are at all easy.” She gives you a sympathetic smile, setting her iPad to the side.

“It’s alright. Dr. Min and Kay are good company.” Your attention is pulled back to the figure on the couch that shifts slightly. Maybe it was Ji-eun’s husband? You hadn’t had a chance to meet any of her family yet. They were never here when you usually worked. “Is that your husband?”

Ji-eun looks over and then back to you with a shake of her head. “Oh no, this is one of my boys.”

“Oh! How sweet he’s here with you.” You glance over and then back to her.

“Yeah he must have arrived just barely before you. He’s had a long week and hadn’t been able to stop by. Then he fell asleep.”

“Is this his first time coming to see you? Since you got here?” You found your curiosity peaked.

“Oh no no. He was with me the day I checked in and then he’s been here several times since. Always late like this.” She glances over then back to you. “I hope it’s okay he’s here.”

Technically you really shouldn’t let family stay over night but it wasn’t a rule. More frowned upon due to some incidents in the past. “Usually we try not to allow it, but I’ll let it go for now.” You give her mischievous grin, and she laughs to herself.

Ji-eun had an operation schedule for two weeks from now for the tumor in her leg to be removed. She was in high spirits about it. Removing that tumor would officially bring her back down to stage 3. The hope was that they could remove the whole thing.

Dr. Kim took a new biopsy earlier in the week and you learned this tumor was completely unrelated to the liver cancer, which was the original belief. Since the tumor had gotten down almost to the bone she would be off her feet for some time. She also will have to stop chemotherapy for a while until she heals from this operation. So mostly good things but concerning in terms of her cancer and how aggressive her case has been.

The current treatment hasn’t shown any signs of improvements to the tumors on her liver. It was still early so it was inconclusive. You could tell from the way Dr. Kim and Yoongi had been speaking about it that they were hoping for more improvement. Ji-eun hadn’t lost her spirit though. She was still so cheerful everyday you saw her and always had a story or smile to give. She’s made the weeks up here easier. In the time you’ve spent up here you have seen a few patients pass. Two just this week. You didn’t know them well but it was still tough. Especially because they were cases that had much better odds than most. Needless to say it weighed on you, so talking to Ji-eun made it easier.

Vic and Yoongi had also done a good job at showing you how they handle it. In other specialties you don’t spend as much with the patients, little easier to become impersonal. Up here you have people who are here for weeks or months so you learn about them. Which makes it worse if they don’t pull through.

“Why are you up so late?” You sit on the end of her bed, “You just had treatment on Tuesday, you need rest.”

“Just a touch of nausea it’ll pass.” She pats her stomach.

“Are you finally admitting to feeling it a little?” You say, talking about the chemo. Ji-eun had been doing well on this one and not shown any major symptoms yet. At least, that is what she was telling everyone.

“A little.” She huffed, “Nothing serious. It’ll pass soon.”

“I can get you something if you need. You don’t have to just tough it out, even though I know you try too.” You lean on one of your hands, your face falling into slight concern.

“I'm tougher than you think. No chemo can get me down. Now you go. I’m sure you have plenty of work that needs to be done.” She tried to wave you out of the room, but you roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a minute.” You glance over to her ever updating pile of crochet projects. “What are you working on right now?”

Ji-eun glances to her pile. “I know it’s a big cliché, but I’m working on a few things for you and Victoria, and the docs.” She pull over some of her stuff, “It’s just scarves.”

She pulls out one that looks to already be complete that is green and blue and red stripes. Another that is all red.

“The stripped one is for Dr. Kim. The red is for Victoria. Felt fitting since she is so fiery, and Dr. Kim is so flamboyant.” She held them out to you, they were very well done. She picked a very oft thread for them as well so they were nice to touch.

“Oh these are lovely.” You fold them and lay them back down on the bed. “Dr. Kim will love his, I assure you.”

“And this,” She reaches down on the side of the bed, “will be yours eventually.” She pull out a dark blue scarf that had stars being stitched throughout. It was still a work in progress, maybe about half way done? It was truly lovely so far. “I think it looks pretty good!”

You give her a happy pout looking at it, “I love it. It’s so cute. I can’t wait to wear it.”

“Well I better hurry up and get it done!” Her voice was a little louder than she intended, and whichever of Ji-eun's sons was on the couch stirred. “Whoops too loud. Can I get your opinion for Yoongi? I want to make him one but I’m not sure.”

You thought for a moment if you should tell her to give him something outrageously bright just to see him feel forced to wear it. You decided against it though. “Probably something neutral. He’s not the flashy type. Maybe a black or grey.”

“Awe I was hoping maybe he had a colorful streak hidden under that quiet exterior.” Her face twisted in annoyance, “Neutral it is.”

You get yourself off the bed. It was time that you got back and continued your work. It was a nice little break but there was a lot left to be done tonight.

“I must leave you now. If you need anything you know where we are.” You take a step towards the door.

“I’ll try.” Ji-eun huffs with fake annoyance in her tone like you were a mom scolding her.

You roll your eyes knowing she’s just going to continue to be tough about it. You turn to the door before something catches your attention before stepping out. It was subtle and you hadn’t noticed it before but you definitely smelt it now.

Just a faint smell of cigarette.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

After a long and grueling night. Your shift was coming to an end. You and Yoongi, with the help of Wendy another night nurse, you managed to get a good jump on inventory. The rest of the night you mostly just did paperwork and bothered Yoongi when you could. No major issues except you were not really built for a night shift. About an hour ago you took advantage and stowed yourself away to get a tiny bit of rest in an on call room. With your slumber abruptly interrupted.

“Rise and shine baby girl!” Vic hit her leg on the side of the bunk you were sleeping in. Rattling it and you awake.

With an angry grunt you rolled over to look at her. “You’re so obnoxious.”

“I’m here to relieve you. Get up.” She holds a hand out to you to help you get to your feet. “How was last night?”

“Not bad.” You yawn and stretch your arms straight into the air. You fill her in on some other details and you both leave the on call room and walk back to the nurses station. Giving her some updates on what you and Kay did in the night.

You collected some of your stuff from the desk when you overheard some of the other girls you worked with talking.

“Okay but like you saw him.” Lana, a new hire here, leaning on both of her hands swiveling from side to side in her chair. Dramatically star struck.

“You were right, hot.” Angel, another girl who usually works opposite shifts of you. So you haven’t gotten to know her much.

“Ladies,” Vic interrupted arms folded, “I think we have better things we could be doing?”

“Yeah but Lana’s crush was here. So she’s all distracted now.” Angel rolled her eyes, nudging Lana to come out of her dream state. You laugh under your breath.

“Who’s her crush?” You breath, balancing your stuff in your arms. Looking between the two of them.

Lana groaned, “I don’t actually know his name. I’m just pretty sure he’s Ji-euns son. You had to have seen him Y/N, you’re on her case.” She looked to you, her pupils practically turning into little hearts.

“I actually haven’t met any of Ji-eun’s family. I’ll see what I can find out.” You yawn thinking back on it. Sad Ji-eun’s been excited to introduce you to her family and you just barely missed him. Maybe next time.

“Get his name as soon as possible please. So Lana can bug you about it instead of me.” Angel got up from the desk, walking away as quickly as she could. You and Vic watch her go in her annoyance and you both have amused smiles.

“I’m sure you could just ask. Ji-eun uses any opportunity to talk about her family.” You pat Lana on the shoulder, “Hope he’s everything you hope he is.”

“Me too.” Lana gets up as well taking a tablet with her in a day dreamy walk.

“Don’t encourage her. She’s new so she doesn’t need to get her hopes high. ”Vic nudged you. She was mostly teasing.

“Hey, we need some new entertainment around here other than Yoongi. I’m just sad her crush isn’t on him so we don’t get to tease him about it.” You laugh, just then Seokjin and Yoongi were rounding the corner.

“Good morning my wonderful staff.” Seokjin beamed between you and Vic. Vic narrowing her eyes at Seokjin already. Oh he’s in for a long day.

“You didn’t sign your charts last night.” She taps her finger impatiently. Yoongi trying to hide. “Yoongi this goes for you two, and you have no excuse you were here all night.”

You place a hand on her, “To be fair he really helped us out with the medicine and inventory count.”

She huffs, “Okay fine you’re off the hook. You sir,” pointing back to Seokjin. “You’re gonna sit and do it before you do anything else today.”

“What’s with the hostility? To think I bought treats for you today and this is the thanks I get?” Seokjin sniffs and fake wipes his eyes.

“I’ll be less hostile when you sign your charts.” She barks.

You decide you need to slip out now before the blood bath begins. You made your way home in record time. You were desperate to sleep in your own bed because you were finally going to see Melanie tonight. You were so excited that her and Namjoon were back, and tonight would be all in good fun. Or at least you hoped it would.

Jungkook's annoying presence would certainly be something to handle… considering.

You couldn’t even think straight as you crashed on your bed. You didn’t even bother to change, just letting the weight of the night overtake you. It felt like a blink of an eye though as it was suddenly 6 pm. You needed to get up and get ready for sure now. You had roughly about an hour before you needed to be getting out the door. So you shower the night off and dress casually, you had a feeling you may be crashing there tonight so you didn’t need to look amazing.

You certainly didn’t feel too amazing, exhausted really.

After too long you were arriving and knocking on the front door. Namjoon and Melanie had a very nice townhome, it wasn’t decorated in a typical fashion. It was always very warm and welcoming and homey. You tended to hang out here a lot because of how good of a job they did at making it so nice. Unfortunately that did involve many night where you, Ash, and Melanie overtake the house and Namjoon is left sleeping in the guest room or downstairs. He really didn’t mind but you always felt a little bad.

With a swift swing open of the door Melanie was who you came face to face with. “Finally! My knight in shining armor has arrived!” Melanie swooned against the door frame.

“My darling I’ve return from war!” You step inside and are immediately enveloped into a hug. It was so nice to finally have her back. You didn’t want to bug her with anything while her and Namjoon were away but now it was free game. “I need to hear every detail about your trip.”

“Oh trust me I’ve got a whole presentation prepared.” She keeps an arm around you as you enter the house.

The entryway was a long hallway with tall ceilings, stairs lined one wall, with entrance to the living room first and then just up the hall entrance to the kitchen. A small bathroom tucked under the stairs.

“Oh I can’t wait.” You giggle and rub your hands together, “I need something to eat though I’m starving.”

“Oh there’s plenty of food so help yourself. We’ve got all night.” She pulled you into the living room where you were greeted with Ash and Namjoon in a heated debate about what looked like a just finished match of Mario kart. Taehyung was sprawled out on the couch, looking like a kicked puppy. Melanie sat down on the opposite love seat leaving you standing,

You squat down to Taehyung's eye level, “What was it this time? Eleventh or twelve?”

He fakes sobs, “If there was a thirteenth place they would make it for me.” You snort and ruffle his hair.

“You’ll get him next time.” You sit down on the love seat with Melanie laying your legs across her lap.

“You don’t want to sit with me?” Taehyung sat up on the couch with a puppy dog look in his eye.

“I need some Melanie time tonight. I’ll give you my attention another time.” You say but Taehyung still played sad.

“Mel! Back me up! He so cheated!” Ash erupted between the three of you, pointing to Namjoon accusingly.

“I did not!” Namjoon quipped back, “She’s the one who was trying to shove me the entire time!”

“I’m not getting in the middle of you two and your stupid Mario kart rivalry again! I made that mistake once and I almost got my head bitten off for it.” Melanie grumbled in annoyance at the two of them. They both deflated but still were annoyed.

“You know how competitive they get, why let them play?” You ask, raising an eyebrow to Taehyung and Melanie.

“I left the room for five seconds and suddenly they were deep into it by then.” Melanie raised her hands in innocence. You believed it, Ash and Namjoon had a years long running tally of Mario kart wins. They always stayed neck and neck and it was very serious for them. You were okay at it, always coming out somewhere in the middle.

“Well I need a drink if this is how the night is going to continue.” You get back up from your seat.

“There’s tons of wine please drink it.” Namjoon called after you, you gave a thumbs up behind you in response. Heading down to the kitchen.

Rounding your way into the in there really was tons of snacks and food at the ready on the island counter. You imagine Melanie had meant to bring it into the living room but got sucked into the game with the others.

You pick a random bottle, opening it and pouring yourself a glass. It was pretty good for a random pick. You balance your glass, the bottle, and a armful of snacks bringing them with you to the living room to lay them out on the coffee table.

“Oh thank you.” Melanie beamed, taking a bag of chips from you.

“I figured they got left behind in the gaming escapades. This wine is also nice.” You take another sip from your glass, setting the bottle down.

Melanie takes the bottle holding it up to Namjoon, he also looks at it, “Joonie, where did we get this one?”

“Jungkook got it as a gift.” Namjoon nodded when seeing the bottle.

Taehyung dramatically held onto the nearest object. You gave him a funny look.

“Sorry Jungkook's name was mentioned in your presence. Thought I should prepare for a disaster.” He teased, you hit him on the shoulder.

“I’m not that dramatic.” You settle down on the couch next to him. “Here I’ll give him a compliment right now. He can pick out a nice wine. Let’s hope it’s not poison.”

“Wow,” Taehyung deadpanned, clutching his chest. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“Anyways, what’s going on with you these days.” You look at Taehyung. “I haven’t seen you since the wedding.”

“I tried to catch up with you at emo night but seems you got stolen away.” Taehyung says and it makes you take a slight moment of pause. Taehyung said it that way on purpose. Knowing what he knows, “You know cause you went home early.”

You nod, playing it cool. “Yeah I had too much. It was good I called it early because it could have gotten messy.”

“Probably smart, a little too much to drink can make us do some questionable things.” Taehyung says it almost with some suggestion, like trying to point to a certain subject. It didn’t slip by you, it felt too intentional.

“Yeah, I guess?” You play it off, “Anyways, any new girl I can hear about as of late? Any crazy stories you got for me?”

Taehyung shakes his head, “I’ve taken a little break lately. Trying to be serious.”

“Really? You?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nah,” He smirks, “What about you? Anyone wrapped around your finger at the moment?”

You narrow your eyes at him, Taehyung had a way of trying to subtly gets answers. Him asking about your love life never comes without a catch. Last time it was a blind date he wanted to set you up on. “No. I’m not really looking right now.”

He slowly nods his head, his stare a bit too intense for comfort. “Very interesting.”

“Okay what are you planning? If you're planning on giving my number out to someone can I at least know who and why?” You groan, leaning your head on the back of the couch looking up to the ceiling.

“No I wouldn't do that to you… again. I’m just confirming a solution to a problem I’m working on.”

You wanted to probe further into what Taehyung was talking about, but decided to just leave it. Whatever he had cooking up in his mind could not be good. Better to not indulge him.

The night buzzed with the hum of wine-fueled laughter, the clink of glasses, and a playlist that had long since fallen victim to the chaos of too many requests. You were tipsy, just enough to feel bold and carefree, your giggles blending seamlessly with the chatter around you.

Ash, Melanie, and you had claimed the big couch as your domain, limbs tangled in a haphazard heap. Your head rested in Ash’s lap, where she was absently braiding and unbraiding sections of your hair, likely creating a disaster you'd deal with tomorrow. Namjoon and Taehyung had been exiled to the love seat and the floor, making them easy targets for your drunken commentary.

This was how these nights always went—wine, games, and an inevitable retreat to Namjoon and Melanie’s room, where the three of you would indulge in a late-night slumber party like teenagers.

Just then a ring from the doorbell sounded through the house. Announcing the arrival of the demon spawn. Namjoon sprung up from his spot and trotted to the door. You could hear a few voices echo in the hall before Namjoon and Jungkook reentered the room with some laughs.

“Golden boy finally arrived.” Taehyung held his arms up in celebration. The wine in his glass almost flinging everywhere.

You rolled your eyes so hard you were sure they’d get stuck. Melanie wiggled her way out from under your legs to give Jungkook a hug, which he returned with genuine warmth. You looked away, muttering under your breath, “Great, now we’re all blessed by his presence.”

Melanie beamed, entirely ignoring your sarcasm. “Okay, now that everyone’s here, we can finally show pictures from the trip!” She dashed out of the room and returned moments later with her laptop, bounding around everyone and hooking it up to the TV.

“Oh you actually had a presentation prepared?” You laugh at her and Melanie rolls her eyes.

“Yes,” Melanie retorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ll like it. Now, everyone, sit.”

Melanie urges Namjoon and Jungkook to sit back down. Namjoon took the available spot next to Taehyung, which left the spot your legs currently occupied the only place left.

The command turned the room into a musical chairs scramble. Namjoon reclaimed his spot by Taehyung, leaving the couch seat you were sprawled across as the only one open.

Jungkook eyed the seat with a smirk and crossed his arms. “Guess you’ll have to move.”

Without budging an inch, you waved dismissively at the floor. “There’s plenty of space down there.”

Jungkook, tilted his head, tongue in cheek. He should have expected the immediate annoyance he would get from you being here. Taehyung watched from the other couch with bated breath, sipping on his wine.

“Oh this looks like such a comfortable spot though.” Without warning Jungkook places his butt right on top of your legs. Sighing joyfully, it was not comfortable but the face you were making was worth it.

Ash immediately burst out laughing, her hands still tangled in your hair. “I mean, he’s not wrong. You’re pretty cozy.”

“Get off.” You groan, tugging your legs out from under him and sitting up straight.

Jungkook stretched out leisurely, claiming the newly vacated spot with a satisfied smirk. "Ah, much better."

You narrowed your eyes at him, resisting the urge to shove him off the couch entirely. Taehyung, still observing from his perch with an amused glint in his eye, raised his glass in toast. "And just like that, our main event is underway."

"You're enjoying this way too much," you snapped at Taehyung, who simply shrugged and sipped his wine.

Melanie clapped her hands, reclaiming everyone's attention. "Alright, children, settle down. You're distracting from my masterpiece here." She gestured to the TV, where the first picture from their trip was already displayed: a stunning view of a mountain range bathed in golden light.

The room collectively oohed and aahed, and Melanie launched into a detailed explanation of the hike they had to endure to get the shot. Namjoon chimed in with a few quips about Melanie nearly slipping on a rock, which earned him a playful swat on the arm.

Ash, kept you grounded in your spot so you didn’t push Jungkook away. He didn’t try to antagonize you again. He stayed settled to his spot and his attention on Melanie. Staying engaged with everyone except you. You got another drink into you during the presentation and so did Ash. both of your giggling every now and then on your side of the couch. Entertaining yourselves thoroughly.

Jungkook just stayed as far on his side as he could. Didn’t mean something else was happening. Because Taehyung was texting him.

Tae: So are you going to talk to y/n tonight??????

Tae: I think you should ;)

Tae: Remember just keep it casual!!!

Tae: Could lead to… well you know… again ;)

Tae: I’ll even break the ice

Tae: ;)

Tae: Should be an interesting evening

Jungkook would look every once in a while and not dignify Taehyung with a response. Jungkook could feel Taehyung’s eyes also boring into the side of his head in anticipation. He was looking for that spark, maybe there was something much more going on here.

After a little while, the wine was really getting to you. As well as your messed up sleep schedule making you fuzzy. Warm. You were watching Melanie talking about some trail her and Namjoon followed and got lost along as your attention was caught to Jungkook moving his hand to run through his hair. Settling it back down into his lap. It caught your attention for a moment and it felt like it moved in slow motion. Then without even realizing you were staring at his hands in his lap.

He was fidgeting with his fingers. Probably mindlessly playing with them. Your mind began to drift though, because you know those hands now. You know they are much softer than they initially look. They were warm and strong. His fingers are long and slender, pretty even. Pretty in an artistic way, almost. A memory of them running all over your body imprinted on your mind. Being pulled to the surface.

Almost too quickly you felt like your face was on fire. The memory coming in small flashes. A laugh to a messy drunken make out in a fluorescent bathroom. Your lips finding their way to his skin. Then being in his apartment and stripping down together. Then suddenly being laid back. First his fingers and and then his tongue painting you with pleasure. You could see his hands in your mind so clearly, then suddenly his eyes. Looking back at you, while he took you over the edge.

You need to stop. You shook your head and adjusted in your seat almost too quickly. You cannot be thinking about this right now. What is wrong with you? It had to be the wine, you always got somewhat horny when you drank wine. You settled back into your spot, playing it cool. Your eyes danced around the room for a moment. Pulling yourself back down to earth. Keep it together, you are better than this.

Your eyes glanced at Jungkook for one second. Not even trying to look but you caught him right as he was playing with his lip ring with his tongue. Forcing your eyes to look back to Melanie and the screen.

Pay attention to the presentation.

Your foggy conscience easily betrayed you though. This time, quiet and patient kisses in an elevator. Then a dark hotel room. An image of Jungkook standing above you saying please. Then him placed behind you, slipping himself inside–

You take in a sharp breath in through the nose. You begin to pick your own nails. Surely if you keep your hands busy you can keep your mind distracted. Yes you were a little tipsy and you were having flashbacks but you can fight this. Remember he’s gross, awful, and has said horrible things to you. He drives you insane.

You will not let your tipsy mind flow to... Jungkook.

You decided you needed to get some ice cold water. The pictures wrapped up, Melanie’s enthusiastic commentary dwindling to polite applause as everyone shifted back to casual conversation. You decided it was the perfect moment to escape, slipping away toward the kitchen with quick, deliberate steps. The quiet was immediate and welcome, wrapping around you like a shield.

Getting yourself a glass and getting some water from the sink. Sipping it quickly, letting the coolness slow your mind.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

You heard the floorboards creak and glanced up just in time to see Jungkook stroll into the kitchen. His presence was impossible to ignore. He didn’t look at you at first, but you felt him there, his every move trying to pull at your attention like a gravitational force.

Your grip on the glass tightened reflexively.

“Jungkook.” Your voice was flat, carefully devoid of emotion.

“Y/N.” He mimicked your tone, brushing past you to grab a glass of his own. His voice carried a teasing edge, but there was something else—something softer underneath.

The silence that followed was sharp and deliberate, the air thick with unspoken words. Jungkook could easily toss out some snarky comment to rile you up, it was practically his trademark, but he didn’t. Not this time.

Instead, he lingered, standing just close enough for the faint scent of his cologne to drift your way. Cedarwood, or something like that. It was annoyingly intoxicating.

You busied yourself with your phone, scrolling aimlessly. A quiet laugh escaped you at something you saw, but it felt too loud in the stillness, too revealing.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook finally broke the silence. “How are you?”

You blinked at your phone, unsure if you’d heard him right. Slowly, you glanced his way. “What?”

“How are you?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his movements almost shy.

“Why?”

“I’m making conversation.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s what people do, Y/N. They talk.” His tone had a touch of exasperation, but his lips curled into a faint smirk. “Just answer the question. You’re not going to combust if you do.”

You hesitated, the urge to deflect warring with the odd sincerity in his gaze. “I’m good,” you said finally, though it felt like pulling teeth. “Exhausted, but good.”

“How come?”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to read him. Was this a setup? “I worked an overnight shift last night,” you said cautiously. “So my sleep schedule is all over the place.”

“Overnight shift, huh?” Jungkook turned to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as he studied you. “And you still showed up tonight?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “I missed Melanie and Namjoon. We usually crash here after these things.”

“Crash?” He raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah.” You smiled despite yourself. “Mel, Ash, and I take over Namjoon and Melanie’s room after too much wine.”

Jungkook let out a low laugh, the sound unexpectedly warm. “That explains it. Namjoon was muttering about an invasion yesterday. Makes sense now.”

You laughed lightly, the tension between you softening for a moment. “Yeah, invasion is probably accurate. If you and Taehyung weren’t here, the living room would already be in ruins.”

Jungkook moved then, stepping toward the sink to fill his glass. The motion was smooth, casual, but you couldn’t ignore how close he came, the heat of his body brushing against yours. The scent of his cologne floating your way one more time. You took a small step to the side, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

He seemed to notice your shift but didn’t comment, his gaze flickering to you for a split second before returning to his glass.

You cleared your throat, your voice quieter than you intended. “How are you?”

Jungkook stilled, glancing at you with something like surprise. For a moment, he didn’t answer, his dark eyes searching your face like he was trying to decide if you meant it.

“I’m alright,” he said finally, his tone subdued. “Busy, though. I’m in the middle of a trial.”

“Right,” you said, nodding. “Lawyer stuff.”

A small, wry smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, lawyer stuff.”

“What kind of trial?” you asked, surprising even yourself.

He hesitated, as if weighing whether to tell you. Finally, he said, “It’s a class-action case. Workers suing their company for unpaid wages. I’m representing them.”

Your eyebrows lifted, genuinely impressed. “Wow. Didn’t expect you to be on the workers’ side.”

Jungkook tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” You gestured vaguely. “Knee jerk reaction. I typically expect the worst from you. Most people would go for the big paycheck.”

A low chuckle escaped him, warm and deep. He couldn’t blame you for jumping to a conclusion after all these years. “Fair enough. It was the right thing to do though.” Jungkook rubs on his neck another time. You noticed it, he had done it a couple of times tonight. Almost like it was bothering him.

“What’s wrong with you?” You tighten your eyebrows together, Jungkook’s eyes meeting yours for just a moment before darting away.

“Oh,” He twists his neck trying to relieve the discomfort. “My neck is just hurting. I think I slept wrong.”

“You could take something, or there are some stretches I know that can help.” You begin to look around the kitchen seeing if you can find some ibuprofen. Your hurriedness surprised Jungkook. Threw him off balance.

“I already took something but didn’t seem to help. Still some pain.” His eyes tracked you round the kitchen as you continued your search.

“Well I’ll show you the stretches then, grab a chair.” You exhale, nodding your head to one of the chairs at the dining table.

Jung walked over and pulled one of the chairs out and took a seat. You hesitated for a moment before you stood right behind him. Your hands hovered hesitantly above his shoulders. What the hell were you doing?

“Are you okay if I just do it… t-to show you how?” You say hesitantly.

Jungkook doesn’t look back to you but finds himself rather… nervous even. Had you gotten him in the perfect position to actually just strangle you out? Were these his final moments?

“Just don’t kill me… but yeah go for it.” He nodded, not looking back to you.

“Okay. Just relax.”

Jungkook feels you place one hand on his left shoulder, making sure his posture stays back and your other hand resting on the top of his head gently pushing it forward. Jungkook could feel a small pull in his neck stretching it out. The pain was on the right side so this was too bad. Your hand on his shoulder was touching some of the skin on his neck and it felt like it was burning into him. It was quiet, just your quiet breathing filling the room.

“So you lean your head forward and then you roll your head side to side,” you murmured, guiding his head gently to the left Your voice was softer than you’d intended, the quiet of the kitchen making every word feel heavier.

Jungkook’s breathing hitched slightly, though you weren’t sure if it was from the stretch or the weight of your hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you realized with a jolt that your fingers lingered longer than necessary.

“You should feel a pull right along here.” You hovered for a second, but drew a line along his neck where the muscle was tense. Trying to focus on the task and not the way your voice seemed to tremble.

Your touch made Jungkook want to wiggle away from you. So light but almost electric. His mind drifted away somewhat, almost remembering last week but he kept himself grounded in the present.

“Yeah,” he replied, the pull was slightly painful but felt good. “It’s… helping.” His words were simple, but something about the way he said them made your stomach flip.

You adjusted your hand, sliding it to the other side of his head to tilt it gently to the left. “And this?” You kept your eyes focused on the wall now, You had already spent too much time looking… and thinking about his hands tonight. You didn’t need to think about his neck.

Jungkook exhaled, a slow, deep sound that felt too intimate in the quiet space. “Better,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“It also helps to roll in circles slowly too. Trying to stretch those muscles as far as you can. You want to feel the pull.” You remove your hand, but keep them on his shoulders as he rolls his head around in slow circles.

The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead light, felt suspended in time. The sounds from the living room—muted laughter, clinking glasses, the occasional burst of louder conversation—faded into the background. It was just you, Jungkook, and the lingering ghost of your touch on his skin.

Your hands had rested on his shoulders longer than they should have. Neither of you had acknowledged it, though Jungkook had noticed. He couldn’t stop noticing. The weight of your touch, light but grounding, had felt entirely different from the energy you normally exuded around him.

Gentle.

It made his pulse quicken, a response he tried desperately to suppress. But his mind betrayed him, conjuring thoughts he had no business entertaining such as your hands moving from his shoulders, sliding down his chest, fingers tracing his jawline—

He swallowed hard, forcing himself back to reality. Because that feeling was there again, that small guilty twist in his stomach. What he had been telling Taehyung about bubbled up. He still couldn’t name it, because guilt didn’t feel right. It wasn’t that but it felt so strange. What was that?

Almost like the universe had heard his struggle, Taehyung appeared in the doorway, a wide grin already plastered on his face. His eyes scanned the scene quickly, locking onto Jungkook still seated and you standing just behind him.

“Oh my god it’s finally happening. Y/N is going to strangle you out!” Taehyung gasped and threw his hands over his mouth dramatically, “Y/N please spare him! He’s a good boy!”

You laugh to yourself, stepping back from Jungkook letting your hands fall away from him. The absence of touch is almost louder than the conflict itself. “I’m not strangling him,” you said, crossing your arms and giving Taehyung a look. “This time. Now roll your shoulders back.” you instructed Jungkook, stepping even farther away as if to reestablish boundaries.

Jungkook complied without a word, rotating his shoulders as you’d shown him. He tilted his head from side to side, testing the stretch. When his gaze flicked back to you, a faint smile tugged at his lips. “You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

“I do it for patients all the time, the hospital beds are notoriously uncomfortable.” You replied, shrugging as if it were nothing. Your arms stayed crossed, a subtle shield against the shift in energy between you. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t feel like nothing,” he said, his words soft but lingering. His eyes stayed on you a fraction too long, enough to make your chest tighten and your cheeks warm.

Taehyung, clearly enjoying himself, stepped farther into the kitchen. His smile widened, but he kept his tone light. “What exactly were you doing?”

“I slept weird last night,” Jungkook interjected, standing up from the chair and adjusting it neatly back under the table. “My neck’s been hurting all day. Y/N was just showing me some stretches to help.”

Taehyung hummed, unconvinced. His gaze darted between you and Jungkook like he was piecing together a puzzle. “Right. Stretching. Sure.”

You decide this is your chance to escape out of here. You pick up your glass and exit the kitchen quickly to rejoin the others in the living room. The kitchen was quieter now that you’d left, though the tension you’d unintentionally abandoned seemed to cling to the air like static. Taehyung leaned against the counter, his grin infuriatingly smug as he watched Jungkook refill his glass of water, the younger man pointedly ignoring him.

“If I had shown up even a second later, you two would’ve probably stripped naked,” Taehyung said.

Jungkook groaned, turning his back on him to hide his flushed face. “We were only talking.”

Taehyung nodded sagely, his expression far too knowing. “Oh, sure. Just talking. Nothing else. Completely innocent. Two people practically pressed against each other in a dimly lit kitchen, having a totally platonic chat.”

Jungkook shot him a glare. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” Taehyung replied smoothly. “But it’s part of my charm. So, what was it really? A nice heart-to-heart, or were you two silently fighting like usual?”

Jungkook paused, his hand tightening briefly on his glass. “No… no, actually. It was just a conversation. Awkward, but… maybe the most normal we’ve spoken to each other in years.”

Taehyung’s grin widened as he pushed off the counter, his eyes alight with mischief. “Told you.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m always right and you know it.”

“No you’re not.”

“She was sweet, though, wasn’t she?” Taehyung continued, his voice quieter now, his teasing edge softening. “Almost shy? Kind, even?”

Jungkook hesitated, his gaze fixed on the countertop. He hated how easily Taehyung saw through him, but there was no use denying it. “...Yeah,” he admitted grudgingly, barely above a whisper.

Taehyung clapped him on the shoulder, his grin shifting into something genuine. “See? Progress. Keep trying.”

Jungkook sighed, rubbing the back of his neck where your touch still lingered faintly. “Yeah. Easier said than done.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・

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stellactrums · 1 month ago

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An Exercise in Trust 🗡️🩸 | AO3

Pairing: Abysswalker Rafayel x Princess MC Summary: The Sea demands a follower. Lemuria demands a sacrifice. Rafayel wonders when it will be his turn to make demands instead. Rating: Explicit 🔞 Words: 7,857 Tags: POV Third Person, POV Rafayel, Unnamed Main Character, AFAB Main Character, MC uses she/her pronouns, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, PIV Sex, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Fighting As Foreplay, Knifeplay, Bloodplay (kinda), Under-negotiated Kink (i.e. the aforementioned knife and blood play are not discussed beforehand but they're both little freaks on the same wavelength), Soul Bond, Mildly Dubious Consent (she compels him with the soul bond but make no mistake he wants her lol), Rafayel speaks Lemurian (but it's like four words and i made up three of them lol), Mild Gore (it's a brief line and does not actually happen) Notes: Originally posted to AO3 on March 7, 2025. I have the biggest heart eyes for Abysswalker, so here I am! I probably-maybe-definitely took some accidental liberties with the lore because all the different timelines confuse me, so I interpreted it as best I can. There's also some made-up Lemurian language. I tried my best based on the few phrases we've heard in the game. Endless thanks to my friend Sepia for beta-reading this and for hyping me up ever since this was still just an idea in my brain! And additional thanks to Sepia, Maz, and Belle for all giving me feedback when I was stuck. This fic wouldn't exist without you <3 Lemurian Translations: "Huerte mea" → "My heart" and "Vesta mea" → "My bride"

“I will cut out your heart with a dagger honed, my darling. And in Love’s name, your heart will become my faith.

Your body will be washed clean, shine like a pearl.

I will care for your heart. Till we meet again. And you reclaim it for yourself.”

– Siren’s Ballad, Act III: Muia

The desert winds tonight are punishing, noisily rattling the structure of their tent, and the Princess of Philos shivers as she peers outside. She pulls the blanket draped across her form tighter around her shoulders and cranes her neck, turning her gaze up to the sky.

Rafayel watches her from the corner of his eye. He has spent the previous half-hour sitting cross-legged on his bedroll, tending to his garb and attempting to mend a tear in the seams. But his fingers now idle, and the leathers are long forgotten across his lap, only half-sewn, as he finds himself too distracted to continue.

It is, perhaps, the longest Her Highness has ever gone without saying a single word in his presence. Rafayel is accustomed to the sound of her continuous chatter as she flits from subject to subject like a hummingbird searches for nectar, so much so that her sudden silence is a void by comparison. It is almost like she has forgotten he is even there. He wonders what it is that has stolen her attention and has her so captivated.

Even with her back turned toward him, Rafayel still cannot help but stare. His gaze sweeps over her form, following the shape of her hair, held in place with pins made of diamonds and gold. The drab, tattered blanket that surrounds her is unbecoming of a princess, a stark contrast to the rest of her elegance.

He longs to reach out for her and replace the blanket with the warmth of his embrace. To banish whatever thoughts have been keeping her mind so otherwise occupied. It is an old yet familiar twinge of jealousy that has followed him through the ages. He wants to be the sole object of her focus.

But Rafayel stays his hand, tightening his grip on the needle between his fingertips, and desperately tries to silence the yearning in his chest. He cannot allow himself to go down this path—not again, not when he has already strayed too far simply by being here with her in the first place.

A particularly strong breeze blows through the gap in the tent’s opening, strong enough that Rafayel can feel it from where he sits. The Princess draws in a sharp breath, turning away as the wind hits her face. She shivers again and mutters a low curse beneath her breath, wrinkling her nose in a way that is so unbearably endearing.

Rafayel lowers his gaze. A faint smile touches his mouth.

“Your Highness should not linger so close to the entrance,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

He hears the sound of fabric rustling as she closes the flap to the tent, then soft footfalls. Her shadow enters his peripheral, morphing with his into a single, exaggerated shape, and Rafayel looks up when she finally stands in front of him. She kneels onto her bedroll that is laid out opposite of his, clutching the blanket close to her chest.

“I wanted to look at the stars,” she replies.

Flickering flames from the oil lamp that illuminates their tent cast shadows over her face and dance across her delicate features. The subtle pout of her lip indicates her disappointment, and her eyes shine even in the low light, as if the stars themselves have made their home within.

A knot forms in the pit of Rafayel’s stomach. He sets his armor aside and sticks the sewing needle into it, marking his place.

“Your Highness has seen the stars before,” he says.

“Not like these.”

“Are these same stars not visible from the palace?”

“They are much prettier out here than in the city.” Her Highness looks down as another chill runs through her body. She picks at the fraying edges of her blanket. “I wanted to admire them during our last trip out here, but the sandstorm prevented us from doing so.”

Rafayel sighs quietly. Before he can think better of it, he reaches across the short distance between them and covers her hands with his. Her fingers are cool to the touch from the night air, so he brings them to his lips and warms them with his breath.

The Princess’ eyes widen. A soft, surprised sound sticks in her throat. But then, she smiles, and the faint, melodic lilt of her laughter makes the knot in Rafayel’s stomach twist and tighten.

She leans toward him. The blanket slips from her shoulders, falling to the ground behind her, and Rafayel stares at her over the tops of their hands. The gold embroidery of her tunic glitters in the dim light against lavender and black fabric, forming an endless web of intricate patterns that draw his gaze downward—over the swell of her chest, the dip in her waist, the sloping rise of her hips.

“Won’t you look at the stars with me, Rafayel?” she asks him, breaking his reverie.

Reluctantly, Rafayel releases her with a sudden pang of guilt, wishing so badly to tell her that he would give her the stars if he could. Instead, he pulls back, ignoring the look of disappointment that flashes through her eyes.

“Your Highness… should retire for the night,” he says.

The Princess lowers her gaze, watching as Rafayel lays his hands across his lap, then looks back into his eyes.

“But I’m not tired yet,” she says. “Also, you promised we would spar tonight.”

A flush creeps up the back of Rafayel’s neck and warms his ears. He clears his throat and shakes his head, recalling what transpired after their last training session. A repeat of events would not be appropriate.

“It is late, and the wind is too strong,” he says. Raising an eyebrow, he regards her with a look of amusement, unable to resist the urge to tease her. “And someone wanted to stay up to look at the stars.”

Stubborn as ever, the Princess leans in even closer. “But someone else gave me his word.”

“We have a long journey ahead of us come morning. I must ensure Your Highness’ safe return to the city.”

The Princess scowls at him, and Rafayel frowns when she shifts subtly over to her left, her hand twitching. Faster than he expects, she snatches his dagger from its place beside his pillow, clumsily twirling it in her hand before she jabs it in his direction.

Rafayel flinches, eyes widening, and raises his hands in front of him in self-defense.

“What—”

“One lesson,” she says, interrupting him.

He eyes the dagger, then her. “Your Highness—”

“Your Princess has given you a command.”

Rafayel blinks in surprise. Then, he laughs—at himself, at her request, and the absurdity of the circumstances he finds himself in. If only Her Highness realized the true power she holds, her words sharper than any blade could ever be.

“Fine,” he agrees through a sigh. As if he even has the choice. “One lesson. Your Highness must rest after that.”

Rafayel relaxes his posture and holds out one of his hands, reassuring her with a nod and a practiced, boyish smile. Satisfied, the Princess smiles back, then moves to place the dagger in his palm.

It is exactly the opening Rafayel needs. Leaning forward, he clasps her wrist and pulls hard, twisting her arm so the dagger’s blade points away from them both. The Princess loses her balance and falls with a gasp, and Rafayel uses the momentum he created to spin her around and yank her down onto his lap. He wraps his arm around her stomach, holding her in place as she tries to squirm away. Once sure that she is suitably restrained, he wrenches the dagger free from her hand.

“Rafayel!”

The Princess continues to struggle, clawing at his arm and desperately trying to escape his grasp. Rafayel tightens his hold on her and overpowers each attempt to break free. She finally goes completely still, holding her breath, when he presses the flat edge of the dagger against her cheek.

He lowers his lips to her ear, his breath ghosting over the shell of it. He feels her responding shudder against him and holds her even tighter. She winces at the discomfort of his tight grip, but dares not move otherwise.

“Tonight’s lesson,” Rafayel says, soft and quiet, “shall be an exercise in trust.”

Slowly, he moves the dagger down the side of her face. The Princess releases the air from her lungs in a shaky exhale, watching him from the corner of her eye.

“Your Highness has failed the first test,” he goes on. “An assassin must never relinquish their weapon so freely.”

The Princess scoffs. “Then you also failed by letting me take it from you to begin with.”

“A bold assertion.” Rafayel laughs and brings the tip of the blade to her chin, turning her face toward him. “I do not believe Your Highness is in the position to argue.”

It is, of course, a mistake, because without another word, looking straight into his eyes, Her Highness lifts her leg and brings her heel down onto his toes—hard.

Rafayel clenches his teeth as the pain spreads throughout his foot. When that is not enough to break free, the Princess elbows him in the ribs. Rafayel accepts the blow, doubling over with a grunt, and only then does she manage to slip out of his arms. Panic rises to Rafayel’s chest as he just narrowly avoids slicing her cheek. She falls forward onto her bedroll, crawling on hands and knees, and pulls something out from under her pillow. Whirling around, she unsheaths the simple dagger he gave her weeks prior.

Rafayel jumps to his feet and holds his blade out in front of him. Pleased with herself, the Princess grins.

“And now?” she asks him. Taunts him.

Narrowing his eyes, Rafayel moves to strike, lunging toward her with his dagger raised above his head. The Princess stumbles backward, but she manages to catch his wrist and block his advance. Rafayel eases off, giving her a moment to reposition.

“Faster,” he growls, and charges at her again.

Her Highness reacts quicker than before. She crosses her arms and catches his wrist between them, trapping him in place with her dagger. When Rafayel does not break free on his own, she releases him.

“Again,” Rafayel says.

The sound of metal cutting through the air and the shallow puffs of their breaths echo throughout the tent as they perform each exercise multiple times. With limited space around them, Rafayel adjusts his maneuvers accordingly, taking care not to lead her too close to the supporting poles of the tent or the dwindling fire of the oil lamp. Their lack of armor poses another challenge. He will have to be especially careful not to injure her.

The air quickly grows warmer within the small space as a result of their spar, and the sound of their breathing grows harsher and more ragged along with it. Sweat glistens along the Princess’ brow, small strands of hair loosening around her temples and clinging to her skin.

“Your Highness is still too slow,” he says. “Each movement must be decisive and swift.”

He changes directions, aiming his dagger lower. The Princess blocks it effortlessly.

“An assassin must never hesitate.” He attacks her again. He nods in approval when she blocks him a second time. “Do not ever show an opponent mercy.”

“Even you?” the Princess asks.

She said it so casually, her tone light-hearted, but those mere two words make Rafayel’s steps falter as if she just punched the air out of him.

“Especially me,” he answers quietly.

They repeat the sequence several more times, settling into a familiar rhythm. Rafayel quiets his mind and wills himself to focus. Attack, block, reset. Attack, block, reset. Again and again, around and around. After the last cycle, he backs off, raising his hand to signal his retreat and taking several steps away from her. He wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve, catching his breath.

The Princess maintains their distance, holding her dagger in front of her, ready for anything.

“Not bad,” Rafayel says. “However, Your Highness still has much to learn in the art of combat.”

He lowers his attack arm, pointing the dagger away from her.

“A weapon must be a natural extension of one’s self,” he adds. He demonstrates by twirling his dagger, fluid and swift, seamlessly cutting through the air. “Your Highness holds a dagger like it is made of burning coals.”

She immediately tightens her grip around the hilt, wrinkling her nose in response to his teasing, but she remains firmly in place. Rafayel smiles and holds out his free hand.

“Come,” he offers. “Let me remind Your Highness how to wield it properly.”

The Princess does not hesitate: she crosses the distance between them and aims her dagger at his face with a shout. Rafayel quickly brings his own dagger up to block her, and their blades clash with a deafening, metallic clang. His smile stretches into a proper grin.

“Good,” he says. “Your Highness has passed the second test.”

The Princess snarls, baring her teeth, and attacks him again. There is a lethal edge present in her subsequent movements that was not there before. She is faster, harsher, more decisive, and what she still lacks in finesse and experience she makes up for in sheer tenacity. Rafayel blocks and dodges, over and over, letting her maintain the offensive.

She is quickly backing him into a corner, leading him toward the other end of the tent. Rafayel moves from side to side, even more careful not to disturb their surroundings the more aggressive the Princess becomes.

Anger flashes through Her Highness’ eyes, her mouth twisting into a grimace.

“You’re holding back,” she accuses him.

She moves to strike him. Rafayel catches both of her wrists, then resets, frowning at her in confusion.

“Of course I am,” he replies. “This is a spar, not actual combat.”

Her scowl deepens. “I don’t care.”

“Your Highness—”

She does not let him finish, recklessly lunging at him again, her movements sloppy and unrefined. Rafayel lets out a huff as her blade comes down toward his face. He grabs her by the wrists once more and shoves her away. The Princess sways on her feet as she loses balance, but she manages to reorient herself before she falls.

Rafayel’s gaze softens as he regards her with no small amount of concern, fearing he has pushed her too far.

“You tell me not to hesitate,” she says. “You tell me not to show you any mercy. Yet here you are—hesitating.”

She attacks him again.

“Showing me mercy.”

And again.

“Treating me like a helpless child.”

And again.

“Fight me”—and again—“like you”—and again—“mean it!”

Rafayel ducks as she slashes the dagger over the top of his head, snipping off a small lock of his hair. He sidesteps, barely managing to dodge another swing.

He needs to put a stop to this.

No longer holding back, Rafayel moves in on her quickly, not giving her even the slightest chance to react. The Princess gasps when he disarms her, forcing her dagger out of her grasp, sending it flying and clattering to the ground. He kicks her leg out from under her, watching as she falls unceremoniously onto her backside, landing on her bedroll.

With a frustrated growl, Her Highness wraps her legs around his and pulls him forward. Rafayel steadies himself as best as he can on the way down, but there is no use stopping it. He winces as he lands on hands and knees with a grunt, absorbing the impact, hovering over her.

He sits up and wrestles his arms free from the Princess’ hands after she reaches out to grab him. She is bold, he will give her that, and fast. But he is still faster—and stronger.

He straddles her hips and points his dagger to her throat. The Princess seizes him by his wrists and steadies his blade, holding on so tightly her knuckles turn white. She digs her nails into his skin until it stings, making Rafayel hiss through his teeth.

“Enough,” he grits out.

Her Highness gazes up at him with a defiant tilt of her chin, clenching her jaw from the effort of keeping him at bay.

“No.”

Despite the circumstances, Rafayel huffs out a laugh. “Even when faced with certain death, Your Highness does not surrender,” he says, each word laced with amusement. He tilts his head, curious. “That is unwise.”

A flicker of recognition crosses her gaze that gives Rafayel pause. She has looked at him that way before, whenever he would sneak into her bedchamber at night and find her with the fishtail beacon clutched tightly between her fingers. She has looked at him that way countless other times, in another life. In many other lives.

She looks at him like she remembers.

“You would never hurt me,” she replies. “Not really.”

The certainty in her voice pains him, a familiar ache that echoes deep within his chest. Rafayel frowns as fragmented memories of many distant pasts coalesce in his mind like raindrops on glass, some indiscernible from others, overlapping moments across lifetimes.

The God of the Sea and His bride…

Memories that occupy his dreams and every waking thought.

…a Lemurian and the fearsome Witch of the Abyssal Rift…

Memories she will never remember.

…an artist and his bodyguard…

Memories he can never forget.

Rafayel wants so badly to believe that he will never hurt her, but fate has always been cruel to him, and the universe who wields it even more so. His eyes darken, clouded by the once-raging seas of Lemuria that now only thrash behind his gaze.

“Would I not?” he asks. He lets out a low chuckle at the way she tightens her fingers around his wrists. “How can Your Highness be so certain? There is no one around to hear Your Highness’ cries for help. Even if there was…”

Rafayel pauses, searching her face, her eyes. He waits for her reaction—something, anything at all.

“It would be too late.”

The Princess goes to speak, but the words seem to die on her lips, and she promptly snaps her mouth shut. Rafayel smirks, prepared to relish in his victory.

But then, slowly, she loosens her hold on him, until her hands fall away entirely.

A prolonged silence wedges uncomfortably between them, surpassed only by the wailing desert winds beyond their tent.

“Do it, then,” she says.

Rafayel holds her gaze. He expects her to look smug, but her expression remains deliberately neutral, a carefully constructed mask.

“Do it,” she repeats. “Kill me.”

Rafayel keeps his hand steady, so steady that his wrist aches in protest. He very well could kill her right here and now, take back his heart, and fulfill his duty to his people—just like that. She does not realize what she is risking by offering herself to him so willingly.

Or perhaps she does.

She knows. She cannot remember, but she knows.

She knows him. All of him. She has always known, even though she may never come to know it herself. In this moment, as Rafayel stares her down over the curved edge of his dagger, he truly believes that she does.

He almost forgot what it is like to be known.

But here they are once again, bound to one another in this life, and the next, and the many others that have come before. Despite everything, that has never changed. Their love is inevitable, their fate intertwined in a prophecy written in blood and stone—a fate he himself doomed them to long, long ago.

For years beyond his comprehension, he has fought an uphill battle: desire at war with destiny, his pleasure versus his purpose, his love for her perpetually at odds with the love he holds for his people. The Sea demands a follower. Lemuria demands a sacrifice. Rafayel wonders when it will be his turn to make demands instead.

It would be so, so easy to kill her…

She should be afraid of him.

He will teach her to be afraid.

With a wave of his hand, Rafayel extinguishes the flame in the oil lamp. The Princess lets loose a gasp as they are plunged into darkness.

“Does Your Highness not remember our previous lessons?”

His eyes adjust quickly. The outline of her form comes back into view, followed by her face, bathed in shadow. Before she can answer him, Rafayel lazily begins to drag the tip of his dagger down her throat.

Though she tries to suppress it, he does not miss the subtle shift in the Princess’ expression—the way her eyes widen almost imperceptibly—nor the hitch of her breath. Her body tenses beneath him, but even so, her quiet determination remains, made evident by the firm set of her jaw and the slight crease in her brow. Her resolve will not be broken so easily.

He waits for her to stop him, to beg him to stop, to surrender. The Princess remains silent.

“An assassin must kill quickly, before they are killed first,” he says. “As Your Highness may recall, that is what makes the throat a favorable choice. One cut…”

Rafayel turns the dagger with a flourish, holding it horizontally against her neck.

“That is all it takes.”

Her throat moves as she swallows. Rafayel watches, transfixed, as the dagger moves along with it.

He blinks. He blinks again. His mind is slipping, thoughts passing like sand through his fingers. Images flash behind his eyes of the Princess laid out beneath him, blood pooling under her body, her heart carved out of her chest yet still beating in the palm of his hand.

Rafayel shakes his head, pushing the thoughts away, and points the sharp tip of the blade at her throat once more. Though not enough to break skin, he presses down just hard enough to leave a mark. A single line, raised and puffy against her otherwise unblemished complexion, follows his dagger from her throat to the top of her chest.

If she feels any pain, Her Highness does not show it. Rafayel wonders just how far she will trust him to go.

He recalls a time, long before, when the artist left his mark upon her skin in a similar fashion, with red paint instead of a blade. He wants to leave his mark on her again now.

It comes to him as easy as breathing. Rafayel turns the dagger carefully and begins to draw a familiar shape into her chest, watching the way her skin reacts the same way as before. For those precious few moments, the world around them falls away. He grows more and more mesmerized at the sight of angry welts forming the shape that mirrors his own mark—the brand on his chest that binds his soul to hers and burns whenever she speaks.

When he finishes the final line, completing the elegant curve of a Lemurian tail, he flicks the dagger upright and roughly scrapes it against her delicate flesh. This time, he can tell it hurts from the way Her Highness’ eye twitches, but it is the only acknowledgment she deigns to give the pain. Tiny droplets of blood bloom from the small cut, trickling down her chest and disappearing underneath the scooped neckline of her tunic.

She is truly a sight to behold—her skin marked by his blade, her life in his hands. She trusts him implicitly, and it stirs something deep within him, like oil being thrown into a fire, an intense longing the likes of which he has never felt before. Heat rises steadily throughout his entire body, making the flush on his cheeks deepen and his ears burn as he averts his gaze.

Rafayel follows the blood trail with the point of his dagger. The sound of metal dragging against fabric, but not ripping, is nearly deafening.

“Bone is a troublesome obstacle.”

His voice sounds so far away, unfamiliar even to his own ears, rough and hollow like the sea of golden sand outside blowing in the wind. He moves the dagger between her breasts, then lower, prodding at her sternum for emphasis. He watches the steady rise and fall of her chest as the Princess meticulously measures and counts each breath.

“To reach the heart,” he continues, “one must…”

He angles the dagger upward, notching it between her ribs on her left side, and points it at her heart.

His heart.

Rafayel narrows his eyes. He pushes her down harder into the bedroll, but still, she does not react—barely even winces. He feels dizzy and drunk, blood roaring in his ears, as if his mind is no longer his own. No matter what he does, she does not flinch. No matter what he says, she does not answer.

The silence stretches between them, tormenting him. Mocking him.

“Does Your Highness truly not fear death?”

Finally, the mask slips. The Princess’ gaze softens.

“Are you afraid, Rafayel?” she asks him.

For a moment, his grip slackens around the hilt of his dagger. She is trying to disorient him. He chuckles again, a low and bitter sound.

“There is nothing I fear,” he says.

She frowns. “You’re lying.”

Rafayel presses the blade against her ribs. Though not strong enough to break skin, she goes tense beneath him once more.

“Everything I have ever feared has already come true.”

He lays his hand over her stomach, pointing the dagger in the direction of her womb.

“The worst nightmares that have ever haunted me, I have experienced firsthand, time and time again,” he continues, recalling every time he has loved her, lost her, never forgotten her. “But Your Highness…”

With a shake of his head, Rafayel grins.

“Your Highness still has not answered my question.”

Beneath his palm, her heartbeat is strong, growing stronger by the second.

“No,” the Princess says.

Rafayel looks up. “Your Highness refuses to answer?”

“No,” she repeats firmly. “As in, no, I do not fear death.”

To his surprise, she lifts her hand. He tries not to react as she draws near, but he has always been so helpless against her, and a short gasp escapes him before he can stifle it. She gently lays her hand against his cheek. Her fingers, cool once more, bring a modicum of relief to his flushed skin. Rafayel turns his face into her palm on impulse with a ragged exhale. Her touch is so tender, far more tender than he deserves.

“I do not fear death,” she says, without a single note of uncertainty in her voice, “because I do not fear you.”

There is a sinking feeling in Rafayel’s stomach, heavier than stone. He looks into her eyes, and for that moment, she is no longer a princess; she is a bride, a queen, a witch, a bodyguard, a muse, a lover…

She is everything. She is his, and he is hers. He has always been hers.

He reaches for her in return, cradling her face so gently, almost reverently.

“You should,” he says. His voice is quiet, choked with regret. “You really… really should.”

In the span of a single breath, the distance between them closes. Rafayel is not sure who moves first, but in the end, it simply does not matter—not when Her Highness’ lips are so soft and inviting beneath his, and the taste of honey and rosewater lingers on her tongue, and she clings to him like she has been starved, deprived, kissing him so deeply it steals the air from his lungs.

He groans against her lips as she pulls him closer. Still holding his dagger, his dominant hand remains trapped between their bodies. The other trembles as he slides his fingers into her hair and pulls her forward.

A quiet moan vibrates in her throat. The Princess runs her hands down the length of his back and then up the sides of his shirt. Rafayel presses himself even closer, wanting to feel the entirety of her body molded against his. The single thread of self-control he has left quickly unravels into nothingness, and he struggles to hold onto a solid thought, his mind utterly consumed by her. She is so warm, trapped under his weight the way she is—so close yet still not close enough. He longs to touch her, to feel her skin against his, to watch her come undone so beautifully as he moves within her.

Rafayel tears his lips away from hers and trails wet kisses down the side of her face instead, then along her jaw. He pulls her head to the side by her hair, groaning softly as she draws in a shaky breath in response. He sucks a greedy bruise over her hammering pulse, every beat of her heart spurring him on more and more.

The Princess’ hands continue to wander. She traces meaningless shapes against his shirt. She bunches the fabric within her grasp. Twists. Pulls. She ventures upward, threading her fingers through his hair and holding him against her, while the other hand lingers in the middle of his back.

Rafayel pauses once he reaches her chest. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“If I truly am to die by your hand,” the Princess says suddenly, and Rafayel shudders at the unmistakable feeling of cold steel pressed against his spine, “your own demise will be just as swift.”

He freezes. Her Highness pushes the tip of an entirely new dagger between his vertebrae. His thighs go tense around her hips, locking them both in place. One wrong move and he will never walk again.

Perhaps, he realizes, it is still he who should be afraid of her.

He lifts his head and stares at her in disbelief. “When did—”

She cuts him off with her laughter, clear and vibrant, giddy from her victory. Rafayel sputters, completely dumbstruck. He did not even hear her draw the weapon from its sheath, nor does he know where she even could have hidden it. The kiss was a total distraction. He cannot help but feel a little disappointed.

But her joy is too infectious, and a smirk slowly spreads across Rafayel’s lips. “It seems I have taught Your Highness well.”

She grins back at him, eyes glittering with mischief and starlight even in the surrounding darkness.

“An assassin must kill quickly,” she says, echoing his previous words, “before they are killed first.”

Rafayel hisses when the small blade scrapes against his skin, tearing through his shirt. Pleasure twists with pain and forces an involuntary groan out of him.

Her Highness brings the dagger between them. It is tiny, small enough to hide in her boot or tuck into her belt. His blood glimmers at the pointed end, a single drop of crimson dipping onto the rumpled fabric of her tunic. Rafayel follows the droplet with his eyes as it falls.

The Princess sits up slowly, making him sit up with her. His arms return to his sides, and he allows his own blade to fall from his grasp.

“Do you trust me?” she asks him.

The cord of restraint holding him back finally snaps, and something else inside of him withers and dies along with it. Regret. Shame. Guilt. Emotions he cannot even name, all of which no longer matter.

None of it matters anymore. And all Rafayel can do is laugh.

“My princess,” he whispers, low and rough like gravel. He bows his head. “I am at Your Highness’ mercy.”

She places the tip of her dagger beneath his chin, lifting his gaze back to hers.

“Rafayel.” Her voice wavers slightly as she speaks his name. “Kiss me.”

Their bond resonates from the depths of his very being, tendrils of agony that spread through his body, constricting him, punishing him for daring to ever deny himself the ecstasy of her touch. But even as he feels himself drawn to her, compelled by her, he does not need it. Not for this. Never for this.

He takes her hand and squeezes, guiding the pitiful little dagger to his chest. The blade harmoniously cuts into his palm and hers, their blood mixing together and trickling down their wrists. The Princess whimpers in pain. Rafayel leans in to kiss her again, deliberate and deep, swallowing down her cries.

She writhes underneath him and tries to push him off her lap. When he does not budge, she draws his bottom lip in between her teeth and bites down in retaliation, soothing it afterward with her tongue. Rafayel gasps, a broken moan escaping him, pleasure coiling tightly in his gut. Letting go of her hand, he pushes her down against the bedroll once more, bending at the waist and leaning over her. A reawakened hunger flows through him, and his touch becomes frantic as he slips his hands beneath her tunic and lifts it over her head.

The Princess is beautiful. Rafayel stops to look at her, really look at her, his breath catching at the sight of her bare skin—skin that has been marked by his blade and now begs to be savored beneath his lips. He starts at her shoulder first, then moves to her neck, mouthing along the hollow of her throat. He moves lower and lower still, until he finds the trail of blood he left behind before, messily smeared across her chest. He flattens his tongue against her skin and laps up the blood with a moan like it is the sweetest ambrosia, and he relishes the pleasurable sounds that slip past her lips, the breathless way she whispers his name.

She slides her fingers through his hair and pulls, and Rafayel groans, closing his teeth around the soft mound of her breast. He kneads the other with his hand, ignoring the stinging pain of the cut across his palm as his own blood transfers onto her skin. Her answering moan is so divine, so unguarded, that it goes straight to his cock, and the front of his pants tighten uncomfortably.

“Rafayel,” she says again, louder than before, arching up into his eager mouth. Rafayel lifts his eyes to watch her. Hot, urgent arousal curls in his stomach at the sight of her already so lost in pleasure, with her head thrown back and hair strewn about. One hand shields her face, her index finger wedged between her teeth, dagger pointed away from her.

He finally moves off of her lap and kneels between her legs, then reaches up to pull the dagger from her grasp. The Princess gasps as Rafayel slides the tip of the blade down her stomach, creating another faint but angry line. He follows it with his lips and soothes it with more kisses.

“Up,” he says, tucking his free hand under the small of her back.

She complies and lifts her hips. He undresses her quickly, tugging her pants and undergarments down her legs, and then reaches behind his back to pull his own shirt over his head. He lowers himself down onto his elbows and holds her gaze as he trails fleeting kisses past her navel. Her legs fall open for him, and Rafayel moans at the mere sight of her.

One hand comes to rest against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Rafayel nuzzles against her and turns to press a kiss there. She continues to play with his hair, pulling gently, nails scratching against his scalp and sending a shiver down his spine. He looks up again and slowly brings the dagger up between her legs.

“Your Highness tricked me,” he whispers, poking her thigh with the tip of the blade.

The Princess jumps in surprise, but she laughs under her breath, and some of the tension in her body ebbs away. Her eyes soften around the edges, and her smile melts into something more serene—more sincere.

“All you ever do is hold back,” she says. Her gaze flicks between him and the dagger. “I don’t want you to hold back anymore. Not from me.”

Rafayel’s breath catches as her words settle over him. Slowly, he presses the flat edge of the blade into her thigh, then the tip. He draws swirls and shapes as he continues to transform her skin into a masterpiece of his own making. A twist of the wrist, and he guides the sharp edge along her supple skin to create a fine cut. Her Highness hisses through her teeth, muscles twitching.

Setting the dagger aside, Rafayel chases the blood as it trickles down, catching it with his lips. He breathes in the heady scent of her as he noses the wiry curls between her thighs and parts her with his fingertips. He moans at the first taste of her, the mixture of her arousal and the coppery aftertaste of her blood on his tongue nearly driving him to the brink of total oblivion.

The Princess sighs with pleasure and tightens her fingers through his hair when she begins to move, her back bowing. Rafayel allows her to set their pace and supports her weight with his hands, following each steady, sensual roll of her hips as she chases the heat of his mouth.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Rafayel…”

He groans when her thighs clamp around him, and he imagines himself sheathed inside her, the urge to take her stronger than before. He pushes his own hips into the bedroll in search of more friction, clinging to any sense of relief he can find, determined to taste her release before he seeks his own.

It does not take long, wound up as she is. The Princess lets out a sharp cry, hips flexing and thighs trembling as she comes. Whispered pleas tumble from her lips that grow louder and louder as Rafayel works her through her release, licking into her relentlessly, not pulling away until she is whining in protest from the overstimulation.

“My beloved.” His voice is breathy, soft. A whisper against her thigh. “Huerte mea… vesta mea…”

She collapses against the bedroll, her body going lax. Rafayel straightens, wiping the slick off his chin with the back of his hand as he gazes down at her prone form.

He kneels between her still-trembling legs, pushing her knees even further apart, and shoves his pants down just far enough. Taking his cock into his hand, he gives himself one stroke, then another, before he carefully guides himself forward. The heat between her thighs envelops him, welcoming him, and he lets out a reflexive sigh as he sinks deeper. He bites his lip and struggles not to close his eyes, wanting to watch himself disappear into her cunt.

His mind goes blank—whiting out for one long, blissful moment—once he is fully seated. Rafayel holds himself still, so still, even though he is all but coming apart at the seams, muscles twitching restlessly in anticipation, his own need desperate to be sated.

She holds him close, arms and legs wrapped around him in a sacred geometry that makes him feel more worshiped than any other offering or prayer or devotion ever has. Rafayel leans into her, his hips nestled within the cradle of her thighs. So long as he lives, reborn anew as many times as fate demands it, nothing else will ever be able to compare. Lemuria could fall a thousand times more, damning his soul for all eternity. He will do it all over, again and again, if it means coming home to her even just one more time, saving her just one more time—

And he does not know how much longer he will be able to hold back.

Her Highness moves her hands, fingers at his sides. He shudders beneath her touch, gentle and explorative, as she traces the faint, jagged lines of old scars etched into his skin. Rafayel bends to kiss her brow, but the Princess nudges him with her nose and searches for his lips, finding them in another needy kiss.

“Rafayel,” she whimpers. She wriggles her hips beneath him, urging him to move.

He answers her with a languid thrust that has her head lolling back.

“As my princess wishes,” he says, and then he kisses his way back down, smiling against the side of her neck.

Rafayel gives her time to adjust, moving with short, steady strokes that roll into one another before he settles into a familiar rhythm. When she begins to move with him, he pulls her even closer—lifts her legs higher along his sides so she can cross them at the middle of his back.

The Princess fucks like she fights, breathless and eager, gradually moving with more confidence than she started with. She holds onto him tightly and takes what she needs, works her hips against his with determination as they rock together. Rafayel’s entire body thrums with pleasure, a heartbeat all its own, and he wishes he could spend all of eternity in this moment, drowning in her depths.

She sucks in air when he nips at the delicate skin below her ear. His mouth gentles in apology, his next few kisses more tender, his tongue tasting the sweat on her skin. Rafayel presses himself closer, pushes himself deeper inside on every thrust. He is unable to resist for long, catching her earlobe between his teeth, biting down once more. Her Highness runs her nails down his back, and he nearly crumbles, pleasure and pain twisting and unwinding, consuming him whole—

“Fuck,” he sighs into her neck, kissing it again. “So soft… so warm…”

Rafayel props himself up on one hand and lowers the other to where they are joined to circle his fingers over her clit. He groans at the responding clench of her cunt, and the moan she gifts him with in return makes his blood run hot as her hips arch upward into his touch.

“Your Highness always sings so sweetly for me,” he says, an urgent need threaded through every word. “Let me hear it again.”

He gazes down at her, taken with the way her body slides up, up, up against the bedroll with every snap of his hips. Rising to his knees, he settles his free hand at her waist, holding her there as he meets her with another powerful thrust, then draws her down even harder against him.

“Please,” he rasps. “Please let me hear it again—”

The Princess keens, lashes fluttering as her eyes slip shut. Rafayel does it again, driving forward harder than the first time, and then again, determined to hear her cry his name even just one more time. He cannot look away, never wants to look away, utterly hypnotized by the way her body moves, the way the muscles in her stomach flex and flutter.

Curious, he releases her waist, then lays his palm flat against her lower abdomen and presses down—

“Rafayel!” the Princess cries out, and his name has truly never sounded sweeter.

He feels it when she reaches her end, wave after wave, bearing down on him and clenching rhythmically around his cock and bringing him to the very precipice of his undoing. His eyes never leave her face, watching the kaleidoscope of emotion playing out across her features as she continues to writhe, as her already bruising grip on him tightens to the point of pain.

Desperation claws at him from within. Rafayel chases after the exquisite pressure low in his belly that grows stronger with each thrust. His rhythm falters as he pushes himself to move harder, faster, no longer able to contain it. He plants his hands back on the ground on either side of her hips for leverage as he drives into her, and gods, he is close, so close, each cry that escapes her bringing him closer, closer, closer—

“Your—Your Highness,” he stammers, voice cracking around the words. He lets out a low whine. “I’m—”

Helpless against the inevitability of his own completion, Rafayel surrenders to it—a pleasure so intense it nearly pains him, makes his limbs spasm, makes his heartbeat even more erratic. He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, broken little sounds spilling from his lips as he spills inside her, until he has nothing more left to give.

When he opens his eyes once more, the Princess is smiling. Her gaze is serene, almost dreamlike, and for a moment Rafayel wonders if he is, in fact, dreaming.

The world falls away. Time stands still. There is only him and her.

Arms shaking, he nearly collapses as he lies down next to her and curls up at her side. The Princess wraps him up in her embrace and holds him close, and he burrows into the junction between her neck and shoulder. Later, he will clean their bodies and tend to their wounds, then hold her throughout the night as they sleep. But right now, he needs only this.

The softness of her voice soon draws him from his thoughts: “Rafayel?”

“Mm?”

“Do you want to know what I fear?”

Rafayel’s pulse jumps against his throat. He lifts his head from her shoulder, and she reaches for him, gently guiding his gaze to hers with a finger under his chin. She runs her thumb over his bottom lip in a way that is heartbreakingly familiar.

“I fear that one day, I will call for you,” she says, “and you will not answer.”

Guilt runs through him like an arrow to the chest. The knot in his stomach returns, now a noose.

“I fear that I will one day know a life without you in it,” she continues, dropping her voice to a whisper. “That is a fate worse than death.”

He shifts onto his side, pulling her along with him, and touches his forehead to hers. Their noses brush, and Rafayel holds her cheek as he kisses her, even though his throat feels tight and he wants to weep at the mere notion of being without her.

“I have always looked for you,” he whispers back, and though she cannot comprehend the full weight of his words, he wants her to hear them. “And I have always found you.”

The Princess smiles again, saying nothing. Her touch is gentle against his cheeks as she brings his lips back to hers for another longer, softer kiss.

She knows. She knows, but she does not remember. Cannot remember. And for the first time across his many, many lives, Rafayel wonders if maybe it is for the best.

But he will. And should a day ever come where he is not able to find her, he will still remember.

It will not be enough, but he will always, always remember.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lnds smut #lads rafayel #rafayelmc #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #lads smut #rafayel love and deepspace #abysswalker rafayel #lnds rafayel #rafayel smut #rafayel x mc #stellarfics

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mirainwonderland · 6 days ago

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Hi,hope you are well and doing fine. So ,today I was playing Stardew Valley, loving the spring,and although it rains a lot,the sound it's very soothing. I was on my way to see( my crush and in the game because it reminds me of Leon. Don't know why. Maybe because he works ? I don't know.) Alex,and I had the urge to get in Tumblr ( to read specially Leon's fics ofc.) ,and then I read your fic,your most recent one. As if your fic about Leon acting intense when jealous didn't already made me imagine somethings and making me wanting to kiss him more than I usually do,your last fic made me feel my cheeks burn. Gosh ,how bad I just wanted that to happen! Gosh, you write such yummy bits. I can't help but wanting to ask if you could,at least just , I don't know,write a short one shot of the continuation of your last ? Goodness, I really wanna keep being able to read your delicious thoughts.

You are so sweet 🥹 this means so much that someone likes what I spew out of my brain. Also loving that we both love Stardew Valley and RE! I really should post more content about how that’s going because I’m doing a Leon play through rn cause he deserves a little peace and quiet.

Anyway my head immediately went to the ribbon one shot, so I wrote a continuation for that, I hope that’s okay! I haven’t written smut in a hot minute, so idk how good this is it flew out of my fingertips at like 1AM don’t y’all come for me lol. I’ll see if I can’t cook up some inspiration for the others you mentioned ☺️ thank you for the request and enjoy <3

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Tags: MDNI, smut little to no plot, Leon x afab reader, kinda vanilla actually, doggy (i think?) and prone, cunnilingus (f receiving), technically unprotected but not explicitly stated (?), m dom x f sub implied, praise praise praise (so much yummy praise and being talked through it ugh)

2.5k words

Enjoy :)

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“Leonnn!” You’re half-laughing, half-whining tone isn’t deterring him much as he marches down the hall with you in a secure grip. He bounces your legs draped over one arm, reminding you just how stuck you are. You’re going nowhere, and the only struggling you can do is wiggle your torso and kick your feet. Which isn’t very effective, by the way. Halfway there, he puts you down, and you think for a minute that he was just bluffing after all and is gonna let you go.

Wrong.

He readjusts his grip on you and slings you over his shoulder like a delicate sack of potatoes. Even when he’s rough he’s gentle, and you have a heartbeat in two places all of a sudden.

“Leon!” You squawk, but he just chuckles, and you can feel the rumble through his shoulders. It vibrates through your body and makes it tremble in anticipation.

Begrudging anticipation, of course. Which unsurprisingly won’t last that long.

“No, put me down!” You whine as he kicks open the bedroom door and crosses the floor.

“Sure, babe.” He huffs as he all but throws you on the bed. You bounce on the mattress. Hands still bound together flop above your head and the fingers of one of his big hands wrap around them, keeping them put. He leans over you, settling a knee against the edge of the mattress.

“How’s that?”

You puff out your cheeks in annoyance, but it melts away when he gives you a soothing kiss. Your frown relaxes, even if the slight petulance in your eyes lingers for a beat longer.

“You’re mean.” You say, without the previous bite in your voice. Your eyes scan over the lines of his face, studying the expression that regards you so intimately now.

“To you? Never.”

He tugs open your neckline and descends on your neck with nothing short of an open mouth and a wet tongue. Your eyes slide closed, an agreeing sound slipping from your lips for a change. His mouth his hot and soothing, the way his tongue laves over the skin. He kisses up toward your ear, letting his breath hit the shell in the way he knows sends goosebumps down your spine.

Sure enough, you shiver.

“Yeah… you’re a pretty package, alright.” He hums into it, forcing another shiver through your vibrating bones. You’re all wrapped up in a pretty little bow just for him. And you look so flushed and innocent beneath him, with the tip of your nose matching your cheeks, that he has to bite back a groan himself. His jeans feel a little tighter.

His hand on your wrists slides down your forearm a bit, stroking the sensitive skin on the inside with a gentle thumb motion. That produces a satisfying sound.

A sound he likes a lot.

Your whole body jerks, and you writhe beneath him, your body rolling with the waves of sensation and electricity he sends through you with that simple touch.

“Leon that tickles!”

“Yeah, you like that?”

“Stop!” You stifle an amalgamation of a laugh and a moan.

The corner of his lip lifts. He leans up over you so he can trail his lips down the inside of your forearm, making you twitch. Your wrists writhe in their silk prison. His chest touches your nose, and his scent fills your lungs and numbs your brain.

“C’mon, Leon. Untie me.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Normally he’s not such a menace. But work’s been hell, and when you’d distracted him with that pretty little ribbon of yours he just couldn’t help himself.

He gives your forearm a little nip, and then he’s pulling back again. He looks down at you, with his arms braced on either side, and studies your expression for a minute.

“You wanna stop, you tell me to stop. Understand?” He searches your eyes, double checking to make sure you really want this.

“Okay.” You say, the sound of your voice so cute and meek, he has a hard time not getting hard.

“Okay.” He repeats, leaning back to he can tug his shirt off, eyes fixed on you watching him with rapt attention. You want this, he can see it in your eyes. You’d tell him if you really didn’t.

His shirt is off his back and on the floor, and he’s leaning in again, sweeping his tongue into your mouth. You breathe in sharply through your nose, choking on a moan as he comes in stronger than you expected.

But it’s not unwelcome.

Your bound hands come down from above your head to rest against his chest. It’s about all the touching you can do, and you whine at him for it, giving him those eyes that say ‘please, baby’. He’s almost half-inclined to untie you at the pathetically cute look on your face, but he digresses. He has plans, and you’re not gonna foil them.

“You’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He kisses behind your ear as a soothing apology.

He goes to tug off your tank top, and realizes too late that it’s damn near impossible with your hands tied together like they are. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, knowing you’re gonna hate him for this— but he does it anyway.

There’s a prominent SNAP as the straps are ripped off your shoulders, and your tank top is tugged down and off your body.

“Leon!”

“Shhh, sh sh sh.” He immediately swoops in to soothe you with kisses everywhere. “I’ll buy you a new one, baby.”

You can’t really be too mad. He kisses you to shut you up, and trails his tongue down your neck to pepper more smooches over your braless chest.

It’s easy to forget about the ruined tank top.

“Ah!” Your back bows half an inch off the bed.

“That’s it baby, sing for me.”

Your pink buds stiffen, and he nudges his nose against one of them before taking it into his mouth. Your eyes roll back and your vision goes static for a moment as the sudden rush of pleasure has your back arching again.

He works down your body, kissing and touching all the skin he has access to, and uncovering more. He works down to the waistband of your sweats and tugs them off without ceremony. The whole while, you whine his name and writhe underneath his ticklish kisses like you’ve never been touched before.

He nudges his nose against them when you’re left in just your panties, breathing you in through the damp fabric. A dark flush comes to your cheeks and you close your eyes, only to feel his hand snake its way back up your body and gently nudge your chin down toward him. On instinct you open your eyes.

“Ah ah, baby. Look at me.”

Your whole body feels like it’s trembling from the inside. Like a shiver that won’t quite come to fruition, making your muscles clench and groan with delicious tension that makes you want to make noise. You bite down on your lip, clenching the sheets in your hands above your head.

He mouths your clothed folds, making you whimper and jolt. His teeth snag the edge of your panties and peel it aside, nuzzling his way underneath.

Your eyes roll back when his tongue licks a long strip up the entire length of your sex. You let out the most satisfied moan, and get the sexiest grunt vibrating against you in return.

“Fuck baby, look at you.” He mumbles from against your mound. His tongue licks again, lapping at the path of your nectar to its source. His tongue slides inside shallowly, making you moan and clench the sheets a little harder. Your knuckles turn white.

His tongue laves lazily in and out for a moment, until his hunger takes over. He brings his hand up to hold your panties to the side so he can take a proper bite out of you. And then his tongue goes to work again, with a mission this time. The sounds he draws out of you are pure sin and sugar.

His mouth wraps around your clit and sucks on it, earning a satisfying reaction. His tongue circles it, trailing the tip of it down through your slick folds to your entrance. He teases and prods you without really giving you what it is you want. His tongue slides inside, teasing that sweet spot by barely touching it with the tip of his tongue, and then he retracts it again.

And again.

“Leon, please!” You pant, unable to squeeze your legs closed and relieve some of the tension he’s creating. He holds your thighs open, getting his fill of your sweet flavor.

“I know, baby. Just be patient.”

He comes up, wiping his chin of your juices, his hair slightly disheveled. God, he looks so sexy like this, and there’s nothing you can do about it. So you whine your heart out.

He chuckles, passing the back of his hand over his mouth.

“I know. I got you.”

His clothes (sans boxers) are gone in the blink of an eye, and he leans over you again. You pout up at him, so turned on you’re gonna fucking scream if he doesn’t just give it to you already.

Just as you think he’s about to lean down and give you a taste of yourself, his hands grab you and flip you over onto your hands and knees. You can hardly get out a startled cry before his weight is over top of you, caging you in under him. He has your head between his arms as he braces himself up on the bed, sensually rubbing himself against your dripping slit through both your underwear as he breathes against your ear.

“Yeah, just like that. Easy, girl.”

You gasp and moan, trying to keep yourself upright underneath his weight with your hands tied together.

“Leon-“

“Good girl. Hold that position for me.”

He reaches down behind you, fingers gently skimming your naked side on the way down, making you twitch and shiver. You’re shaking under him, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

He loves pushing you to your limit. If he can make you utterly exhausted by the end of this, then he’ll cuddle you a happy man.

His fingers hook the waistband of your soaked panties, and pull them off you in a smooth practiced motion.

“Easy, baby.” He encourages as he fumbles for his own, working them off too so nothing is standing in between you and him. His boxers hit the floor.

“Atta girl.”

He doesn’t give you much of a warning. One second his palm is soothingly massaging your ass, the next minute, he’s halfway sunk into your tight heat.

“Oh!” Every muscles in your stomach clenches, your ovaries moan in pleasure. You flutter around him as he slowly sinks himself all the way in and bottoms out. Your head drops forward, heavy breaths and moans mingling together as you try to maintain form.

“C’mon baby. Good. You’re doing so good.” He coos when he feels you clench around him. Fuck, you feel good. His mouth leaves soothing kisses across your shoulder blades. He nuzzles the back of your neck.

And then he’s moving.

Slow, lazy pumps at first. In and out. In and out in a predictable rhythm. But once you’re adjusted and he just can’t take it anymore, he speeds up.

The chorus of your moans is music to his ears as he thrusts into you from behind in time with your rapid heartbeat. You start shaking even worse, and it just fills him with a sense of pride that he’s doing his job right. Your head spins, and you really don’t think you can hold yourself up anymore.

“I can’t-“

He watches you closely. He knows your tells. He drops a kiss to your shoulder.

“I know.”

He pushes you down so you’re prone, stretching your pretty ribbon bound wrists above your head. You sigh as your flushed cheek meets the mattress gently. His arm slips underneath your tummy, arching your hips and curving your back. He presses his forearm into you, putting pressure on your tummy just the way he knows gets you.

His thrusts get just a little more powerful and insistent.

You whimper loudly, high-pitched and needy. The thin sheen of sweat gathering on both your bodies is making you stick to each other, and he loves it. Every part of you can’t get enough of him. He feels a wave of self-satisfaction wash through him that makes his chest feel warm, and his dick twitch.

“That’s it. Pretty girl. You gonna cry for me?”

You nod frantically against the sheets, the knot winding up tightly in your abdomen.

“C’mon then. Be a good girl.”

“Ngh! Hah hah!” You grunt, panting hotly against the sheets. “Leon, please-!”

“Let it happen, honey.”

“I need it!” Your chest jolts against the bed.

“I know. Whenever it comes. Just let it, okay?”

The way you’re erratically squeezing and clenching around him, he knows he doesn’t have that much longer either. He grunts through his teeth, gripping your waist tightly, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

“C’mon, c’mon.” He coaxes. He leans forward, rubbing his nose against your spine. He presses a few kisses down it. He feels you tighten up and he straightens again.

“That’s a good girl. Let me see you.”

And that’s when it snaps like a rubber band. You bury your face in the sheets and scream as wave after waves of mind-numbing sensation shakes you to your very core.

“There—” He pants. “—there she is.”

You clench down hard, and take him with you. He grunts as his hips jerk forward, the tension snapped for him too. The world turns white as his vision blurs and his muscles convulse. Just watching the way you tremble beneath him gets him grunting in your ear and biting the shell.

Everything feels so quiet after that. All that’s left is your heavy breathing. No more slapping of skin, or high-pitched moaning, or anything really. Your brain feels numb and quiet and the world feels reverent in the silence of the afterglow.

Sheets rustle, a soft kiss on your lobe. He gets off you, rolling you to your side so he can see your face. The back of his finger touches the apple of your cheek gently, and you let your unfocused eyes close softly with a gentle smile.

“You alright?” He hums, his voice a low, sexy vibration in his chest. He sounds a little raspy in the aftermath, and it’s your favorite thing.

You manage a nod and he gets up, tugging your hands free from the ribbon. You feel boneless and mind-numb, and you’re not really sure you want to leave this feeling behind anytime soon.

“Leon?” You murmur as you lay there while he cleans both of you off with his t-shirt.

“Hm?”

“Can I be your pretty little package again?”

You hear a deep, throaty chuckle. He leans in, and leaves a soft little kiss against your nose.

“Anytime you want, baby.”

#leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy oneshot #leon kennedy smut #writing #smut #mdni

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radioapple-heathen · 9 months ago

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My Top 10 📻🍎 'Oneshots' Fic Recs

(A continuation of my previous post. You can find info about my fic preferences and my top 10 'Series' fic recs here. And my multi-chap recs here.)

1.) Mine to Avenge by fourshadesofgreen

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canonverse. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: Murder Husbands. What more can I say? This is peak radioapple. Flirting through murder?? UGH. Delicious. Obsessed. Think about this oneshot 24/7. There is nothing else.

2.) With A Coffee and a Caress by @winterveritas

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: This was SOOO FREAKING CUTE??? AND SEXY??? SIMULTANEOUSLY??? Also this oneshot got me to jump all aboard the trans!Alastor train. Can't say anything I haven't said already about Winter, but go read, 10/10 quality and believable wonderful progression of their relationship!!

3.) No hiding place down here by @tollingreminiscentbells

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: I will inhale anything this author writes in re: to radioapple and this is no exception. Fantastic dialogue and characterization, as usual. Lucifer-heals-Alastor oneshot that could honestly be canon with how well the author writes these two.

4.) afternoon delight by deliciously_devient

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Canon Divergence. Notable Warnings: Uh, idk, menstration fic.

Notes: This author is going to make a full deviant out of me yet. Intersex!Lucifer hits that time of the month and, of course, Alastor is there to assist like the super helpful friend he is XD

5.) Truth Laid Bare by pervertanarchy

Rated E. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post Canon (I think). Notable Warnings: Explicit +. Mind the tags LOL.

Notes: ANGEL TRUTH SERUM AU???? I didn't realize how much I needed this in my life, but bless you, author. Lucifer is a Mess (TM) and a good time was had by all, including Alastor's shadow.

6.) bite the hand by @tarmairons

Rated M. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: I absolutely ADORE the characterizations in this oneshot. The dialogue between them is ON POINT. So witty, so in character, just perfection. And then when it becomes PLAYFUL??? The best!

7.) God Forsaken by Kisama

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Human!Alastor AU. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: Ah, hello, Alastor meeting Lucifer as a human, my absolute weakness, nice to see you again. A fantastic addition to my library of this trope --- and bottom!Alastor, my other beloved.

8.) helter skelter by nymphaceae

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Post-Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: Catch me on my trans!Alastor train still, because this was chef's kiss as well. Very fun, very sexy oneshot, would read 19 more installments of this.

9.) will you weapon your skin (feed the monster within) by FrostbiteFable

Rated E. POV: Alastor. Genre: Post-canon. Notable Warnings: Explicit + LOL.

Notes: WHY DID IT TAKE ME SO LONG TO FIND THIS FIC??? THIS 25K ONESHOT SEX POLLEN RADIOAPPLE MASTERPIECE?? Seriously, strap in, y'all, because this is a ride, omg. I don't even know how to summarize it, JUST READ IT. It's so, so, so good.

10.) Lavender and Smoke by pervertanarchy

Rated T. POV: Lucifer. Genre: Post Canon. Notable Warnings: None.

Notes: AHA! A T-rated oneshot rec, I am not a complete heathen. Jokes aside, this was SO SWEET??? I love domestic radioapple so much. It really scratches an itch in my brain. And the author has such beautiful crisp prose, it makes for such an easy and enjoyable read.

#radioapple #appleradio #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor #radioapple fic recs

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inkofthebrain · 1 year ago

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Imperial

[Paul Atreides x F!Reader] 1468 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? (More strangers to lovers tbh) ARRANGED MARRIAGE TROPE, not proofread LOL

Warnings: mild use of the voice on reader. Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions. Jessica being Jessica….

A/n: this chapter goes from 0 to 100 plot wise: be ready >:) sorry 4 whiplash… || Thank you for all the support! I upload these chapters as i write them so apologies for the spontaneous new chapters. My request are open for one shots and more!

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masterlist

Three———

The following weeks with the Atreides are spent planning, discussing politics, and all the while you continued to silently observe Paul and his mother.

There are two things you are certain of. One, Bene Geserit have been at work, a congregation of women who you have always been weary of, and two—their plan had gone horribly wrong. Paul was the byproduct of a story not of his own which he, or should I say his mother, has appropriated for political power.

“Abomination”

Your fathers truth sayer’s words ring through you ears. You are terrified for what is to come, you gaze out of your bedroom window at the sloshing sea lapping at the edges of the cliff.

The nightmares about your soon to be home still plagued your nights, you were getting less and less sleep and as the wedding grew nearer your exhaustion grew with it. You prayed Arrakis would kill you quick.

You and paul spent hours in the Caladan meeting room, discussing the various political forces across the galaxy, alone and with both the Atreides and Imperial advisors. the details were complex, and Paul's understanding of the universe was quickly expanding by the day.

He learned about the various noble houses, the political factions within the houses, the imperial courts and their complex bureaucracy, and the many conflicting religions and belief systems across the galaxy.

This was just the basic information. the true power came from analyzing and understanding the social complexities and hidden motivations of the various players. Paul knows he must oblige with the current way things are running before slowly putting his own reforms and systems in place.

As you taught him the complex workings of the imperium and its politics, you realized his intelligence was unmatched. It was as if he absorbed the information like a sponge, taking it all in and putting it to use. his natural abilities coupled with his hard work and dedication made him a formidable political force.

You sensed that his thirst for knowledge and a desire to understand what drove the universe was insatiable, just as yours was.

You had grown closer to Paul but your shared disinterest in the Marriage lingered. You did not care for marrying a stranger, that was bound to happen, it was the circumstances of your engagement that lit an unpleasant fire in you. Paul, on the other hand, was clearly longing for something, someone, he knew he could not obtain.

You both were children who were manipulated, selected, and bred for this. And now as adults you must face your unnerving future.

Duty is everything in this world.

———

The day of the wedding was a week away, but the planning began much earlier. The ceremony was highly anticipated by the imperial court and the noble houses. rumors were rampant, various debates and gossip spread like wildfire. It was clear that this wedding was much more than a marriage of political convenience. It was a pivotal event for the empire, one that everyone would be watching closely and analyzing under a microscope.

As you walked to the dining hall, Delia at you side making occasional small talk, you mind was racing. You had compiled a highly educated theory based on observation and the small bits of Benne Geserit secrets you sister had let you in on. You were determined to gather more data to support this.

Jessica sat at the head of the table, Paul sat to her right and you sat to his left. The three of you were discussing the political ramifications of the wedding, how they would be viewed by the various noble houses and imperial courts. Your discussion was respectful and polite, but under the surface there was a tension, a subtle underlying pressure, that nobody acknowledged but was very present. After clearing her throat and waved the guards out of the room.

Your stomach dropped as she looked to you "Now, there's one other matter we've yet to discuss." She turns her attention towards you and looks straight at you, with a serious look on her face.

Jessica continues. "I am aware you understand the political nature of this union, and you understand the political implications of the ceremony itself. But what isn't discussed enough is the reality and expectation of the marriage after the ceremony. The two of you are to consummate the marriage immediately after, and the child that results from it will have enormous political implications. Do you understand what i'm saying?"

You almost choke on your wine at her boldness. Paul glances at you, he is alert to the seriousness in her tone, the way she is careful to drive home this specific point.

Still watching your reaction, she finally resumes speaking. "The consummation is expected to immediately produce a child. The pressure will be immense, and I am asking you to treat this with the upmost seriousness. The birth of the child will create a political shift that will alter the galaxy for generations. I trust you understand the gravity of the situation at hand? Correct?”

You take a large swig from your wine glass. “May I speak freely?”

"Yes, by all means, speak freely.”

You take a deep breath. “I have not been trained by the Bene Geserit like my sister so I am not privy in the ways” you pause. “But from my observations I have compiled a theory. There is a plan, a plan greater than us all. And you, Lady Jessica, set that plan on fire by giving the late Duke Leto a male heir. Yet they allowed you to become a Reverend mother after disobeying the high order.” You pause, watching her reaction. “Now you must scramble to solidify your disobedience into the prophecy”

Jessica is frozen for a few moments, eyes locked on your own, trying to hide the surprise you've seen through. It's clear that you've struck a nerve here.

Paul leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours. "This is impressive. Very impressive." there's a glimmer of admiration in his eyes, and the slightest of smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I assume I am correct then?” You look between the two

Jessica finally nods, a hint of a proud smile on her face. "You have struck at the very heart of it. My disobedience is not my own, Paul was set to be the bridge between the Bene Geserit and Atreides... and the imperium's entire future. And because of my actions, that entire future has been brought upon us prematurely. We have a plan, it is true. I will ensure that paul's inheritance of the empire remains intact. But you are key to that plan, and you must comply with my direction on this matter."

“Tell me everything.” You demand, your temper growing short as your heart starts beating faster and faster. “This is my life and the legacy of the Imperium!”

She leans forward, her intense gaze meeting yours. there's a firmness in her eyes, and she speaks with a sense of conviction. "Listen to me; if you wish to ensure your safety and the safety of Paul and the empire, then you will need to trust me. Do you trust me?"

“No!” You yell, “You made your son a false prophet and I refuse to go along with it until I am aware of every detail of this plan.”

“Calm yourself and listen” Jessica demands, her voice is dark and distorted. You are enchanted instantly—She has used the voice.

“Mother…” Paul says, guilt pricks at his soul as he watches your face go blank, but Jessica ignores him.

"I will not tell you everything at this very moment, but trust me, you will see it all in time. Just like I have, just like Paul has. There are some things that are necessary to keep from you until that time. I will tell you what you need to know, nothing more and nothing less. does that sound acceptable to you?"

Her hold on you breaks and you look to the mother and son in disgust. Everything about this woman is fabricated so she may complete her plan, a ploy in which you are just a mere stepping stone. Rage runs through your entire body with such velocity that you feel sick. You sit in silence.

“Do. You. Understand?” Paul’s voice is stern and startles you and you nod your head.

“Good” Jessica says flatly.

You turn your head to look out the window, closing your eyes while taking a deep breath you attempt to collect yourself. Paul and Jessica are staring into you. You can feel it.

———

Next chapter

🍾 Taglist @aoi-targaryen

#paul atredies x reader #paul atredies x you #paul atredies fanfic #dune part two #paul x reader #dune part 2 #dune x you #dune x reader #dune fanfic #dune 2024 #dune 2021 #dune movie #dune 2 #dune #paul atreides #jessica atredies #reverend mother jessica Atreides

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ckret2 · 13 days ago

Note

who were your 3 previous blorbos that you mentioned in your reblog about the most compelling emotions to give characters (I've only been following this account since after TBoB dropped lol)

(For context anon is asking about this post where I said in the tags that I'd inserted loneliness in 3 of my last 4 blorbos as the primary most compelling additional emotion, and then Bill got loneliness but also a bunch of other fresh new horrible emotions.)

Okay, in chronological order, my past 4 Top Blorbos that I decided to headcanon "I bet deep down they're devastatingly lonely and it's gonna be fascinating to write about":

1. Ghidorah specifically from the 2014 legendary continuity of Godzilla movies.

In King of the Monsters, Ghidorah is an alien monster that, as far as anyone can tell, mainly just wants to destroy Earth.

In various different Godzilla continuities, Ghidorah is: 1) an alien with a history of planet-devastation who travels between worlds encased in a meteor; 2) mind-controlled by a multitude of alien species for the purpose of planet-devastation; 3) made into a giant monster out of three tiny harmless innocent pets for the purpose of nation-devastation; and 4) unlike most other Godzilla monsters, completely friendless and without allies, except for the one time they and Gigan were mind-controlled together.

So I stuck that all together and went "what if they were created by aliens out of three pets for the purpose of planet-devastation, but they escaped and now wander aimlessly between planets destroying them wherever they go because after being used as an apocalypse machine that's the only thing they know how to do, and they've never had any friends or allies except for a brief stint working alongside Gigan?"

And spending an eternity flying from planet to planet without meeting anybody just to destroy it and move on sounds like a very lonely existence.

2. Alastor Hazbin, based solely on the pilot ep & the comic, since that was what was released when I was in the fandom.

He's a superpowered serial killer best known for going on a rampage that devastated the city like 90 years ago; he's also extremely gregarious, charming, and chatty. He tries to strike up conversations with everyone everywhere he goes, and everybody is terrified of him. I think he's a guy that NEEDS a social circle of like 100 friends to feel fulfilled, and when we meet him in show he has like, 2.8 friends. Niffty & Husk each count as .4 friends because from the pilot we can't tell if they're actually friends or if they wouldn't have anything to do with him if they didn't owe him.

Plus he fits into a very specific character archetype that I'm fond of, which is: super powerful super competent guy, unparalleled in his field, desperately bored (& depressed) because he's conquered all challenges and is craving something, ANYTHING to give him mental stimulation, and thus is pursuing more & more dangerous or stupid quests when we meet him in canon; doesn't realize that his "boredom" is actually loneliness and the real cure for his misery is getting emotionally close to other people and getting involved in their lives, something he'd previously shunned during his monomaniacal quest to become The Best.

3. Biiiiiiill Cipher! You came in with TBOB, I don't need to say a lot about this.

He's surrounded by people who worship, adore, and fear him, but emotionally intimate with none of them. He has lots of friends but none of them are real friends, because he can't be open, honest, & vulnerable with them (he doesn't even know how), and because he's closed himself off to the needs of anybody else in return and can only see the people around him as obstacles or resources.

He desperately craves attention because he desperately craves love, but when he gets attention & love, he's lacking whatever it is he needs to feel like he's loved, and so he always needs more.

And that's just one of the many, many things that are Wrong With Him.

4. And the current hyperfixation taking over my life, Aku from Samurai Jack.

He's created as an adult, super-powered and already knowing all about the world around him, as the only being of his kind. His first interaction is thanking his creator for making him, only to be told his creator intended to destroy him and then he gets attacked.

He single-handedly (single-handedly! by himself!!) conquers most of the world; the only minions he has during this time are temporary shadow-things he makes out of his own essence. When he decides solo conquest is taking him too long, he gets an army of unfeeling robots.

There's no evidence he has any friends, allies, lovers—any positive relationships except for a smattering of loyal underlings. Most underlings obey him out of fear. He spends most of his time alone; his socialization comes from hiring mercenaries and from visitors who have come to grovel before the leader of the world in hopes of currying his favor. When he's emotionally struggling, he'd rather split into two people and pretend to be his own therapist than talk to somebody else about his problems. In a side comic of dubious canonicity, he claims that he's not alone thanks to the presence of a guy questing to murder him who hates his guts.

Maybe he doesn't care! Maybe in the little The Sims user interface hovering over his life and showing his needs, he doesn't have a social meter that needs filling. He's never acted lonely.

But I think it's juicier to imagine that's because he doesn't know how lonely he is because he's never had so much as a glimpse of the alternative.

In spite of being proudly evil, when his oppressed subjects start looking to Jack as a hero, Aku's immediate desire isn't for them to stop believing a hero could save them; it's for them to see him as their hero.

#ghidorah #alastor #bill cipher #aku #(<- membership list of the world's most fucked up band.)#(ghidorah on vocals. alastor on trumpet. bill on piano. aku on fire.)#anonymous #ask #meta

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otomiyaa · 10 months ago

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Catching up (Tag Game)

Ive been a bit on and off and felt like making a tag game so here's one to catch up on each other's interests and hyperfixations! Answer the 10 questions and tag 5 people. No pressure ofc!

@fluffandgiggles @ppystkposts @crazy-as-a-jaybird @blobbirobbi @kusuguricafe + everyone who wants to join! **edit + everyone who received a notification from when I tried to tag 10+ people and the tumblr post broke 😂

❤️ Newest obsessions: Dungeon Meshi, probably has been clear.. and capybaras. Taylor Swift not very new but refueled obsession since seeing the eras tour concert!

🎥 Last 3 movies I watched and what I thought of them:

Inside Out 2 - CRYING SOBBING LOVING IT SO MUCH

The Parent Trap 1998 rewatch - Still golden fav, one of my guiltiest pleasures

Sous la Seine / Under Paris - Love a good shark movie but thought this was mediocre smh. the ending was cool tho hahaha

🎶 3 songs I discovered recently and love:

Peggy - FEMININE RAGE

Spencer Sutherland - Alive

HOYO-MIX - Interstellar Journey

💘 Newest fav ships: Falin x Marcille , Chilchuck x Senshi, and Laios x Kabru all from Dungeon Meshi!!!

📺 Currently watching: The Apothecary Diaries, Wind Breaker, House of the Dragon, Pokemon Johto Journeys (rewatch), FMA Brotherhood (rewatch), Mushoku Tensei S2 (might drop it)

📖 Currently reading: Dungeon Meshi manga, Define the Relationship manhwa, XXX Buddy manhwa (both manhwas on hold but I'll continue reading soon!)

🎮 Currently Playing: Fortnite, Minecraft, Genshin Impact (haven't played since Cyno story quest tho), Zelda Tears of the Kingdom (on hold), Yakuza 0, Zelda Skyward Sword, Hogwarts Legacy, note: I kinda dropped all mobile games but I'm really considering starting love & deepspace again hmmm.

😍 Currently looking forward to: New Fortnite update, Genshin Natlan update (even though I have to catch up on the previous ones lol), the new Deadpool movie, Blue Lock movie (seeing it this week!)

✅ Recently finished: Kaiju No. 8 (anime), other than that no books, manga, games or shows. All still in progress lol.

💌 Something to Share: I'm glad to see people are enjoying the x reader drabbles and I'm motivated to work on them faster when I can! Thanks everyone for your patience.. T-T

#personal #tag game #I say no pressure but hope some of y'all will join #I'm literally following like 650 blogs so I have no right to complain but #I miss a lot LOL

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rottencherrypie · 21 days ago

Text

R-18+; Tag Team (Tauriel x Reader x Kili)

Summary - A new night means a new opportunity for pleasure with your elven and dwarven lover, but this time, something new is brought into the mix.

Warnings - Smut, language, afab!reader, fem!reader, mention of female genitalia (reader), mention of male genitalia (Kili and a strap-on), weird descriptions (would I not be me without them?), threesome, Tauriel has a strap-on, lowkey sub!Kili (one day I will make him not a sub, one day), slight sub!reader, slight dom!Tauriel (dommy mommy), sort of dark!Tauriel (I was ovulating, leave me alone), oral sex (Kili receiving), mention of cum (a lot of cum), reader squirts, degradation (reader receiving), praise (reader receiving...conflicting smut lol), pet names (reader receiving),Tauriel getting a majority of the attention (seriously could just be a Tauriel smut if you forget about Kili), cum swallowing (not sorry), implied aftercare (I wrote too much and wanted to post this so no aftercare scene but after care is important!), and potentially more.

Pronouns & POV - None (but reader is called a good girl), third-person

Word Count - 4,100+ (this was meant to be shorter but I got carried away)

A/N - Heyyy, besties~! Guess who's alive and is about to make it the world's problem *insert kissy face*. But in all seriousness, I do apologize for disappearing for so long, several things happened since I disappeared but I am somewhat back now with this smut that was suggested from the previous suggestion box! "Basically a part 2 to the "Bring a Friend" (anonymous). Thank you for the suggestion, I have been wanting to do a part two (and now maybe a part three) of Bring a Friend since I had first written it; I apologize it had taken me so long to write, a lot of personal stuff went down (including a power outage when I was wrapping it up), but I hope it was worth it. I did try something new with the spacing, and a few newer things writing wise, I was overcompensating a lot because I felt like my writing was more subpar than usual. Reader has no defining features other than soft lips, round ass, and hair that can be grabbed at/tangled in. Smut below the cut!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

A familiar beat fluttered throughout the air: it was one known well, one that stained the halls—and the floors—with the essence of lust. It was typical for the tune to be followed by the deep, steady beat of a headboard thumping against a wall.

Yet this time, the erotic melody was not led by a thump. No, the melody that trailed after that lustful tune was that of mewling.

An erotic sound easily flowed forth from the dwarven prince's thin lips; his mouth hung open in a gasp, resembling a fish plucked out of water gasping for air, as he was whisked farther into the alluring embrace of pleasure. The weight of his head fell back slightly as the sway of satisfaction roamed throughout his sturdy frame; the sharp center of his neck pointed toward the ceiling above, causing the auburn waves of his hair to flutter down his glistening shoulders, the ends of the smoothen locks trickled low enough to graze against the toned flesh of his upper back.

As the erotic tune of the prince's moans continued to flutter throughout the air, there was a melody that had yet to trail against it—that of yours. As it had been once before: the sounds of your satisfaction had been stifled, muffled by the warmth of flesh.

Though, it was not identical to how it was once. No.

Instead of the sweetened tang of elven flesh coating the moistness of your tongue, the taste that flooded the warmth of your mouth was different. It was far saltier than the taste of elf you had been accustomed to, but it was not the first time you had downed dwarven cock—but it was the first time it prevented your moans from dancing throughout the night's air.

The length of the prince's cock was a decent size, it was not large enough to cause pain as it drilled into the moistened cavern of your mouth, however, its girth was of nothing you had experienced before. The corners of your lips strained around the mass of his hardened member; the inner, moist flesh of your mouth being stretched to its limits as it encased the dwarf's throbbing cock.

As the length of his cock continued to get acquainted with the warm, moistened caress of your mouth, his calloused hands found themselves entangled within the texture of your hair. The grasp his calloused hands held upon your locks was firm, yet not painful; it was tight enough to keep himself steady—whilst also giving him the leverage to puppet your head to his pleasure—but it was not harsh enough to cause a hiss of displeasure to vibrate against the girth of his cock.

The corners of your stretched lips began to overflow with saliva as the dwarven prince's hips continued to buck into the warmth of your mouth; the light tap of his balls bounced off of your chin, causing the sound of flesh meeting moistened flesh to echo throughout the air—an echo that was accompanied by another, far harsher tap of toned hips meeting the rounded flesh of your rear.

A sound met with an equally harsh touch; as the dwarven prince managed to keep his grasp upon your head gentle, despite the roaming lust within his veins, it was a far different tale when it came to the elven guard who lingered behind you.

It was tight; the tips of her fingernails sunk into the flesh of your hips, pricking at the fiber of your being with a bitterly erotic sting. And firm; within the tightened grasp of her palm, you found it nearly impossible to move farther than an inch from her firm and steady hand. And most of all, possessive; any attempts you made—and failed—to inch away from the roughened pace of the elf's hips, she would easily pull you back with a firm tug—the weight of her figure pressing into you as she leaned down, the flesh of her firm breasts grazing against the glistening flesh of your back, as the heat of her breath caressed the shell of your ear. "Where do you think you're going?" She'd breathe: the warmth of her words entering your very being, causing shock waves of arousal to roam throughout your body in the wake of her growled question.

The pace the guard's hips held was not like that of the dwarven prince; there was no slowness, no rhyme or rhythm behind her thrusts as she pushed the silicone cock further into the stretched, leaking hole of your core. Her movements could only be described in three words: quick, sloppy, and feral.

The false cock would continue to carve itself inside of the slickness of your core; a sensation that was ever so strange, yet eerily familiar to you. It was not that you had such an item used upon you prior—though the elven guard had such a thing secretly stashed amongst a chest of weapons—no, the fake cock itself was more than just its name. It was a replica of the very cock that filled your mouth.

It was all but identical to the prince's cock; from the large vein that curved upon the center, to every divot and curve bestowed upon the silicone. The only way you knew it to be false—other than the beautiful elf behind it—was the inability to feel the throb of the prince's heartbeat within the sea of silicone.

A pleased growl rumbled throughout the center of the elf's chest as she continued the onslaught against your dripping cunt; the smoothness of her firm breasts grazing against the sweat-dampened flesh of your back. The thrusts of her hips were harsh, each thrust pushing her weight further into you—ensuring that her cock reached depths that the real one had failed to do prior.

No mercy was shown upon your leaking core as the guard shifted her stance, the powerful pumping of her hips matching the rapid beating of her heart as the weight of her body drifted backward. The slight pressure of her firm breasts eased off of your glistening back as her spine stood tall, reverting to her perfect posture—even as her hips continued to bounce off of the flesh of your arse. "Fuck..." The word would leave her lips in a breath as her gaze flickered down to the sight of your stretched hole: admiring how it desperately clung around her cock, puckering around the smoothness of silicone as it hungrily swallowed down each inch with an eager squelch.

"Just like that, pretty girl." The grasp she held upon the softness of your hips would tighten as the praise left her lips in a purr; the tips of her nails embedding themselves into the delicate flesh—a sensation that caused a hiss to vibrate against the prince's throbbing cock. "Such a good girl, taking us so well." The guard would continue to praise you, the words falling from her lips as fluidly as the motions of her hips—quick, deep, and possessively.

The harsh snap of her hips meeting the rounded flesh of your arse continued to echo throughout the room, though the tune was arguably more gentle in tone than it was in sensation. The unbridled, feral pace held within the elf's hips would jolt you forward with every thrust, pushing you further down onto the prince's cock. The tip of your nose would be pressed firmly against the toned flesh of his abdomen as the elf's thrust jolted your forwards, making you down another inch of his cock; an act that caused the throbbing, angered head of his manhood to tap against the back of your throat.

The act of the prince's tip ramming against the back of your throat caused a forced gag to roam upon the length; at any other moment, the action of gagging would cause repulsion within the prince. He would have turned up his nose in disgust and shrunk away from the sound, yet within that moment it was different.

Rather than disgust, the prince found arousal in the fact that it was him who you choked upon—his cock that you could barely swallow down, his cock those erotic vibrations of hesitation rang upon.

It was him you drooled upon, him who stretched the flesh of your mouth to its limits—him who caused those tear-streaked cheeks and watery eyes who bore up at him, glazed over with nothing but lust.

"Fuck..." The word slipped through his thin lips as he gazed down upon his creation, upon his goddess: it sounded closer to a mewled whine rather than that of a coherent word—the single syllable hovering upon the softness of his thin lips before it found itself fluttering into the air to meet the poorly muffled gag you spewed upon his cock.

The sound of panted laughter soon accompanied the primal sound the prince had left within the air, the guard's chest vibrating in amusement as the pace of her hips quickened—refusing to give your cunt a moment of mercy as you continued to choke upon the prince's cock.

The sight of the guard laughing as she pounded into your aching core urged the dwarven prince's hips to quicken in pace.

It was a sight all too tempting, all too irresistible to the prince; the way her fiery locks caressed the softness of her face, her forehead glistening with the moisture of her efforts all the while her firm breasts jolted with the harsh effort of her hips.

And you, his beautiful goddess, did not aid in quenching the fire of the prince's passion as his eyes flickered down to meet yours—the way those beautiful gemstones stared at him so mindlessly, so full of trust and lust; it made his hips move on their own accord. Yet, the act was not met without consequence.

As the prince's cock continued to carve itself a home within the moistened flesh of your mouth, all moisture was forced from it due to the fullness; liquid followed forth from the corners of your lips, the clearness of your saliva tinted by the milkiness of the prince's precum—the taste of the liquid was a salty, bitter tang that made the slickened walls of your core clench around the smooth thickness of silicone within.

The milky mixture continued to coat every inch of your mouth; there was no tastebud spared of the fate being drenched with the essence of the prince's pre-pleasure as his girth continued to glide within the warmth of your mouth. And with the consistent movement of the dwarf's eager hips, soon enough your chin was not spared either—the opaque mixture continued to spill forth from the corners of your lips as gravity soon led it to the point of your chin, slowly beginning to drip down the length of your neck as the speed of the prince's hips refused to cease.

"Fuck..." The word once again left the prince's lips in a mewl as the pace of his hips refused to falter; a mindless chant of pleasure that sounded more acquaint to a sinner who had finally found salvation within the loving grasp of a god—or rather, the dampened mouth of a disheveled goddess.

"Do it again..." The prince encouraged, no, pleaded with the elven guard as he shifted his head back into place. No longer did the sharp point of his neck point to the stars, nor did the lids of his honey-colored eyes remain closed; instead, they were wide open, boring into the emerald pair that the gods had so lovingly bestowed upon the elvish guard—a beautiful pair that shimmered with lust.

The corners of the guard's lips began to curl in amusement at the dwarf's plea; finding humor amongst the sea of pleasure at how easily she turned an authority of power into a pleading mess by pleasuring another.

The grasp she held upon the flesh of your hips tightened as the dwarf's desperation hung within the air, the tips of her nails embedding themselves further into the plushness of your skin with a harsh pinch—causing you to jolt forwards and hiss against the prince's length. The curled sea of hair that protected the base of the prince's cock would rub against your lower face, causing your nose to scrunch slightly at the sensation whilst the vibrations of your displeasure echoed upon the mass of his length.

"Do what again?" The guard questioned; though her tone held innocence, it was feigned—the words no more than a taunt that weighed heavy within the lust-thickened air.

"Use your words." She would purr, giving the illusion of choice, yet it was clear the coaxing statement was more than just that—it was a thinly veiled command. A command that shone through clearly within the gaze her emerald orbs held: sharpening within the dimness of the room's faint lighting, the orange hue of fire danced upon her features—emphasizing the sharpness in both her gaze and her features through the warmth that danced upon her face, and in the darkness it left in the areas it refused to touch.

A strained, pathetic mewl fell from the prince's lips at the command. The weight of his head threatened to tilt back again, yet he managed to keep it steady as he met his elven lover's burning, emerald gaze with his own desperate, honey-colored one.

The flesh of his palms grew slick with sweat as they tightened around the various textures of your hair—an attempt to dry his palms and keep himself stable as the joints within his knees threatened to give out.

"Make her choke on my cock." The words fell from the prince's lips alongside a slew of small, needy whimpers and moans—as the sounds flowed out of the prince's lips as smooth as honey, the essence of your pleasure continued to flow forth from cunt.

The wet, squelching click of your pleasure weighed heavily within the air; the essence of your pleasure slowly rolled down the silicone length as it continued to carve itself a home within the warmth of your walls—droplets of your sweet nectar dripped down onto the floor, a small puddle of pleasure pooling upon the old wood.

"Please..." The breathily whined plea was all it took for the guard to cave to the prince's request—after all, she was merely withholding to hear the sweet symphony of his desperation.

A familiar melody fluttered throughout the air; the tune of panted laughter flowed forth from the guard's soft lips, her chest vibrating with slight amusement as the pace within her hips began to quicken once more.

"There it is. Such a good boy." The purr of the guard's words did not linger within the air for long as they quickly found themselves masked by the harsh thwack of her toned hips meeting the supple flesh of your arse.

Her weight shifted forward, allowing the smoothness of her breasts to graze against the sweat-dampen flesh of your back once more as her thrusts turned harsher—more primal if that was even possible.

Mercy was a luxury not bestowed upon your desperate hole as the guard continued to carve her false cock into the depths of your core. The squelching slap of sex danced throughout the air, accompanied by the muffled gags of your moans against the prince's cock you choked upon; as a familiar soreness began to spread throughout the sensitive inner flesh of your cunt, a similar one began to spread throughout the muscles within your jaw—weighing down upon it heavily as the muscles grew tense throughout your trembling figure.

It was as if the very fibers of your being were being stretched and filled to their limits—by the false cock that pounded away within your core, thumping against your sweet spot in an endless assault, and the real one that continued to smack against the back of your throat; the bitter, salty taste of pre-release continuing to bombard your tastebuds as an endless stream of saliva and the prince's nearing release continued to flow forth from the corners of your lips.

The subtle weight of the guard's chest was now fully pressed against the slickness of your back, allowing the softness of her breasts to rub against your back with every harsh thrust of her skilled hips; pressing you further into the prince's cock with every motion of her fluid hips.

A familiar static sensation began to roam throughout your veins, as the weight of your being felt both light as air and yet as heavy as steel—a paradox in every meaning of the manner, a sensation so hard to explain yet well-known by many. As the prickle of static continued to vibrate throughout the fibers of your being, the guard pressed further against your back; as the pressure of her body against your intensified, the harshened grasp she held upon your right hip dropped.

The loss of contact gave you a brief moment of clarity amongst the sea of pleasure; allowing a sense of confusion to arise amongst the rising waves of nearing release, yet it soon came to a crashing halt as the smoothness of the guard's palm found itself between the dampened flesh of your thighs—hovering a mere inch away from the heat of your aching cunt.

The tip of the guard's smooth thumb had soon found in your soaked, sticky folds; your body bucked against her palm at the sensation of her thumb simply toying with your sensitive parts—sliding up and down the sticky slickness of your inner folds in an almost painfully slow caress.

All the while, the silicone tip of her cock continued to ram itself against the most sensitive, spongey spot within the depths of your twitching core.

Your inner walls began to clench and quiver around it; a mindless, primal attempt to milk the false cock—an action that would bend the prince to your will, urging him to bring you to the brink of sweet release, yet the guard could not feel a single thing.

The vibrations of the guard's laughter rumbled against your back as her other hand remained firm on your left hip; feeling the desperate tremors of your needy form.

"Such a desperate thing." She'd coo into your ear; the heat of her words caressing the shell of your ear as she punctuated each syllable with a harsh thrust. "Trying to milk my cock, so pathetic." It was as if the onslaught of her disparaging words unlocked something deep within you; the walls of your leaking core continued to clench and release around the fake cock, desperately attempting to persuade the elf into gifting you the release you so hungrily craved—despite the fact she could not feel a single thing.

"Just a pathetic little slut, aren't you?" A question you had not expected to answer, yet as if acting on its own accord—a strained mewl of agreement vibrated against the prince's cock, further proving the sentiment.

As your vibrations of agreement rang upon the prince's cock, ones of the guard's laughter continued to rumble against your chest as another breathless laugh fell from her soft lips. "What a good slut you are." The praise was not just in words, but in sensation as well as the tip of her thumb finally made contact with your aching bundle of nerves.

A pleased exhale escaped from your nostrils as your eyes began to loop back into your skull, crossing in the process as the muscles within your body began to both ease yet tense at the same time. The tip of her smooth thumb pressed firmly into your twitching bundle of nerves; her motions equally as untamed as those of her hips—massaging sloppy, small circles against it.

Though there was no rhyme or reason within the motions of her hips; she had managed to align each thrust with the motions of her thumb. An act that the prince reaped the rewards of as your muffled sobs of pleasure continued to echo upon the length of his cock, while your cunt sobbed upon the elf's false one.

It was all too much to handle; the head of the false cock continued to pound away at your most sensitive spots as the tip of her thumb continued its ministrations against your swollen, twitching clit. The waves of your pleasure continued to rise, sheathed behind the dam of pleasure that the guard continued to pound away at—slowly cracking down the walls with each harsh clap of her hips against your arse.

Yet, your attempts to withhold pleasure all came to a crashing halt from two measly sentences: "Let it all out, pretty girl. Soak my cock like the good girl you are."

A command not needed to be repeated, as the dams of pleasure quickly burst open at her purred approval with a roaring gush around the fake girth within you; rolling off the smoothness of silicone, adding to the growing puddle of depravity upon the floor—as well as drenching the guard's thighs within the process.

It had felt as if your body was drifting away from you, being whisked up into the night's air by every thrust of the guard's hips, yet somehow still grounded enough to feel the animalistic thrusts behind you—and the squish of dwarven flesh within your palms as your hands clawed at his toned thighs for stability. You could not remember when you had first clung to the prince's legs for stability, yet you were certain it was somewhere between the elf leaning against you or her thumb meeting your clit as that was when you felt the prince's balls tighten as they smacked against your chin.

As you were whisked away in your own realm of pleasure, the prince was quickly sent off on his own as well; guided to the mythical realm through the heavenly vibrations of your choked moans against his cock, and the erotic sting of the tips of your nails digging into the toned flesh of his thighs.

It did not take long for the warmth of his seed to flood your mouth; the sudden volume of which forced a thick mixture of saliva and his essence to stream out of the corners of your lips—following the path the previous mixture had left prior.

The prince's cock rested firmly within the warmth of your throat for a few moments, forcing you to down the unpleasantly addictive taste of his salty seed. A breathless chuckle rumbled within the dwarf's sturdy chest as he felt the subtle glide of your nose scrunching upwards in displeasure at the taste; knowing that the taste of him was guiding you back to reality.

"Good girl." The praise left the prince's lips in a breathless whisper, as he shifted the weight of his stance backward—allowing his cock to slowly ease out of the length of your throat. It soon left the warm caverns within your lips in an erotic pop; a string of saliva and his pleasure connecting his cock to your lips for a moment before snapping, causing the mixture to drip down your chin and neck.

"Such a good girl." The guard would praise in agreement with the prince, as the smooth caress of her hand departed from the aching slickness of your folds—soon finding itself upon the center of your chest in an attempt to keep your quivering form steady. An onslaught of coughs and gasps would fall from your cum-drenched lips, the weight of your body quivering with the guard's sturdy grasp as you struggled to compose yourself from the aftershocks of your pleasure—and the taste of the prince's.

"Do you need a moment, darling?" The guard would ask, her voice much softer than it had been moments ago as the soft glide of her hand traced circles upon the center of your chest—the essence of your pleasure being wiped upon you in the midst of the tender act. "Deep breaths now, love." The assuring words brought a sense of stability within you, grounding you back in the sense of her loving embrace as her false cock remained stagnant within the walls of your womb.

"There we go, nice and slow." The prince urged gently; though his hands were calloused and a bit harsh, his motions were tender as he delicately wiped the mixture of drool and cum off of your lower chin with his thumb.

Slowly, the pace that you breathed began to even out as you found yourself back within the security of your body. The tingle of pleasure roamed throughout your veins in a more muted tone as your lovers softly tended to your trembling figure.

The ringing within your ears slowly dissipated, as you tuned in on the sounds of your breath—harsh yet turning steady, short yet full. It was loud, yet quiet; a peaceful harmony that dared not to be broken.

Tag lists:

The Hobbit — @violetteshoneybee , @spaceagegoblin

All smuts — @lady-haitani

Want to be added to my taglist? Find it here

#the hobbit smut #smut #x reader smut #x fem!reader smut #kili x reader smut #tauriel x reader smut #tauriel x y/n smut #tauriel x fem!reader smut #kili x fem!reader smut #kili x y/n smut

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