#vigil for the night bloom

[missrosiesworld]

Bonds of Love

Headcanons for when Lycaon is in a relationship

Chivalrous and Gentle: Lycaon maintains a gentlemanly demeanor, always polite and considerate towards his partner. He opens doors, pulls out chairs, and carries heavy items, treating his partner with respect and care.

Lycaon smoothly opens the restaurant door with a practiced motion and turns to offer his hand to his partner, a gentle smile on his face. "After you, my dear. A gentleman always serves his beloved," he says warmly. His partner laughs softly, accepting his hand, and responds, "You're always so considerate." Lycaon, his visible eye filled with affection, replies, "It's my pleasure. You deserve nothing but the best," before leaning in to place a soft kiss on the back of their hand, his gaze full of warmth and devotion.

Protective Instincts: With his strong protective nature, Lycaon is always attentive to his partner's safety. He is vigilant and cautious, often positioning himself to shield his partner from potential harm.

As they walked through the crowded market, Lycaon subtly positioned himself between his partner and the bustling throng, his presence a silent shield. When they approached a particularly congested area, he placed a gentle hand on their lower back, guiding them safely through the crowd. Noticing his protective gesture, his partner glanced up with a soft smile. "You always know how to make me feel safe," they said. Lycaon smiled back, applying a reassuring pressure. "It's important to me that you're always protected," he replied warmly, nudging them toward a quieter corner while scanning the area to ensure their comfort and safety.

Romantic Gestures: Lycaon has a romantic side, often surprising his partner with flowers, handwritten notes, or thoughtful gifts. He enjoys planning special dates, such as stargazing nights or quiet dinners, to create memorable moments.

Lycaon approached his partner with a gentle smile, holding a bouquet of their favorite flowers behind his back. With a flourish, he revealed the vibrant blooms. "For you," he said tenderly, his gaze full of adoration. His partner's eyes widened in delight as they took the bouquet, the sweet scent filling their senses. "They're beautiful! What's the occasion?" they asked. Leaning in closer, Lycaon brushed his snout affectionately against their nose before nuzzling their cheek. "Just because I love you," he sweetly whispered. Seeing his partner blush, clearly touched by the heartfelt gesture, filled Lycaon with joy, his heart swelling at their happiness.

Intellectual Conversations: He values deep and meaningful conversations with his partner. Lycaon enjoys discussing literature, philosophy, and other intellectually stimulating topics. He listens intently and appreciates his partner's insights, often engaging in thoughtful debates and sharing his own perspectives.

The soft lighting illuminated the vibrant paintings around Lycaon and his partner as they strolled through the quiet halls of the art museum. Taking a moment to consider a particularly compelling piece, Lycaon leaned in slightly, his expression thoughtful. "The symbolism in this painting is fascinating," he said in a smooth, reflective voice. "The use of color and light by the artist to express emotion and depth is truly remarkable." His partner nodded, their eyes glowing with interest. "I love how the contrast between the shadows and light adds layers of meaning. It’s almost like the painting tells a story without words." Lycaon smiled warmly, holding their hand gently in his. "I appreciate how you see these details. Your observations always provide me with a new layer of understanding I hadn't considered before. It's one of my favorite things about our conversations."

Expressive Affection: Despite his reserved nature, Lycaon is affectionate in his own way. He often expresses his love through gentle touches, such as holding hands, resting his hand on his partner's back, or brushing a stray hair away from their face. His actions are subtle yet deeply meaningful, conveying his care and devotion.

It was a quiet evening as Lycaon sat beside his partner, the room filled with a peaceful silence. Reaching out, he gently took their hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. A tender smile spread across his face as he leaned in closer to brush a stray hair away from their face. "You always manage to captivate me," he whispered in a soft, sincere tone. A smile spread across his partner's face as they felt the warmth of his touch and the sincerity of his words. "You make me feel so special," they replied, their voice filled with affection. Lycaon's gaze softened, reflecting the depth of his emotions. Leaning closer, he tilted his head slightly, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to their lips. He kissed softly, yet passionately, expressing the depth of his love and devotion. As he pulled back, his thumb gently stroked their cheek. "You are special to me," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of his heartfelt words.

Loyal and Committed: Lycaon is incredibly loyal, and once committed to a relationship, he is dedicated and steadfast. He values trust and honesty, making sure to communicate openly with his partner. His commitment is unwavering, and he is always there to support and stand by his partner, no matter the circumstances.

Sitting on the couch with his partner, Lycaon gently took their hands in his, his grip firm yet comforting. Taking a deep look into their eyes, he spoke steadily, with a sense of sincerity in his voice. "You know I'll always be here for you, right? No matter what," he said, a look of unwavering commitment on his face. Feeling the warmth and reassurance in his words, they smiled softly, the tension easing from their body. "I do, and it means the world to me," they replied, their voice touched with emotion. Lycaon's expression softened even more as he leaned in, lifting their hands to his lips as he kissed them tenderly and with affection. "Good," he murmured, his voice soft and intimate. "Because you mean the world to me."

Soft and Vulnerable Moments: Lycaon feels comfortable showing his softer side with his partner. He opens up about his fears, dreams, and insecurities, trusting his partner with his innermost thoughts.

As they lay together in the dim light of the bedroom, Lycaon stared at the ceiling, a shadow of worry crossing his features. He took a deep breath, gathering the courage to voice his thoughts. "Sometimes, I worry that I might not be enough for you," he confessed softly. "That I might fail you in some way." His partner gently took his hand, their fingers lacing together in a comforting grip. "You never have to worry about that," they assured him, their tone filled with warmth and sincerity. "You're more than enough for me, just as you are." A small, relieved smile formed on Lycaon's lips as he turned to face them, their words soothing his fears. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed tenderly against their foreheads as he found deep comfort and reassurance in their presence.

Playful Teasing: Lycaon enjoys a playful dynamic with his partner. While he is usually composed, he sometimes teases his partner in a lighthearted manner, enjoying the banter and the smiles it brings. His teasing is always gentle and affectionate, never crossing the line into hurtful territory.

As they worked side by side in the kitchen, preparing a meal, Lycaon noticed his partner struggling to open a jar of sauce. With a playful grin, he stepped closer, leaning over their shoulder. "Need a big, strong wolf to help with that?" he teased in a light and affectionate manner. They rolled their eyes with a mock sigh, handing him the jar. "Oh, please. Show me your amazing strength," they replied, playing along with the banter. Chuckling, Lycaon effortlessly twisted the lid off the jar and handed it back, his gaze twinkling with amusement. "There you go, just as requested," he said with a dramatic flourish. "Always happy to lend my mighty strength." His partner laughed, shaking their head. "You and your teasing," they said, nudging him playfully. "It's a good thing you're cute." Lycaon’s grin widened as he leaned in to kiss the tip of their nose. "And it's a good thing you love my teasing," he countered, his voice softening with fondness.

Supportive Partner: He is incredibly supportive of his partner's goals and aspirations. Lycaon is always there to offer encouragement, advice, and a listening ear. He celebrates their achievements with genuine pride and offers comfort and reassurance during challenging times.

As his partner walked into the room, Lycaon immediately rose to greet them, a proud smile on his face. "You did amazing," he said warmly, wrapping them in a gentle hug. "I knew you would impress everyone." Despite their exhaustion, they smiled with relief. "It was nerve-wracking, but I'm glad it's over." Guiding them to sit down, Lycaon held their hands and looked into their eyes, his expression sincere. "You were incredible. Your dedication and hard work truly shone through," he reassured, his voice filled with pride. Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to their forehead. "Let's celebrate your success tonight. You deserve it."

Quiet Companionship: Lycaon appreciates quiet moments with his partner, where they can simply enjoy each other's presence without the need for words. Whether it's reading together, taking a leisurely walk, or sitting in comfortable silence, these moments are cherished as they reflect the deep connection and understanding between them.

Lycaon sat beside his partner on the couch, a book resting in his hands as the soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over them. Occasionally, he glanced over at his partner, a soft smile playing on his lips as they were engrossed in their book. They shifted slightly, leaning into Lycaon's side, finding comfort in his presence. Without a word, they continued reading, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. As he breathed in deeply, Lycaon gently rested his head against theirs, feeling content in the shared quiet, enjoying the simple joy of being together without words.

Rituals and Traditions: Lycaon enjoys establishing rituals and traditions with his partner. Whether it's a weekly date night, a special way of celebrating anniversaries, or simple daily routines like morning coffee together, he finds comfort and joy in these shared experiences.

Every morning, Lycaon rises early to brew a pot of coffee, carefully preparing it just the way his partner likes it. He arranges two cups on the kitchen island, adding a small vase of fresh flowers to brighten the space. When his partner enters the kitchen, they're greeted by the comforting aroma of coffee. A smile spreads across their face as they approach the island. "Good morning," they say softly, taking a place next to Lycaon. Pouring the coffee into their cups, Lycaon hands one to his partner, his gaze warm with love. "Good morning," he replies. "Did you sleep well?" They share a quiet moment, savoring the start of the day together. Taking a sip, they nod, enjoying the rich flavor. "I did, thanks to you," they say, their voice filled with adoration. "These mornings are my favorite." Smiling, Lycaon sets his cup down and wraps an arm around his partner, pulling them closer. He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on their forehead. "Mine too," he murmurs.

Feral Protective Instincts: Though outwardly sophisticated and rational, Lycaon's innate feral character reveals itself when his partner is in danger. His usually composed demeanor gives way to a fierce protectiveness. He becomes intensely focused and assertive, ensuring that any threat is swiftly dealt with.

As Lycaon and his partner strolled through the bustling marketplace, enjoying the vibrant atmosphere, an aggressive individual suddenly approached them, visibly angry and raising their voice. Instantly, Lycaon's demeanor shifted, his usually calm expression turning dangerous as a low, warning growl rumbled from his throat. He stepped protectively in front of his partner, his posture aggressive. "Is there a problem here?" he growled, his voice deep and menacing, baring his sharp teeth in a silent snarl. The sudden display of his feral nature caused the aggressor to falter, clearly intimidated by the quiet but profound threat in Lycaon’s unwavering stance. "It would be best for you to move along now," he continued, his voice cold and commanding. Seeing Lycaon’s protective instincts in action, his partner felt both reassured and awed by his fierce loyalty. "It's alright," they whispered, gently placing a hand on his arm to calm him. As the aggressor backed away, clearly unnerved, Lycaon gradually relaxed. He turned to his partner, his expression softening significantly. Reaching out, he gently caressed their cheek, his touch tender and protective. "I won't let anyone harm you," he promised in a low, sincere voice.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Confessions

Steddie || ~2.3k words || rating: T || tags: post vecna, references to stancy, angst and fluff, robin buckley just being herself

~~~

Eddie and Robin were just finishing filling the snack bowls and mixing drinks when they heard a knock at the door. It’s a Friday night– and not what Eddie would consider a late hour–but they weren’t expecting anyone to join their weekly movie night at Steve’s. 

He glances at Robin who shrugs, shaking her head. As he rounds the kitchen counter towards the foyer, Steve’s voice carries down the hallway.

“Nance?” He sounds surprised too.

“Steve, I’m sorry I know it’s late, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you and I can’t wait anymore,” she says. Eddie can’t see her, but she sounds anxious. 

“This can’t be good,” Robin huffs. He agrees, if the sinking pit in his stomach is any indicator.

“Look, Nance, now’s not really–”

“Steve,” she barrels over him, sounding desperate. “I’ve been an idiot trying to convince myself that I haven’t missed you since we broke up– and before you say it, this isn’t because Jonathan left after we closed the last gate. When we were stuck there with Robin and Eddie, the way you looked at me was how I’ve always hoped someone would love me. You looked at me like I was everything to you, like you could look at me forever and never get tired of it. I feel wanted, and loved, and safe when I’m around you.” She takes a deep, steadying breath before pressing on.

“Last time, when we were together, I took all of my grief and anger out on you. I blamed you for  what happened to Barb because I couldn’t face it myself and I knew you loved me enough to hold the weight, and I resented you for it. You wouldn’t stand up to me, and I resented you because you loved me anyway.” Eddie can hear Nancy sniffling, small sobs carrying down the hallway. “You loved me at my worst, and you didn’t deserve that. You’re amazing, and strong, and kind and everything I could ever ask for.

“Steve, what you said in the Winnebago, I just, I can’t stop thinking about you. About us”

The silence that follows is stifling and Eddie feels bile climbing up his throat. Arms wrap around his shoulders as Robin tucks her head into his neck. Only a small comfort while months of gentle moments with Steve flash behind his eyes: soft hands brushing his curls, stolen glances, lingering touches, and warm smiles. Now Eddie’s forced to stand vigil as it’s all washed away by Nancy's whispered pleas.

“Nance, please–”

A spark of hope after a late night confession weeks ago– swiftly blown away.

“Steve Harrington, I lo–”

“Nancy,” Steve interrupts, his tone firm yet soft around the edges, “I’m in love with someone else.”

Robin gasps into his neck. Her arms around his shoulders squeeze tight, anchoring him to reality in the wake of Steve’s confession. His chest is so full he can’t breathe. 

“Oh,” Nancy whispers before another, deeper sob leaves her breathless. He never thought he’d hear Nancy Wheeler cry. Even though they’re apparently both in love with the same man, he’s grown close with her too and can’t help the urge to comfort her. Eddie’s grown to love everyone in his new found family. But Nancy is right. 

“Yeah Nance, I’m sorry. And they’re kind of here right now, so,” he says gently.

Steve Harrington is everything. 

And they’re kind of here right now…

Hope flames in his chest, blooming with warmth. Eddie doesn’t hear the conversation end over the buzzing in his own head and Robin’s frantic giggling until they hear the click of the front door and Steve’s footsteps coming towards them.

“Oh.”

Steve’s standing in front of them, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Eddie’s realizing he and Robin maybe should’ve hid before Steve rounded the corner to find them eavesdropping. 

“So,” Steve stammers, a fierce rouge burning his ears, “how much of that did you hear, exactly?”

Robin quickly stands, clearing her throat before Eddie can think of an answer. “Is that the microwave? Did anyone else hear the microwave ding? I think the popcorn is done, so I can go check that right now. Yeah, right now. I’ll just, umm, be in the kitchen checking the popcorn. For the movie.”

She practically sprints down the hall, and although she wasn’t subtle, Eddie’s still thankful for the privacy. Steve’s shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

“Everything,” Eddie answers. “We heard everything.”

“Oh,” Steve says again. He sounds anxious and unsure, something Eddie’s compelled to fix, because all he wants in this world is for Steve Harrington to be happy.

“It’s ok.” He takes Steve’s hands in his own, tracing his thumb lightly over his knuckles. “We won’t say anything to her about it, and we won’t tell anyone what she said. Nancy’s in safe hands with us. Mum’s the word!” And as Eddie mimes zippering up his mouth, he hopes that Steve won’t take the easy way out. That he won’t use the life-raft Eddie’s just thrown in his direction to keep him from drowning. 

“Right,” Steve says. He runs a hand through his hair, biting his lip as he gazes at the floor between them. The silence as Eddie waits for Steve’s next words grows long and tense. He can’t hear any movement in the kitchen, making him more anxious now that he knows Robin’s listening. Which, he’d be a hypocrite to be mad about.

Maybe he has this all wrong. Maybe Steve just needed a way to get her to leave, so he lied about having a date over. Maybe he didn’t know what to say, and just said the first thing to pop into his head. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with Eddie at all. 

Eddie realizes he’s still holding Steve’s hands, his grip tightening the longer he spirals. If it hurts, Steve hasn’t said anything. But when Eddie looks at his face, he seems dazed and lost in thought. As fast as if he’d been burned, Eddie drops Steve’s hands and takes a step backward.

“So,” Eddie stammers, voice shaking, “I’m going to go help Birdie with the popcorn. You want to get another movie started?”

Hands still frozen in the air, Steve finally lets his clenched fists fall to his sides. Eddie can see the whites of his knuckles. He hears Steve sigh, exhausted and frustrated, but Steve’s nodding with furrowed brows and taking a step backward towards the living room– away from Eddie. Too far to reach out to.

Turning away, Eddie’s in the middle of forming an escape attempt when he opens the kitchen door to immediately be swept up in Robin’s arms. Of course she’d been listening. He’s grateful for it, now that he doesn’t have to explain himself. As he buries his face into her neck, he finds a wet patch and wonders what kind of accident she got into while prepping snacks. It’s not until she starts gently shushing him that he realizes he’s crying, tears soaking into her shirt. 

“It’s gonna be ok, teddy bear,” she says, running her hand through his curls, “he’ll get there, I promise. He’s working on it, you know that.”

He nods. He does know that. Steve’s been out to Robin for a few months, but only to Eddie for a few weeks. He deserves the space to figure it out, and the grace of those around him to do so at his own pace. Still, Eddie can’t help his growing impatience alongside the increasing severity of his crush. At least Robin’s here to support the both of them.

The two of them finish gathering the snacks in silence. She was full of awkward jokes to try to lighten the mood, but when it was clear Eddie was stuck in his head, she’d stopped. He feels bad about it. He’ll make it up to her later, plus he knows she’s not upset with him. Eddie suspects they’ll be getting together sometime tomorrow to rehash everything that’s happened– after she’s finished consoling Steve, of course.

When they leave the kitchen, Eddie’s surprised to find Steve exactly where he’d left him. He’s standing frozen in the hallway, lip pulled between his teeth and hands still clenched. But when he lifts his gaze to meet Eddie’s, there’s resolve behind his eyes.

“Eddie,” Steve says, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Oh my god! Finally!”

Eddie jumps violently at Robin’s shouting, almost directly into his ear. She’s flushed red with embarrassment decorated with a manic grin so wide he wonders if it’ll just keep stretching like taffy. There’s popcorn poured out onto the floor from where she clearly threw her hands up in excited exasperation. He watches as her eyes grow wide, her smile morphing into shock, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’, as if to say ‘oh shit, I just interrupted the most important moment in my best friends’ lives because I’m so excited and impatient that these two dinguses finally figured their shit out’.

She kicks the scattered popcorn towards the wall, like that’ll somehow hide the mess, before awkwardly passing them both down the hall towards the living room.

Eddie loves her so much.

“Huh,” Eddie chuckles, “well that was–”

“I’ve known I’ve liked you since last summer when you let me help you into my pool onto Holly’s rubber duck floaty so you could finally go swimming after you finished physical therapy.” Steve sounds out of breath, words running into each other with misplaced breaths in between. Like if he stops, he knows he won’t start again. 

It’s the only time Eddie’s felt the urge to keep quiet– when he’s not fighting for his life.

“You were so nervous,” Steve plows on, “but you said you felt safe with me, that you wanted only me to be there. You said you trusted me to help without laughing or judging you. Fuck, Eddie, you were so goddamn cute once we got you settled in with a Coke with a crazy straw in it. We were listening to ABBA and you didn’t even complain and you were so sunburnt the next day. It was the happiest I’d ever seen you.”

The memory leaves Eddie shocked. He did trust Steve to help, didn’t even consider asking anyone else because Steve just felt like the most obvious answer. He’d been there through the worst of Eddie’s post-PT work to make sure he ‘kept form’ on his exercises. They’d lounged in the sun all day, and it was the first time Eddie watched Steve relax since his final Upside-Down battle. 

Eddie feels his lip quiver, eyes burning, knowing they’d felt the same that day. Judging by Steve’s watery eyes, he guesses they feel the same now, too. 

“But love,” Steve whispers. He swallows as he takes a step closer, reaching out to grasp his hands. “Eddie Munson, I knew I was in love with you yesterday.”

His shoulders tighten as he recalls yesterday, surprised because they hadn’t seen each other at all, one of the rare days where their schedules didn’t line up. It was the first time in months they’d gone longer than thirty-six hours without seeing each other. Sure, they’d talked on the phone while Steve worked, but it’s not the same.

“I know,” Steve laughs, clocking Eddie’s confusion. “I thought about you all day. Couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried. Robin had to work with the customers because all I kept thinking about was tonight. If you’d get here before Robin, so we could sit out by the pool and smoke. Where we’d sit for the movie and if we’d get to share the popcorn bucket. If you’d pick a movie I hadn’t seen, so you’d lean in close and tell me a million random facts, even when you know I don’t really get it. But I just like when you’re close, next to me, and–” he hesitates– “I think that’s why you do it.”

Steve lifts their joined hands, wiping a tear from his eye using the back of Eddie’s knuckles. He returns the gesture, wiping what Eddie’s guessing is a mix of tears and snot off of his own face with Steve’s sleeve. 

“I think you lean in because you want to be close to me, too, and you don’t actually care about the movie either. Eddie, I think you ask for my help because you trust me in a way only Robin does. You give me cute nicknames like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘pretty boy’ because you’re teasing me, but I think it’s mostly because you really mean it.” Steve’s stepped closer now, and Eddie can feel the warmth of shared air between their gasping breaths. 

“I think you tease me and lean into me because you want my attention,” Steve whispers, brushing his nose alongside Eddie’s as their foreheads touch. “But Eddie, you’ve always had my attention.”

Eddie surges forward, capturing Steve’s tear-soaked lips between his own in what has to be the snotiest kiss either of them has ever had. But he doesn’t care. How could he? Eddie’s kissing the man he’s been in love with for almost eight months. 

Steve drops Eddie’s hands in favor of running one through his dark curls, while the other grips tightly at his waist. He can’t help but cup Steve’s cheeks, running a gentle thumb along his cheekbones. 

It’s soft and messy and everything he’s ever hoped for, because Steve Harrington is his everything, and he’ll do anything to keep him. Right now, he doesn’t have to worry about what they’ll tell their friends, or how they’ll explain this to Nancy, or even if Robin’s listening behind the door– he’s sure she is. No, right now, he lets himself bask in the glow of Steve’s love and soak in the comfort that Steve feels loved in return.

[vaile-elenya]

listen... i have been thinking a lot about this post:

i don't know what it is exactly, but something about a frustrated Elrond almost yelling out, still gently, that he'd live for his love instead of dying for it, is very very touching for me.

last night i might have gotten a bit carried away, and i wrote a little something about that. it's my very first shot at writing a fanfic of my own so please bear with me!

it's under the break and on AO3 if anyone wants to read 🫶🏻

In the twilight of Imladris, as the stars began their nightly vigil, you stood on the balcony of Elrond’s chamber, your heart heavy with frustration and hurt. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of evening blooms, but tonight, the beauty of the valley seemed distant, overshadowed by the turmoil within.

Elrond stood a few paces away, his serene demeanor a stark contrast to the storm that brewed in your soul. The gentle sound of the Bruinen river, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock the tension between you.

“Do you truly hold me in such low regard?” you challenged, your voice trembling with emotion. “Am I of such little consequence to you that you can remain unmoved as I bare my soul?”

Elrond’s eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his usually composed features. “You misunderstand me,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow.

“No, I understand all too well,” you interrupted, your words cutting like a sharpened blade. “You, with your timeless wisdom and boundless patience, have already revealed your true feelings. I ask again: would you be willing to lay down your life for me, for all of us, or does fear restrain you?”

For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Then, as if a dam had broken, Elrond’s composure shattered. His eyes filled with unshed tears, his voice rising in desperation. How could you not see? How could you not know that every moment with you was etched into his very soul? He could no longer hold back the torrent of emotions.

“To die for love is simple!” he nearly screamed, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of longing and regret. “A brief surrender of mortal coil to the embrace of eternity,” he added while the soft moonlight cast shadows upon his features, accentuating the lines of sorrow etched upon his noble visage.

“But to live, to truly live, is so much greater! For you, I would live instead of die,” he looked at you, his gaze piercing through your soul, laying bare his raw emotions. You felt the depth of his admission, each syllable heavy with the burden of his unspoken devotion, and the stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if bearing witness to his words.

“Do you not see the love, as brilliant as the leaves of Laurelin, that shines forth from my eyes each time I cast them upon you?” he asked desperately, on the edge of weeping. Elrond’s voice cracked, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “Are you blinded to it?”

Not awaiting your response, Elrond turned his gaze towards the lofty trees, their branches murmuring in the gentle breeze. As the night deepened, Imladris lay shrouded in a serene glow, its gardens veiled in shadows that swayed gently in the flickering dance of firelight and the soft embrace of starlight. The fading remnants of daylight whispered their farewell, surrendering to the celestial canvas unfurling above, adorned with the sparkling jewels of the heavens. The tranquility of the valley belied the weight of its history, a history that Elrond bore witness to through the ages. Memories of battles fought, kingdoms risen and fallen, and the relentless march of time haunted his thoughts.

Torches blazed brightly, casting dancing shadows upon the ancient stone, their fiery tongues licking at the velvety darkness with a fierce determination as Elrond’s mind drifted back to the tumultuous events of the Second Age, a time of great upheaval and sorrow.

“I have seen the glory of Númenor crumble beneath the weight of its own pride. Powerless I have stood as the Last Alliance marched to the very gates of Mordor, and I have borne witness to evils so immense that even the stoutest of our warriors could not withstand them,” he said, desperation building in his voice; his silvery eyes now shone with something you could not decipher. “I have gazed into the eyes of death countless times, her blades twisting within the depths of my wounded heart. So many of my kin have I lost to the ravages of war, their lives laid to rest in pursuit of a noble yet hopeless cause,” he took a step closer, his face now inches away from your own. “It is not the fear of death that prevents me from yielding to its embrace for you, meleth nîn.”

“You awaken within me the very spirit of endurance that Eru bestowed upon his children,” he paused, his gaze turning towards the fire illuminating the terrace. “A spirit that has waned over the long ages of my dwelling, and yet... your mere existence rekindles it.

“In your presence, I find a light that guides me, a reason to embrace each new dawn. My heart, though burdened with the weight of ages, finds solace and renewal in your faintest smile. To live for you is not a burden but a blessing, a path I would tread willingly, every day anew.”

Elrond’s hands delicately encompassed your face, and you felt the gentle pressure of his fingertips, each point of contact a deliberate caress. There was a steadiness to his touch, a silent reassurance as if he sought to convey a message that words alone could not express.

“For you I would find joy in the simple pleasures that weave the intricate tapestry of our days. Through the darkest of hours, I shall cling onto hope, tending to each seedling of kindness as a gardener tends to his beloved blossoms. For you, I would dive willingly into that terrifying inkwell known as existence, with all its uncertainties and fears.”

“I would live for you.”

[vunblr]

Masterlist

Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey through these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

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Summary: Bucky sets out to surprise his girlfriend with a simple yet meaningful gesture, but quickly learns that some things are easier said than done.

Wounds and Walls (Smut. Slight angst.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Chains of Fate (Fluff. Smut. Destroyer!Chris) Oneshot

Summary: A florist keeps having trouble with her bicycle, and Chris, her rugged mechanic neighbor, is always available to help. Or isn’t he?

Crumbs of Connection (Fluff.) Oneshot

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: When your terrified voice reaches Simon in the dead of night, it shatters the fragile calm he’s barely been holding onto. The chilling sounds of Tom’s violence echo through the phone before the line goes dead, plunging Simon into a storm of panic and rage.

At the hospital, the sight of your battered body tests the limits of Simon’s resolve. Wracked with guilt and helplessness, he sits vigil by your side, promising to be your anchor through the long journey ahead. With every breath you take, Simon clings to hope, vowing that no shadow, no monster, will ever dim your light again.

A/N: Here's your daily does of emotional whirlwind —writing Simon’s frantic desperation was both exhilarating and painful. The tension, urgency, and heartbreak culminate in the ICU, where hope begins to bloom amid the wreckage. Simon’s love and determination shine as a reminder that even in the darkest of nights, there’s always a glimmer of light. 🌌💔

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 Part 10

Part 8 - The Longest Night

A few more days bleed into restless nights, the heavy silence of the Manchester sky pressing down on Simon like a weight he couldn’t shake. Time moves like molasses, each second dragging him deeper into the dread of not knowing how you were, or if you were even still safe. But that night, everything changes in an instant. His troubled sleep is torn apart by the shrill ring of the phone, cutting through the air like a blade. His eyes snap open, and before he can even comprehend the sound, his hand is already reaching for the receiver. 

The voice on the other end, fragile and trembling with fear, nearly paralyzes him. "Simon?" 

It's you. And in that one word, in the sheer terror that laces it, Simon’s world tilts, and all the anger and hurt he’s kept buried for so long rises to the surface, hot and violent. 

"What's wrong, love?" His voice is rough, half-awake, but the panic is unmistakable. He struggles to ground himself, to make sense of what he’s hearing. "What happened? What did he do?"

Your voice breaks as you speak, barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to rattle him to his core. "He’s going to kill me this time, I know it."

Simon’s blood runs cold. Every nerve in his body goes taut, and his heart pounds in his chest as the words hang in the air between you both. The rawness of your fear is something he’s never encountered before, and it pierces through him like a dagger. He can hear the crashing of objects in the background, the sounds of a struggle. Then, Tom’s voice—mocking, casual, as if your life is some game to him. 

“Sorry, but they’re a little busy at the moment,” Tom sneers, his words dripping with malice. 

Then, the line goes dead.

The silence that follows is deafening, a hollow emptiness that fills Simon’s chest with a freezing panic. His throat tightens, his stomach churns. In that moment, it’s as if time itself stands still, and Simon’s worst fear becomes a brutal reality. You’re in the hands of a monster. His mind races, each thought sharp, desperate, as the fear of losing you claws its way through him.

His fingers tremble as they dial the police, his voice a mixture of urgency and barely-contained rage as he relays the details. He pleads with them to hurry, to get to your house—now. But the suffocating weight of the night drags everything down, the darkness amplifying the terror of the unknown. There’s nothing he can do until they arrive, but he can’t sit idle. Not when your life is on the line. Not when every instinct in his body screams that he needs to act.

Without hesitation, he slams the phone down and rushes toward the truck. The engine roars to life beneath him, the sound a furious symphony against the quiet of the night. He slams his foot down on the pedal, sending the truck screeching forward. His hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white, but he doesn’t feel the pain. All he can think of is getting to you, getting to you now.

The road ahead is a blur, the lights from streetlamps slicing through the night like stabs of light in a sea of dark. His mind races with memories of you—your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you smiled, the warmth of your hand in his. Every moment he’s spent with you flashes before his eyes like a reel of precious memories, and for a split second, he lets that tiny flicker of hope ignite inside him. Maybe, just maybe, he can make it in time. 

But as the miles stretch on, that hope feels like it’s slipping through his fingers. The darkened streets pass in a haze, each second a heartbeat that echoes louder and louder in his ears. His foot presses harder on the gas pedal, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He’s already pushing the truck to its limits, but it doesn’t feel fast enough. There’s no time for caution now. Only the desperate need to reach you.

When Simon finally arrives at your house, the scene is chaotic. Police cars line the street, their flashing lights a disorienting mix of red and blue that slices through the night. Officers swarm around, their voices rising and falling in a cacophony of urgent conversations, punctuated by the crackling radio transmissions and the sharp clack of boots on asphalt. The air smells of tension and fear. Simon’s stomach twists, each step he takes toward the house heavier than the last, his body moving on autopilot as his mind tries to process what could have just happened. He pushes through the crowd of officers, each one a physical barrier, until a voice rises above the rest.

“With those injuries, it’s a miracle they still had any blood left in their body.”

Simon’s breath hitches in his throat. A cold, brutal wave of dread crashes over him, freezing him in place. The words echo in his mind, each one a jagged shard that digs deeper and deeper into his chest. He can’t think, can’t breathe—his body is moving on instinct now, his legs carrying him faster as he fights through the crowd, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“Where are they? What happened?” he demands, his voice hoarse and desperate, barely recognizing the rawness in it.

The officer he approaches looks at him, and for the first time, Simon sees the weight of the world in someone else's eyes. The fatigue is etched into the lines of the officer’s face—someone who’s seen too much, someone who’s witnessed the worst of what humanity can do. He opens his mouth to answer, but his words land with the kind of heaviness Simon wasn’t prepared for.

“Looks like it was a bad scene. The victim’s been taken to the local hospital. They’ll do everything they can.”

The officer’s words are a blur, but Simon barely hears them. His mind is already miles ahead, racing toward the one place where he might find you—the hospital. Without another word, Simon turns, his breath ragged, his heart beating in overdrive as he sprints back to his truck. Every muscle in his body is screaming at him to move faster, but the agonizing truth sits like a weight on his chest: he’s already too late to prevent whatever horrors have already been inflicted.

The engine of the truck roars to life beneath him, and Simon doesn’t hesitate, his foot pressing firmly against the gas pedal. The truck surges forward, the tires squealing against the pavement as he drives faster than he ever has, weaving through the streets with the sole thought of getting to you.

When he pulls up to the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic and bleach hits him like a slap. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too harsh against the darkness of the night that still clings to him. His hands shake as he pushes the door open, the noise too loud, too intrusive. He feels disconnected from everything, as though he’s walking through a dream—a nightmare he can’t escape. He’s gripped by the overwhelming pull of anxiety, guilt, and helplessness, and his heart is a wild, uncontrollable drumbeat in his chest.

A nurse sees him and gestures for him to follow. Her professionalism is almost a cruel contrast to the mess of emotions churning inside him, but he clings to it, letting it guide him through the sterile corridors. She leads him to the ICU, where the air is thick with sorrow. And then, there you are.

You lie in the bed, a quiet warrior in a battlefield of bandages. Simon’s stomach twists violently, and for a moment, he can’t breathe. His knees feel weak as he steps closer, the sight of you a punch to the gut. Your skin is marred with bruises and cuts, black and blue hues staining you like a map of countless battles fought in silence. He sees the way your body is wrapped in white gauze, each bandage a whisper of the suffering you’ve endured, each stitch a testament to the hell you’ve lived through. The enormity of it presses down on him, each breath he takes a struggle as if the air itself has been robbed of its warmth.

"Will… will they be okay?" he finally manages, his voice barely a whisper, trembling with the raw emotion he’s been holding back.

The nurse’s face softens, but her answer is cautious, laced with the knowledge of what recovery truly means. "They’re stable for now, but it’s going to be a long road. It’s going to take time."

Simon nods, his heart cracking a little more, the weight of her words settling deep inside him. Time. He wants to scream, to demand that it hurry, but he doesn’t. He just watches, helpless, as you lie there—your life hanging in the balance, the toll of your suffering written across your face.

He pulls a chair up to your bedside, his hands trembling as he reaches out to grasp yours. His fingers wrap around yours gently, but it feels like you’re a thousand miles away. Your hand is cold, too cold, lifeless in his. His throat tightens as tears threaten to spill, but he holds them back. He promised you he would protect you, and here he is—unable to protect you from the man who’s broken you.

“Stay with me, love,” Simon murmurs, his voice cracking with emotion, a raw promise slipping from his lips. “I promise I’ll take care of you. Every day after this, every moment.”

He watches the faint rise and fall of your chest, the steady rhythm of your breathing a bittersweet comfort. The night drifts on, time stretching endlessly as he sits by your side, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts—thoughts of you, thoughts of Tom, thoughts of the life you should have had. He remembers the cruelty he faced at the hands of his own father, how those scars shaped him into the man he is today—a protector. And now, watching you fight for your life, he realizes that he is fighting, too. Fighting for you in every way he can.

He thinks of his mother, who used to say, when the nights turned cold and the shadows loomed too large, "Love’s light will always pierce the darkest nights."

And Simon clings to that light. He knows it’s what will guide him through the darkest moments ahead, and it starts right here—staying, waiting, and hoping.

Until the moment you wake, he’ll be here. Fighting for you, for your healing, for the chance to give you everything you deserve.

Tag List:

@jessicab1991

@hotaruteba

@daydreamerwoah

@angelic-thingys

@alessias-art

@lilynotdilly

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

[aemondsbabe]

Love is Patient and Kind

summary: hand holding & dry humping || you aren't ready to take the next step with your monk, luckily for you he has the patience of a saint

pairing: osferth x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dry humping, very fluffy, osferth being cute and understanding and ruining other men for everyone, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to day one of 12 days of smuff!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as part 1 to Wind’s Howling or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist

gif creds to @thecruel!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Are you sure you do not wish for me to carry that, my lady?” Osferth asks for the millionth time, nodding his head at the basket, laden with various herbs and medicinal plants, in the crook of your elbow. 

For the millionth time, you merely shake your head with a crooked smile. “I wish only for your company, monk,” you glance over at him as the two of you walk through the forest, admiring the way the early afternoon sun casts a golden halo through his hair, “I told you as much when we left camp this morning.”

Osferth merely nods in reply; your man is one of few words. A soft blush blooms across your cheeks at the thought – your man, but it was as good as true. Osferth was the first man in Uhtred’s company you felt comfortable with when you joined their cause all those months ago when they’d stopped in your small hamlet in need of a healer; you’d been by their side ever since.

In the months since, your relationship with the monk had steadily grown from hushed whispers around the campfire in the dead of night, when sleep eluded the both of you, to heated glances, delicate touches, and stolen kisses. More recently, Osferth had all but insisted on accompanying you nearly everywhere you went, which is how he’d come to follow you as you walked through the forest to gather the variety of curative plants you need.

A content sigh passes your lips as you tilt your head up, taking in the way the tips of the trees stretch up toward the blue sky. “I had almost forgotten what the sun looked like,” you joke, your heart squeezing proudly in your chest as the monk chuckles next to you, “But hopefully this summer will be dryer than the last.”

“I have prayed many times for sun,” Osferth says with a nod, blue eyes soft as he gazes at you, “Unfortunately, the Lord seems to ignore those requests.” The corner of his lips tilts up as he huffs a laugh at his own joke. 

Suddenly, a branch snaps loudly not too far off the winding path the two of you have been strolling down. Osferth acts quickly, ever vigilant, and takes your hand to usher you behind him as he draws his sword. Your breath quickens as you peek around his shoulder, pressing yourself tightly against his back as your hand grips his; you’d been assured by Uhtred’s scouts that the forest surrounding camp was perfectly safe, but in these times danger seemed to creep up from every corner. 

A buck appears a little ways down the path, followed by two more deer, each sparing you and the monk only a quick glance before scampering into the forest once more. The two of you let out a collective sigh of relief as Osferth sheaths his sword with a shy smile. 

“Perhaps now would be a good time for a break, my lady?” He suggests with a soft smile, “We’ve been walking since morning.”

“I think we’ve earned a break,” you nod, gazing up at him through your lashes, the two of you still close enough that you could make out soft flecks of green in his blue eyes, “I believe I saw a clearing a few paces back.” 

“Lead the way.” Osferth nods, keeping in pace with you as you backtrack to where you’d spotted a lush clearing through the trees only moments ago. As you walk, nearly shoulder to shoulder, the monk silently takes your hand again, his rough fingers threading together with yours. Neither of you speaks, though you can nearly feel his pleased smile from your periphery, twin to your own. 

After only a few moments, you veer off the path as the two of you step into a sizable glade, the trees giving way to a field of tall grass. Your hands stay clasped as you walk together, basket still tucked in your elbow as you lift the skirts of your linen gown to prevent it from snagging on the high blades of grass; your chest tightens once more when you glance down and notice how Osferth takes great care to step over any flowers in his path, the ones that sprinkle the meadow with pops of yellow and lilac. 

Soon, you come to a spot where the ground seems to be drier, however the monk grasps your forearm to stop you as he slips the thin, grey wool cloak off his shoulders and drapes it over the ground.

“Osferth,” you gently admonish, though a smile does creep across your lips at the sweet gesture, “I am perfectly capable of sitting on the ground.”

“A lady should not have to,” he says simply, nodding to the cloak, “Please.”

With a final glance, and a good-natured roll of your eyes, you comply, setting your basket down before relaxing atop his robe. After making sure you’re settled, the monk joins you, setting his sword to the side as he sits and leans back on his hands, scanning the treeline. 

“It’s so lovely here…” you smile as you glance around, a soft breeze causing the grass to rustle around you.

Osferth sits up beside you, a relaxed smile on his lips as he takes your hand and pulls you closer to him. “I find the company to be far lovelier,” he whispers before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, never taking more than you seem keen to give. The two of you easily fall into a lazy rhythm, your lips moving together as he guides you to lie against his chest. You lay your hand against his chest, right over his heart, thankful that he’s forgone his usual leather armor and chainmail today as you feel his warmth through the soft tunic he wears. 

He sighs against your lips, his fingers gently weaving into the locks of hair at the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and making you cling to him all the more tightly, his other hand wrapping around your waist before settling in the small of your back, holding you to him. 

After a few moments, the two of you part to catch your breath and he studies you with a warm gaze as you relax against his chest. “We are meant to be stopping in a town tonight.” Osferth says simply. 

“That we are.” 

“We could get a room together,” he breathes, making you gasp as he trails kisses across your jaw, “Just the two of us.” 

Immediately, you tense up and untangle yourself from him, sitting up with a sigh. He quickly sits up next to you and you can feel him eyeing you with concern, though you dare not meet his gaze. 

“My lady, I didn't mean to offend you…” He says hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“You didn’t offend me, sweet monk,” you turn to him with a bashful smile, “I am simply…I don’t know if i’m ready.” 

“Ready for what?” His head tilts to the side as he eyes you curiously. 

You chuckle nervously, unsure of how to broach the topic. “Osferth, I have heard enough tales of your…prowess around the campfire to know that my skills do not match your own.” 

The crease between his brows only deepens as he continues staring at you, blue eyes flitting between your own. “My prowess?” 

“With more…intimate relations…” You say slowly, glancing away from him. 

“Oh,” he says softly before his eyes widen comically, a dark blush cascading over his fair cheeks, “Oh!”

You can’t help but laugh softly at his dumbstruck expression, your lips quirking up into a soft smile despite your nerves. 

The hand on your shoulder tightens as he leans closer to you. “My love, you need not fret over it,” he whispers, blue eyes conveying a deep seriousness, “We can get a room at the tavern and not do anything at all.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion – you’ve always been told to expect a very different answer from men. “What?”

He huffs out a soft laugh and pulls you back down to lie on the grass with him once more. “I mean what I say,” he says softly, one hand stroking your hair, “We can get a room and just kiss or cuddle or merely talk, I don’t care.” You look up from where you’ve had your cheek laying against his chest, the emotion in his eyes shocking you for a second, “I just want to be with you.” He whispers finally.

You can feel yourself blushing as he speaks, the apples of your cheeks heating up deliciously under his kind gaze. A girlish giggle erupts from your lips before you can stop it, which only makes him laugh too as you bury your head against his chest and bite your lip, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and campfire smoke. 

After a moment, the two of you calm down and you finally look back up at him, “Kissing sounds good…” you nearly whisper, suddenly shy as he surveys your face.

Osferth merely chuckles, low in his throat, and rolls the two of you over. Normally, this is when you’d be pushing any other man off of you with some mumbled excuse, but you can’t help but feel safe with the sandy haired monk, taking him at his word that whatever you were willing to give would be enough.

“We have time, and plenty of herbs already,” he rasps, his voice thick with an arousal you’d only heard on a very scant few occasions when the two of you had shared frantic kisses in the night once the rest of the men were asleep, “Why wait until tonight?”

A small giggle escapes you once again as the blush on your cheeks extends down, almost all the way to your chest, but you nod nonetheless, your arms coming up to snake around his neck as you pull him down to you. A small whimpery breath escapes you when his lips touch yours yet again, and he responds in kind with a low groan, the sound rumbling from his chest. His lips are soft against your own as the two of you move leisurely; once again, he lets you set the pace, only licking at your bottom lip after you do the same to him first. 

Your thighs spread as your kiss deepens and you moan again when he slots himself between your thighs, the linen of your dress hiked up just above your knees. A shiver rolls through you at the feel of him on top of you, so warm and weighty.

“Is this alright?” He breathes, navy eyes blinking between each of yours as he checks for any signs of discomfort from you, visibly relaxing when he finds none.

Wordlessly, you nod, bobbing your head eagerly as you pull him back down. His hands roam carefully over your body as your lips and tongues move together, breathlessly licking into each other's mouths. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hardness pressing against your center, a pleased hum emanating from your chest at the realization that you’ve affected him this much with only a kiss; the pride in your heart twists into something different, something deeper as a knot forms and begins tightening in your belly.

“My lady –” Osferth mumbles as he starts to pull away from you, an apologetic smile on his handsome face.

“Don’t!” You say quickly, tugging him back to you and surprising even yourself as you wrap your legs around his trim waist, “Please, I – It’s good.” You confirm breathlessly, eyebrows quirked up with need as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yeah?” He asks, unable to wipe the pleased grin off his face as he settles back on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight off of you as he presses against your center again.

You nod, already threading your fingers into the short hair at the back of his head to draw his lips back to yours. A breathy, high-pitched moan leaves you at the feel of his clothed length pressing against you, the ties at the front of his breeches only adding to the pleasurable sensations that zap through you as he starts rolling his hips against your own.

His pace quickens as he breaks away from you, panting against your skin as he traces wet kisses down your jaw to your neck. Your head lolls to the side as you whimper and whine underneath him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel his hard cock twitch against you, even through the fabric of your smallclothes.

You’re quick to match his pace, using the leverage of your legs wrapped around his middle to ruck yourself up into each thrust, earning grunts of pleasure from the monk. 

“My lady,” he groans, one hand fisting into your hair as the other trails down to run appreciatively over the bare skin of your thigh, “Y-You are bewitching.” He gasps, mouthing at your neck, his cock no doubt leaking into the leather of his trousers. 

Your only reply is a choked out moan of his name as your back arches underneath him, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter as the ties of his breeches rub over your pearl deliciously, your smallclothes no doubt soaked. 

Blessedly, Osferth seems to understand the desperation in your voice and movements and pulls back to look at you, both of his hands quickly grasping yours, fingers threading together as he holds them to the earth beside your head.

 “Sweet girl,” he grunts as he gazes down at you, a rosy blush cascading beautifully over his high cheekbones, “P-Peak, my lady, please,” he pants as his fingers tighten against your own, “I’m, God be good, I’m right behind you.”

You nod frantically, your only sound a choked out sob as you tense underneath him when his hips rut perfectly against yours, the knots of his pants catching against your sensitive bud in just the right way to tip you over the edge. You twitch underneath him, white knuckling his hands when you feel your center clenching helplessly around nothing as pleasure buzzes through you. 

Osferth reaches his end mere seconds after you, humping against you two or three more times before tensing, his eyes squeezing shut as his own high washes over him, cock spasming in his breeches as his spend leaks into the waiting fabric. 

“You’re beautiful,” you declare softly, the words tumbling from your lips as soon as you think of them.

The monk blushes somehow more heavily above you, though a soft smile graces his lips. With a soft sigh, he falls to his side, bringing you with him. Your cheek once again finds its home against his chest and you smile at the sound of his heart thumping wildly as he pulls you closely to him, one arm wrapping protectively around you as he tucks the other under his head, letting his eyes flutter shut.

“You flatter me, my lady,” he says lowly, a pleased rasp to his voice. “You are truly an angel,” he continues after a moment, “A beautiful, precious angel.”

You smile contentedly, his heart thudding steadily in your ear as you let your eyes drift shut, happy to stay in this still, safe bubble with your monk for as long as the outside world will allow.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[strayrockette]

My Sunshine Girl: She Sees Red

Summary: After a chaotic bar fight, Benny guides you home, tending to your wounds and offering reassurance with his steadfast care and comforting presence.

Warnings: violence, blood, jealous and angry reader, Benny Cross and grammar mistakes

A/N: This one is a long one, I thought about splitting it but then the format starts to feel clunky so here yah go! Enjoy ❤️ Please comment your thoughts or for a tag, like and reblog❤️😌

Masterlist

My Sunshine Girl Series: The Celebration, The End of the Night, Family Dinner

Inspiration: He’s Mine by The Platters

Benny’s hands guided yours over the cue stick, his long fingers leaving traces of heat on your skin. “Just aim at the white ball, but don’t hit it too hard or you’ll send the others flying off the table,” he instructed softly, his voice a soothing murmur against the clamor of the bar. The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt, mingling with the adrenaline surging through you. His proximity was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and solid strength that made your pulse quicken in ways you tried hard to ignore.

You leaned over the pool table, his body pressed intimately into your side. Every slight movement of his chest against your own sent a shiver down your spine. Benny was absorbed in the game, his focus locked onto the table, seemingly oblivious to the effect he had on you. You found yourself mesmerized by the way his biceps flexed with every shot he took. The simple act of him guiding you, the closeness of his body, and the gentle caress of his fingers on yours filled you with a confusing mix of desire and nervous excitement. It was as if each small touch of his hand was a spark, lighting up every nerve in your body.

You stepped away from him, adjusting the cue stick with a nervous tremble. The weight of the game pressed heavily on you. Wahoo and Corky leaned against a nearby table, their casual banter punctuated by Wahoo’s impatience. “Come on, Sunshine, you’re giving me blue balls with this game,” he teased, his tone light but edged with frustration.

Benny ignored their chattering, casting you an encouraging smile that felt like a warm embrace. “You got this, baby.”

The heat rose to your cheeks, a blush blooming under the intensity of his gaze. You shook your head, trying to hold back a smile. “You put money on this game, handsome.”

You hadn’t anticipated Benny pulling you into a pool game. You’d tried to hand the cue stick back, but he was insistent, eager to teach you. His shrug was nonchalant, his confidence unwavering. “I’ll win it back next round. Don’t worry about it.”

As you glanced at the table, you saw the game was nearing its end. Benny had a shot at the 8 ball, while Wahoo had just one red solid ball left. If you missed your shot, you’d give Wahoo the chance to turn the game in his favor. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on your shoulders. The thought of losing for Benny filled you with dread, an almost physical ache of sympathy for his potential loss. “But… it’s your money,” you protested, looking up at him with serious eyes and a worried pout.

Benny chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. “Exactly, it’s my money. I’ll take care of it.” He gently turned you back toward the pool table, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His hands, warm and guiding, made your thoughts scatter, and you struggled to focus on the game.

He stepped away, giving you space, and moved to the longer side of the table. “If you hit the white ball at a slight right angle, you’ll make it.”

The cue stick felt unfamiliar in your hands, and the act of bending over the table was awkward. You were grateful that Benny had positioned you where no one was standing behind you. His eyes darted between the table and the surroundings, vigilant for any unwanted attention. Wahoo and Corky, though they might have made jokes, were respectful enough not to make lewd comments.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves. As you lined up the shot, you closed your eyes briefly, trying to block out the noise and focus solely on the feel of the cue stick. You could almost sense Benny's presence behind you, his confidence a comforting anchor amidst the mounting pressure. You struck the cue ball with a firm yet careful push, feeling the vibrations travel up the stick and into your hands. The thud of the ball hitting the others seemed to echo in your chest.

Benny’s smile was radiant, and it was reserved for just you. “I told you; I knew you could do it.”

You blinked, your eyes widening as you looked at the table. With a squeal of triumph, you released the cue stick, its thin body hitting the floor with a soft thud. You leapt into Benny’s arms, relief flooding through you. “I’m so glad I didn’t lose that for you,” you exclaimed.

His arms wrapped around you, his deep chuckle resonating through his chest. “You wouldn’t have lost the game. Wahoo would have fumbled. He always does.”

You laughed, pulling away slightly, your hands resting on his chest. Benny’s hands lingered, keeping you close. “That was fun, but never make me responsible for winning again. It’s too stressful.”

You toyed with the fabric of his shirt, feeling the intensity of his gaze. He hummed softly, his voice low and intimate. “Win or lose, I’m all in. It doesn’t matter to me.”

You caught the hidden meaning in his words. His eyes, often so playful, were now serious and full of emotion. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “Well then,” you said with a playful smirk, “I guess I should just lose all your games then.”

Benny’s eyes traveled over your face; his gaze clouded with a deep, intense emotion. His voice, deep as honey, pulled you closer. “I’ll just collect a losers fee”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, kissing you softly. The kiss was sweet, tender—much like the way he held you at night. He tugged gently on your bottom lip, his touch making you shiver as you pulled him closer, fingers threading into his hair.

“Ay, get a room before Benny boy decides to bash some heads in for looking at ya, Sunny!” Corky’s voice cut through the moment. He held three beers, while Wahoo, who was laughing, clapped Corky on the back.

“Yeah, we don’t need a repeat of the other night,” Wahoo added, once he caught his breath.

You pulled away from Benny abruptly, missing the warmth and closeness of his embrace. Benny shot a glare at the two, but he knew they were right. He was protective of you, and some of the men didn’t understand the chaos they’d invite by making inappropriate comments.

He watched you walk away, your dark jeans tight around your hips and thighs. Your pale pink shirt clinging to your waist and chest.

He remembered the short skirt you had worn when he first saw you, and the cute dresses you wore on nights out. He knew you’d been opting for less revealing attire recently. and he thinks about taking you out somewhere nice where you can where your cute dresses and skirts. The thought sends shivers through his body. A fire raging in his belly.

Wahoo snapped his fingers in front of Benny’s face, pulling him from his rising want and need for you.

Wahoo unbothered and unaware of Benny’s struggle asked a question. “We betting on a new game or what?”

Benny’s eyes refocused on you, your head bent close to one of your girls. He recognized her as Kathy, and saw you animatedly recounting a story, hands moving dramatically. You looked happy, and safe, and Benny decided he could leave you for a while. He placed his bet on the next game, intending to win enough money for a special gift for you.

“GET OUT?!” Kathy’s voice rose, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you really say that to Didi?” You nodded; excitement was evident on your face. “And then I led him to a table and gave him a menu.”

Kathy smirked. “So what? You fell in love at first sight?”

You shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in your smile. “I guess? I knew my life would change after meeting him, but I don’t know if I can say I love him.”

Kathy gave you a side-eye. “The way you were kissing by the pool table tells me otherwise.”

You gasped, stammering. “Th-that’s just a kiss! I wasn’t declaring my undying love.”

Kathy pursed her lips, her gaze intense. “So, you gonna let another man touch you?”

You recoiled at the thought. “Ew, no.”

She nodded, satisfied. “You’re in deep, Sunny.”

You laughed; a bit self-conscious. “I guess I am, pumpkin.”

Kathy burst into laughter, slapping your thigh playfully. The conversation shifted as she told you about Cal’s persistent visits to her house. Her ex had gotten too rough, and Cal had helped her throw him out. Relief washed over you that Kathy had managed to escape that situation.

The topic of Cal’s pursuit turned into a giggle-fest as Kathy explained his unwavering interest. “I think he likes the chase. Who knows, maybe I’ll give in.”

You poked her ribs, advising her not to make him suffer too long. The way Cal looked at her was almost too much to bear; his puppy-dog eyes were heartbreaking.

At some point, you returned to the pool table, Kathy having slipped away to see if Cal would take her home. Benny had removed his jacket and handed it to you, which you draped over your shoulders with ease, enjoying the extra coverage it provided.

You leaned against a wall, watching Benny’s intense focus as he played yet another betting game. He was on a winning streak, the tension of each game palpable. As he won this one too, he pocketed the money and stashed it into his back pocket.

He approached you, towering over you as he leaned down to peck your lips. He informed you he was stepping outside for a smoke. As his fingers delved into his jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarettes and lighter, you grabbed his arm, pulling him closer. “Another one, please?”

Benny’s blue eyes locked onto yours, a storm of intensity brewing within them. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead instead of your lips, before turning away. His touch lingered in your mind, leaving you with a sense of warmth and longing as he walked away.

You shook off the lingering thoughts, letting out a sigh as you decided a quick bathroom break was necessary before tracking him down for a real kiss, you nearly let out a giggle at the thought but stifled it as you made your way to the women’s bathroom.

Stepping out of the stall, you felt a rush of relief as you made your way to the sink. The bathroom, dimly lit and compact, offered a brief escape from the bar’s cacophony. Carefully, you removed Benny’s oversized jacket, its warmth still lingering from where you’d been wearing it. You hung it on the hook by the sinks, adjusting it so it draped neatly.

As you turned on the faucet and began washing your hands, the bathroom door swung open with a loud creak, and three women barged in. Their laughter and chatter immediately filled the small space, their presence abruptly shifting the mood.

“I told you; he was a looker!” the first one exclaimed, her voice carrying an edge of jealousy as she brushed past you to the mirror. A brief glance at them through the mirror and your heart sunk. You remembered seeing them eye you from a corner of the bar they had secluded for their group.

“And that kiss!” the second added, her tone dripping with mockery. “Did you see how he couldn’t keep his hands off her?”

You tried to ignore their comments, knowing that they were talking about you and Benny. You focused on your reflection in the mirror as you washed your hands. You hoped if you stayed silent they would back off. But the women seemed to take your silence as an invitation to escalate their comments.

The third woman, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, her gaze fixed with sharp appraisal on Benny’s jacket hanging on the hook. “Oh, look who it is. The girl who’s got Benny all wrapped around her finger.”

You rolled your eyes, As if their body language and mocking tone wasn’t enough to let me know it’s me they’re talking about.

The first woman, not deterred by your lack of response, leaned in closer, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “I guess Benny’s got a real thing for you, huh? Must be nice to have him wrapped around your little finger.”

You remained silent, forcing yourself to stay calm. Their tone and invasive presence were beginning to grate on your nerves.

The second woman stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Benny’s jacket draped over the hook. “Yeah, it’s so cute how you think you’re special just because he gave you, his jacket. Real big shot, aren’t you?”

You let out a slow, measured breath, trying to keep your composure. “Does it matter what I think?.”

You don’t want to entertain their mocking and taunting. Tonight was meant to be a nice relief from working a double shift at the diner.

The third woman scoffed, clearly not satisfied with your response. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so stuck-up. We’re just curious. How does it feel to be the center of attention all the time? Benny must really like you.”

You glanced at them through the mirror, your patience wearing thin. You turn the faucet off and flick your hands into the sink, “I’m not looking for attention. I’m just trying to enjoy my night.”

Before you could reach for a napkin to dry your hands, the first woman reached for the jacket, grabbing it with a possessive grip. “Well, if you’re not interested in talking, maybe we’ll just take this as a little souvenir.”

Your heart dropped as you stepped forward, pulling the jacket back. “Let go”

The second woman laughed mockingly; her eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, is little miss perfect going to have a tantrum now?”

Ignoring their taunts, you tightened your grip on the jacket, trying to hold your ground. “Seriously, just leave me alone.”

But they weren’t finished. The third woman, who had been quieter but no less antagonistic, added with a smirk, “What’s the matter? Afraid we’ll mess up your perfect little night?”

As you struggled to maintain your calm, the first woman yanked on the jacket with a sudden force. You stumbled, unable to hold on as she managed to snatch it from your grasp. She slipped it on with a triumphant grin, the oversized jacket swallowing her smaller frame. Your breath hitched, a heavy feeling rising in your chest.

The sight of her parading around in Benny’s jacket, with a smirk of victory on her face, filled you with an intense pang of jealousy. It was as if the jacket, a symbol of Benny’s affection, was being flaunted in front of you, mocking your connection. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and the rush of emotion left you feeling lightheaded.

“Hey!” you snapped, unable to keep your frustration in check. “Give that back!”

The first woman tossed her head back in a laugh, her tone dripping with contempt. “Oh, what’s the matter? Can’t handle a little competition?”

The second woman stepped closer, her gaze sharp and challenging. “Yeah, maybe you should have thought about sharing some of that attention if you didn’t want us to take it.”

You felt cornered, the oppressive weight of their taunts and the loss of Benny’s jacket making it hard to think clearly. The third woman’s smirk widened as she watched the scene unfold. “Let’s see how long you can hold onto that ‘special’ feeling now.”

The first woman adjusted the jacket with exaggerated movements, clearly relishing the impact of her actions. You could feel the jealousy burning in your chest, an almost physical ache as the unfairness of the situation hit home. Your voice trembled as you tried to regain your composure. “This isn’t funny. Just give it back.”

The women exchanged glances, clearly enjoying your distress. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the scene before you were taking its toll. The heavy feeling in your chest made it hard to think of anything else but retrieving what felt like a piece of your own happiness.

One of the women, a sneer on her lips, leaned in closer and poked your chest with a condescending finger. “Oh, what’s wrong? Did you think you’d get to keep Benny’s jacket forever? How cute.” Her tone dripped with mockery, adding to the sting of your frustration.

Before you could respond, the second woman shoved you roughly, causing you to stumble back and collide with the sink. The cold, hard surface pressed into your back, jarring and unpleasant. You winced, trying to regain your balance as the women continued their cruel game, she shoves you again, this time you slip against the tile floor. Barely managing to grip the sink, you catch yourself from a nasty fall. 

"She's turnin' red," one exclaims with a mocking grin. She pokes your shoulder insistently, "What? you gonna break now, Sunshine." 

Your nickname rolls off her tongue like a curse. Her finger presses into your shoulder with force. 

The one wearing Benny's jacket is caressing the patches with a smirk, "Maybe, I'll ask him to get me my own jacket. With his name on it."

Her comment sends you over the edge, the consistent violation of your personal space was just a bonus. You don't remember much of what happened. Your body moves on autopilot, shoving the second woman who was so insistent on violating your personal space. She stumbles back with a shocked cry. The other two have seconds to process what happens before you're lunging at the first woman, she isn't prepared for the onslaught of your frenzied fist to meet her face. Her friends try to rip you off, but it only motivates you to keep going.  Somehow your fight spills out of the bathroom and into the bar. It takes a minute for everyone to process what is happening. 

One of the women is screaming for help. Another is screaming that you bit her. But the first one, the one wearing your jacket, flaunting and taunting you is trying to get away from you. But you are relentless.

Benny gave you the jacket. He trusts you with his jacket, he invited you and made you a part of his small world. No one would take that from you, and you wouldn't stand for anyone thinking they could replace you or take him away from you. 

Benny is leaning up against the brick wall outside the bar, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stuffy, noisy interior. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up into the darkness as he enjoyed a rare moment of peace. The clamor of the bar was a distant hum, barely noticeable from his spot by the alley.

The warmth from the cigarette provided a brief solace as Benny savored the few minutes of solitude. He was lost in thought, reflecting on the night’s games and the wins he’d managed to rack up. The bar had been lively, the atmosphere charged with a mix of competitiveness and camaraderie. Benny was on a high, but that tranquility was abruptly shattered.

A voice called out from the bar’s entrance, breaking through his thoughts. “Hey, Benny! Your girl’s in trouble!”

Benny’s head snapped up, the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. “What?” he barked, his heart skipping a beat. The urgency in the other man’s voice made his pulse quicken. He tossed the cigarette to the ground, his eyes narrowing with concern.

"She's fighten' three women, it's gettin intense" the guy continued, his face etched with worry, "She's bleed-"

Benny doesn't wait for him to finish his sentence. He hadn't expected the night to turn out this way. He had given you the jacket as a passing thought. A hidden layer of a claim. His claim. No one with a brain should have even considered getting into it with you. 

He's pushing through the crowd; people are trying to leave some muttering about the crazy societal oddballs. Some are excited to see the bloodbath of women fighting. He locks eyes with Johnny, he waves him through, barking at everyone to back up and demanding that people exit the bar. 

Two women are gripping your hair and locking their limbs around you. You twist in their grip, your nails and teeth reaching for available skin. Your nose is bleeding and there's a visible bruise on your cheek. The fight gets intense with each passing second. No one knows how to stop it, fear of getting caught in the crosswind of flying fists and snappy teeth. 

One of the women steps away and is preparing to grab a beer bottle to smash over your head but with a chorus of "No's" some women from the bar are throwing themselves into the mix. Things only get messier and uglier as the three women's other friends step in to help. Benny isn't sure what's worse, a bunch of drunk blacked out men fighting, or a bunch of catty drunk and sober women with no qualms of using everything as a weapon. 

Benny shrugs his shoulders and tracks your figure through the mass of women fighting. Once he sees an opening, he rushes in trying to avoid shoving and hurting other women. He's reached your side, you're relentlessly hitting one woman, the same one you keep goin' back to whenever you escape someone's grasp. He's pulled you off her with a swift grip. You thrash in his arms. Elbowing him and head-butting him in the process but he refuses to let go. He's pulling you away from the fight, dodging falling bodies and high-pitched yells. 

He sets himself down at the back of the bar, near the pool tables, and roughly shoves you onto one of them. He stands directly in front of you, blocking your view of your target. Your hair is a tangled mess, your breath comes in ragged bursts, and a nasty sneer twists your face. Your eyes are wide and unfocused, and you’re swatting at him in a futile attempt to break free. He’s pinned your legs between his body and his hands grip your arms, keeping them from hitting him.

You hiss, “Let go of me.”

His voice is deep and firm, offering no room for negotiation. “No.”

You huff and relax into his hold, seething with frustration. You still haven’t gotten his jacket back, and it bothers you. Without it draped over your shoulders, you feel exposed and incomplete.

In the chaos of the club, his calm presence is oddly soothing. Johnny is shouting for everyone to leave and take their women with them. You close your eyes as Benny gently cradles your face in his hands. He tells you to take deep breaths and reassures you that he’s here and not going anywhere.

Gradually, your heartbeat slows and the adrenaline fades. After a few deep breaths, embarrassment washes over you. Your head drops, thudding softly against his chest.

You’re reluctant to face the aftermath of your reckless behavior. Your uncle will hear about the fight; he has connections at the precinct. You groan, annoyed by yet another thing he’ll use to needle you.

The sounds of the scuffle die down. Women are being dragged out of the bar, the ruckus finally subsiding.

“You calm now?” Benny’s hands smooth over your hair as he holds you against his chest. His gaze shifts to the bar, watching as women are escorted out. He notices one still holding onto his jacket, with only one shoulder slipped out of the sleeve.

He gives Betty, who stands nearby with a concerned look, a nod. She spots the jacket and, after a brief, understanding glance at Benny, moves forward to retrieve it for you.

You hum in response, your frustration clear. “I wanna go home,” you murmur.

A teasing smile plays on Benny’s lips as he lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “Too much excitement?”

His blue eyes hold a mixture of teasing and concern. Despite the ongoing chaos around you, he’s focused on grounding you in the present with his attention. You puff your cheeks and nod, giving him a slightly contrite, yet endearing look.

Benny’s gaze softens. He watches as Betty returns with the jacket and places it beside you before slipping away quietly. Benny picks up the jacket and drapes it over your shoulders with a gentle, comforting gesture.

Just then, Johnny pushes through the remaining crowd, his expression grim. He strides over to Benny and leans in close, speaking in a low, urgent tone. “The cops have been called. You need to get her out of here before they show up.”

Benny’s face tightens into a determined frown. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring.

He leads you through the thinning crowd and out of the club, moving quickly but carefully towards his bike. The cool night air greets you as you step outside, offering a refreshing contrast to the club’s stifling atmosphere.

Benny walks you over to his motorcycle, parked a short distance away. He adjusts the jacket around you for warmth before settling into place. He climbs onto the bike first and then extends a strong hand to help you up. “Come on,” he says, his voice firm but gentle.

You take his hand, feeling the steady grip as he helps you onto the bike behind him. With a reassuring nod, he starts the engine. The low rumble vibrates through you, creating a soothing backdrop against the night’s chaos.

The ride is quick but steady, the city lights blurring past as you make your way home. When you arrive, Benny parks the motorcycle and helps you off, his hand steadying you as you dismount. He walks you to your front door, his concern evident in every gesture.

Inside, the warmth of your home wraps around you, a stark contrast to the night’s earlier chaos. As you step into the familiar space, you notice how much more welcoming it feels now. The house, which had seemed so cold and uninviting during the first month of your move back into your mother’s childhood home, now feels surprisingly warm and comforting.

Benny has been more than just a ride home. He’s helped you tackle the cluttered boxes that had piled up in the living room since you moved in. His hands were steady and capable as he helped you sort through the remnants of your past life. He even took the time to fix the built-in bookcase that your mother used to fawn over on winter nights. The bookcase, once a broken relic, now stood proud and sturdy, its shelves ready to hold the memories and stories of your family once more.

Benny heads into your kitchen with a familiarity that seems almost natural. He quickly gets the kettle ready for hot tea, moving around your kitchen with an ease that belies the night’s earlier chaos. He opens your favorite tea tin—spicy chamomile and cinnamon—and carefully measures out the fragrant leaves. The comforting aroma starts to fill the room, blending with the soothing warmth of the space.

As he waits for the water to boil, Benny returns to you. He sits down next to you on the couch, his large, comforting hands finding yours. His touch is warm and steady, a tangible reassurance amid the lingering tension of the night. He tilts his head slightly to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with genuine concern.

“You’re safe now,” he says gently, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. “Don’t worry about the cops or the aftermath of tonight.”

His eyes, though tired, hold a depth of understanding and care. They offer a silent promise that, despite the chaos of the evening, you are not alone. His presence, practical and grounded, serves as a reminder that things will be taken care of.

The warmth from the kitchen, combined with Benny’s reassuring presence, makes the house feel like a sanctuary—a stark contrast to the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere you first encountered. The night’s upheaval fades into the background, replaced by a sense of calm and security, anchored by Benny’s steadfast support.

A few moments later, Benny leads you to the dining table. The comforting aroma of spicy chamomile and cinnamon mingles with the warmth of the space, offering a soothing respite from the night’s chaos. He sets the cup in front of you with a gentle touch and a reassuring nod before heading toward the bathroom down the hall and across the kitchen. 

You hear the faint rustling of drawers and the clinking of the first aid kit as Benny retrieves it from where you keep it on hand. When he returns, he moves with a quiet purpose, his demeanor a blend of practical efficiency and deep concern.

He kneels down before you, his large hands working with a steady, careful precision as he begins to tend to your cuts and welts. His touch is gentle yet confident, each movement calculated to minimize discomfort and maximize healing. As he cleans and bandages each wound, his eyes remain fixed on you, filled with a depth of understanding and care that speaks volumes without a word.

His gaze, though weary from the night’s events, is soft and compassionate. There is a silent promise in his eyes—an assurance that, despite the chaos and the bruises, you are not alone. His presence is both practical and grounding, a calming anchor amidst the turmoil. The care he provides is more than just physical; it’s a reminder that everything will be alright, that he’s here to handle the aftermath and ensure you’re taken care of.

The steady rhythm of his movements, the gentle pressure of his hands, and the occasional reassuring glance all contribute to a sense of calm. In this quiet moment, as he tends to your injuries, Benny’s presence offers a comforting certainty. You feel the weight of the night’s chaos begin to lift, replaced by a profound sense of security and gratitude. His actions reassure you that, no matter how tumultuous things get, you have someone by your side who truly cares and will help you navigate through it all.

Taglist: @storiesfromafan @aleemendoza2425-blog , @preciouslilmonster , @iamaslytherin0

[ageofbajabule]

Fic Recommendations

I’ve been working on this for a while, and will add to it the more fics I read and will recommend.

Some of these are completed series, some are WIP series.

All of the work is 18+ NO MINORS: Some of these will contain smut, some might not. So read at your own discretion.

Josh

One Shots

Something About You - @abeautylives

Feather Light - @tripthelightfandomtastic

I Know You Are, But What Am I? - @indigostardustchords

Drift - @gretavangroupie

In Every Life - @joshkiszkasears

Divinity - @gretavanlace

Valtava - @gretavanlace

Long Time Coming - @builtbybrokenbells

Love Me Tender - @holybananafuck

Series

Varansai - @lightmylove-gvf

Bloom - @gretavangroupie

Endless Summer - @anthemofgvf

Deception - @obetrolncocktails

The Professor - @gretavanbear

Strawberry - @stardustshelb

Abaddon - @garbagevanfleet

Jake

One Shots

Voyeur - @gretavangroupie

Give Me Shelter - @gretavanfleetposts

Give Me All You Got - @alwaysonthemend

Use Somebody - @sunshinevanfleet

Series

Cream & Sugar - @sacredthefran

Hands to Yourself - @sinsofstardust

Vigilance - @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon

Covet - @jakeyt

Lazarus - @garbagevanfleet

Danny

One Shots

Thrills In The Night - @sparrowofthedawnsworld

Rebel Yell - @tripthelightfandomtastic

Series

Four Weddings and a Funeral - @hearts-hunger

Sam

One Shots

Andante, Andante - @gretasmokerising

Not So Strangers - @gvfgal

Series

Pink Lemonade - @garbagevanfleet

Twins

One Shots

Crossfire - @daisyful-gvf

Just For Me - @jake-kiszkas-smirk

Series

Kismet - @gretavangroupie @sacredstarcatcher

Shake My Faith - @capturethechaos

Skin Deep - @streamingcolors-gvf

Stardust Chords - @indigostardustchords

Sugar - @gretavanlace

Poppins - @gretavanlace

Simultaneous - @lightmylove-gvf

Janny

One Shots

Guilty Pleasures - @builtbybrokenbells

Series

Ignition - @obetrolncocktails

Jonny

One Shots

Let’s Share - @joshym

Forbidden Twins

Series

Cruel Summer - @sacredstarcatcher

Gold Dust Woman - @builtbybrokenbells

[hoseoksluna]

SMOKE, iv. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook)

genre: angst, heart-wrenching fluff

word count: 6.5k

summary: everything that hurts must begin to stop at one point. 

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: DOMESTIC ABUSE, oc gets triggered a lot in this chapter, dissociation, anxiety, alcohol consumption, a brief mention of physical violence, religion, praying, jk and oc smoke together.

note: hi, my babies. i'm here with another chapter. i really like this chapter a lot and i like where it's heading, so i hope you like it as much as you do. let me know what yout think. sorry, this is a bit short, but i didn't want to drag it out, esp. if everything that needed to get settled did. i love you all soso much, mwah.

When Jungkook appears, uncanvassed, damp and abysmal, in the field of my swimming vision, I have to stop dead in my tracks to see if my inebriated brain isn’t playing tricks on me. 

He’s sat on the half-wet stone of the staircase leading up to the street where I live. My apartment complex is just straight up, a minute away from where he’s waiting for me, and the wheels within my brain cells begin to whirr and turn, reminding me that I tapped on the crescent moon icon on my phone before I absconded to my girl best friend for a heart-to-heart conversation and a new set of nails. Misty-eyed, I recounted to her the monochrome poetry lines that bloomed through last night between me and Yoongi and wilted in my bare, sleep-cloaked hands this morning while she filed down the freshly baked acrylic powder. The moment she heard the deadly words that were spat at me, she flung her rosy, tiger-print file across her station, got up to her feet without a word and came back with a bottle of my favorite pink nectar in even pinker, fancy glass, certainly not meant for wine. 

And I downed each and every refill in one, singular gulp everytime she moved onto the next step and my hand was free. 

And Miyun… as much as she erupted in her idiosyncratic rage, her work on my nails was immaculate and untouched by her vivid lava. Curses and funny remarks, that yanked the weight off my shoulders and wiped it out using her vigor and red-hot magma, shattered the room until I laughed so hard that the alcohol dipped into my system far quicker than usual. She glued on the crosses I had asked for while I chortled, and she shushed me, breaking into a soft, non-obvious laughter that she tried to keep at bay while her hair fanned around her. Cherry-red, long and lustrous, curling on the smooth skin of her arms. The laughter died down and silence replaced it as she laid down the last layer of top coat over her artwork—and I felt a certain inspiration seize me. 

“What if I dyed my hair red, too?” I voiced it out, a seawave of different kinds of co-existing emotions ebbing and flowing in me. Airiness and offense, care and distance. And they were all roped around the memory of Yoongi in me like the roots of flowers in a colorful meadow soil. Vast and expansive, yet delicate and frail. One sweep of the wind’s harsh breath and they tilt—and remain tilted. 

I do, too, despite my efforts. 

Despite my ingrained fight to straighten and my strivings to be unaffected, unagitated and undisturbed by the way I was disrespected by Yoongi. They were all fruitless, however. Barren of my long-exercised resilience against the violence of men, my wariness and vigilance of them only strengthening. 

He took me to the far north side of paradise with his tongue and fingers in the middle of the night. And when the sun rose, he treated me like I dragged him to the deepest of hell and left him there to perish of starvation and thirst.

I should have seen it coming and prepared myself for it, especially when I had decided in my heart to take care of him, take care of the deep-sunk, nameless agony in him that prevented him from coloring our stanzas. But alas… it came to face me too soon, in my gossamer defenselessness.

Yoongi metamorphosed into the vermin that Ji-hoon was. His face faded on top of his while my ex-boyfriend’s body remained intact, broad and fear-instilling. And when Yoongi stood up so quickly, I sailed back, against my will, to the sheer realm of brutality that I had dwelled in, years ago. Yoongi with Ji-hoon’s body, abandoning me after I got myself into trouble. For wearing too much make-up, for having long manicured nails, for dressing a certain way that was impertinent in our relationship. He would leave a bruise for every mistake I made to discipline me, to ascertain that I would learn from it and never do it again. And I did learn after I was depleted of color-correcting concealers, the sinews I would use to raise my hands and tap the cream product in, erasing my foolish mistakes from the eyes of Jungkook, Minyun and my parents. 

I fought for too long during the relationship. For my freedom, for my dignity. And I fought for too long after the relationship to go through it all over again. 

I dreaded being hit when Yoongi stood up from my couch. Flinched when he went around the coffee table past me because I anticipated the swing of his arm with my eyes boring holes into my carpet. I had flexed my muscles to brace myself against the incoming physical pain so hard that I nearly gasped, pathetically, for air when he walked on into the corridor. 

But I still couldn’t look at him. 

Although I knew, rationally, that Ji-hoon wasn’t present, I didn’t let up until he shut the door behind me with a soft click because my body didn’t connect to my clear-headedness. It was caught in a fight or flight response like an ensnared bird. 

And this must’ve been what Minyun was seeing when she contemplated me, paused in the middle of dusting her station clean with her pale-pink kabuki brush. Because she resumed right after once I reciprocated her gaze and curled her lips under her teeth. 

“We can go to Olive Young then, and stop by 7-Eleven after to get some snacks and drinks.” 

She reflected on my wound and didn’t hesitate to cradle my head and bring me to a safe refuge. 

And I didn’t hesitate to wrap my arms around her and hug her until all those oxymoronic emotions, which I felt towards Yoongi, dulled in the smallness of me. 

I let her take the lead. Choose the vibrant, deep cherry tint that would annul my trigger and dye me anew. I sipped on my iced cherry drink for the occasion while she glided the brush along my strands, splattering most of the orange paste on the thick wisp of the symbol of my connection with Jungkook, the only man in my life who never used his manliness against me. I thought about him as she rubbed it in; and I thought about Grookey. Thought about how, in that very moment, I was saying goodbye to the self I possessed while being attached to them. 

And when Minyun washed my hair and curled her round brush through it, the stark contrast to who I was before overwhelmed me so much that I began to weep. 

I couldn’t recognize myself, I didn’t know who that girl in the mirror was. But something told me that she was stronger than who I used to be. And while it felt petrifying to be standing alone in the crook of my past self and my current self, the longer I gaped at myself, the more I adapted to the assurance that she was emanating. 

She wasn’t going to take any shit from any man ever again. Certainly not with darkly, sequoia-kissed hair like that.

Minyun brushed her thumbs under my eyes and shifted me deeper into the refuge by grabbing my shoulders and guiding me to her balcony, where she sat me down on her chair while she crouched in front of me. Sliding a tiny cigarette into her IQOS and taking a puff, she leaned over to the square table and grabbed her pack, nudging a longer, classic cigarette between my chapped lips. 

I never smoked on my own. I would take hits from her slender, pink case of flavored air or steal her cigarettes when I had enough buzz from the alcohol in my veins. Forget about it the following days and weeks that we wouldn’t see each other because I was such a hermit. But I didn’t want to be one anymore—I wanted to spend more time with her from now on. With Jungkook, too. 

“You look so pretty with your new hair,” Minyun said, sweetly, leaning back on her sock-clad heels in her Louis Vuitton slides, wrapping her arm around her knees like I did around my chest last night, and I inhaled her compliment along with the drag of her cigarette. “We’re twins now.” 

I had become such a fragile egg shell that her words multiplied in me as they settled in my lungs, bursting and imbuing me with pigments of confidence. And I beamed through my tears, a light protruding through clouds, as I exhaled the smoke. 

It felt as natural as breathing—to claim her cigarettes and make them a thing of my own. 

In place of Grookey. 

It’s what Jungkook spots first, instead of my hair, once he senses my presence and lifts his head, standing up to his feet, towering over me. And he must’ve been waiting for a long time because his scolding words are flung out first before anything else.

“Where have you been? Do you know how scared I was? I called you up. I rang your doorbell and you wouldn’t answer. All day.” 

I take a long drag just to stabilize myself, gratitude unfolding in my sternum for the way he isn’t manly. 

He’s merely caring. 

Hovering above me, moving his arms in my proximity, features stern in his soft manner, and yet I’m not threatened by my fear because I know him, because I trust him. Trust that everything about him is securely soft and boy-like, round and endearing—even when he raises his voice a little at me. 

Minjun and I took another bottle of rosé to her balcony that we finished by passing it to each other and smoking like there was no tomorrow, so the liters of the nectar that flit in my bloodstream elevate how I see him and my body is naturally inclined to do something I normally wouldn’t do. 

And much to Jungkook’s surprise and a little bit to his dismay, I listen to that hushed tone of my heart and obey it—discovering that it is an aid and nothing else. 

“Since when do you—” 

I silence his stupid, yet valid question by wrapping my arms around his neck, careful not to nip his skin with the hot prickle of the cigarette. Its orange tip envelops us in a soft glow in the middle of the darkening evening, the smoke surrounding us like a protection ring. It takes three beats of my heart—which in reality must be his and surely not mine considering the numbness that has descended, fully, in me—for his arms to move and swathe me in complete safety. 

He’s rescuing me, like Minyun did. Bouncing off of her and finishing the job, without knowing a thing about it. 

We become one, singular form of a penumbra, dressed as we are in this unlit shade. Jungkook with his cargos and baggy sweatshirt; me with my tracksuit that’s too big for me. His neck is cold and I scatter a little bit of my warmth upon that skin, regretful that he waited for me this long because of my foolish forgetfulness. 

My dearest boy best friend. 

I squeeze him harder and Jungkook buries his nose in my shoulder, fisting the fabric of my hoodie on my back. 

And then, he sniffs my hair. Makes a Korean sound of discovery and surprise. Pulls back just to look at me with narrowed, inspecting eyes. Drags me to the nearest street lamp—and I watch his eyelids grow to their original, bulbous size. 

Roundie. 

He has noticed my hair, at last. 

Fluffs it and completely destroys the impeccable blowout that Minyun gave me. 

“What the fuck, Jungkook?” I grumble, pushing his hand away, but, like my hoodie, he fists both of my wrists in one hand and sinks the other one into my length, following the diligent curve that Minyun created. 

I huff, and the sound is deadened by the devastating words he utters, disappearing into the prickling coldness of the air. 

“What did he say to you that made you do this?”

I dwell in silence, my numbed emotions leaden, dented and yet sharp enough that I feel their resurfacing pain. 

I look away, untangling my wrists from his hold. Jungkook unclenches his fist, but the ash from my cigarette lands on the back of his hand. I gasp, quick to brush it away, however he’s quicker. Doesn’t make a sound in response. Shakes his hand and steals my cigarette, puffing on it. 

My mouth parts. Shock strangles me. 

He smokes? 

Jungkook’s seriousness droops as he chuckles, dryly, at my reaction. He takes a step back, slides a hand in the pocket of his pants, coalesces into the shadows of the early blooming night. 

“I didn’t know you smoked either,” he says, smiling in that lopsided way of his, a large dent in his cheek. And it feels as though I’m getting to know my best friend for the first time. What else is he hiding? What does he do, in utmost normalcy, when he’s not with me? 

He dips his chin to look at the cigarette before he flicks his thumb across its ivory butt. The ashy particles fly to the rocky ground in tandem with his smile. And his mind travels back to this morning’s misfortune, as rapid as a rocket shooting up beyond the clouds. 

“I’m not giving this to you until you tell me what he said. The last time you did something to your hair like this was when you left that good-for-nothing son of a bitch.” 

A fleck of memory appears before my eyes. Me dousing my hair in black dye with my own hands while Jungkook stood by; him putting my star clips in my no longer virgin strands to distract my tears, me sliding the same ones into his, making a middle part and laughing until my stomach hurt. He had healed me by just being with me, not expecting words, not expecting any explanations. 

Him asking me for them has a great meaning, a certain hastiness that I know full well has a stabbing pain, and I feel his fear, instead of mine. Understand, all of a sudden, why he waited for so long.

And I put him first, just so that emotion unclenches its fist from him. Nod my head to let him know that I’ll tell him, bare my heart for him. 

I walk backwards and sit down on the stony stairs. Jungkook joins me, right beside me. Takes a long drag of the cigarette as if to prepare himself for what I’m about to share with him—and I need the same smoky courage. I take it from him, puff on it and give it back to him. He gives me a gentle smile and I recognize the reason behind it.

A new form of bonding settles between us. 

I reciprocate the smile and gather my words in the brief silence. The wind helps me as it breezes through my hair, fondles my face ever so gently and when I lift my chin at its attention, my eyes stumble across the full moon. 

I breathe in its pristine energy. Let my lungs be full of its beams—and let it cleanse me, thoroughly. 

Jungkook’s patience helps me, too, as he quietly finishes the cigarette, stubbing it out on the step. Ready to listen. 

And so I begin. 

“I invited him upstairs because I wanted to,” I start and realize that I have to come forth with the truth. Deem that he deserves to know. I look inward, quickly, and try to detect any obstacles in me—but I find myself empty, cleansed, a dried fountain with no drops of water, yet I am free. With the alcohol still trickling in my bloodstream. “I didn’t feel sick. That was a lie.” I flick my eyes to his reaction, catch him widening his eyes and parting his mouth and I decide it’s time for another cigarette. I pull one for him and myself, lighting it up for the both of us. “I didn’t want you to know that I got triggered. I’m sorry for that.” 

Jungkook blows the smoke in the other direction, away from my face. He furrows his brows in pity as he leans his elbows on his outstretched knees. 

I expect him to yell at me… but he does the exact opposite, soothing me down to the marrow of my bone. 

“Triggered? How?” he asks, his voice so muted that I barely hear it, lips pursed in that eternal pout of his and mine mirror it, naturally. I appreciate his gentleness so much that I lean the side of my head against his shoulder. And he leans his against the top of mine. 

“I guess I wanted to be alone when I left the room and I found Hobi at the end of the hall. I sat with him for a little while and when he started talking, I realized he was drunk and my body gave up on me. I dissociated like I used to after the breakup. I thought I was better, that I healed from it, but it’s been a long since I was in the company of men, you know? I didn’t want to disappoint you, especially when I’d promised you that it wasn’t happening to me anymore.” 

I hear him take a strong puff and I reflect him, doing the same. Then, he sighs and extends his legs, his back rounding forward. I watch the smoke make patterns in the night-tinged air and I breathe differently, now that I’ve pulled the skeleton out of the closet. And even though my emotions are numb, my softness deepens when Jungkook takes the bony creature into his arms and begins to dance with it. 

“You could never disappoint me,” he whispers, his words the music for the dance, and I wrap my fingers around his clothed forearm, just holding him there, needing it. “You should’ve told me. Did you think I would tell you off for it? Of course not, you silly goose.” 

I chortle, and the smoke comes out in staccatos that are guided by my tender laughter. And he melts it with his following words. 

“How can I help you? Should I get you a therapist? I don’t want you to take meds for it…” he trails off, clicking his tongue and fishing out his phone from his pocket. His fingers move on the keyboard of his screen and the letters I read fracture my heart and glue it back together all the same. “Grounding techniques. Breathing slowly while counting. Different sounds, walking barefoot, blanket, ice cube or cold water—”

My mouth opens before my brain registers what my weakened heart longs to say. 

“Yoongi splashed cold water on my face and neck and that brought me back,” I spew out, tiny tears lining my vision at the memory, at the feel of his cold, solid hands, at the sight of his wide, fearful eyes that relaxed when he realized that I was back in the present times. “He saved me.” 

I blink them away; I smoke them away. 

Jungkook sucks in a breath, clicking on an article about dissociation and scrolling down. “Yoongi and I will be your therapists, then. For free.” 

I look away and withdraw from him, twiddling with my fingers. My heart enlarges, yearns for it—yearns to create a link to his beyond the physical bound we have, reach out for him like a child for its father, but my fear of being triggered again, of being afflicted by his pain slaps its arms away from him. 

It’s not meant to be—Yoongi is not the one for me because if he were, there wouldn’t be any barrier between us. And with that knowledge, my obsession with him, slowly and painfully, dissipates, leaving my frailty and my willingness to help him, if he’d ever need me, in the hands of God. 

But knowing the faces of manliness and ego, Yoongi won’t allow himself to be helped by me. And that bruises me more than the words he flung at me.  

Jungkook senses my absence more vividly than I want him to, and his head swivels in my direction, the article momentarily forgotten. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, prodding me, and it’s me who sighs this time. 

I take the last drag and gaze at the moon as I speak. “Yoongi can’t help me when he needs help himself.” 

The yellowish face of the bulbous planet nods at me and I feel, ever so slightly, at ease, leaning my elbows back on the steps. That is until a lump forms in my throat and, inertly, I ask the feminine luna for her strength, for her resilience, and I ask her to help me become my new self that resembles her so much. 

Jungkook locks his phone and stares at me. “What happened this morning?” 

And perhaps she does nurture me with what I need through her radiance after all because I don’t hesitate to tell him. 

“I wore lingerie to bed that was see-through and when I looked for him and found him crying on my couch, he told me, ‘can you, please, put something fucking on?’ and left,” I unravel, violently, mimicking Yoongi’s coarse morning voice, and Jungkook scoffs, averting his gaze. He sucks hard on the last of his cigarette before throwing it away with the same nerve, shaking his head as he thinks about those poisonous words. Validates me, like Minyun did. 

It takes several heartbeats and several more moonbeams puncturing my sternum before he turns back to me. 

“Check your phone.” 

A wrinkle between my brows. “Why?” 

“Just do it.” 

Without understanding why he wants me to do that, I comply. I pull out my phone from my purse, the light from the screen bathing me in stark blue. Jungkook chews on his bottom lip as he watches me read my notifications from him, Minyun and Netflix. And when I say nothing, he tilts his head and reads them on his own, only to groan and place it in his hands. 

Then, he stares off into the distance. 

“What?”

He takes my hand and drags me to my feet. “Come on.” 

I yelp and Jungkook yanks me to the patch of grass by the street lamp, kneeling by the gravel. And I can’t speak as he builds a praying altar of rocks, leaves and sticks. I can’t speak when he holds it in place and makes sure it doesn’t collapse, as small and sturdy as it is. And I can’t speak when he adorns it with an abandoned, pink flower petal that he finds nearby. Places it on the top of the last stone, against the flesh of the damp, green leaf that is propped by a petite rock. 

And in my silence, once he’s done, he tugs my hand down, sinking me to my knees. Sits back on his folded legs and presses his palms together. 

“God, I know that you know I don’t believe in you. My dad probably talks to you a lot about me, so I’m sure you know who I am. I don’t come to you because of me, though. I come to you right now because my friends need you,” Jungkook prays, his voice mellow and subdued, meant for my ears and the ears of God that I myself believe in, but don’t have a relationship with. I settle down into my respect for his bravery and kindness, closing my eyes, and I feel him enveloping his fingers around mine on my lap. My heart thumps and my other hand finds the way to it—I pin my palm to the left side of my chest, cradling those full-blooded strikes, willing the corners of my mouth not to quiver. “My dad says you know everything and right now I really hope that you know what Yoongi went through. I ask you, sincerely, to give him strength to be a better person. To make sure his feet don’t walk backwards but forward with the girl beside me. I also ask you to help her to not dissociate anymore, help her not remember that son of a bitch, sorry—that guy that broke her. And altogether, I ask you to heal them both. Also, make sure Yoongi mans up a little and texts her like I wanted. Or just do something, anything. Give him ideas. Make his balls grow or whatever. Thank you. Sorry for all I did. Amen.” 

The tears fall and I can’t halt them, nor do I want to. Lightness floods my chest, my mind, spreads all over my bones, and I breathe out in hiccups. I agree with his prayer by whispering the same ending word and when I glance at Jungkook, I see him meditating, privately, on something on his own. 

It inspires me, comforts me and impassions me to do the same. 

I flutter my eyes closed and quieten my breathing. 

Dear God, if I was wrong and this is for me, allow me to take care of Yoongi. Help us find a way towards each other and cleanse my heart from all the pain. 

And then the words spill, my prayer prolonging, and I discern that they don’t root from me, bathed in the glimmer of the moon as they are. 

I forgive him and I’m giving him another chance. Give us the opportunity to better our actions and communicate our pains. Give us the strength to do so. Give us the words. Give us peace of mind and clarity. Thank you. Amen. 

My tears have dried by the time I’m finished with my internal prayer. Jungkook has patiently waited the whole time, holding my hand, and he gives me the lovingest, most wholesome smile I’ve ever received in my life when I face him. He kisses my knuckles and I feel, strongly, that it seals our prayers. 

Helping me stand, it’s him who hugs me this time around. I bury my face in his chest, fisting the back of his sweatshirt like he did to me when I arrived. We remain like this, underneath the lenitive moonlight and the merciful eye of God that I sense upon us. And I know, in the abyss of my weakened heart, that I shall never forget about this moment. 

“Did you also feel that lightness in your chest?” Jungkook asks onto my hair, and I nod, too lost in my brimming, alive emotions—no longer numb, but erupting in tender colors—to answer. Love, thankfulness, delicate joy and that persisting lightness. 

Grabbing my shoulders, he breaks the hug and grins down at me. He glows underneath that street lamp, a pure whiteness lining his form, the tiny twinkling freckles of stars scattering upon his skin and I love him. 

I love my best friend. 

And the more I look at him, the more I’m reminded of the way I put the star clips in his hair and I think it would only be right if he were to wear them right now. 

I link my arm around his. 

“Let’s go inside.” 

The moonlight shone upon our way, ascertaining that we didn’t stumble. Reached a standstill and formed a ring around us when we stopped by the door to my apartment building and had another cigarette together, this time another shared one because I felt as though I had inhaled too much smoke throughout the day. 

The stars poked at my back in our silence, encouraging me to break it, and I did—once it was my turn to puff. I thanked him, earnestly, for the prayer, showed him my nails embellished with little silver crosses, ones he gaped at with utmost fascination before it all spurred something in him enough for him to share with me what went down earlier in the morning after Yoongi left my apartment. 

Crestfallen Yoongi, drenched from the rain, murky, cloud-bearing; the very one I know. Jungkook had to, essentially, extricate him from the force of his innermost downpour, and I waded through the torrent with each information he provided me. 

He was profoundly regretful and made a fool out of himself by choking at the sound of my name—something that made my cheeks ignite with coy flattery and my fingertips to tingle. The knowledge that he rued his actions wove through my prayer and quelled me, my heart and my mind, until there was no ounce of ache that bothered me. 

I entered a state of sobriety, plopping down onto my couch with a small basket of hair ties and clips. Jungkook wasn’t really cognizant of what I was doing as he focused on telling the story, describing, in his teasing manner, the way Yoongi looked like while he spoke of me. The way his cheeks flushed and light burst in his eyes. He was so preoccupied with the task that he didn’t flinch when I brushed his hair with my Kuromi tangle teezer, nor when I put up his hair in two pigtail buns and secured them with matching, violet Kuromi hair ties. 

His hair felt brittle in my fingers from all the bleach the stylist used on his hair. Briefly, I remembered the way he specifically asked her if there was a drugstore alternative to the professional dye and he went to buy it for me that very day and we splattered it on together, with him choosing the strand, of course. I made a mental note to talk about his hair with him later. 

I grew hot when he shifted to the part, where he read to him the message I sent for him. I had cleaned the whole apartment in effort to rid myself of the residue of my trigger, but my care for him remained because I understood where he came from. What I hadn’t known was that after listening to my heart and typing out the message, I would get tormented by my mind so viciously that I had to seek my girl best friend. My care for him sank to the bottom of me and the offense I felt resurfaced, swallowing me whole. 

To know, in the present time, that Yoongi thought it too good to be true, grew smaller when Jungkook began to tell him off, washes it all out and I am a brand new canvas. 

I take off my hoodie, aflame. 

“He really thought about what I said to him and he even put your number in his phone. I visibly saw him opening a new text message and typing something,” Jungkook says, exasperated, and I have to chuckle to myself—he looks so damn adorable with the two minty buns, but he’s still missing those clips. I search for them in my basket, reveling in that fire of his, which his words are permeated with, the heat stifling me. “I thought he sent it to you. I didn’t see him do it because I got a call from Namjoon, asking where we were. We had a meeting right after—and that’s also something I need to talk to you about.” 

My ears perk up and I freeze with the clips in my hands. 

The smile Jungkook gives me this time is cheerless. 

The sweat that coats me morphs into a layer of iciness. 

“We’re going on tour abroad next month,” he imparts and my heart closes. I disintegrate, the clips falling out of my hands. And the stars blanketing the heavens outside must do the same, plummeting to the ground, conjointly, with me. “We were supposed to have another concert tonight, a secret one that would be made into a docuseries, but then America fucking called.” 

That means no hanging out with Jungkook, no star clips; no seeing Yoongi and leaving things as they are—unfinished and still aching on his part. 

And that leaves me alone with my thoughts. 

I pout, my heart dead silent. 

“When will you be back?” 

Jungkook gathers the fallen clips and sets them down upon my open, vulnerable palms. Manages to warm them up in that brief exchange. 

“There aren’t many tour dates. I’ll be back before—”

My phone pings in the kitchen. 

And before I can breathe, Jungkook scurries to his feet and flees. 

Grabs my phone and holds it in front of my face, so the detector can unlock what the notification hides. And once it does and his eyes sweep over the lettering multiple times, he squeals. Springs. Beams like the warmest star he is, personified firelight. And I’m more happy that he’s happy than I’m happy about the fact Yoongi has done something. 

For me. 

Jungkook slides the phone into my clammy hand and I let out a little breath. Instagram has notified me that a certain person that goes by the name agustd liked my post. I smirk, cupping my face, while I click on the notification to see what exactly he liked. Jungkook sits beside me and looks over, laughing, vehemently, through his nose before he starts clapping. 

My stomach jumps, stirring my butterflies awake. 

I’m wearing a knitted set in the picture, nearly pellucid with how stretched out and purposefully ripped the fabric is, and I’m sat on my vanity table in my room with my arched back facing the mirror, my long black hair obscuring most of the sheerness of my spine. 

Is that a truce? Liking a picture where I’m wearing something so akin to the slip that broke us this morning? If he did, then that’s an intelligent move in the chessboard of all toxicity. 

And I like it. 

I blush, profusely. But then another notification rings through my living room and Jungkook stills beside me. We share a look, both of our mouths parted, before he steals my phone, though I slap his back and retrieve it from his grasp, the shifting causing the message to get opened. 

I run a hand down my face. “You clicked on it and now he can see I’ve read it, Jungkook.” 

He merely laughs. “So what? Read it.” 

I groan, tipping my chin, focusing my gaze on the letters, and my heart thrashes in my ribcage. And their meaning propels it to fly on the wings of my butterflies. 

The letters tremble in tandem with my hand as I read them. 

“I’m sorry for my behavior this morning, you didn’t deserve that. I hope you allow me to make it up to you as best as I can. Car drive tomorrow at 8 PM? Food’s on me, you just bring your playlist, moon kitty. And your sneakers. Yoongi. Jungkook gave me your number.” 

My heart stops mid-flight. And I don’t see Jungkook’s eyes abounding in the glow of the stars. Neither do I hear his laughter and his praises for Yoongi because I walk backwards into myself. 

Bring your sneakers. 

I see myself getting hit for wearing heels. I don’t feel the pain, but I have a glimpse of the bruise forming on my cheek, a patch of red and purple staining me for weeks only because I wanted to feel pretty and feminine on our date night. And before Jungkook’s voice can get to me, the echo of Ji-hoon’s command fans out in me. 

You won’t dress like a slut when you’re with me. Take them off. That dress, too. And wear your sneakers. 

I was forced to wear jeans and Nike’s to a fancy restaurant while he sported nice pants and a polo. And much to his dismay, and later to mine as well, I still received stares and smiles. From men and women alike. 

The memory splinters at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. And I perceive that it’s just that. 

A memory. 

I didn’t dissociate. 

And vulnerability clutches me so tightly that I shrivel and don’t think before I fold myself into Jungkook, hugging him until the memory completely evaporates. 

Jungkook pets my head as I bury it deeper into his chest. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just a memory,” I heave, blinking rapidly, and Jungkook holds me to him, sifting his fingers through my hair. 

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, continuing with the movement that intersperses mollification all over my being, and I nod. 

As long as I have my best friend, I will be okay. 

“It happened this morning, too,” I admit, unafraid, and Jungkook stills for a moment. “When Yoongi got up from this couch, I thought I was gonna get hit again. And now when I read that he wants me to wear sneakers, I remembered the way Ji-hoon hit me because I wore heels that one time. But it wasn’t so bad. I didn’t dissociate. Your prayer helped.” 

Jungkook curls around me and holds me tighter, putting me back together, and I let him. 

I let him because there’s nothing else for me to do. 

There’s no one else for me. 

“He’s not here anymore. He’s not in your life. I broke his leg, remember? He can’t walk back into your life.” 

It’s the only memory, where he’s present, that brings me pleasure: Jungkook finding out I was a victim of domestic abuse and chasing him all over the city until he yanked him by the back of his shirt and beat him until he was unrecognizable. He broke his leg by purposefully driving over it with his motorcycle upon leaving, considering the deed done. 

“Every time your bad memories come back to haunt you, remember this one,” Jungkook advises and I pleat his words, stuffing them somewhere inside my sternum, where I can return to them and remember them like he said. Use them as a weapon.

Something tells me that now I shall need it more than I ever have before.

“Yoongi isn’t like him, I promise,” he continues, seeping his boyish warmth into my skin as he cups my face and makes me look at him. I feel as though I have run a marathon with the way I breathe spasmodically and Jungkook sees me, composes me by leading me to take deep breaths that subdue my nerves. “I regretted letting him take you home but for a far different reason. Underneath all that pain is a good person. A romantic that has lost his hope, but if there’s anything I can depend on, it’s the fact that Yoongi will find what he’s lost. And he’s halfway there. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have texted you.” 

I ponder his words, my heart collecting all those stars that have plummeted from the heavens, and, internally, I use their light to help me comprehend the deeper meaning behind his words. A romantic that has lost his hope. I wonder what meadow of agony he walked through—and I wonder how much it would devastate me if I ever were permitted to place my bare feet upon his footprints on that flowery soil. 

“You can trust him because I trust him.”

I slide the star clips beneath the space buns I twisted his hair in and I nod. 

“Let’s text him back.” 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[elryuse]

Yandere wonyoung x male childhood friend. But this time both YN & Wonyoung had a good & happy ending.

HAPPY ENDINGS

YANDERE WONYOUNG X MALE READER

The hallway echoed with the rhythmic clack of Wonyoung's patent leather loafers. Her dark school uniform, tailored to accentuate her impossibly small waist, seemed to billow with an unseen wind as she stalked towards Y/n. His deep laugh, punctuated by the giggles of his girlfriend, Jihyo, grated on Wonyoung's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

They used to be inseparable, Y/n and her. Crawling through mud puddles, building sandcastles that vanished with the tide. But high school brought new priorities, and Jihyo, with her warm smile and infectious laughter, had become Y/n's new companion.

Wonyoung stopped a few feet behind them, her meticulously styled dark hair framing a face that could switch from cute to chilling in a heartbeat. Her usually large, doe-eyed gaze narrowed into slits, the playful glint replaced by a cold, predatory gleam.

Jihyo, sensing the shift in atmosphere, turned around, a smile faltering on her lips. "Oh hi, Wonyoung! "

"Hey," Wonyoung replied, her voice a saccharine syrup laced with venom. "Nice… picnic for two?" Her eyes lingered on Jihyo's hand, innocently intertwined with Y/n's.

Y/n, ever oblivious, turned around with a goofy grin. "Wonyoung! Didn't see you there. What's up?"

Ignoring Y/n, Wonyoung leaned in, her voice a chilling whisper that only Jihyo could hear. "He doesn't belong to you. Not anymore."

Jihyo, pale and trembling, mumbled a quick goodbye and practically ran away. Wonyoung watched her go, a satisfied smirk curling her lips. Now, it was just her and Y/n.

"What was that about?" Y/n asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Wonyoung's smile disappeared, replaced by a mask of vulnerability. "I just miss us, Y/n. Remember those times when it was just me and you?"

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We can still hang out, Wonyoung. It's not like Jihyo replaced you."

Replaced. The word sent a spike of murderous possessiveness through Wonyoung. Replaced? He was hers, always had been, even if he couldn't see it.

"But it's not the same," she whined, her voice thick with feigned sadness. "She doesn't understand you like I do."

Y/n opened his mouth to protest, but Wonyoung cut him off. Tears welled up in her eyes, but they were cold, devoid of real emotion. "Do you even remember what happened the last time you told me you liked someone else?"

Y/n's eyes widened. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the "accident" that had mysteriously broken his first girlfriend's leg, effectively ending their relationship. Wonyoung, ever the concerned friend, had been there to comfort him then too.

Suddenly, the seemingly innocuous childhood games of hide-and-seek and truth-or-dare took on a sinister hue. Was it a coincidence that every girl Y/n showed interest in ended up ostracized or worse?

Terror replaced confusion in Y/n's eyes. He took a hesitant step back, but Wonyoung was quicker. Before he could react, she grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

"Don't worry," she whispered, her voice sweet but laced with a chilling possessiveness. "Now that you remember, we can be happy again. Just you and me, like it always should have been."

Y/n was trapped. He had to play along, at least for now. But a small seed of defiance bloomed in his heart. He had to find a way out of this twisted game of love and fear.

As Wonyoung linked her arm through his, her perfect smile masking the darkness within, Y/n knew this was just the beginning of a terrifyingly sweet nightmare. Sleep became a stranger, replaced by the constant vigilance of not upsetting the delicate balance of Wonyoung's affection.

Nights were filled with whispered threats disguised as promises, and days a suffocating routine of Wonyoung orchestrating every aspect of their lives. Yet, amidst the terror, a strange realization dawned on Y/n. Wonyoung, for all her twisted devotion, cared for him deeply, in her own warped way.

One stormy night, as Wonyoung held him close, her grip tighter than usual, Y/n decided he couldn't live like this anymore. He had to take a chance.

"Wonyoung," he said, his voice barely a whisper. She looked at him, her eyes filled with a manic adoration that sent shivers down his spine. "Yes, Y/n?"

"I… I know you care about me," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "But this, us being like this… it's not healthy. It scares me."

Wonyoung's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing her features before it was masked by a pout. "Why does it scare you, Y/n? Don't you trust me?"

"It's not that I don't trust you," he said, taking a deep breath. "It's just that… I don't think this is love. This isn't the way friends treat each other."

The words hung heavy in the air, a challenge to the twisted reality Wonyoung had constructed. A tear rolled down her cheek, this one seemingly genuine. "But I love you, Y/n. I always have."

"And I care about you too, Wonyoung," he said, reaching out to gently wipe away her tear. "More than you know. But maybe… maybe our love can be something normal. We can be friends again, the way we used to be."

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Y/n braced himself for another outburst, for the possessiveness to resurface. But instead, Wonyoung surprised him.

A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. Her voice trembled as she spoke, "Do you think… do you think that's possible?"

Y/n saw a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, a glimpse of the girl he used to know, hidden beneath the layers of possessiveness. He squeezed her hand gently. "It won't be easy, Wonyoung. You have to trust me."

A long moment passed, filled with unspoken emotions. Finally, a small smile bloomed on Wonyoung's face, hesitant at first, then widening. It wasn't the chilling, calculated smile he was used to. This was a genuine smile, filled with a newfound hope.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I trust you."

The road to normalcy was long and arduous. Therapy sessions became a regular part of their routine, Wonyoung slowly learning to manage her obsessive tendencies. The fear that had crippled Y/n gradually receded, replaced by a cautious trust.

The childhood games they used to play took on a new meaning. Hide-and-seek became a playful chase, not a test of dominance. Truth-or-dare became a bridge to rebuild their fragile friendship.

It wasn't always sunshine and rainbows. There were arguments, relapses, and moments where the old darkness threatened to resurface. But through it all, they held onto the fragile thread of trust they had built.

Years passed, and their relationship blossomed into something beautiful and unexpected. The possessiveness morphed into a fierce loyalty, the obsessive need to control transformed into a supportive partnership.

One day, under the shade of the same tree where they used to play as children, Y/n knelt before Wonyoung. In his hand, a simple silver ring sparkled in the sunlight.

"Wonyoung," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "we've come a long way. You're no longer just my childhood friend, you're the strongest, most amazing person I know. Will you marry me?"

Wonyoung's eyes welled up with tears, this time tears of genuine joy. A thousand emotions flooded through her – fear, doubt, and a happiness so profound it took her breath away.

She looked at the ring, then back at Y/n, her childhood friend, now the love of her life. With a shaky breath and a smile that could rival the sun, she whispered, "Yes, Y/n. Of course I will."

Their wedding wasn't a grand affair, just a small gathering of close friends and family. But the love that filled the air was more potent than any fireworks display. Wonyoung, no longer the yandere schoolgirl, stood beside Y/n, a woman who had conquered her darkness and found love in the most unexpected of places.

[mcntsee]

There was this boy…

Summary: Y/N shares a tale of her first love with the Crows.

Warnings: Not much other than ooc Kaz and alcohol consumption.

Note: I’m more of a angsty writing typa gal, so here’s some fluff for now. Let me know what you guys think.

In the dimly lit confines of the Crow Club, the Crows gathered around a secluded table, basking in the afterglow of a successful heist. Glasses clinked, and raucous laughter filled the air as the alcohol flowed freely. Kaz, Y/N, and Matthias sat with relative sobriety amidst the drunken revelry, observing their inebriated comrades.

Jesper, his cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming, leaned toward Y/N with a mischievous grin. "So, Y/N, have you ever been in love?" he slurred, barely able to contain his curiosity.

Y/N's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Of course, Jesper," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of mystery. The Crows leaned in, their drunken curiosity piqued.

"There was this boy," Y/N began, her eyes sparkling with memories. "I met him near the harbor when I was just a wide-eyed nine-year-old. He had this mischievous smile and eyes that seemed to hold a million secrets. A captivating presence that drew me in. He was the first person I ever truly loved."

Confusion clouded the faces of the Crows. They exchanged glances, unable to decipher who Y/N was referring to. Only Kaz, ever perceptive, held a hidden smile, understanding the truth behind Y/N's words.

“We were inseparable. We would spend our days exploring the harbor, sneaking into places we weren’t supposed to be. We had a sweet tooth that knew no bounds, and we’d devour candy like it was our secret treasure.” Y/n paused for a second to compose herself from the small chuckle that managed to escape her lips, “Whenever times got tough, we’d help each other steal food, laughing as we escaped the clutches of hunger.”

The Crows listened with rapt attention, their faces reflecting a mix of curiosity and sentimentality. The image of two children forging a bond over stolen treats warmed their hearts.

Y/N’s voice grew softer, her eyes distant. “We shared our hopes and dreams, our fears and vulnerabilities. It was as if we created our own little world, shielded from the hardships that surrounded us. He was my confidant, my partner in mischief, and my first taste of love.”

Nina, her words slightly slurred, leaned closer. "What happened to him, Y/N?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

A tender smile played on Y/N's lips as she replied. "He changed. Life took him down a different path, one far from the innocence we once shared." she replied, her voice steady, "but my love for him didn't."

Y/N’s gaze drifted across the table, locking eyes with Kaz, the only one who knew the true identity of the boy from her story.

The Crows, their senses dulled by alcohol, cooed at the sweetness of Y/N's confession, their questions dissipating into laughter and sighs. Meanwhile, Matthias, ever vigilant, noticed the lingering glances between Y/N and Kaz throughout the evening. An inkling of suspicion gnawed at him, planting seeds of curiosity that would bloom in the days to come.

As the night wore on and drinks were consumed in abundance, the Crows bid each other goodnight and stumbled off to their respective rooms.

What they didn't know was that Y/N's steps veered away from her designated room, drawing her toward Kaz's quarters instead. The door closed behind them, and the atmosphere shifted from the revelry downstairs to a more intimate setting.

In the hushed whispers of their shared secret, Y/N and Kaz laughed and marveled at the obliviousness of their companions. They reveled in the fact that the Crows had no inkling that Y/N's tale of first love was a covert homage to their own hidden bond.

As silence settle, Kaz moved from his previous position near y/n. His gaze met Y/N’s, and a mischievous smile played on his lips.

“Care to join me for a moment?” Kaz asked, his voice holding a hint of intrigue.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N nodded, joining him near the record player. The room was enveloped in a nostalgic melody, its soulful notes casting a spell of tranquility.

As the music filled the room, Y/N couldn’t help but remark, “What a lovely choice. I didn’t know you were a fan of this genre.”

Kaz’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “There’s more to me than meets the eye, y/n,” he replied, his voice infused with a touch of playfulness.

They stood there, amidst the gentle hum of music, engaging in lighthearted banter and sharing whispered stories of their day. Their laughter mingled with the nostalgic tunes, creating an intimate symphony that resonated within their hearts.

A comfortable silence settled between them, a testament to the depth of their connection. In that moment, Kaz extended his hand with a gallant gesture, “Care to join me for a dance, Mrs. Brekker?”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with delight as she placed her hand in his. “I’d be honored, Mr. Brekker,” she replied, her voice filled with a warm affection.

They swayed to the timeless melody, their steps graceful and in perfect sync. The world outside seemed to fade away as they reveled in the simple joy of being together, their laughter intertwining with the music.

In the embrace of their dance, Y/N and Kaz spoke volumes through their movements. Each twirl and sway conveyed a love that transcended words—a love that was hidden, yet tangible.

As the music played on, they allowed themselves to get lost in the moment, cherishing the intimacy they shared. Their smiles spoke of a shared secret, a commitment that only they held dear.

And as the final notes of the song faded away, they remained locked in a tender gaze, their hearts speaking a language known only to them. In that stolen moment, they were reminded of the strength and beauty of their hidden love.

Their laughter resonated in the quiet room, an acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they cherished. They knew that their story would forever remain known only to them, a treasure woven into the tapestry of their lives, while the Crows slumbered, oblivious to the truth that danced in the shadows of their own revelry.

[grapenamjams]

End Of Shift

Characters: Bouncer! Togame Jo X bartender! Fem. Reader

Genre: NSFW

Summery: you and Jo leave the bar later than usual after your shift due to you cleaning his bruised knuckles. after he took care of some out of line customers. Although you don’t like seeing him get hurt you should Atleast thank him somehow right?

Contains: aged up characters! bruised knuckles and broken noses mention. Car sex, nipple play (fem. Reviving), riding (m. Receiving), using head on clit, fingers in mouth (fem. Receiving) marking, PNV, mutual orgasm, nick names (Baby doll, doll, angel) soft pleasuredom Togame. Let me know if anything else!

A/N: I hope you enjoy this holiday gift from me to you! 💗

💚🐢Start here 💚🐢

“You’re lucky you can still work here after that.” You let out as a slight scold. the back entrance door shutting behind you.

The parking lot is basically empty say for your car in it’s usual space. The night sky turning early morning had not a single cloud in the sky. the crisp air filled your lungs replacing the musty smell that always lingered during your shifts at the bar.

“I’m doing what they’re paying me to do, Angel” Togame responds simply beside you, matching his steps with yours. His eyes looking around your surroundings. Always vigilant for you. Even when you both arrive to your car.

“Pretty sure breaking clients noses is not in your work description” you turn around, leaning against the backseat door. To emphasize your point, you bring up your attached hands. His Red and bruised knuckles intertwined with yours. The ones You helped clean tonight in the breakroom. when he had gotten back from escorting two guys outside. who were making uncomfortable passes at you and a fellow coworker.

Togame’s lazy eyes glance at his held up hand between you two. secretly loving the sight of his bruised fist in your delicate hand. it was a while since he felt the familiar sting.

He squeezes your hand in his before putting them back down. “I escorted them out and they got violent; I simply acted in self defense” broad shoulders, shrugging. His go to explanation when this sort of thing happened. Prompting a narrowed glare from you He always found amusing.

He steps towards you, placing your hand on his shoulder so he is free to rub your waist with both hands. A gleam in his eyes when he looks down at you.

“People should learn some fucking manners before going out, don’t you agree?” A slight edge to his voice which leaves instantly when you wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

Getting out a sigh, “Yeah, I can’t disagree with that” tilting your head to gaze up at him.

He squeezes your waist at your slight smile you give him. “see? Just makin sure they knew too”

Your hand goes up the nape of his neck; finger twirling around a piece of dark hair. “Well I’m sure they won’t forget that lesson. But still…” words hanging with worry for his safety. Togame lips tilt up slightly at your concern for him. He presses a soft kiss on your forehead hoping to smooth out those furrowed lines.

“Don’t worry your pretty head over me. The bar knows I’m the best they have and spoiler, I’ve been breakin noses for awhile”

You give him a small smile, relaxing a little. The expression making his chest bloom with warmth against the nights chill. “Still gonna worry though. but I guess I should give you a thanks, those guys were creeps”

He smiles into the kiss you give him, his hands pulling you closer. “Meant it when I said I’d take care of you” he says against your mouth.

There’s a flutter in your chest at his words making you kiss him again as a response. Togame lets out a sigh. his mouth capturing yours in slow methodical kisses he does when making out with you. His kisses are as if he is enjoying a meal, tasting every single bite.

He presses you against your car earning him a soft Moan. shooting him with an increasing wave of desire and need. “Doll, if you keep this up how am I supposed to let you go, hm?“ his deep voice against you sending a welcomed shiver down your body.

“What? Got somewhere to be?” Pulling him closer by the back of the neck. not wanting to lose his warmth for even a second.

The dark haired man before you lets out a chuckle that rumbles in his chest. A hand going to caress your cheek, taking your chin. “Fuck no” his simple words hit your mouth right along with his lips. Taking you in with a hungrier need. your body humming against him with increasing arousal.

the unlocking sound of your car doors ring right after behind you. practically pulling Togame into the back seat with you. His mouth chasing yours not wanting to lose your Taste. Once he closes the door His body covers yours, pinning you down against the seats under him. an arm outstretched clutching the armrest of the other side door keeping him from fully crushing you with his large frame. Eager mouths never separating.

His other hand trails up your side, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. The sensation of his fingertips on your skin causes your body to shiver. Making Togame own desire spike at your responsiveness to him. Point further made, when your hands fumble with your shirt taking it off.

The fabric cutting the searing kiss for a moment. Togame takes it as a chance to catch his breath. a grin appearing, the same one that always makes your core throb. The green in his eyes only a sliver of color. His darkened gaze rakes over your body; in just a bra and pleated black skirt. You splayed out over the car seats under him is enough to make him groan.

Reaching out a large hand to go up your soft stomach and over your chest. Relishing in your presence. “you’re so beautiful baby doll” his words roll through you. He leans down once more, kissing your jaw and neck. hot open mouth kisses on your skin.

Maneuvering in the limited space makes it feel like nothing outside of you two exists. Each kiss your skin feels like a secret shared in the dark as he worships you. You arch your back. Removing your bra, needing to feel him everywhere. Togame moans appreciatively at your action. mouth moving down to the new exposed area you provided him access too.

He dosnt miss a beat. His free hand cups your left breast, palming it in his hand. his mouth on your other breast capturing your nipple in his mouth, warm tongue going over the sensitive perked up nub before sucking. Drawing a gasp out of you, pressing your chest further into his eager hand and mouth. His finger and thumb pulling at the nipple before his large hand engulfs your soft flesh once more.

He hums contently against you like he has all the time in the world. Tongue moving over and around the sensitive area. Nipping and kissing the soft flesh of your chest. You thread your fingers into his hair, making him moan. You look down at his face as he gives attention to your right breast now. Eyes closed with an expression as if he’s savoring a plate he’ll never get to tase again.

Your breathing is uneven. “feels so good god-your tongue” you complement giving Togame the incentive to suck harder on your sensitive nipple making you yelp. You knew he could stay on your chest all night just the same between your thighs which have been rubbing together ever since you both got inside your car.

As much as that thought sent a shiver of pleasure through you. You needed him inside you. Whispering his name, telling him just that. His heart stutters, you sound so pretty begging for his cock. Lifting his head from your marked up chest, his glazed over eyes take in your flushed face shooting another wave of desire straight south. He can’t resist, not now, not ever. always wanting to give you everything, whatever you could ever ask of him it’s already yours.

He nodes, removing himself from on top of you. Neither wanting to be apart for to long. You both feverishly remove garments standing in each other’s way. You Taking off your underwear, leaving your skirt on and Togame unbuckling his slacks pushing them down his legs.

He sits on the seat hands grabbing your hips helping you straddle him. “That’s it” he murmurs seeing you infront of him.

Chest rise and fall with anticipation. Your hand reaches down and wraps around him. Lifting yourself slightly you guide his swollen pink head to your entrence coating him with your sweet essence before bringing his glistening head-mixed with both of your slick to your clit, Circling the sensitive area.

Togame keeps his eyes on your face, as you continue to use him like that under your skirt. The sole thought makes him twitch in your hand. Your Eyes closing and biting your lip, he drinks in the expression. One of his hands leaves your hips to cup the back of your neck murmuring your name as a plea. His restraint snipping away with each pass of his head through your folds.

Opening your eyes you understand what he’s asking for because you need it too. If the way your heat was throbbing was any indicator.

Your eyes focus on his seeing the way he clenches his jaw, his hands tightening on your hip and hair when you guide him to your entrance one final time before starting to lower yourself on to him, your heat engulfing his aching cock slowly at first. getting reacquainted with his long size.

His head falls back onto the head rest. At feeling your tight warmth once again. It almost makes him want to shoot his load right then and there “I’ve missed you doll-mmh- always so fucking good”

Grabbing his shoulders you seat yourself to the hilt in one final push. making you both let out surprised gasps. Togame’s eyes flutter closed his handsome face etched in bliss. “Go on, Angel use me.” He breathes out turning into a slight whimper as you begin to do just that. Moving your hips up and down to ride him, his cock filling you up move and full. in the way he only could.

The sounds of skin to skin and Moans fill up the car quickly. Your skirt hiding where you are both connected like a lewd secret. You grip his broad shoulders, a hand connecting with the side of his graceful neck, pieces of dark hair already sticking to the unblemished skin. Which you soon correct. Leaning down to kiss along his jaw. With his head back you gain direct access to his throat and neck. Earning gratifying deep groans from him as you leave your light marks on him. Feeling his hand at the back of you head gripping your hair in reaction.

pulling back when you are satisfied with your work. Togame opens his eyes, heavy lidded watching your Hips never faltering as you go up and down on him. “My favorite sight to see” the man before you breathes out. His hand at the back of your neck gliding to your jaw. Admiring you like the work of art you are. “does my cock feel good, Hm?” Voice deep hitting your core feeling your walls tighten around him making him huff out a laugh. Thumb grazing your bottom lip. “Don’t even gotta say nothin. it’s yours all yours” his voice teetering on a moan as you grind against him.

Without thinking your tounge pokes out to taste the pad of his thumb on your lip. Dark eyes lighting up in amusement, togame moves his hand to slip in a slender digit into your mouth. Feeling you moan around it as you accept it. The rest of his fingers grip your jaw and chin. He swore that nothing is sexier than you riding him. But right now, the image of you sucking on his finger, lips stopping just above his bruised knuckle. Was plain on erotic to him that he can’t help but jut his hips up into you. Grinning at your muffled scream on his hand. feeling him hit that soft spot within you.

Togame groans, adding another to your accepting mouth as you swirl and suck on the long digits. “Greedy mouth doll…you love havin it full don’t you?” His hand on your hip tightens. “Just like your tight cunt”

He thrusts up into again making you whine again around his fingers. Your Hips stuttering for a moment letting him take you. His movements determined in Reaching for that blissful satisfaction he knows is on the other side for both of you.

Leaving you A moaning drooling mess on his bruised hand and a soaked trembling mess on his cock.

Meeting his thrusts once more, Togame curses. Bodies moving in a rhythm you both knew quite well now after a growing number of nights where he showed you time and time again he isnt who everyone thinks he is. Showing you the cracks in his ruthless persona he presents to others.

Only for you. He was all yours. You grind your hips harder into him, walls clamping down on him. “Doll!-“ his moans escaping him. As you regain your pace on him.

He removes his fingers from your mouth, eyes wide and pleading. Loving that you can make him a lost for words. Make him Look at you like your the only reason for his being but at the same time the reason for his undoing. Cupping the back of your head he crashes your mouths together, the kiss hot and desperate. Trying to hold onto his snipping restraint at your unrelenting movement.

His hand leaves your head to cup your Breast, pinching the nipple. Grounding himself to your hot body. “I can’t- fuck I’m Close A-angel” he fumbles for his words against your lips. Teeth grazing.

“Touch me” you pant out.

Not needing to be told twice-pushing the fabric of your skirt to reveal where you are both messily connected. Groaning He glides up both of your essences with his thumb and rubs your clit in quick circles. Hearing you curse as your walls clench around him.

Togame fights to hold his control at that moment. Emerald eyes staying on your face as you both work each other to that wonderful edge. “Making me feel so good. Let me come for you, huh? Fuck please let me…” his voice tilting into a whine he didn’t care to restrain. And with that sweet unguarded sound that is only for you to hear.

You come undone above him. Your heat pulsating around him coaxing him into joining you. Not needing more persuasion to fill you up with his hot realase. With your head falling onto his shoulder, your body trembles with the shocks of your orgasm. He grabs both your hips and rocks you into him. Helping you to come down from Your high. His mouth peppering your skin with kisses wherever he could reach on your neck and shoulder.

His mouth trails up to your jaw guiding your face towards him. Your lips meet his lazily, still trying to regain your breathing. He pulls away with a smile, resting his forehead against yours. “Alright?” You feel the warmth and attentiveness in his deep resounding cadence.

You nod, knowing you feel more than alright at that moment, bliss thrumming through your veins. Togame pushes your hair back behind your ear. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want me to get my hands bloody for her. This was a hell of a thank you for it” his chuckle full of mirth and affection when you give him a unserious glare. Wrapping you up against him once more. Warding off the incoming chill.

Outisde, the tress which rustle against the crisp air and the stars that fill up the night sky are a fogged up blur on the other side of the car window. When you both start to untangle from each other with a contagious laugh shared between the two.

[yoonia]

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖉𝖊 — 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔶

💕 this is the masterpost of my creations that I shared through my 𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖉𝖊 event. each theme will be presented in three separate corners based on the submitted requests sent to me as part of the main event. links to the other parts connected to this event, including the afterparty items, will be linked below!

⇝ 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘 ⇝ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖞: 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔠 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ⇝ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖞: 𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔳𝔢

📜 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔯 This corner includes the visual moodboards as my gift to the authors who have submitted their fics, based on the story or summary and how I perceive them

✎ "a taste of his magic" author: @shadowkoo; fic title: The Taste Of Sin

✎ "sense of duty" author: @cybrsan; fic title: Vignette: Duty

✎ "taking chances" author: @beomcoups; fic title: The Athlete

✎ "vigilante" author: @yoongihan; fic title: Vigilant(e)

✎ "is anyone there?" author: @livingformintyoongi; fic title: When The Lights Go Out

✎ "a lover's redemption" author: @writtenwhalien; fic title: A Lover's Redemption

✎ "stellar behaviour" author: @lo1k-diamonds; fic title: Stellar Behaviour

✎ "the vendor girl" author: @kithtaehyung; fic title: Minted

✎ "meet the Yoons" author: @monamipencil; fic title: Mr. & Mrs. Yoon

✎ "dance with me?" author: @raplinesmoon; fic title: On The Ropes

✎ "stranger in the night" author: @ressjeon; fic title: fish out of water

✎ "silk tie" author: @bts-ruu; fic title: Silk Tie

🖋️ 𝔶𝔬𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔞'𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔯 This corner includes visual moodboards based on the stories that I wrote and selected/requested by readers. Some may include spoilers and snippets or bonus scenes based on the headcanons that were sent to me

✎ "one last time" character: jungkook x reader, taehyung x reader; fic title: About Time

✎ "welcome to club la rouge" character: jungkook x reader; fic title: In Motion

✎ "the journey begins" character: seokjin x reader; fic title: of bears and bonds

✎ "tears of the sea" character: taehyung x reader; fic title: The Forsaken

✎ "two steps behind (or ahead?)" character: yoongi x reader; fic title: the bedroom hymns

✎ "dinner with mista joonie" character: namjoon x reader; fic title: blooming wallflowers

✎ "our imperfections" character: namjoon x reader; fic title: the (im)perfect ending

📸 𝔨𝔭𝔬𝔭 𝔞𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔯 This corner includes gifts for my lovely followers based on their biases, core aesthetics, and other themes that have been submitted to me

✎ "moonstruck" requested by: anon; core aesthetic: dark academia, artist/group: jungkook (bts), heeseung (enhypen), lee know (stray kids)

✎ "clouds" requested by: @/closer-to-jungkook; core aesthetic: noir, artist/group: jungkook (bts)

✎ "piece of peace" requested by: anon; core aesthetic: retro-pastel, artist/group: j-hope (bts)

✎ "daydream" requested by: anon; core aesthetic: dark autumn, artist/group: yeonjun (txt), wooyoung (ateez), jungwon (enhypen)

💕 thank you so much to everyone who had joined this birthday event by submitting their works, ideas, and requests. It has been a lovely experience to be able to hear your voice and share the love for fanfics and music through this. I hope we can get to experience something like this soon in the future!

xoxo, 𝕯𝖎𝖆

[yuyatem]

Im a bit late with this, but as someone who loves puzzleshipping and fantasy, I just got way too inspired and time got lost on me. And while Im not much of a writer, I still have a bit of a story plot behind these drawings.

It was a momentous occasion for any fae, as the day when they became of age, they were sent out to find their own flower seed to tend to and grow in order to start their journey of independance.

The first seed being sacred as it represented themselfs as they grow.

Yugi, a fae of the day, planted his seed on top of a hill at the outskirts of a nearby forest on a flowerfilled green field. But as time went on,the seed, that he had believed to be a flower, turned out to be a tree as it grew into sapling.

Years passed and with his magic and vigilance, the sapling grew into an enormous cherry blossom. But since the kind of fae he was, who usually tended to small gardens of flowers, this in turn became an enormous undertaking as he had to spend more and more time tending to the tree. And being a tree planted, grown and tended to by a fae, the cherry blossoms bloomed all year round besides the winter months and thus he had to tend to all of its flowers from the crack of dawn to dusk to mantain its health (and sow its flowers for material and food).

Being alone he never had the time to do anything else and wheter it was because of his growing paranoia due to lack of sleep or just pure loneliness, but after a while of him working on the tree in the darker hours he had begun feeling like as if something, or rather someone, was watching him. But no matter how hard he looked around him and called out there was nothing…

Not knowing that from afar hidden by the shadows, a pair of crimson eyes watched his every move.

Intrigued.

(As a side note, Yugi was based on a butterfly-out during the day, whilst Atem was based on a moth-out during the night).

[tigtree]

my opinions on the foxes’ favourite seasons because i’m in the library procrastinating on a literature essay due this afternoon but i get more emotional the further i get:

Dan- winter. she’s a winter person through and through, she loves to cuddle up and watch christmas movies and light candles

Matt- spring. he’s a man of whimsy, definitely a big fan of watching the flowers bloom and the world glow green

Aaron- autumn. he’s an autumn guy. big fan of stepping on crunchy leaves and all sorts of halloween-themed dates with katelyn. also definitely watches over the garden wall every autumn.

Nicky- winter. winter winter winter. christmas?? new years?? he LOVES it. he loves getting festive, seeing all the lights. he gets a thrill out of cold, damp evenings and holding hands with erik under the streetlamps

Andrew- that awkward place between spring and summer. SOLELY because he’s a fan of the mild temperature. he can’t stand the cold and literally melts in the heat. he likes not having to think about the temperature before he goes out

Neil- summer. he is a year-round jorts and t-shirt man, but likes summer best because nobody jokes about it. he also doesn’t have to go around with cold legs in the summer. jorts

Allison- she can’t decide between summer and winter. she LOVES the summer heat and beach trips and cold drinks, but she’s also a complete sucker for a cozy night in with hot drinks and a christmas movie and fairy lights

Renee- spring. she loves warm rain, loves bugs, loves all of it. she’s a huge fan of easter- the symbolism of being reborn and all- and finds a lot of peace in the holiday and season. it’s the time of year where she feels the hope in everything she sees

Kevin- autumn/winter. he can’t get enough of the smell of the damp air, ducking under storefronts to escape the rain. he feels a lot of peace when the street lamps are on and he’s walking through columbia with his friends laughing around him, their breath fogging up in the air

Seth- summer. i can see him a big swimmer, loving beach days out. collecting seashells and scouring rock pools with his kids, washing the sand off of their feet in the ocean and carrying them back to the beach towels. he’d joke about not believing in sunscreen, but be hyper-vigilant about who needs a fresh coat and when. he’d love the sun on his skin and shitty seaside food.

[sunspearesque]

‘Tis You, My Great Love

Summary: I've been betrothed to fear since the mists of memory, “the bride of despair,” they named me. And there, by the shore, you found me… sorrow veiling my face, and wounds blooming like tulips in my hands. But lo, you, my great love, now stand, lifting the veil and bidding my fears depart with each tender kiss. “Stay,” I say, “stay for all eternity.”

A/N: hello hello beautiful friends!!! i wrote this piece while feeling extremely sentimental and sappy after a conversation about motherhood with my best friend.. i was contemplating motherhood, marriage, and intimacy in general, but then tried to imagine how that would translate to Nala's and Oberyn's relationship.. so, this fic is mainly fluff with a sprinkle of smut :3 and lots of poetic dreams… hope you enjoy it! <3

Pairing: Oberyn Martell × OFC from WoV

Rating: E (18+ only)

Content: established relationship (marriage); talks of motherhood; fear of loss and abandonment; fear of motherhood; talks of dreams; pregnancy; childbirth; fluff on steroids with a sprinkle of smut; dad!oberyn (my favorite oberyn to write); brief p in v sex; oral (m!receiving); breeding kink

WC: 2.6K

Read on AO3 • moodboard

“Love me so strongly that the echoes come to me here, at night, in the hours of insomnia, where I am waiting for you. I kiss you, I kiss you madly.” — Albert Camus to Maria Casares, Correspondence, January 9, 1950

His breath, slow and warm, caressed her neck as he nestled closer. His arms, like bands of fire, encircled her soft belly. With a grip as tight as the grasp of a man fearing the loss of paradise slipping through his fingers, he held her close, as if she might vanish like the elusive dream of Eden he chased in his sleep. Just when he thought he could taste its waters, they turned to fire, scorching his throat and consuming him in flames, jolting him awake from his slumber. Yet now, she mused, he sleeps peacefully.

She traced her finger over the scar adorning his shoulder, much like the marks she bore on her own body from bearing their son—for when love leaves its mark upon us, not even the shadow of fear can erase it.

Her fingers deftly threaded through his raven locks, prompting a soft hum from him as she pressed a tender kiss upon his brow. Never before had she known such serenity, as sleep gently stole her away in his arms.

—

The sun, basking in its warm and inviting glow, reached its luminous tendrils into the chambers of their castle. The soft sounds of nature at dawn whispered promises of new beginnings. These beginnings ushered in healing and prosperity to souls who had yearned for the clasp of death for so long, forgetting how to revel in life's joys and surrender to its tender embrace.

Life in Dorne, akin to a nurturing mother, a goddess, a woman… the dunes of sand beneath their calloused feet, and the blazing sun in the sky, stood as an impregnable fortress of strength akin to Nymeria, their burning star. She was the mother of both land and people, her warmth forging indomitable resolve within her children. She is the sun—their sun blazing fiercely, instilling in them an unyielding grit against any rival, yet within their hearts lay a gentle warmth that embraced love as steadfastly as a sacred oath.

And like the sun and the earth and Nymeria, Nala harbored the urges of motherhood within her, which was a concept that she held in reverence, yet it also stirred a deep sense of dread within her. She longed for the life burgeoning deep inside of her, for a part of herself to wander this realm and embrace life under her vigilant care and unwavering devotion. However, she couldn't shake the haunting memory of how motherhood had claimed her own mother's life, how she harbored guilt for the tragic fate her mother endured.

If only I hadn't been, she might have fled the castle and escaped her dire end...

This lingering wound within her soul was the sole reason she had shunned the idea of bearing children until she met him.

He, adorned in all his splendor, tended to her wounded soul the very instant he professed his love to her, at a time when he himself was most in need of solace. This bastion of a man, generous, gracious, and gallant, freely bestowed his love, protection, and tenderness, even amidst the shadows of his wrath and vengeance.

For you, my great love, I ache with an unbearable keenness, feeling the wounds within me slowly mend, sewn shut with the thread of your love—a needle of devotion stitching together my injured being. Though painful, it is an insatiable need, a piercing sting I have yearned for throughout the passing years. It closes the chasm within me, that gaping void where the winds of despair and sorrow once freely roamed, leaving me as naught but a specter, undeserving of love, joy, or autonomy.

Your love, my great love, is what ignited within me a hunger for life after an endless fast of fear—fear of loss and abandonment. Your love bestowed upon me the strength to embrace love once more, despite the inevitable sacrifices. Did you know that you visited me in my dreams? You kissed me with such tenderness and held me close. “I was adrift,” I told you, my voice laden with fear, “take me..” I whispered, “Take me with you.”

When she pledged herself to him in marriage, she knew she needed to fear no one beneath the gaze of Gods and men. With him by her side, no rivals could breach her defenses; even in death, his spirit would haunt any who dared to harm her through all Seven Hells and beyond.

You told me once, do you recall? As we strolled the shores, my steps were heavy with dread or joy, or perhaps it was the dread of the joy that awaited me. I struggle to remember the last time genuine happiness graced my soul before that day. When the sweet taste of happiness touched my sorrow-laden lips, I froze in place, wary that this cruel existence might snatch it away, as it so often does.

You whispered to me, my great love, your love with such fervor, you told me how it frightened you, unable to resist the pull of our inevitable fate. “How could I?” you pondered, “You are inescapable.” You told me that sorrow is the price of love; to shun one is to forsake the other. Yet, you vowed not to evade me, you kissed me and swore to me that you would not allow my love to elude your grasp.

You told me how I melt into your dreams, whisking you away in my embrace mere seconds before the phantom hands could encircle your throat. Those same hands, which once tormented you each night, wrenching you from slumber, now find themselves impotent against your newfound peace. You impute to me your salvation, though I doubted my own. You rekindled a dormant tenderness within me, long thought doused by the harshness of life. ‘tis you, my great love, who rescued me… It was not I who saved you, but you who saved me.

She recalled a day they spent amidst the Water Gardens, a few moons past:

Reclining upon the grass, the soothing melody of a nearby water fountain lulled her into a serene state of repose. The laughter of Dorea and Loreza filled her ears, joyfully engaged in play with their father. Nala shut her eyes, savoring this heartening moment with those she holds most dear.

“W–Wait, papa, wait,” Dorea uttered between pants, attempting to conceal her sweet giggles. “I heard Arianne say that you engage in battles,” she inquired, her small hand resting on her waist as she sought to extract the truth from him.

“Yes, I do,” Oberyn replied, seated on the grass, attempting to catch his breath after chasing them all morning. “Why would Arianne tell you that?” He narrowed his eyes at his daughter, intrigued by the smirk that widened before Loreza jumped on his back, encircling his neck and hanging from it, ambushing him. “Papa, fight!”

Nala opened her eyes to witness the victorious father, besieged by little hands and tiny feet, playfully striking his stomach and chest, surrounded by laughter that compelled him to yield, lying flat on his back.

Dorea brandished a stick of wood, pointing it at his face, and murmured, “Surrender!” with a broad, toothy grin. Loreza, seizing the opportunity, delivered a playful punch to his soft middle. “I surrender, my lady, I surrender!” he exclaimed with feigned fear and defeat, eliciting more giggles from Loreza. “Have mercy on this old man, my lady, please!” he continued, jesting while maintaining his scared demeanor.

“Loreza,” Dorea commanded with a stern expression, feigning seriousness, “this soldier will join our army,” attempting a deep, authoritative voice. At that moment, Oberyn stealthily swept them both from their feet and hoisted them onto his shoulders, prompting a chorus of screams and laughter. “You shall never trust your enemy, girls,” he declared, his voice playfully admonishing.

Her faith in his paternal prowess never wavered, evidenced by his eight resilient daughters. He showered them with love and fierceness to such an extent that Nala's own heart ached with longing to bear his child—a primal yearning that twisted within her.

Each time he lay with her, she offered fervent prayers to the Gods, beseeching them, “Grant this union fruitfulness, let it take, let life flourish abundantly within me.”

When the soft stirrings of life within her ignited a radiant glow from deep within, his love grew even more tender, gentle, and expansive; even greater than the swell of her stomach. She marveled at the dichotomy of this fierce and dreaded man seeping such tenderness. How could hands, once stained with the blood of his foes and weathered by battle, now caress her with such delicate care, as if she were the most delicate of petals?

“Tell me,” he panted as he thrust into her, “Tell me how much you love me, Nala.”

“I do,” she said, her words strained with pleasure, melding into a moan, “I do, my viper, I adore you.”

As she entered the throes of labor, he sat steadfastly behind her, his legs parted to rest on her sides supporting her back against his chest, his words of praise gently murmured into her ear. Amidst his curses at the Gods, he avidly wished to shoulder her pain, to bear it in her stead. 

When they were greeted by the piercing cries of the fruit of their love—a child, glorious and perfect in every way, red and squealing, a reflection of his father in demeanor, soul, and visage—she cradled him in her arms, while Oberyn enveloped them both in his protective embrace.

Their eyes locked upon the tiny, fragile form before them, and as a rare tear escaped his forbearing facade, she reached out to brush it from his cheek. With a tender whisper, she said, “Look, my love, he bears your likeness.”

She reclined upon her side, nursing their son at her breast, nestled between herself and Oberyn. His gaze lingered upon the tender scene, his eyes laden with unspoken emotions that he dared not voice, lest tears betray him.

Do you remember, my great love? Do you remember how the fear wilted, its head bowed in shame? The fear that once gripped me, releasing my hand as it gazed upon you with eyes filled with dread.

“Fret not,” you whispered to me while I sat in sorrow by your side. Though you lay in a deep slumber for days, your voice broke through the darkness just when I feared I might never hear it again. When all semblance of peace metamorphosed into a looming specter, jeering at me, taunting my joy and desperation. “Oh, you naive child,” it sneered with a voice steeped in bitterness. “I am no child,” I retorted, yet I felt the weight of my old fears returning. “You never learn,” it spat, before your voice shielded me from impending despair. You whispered, “Fret not,” and I believed you, my great love, as I always do.

And now look... Look at him... How can one lay bare their heart to the world, a heart with little hands and tiny feet, and not fret?

—

Gently opening her eyes, she sensed the chill of the empty space beside her—a void she cursed and despised. Rising slowly from her slumber, she beheld him: bare-chested, glorious, as beautiful as a man can be, cradling their son in his arms.

Their embrace enveloped them in warmth, their skins melding as one, while the soft cooing of their child resonated faintly in the chamber's silence. Amidst the peaceful atmosphere, punctuated only by the hushed footsteps of her husband and the tender sounds of their boy, her heart pounded within her chest like a Sand Steed galloping across the Dornish plains, threatening to burst forth. The love she felt surged within her, surpassing all expectations, growing fiercer, more profound—unbearable. It was a love that dissolved her fears like the northern snows beneath the scorching sun.

In the treasured instants shared with his children, Oberyn found solace in moments where the chaos of the world faded into oblivion. Each time they gathered around him, their youthful spirits ignited a spark of joy within him, particularly in those tender early years when they sought refuge in their father's arms. Yet, amidst this warmth, a pang of sorrow lingered as he gazed upon his son, his thoughts drifting to memories of his nephew Aegon, the son of his sweet sister Elia.

He couldn't help but imagine how Aegon might have flourished had fate been kinder to him or his sister or their mother. A gentle touch from Nala drew him back from his sorrowful reverie, and as he turned to meet her tender smile, he leaned in to press a soft kiss upon her lips, mindful not to disturb the slumbering child cradled in his embrace.

“Why did you not awaken me, my love?” Nala murmured, her gaze tenderly fixed upon their son.

“I wished for you to rest,” he replied softly, his eyes warm as they met hers, before he moved to lay their child gently in his crib, nestling him into the plush bedding.

Returning to their bed, he settled himself against the sturdy wooden frame, patting the mattress beside him, inviting her to join him. She approached, crawling between his legs, prompting a raised brow and a smirk from him. “And what might you be doing?” he inquired.

“I long to savor you,” she declared simply, positioned between his spread legs and deftly undoing his breeches.

“And your wounds, my love?” he gently reminded her. “You are not fully healed yet.”

“This will be my remedy,” she replied, her voice hoarse and tinged with sleep and yearning, almost on the edge of a whine.

She felt his cock swell and throb in her grasp, searing and already slick with desire. With gentle strokes of her hand, she evoked muffled groans from him, meeting his gaze as she whispered, “I love you beyond reckoning…”

Lowering her head to his glistening tip, she teased the slit with tiny licks, relishing every drop of his precum. His head fell back, a deep moan escaping his lips before she buried him in her mouth.

She swallowed him deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed within her throat, his leg jerked beside her as she moved him in and out of her wet and wanting mouth. A low hum accompanied her fervent ministrations, her hand tenderly caressing his soft belly, a part of him she had adored over the years.

Pulling him from her drooling mouth to catch her breath, she panted between words, “If not for my wounds, I would not have wasted your seed anywhere but deep within my cunt,” she licked his sensitive tip, and he whimpered quietly, “taking me day and night… today and tomorrow and the day after, and spilling your seed within me over and over ‘til it takes,” she confessed before taking him again, squeezing him within her tight throat, his primal groans filling the air and filling her with an immense sense of pride at her actions.

She swallowed around him once, then twice, until she felt his warm, salty cum spurt into her eager throat, eliciting a guttural growl from him as he filled her up and came down from his climax. She withdrew his softened cock from her mouth, gathering the seeping cum from the corners of her lips before eagerly sucking her digit clean. Crawling up to lie atop him, she rested her head upon his heaving chest, pressing kisses to his golden skin. He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly, yearning to merge with her until they became one.

You, my great love, ‘tis you who will always reign until the end of times, in every lifetime, in every plane of existence.