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hwajin · 6 months

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☆°. — ғɪғᴛᴇᴇɴ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇs ᴘᴀsᴛ ғᴏᴜʀ | hhj

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fluff

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hyunjin x afab!reader

𝐰𝐜: 3.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, cumming inside

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is barely proof read AND inspired by the bathrobe look in paris but also hyunjin in milan 🫶 hope you like it <333

You could feel his gaze on you. On your figure, your body. On your whole. The clear sound of his 2B pencil dancing along the cheap, store-bought paper echoed quietly in contrast to the music playing somewhere in the back, from the radio, or one of your phones, or from outside your hotel room altogether — it didn’t much matter to you, for his gaze on your body, on your figure, on your whole was all that did.

You weren’t sure if he was aware that you were aware — his eyes on you, the pencil scratching against the paper; you knew you were the object for his current spurt of creativity. The object of his inspiration. The object of his works — his very own and personal muse. You knew, and the knowledge, the very thought alone, made you dizzy, made you lose track of the sentence you were reading in the tour guide provided by the hotel.

Milan was beautiful. You were working your way through page after page, taking in museums and cathedrals, art galleries you knew Hyunjin would die to see. One page, his gaze on you, long, intimate, longing. Another page, eyeing the ‘Pinacoteca di Brera’, putting in a bookmark to later show him, and you felt his eyes on you again. Unbudging. Persistent. He either was unsure of your anatomy, or simply enjoyed to stare.

“I can feel you staring, you know.”

You looked up, and your eyes momentarily locked with his own, dark ones. Sparking. Speaking, without words. His hair had dried a good bit ever since he’d stepped out the shower, the white bathrobe snug loosely around his naked body leaving only so much to imagination. You looked at him, smiling, teasing, and he stared back — aware, and smug. His eyes wandered down to his art again — faint strokes of your face adorning the page and you wondered what had moved Hyunjin to capture you in this very moment — it was mundane, the moment, and you didn’t look any bit different – or, better, for that matter – than you did any other day. You were reading a tour guide, lazy, tired, solemn — you wondered where he saw the beauty in that.

“I know. I don’t mind that you can feel it.”

A pang to your heart, and he looked up from his page again, after adding lines here and there which as though magically transformed into plasticity, into your eyes and nose and mouth. You were fascinated by his art. You grew bashful at his words. And you were enamored by his eyes, his face. His whole; the way he looked. Milan was beautiful — but suddenly you forgot all about the tour guide, about the trip here you had bought for his birthday. You forgot all about the sights and museums and art galleries, for he sat across from you, sight enough, creating the only art you ever wished to look at.

You were sure you blushed, your skin acquainting the same colour of the roses blooming on the table in a vase. You could smell them, their scent spreading all around and luring you into depths so captivating you wanted to exist in them for eternity.

Only now you noticed the red paint by your lover’s side, only after thorough inspection of him. He parted his eyes from your own with a grin and continued on his drawing — on your drawing, ultimately, because you knew he’d gift it to you after finishing touches —; his hands reached after the brush laying beside his paper, and with a dip into beforehand-prepared water he activated the red colour, and let it swim across white paper. You couldn't take your eyes off him. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way his hands controlled the paint on his canvas, how the pigment drowned and spread and melted against the grey lines of pencil. Taking everything in, swallowing details, yet enhancing the object of the art, enhancing features of your face. Your cheeks suddenly shone red now on the white paper — and maybe it had been his aim after all, to make you shy, to make you bashful. Reality materialised onto paper, into art. Love did, for every brushstroke, every further pigment of red paint on white canvas meant love, for every further gaze of his, for reference or his own enjoyment you weren’t sure, meant adoration.

It took Hyunjin far longer to finish the painting than he had intended it to. Not because he was struggling with it — drawing you in all shapes and forms was a second nature to him by now —, and not because of exterior reasons altogether. Yet he sat and painted, away and away, adding a line here, colour there, watching you go back to the tour guide; he was sure that it could not possibly take you so long to finish it. That you were spending far too much time on each page, that you were eyeing Hyunjin far too often after every other sentence you read. That it wouldn’t possibly take you so long to inspect sights and places — but that you and him were set on the same mission, seemingly, on the same, interior goal. Finishing the tour guide, completing the painting — meant ending the moment. Ending the tranquility, discarding, ultimately, from admiring the other in the golden light of the slowly setting sun, shadows of trees and buildings casting paintings on your faces. The moment would end, the sun would set, would stop drowning the ebony furniture in your hotel room in golden showers, snow-white bed sheets in warm rays.

You looked up; Hyunjin looked at you, inspecting, one second, another, before he went back to his painting, as concentrated as he had stared at you. You let your eyes wander to somewhere behind him — you looked out the western window, which blind’s didn't do well in saving you from the blinding sun, though you wouldn't have wanted them to, admired the sunset, the city that laid in it, the foreign neighbourhood, the white sky. Maybe Hyunjin caught beauty there — the rich sun on your face. Your sparking eyes, your gleaming expression. Almost sacred, solemn. Meant for only the two of you.

You caught glimpse of the broken clock on the wall behind him, showing fifteen minutes past four — it had been showing fifteen minutes past four for the past two hours now. Or for the past three? How much later was it now, ever since you had settled into the hotel room? The sun had long started to set behind the horizon, though it had stood at its highest spot when you had first entered the single bedroom for two; yet maybe no time had passed at all. Maybe in his presence love was eternal, unending.

You stood up. You had been looking at Hyunjin for far too long; had been only looking at him, inspected his every move, reciprocated his every long, fixed stare, shuddering beneath it simply. You had studied his ever-drying dark hair, his ever-parting bathrobe, his naked collarbones, his paint-laced fingers. The way he stared you down, the way he left you vulnerable and naked with as much as a gaze – and you felt touch starved. His eyes burned on your skin, though it wasn’t sensation enough to satisfy you – you needed more of him. You would always need more of him.

Hyunjin’s eyes followed your figure as you made your way over to him. Without a rush, walking slowly; you bore all the time the world had to offer in your palms, it felt. You walked slowly, yet the scent of the red roses you passed filled Hyunjin’s senses in the breeze your movements created. The floral sensation all around him, your nearing body, your leisure attire, your hazy eyes – he was convinced this moment alone, the sight of you, the golden sun as though casting a halo above your figure, drowning you in warmth and beauty and love, this moment alone was entirely enough to eradicate each and every of his needs, any wish he’s ever wished and any promise he’s ever made; for this moment alone, and your heaven-sent presence was enough to fulfill all. Needs, wishes, promises. If it was you he could look at for eternities, if it was your body he’d have the privilege of holding close for the end of times he would never dare to ask of anything else.

The red paint on Hyunjin’s paper slowly dried out as you finally stood before him. It wasn’t, Hyunjin thought, the roses on the table in a vase which sent their scent across the room, after all – it was you. You smelt of roses. You smelt of vanilla, of red paint, of smoke, of Milan, now that you stood before him, now that he looked up at you, from beneath glasern eyes. You smelt like you, and you smelt like him; traces of his scent and his touch and his promise on your skin, and Hyunjin basked in it.

You didn’t waste much time before you made moves to take a seat on his lap; and not only did Hyunjin realize your attempts momentarily, he also embraced you without as much as hesitation. He found himself drowning in the feeling of your weight on him, allowing you to swallow him whole, allowing you to let your eyes explore. You let them wander from his face to his neck, from his protruding collarbones to his pointy shoulders – the white bathrobe was almost mocking now, doing so little in covering the man that it was nothing but ironic.

And you felt his hands on you, your body. Secure, sure of their position on your hips. Tall fingers, spacey palms; you felt their entirety on your body, and your red heart picked up its’ speed at that.

And you touched him, too. Your hands, cool and soft, found home on his face, each palming a cheek, closing him in. Your thumbs caressed his flush skin, tickled near his eyes, reached towards his parted lips, his hungry lips. Hyunjin looked at you, let you touch him, his face. Let you look at him. Let you make him wait on the kiss he so badly needed, let you bask in him, for he enjoyed nothing more than that.

Your eyes met, and you weren’t sure who granted the first smile, but both your mouths turned upwards, curling into softening features. Roses, red paint, Milan outside the window; though this moment contained of only you and him, and the broken clock, fifteen minutes past four, timelessness. You showed your teeth, your eyes squinting with your smile, and Hyunjin’s were the same.

“Hi.”

A whisper against quiet music and honking cars, angry passengers outside, and Hyunjin reciprocated with a chuckle. Then, a whisper as soft as the prior one, “Hi.”; and he pulled you in. Or maybe he reached for you, longed for you. Or maybe you both moved only enough for your lips to connect, finally, in soft passion. Vigorously, though not in haste, not in roughness. Forcefully, rather, impatiently forceful as you let your tongue dart out of your mouth so it could explore his, and it didn’t take the man as much as a minute to welcome you in, to invite you into himself. And you let your tongue dance with his own, in a waltz, or something faster than that, something less rhythmic – something freer. Your hands stood ground on his body, fingers digging into his shoulder as his dug into your flesh, in covered flesh by your aching hips. Your mouths moved against one another sloppily, and teeth dragging across lips, tongues easing off the sting right after, wet, loud, swallowing any sound which slipped past your throats. Quiet, still timid, breathy sighs which tasted of chocolate and shaky moans which were barely audible against exterior noise. You saw stars behind your eyelids – if because you squeezed them shut so tight it hurt, or because Hyunjin’s touch on your body, the bite he had just placed on your lower lip, and the way he pulled away right after, only for a second, less than that, to admire you with a smile before diving back into you, you weren’t sure, but there were stars all the same. Stars, and Hyunjin, darkening Milan behind the hotel room windows. Fifteen minutes past four. Timelessness.

Hyunjin pulled you closer. Impatience, or simply the need to have you nearer, more flushed against his body than you already were. His hands lay strong on your body, and he pulled you in, your cores coming in contact, hot, ignited, searching for more than this. Than clothed touches, more than the faint feeling of his erection against your sex. More than his hands in your hair, entangling long, warm fingers there, more than his teeth bruising your lips. You’d always want more – and you were glad that Hyunjin was no different. For his hands wandered, and his lips with them, kissing and nibbling where his fingers danced upon – your neck, your shoulders, then, your chest, unbuttoning your shirt one by one, not without a kiss to your skin with every further act of undressing. One button, a kiss, a gaze up to you beneath his lashes, a faint smile, a smug grin at your scrunched brows and staggered breath. Another button, another kiss, and his gaze fell back to your chest, watching your ever-exposing body, so impatient in his seat yet so unrushed. Taking his time. Feeling your bosom rise and fall against his lips, hearing your breath, your sighs, your heartbeat. Feeling hot – your skin was burning, your body was, and Hyunjin with it.

Your shirt was discarded onto the floor. Long forgotten, along with your shorts; Hyunjin’s bathrobe lay leisurely around him, half-opened, only carelessly shoved off his body yet not having borne enough patience to fully free him from it. Though neither of you cared. You let the fabric hang off the chair you were sitting on, the softness of it the only thing touching your skins besides each other's skin. You were closer now, much closer than before, though you barely deemed it possible. You sat right atop Hyunjin’s erection, his right hand resting against your inner thigh – he wasn’t touching yet, only teasing to, and your body grew hotter yet, needier. Your hips searched for friction, your fingers dug into Hyunjin’s scalp with a force which made the man groan out in deep satisfaction, and you kissed him with a fervor enough to move oceans – and he drowned in it, gave into you, kissed you back as feverishly, as messily.

He touched you, too. Finally, eventually, and you muffled a loud moan at the unexpectedness of it. Two fingers against your clit as Hyunjin’s tongue entered your mouth, as he forced your tongue to push against his own – to which you obliged, gladly. You moaned into him as you reciprocated his kiss, grinded your hips into his touch, into his hand. He answered with a sigh, with fingers which increased their speed, with a bite against your lower lip. It ought to hurt by now, your lower lip, with the way he was nibbling at it, though you believed that your body was immune to feel pain in relation to your lover. So, he bit away, nibbled on the sweet spot of your neck, on the lobe of your ear only to moan right into it, to send shivers down the entirety of your body, and you let him. And there was no better feeling, you believed.

You disconnected your lips from his. There was a second where his mouth searched for yours, where his body hadn’t yet registered the emptiness your parting left, but then he looked at you, leaned back in his chair, eyes glassy, fingers circling around your clit slowly, mindlessly. As though it was a bodily reaction, an instinct. As though he wasn’t actively aware of his movements at all. His breath hitched in his throat, and he looked a mess – pupils blown out, eyes dark as night, hair disheveled, mouth red and puffed and bruising. There were faint love bites blooming on his neck already, ones that would turn a deep red, or a deep purple by the next morning. The sun had almost set behind the horizon, was casting its’ last, weak rays upon the planet – and those last, weak rays of golden light seemed all to land on the man beneath you. He shone, almost golden himself, chest and cheeks flushed red, and he was glowing. Glowing in the way he looked at you, glowing the smile he granted you, genuine, true. He waited on you, waited on a kiss, or on something else, something more, maybe. Yet he let you stare at him, let you admire him in the last, weak rays of sunshine that seemed to have been saved up for him, solely – and then you kissed him, unable to resist wide eyes and longing mouth, and he kissed you back. Touched you, and you let your hands wander down his body, not missing a single line on it, not missing an inch before your hand palmed his crotch. You could sit and kiss him forever, could bask in him and his body for eternity – but you were impatient, too, especially when it came to him, to your lover. When it was him, you lost control of yourself, of your body, of your soul. It belonged to him entirely, all of it.

He let you sink onto him. Hyunjin let you bury your face in the sweatiness of his neck, in its’ sensitivity, let you groan out into his ear as you felt him bottom out entirely. He let you adjust to him, and you let him hold you, against him, against his body, your heart against his own, chest to chest. You let him whisper sweet nothings, promises, and confessions, and entire worlds. You loved his never tiring tongue in moments of intimacy – he talked and talked and talked, words sweeter than honey could ever be, and sounds more sinful than anything you’d ever known.

You screamed out when he moved. Thrusting his hips into your own, up and deeper inside of you, and you struggled to keep your composure. Your arms snug tightly around his body, around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer – you melted into one as he kept moving into you, both hands keeping a steady position on your hips, to hold you in place, or to grant you stability, or to grant himself some. And the room erupted into a symphony of your voices, of your moans and grunts and sighs, whispers and whines of each other’s names. Your senses filled with everything that was him – his voice, deep and longing and loud in your ear, his hand bruising your flesh, groping at you so harshly you saw stars, his scent, his golden body, his mouth on your skin. Everything was him, his erection so very deep within you that it almost hurt, though not quite, his right hand which suddenly found its’ way to your clit again. Drawing figures eight there impatiently as his hips grew frantic, slowly losing rhythm.

Your body ignited. It was hot, it was wet and a mess, and it was fifteen minutes past four. The broken clock on the wall behind Hyunjin capturing you two in its’ timelessness, in its infinity. It had stopped solely for you, for your love, for your souls. Your eyes closed shut when Hyunjin bit against your neck, when his teeth grazed your skin just deep enough to not break it, to not draw blood, and you came against his body in shaking waves, with a broken moan which was swallowed by the man in an instant. You felt him fill you up as he groaned into the kiss, as he let his tongue enter your mouth in lazy manner, careless now of sloppiness, of the lack of coordination. He held you close, he thrusted into you tiredly, he let you hold him. He let you kiss him, just as tired, just as lazy, basking in him, in his taste, in his scent.

Milan was beautiful. Night began to drown the city in darkness, buildings and trees, cars and people and the world losing color, quieting down. But it was still fifteen minutes past four – and you sat in Hyunjin’s hold for an eternity longer, in hushed giggles and shy confessions, and loved each other throughout the entirety of the night.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin imagines #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids hyunjin smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios

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jiminiecrickets · 4 months

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HEAVEN'S SHEATH. KTH / M!READER

summary. a wealthy lord's pacifist son finds friendship and affection in a poor soldier, unremarkable except for the fact that he is the lone survivor of a massacre. fate has different plans for them.

wc. 10k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, virgin!reader with a big dick (lol), reader is described as tall/strong, descriptions of blood/injuries/death, sex while injured (reader), riding, multiple orgasms, 2/3rds is only worldbuilding oops im just like that!!

a cloud of dust billows beneath the heavy black hooves of a friesian stallion, sturdy and strong-chested. the well-travelled dirt path swings over rolling green knolls, past flocks of white sheep herded into valleys and heavy brown cows grazing along the hillside. the untouched countryside is marked by clusters of tall green trees along the road and they shade the large river snaking through the vale.

amongst the verdant growth, throned between the river and the hills, lies a large manor built strong with stone and brick. other buildings lay scattered around its feet, and life is most evident here – servants hurry about, ushering goats into their wooden pens and their young ones out of the way of the black horse's brisk high trot. the little children stare with big eyes up at the regal stallion's wavy mane, watching how it falls softly over its long neck with each step. it is a horse that carries great presence and elegance, and its rider is no different.

at the manor's grand front entrance, an older man stands in wait, both hands resting on a cane tipped at both ends with gold. his hair is almost fully grey. his steely eyes track the horse and the dust and pollen dirtying its fine feathering on the lower legs.

"you've been sorely missed, son," he says in an unreadable tone, light enough for politeness but darkened by his heavy gaze. "does wartime make for a better view?"

the rider dismounts, hushing the horse as it snorts and tosses its head, hooves stamping. it yearns for the freedom of the run. he pets its soft mane. his voice is deep and monotone with disinterest. "certainly. it's quieter."

the man's eyes narrow. "you left all the kitchen girls alone, who i know you've a fondness for. you should be at home to protect them, taehyung, not gallivanting off to paint your pictures."

silently, taehyung passes off the reins to the stablehand, and turns to stare up at his father from the bottom of the steps. he tugs off his kid-leather riding gloves and places them in the pocket of his navy blue coat. "what do i know of war and fighting? you were the general, not i. i'd say you are much better suited to protecting these frail women from suffering under the hands of conquerors."

"you are the son of a general," he replies sharply. "the youth must carry on what their fathers forged."

"hate and subjugation, of course," taehyung sighs, shifting his bag of paints in one arm and his canvas in another. "humanity's pinnacle."

"stay your wit, boy. you'll find no friends with it."

he slips past him through the open doors of the manor, his paints clinking in its leather saddlebag. "yes, my lord."

upstairs in a large, sunlit room, he sets it all down with a soft huff. he glances around at the canvases lining the walls, leaning against cupboards and drawers full of paint thinners and varnishes. portraits of one woman dominate most of them – slender, pale, with dark hair, full lips, and a soft curving nose. in some, she sits primly on a chair amongst vases of flowers and goblets of wine, and in others, on chaises in simple dresses with a needle and thread in her hands, glowing with the early summer light blooming behind her.

these are the ones hung up or placed atop chests of drawers. not one touches the ground – that place, on the edge between floor and wall, is reserved for simpler landscapes and still lifes.

"i remember i told you to take down those portraits. do you find joy in antagonising me?"

taehyung turns. his father stands on the threshold, cane by his side. after he returned from the last war with a limp and new scars, he has not worn any other colour but black.

he turns back to his saddlebags, indifferent as he slowly pulls his paints and brushes one at a time from the bag. "no. i find no joy in speaking to you at all."

his father's expression tightens. "i did not make her ill. it was chance and nature. your hatred of me will not bring her back, no matter how intense. it is time to move on, son. lingering on it breeds only worse things."

"'worse things'?" taehyung snaps, gripping a put of paint so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i am not one of your soldiers, so don't speak to me like one. i don't need your pragmatism, your war-bred heartlessness. all she wanted was you. all she asked for was you, and you never came."

he has had this argument many times over since that winter. it festers hot fury in his chest just thinking of it, and it has not burned dimmer with time.

he turns and approaches his father, eye-to-eye. he is not a boy anymore. he surveys him for a moment. "war may have reforged you, made you richer and cleverer, but it burned away all that she loved. you never once held her again, felt her breath on your cheek." taehyung brushes his knuckles over his jaw. he shakes his head and begins to walk down the hall. "don't touch those portraits."

back for only a few minutes and taehyung already cannot stand the solemn weight of the air within these walls. he pushes open the front doors with more force than necessary and wanders through the large, walled estate, stone brick encompassing the major centres of activity.

mindlessly, he travels past the cowherds and shepherds leading in the meat for supper, and the stablemaster tending to his friesian, and the beekeepers. he passes the wall and almost reaches the wheat farm.

hushed whispers float up from the riverbank. he stops in his tracks.

by the water, the girls and women who work with the granary from the farm are crowded around something on the bank. the linens of their dresses are dark with water up to their knees, where they hold it back.

he notices the expressions on the girls' faces – bright with nervousness and fear, but tinged with… curiosity? they whisper amongst themselves behind their hands.

he approaches, ducking under a branch of the oak they shelter beneath. "what is so interesting?"

they startle, several sets of eyes turning towards him. one of the older girls, about his age, drops into a fumbled curtsy. "oh, young master—! we weren't doing nothin' bad, sir, but we was hiding from the sun when we found something the lord sir might need know. we found 'im caught up on the root branches here."

him?

taehyung steps past her. his eyes widen.

a young soldier, skin tinged grey, lies on his back on the riverbank, the water lapping at his calves. his boots have come off somewhere in the water. he wears an unfamiliar uniform: a mixture of thick fabrics to stave off the cold adorned with a strangely-patterned leather jerkin.

it is a poor man's armour, he realises, made of what he can scrounge up and what fits from the garrison's armoury. despite his lack of wealth, taehyung can tell he is a big man – tall, strong in ways only a life of hard work can create. he is fair of face, too, handsomer than many young nobles taehyung has met. perhaps a blacksmith's apprentice, or a baker's boy?

"which… which army is he from, master taehyung? can you tell?"

the question awakens him from his daze. he blinks. "ah – bring him higher on the bank, get his legs out of the water. let me closer."

he crouches by the body, pulling at the heavy cloth draped over the torso. at the neck, where the cloth is bunched and rolled to pack in heat, he finds a small red patch.

taehyung sighs and presses the soaked cloth back into place. "this man is very, very far from home."

the girls glance at each other uncertainly. "what does that mean, master?"

"many years ago, his homeland was seized, and now his people are under southern rule. he was an infantryman. simple cannon fodder." with a soft exhale, he leans over the torso and pulls him onto his side to reach the lashes holding together his water-heavy coat. "perhaps i can bury him someplace high, so that his soul may be reminded of home."

the body jerks and chokes out a lungful of water with a ragged groan.

the girls yelp, stumbling back. taehyung would have had he not already been on his knees. his eyes widen as the soldier's face pinches in pain, eyes still shut. taehyung reaches for the oldest girl, gesturing frantically towards the manor on the horizon. "find my father and tell him what you've found! you've my permission to leave the farm and all of that – he's alive!"

—

it is dark. everything hurts. this is hell – this is punishment, eternal and unforgiving. this is deserved for desertion.

then – light. light rings against bone and flesh.

velvet. mahogany. silk and down.

there is a girl beside you, leaning over you. her linen dress is plain but clean with a white apron over it.

your side explodes with pain. you launch upright with a violent shout, gasping and clutching the hot ache under your ribs. cries of shock throb in your skull.

you blink, hard, eyes adjusting dizzily to the brightness of the room. your torso is wrapped in cloth, which you can feel flat and taut against your skin. your hand comes away clean, and for several unthinking moments, you wonder why. your thoughts are slow and heavy.

"you ought to relax, master," echoes a soft voice beside you. her vowels are round and elongated, the accent so different from your own that you barely recognise it, much less understand it. you stare up unseeingly at her youthful face, framed by dark curls held back by a bonnet. she steps forward, a damp sponge in her hand. that is why your limbs feel cold. "your injuries are quite severe."

"where am i?" you mumble, your tongue thick in your mouth. words are unfamiliar. "who're you?"

she glances up at the other maids, huddling by the door. she sets down the sponge and extends a hand, though you flinch from it. she does not try again. "you are in the northern highlands. hadria. my name is aemma."

"aemma," you murmur. the sounds are soft and round, like a river pebble. like a river, you realise, you are damp and naked, save for a single sheet of folded cloth across your lap. you feel your face grow hot and you clutch it close, folding your legs towards your body for security. "m-may i – where are my clothes?"

aemma gestures for one of the other girls, who quickly scoops up a folded pile of clothes from atop the chest at the base of the lavish bed. the rest of the bedroom is similarly luxurious, with a dark palette that soaks up sunlight to warm its wood. the walls are pale, though framed by polished wooden frames embracing the room.

"here," she replies. "the lord father has gifted you some riding clothes to wear in their stead. they were to be given to the young master when he turned of age, but…" she pauses. she shakes her head and curtsies. "you're to meet the lord father and his son shortly. we were to inform them when you were to wake eventually."

"eventually…" you trail off. "how long have i been here?"

"two days, master."

your head begins to pound. you cradle it, wincing, and reach for the offered clothes. they are clean and soft under your callused fingertips. "ah… i'm no lord, miss."

aemma smiles briefly, folding her hands over her stomach. "the lord father requires it, master."

you have no heart to push. in fact, you would much rather lay down for another two days, though knowing you are under the roof of a lord churns up too much fear to do so. if northern men were anything like southern ones, you would do anything to keep your name clean.

"i'd like to dress," you say softly, glancing briefly at the maids watching you from the corner of the room. "alone, if the lasses would allow it."

with another curtsy, aemma ushers the other girls out of the room and closes the door after them. you do not miss how they sent you curious glances as they left. she now stands where they once were, watching you with badly-disguised intrigue.

you clear your throat and feel your cheeks and neck blaze, folding the cloth around your hips tighter. "i'm sorry. i meant entirely."

perhaps it is your imagination, but you think you spot a tinge of pink wash over her features. she finds sudden interest in the knots and grain of the floor. "the lord father instructed that you were not to be left alone in case you required immediate medical attention. you are evidently still in pain, so i must protest."

"ah." you swallow, and your mouth is dry. "p-perhaps… you could turn around, then?"

she glances up, as if to say something, but eventually nods, bobbing in a small curtsy before turning to face the wall.

as quickly as your aching body will allow, you shuffle off of the bed and dress yourself in finer clothes than you have ever worn before. the cloth is soft and sits finely against your skin like a baby's breath. you are so used to abrasive linens that you almost feel more naked than before.

"you found my boots."

aemma turns around – she almost regrets it, spying the last sliver of skin before white cloth falls over it like the pull of curtains. it is more titillating than seeing the entirety of you bare. "o-oh – yes, one of the servant boys found them downstream."

"ah, thank you. and my uniform, miss," you glance up at her, leaning heavily against the bed poster to slip on your boots, "do you know what happened to it?"

"they're with the hold's tailor. i heard it took quite the beating."

"that could be said," you mumble, straightening up at last. your side twinges with pain, but you attempt a smile. "well, s'pose it's time to meet your lord. i've got to thank my saviours."

it is just turning to twilight, and the hazy golden sun on the horizon feels like little more than a memory. candles light the path past gold-spun tapestries and gleaming windows. aemma leads you to a grand dining room, reminiscent of castles and times long gone. she halts by the entrance, curtsies to you, and hurries away without another word, which you find strange as she had been a pleasant conversationalist when helping you through the halls and down the stairs.

"the soldier awakens at last. how do you feel?"

you glance away from aemma's retreating figure. at the head of the long dining table is an older man with sharp eyes and a natural severity about him. seated beside him is a younger man, around your age, staring into his plate with his hands folded in his lap. you step forward cautiously, and a male servant pulls out a chair on the older man's other side. the lord gestures at it, watching you carefully.

"well, milord; thank you," you answer, taking a seat and quietly thanking the servant who readied it in the first place. he bows but does not otherwise acknowledge you, his gaze on the ground as he slinks back into the shadows of the dining room.

"you were asleep for quite some time. my son doubted you would live." he gestures to the young man across from you, whose romantic dark curls are loose over his forehead. "i am glad you are feeling strong enough to join us for supper. i trust that the girls took care of you?"

"yes, milord," you reply, glancing over the table almost longingly. you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. silver platters are laden heavy with dark ox roasts, honeyed lamb shanks, roasted salmon fillets, sausages and baked potatoes, and braised vegetable stews steaming hot. ruby wine is poured into silver goblets. you have never seen so much food at once in your life.

"the war has yet to touch us. we have plenty to share," the lord informs, his voice almost kind. "how long has it been since you have last eaten, soldier?"

your throat bobs before speaking. "ah… four days, maybe, including my time spent here."

the man's brow arches. "your general did not feed you before battle?"

"no, milord. they ambushed us before our rations were due." you glance at the young man. he has yet to look up, or indeed even move. "we… had issues with our supplies. weevils in the grain, rats in the captains' meat. we turned from two meals a day, to one a day, then one every two." you pause. "i don't think one more meal would have saved us."

the room falls silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the stillness. green wood pops in the flames.

"well, don't wait for me to begin," says the lord suddenly, shifting comfortably in his seat and reaching for a leg of ox, stabbing it with a knife and lifting it onto his plate. he piles his plate high with potatoes and mash. the action seems to spur on his son, who jolts into motion like a creaking old waterwheel, movements slow and measured. "tell us your name, soldier. i'd like to know the name and story of our guest. now, news comes to us slowly in this isolated place. how fares the war effort?"

glancing down, you realise exactly how many pieces of cutlery there are. knives and forks, spoons and little spoons, all slightly different in shape or size. you pause, hand hovering over the knives, nerves tightening in your chest.

a soft cough. you glance up.

across from you, the son rests his delicate fingers on the outermost knife and fork, using them to carry a richly-glazed steak onto his plate. he chooses a large spoon, fingers lingering on it where it sits on the table, and places it into his bowl of stew.

his gaze lifts to meet yours and just as quickly, a butterfly's flap of wings, he glances away. his cheeks are dusted pink, the rosy colour like gold on his sun-warmed skin.

you copy him. you take a slab of steak from the dish right in front of you. you are starving, but everything about this manor makes you feel small, and you fear taking more than you are offered. you give them your name, for it is the only thing you truly own in these foreign lands.

"the war?" you continue, trying to shake the tremor from your voice. "i wouldn't know, milord. the captains don't tell us much. it's all the same – i've fought in three different battles. this was the third. they give their speeches about king and country, and then we fight. it is noble," you say hastily, "but i am not a warrior. not many of us were. the enemy outnumbered us, outskilled us, and when the poppy fields lay silent, they piled the bodies of all our fallen and made pyres out of us."

"such would explain the scorch marks on your clothes." the lord nods. he leans in, and you fight the urge to lean away. "i shall ask the question we all ask ourselves, if you would not mind. how did you survive such a massacre?"

you glance at the son. he eats quietly, forking small chunks of meat into his mouth. you glance away. "i remember a spear. it was tipped… with a blue and white flag. it waved in the black sky as i looked up at it." you frown. "i'd never seen one like it before."

"the temerian lilies," he replies, almost approvingly. "you must have been some opponent – if the flagbearer loses his flag, it is a great shame to the army. it must be held aloft at all times. he would rather die than lose it to the enemy."

you lift a shoulder. the other aches too much to try. "they pulled it out of me after, then dragged me to a pile of corpses. i… don't remember much, but i remember them squabbling over another soldier's brooch for a while. i only wanted to escape the stench of death." you survey the feast laid out before you. "i s'pose i have."

"then we shall celebrate that," hums the lord, lifting his goblet of wine. "my son was the one who found you floating down the river. he said you were cold as ice and only recognised you from the flag you had sewn into your coat. it is brave to carry your homeland's colours when fighting for their conquerors."

"it was a small creature comfort," you respond as nonchalantly as you can. "they could punish me all they liked, but could never kill me. they needed every man in their ranks."

the lord raises his brows, and something like admiration crosses his features. he glances at his son and that admiration turns into a tiny downturn of the lips. he turns back to you. "not a warrior, you say, yet you stand with the united courage of a battalion. who was your father?"

you notice how his son stills, holding the steak on his tongue behind his lips for a long moment. he closes his eyes and with a deep inhale, resumes eating, as if unaffected.

"just a farmer," you say, diverting your gaze. "dead, long past. my ma raised the rest of us – six boys. i was their second. when the army came knocking, askin' for sons, i went, gave them my name. my older brother knew how to count, how to run the mill. i couldn't let them take him, especially not from the little ones – after da died and ma got sick, he was all they had." you tap the edge of the silver plate with your finger thoughtfully. "i imagined i'd either die or be done after one battle, so i'd be brought home quick regardless. now… it's been four years."

then, the servants bring out a round white cake, slices set down around the table – what a perfect intermission. you have made it rather impossible to return to frivolity with your story, and you gaze down at the cake in front of you. you assume this is their dessert, so quaint and pretty on its little silver plate, but you have little idea of how to go about eating one. something so small must require a similarly-sized utensil. is it the tiny spoon? the tiny knife?

you lift your eyes to the young man across from you. he is already watching, eyes large and dark. he picks up a small three-tined fork from the inner edge, tilting it towards you to show you its appearance, the little notch on the left prong. this time, he doesn't look away, and you have enough time to offer a grateful smile, however brief. he blinks owlishly, almost in surprise, before lowering his gaze again.

it is unfortunate. you would not mind looking at him more. he is undoubtedly beautiful, almost pretty, the sort of face people would immortalise in myths and paintings on temple walls – a kind of elven face, like those that turn goddesses to jealousy and gods to obsession.

you spend the rest of the meal stealing glances at each other when you think the other is not watching. he is far more successful than you.

—

from behind a balcony's closed doors, taehyung gazes up at the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by pale stars glittering in the blanket of darkness. he cannot stop thinking about the shy farmer's boy, his accent unfamiliarly pleasant – the vowels are soft and blurred, with each consonant crisp and clear. it makes for a bouncing sort of melody to his voice, one that draws taehyung deeper into his song.

he sighs softly and turns away from the night's landscape, uncrossing his arms and meandering through the empty halls. most of the servants are already tucked away, and his father drowns himself alone in old letters and wine.

in loose trousers and a looser white shirt, the vee of the collared neck laced with string, he finds himself in his library, rich and warm from a hearth already lit. curious. he shuts the open double doors behind him quietly to keep the heat from dissipating into the night.

his silent feet carry him through the aisles, where the shelves brush the ceiling with books and ladders. a walkway surrounds the room, essentially giving it a second level.

silhouetted black against the white glow of the moon beyond the arched window, a familiarly unfamiliar figure stands in silence, gaze turned up towards the heavens beyond the lines of books and old tomes.

standing in this still and quiet room, statue-esque in the way of classics, taehyung cannot help the journey of his gaze wandering up and down the planes of your body, painting to himself the sturdiness of your shoulders, the perfect balance between your booted feet. there is a severity about you he recognises in his own father – he sees it in your arms, tucked behind your back, and the practised way of standing that arches the spine just so to emphasise the broadness of the chest. yet, he knows gentleness when he sees it, and he finds it in the almost childlike awe in your expression, aimed up at his personal collection.

he steps out, the shadows melting from him like the shedding feathers of a raven. "what are you doing in my library?"

you startle, and taehyung almost regrets interrupting you. coward that he is, he would rather watch from afar than bring you out of that handsome serenity.

"f-forgive me, sir," you stammer, twisting your hands together as you incline in an awkward half-bow, half-stumble, evidently having forgotten the extent of your injuries as your expression tightens and your hand brushes over your side. "i didn't know it was yours. the – the doors were open, and i—"

"invited yourself in," he finishes.

"i – yes, sir…"

before you, he stands perfectly still. you could fool yourself into thinking his heart does not beat, for he is pale in the moonlight and beautifully dark-haired, with eyes like midnight lakes and lips like a rose.

you tear your gaze from his, breaking your trance. you begin to move past him. "forgive me, milord. i shan't interrupt you."

his hand darts out, wrapping itself around your wrist. serpentine, it slides up your arm and grips your bicep, forming creases in the cloth.

"you shouldn't move so quickly. you're injured." he turns his gaze on you. "you'd leave so soon?"

"ah…" you flounder, helpless. "if the lord wish it so."

his searching gaze strips your body bare. you feel it prod your soul when his eyes meet yours. his eyes scan your face, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing it lightly against the slope of your jaw. his skin is warm and tender-soft. your breath hitches.

"the maids missed a spot when shaving," he mutters, pressing his fingers against the patch of half-shorn stubble left on the soft underside of your chin. "a man would do it better."

all at once, he drops his hand and looks away. "i am no lord," he replies, his low, rich voice like waves lapping at the sides of a ship, almost careless. "just his son."

you hesitate, your heartbeat still in your ears. "th-then what should i call you, sir?"

he glances down where bandages hide the hole in your body. "just 'taehyung' will do," he says softly, eyes lifting again. he unravels his arm from yours, turning fully towards you. "you may stay – as long as you are quiet."

he moves away, so graceful he may as well have floated. his fingers glide over the covers like bumps of the spine, and they pluck a small yellow book from the shelf. he opens it, already turning to the first page even before he finds a chair to sit in. he curls up in front of the grand fireplace, the furry hide of a brown bear thrown across the floor in front of it.

for a while, you simply watch him and listen to the crackling of the fire. his slim fingers glide across the pages to turn them, the edge of the page caught gently on the pad of his thumb.

bathed in the yellow and orange hues of the fire, the lord's son is every bit as regal as northerners are said to be – hair like calligraphy ink, cheekbones fine, slim bodies tall and lithe. you could lose yourself in his cold, gentle darkness.

that burbling feeling of being out of place rises to the surface, worse than when you sat before the lord at his table. you and your callused palms, your worn and labour-worked body. you should not be here.

"you know you can choose a book, yes? i don't mind." he glances up. "forgive the mess. i can help. what do you like to read?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you murmur, averting your gaze. "i can't read."

it seems he'd forgotten your roots. he blinks. "oh. my apologies. but if not to read, what interested you about my library?"

"ah," you chuckle, scratching your head. "i've just never seen so many books in one place. travelling merchants would display some, but never like this."

"i see." he surveys you intensely, then glances away and clears his throat. he shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs. at last, he says stiffly, "if you'd like… i can… read to you."

the silence is thick with more than just the fire's heat. it is hard to know taehyung's hot face is not because of the fire, and he is grateful.

"if milord wishes to," you reply quietly, watching him for any twitch of his expression that may give him away.

"of course. i wouldn't offer it if i didn't." he gestures to the chaise beside him. "sit."

you step into the semicircle of light afforded by the fireplace, licked by tendrils of warmth, and ease yourself into the chair with a soft grunt, holding your side. "milord is as kind as he is beautiful."

his eyes flicker down to your lap. "i wish you wouldn't call me that," he says suddenly, a little sharper. "can i not be called my own name in my home?"

your mouth opens and closes. after a moment, you reply softly, "i meant no offence. it just feels… wrong."

slowly, he exhales, closing his eyes and his book. he places a hand over its cover. "all of my life has felt wrong. everything is wrong no matter what i do – who i wish to be, the company i keep, the fears i carry… the love i desire." he pauses, opening his eyes to your earnest expression. he diverts his gaze to the yellow-gold cover of the book. "what more can one last wrong hurt?"

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "perhaps i can start over." you straighten slightly, offering a crooked half-smile. "what do you want to read to me, taehyung?"

he does not disagree that his name sounds strange coming from another's mouth, but he cannot remember the last time it was used by anyone else. he hums and rises to his feet, coming to stand over you in front of the fire; his shadow cast over your body deepens the maturity of your features.

"when you said i was beautiful," he asks, "did you mean it?"

staring up at him, you can do nothing but tilt your head in bewilderment. "yes. you are fair and handsome."

taehyung chooses his next words carefully. "if… i were a girl," he decides, clasping his book over his stomach with straight arms, "would it be a different sort of beauty?"

you frown, shaping an approximation of a girl with taehyung's features in your mind. "maybe. but she would still be beautiful if she was you." you shake your head, dispelling morphing images of regal dark-haired daughters. you hide your warm cheeks behind an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. i don't know much. i don't usually deal with such thoughts."

but it was enough for taehyung. slowly, as if not to frighten you, he lowers himself, grasping the chaise's rests and draping himself gently over your lap. he watches your face all the while, his heart beating faster at the shock and nervousness that cross your face in a single second.

"is this… is this alright?" he whispers, placing his hand against your chest.

your adam's apple bobs, your hands hovering an inch off of his body as if he is made of glass. gently, you place one on taehyung's knee and the other behind his back, and glance up at him.

"perhaps you can sit closer," you murmur, eyes wide and searching, "so you may not fall."

taehyung smiles, then – the first smile of his you have ever seen. it is sweet, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. it makes your heart swell.

he hides his smile in his chest, his knuckles brushing the corner of his lips. he lifts his eyes, and a sliver of hope twinkles in them. "shall i read to you, then? i will give you a synopsis of each story so you may choose your favourite."

"please," you murmur, settling back in the chair and sliding your hand higher up taehyung's thigh so he may be more comfortable. "do whatever you wish."

"'whatever'?" he hums, and with a flippant little kick, throws off his boots to the ground, where they thump carelessly. he meets your eyes and falls into a nervous smile, tucking his bare feet against your leg and resting his temple against your shoulder. his hair is still slightly damp at the ends from his earlier evening bath. "then you wouldn't mind this, would you?"

"of course not," you whisper, biting back a shy, embarrassed smile. you are too old to be acting like this, especially with the only son of a wealthy lord, but the rush of excitement from seeing such a reticent man blossom and show his petals to you is too much to keep you away. "i am only a farmer's boy, taehyung. anything with someone like you is… a dream."

at the mention of his name, his smile widens slightly and a pinkness warms the apples of his cheeks. he busies himself with opening the book and flipping through its contents to find the correct page. he presses his thumb against the spine between the pages.

"here." he taps the words on the page. "this story is one my mother used to read to me. a princess is trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon in an ever-changing thorn maze, and a brave, handsome knight rescues her. they are married and live happily ever after."

he looks up at you, searching for a reaction, and you can only give a breathy laugh in return, still dizzy with the idea that someone like taehyung could ever be interested in someone like you. "are you sure you should be telling me these stories? i'm not a princess or a brave knight. i'm plain."

"perhaps. but do you know who else was seen as plain?" he taps your chest. "the dragon, disguised as a statue. and you, strong dragon, will protect the princess," he taps his own chest, "from all the boredom and politics of castle life."

"don't you have other, richer boys chasing you?" you ask, because you know your place. "your own knight? i don't see what i offer that they can't."

he licks his lips, setting aside the small book on a round side table and swinging his legs over your lap to straddle you. reading it is the last thing on his mind. "i do, of course. but it is like you said – they are boys. when their wooden sword chips, they get a new one." he trails his fingers lightly down the centre of your chest, wide and strong, and tentatively cups what is between your legs. he leans in, long-lashed brown eyes flickering down to your lips. "i want more than that."

"i—" your breath hitches as he squeezes gently, learning its shape and heft with deft fingers. "a-are we allowed to…? i am a stranger in strange lands with nothing to my name."

he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. his soft hair curtains your eyes. "allowed? no. but when a handsome soldier from far away falls into my lap, what else is a man to do?" he draws his thumb over your jawline, stroking your cheek. he lowers his lips to yours, hot breath sweet with honeyed treats. with the faintest thread of a breath, he whispers, "may i?"

with your heartbeat thudding in your ears, your head inclines, and taehyung wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes his lips to yours.

his moan is sweet and starved as you kiss back to the best of your ability, your hands falling naturally about his waist. his lips are plump and warm, pillowy, and slicken with saliva as he deepens it, cupping the back of your head and pressing himself higher onto your body. he is desperate and dominating, sitting in your lap and rolling his hips into yours. you can feel his excitement through the cotton of his trousers.

when you part regretfully, gulping down air, he cups your face, his eyes dark yet gentle. he licks his shining lips, parted to pant. "you seem apprehensive. have you ever done this with a man?"

you wipe your lips with your thumb, tongue swiping over them in an almost bewildered motion. your eyes are wide. "a-ah… no. not with… anyone…"

"not even a girl?" he cannot help the surprise that coats his tone.

you shake your head, face aflame. "i never… my older brother had my father's charm. he was the one they all wanted, strong but lean. i was too much of a bull. they had fantasies of princes, and he was closer to it than i."

deeply and tenderly, he kisses you again. "it only means i won't have to fight anyone to call you mine." he brushes his thumb over your lips. "that suits me just fine. i was never the fighting sort."

he sits up on your lap, thighs bracketing yours. his bare feet tuck beneath him under his knees. when his palm grazes the front of your trousers, your breath hitches in your chest, and taehyung gives you a soft, if coy, grin. "i'll be gentle," he promises. he tugs slightly on the laces of the waist. "may i?"

mutely, you nod, your words sinking into the whirling depths of his eyes. his deft fingers undo the laces with ease and he pulls the thick cloth down your waist, tracing the vee of your hips with a pleased breath. he reaches in, lifting his gaze to gauge your expression. your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your knuckles are tensed on the chaise's armrest. the other arm is tucked tightly by your side.

"don't be nervous," he whispers, stroking you gently in your trousers. it twitches in his palm. "place your hands on my waist, darling. good. very good."

hesitantly, your hands graze his hips, sliding up to grip his slender waist. you splay a hand beside his waist, measuring it against him with fascination. he is slim and lovely… like the city nobles' soft-palmed daughters. you had noticed his hands during supper but hadn't the room to mull over them then, though now you do. they are square, masculine, but slender and fine-veined. his nails are clean and cut short, with a thin crescent of white at the ends.

he could not have been more perfect if he tried.

he slides his fist up to the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb against the slit and the smooth skin. you are mostly soft, but still impressive – the number of taehyung's clandestine trysts have lent him a certain experience when it comes to men.

you have reinforced your place as his favourite.

"i see why they call you a bull," he says slyly, squeezing your shaft as his fist sinks down on it. "they just don't know how to tame you."

your face floods with heat as you stutter meaninglessly. your grip tightens on taehyung's hips and a single slant of a thought marvels at how delicate he feels in your palms.

"be still, my darling," he murmurs, "and be at ease. you are no longer at war. you can close your eyes and hold me without fear. nothing will happen unless we want it to."

his voice, like syrup, melts the frantic whirlwind of thoughts in your head. you cannot help but want to believe him. "you make it sound so simple. i want to believe you."

"why can't it be?" he tilts his head, glancing down and stroking you contentedly. he swipes his thumb over the slit, where a bead of precome bubbles. oil – from a small bottle you only now spot in taehyung's palm – smooths each stroke of your shaft. "the world is so complicated. affection can afford to be simple."

he lets go for a moment to step back, sliding his trousers down his hips and calves and tossing them aside on the chaise. he flicks his dark hair and tucks a lock over his ear as he reassumes his place on your lap, pressing his chest against yours and tugging your cock to throb against the curve of his ass. the silk of his white shirt is cool and light against your hot skin.

his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as his hips roll languidly. he whispers, "do you want this?"

do you want more? the question is unasked, but you hear it anyway.

"i do, yes. please," you reply immediately, your voice rough with desire. your hands trail over his hips and tuck beneath the long hem of his shirt to caress his warm, creamy thighs, a feeling that traps your breath in your throat. you force out a sigh, shaky, and rest your forehead against taehyung's shoulder. he hushes you and cups the back of your head, reaching with his other hand behind himself to ease you inside his warmth.

taehyung's head tips back with a slow exhale, shuddering as you pulse with heat inside of him. he watches you closely, committing to memory the way your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as your grasp tightens, trembling, around his waist.

"do you like that?" he whispers, breathy. he bounces shallowly, grinding his hips into yours. "how do you feel?"

"good," you choke out through a groan. your hand slides down to the dip in his back, trying not to seem too eager as it cups his ass. "oh, fuck…"

"don't hold back for me," he murmurs, hips quickening. he moans in surprise as you buck up into him, thighs meeting his ass. the slap of your balls against his ass is obscene, and he scrambles to cling onto your shoulders for balance.

"wait – wait, wait," he gasps, lashes fluttering as your cock kisses that spot inside of him that burns pleasure through his guts.

you stop immediately, sliding your hand up his side. "i'm sorry! are you alright?"

he huffs a laugh, panting softly, and nods. "you're injured, darling. don't waste the good work we put into putting you back together. sit back – i will take care of you, understand?"

"a-ah…" your face burns with heat. "all right. whatever milord desires."

"very good." he presses down on your hips gently, his hands between his thighs. he lifts himself off of your cock until only the tip rests against his hole, then sinks down on it in one smooth motion. a strangled noise escapes your throat as you scramble to hold onto him. his heat grips your shaft like a vice, gummy walls clamping down around you with each drop of his hips.

he moans when your fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his hips, sweat gathering in the small of his back. the fireplace crackles softly, the air warm and sweet with the smell of sex.

he gathers his shirt in his hands about his ribs, revealing his dusky cock, swollen with need. he takes your hand and curls your fingers around his shaft, his eyes fluttering and lips parting as you tighten it. your callused palms drag deliciously against his veins and he grips your wrist with a soft groan, bouncing on your lap in such a way that he thrusts into the warm tunnel of your fist.

carefully, you stroke his cock, cautious about rubbing raw or tearing his skin. wealthy boys are a different breed – so much softer, easier to hurt. the smell of him, sweet and musky, hangs in the air around him, enveloping you when he draws close – crushed petals, herbs, leaves. it seems foreign, or at least the mixture does, for you cannot quite place your finger on it – then again, what do you know of luxuries like this?

"you are doing well," taehyung praises, gasping as you flick the head of his cock with your thumb. "oh, yes… f-fast learner, hm? oh!"

a jerk of your hips has him jolting forward, his cock spurting a sudden white rope onto your stomach. he purrs, bracing against your chest and slamming his hips down on your cock to slicken him with your pleasure. it works, and he seems unduly proud of himself when your cock throbs and leaks, forming a white ring around the hilt that thickens with each bounce of his ass.

"milord – milord," you gasp, a tiny pathetic noise that does not match your appearance, "please – i'm—"

"let go," he demands, a breathy moan escaping his lips. he closes his eyes and lets out a punched groan as your cock carves into his insides, deeper than any other man had ever touched. his reddened cock throbs, slit pouring precome over his belly and thighs. the pleasure curls around his thoughts, his head spinning from it, and he feels your stomach tense under his palms.

you spill into him with a deep, satisfied growl, head tipping back as he arches against you. your hips roll up against his and the coil tightening in his belly snaps at the sight of you so wrecked from so little. he cries out, ropes of white streaking across your shirt, and his hips stutter and roll, milking your pleasure for his own like a succubus. he presses his ass into your lap, white teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, and his eyes roll as the thick warmth fills him up to the brim.

at last, he slumps against your chest, thighs trembling and tensing as he hums softly into your neck. he buries his nose in the soft, warm skin, and cups your cheek to place a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw.

"mm… good," he purrs, smiling with tender satisfaction. "i – i shall bring you to your… mm… room. it is just down the hall from my own... should you wish to see me, you only need to knock." his breath hitches as he raises his hips slowly, hole twitching around your shaft, and when it pops out, a steady stream of come leaks from him, staining his tanned skin. he sighs, closing his eyes to the slowing of your heartbeat. "but i think i will stay here for a time, if you don't mind. just until i – until i regain feeling and control of my legs."

"is that… is that normal?" you ask, a tiny panting tremor in your voice. "to lose feeling like that?"

taehyung laughs into your neck, eyes crinkling. "sometimes, when i feel overwhelmed. it is no fault of yours – you are just… big. don't worry. i liked it."

he shifts in your lap to get comfortable but pauses as something pokes his thigh. a sly smile spreads across his fine features, his fingers lifting to trace your jaw and tip your gaze to his own. he purrs, "is that for me, love? excited again?"

you gulp, unable to tear your stare from his despite the embarrassment clawing at your throat. "i – i…"

"handsome and energetic. i'm a lucky man." he laughs softly, reaching behind himself and groping your hard cock with a low moan. "i myself have been told i'm rather voracious. perhaps you will be the first to keep up with me."

he lowers himself on your cock, head tipping back as he teases himself with the thick head. his dick twitches.

"what say you to a change of scenery?" he asks coyly, perfectly content with your ragged-breath silence. every word you might have said disintegrates on your tongue when he turns around, arching his back and pinning your cock to your stomach. shining precome smears along the cleft of his ass.

his body, carved out of shadows by the fire, rocks and rolls like a ship in the harbour when all its crew are asleep. with an encouraging smile, he takes your hands and places them on his hips, pressing on them to guide you to control his body. he hums softly as you squeeze his hips and spread his asscheeks, your breath shaky as he angles his messy hole against your leaking tip.

he watches your face with gentle eyes as he sinks down on your cock, his warm, wet hole swallowing up your shaft like he was made for it. you jump slightly when his ass firmly meets your lap, taking you hungrily until the hilt, and if he were a lesser man, your expression alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge. he sears every line of your face, every edge and plane, into the backs of his eyelids. it will make for fine company on lonely nights.

you speak for the first time in a while. "p-please…" you whisper hoarsely, blunt nails digging into his smooth, unmarred skin, leaving crescent moons in your wake. "please, move."

"ah, but you are badly hurt… i must take my time with you. mustn't alert the servants, either, for they'd certainly report to my father what they've seen." taehyung giggles to himself, gnawing on his lower lip in an effort to subdue his grin. he grinds down into your lap in circles, relishing in the pleasured, impatient groans that escape your throat. "he'd toss you out in an instant, and we cannot have that! i haven't yet had my fill of you."

"a-are you always so… playful with your men, taehyung?" you ask, voice slightly strained. you watch your cock vanish into him, over and over again. the sound that is made when he bounces on your lap is obscene and filthy. your heart stirs with desire.

"mmh – no. my past conquests have not been as – as alluring as you," he gasps, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock, thumb rubbing circles over the ridge of his tip. "mostly, they bore me. you, however – you're more than a cock i can use to please myself, if i may speak so crudely."

"i – ah – th-think i should be grateful, then…?" you reply uncertainly.

"yes. unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of game… but tonight is about simplicity," he breathes, his skin tingling where your rough palms glide over his thighs, soft as cream. "we have only so long until the sun rises and the servants wake. i want to spend that time with you – learning your homeland's ballads and epics, your favourite flower, where i can touch to make you melt…"

he looses an airy laugh as your grip tightens on his waist, his shirt folded up between your fingers to reveal the curve of his spine and ass. you drag him down onto your cock roughly and he keens, eyes rolling back briefly. "ooh, y-you like that, don't you? ah—!"

already he is so sensitive. nowhere else has he felt pleasure like this – where his body is treated as more than a means to an end. he had been completely content with that when he entered this library, agreeable to the idea that you might like him only for what he can give you. but he swears – he swears on the old gods and the new – that the way you press your nose into the curve of his neck, the way you stroke him thin and thick tight and loose – caring, properly, for his own high – means your attraction is more than fleeting.

years of ending up alone in empty beds have made him soft. lonely. desperate. perhaps he is reading into things too deeply, as he always does – poor boy, always a poet. the backs of his eyes sting with hot tears as his tightly-controlled leash snaps, making him cry out, writhe, and shudder, knees and elbows buckling under the weight of his orgasm.

you catch him in your arms before he can slip, pulling him backwards towards your chest. it is warm, your throat shining with sweat, and he can feel the burning fever of your body through your clothes. still, you do not let go, push him away – you cradle him close, your heart thudding through your ribcage and into his own.

one of your hands tugs languidly at his cock, milking his pleasure from him. you watch quietly as it spills over your knuckles, your lips pressed against his sweat-slick shoulder, and help him lift his hips off of your cock.

for the first time in what feels like hours, taehyung takes a deep, full breath of air. he cups your face in a hand and smiles, wide and content.

"i didn't believe you could be more beautiful," you murmur, words slightly clipped at the end from a lack of breath. "i've never been happier to be wrong."

he opens his eyes with a flutter of lashes, pleasantly surprised. "haven't i already let you take me?"

"what do you mean?" you ask with a frown, tilting your head. your thoughts are foggy with warm laziness. the fire's heat does not help. "taehyung?"

the sound of his name almost startles him. he sits up, and a pleasurable ache sparks up his spine. he sucks in a deep breath. "you really… truly think that of me?"

you blink slowly, like a cat, and the fire's flames dance in your eyes. "i am a simple soldier. lies are above a man like me."

"you're more than that," he replies immediately, turning around on your lap to face you properly. "if you were just a soldier, you would have died on that battlefield. forgive me, but you had all the time to die on your way down the river. still, you survived." his voice softens, and he fiddles with your collar, straightening it and folding it down. "i am glad you did. i am glad to have met you."

"ah…" gently, you tug his shirt down, allowing him the return of some of his dignity, though he does not seem to care. "that reminds me – i shouldn't waste much time here. i should report to the general."

"for what?" taehyung scoffs, and it sounds… hurt. he glances away. "am i so repugnant you would rather march thirty miles a day in mud-soaked boots than stay here with me?"

"no!" you protest, sitting up as best you can with the growing ache in your side. you had been too caught up in the moment to remember it, and now your body reminds you jealously. "t'ain't that, taehyung. you are intelligent and kind and if we were in my homeland, i wouldn't hesitate to ask your hand. but surely you have a girl you're supposed to marry?"

"no, not at the moment. despite what he says, my father still grieves my mother. it will be a while yet before he'll allow another woman into the house." he traces shapes into your skin. "i will free you from the servitude of the evil king who bound you, and together, princess and dragon will live freely, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs."

at first, you smile at the newfound softness of his voice, but freeze. "free… of servitude?"

taehyung watches you, draping his legs over the other side of the armchair, kicking his feet lazily. his eyes are dark and watchful. "as i know it, the king's oath swears that you are only relieved of your duty when you give your blood for his and fall in battle against his enemies. have you not satisfied these requirements?"

"i may be no scholar, but i'm near certain that to 'fall in battle' means to die in it."

"have you not satisfied these requirements?" he repeats, firmer. "our doctors and priests said you were dead when i brought you to them. they said you may have been alive when i found you, but somewhere between the riverbank and their stone table marked the spot where you died. as they proclaimed this, you coughed again, and nobody could deny me this time when i said you were very clearly alive."

"you are telling me that i died… and returned? like a saint?" you ask sceptically.

"i only tell you what our doctors told me."

for a while, you are silent. determination creases taehyung's brow, and you cannot hold in the disbelieving laugh that erupts from you, though it morphs into a groan of pain in the middle. taehyung sits up and presses his palm to your cheek, his eyes so vivid and certain.

"you have already died, and thus retain no obligations to the crown," he whispers. his gaze scours your face. "you are free. free to stay here. live here…"

with me.

your heart drops into your stomach. you grip his waist, shifting in the velvet chaise. "i'm…"

"agree. agree to it. even if i cannot bear your children, we will sleep in the same bed, take walks in the wheat fields, eat and drink every meal together. you won't fear for your life every day. and as soon as the war ends and they open the trade routes to your home, i shall book passage on a ship and take you there. you may stay, if you wish. i won't deny you."

"then why offer at all?" you ask quietly. "if you think i'll leave you the moment i can, why would you even try?"

"i can hope, can i not? by all accounts our kings have no desire to cease any time soon. perhaps you will learn to love me in time." he smiles, faint, and averts his gaze. "otherwise, i will be glad to help another soul. you will survive the war and return to your family, whole and healthy. out here, away from people, i have little chance to do something so good and noble."

"and if i grow restless? if i want to do something with my hands?"

he tilts his head thoughtfully. "how is your aim?"

"fair, i s'pose. haven't missed when it's important."

"the lord's hunter grows old," he proclaims. "he can teach you what he knows, and if you like, you may take up the title once he can no longer ride and shoot. besides that, there is always work to be done in the fields and granary – perhaps you'll find some comfort in the farms?"

you think about it, long and hard. in essence you would be a prisoner at his beck and call, though if taehyung tells the truth and is as earnest as he appears, perhaps you'll find freedom and enough work to fill your days with…

you give your answer, and taehyung's smile is like the sun.

#top male reader #x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #dom reader #top reader #bts x male reader #bottom bts #bottom taehyung #taehyung x male reader #kpop x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x reader #bts smut #taehyung smut

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hrts4kyo · 2 months

Text

Love Bites — ♢

♡ dom!keeho x fem!reader

♡ genre: smut. strictly, mdni. (wc; 1.6k)

♡ sypnosis: It was finally time for your new boyfriend to come over to your house. You were excited yet nervous. . you didn’t know where tonight would take you, and you also didn’t know how keeho would react to finding out about your guilty pleasures.

♡ warnings: biting, hickeys, marking kink, very slight manhandling (nothing much today !)

♡ song recs: salvatore — lana del ray + 24 — lana del ray ✭

you smiled at yourself in the mirror, proud with your hair and makeup after working on it for atleast an hour. You smoothed down your tight white top that had gathered on the top of your stomach, and patted down your light grey sweatpants so it fit you perfectly.

You wanted to wear something casual yet pretty and comfortable, just how Keeho would like it.

You headed out of your bathroom and cleaned up every corner of your apartment, whether it be your room, kitchen, living room, study room and every little crevice. The relationship you had established with Keeho was still very new. You had met him at a university graduation dinner and ever since then had been talking. You thought that what you both had was something platonic, but Keeho initiated he wanted to take it a step further when he suggested you two go out on a date. Of course, you didn’t decline. There was no denying that Keeho was a respectful, kind, and certainly attractive man.

And so you now found yourself pacing around your apartment complex, nervous to greet him into your apartment. You continuesly went to the bathroom every now and then to make sure youre happy with your appearance, and even if you were content, it did not help with your atrociously fast heartbeat.

At last, you heard the doorbell ring, causing you to stop your pacing motion and stand still in your tracks. It almost took you a few seconds to register what was soon to come, but once you finally awoke from your trance, you ran towards the door in a hurry.

There Keeho stood, a small little bag in his hand and a beautiful smile on his face. Seeing him calmed you down instantly, allowing you to smile back and greet him inside. You shut the door behind him, watching Keeho as he took in his surroundings and placed the little gift bag on the counter.

“Your place is so pretty” Keeho said in awe, looking at the beautiful flower vases and lit candles that covered the apartment in a soothing floral smell.

“Thank you, It didn’t look like this in the morning, was an absolute mess but I didn’t want to scare you off” You chuckled as you sat down on the couch, moving the throw onto the creme coloured ottoman.

Keeho turned to face you, laughing as he joined you on the couch.

“You know that I wouldn’t of minded y/n. Come on, we’ve been talking for months you dont need to be scared of me going anywher, nor do you have to hide something from me. Even better I could’ve helped you clean” He opened up his arms, inviting you to sit closer to him.

You were always shocked with how easy-going Keeho was. He never seemed to be stressed or even nervous, and you undeniably found that amusing. He was confident with himself and he had all the rights to be confident. He was flawless.

You sat closer to him, allowing him to hug you close to his chest as you rested your head against the crook of his neck. Even if you guys were new you still felt safest with him.

“You wanna watch something?” You asked, briefly lifting your head off his shoulder to grab the TV remote.

“Yeah, whatever you want” Keeho rubbed circles on your shoulder, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“okay, ill just put something on, don’t know what but we can look together” you clicked the TV on and scrolled through netflix to find things to watch. As Keeho and you finally agreed on a movie, you put it on and allowed yourself to snuggle up close to him.

Before you knew it, the movie had become background noise to you. You were distracted and soon all the attention you had on the movie was on Keeho instead. The way he continued to rub your back, his intoxicating cologne, and his absolutely jaw dropping visuals had your entire body heating up and your face turning a flustered tinge of pink.

You tried to ignore how desperate you were getting, a pool of arousal forming at your core. You shifted on your spot, trying to rub your thighs together discreetly.

As you continued to try and find a way to mask how you were currently feeling, you felt a piercing glance towards your direction.

“is….everything okay?” Keeho asked curiously, tilting his head to the side as he eyed you up and down, trying to understand the situation.

your mouth went dry, eyes widening as you stressed about what to say. would you scare him off if you said you needed him? would he be disgusted at how bad you wanted to kiss his soft plush lips? or would he want to kiss you back and give you what you need?

“oh um….yeah I’m all good, just feeling a bit hot, it’s hot in here right now isn’t it?” you hurriedly said, trying to exert your attention back to the movie playing on the screen, hoping that it would distract Keeho from your situation.

“right…it’s totally not winter outside.” Keeho chuckled, seeing right through your lies and raising his eyebrow signalling you to tell the truth.

“oh for fucks sake I want to kiss you so bad”

you hid your face in your hands, embarrassed at how you had just blurted that out without a second thought. You cringed at the silence, trying to prepare yourself to hear something absolutely brutal.

Before you knew it, you felt a hand make its way up to your face, moving your own hands out of the way. He pulled you closer to him, allowing you to feel his warm embrace.

“My love, you could’ve just told me, I dont mind one bit.”

and that is all it took for you to crash your lips against his.

You warmed up to his touch, melting into the flow of his movements. You allowed him to take control, lips moving in a beautiful synchronised harmony. His hands slowly snaked up around your waist, leisurely making their way underneath your shirt and onto your back.

you felt yourself sink into his touch, a sigh escaping your encased lips. with the opening of your lips, Keeho slipped his tongue, intertwining along with yours. You couldn’t help but moan, a feeling of pure ecstacy driving you insane.

As you continued to kiss him, you wanted nothing more than him to feel you up everywhere else. But you didn’t know how to mention it, nor did you want to break this ravishing moment.

But if this relationship were to continue, he needed to accept every part of you, including the guilty pleasures you swore to never tell anyone. As scary and intimidating as this moment was for you, you pulled your lips off of his for a brief moment, looking into his loveshot eyes.

“Is everything okay y/n?” Keeho asked, an internal distress taking over his body as he wondered if he went too harsh on you or you weren’t enjoying the moment.

“Yes, yes everything is fine, I just—oh my I dont know how to say it” you stuttered, your face turning a bright hue of pink.

“You know you can tell me everything right? I am always here, I accept you for who you are, and the sides I have yet to know of you.” Keeho placed his hand on your thigh, slowly caressing your inner thigh as he spoke to you.

You couldnt help but shudder at his touch, his hands engulfing your thigh.

“I think, no—I want you to mark me up. I want people to know that I belong to you.”

Keeho’s expression was blank, disgust not present on his face. You sat there in the pure silence, worried that you ruined the moment, but your thoughts were cut short when Keeho let out a small snicker.

“Oh yeah? Pretty girl likes getting marked up huh?” He sighed into your neck, breathing down your nape with immense intimacy.

“I can give you that.”

And within an instant Keeho began to kiss at your neck, pulling you closer to him and taking in your beautiful perfume.

You let out a gutteral moan as he lapped at your neck, marking you up just like you wanted him to. He went from the beginning of your neck down to your exposed collarbones, making sure to leave visible marks of purple and red.

“Fuck, just like that Kyo” You tilted your head to the side to give him more access, eyes shut from the pure pleasure that ran down your spine with his current state of actions. You didn’t know what it was about him, whether it was his beautiful hair brushing against your sensitive neck, his other hand grasping the back of your hair, or just him doing what you say, but you were enjoying this moment more than anything else.

Time flew past with both of you unaware of time and the state of each other. Slowly, you felt his hand inch down from your hair, leisurely running down your shoulders as he pulled out his phone.

You watched him in curiosity wondering what he was going to do with his phone, your mind acknowleding every possible scenario. But within an instant, a flash clicked, and another, and another. He was taking photos of you.

And you enjoyed it?….

You smiled, simply relieved that this experience hadnt ended in pure embarrassment. As you expected him to take more photos, he suddenly turned his phone towards you, showing the photos he took.

And you couldn’t believe your eyes.

Your neck was covered in hickeys, every corner was covered by atleast a small purple marking and this turned you on more than you could ever expect. Even if you were to wear a turtle neck you were convinced that he had left another visible marking just for your pure enjoyment. This was all enough to prove that Keeho…was the one.

“Is that good enough for my sweetheart?”

“More than enough.”

taglist ! — : @stephenyoonkeeholdup @um-im-rae @unknowzzn

#p1h x reader #p1harmony #p1h smut #p1harmony x reader #piwon #keeho x reader #keeho ff #yoon keeho x reader #keeho fanfic #keeho 18+#p1h 18+#p1hkeeho #p1harmonysmut #p1harmonykeehosmut #keehosmut #keeho fluff

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luxurychristmaspudding · 4 months

Text

Weightless | On Call

summary: your curtains are closed, truck silent on the drive. today of all days, you shouldn't be alone.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. loooots of angst. active grieving for a dead parent. a very soft frankie. vibes are better in the next chapter lmao.

wc: 2.1k

an: my grandad was a man who loved flowers. today marks seven years since we lost him. he was gentle and kind and so talented.

have some forget me nots, which are in my garden and now also in your hands. for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge. for anyone you may also miss <3

When the time came Just like you are He was weightless In my arms

- weightless, elbow

series masterlist | main masterlist

Your house is quiet.

Quiet like Frankie has never heard.

There’s always some kind of noise. A record turning, the hum of your voice. The TV on, windows open to birdsong. But today, there is nothing.

His legs are heavy. Heart heavy, fingers shaking, wrapped around the bag of groceries he’s brought. He’s taken two steps in through your front door, and now he doesn’t know what to do.

He watches the dust motes swim in the sun of your hallway. Shifts on his feet to look through into the living room. You must be upstairs, but to call your name in the silence of the morning feels like too much. Invasive. Cruel.

Instead, he swallows and takes the remaining strides into your kitchen. Breathes in the fresh smell of your plants, the familiarity of your spice rack in the corner, the spread of miscellaneous stuff that he’s rarely seen tidied away. He gently places the bag of groceries on the counter before opening your cupboards for a vase.

Once he finds one, he fills it with water and trims the stems. Forget-me-nots and white carnations. Something simple. Remembrance and love. Bright and pretty. No lilies. They only remind you of the funeral.

He’s biding his time. Trying to tamp down the nerves swirling in his gut, the somersault of his heart in his chest. He knows from the gaps left in his own life that today will be hard. And he wants to make it easier for you. He just hasn't worked out how.

He knows what works for him. The long hikes, the pull of a bottle. In murkier times, many years ago now, the sharp taste of powdered gums. Knows what works for the boys. The days with drawn curtains, video games played in the gloom. Tequila and memories shared across barbeques. Even his parents - honorary pastel de choclo, flicking through photo albums. But for you, he’s not sure.

Once he’s happy with the way the flowers are arranged, he takes off his shoes. He leaves his cap on the counter, and pads up the stairs.

It’s still quiet. You’re not in the bathroom. No reason for you to be in any other of the rooms. He holds his breath and raises his knuckles against the wood of your bedroom door.

He knocks, softly - once. Waits for an answer that doesn’t come, but pushes it open anyway.

‘Bug?’ He says gently into the morning sunlight.

You’re swaddled in bed, still in your pyjamas, eyes red and swollen. You sit up slightly with a watery smile as he edges in, managing a crackled hey, Fish.

A sharp lump rises in Frankie’s throat. Something about seeing you upset has always hurt; the same kind of ache he gets in his chest when Lucia or his mum cries. His eyes flick from yours to your bedside table, to the picture of your father settled on top of it. Frozen in time, his smile is wide - just like yours. Greying hair, a little more chin fat than he would have had as a younger man. A younger you tucked into his side, his arm slung over your shoulders. Your arms around his middle, squeezing, laughing. Fuck.

Frankie’s heart shoots out the bottom of his legs and skids across the floor. He looks you over, and your chin wobbles. Too much. Too vulnerable. The smile drops, your face cracks. Your mouth clamps shut with a snap of teeth, and a fresh wave of tears begins to pour down your cheeks.

Frankie feels his own expression crumble, and he’s at your side before he can even think for his feet to take him there. Perched on your mattress, arms around your shoulders to pull you close. Shushing like the gentle in and out of waves, lips pressed to your hot forehead.

You’re tense, so tense. Breath coming in choked hiccups, shoulders up to your ears. Hands gripping the sheets. There’s another pull in Frankie’s chest.

‘Stop trying not to cry,’ he murmurs, ‘I can feel it.’

You release a ragged breath, a heartbroken cry as you cling to his sleeves. Like you're being ripped apart. Like you're being drowned.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp, ‘I’m sorry.’

Frankie shifts you further across the bed so he can fit next to you, shaking his head.

‘Don’t be sorry. Why should you be sorry?’

‘You don’t have to be here,’ you choke, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to stay.’

Frankie closes his eyes. Leaving you here is the furthest thing from his mind, a notion that wouldn’t even cross it.

‘I want to.’ He says.

You nod, curled tight to him. He can feel dampness seeping through his hoodie, and he sits back against the headboard, cradling you to his chest. His heart is beating so fast. You can hear it, the conch of your ear pressed to the cage of his ribs. You try to focus on it, try to think of nothing else. Try not to think of this day four years ago. The weightless feel of your father in your arms in the last minutes of his life. How you held him when he could hold you no longer.

‘What do you need, baby?’ Frankie asks.

The streams of tears, the bow of your brow, serve to split his heart in two.

‘I don’t know.’ You whisper.

So Frankie holds you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Unwittingly, he’s answered the question for you. For the last four years, you have needed to be held like this. Needed to be held together by someone who is not yourself, someone who can shoulder the weight of the grief you have carried alone for years, just for a moment.

You lose yourself to it. To the warmth, the smell, the comfort. You let the flood come, you let Frankie rock you. You ask him how Luc is, and he understands the need to hear about life outside this room. So he tells you about her arts and crafts, her newfound dislike of mac and cheese, what she wants for her birthday. The daisy chains she's been making, the sweetpeas they're growing in their garden. And it’s wonderful. It reminds you of the good of the world, that it keeps spinning, that there is love out there even when it feels lost to you.

If there is something out there other than life, you hope your dad is in it. On a deck chair with a beer on the beach, a little basket of fries delivered to him every so often. He’s smiling, laughing. You hope he’s still around, because the idea that he’s not is too big, too great to face. It’s too lonely. Too terrifying to be alone in this world, no anchor, no tether, a family with their backs to you after you’d told them who you loved, too far in the distance to turn back to you with outstretched palms. An ex-fiancée who simply didn’t love you enough.

But he’s here, you feel. Here in this moment, watching from somewhere above. Mixed with the fabric of now like clothes in a washing machine. A spiral of colour and feeling. Pink, purple, blue, green. Love, joy, heartbreak, loss.

Orange. Orange and white is what Frankie can see. The warmth of the sunlight, the pale of your sheets. You’re far away but safe in his arms. He wants you there always. Wants to be wherever you need him.

He thinks of this day in his own life, four years ago. The tiny, warm body of his baby in his arms. Weightless as you are now and yet so heavy, the two of them fighting sleep in a nursery elsewhere in Florida. He can still smell her hair, still hear the way she’d babble, the way she still fit tucked into one arm. He swallows, hard. Holds you tighter still, thumbs rubbing your shoulder, your side. There is so much of his daughter’s life to see. He can’t imagine having it cut short. Can’t imagine knowing it would end soon, counting down the days as his body wasted. The milestones he’d miss, the moments and memories. The stories and people she’d introduce him to. It doesn’t bear thinking about, her out in the wide world without him to guide or protect her. And he knows you’d hate it, but he’s sorry. So sorry that that’s the life you have, that you don’t have him to turn to anymore. And he’s sorry for your dad. For him to have missed who you are now, to miss who you will be.

He presses another kiss to your head, hoping to convey this. This nebulous thought, this strange feeling.

‘He wrote letters for me,’ you whisper into his neck. So quietly, voice strained to breaking as you force the words out. ‘For birthdays. For jobs. For my first home. For my wedding. For a first child.’ You try to smile, but it’s flattened with a broken breath. ‘He thought of everything. And I read them again today - the ones I’m up to - but it’s like - it’s like his voice -’ you cut yourself off, burying your face in your hands as you try to calm down. ‘Sometimes it’s like I can’t hear him properly anymore.’

Frankie strokes the back of your hand, and it drops easily. He holds it in clammy palms.

In the cold days after your dad passed, through numb dissonance you had googled everything to do with grief. The stages, the remedies, the processes. What you forget first.

Voice. There would be a day, before anything else, when you wouldn’t be able to remember how your name sounded spoken by his lips. When you couldn’t remember the texture of I love you spoken in his tongue.

Frankie knows this. He googled it after Colombia, when the weight of every body he’d seen or carried seemed to settle on him. It had comforted him. He didn’t want to remember shouts and screams, couldn’t stomach the memory of Tom’s orders rattling through his brain. But he feels so desperate to take this from you, to retract and hide what you know. So useless in the face of so much hurt, so much loss. Even when he knows the best he can do is sit here in it with you.

You press your free fingertips into your eyes.

‘I’m so scared, Frankie,’ you whisper from behind the dark in your head. ‘I’m so scared I might forget him.’

Frankie’s seen the simplicities of grief before. Knows them intimately. Knows the horror of these realisations, understands as he presses his lips to your hairline and you shake in his arms. He loves you too much to lie.

So instead, he tells you a truth.

‘I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

When the light turns from golden to white, the sun a little higher in the sky, you disentangle yourself to blow your nose. You manage a laugh as you do it, muttering a bashful ew as Frankie watches you, still stretched out on your mattress. Any other time, and your heart would be hammering in your chest at the sight. But now, it’s all the comfort you need.

He stands, stiff, stretching his arms to the ceiling before gathering you briefly in his arms again.

‘You okay?’ He asks.

‘Better.’ You say, brushing a curl from his forehead.

His eyes are so warm, so gentle.

‘Breakfast?’

You hum, offer him the best smile you can. A sludge of guilt slops in your stomach, but you try to swallow it.

‘Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.’

When he’s downstairs, listening to the sound of your shower, he unpacks his grocery bag and begins making a stack of pancakes. Blueberry, banana, strawberry, chocolate chip. Syrup enough for you to taste through the salt at the back of your throat. Methodical, mechanical, more focused on listening for your movements through the floors of your house. The shutting off of the water, the soft thunk of your drawers. Your footsteps heavy on the stairs, down the hall. You appear in the doorway, hair washed, eyes red, cosy in sweats and a t-shirt. He smiles at you, and you smile back. It’s small, but it’s a start.

You move closer, and he takes you under his arm as he turns the stove off. You wrap your arms around his middle.

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ you say, quietly. Frankie follows your eyes to the bouquet arranged in the vase. Forget-me-nots, white carnations. ‘Thank you for not getting lilies.’

He smiles, kisses your forehead. Wonders whether he could leave a mark simply from doing it so often, so you’d always feel safe.

‘No problem.’

He guides you towards the table, pulls out the chair and makes sure you’re settled. Makes sure you have your coffee, your pancakes. The smell of the flowers is sweet, something blooming in your stomach. You trace the outline of them before you, the simplicity, the thought. Frankie asks what you want to do for the rest of the day. You deflect the question back at him, and he smiles.

‘Anything.’

‘Anything?’

You raise an eyebrow at his mhm.

‘That’s dangerous.’ You say with a wry smile.

Something in Frankie’s chest lifts. There she is.

Later, when Luc is tucked into your side and you’re tucked into Frankie’s, you’ll wonder how you can ever repay him. The kindness he shows you, the patience.

You only hope that you will, someday. Promise it, head leant against his shoulder.

Even if it takes the rest of your life.

#frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #jettsflora&faunachallenge #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic: on call

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jexnkookie · 2 months

Text

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 6]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 3.1k

Authors Note: New chapter!! I hoped y'all enjoyed the little interlude between this part and the last, I really enjoyed writing it. And I hope you enjoy this update, as well!

Taglist: @cassies-cookies @crisle19 @jk-190811 @khadeeeeej @kooklovee @lalataegi @lallataegi @rispwr @taetaecatboy @whoa-jo @11thenightwemet11

Interlude | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

The bed that you woke up on was soft, despite being a bit smaller than you were used to. There was a soft hum coming from a spinning fan, creating a comfortable white noise in the otherwise quiet apartment. Your weekender bag was tossed on the floor, and you slowly pieced together where you were. You knew you must’ve fallen asleep shortly after coming to Jung Kook’s place, exhausted by the situation you’ve found yourself in. You checked your phone by your bed, and realized that you had slept all day.

As you stretched out, you began to smell a pleasant fragrance coming from outside the room. You rose from the bed and opened the door, walking down the hall as you followed the scent of freshly cut vegetables. You found your way towards the living room, which sat adjacent to the kitchen, where Jung Kook stood, not yet noticing you were close by. His dark hair looked incredibly fluffy, with strands falling perfectly out of place. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, showing off an arm of tattoos that usually stayed hidden behind the sleeve of a professional suit. But he still managed to look softer than you’ve ever seen, as he combined ingredients together in a large, red bowl.

“Hi.” You called out softly, earning his attention.

“Hi.” He repeated, continuing to stir. “How’d you sleep?”

“Very good… Thanks.” You said quietly, walking to the kitchen island to sit on the bar stool across from Jung Kook.

“I, uh… I figured you would be hungry.” Jung Kook explained. “I hope you like japchae.”

“I love japchae.” You smiled. “Oh my God, I haven’t had that since coming to the city.”

“Great.” He smiled back. “This is a family recipe, so tell me what you think, ok? It’s almost finished.”

“Thank you.” You responded.

You looked around his small but nice kitchen, taking in Jung Kook’s little corner of New York. His white board calendar was pressed to the refrigerator with blue marker ink-scribbled reminders on a few important dates. The happy law school graduation photo of himself, and what you assume to be his mother, was hung up with a magnet cutely made to look like a Doberman puppy. A small collection of cookbooks stacked on top of each other, largest to smallest, creating a neat pyramid shape on the counter, and a collection of soju and whiskey that seemed to be carefully selected. It all felt so… him. Nothing too fancy or expensive, but it didn’t need to be. It was cozy, and for the first time in several days, you genuinely felt calm. This space, his space, felt safe.

Then, you noticed a freshly cut bouquet of red and pink flowers in a vase of water, sitting right by you on the kitchen island.

“Those are pretty flowers.” You commented, reaching over to gently touch one of the pink petals.

“Oh! Yeah, they’re um…. T-They’re for you, actually.” Jung Kook stuttered. “I wanted to take them to the guest room, but uh, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You got me flowers?” You asked, your eyes wide in surprise.

“Yeah. I saw them on my way back from the office.” Jung Kook explained nervously, watching your expression closely. “There’s um, there’s this flower street cart thing, down the block, on the corner. I pass by it all the time, but uh, I thought m-maybe it would… make you feel better? After, y’know… everything this morning.”

“You got me flowers.” You repeated to yourself quietly, staring at the bouquet of red and pink. “Jung Kook, that’s really, really nice of you.”

“Y/N-”

“Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before.” You said softly, tears blurring your vision. “Thank you.”

Jung Kook stood there stunned, not expecting this reaction. How could a woman who had everything in the world, be so moved by a three dollar bouquet?

“Nobody has gotten you flowers before?” Jung Kook asked, but internally burning to ask why Jimin has never done that for you, being as its something so simple.

“No.” You shook your head. “Never.”

You didn’t offer more of an explanation, and the timer on the kitchen stove buzzed, stealing Jung Kook’s attention away to plate the noodles before he could ask you anything else.

“Here,” He said, filling your bowl. “Let me know what you think.”

You nodded a quick ‘thank you’ when he handed you the bowl and utensils, and your cheeks blushed when his dark yet sparkling eyes watched you take the first bite. You never noticed how his eyes sparkled like that, like stars contrasted against a clear, black night sky.

If someone had told Jung Kook years ago that one day, you would be alone with him in his apartment, eating his father’s famous japchae recipe with a smile on your face, he would’ve thought they were messing with him. It sounded too much like a daydream, like one of those pretend, domestic scenarios he used to fantasize about over and over again while sitting next to you in class. But here you were, as beautiful as you’ve ever been, barefoot in a pink nightgown, smiling that sweet smile, in his kitchen.

“It’s delicious!” You praised, lighting up excitedly at the flavor. “I think you could’ve been a chef!”

“Thanks.” He blushed, shaking his head. “Eat well, ok? Have as much as you’d like.”

The two of you ate in casual silence for a few moments, except for the occasional slurping. You sat at the kitchen island, and Jung Kook leaning against the kitchen counter, still facing you, with a bowl of his own. It was a small moment, and it felt delicate and new, chocked full of potential, like a seed planted in the cold ground. It was something Jung Kook wanted to water and nurture, to see if it would bloom when the weather turned warmer.

“So…” He said, breaking the silence. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“Hm?” You asked with a mouth full of noodles.

“Well, I’ve got some games. Board games, or the Switch,” He explained. “Or, we can watch something. Netflix, Hulu, HBO… Whatever you want.”

“Any of that sounds so nice.” You said with a smile. “Seriously, I’m happy with anything.”

“Ok.” Jung Kook said, before glancing down to notice your bowl was empty. “Do you want any more? I made plenty.”

“I’m so full now, but thank you.” You answered with a small laugh.

“Any time.” Jung Kook responded, taking your dish. “I’ll clean up, don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you in the living room in a few minutes, ok?”

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” You asked, watching him already load the dishwasher.

“No, please, don’t worry about it.” Jung Kook said. “I’ve got it, it’ll just take a second.”

“Ok.” You said, walking towards the dimly lit living room, only illuminated by the soft glow of the floor lamp sitting in the corner of the room.

His Apple TV and Switch sat side by side on top of a small bookshelf, underneath the wall-mounted tv. The shelf was lined with comics, horror and romance books, which took you by surprise, be it a nice one. The curtains were opened, revealing a beautiful view of Manhattan at night, with glittering skyscrapers. You stood by one of the windows, looking out and taking it in. From so high up, the world below looked so small and far away, completely separated from where you stood, unable to reach you. Once again, a new sense of calm and safety flooded your system, allowing words you never meant to say to spill out.

“Jimin’s never gotten me flowers.” You thought out loud, speaking softly to yourself. Jung Kook heard you, and paused putting the last dish in the washer, turning to look at you from the other room. The distance between the two of you palpable; so close, yet still so far away.

“Jimin’s never gotten you flowers?” He asked gently, and you turned to face him with a tinge of pink to your cheeks.

“No.” You repeated, shaking your head. “Never.”

“I’m sorry.” He responded, unsure as to what else he could say.

“It’s ok.”

But it wasn’t. Jung Kook knew that, and you knew that, but it went unsaid. Jimin gave you everything you should want; expensive gifts, trips to beautiful locations, and dining at the best restaurants in the world. But beneath all of that, the things you needed were absent. Peace. Protection. Stability. When those things don’t exist, you end up with a mess, exemplified ironically by a trashed luxury hotel suite.

“Let’s watch a movie.” Jung Kook said, coming to the living room, and breaking you out of your thoughts. “Have you seen Wonka yet?”

“Wonka? As in, the Timothée Chalamet musical Wonka?” You giggled at the suggestion. “No, I haven’t. I’ve heard that movie is so silly.”

“I think silly may be perfect right now.” Jung Kook smiled at your description, revealing his boyish dimples, before sitting on the couch. “C’mon, I’ll put it on.”

The movie glowed on the screen, and you settled into the couch, quickly getting comfortable. Jung Kook tried to focus, which proved to be a challenge as he sat so close to you. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heart race, or his abnormally deep breaths, or sense just how badly he wanted to hold your hand, or throw his arm around your shoulders so you could lean into him, or kiss your lips. He appeared calm on the outside, but inside, he was more desperate than he’d ever been. You were so close, but still so painfully far away from where he knew you could be... or maybe, even should be. But for the night, he accepted what he had; the girl of his dreams, comfortably in his apartment, but not quite close enough to touch. For now, that would have to be enough.

——————————————————————————————————

Jimin’s father spent much of his life teaching his son what he could. Negotiating business deals, looking over contracts, and how to find a good lawyer, leading to his meeting with the family attorney, Mr. Kim Namjoon. But the underlying message of all of these things, was the most important lesson that Jimin had ever learned; Parks get what they want. It didn’t matter how, or at what cost; this is a family that got what they wanted.

Jimin, for much of his life, had experienced this. A play room of toys at 5. A puppy and a horse at 10. A weekly allowance at 13, with deposits being much more than most people would see in a month. It was his father’s way of showing love. A poor man turned rich man through hard work, his father wanted his son to have the life he never had as a child. This only became more true with the early passing of Jimin’s mother. In his grief, Jimin’s father continued to spoil him monetarily, while setting high expectations in the areas of academics and sports that Jimin, despite being an overachiever by every metric, could never seem to hit. This is when Jimin began secretly drinking, as a way to cope. Love in the Park family wasn’t expressed in three words, or in sentimentality. It was expressed through the swipe of a Black Card, and tinted by the ever-present need to have control.

This would come to a head on an early morning in Mr. Kim’s office, when Jimin, still hung over and tempers boiling just under the surface, was told exactly that.

“What do you mean no?” Jimin asked, his tone angry.

“I mean no.” Namjoon said nonchalantly. “She’s not coming back to the hotel. She’s staying where she is.”

“I thought I told you that if your colleague is left alone with my fiancé again, I’ll pull my business from the firm and find representation elsewhere.” Jimin gritted his teeth. “I find this to be completely unacceptable.”

“Mr. Park, with all due respect, let me tell you what I find to be unacceptable.” Namjoon responded, growing frustrated with the client. “What’s unacceptable, is having my high-profile client trash a five-star Manhattan suite, and leave Ms. Y/L/N so desperate for relief that she calls me at the crack of dawn, only for me to find you passed out in your underwear on the bed from a night of heavy drinking. You’re lucky the other guests didn’t call an employee when they heard the noise, and that it was only Mr. Jeon and I, because I guarantee your little ‘lover’s quarrel' or whatever would’ve been plastered all over the Korean press by now. It would’ve been embarrassing for everyone involved.”

“How do we know it won’t be in the press?” Jimin tsked. “How will it look to send me into treatment, with my wife-to-be staying with another man? You think people won’t ask questions about that? You think that’s not embarrassing for me?”

“I think it makes you look responsible.” Namjoon argued. “We can tell any curious press, and the judge, that you’re getting your life back on track, and you’ve left your fiancé in the care of a close friend, who also happens to be a colleague of your lawyer, so that she has support. It makes you look selfless, and secure. You know what doesn’t? Throwing your fiancé’s clothes around like a spoiled brat when she tries to leave you. That, Mr. Park, I can’t spin in a way that makes you look good.”

“She was only trying to leave for the night.” Jimin said quietly, clearly ashamed to admit to Namjoon the damage he had done. “She wasn’t leaving me… She loves me.”

“She does.” Namjoon agreed. “Which is why she wants you to get help, and why you shouldn’t worry about Mr. Jeon. And I know that you love her, too, which is why you need to focus on keeping her. This is the way you can do that.”

“Fine.” Jimin agreed through tight, gritted teeth. “So then, what’s the plan?”

“Today, we’re getting documentation from the treatment center, and Ms. Y/L/N’s letter.” Namjoon explained. “We’ll meet Ms. Y/L/N and Mr. Jeon at the rehabilitation center, and we’ll make sure everything’s in order to show the judge tomorrow morning. Then, we’ll argue that you’ve responsibly checked yourself in, and that you need time before you’re able to conduct yourself in a courtroom again. Ms. Y/L/N will write a letter about your character that I’ll submit to the court, and knowing this judge, I believe he’ll find it admirable that you and your fiancé are committed to your treatment, and he’ll defer your date.”

“Ok.” Jimin nodded. “I think that can work… I’m going to miss her while I’m gone, Mr. Kim.”

“I know.” Namjoon said, his voice empathetic. “But you know she’ll visit you as often as she’s allowed to by the center, and she’ll miss you just as much, if not more so. That’s why you need to do this, for her. Now come on, we need to get going.”

Jimin’s personal driver was waiting outside of the firm for the pair, ready to take them to the address that Namjoon had texted him earlier that morning. The car ride was silent, with Jimin watching people from his tinted window go about their day. He was nervous to see you, unsure of how upset you’ll be with him. His leg bounced uncomfortably as the car turned right several blocks from the office, taking them closer to where Jimin would be spending the next three months.

He saw you, standing outside of the building with Jung Kook. You wore a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, and a Chanel bag across your body. Jimin quickly unbuckled and got out the car, anxious to see you.

“H-Honey…” He said, dashing over to you, like nothing else in the world existed. You wrapped your arms around him, soothing his worries, and Jimin pulled you in close to kiss your lips. Jung Kook immediately looked away, choosing instead to meet Namjoon’s attention and nod his hello.

“Hi, baby.” You said, holding back tears.

“Honey, I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry.” Jimin rambled, his hands cupping your cheeks so that you’ll look at his face, as he wiped any tears that rolled down. “Anything mean that I did, and anything mean that I said, I didn’t mean it. You know that, right, Y/N? I’m so sorry, you must’ve been so scared. Fuck, I never want to hurt you, or upset you. I love you, and I’ll never be angry like that with you again. I’m gonna get better, ok, honey? Gonna get better for us.”

Jung Kook wanted to scoff, but he bit his tongue. He wondered how many times you’ve heard the same promises, hashed out the same fights, cried the same tears. He wondered how many times you’ve had to piece your heart back together, only for it to shatter again.

He wondered how many times you can spin in the same circle, until growing too dizzy to do so any more. He wondered if that day would come, and if he could be the one standing there, ready to steady you until your world stopped spinning.

“I love you.” You said softly, keeping your arms around Jimin. “I just want you to be happy… I was so scared, and I missed my Jimin.”

“I’m right here.” He said, pressing another kiss to your head as his heart broke. “I’m right here, honey. I’ll always be happy, because of you, ok? Nothing is ever going to change that. I’m your Jimin, forever. I love you.”

“I hate to break up a sweet moment, Ms. Y/L/N,” Namjoon said, stepping towards the couple. “But we need to wrap up some loose ends, so that we can get Mr. Park set up for tomorrow.”

“Ok.” You said, pulling away from Jimin. He grabbed your hand and smiled softly, pulling your hand up to his lips for a kiss.

The four of you walked into the treatment center, with Namjoon, Jimin and yourself signing Jimin in and going over what will take place over the next ninety days. Jung Kook just stood behind and out of the way, watching the way Jimin kept your hand in his, or softly brushed pieces of hair from your face, or snuck a quick kiss to your lips and cheek when he thought nobody saw. Jung Kook watched the way you folded so quickly under his touch, his kiss or a sweet look in his eye.

In that moment, Jung Kook felt as though he were a college student again, watching you with another man, while he blended seamlessly into the background walls.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #the law of attraction #lawyer!jungkook #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin fanfic #jimin fic

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strawberryshortcake0413 · 1 year

Text

Broken vase

Puppy Leon x gn reader

warning: smut, reader with female reproductive organ, masturbating, somnophilia, reader neglected Leon, silent treatment

♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡°°♡

A small whine escaped Leon's lips as he curled up under the dining table. After the long-lasting rain, the ground was moist, and the air was fresh. That's why Leon was quite excited since he woke up in his small bed, looking forward to going to play fetch with his owner. Leon jumped on your bed and started to pull the comfy crotched blanket away from your body. A wet nose sniffed your neck, trying to find out if his owner was awake yet. The constant sniffing, whimpering, and the strong pull at your blanket woke you up. After working at home all night, having been woken up by your puppy wasn't the nicest thing in the world right now.

"Leon? What the hell?" You mumbled sleepy, trying to grab your warm blanket back. The blonde retriever whined hearing your words. He immediately grabbed your arms and pulled you out of the white sheets. You groaned in frustration but followed his request and got out of bed. The late autumn was quite cold this year. A small chill ran down your spine as you stood in the bedroom rubbing your eyes in your pink shorts and grey top. When you opened your eyes and looked at the sound coming next to you, Leon was digging into your closet to find your shirt, jeans, and collar to go outside. He knew you didn't live going to the park when it was cold, but he couldn't help but try to change your mind today. The puppy barked and gave you the warm clothes, trying to put on his collar before you could say no to him.

You signed and looked at the warm clothing. Leon always knew how to make you do whatever you said. "Goddammit... I spoiled him too much, " you thought to yourself before putting the shirt on lazily and heading to the kitchen to grab a protein bar for a quick breakfast.

Leon whined loudly as he saw you leaving the bedroom, leaving him tangled with the leech. The puppy runs after you at a high speed, disappointed that you won't go outside with him to play. You stood in the kitchen next to the window, looking outside. The view was quite beautiful but looked cold and gloomy. While you drank a glass of water while the wind blew outside, Leon crashed into the vase beside you, causing the loud noise of a shattering vase.

You looked around to see Leon's head wrapped in the leech, the vase shattered on the ground, and him whining loudly as he sat on the floor with his ears down. Leon knew his wish to go outside and play fetch is now gone, at least for today. As he stared down at the floor, the beautiful golden pattern of the shattered vase drew his attention. It wasn't the blue vase you bought from IKEA. Instead, it was your mother's gift for your college graduation. One of the things you love so much, even more than yourself. Realizing what he had done, Leon whimpered loudly, crawled to your frozen figure, and hugged your legs to have your mercy.

You didn't know how to feel at the moment. Your puppy just broke your vase, but you loved him. At the same time, it was one of your most-priced possessions. Leon tensed up as you stood still like a tree. After a few moments, you gently moved Leon's hand and moved out of his grasp, heading to your room without saying a word.

After the death of your mother, the small fancy vase was all you have of her. Most of her belongings have been taken by your father and siblings. The word disappointed was beyond your feelings. So you just locked yourself in your bedroom and curled up in the sheets while Leon whimpered and whined outside the door.

It has been 2 days since you started giving Leon a silent treatment. The more you were quiet, the more louder Leon got. He wanted nothing but your attention and love.

Every time you would get out of your room to eat or get something from your office, Leon would try to sneak into your room and cuddle you, and when you didn't allow him, he would get frustrated and bark at you.

You weren't mad at Leon, just sad that all you had of your beloved mother was now gone. You needed time to yourself to think and heal. During your time to yourself, what you forgot was Leon's heat was coming soon. Every time he was in heat, you would help him by showering him with cold water, giving him his private time, and giving him his pills to help his heat a bit.

During the night, Leon whined in his sleep loudly as he rutted against the soft mattress.

A moan escaped between Leon's soft lips as his hardened shaft leaked precum. His baby blue eyes opened, on the edge of crying. The friction wasn't enough for Leon to calm down. He needed something more. As he bit his lips and thrust his hips into the soft pillow more, his movement slowed down. Leon signed in frustration and slowly crawled to his owner's bedroom.

Every time when Leon was in heat, you would take care of him and love him. Something about your smell drove Leon's mind crazy. His cock now leaked more precum as he whined and slowly pulled the blanket off of your sleeping body. Leon placed himself on top of you, paws playing with your hair while he sniffed it. As the pleasant aroma filled his nose, Leon felt his cock harden more. Leon whined quietly, trying not to wake you up.

"God..." muttered Leon under his breath quietly as he sniffed the air.

"That smell..." whined Leon now sniffing your opened legs. The little dark spot between your legs was enough to make Leon's little head dizzy and make him do a bold move he knew he shouldn't. The hybrid slowly pulled down your shorts with your thong and licked the white spot on it, moaning to himself. As his paws got closer to the pink opening, you signed in your sleep quietly. Leon stopped in his movement, cursing himself for doing this. He finally touch the slit of his owner and rubbed the wetness up and down. The slick sounds made Leon moan and thrust his hips in the air. Leon quickly threw off his shorts as he stroked his knot up and down, biting his lips to stop the sinful sound from coming out. He played with your clit for a while, enjoying your little squirm and moans in your sleep. You suddenly turned around on your belly to sleep, causing Leon to pull away from you. Leon stared at your pussy as he kept stroking himself at a rapid pace. After a few minutes of moaning and whimpering, long white liquid coated the sheets beneath and your things. The puppy whimpered and pulled on his shorts before kissing your cheek and waddling to his bed.

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*the photos aren't mine. Credits to the owners*

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #re2 leon #puppy!leon kennedy #hybrid leon kennedy #resident evil leon #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy angst #resident evil smut #re2 remake

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hopeisour4letteredword · 2 years

Photo

bff brunch gossip

ID under the cut

[ID: A seven-panel comic with flat colors. It shows a scene between Apollo Justice and Clay Terran from Ace Attorney, chatting with each other in a café. The walls of the café are light green, with light brown wooden booths, grey-brown seat cushions, and brown flooring. The tables are a darker brown wood and have blue vases with white and red flowers at each. There are paintings on the wall behind Apollo and Clay, who are sitting across from each other. Both have a white mug of coffee. Apollo is wearing blue jeans and a red v-neck shirt, while Clay wears a light blue overshirt over a grey shirt, khaki shorts, his black GYAXA visor, and black fingerless gloves. Panel 1: A full-body shot of Apollo and Clay, their booth, and the surrounding booths at the café. Both are leaning forward to rest their elbows on the table. Apollo has his arms crossed in front of him, and says, “So Klavier’s been talking about getting a cat.” Clay, holding his mug and propping his chin up with his other hand, replies, “Oh, really? Cool!” Panel 2: A shot of Apollo from the waist up, across the table. He glances to the side with an expression of minor embarrassment, blushing slightly. He says, “yeah, well. the thing is, I’m like…” Panel 3: Apollo leans forward, now looking at Clay and blushing more strongly as he finishes, “80% sure he’s trying to bait me into moving in??” He looks slightly aggravated. He gestures vaguely with one hand. Out-of-frame, Clay goes, “OHHH.” Panel 4: A shot of Clay from the waist up, across the table. He is leaning back in his seat, elbows still on the table, as he holds the hand that was on his chin half in front of his mouth to hide his smile. His eyebrows are raised. He says, “you think he’s hinting he wants YOUR cat around 24/7.” Apollo replies, “Right.” Clay says, “Aww, cute!” Panel 5: A waist-up shot of Clay and Apollo facing each other across the table. Apollo leans forward, elbows still on the table as he rubs the back of his neck and one of his cheeks, sheepish and blushing, but smiling with his eyes closed. He says, “Cute. Sure.” Clay also leans forward toward him, dropping his hand from his face as he says, “I mean, you’re gonna do it, yeah?” Apollo says, “yeah, yeah. it’s just…” Panel 6: A shot of Apollo from waist up, across the table. He gestures with one hand and has his chin propped on the other, half-hiding his own smile. He is still blushing. He asks, “morally speaking, would it be wrong to call his bluff,” Panel 7: A shot of Clay and Apollo, looking from behind Apollo’s shoulder to Clay across from him. Apollo, grinning, finishes, “and not move in until after he gets another—“ Clay erupts into laughter, banging on the table with one hand. Apollo says, “Clay—Clay I’m serious!!” /End ID]

#clay terran #apollo justice #klapollo

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sirenpearldust · 8 months

Text

Butter cookies

Pair: Azriel x Reader

Word count: 1.192

Warnings: fluff

“You look like an overgrown pigeon standing at my door. Come inside before you startle my neighbours,” she snapped, huffing.

His shadows wandered towards her easing her annoyance over being woken up from her slumber by the deranged bat - who was about to enter her domain.

She adjusted her clothes, embarrassed of wearing a tiny red nightdress in front of him. The white granny cardigan, her attempt of modesty in her hurry to open the door.

Strolling through her living room she opened the curtains, welcoming the sunlight in; unlocking the balcony door the summer breeze cleared the stuffy air.

“You do realise it’s midday,” he chuckled quietly, cutting the white roses before putting them in the blue porcelain vase he’d bought her on her 300th birthday.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t patronise me,“ she dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand.

The summer breeze and the sunlight seemed to have an immediate effect of tranquility. Eyes closed she stood there drinking it all in, her skin glowed healthily.

He observed her, how his shadows engulfed her, noticing their sense of peace in her presence.

Strolling towards her, he admired the view, understanding why she chose this place over Velaris during the winter.

Turning towards him she opened her eyes, narrowing them immediately at him.

“Put the tea kettle on the stove; I want chamomile,“ she commanded.

Following her orders, he smirked and shook his head at her playful demeanour.

“You idiots seem to only remember and visit me when you’re in trouble so count me a bit surprised of your visit. Please don’t ruin my vacation and writing of my new book.“

He only hummed.

Gathering her book scripts she also set aside her watercolours, the shadows cleaned the space on the red sofa by arranging her pillows and folding her soft grey blanket.

Joining him in the kitchen, she took out her homemade sweet butter cookies and pastries, placing them on a plate to share.

Azriel attempted to grab a cookie, only to have his hand smacked. Looking at him with disappointment, she said “500 years and you still haven’t changed any bit from the boy I’ve met back then.“

Laughing, he remembered the time he and the boys successfully stole three entire batches before a party, only escaping her fury and a gruesome death by a whisker.

Carrying the full tray, he settled next to her, spreading his wings comfortably. Taking a butter cookie he swallowed it at once. He grinned at her, but she only shook her head, blowing on her tea before sipping.

“They were always your favourites.“

“Is that why you always keep making them?“

She playfully replied, “Maybe I’m just trying fatten you up, and keep you away from everyone else, all to myself and no one would suspect me.“

Smirking, he said “I don’t think I would stay fat for long in your presence; and considering your track record of attempted murder, I do think you would be the first suspect of my disappearance.” Both laughed at her past attempts of almost strangling Cassian to death for burning her kitchen down. The male was a danger to society causing uproar everywhere he went.

Turning her attention to the view outside, she felt fuzzy at his gaze.

He admired her beauty, his eyes briefly lingered on her revealed skin; quickly averting them to avoid making her uncomfortable.

His shadows started swirling between them noticing both their emotions. They took a palmier(pastry) and ate it to relieve themselves of the tension, as they were just as nervous.

Azriel felt a mix of ease and unease in her presence. Struggling with his own feelings towards her. She made him feel both whole and conflicted, his emotions stronger than ever.

The memory of their first kiss, his initial taste of feeling complete, remained etched in his mind. Without her he felt a sense of loss.

Recollections of her reassurance, gentle touch and guidance, despite her own lack of experience, remained vivid.

She embraced his shadows, knew of his status as a bastard and held his scarred hands without hesitation or prejudice.

Her tenderness towards him gave him a reason to live, a sense of worth.

Had she not made clear that she wasn’t seeking a partner at the time, he might have courted and pursued her hand in marriage.

However, one unexpected night she left by order of the High Lord to return to her family in the Hewn City, leaving him heartbroken.

Attempting to cope, he had drowned his sorrows, ending up in an unkown women‘s bed. His first time he couldn’t recall even after 500 years.

In an effort to move on from her he became infatuated with Morrigan.

Everything except her appearance reminded him of you; her innocence, her connection to the Court of Nightmares, her complicated family affairs, her defiance, her stubbornness and the light in her eyes.

It all reminded him of you, the one still holding his heart.

Noticing his absent-minded stare, she waved a hand in front of his face, bringing him back.

“I asked if you’d like to stay with me for a few days. You deserve a break,“ she insisted.

Concern etched on her face, she pointed out his exhausted appearance ,“look at how much weight you’ve lost, have you been sleeping at all?“

Bringing up his dark eye circles she gripped his chin softly rubbing his stubble.

“You didn’t shave or cut your hair! You look like an exhausted father of five!“

Holding her hand before she could remove it completely, he responded chuckling “you sound like a nagging wife, caring for the father of her five children. I’m a grown male, you don’t have to worry about me, I take care of myself.“

“Don’t downplay my worries. Did the others even notice how exhausted you look? How much work is Rhys giving you?“

Her concerned nagging continued until she caught his gaze at her lips. Her heart was about to pummel out of her chest.

Smirking, she leaned forward, teasing, “Are you listening, Azzie baby?“

His wings shuddered at her proximity and voice. His body moved closer to hers, almost tasting her sweet lips.

The world seemed to pause, their heartbeats echoing as they drew in even closer.

Almost, he almost felt the relief of her lips on his.

A loud knocking interrupted them. Abruptly they separated.

Quickly rising and tightening her cardigan against her body, she walked to her door, where her elderly neighbour awaited her.

Frustrated he groaned rubbing his face, trying to calm his heartbeat as he looked at the ceiling.

His shadows whirred violently and whispered angrily around him as they were anticipating their kiss only for their Faeries to get interrupted.

Hearing the door closing, he watched her. She remained unfazed by what had happened moments prior and approached him explaining the kinds of teas she had been gifted and the invitation she’d gotten.

“Let’s get your hair fixed before we attend, I need a plus one before mothers start throwing their sons at me again.“

Though he groaned, he agreed, his jealousy and protectiveness would not leave her to be pestered or to be taken from him.

“I’m going to my room and get ready.“

At her disappearance, the shadows whispered and gushed of the softness of her hair and skin, her sweet scent, her beautiful eyes and more - their comments never ceased.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel fluff #azriel angst #azriel #azriel spymaster #night court #velaris #summer court #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #cassian #rhysand #inner circle #hewn city #court of nightmares #azriel shadowsinger

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peachesyeo · 5 months

Text

The Maestro The Others

word count - 3k words pairings - seventeen ot13 x fem!oc genre - mature, dark romance, cultish/yandere, mystery , crack chapter warnings - none

author's notes - this is also posted on ao3! lalali m/v killed lots of people, (esp. mingyu's jacuzzi(?) part, boy know what he's doing) and i simply adore vernon's outfit!

thank you @sousydive for beta reading!

series taglist — @seungkwanschicken pernament taglist — @sousydive @yeodeulz @oddracha @jaerisdiction @yukichan67 @evidive @onysmamas

back to masterlist?

Dear Mr. [REDACTED],

We have received news of your newborn child. We extend our heartfelt congratulations to you and your wife for her safe delivery. Please be reminded of your promise with us, and we trust that you will fulfill it.

Sincerely,

The Residents of the Maestro

When I finished packing, it was already seven. I decided to change into a pair of casual outfits - a simple white tee with black jeans. As I tied my hair up into a neat ponytail, I couldn’t help but feel nervous about the dinner later. Would it be rude of me to show up empty-handed? It is my first time visiting; I want to leave a good impression.

I glanced around the apartment, searching for something I could bring. Spotting a vase on the counter, I quickly grabbed it and rushed to the balcony, plucking a few fresh flowers from the potted plants. I made a simple bouquet, placing them on the coffee table.

I hope they don’t mind flowers, the owner of 301.

The doorbell rang again, and I hurriedly checked my outfit in the mirror one last time before rushing to the door. “Coming!” I called, opening it to find Soonyoung standing there, a familiar bright grin on his face.

“Hi! Shua hyung told me to come and pick you up. Oh, and to pass you this…” Soonyoung grinned.

“Hi, Hoshi, thank you,” I said, taking the file. “Are we going to 301?”

“Yeah, to Mingyu’s.” Soonyoung's grin widened. His gaze lingered on my outfit. “Nice fashion sense, you dress like Kwannie. He lives in 401, by the way,” he added, his voice light and casual.

Jeonghan, Chan, Mingyu, Kwannie... How many people live in this strange apartment complex? “I see… I'll put this down,” I said, rushing to put the document on the coffee table. Taking the bouquet, I went back to Soonyoung. “Let's go…”

“Hang on, let's go with Hoonie and Dokyeom,” Soonyoung said, noticing the bouquet in my hands. “That’s a nice bouquet.”

Hoonie and Dokyeom, that’s two more names. Adding the three men and the four names earlier, there must be more than ten residents here. “Thank you… I didn’t want to show up empty-handed…”

“I’m sure Mingyu would appreciate it,” Soonyoung said kindly. I walked alongside him to the corridor on the other side of the elevator. The both of us stopped in front of the apartment door labelled 203.

Something about the atmosphere felt off, as if there was an underlying current of secrecy that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Soonyoung knocked on the door, shouting. “Hoon? Are you done?” he called out.

Silence followed, broken only by the sound of approaching footsteps. Soon, a pale figure wearing a grey hoodie and sweatpants opened the door. He shared the same almond eyes as Hoshi, framed by long lashes. Despite the gentle flush to his cheeks, there was a coldness in his gaze, as if he were distant, detached. It gave him the appearance of a strawberry mochi with a frosty exterior.

He eyed me silently, before casting a questioning glance at Soonyoung, silently demanding an explanation. Soonyoung pulled him out in front of him, turning to me. “This is Lee Jihoon. Hoonie, this is Raeyang, the new resident in 201.”

“Are we doing introductions now?” A sudden voice joined from behind me. I jumped again, turning to see a tall blonde man shutting the door of 204. His eyes were round and lively, sparkling with a mischievous glint.

Beneath his straight and well-defined nose, his lips were full and curved into a wide, charming smile, revealing a set of perfectly aligned teeth. “Oh, you must be the new neighbour, Kang Raeyang, right?” he exclaimed warmly. I nodded, and he shot me a cheeky wink. “Hi, I’m Lee Seokmin, you can call me Dokyeom. Don’t worry about Jihoon, he looks distant but he’s a huge softie-”

“Kyeom, shut up,” Jihoon muttered, scowling at Seokmin. I looked to Soonyoung for help, but he seemed entertained by the turns of events. “Now, don’t fight, you know Cheol hyung would be annoyed…”

“Not fighting,” Jihoon avoided my eyes. “Hi, welcome to the family,” he murmured, closing his door and heading towards the elevator. Soonyoung nudged me with a grin, gesturing me to follow after Jihoon. Seokmin caught up to me, sending me a friendly smile.

“I heard about your parents,” he started, his tone friendly yet with a hint of something peculiar. “I’m sorry about them. They were nice.”

“You know my parents? Oh, right. They owned this building.” The bitterness from earlier seemed to creep back into my heart. As we waited for the elevator, Seokmin patted my shoulder, his smile unwaveringly warm but his touch lingering a bit longer than usual. “Well, Raeyang. We don’t keep secrets here, so I can assure you that Shua really told you everything he knows.”

“Dokyeom’s right,” Soonyoung agreed, his cheerful demeanour not faltering, but there was something in his eyes that seemed to hint at a deeper understanding. Seokmin retrieved his hand while Jihoon leaned on the wall with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Over here, everyone knows everything about everyone. No one has a secret. We’re a big family. Right, Hoonie?” Soonyoung nudged Jihoon, who was still avoiding my gaze. He nodded silently at Soonyoung's cue.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, the elevator arrived with a ‘ding’. The doors opened, revealing a young man standing inside. He looked like he stepped out of a painting; his eyes were like pools of liquid silver, framed by long lashes that gave him a dreamy, otherworldly gaze. His nose was straight and slender, leading down to lips that were soft and inviting. His hair was tied up into a short ponytail, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and angelic.

“Oh? What a coincidence.” His lips curled. Jihoon inclined his head at him, while Seokmin and Soonyoung greeted him loudly. “Jeonghan hyung!”

So this is the Jeonghan that was supposed to show me around earlier. Jeonghan stepped aside, allowing the four of us to enter the elevator. “Hello, Raeyang, I am Yoon Jeonghan,” he introduced himself with a slight tilt of his head, his voice soft. “I apologise for not being able to show you around earlier, I was busy. Nice bouquet you have there, by the way.”

As the elevator door closed, his eyes seemed to glint with a hidden emotion. I could feel the heat rising to my face as I shook my head. “Thank you.. And no, it’s okay. Seungcheol showed me around,” I said, hoping that Jeonghan wouldn’t notice the blush on my face.

But Jeonghan laughed lightly, “I know he didn’t, Raeyang. You don’t even know where the letterbox is,” he said casually, his tone lying with a hint of… anger? “But maybe I can show you around tomorrow, Raeyang. How does that sound to you?”

“Sure…” I replied, feeling a chill run down my spine as the air in the lift turned colder than usual. Suddenly, it felt suffocating to be standing right next to Jeonghan. The elevator stopped, saving me from the silent tension. I quickly exited, eager to escape his unsettling presence.

There were two unfamiliar faces standing in the middle of the lobby. One of them was a tall, thin man with a black mullet. He wore a thin brown button-up with black pants, and his feet were clad in comfortable sandals. The other man had silver hair and was dressed in a simple hoodie, paired with grey sweatpants and running shoes.

Once again, why are they all so good-looking?

“Minghao! Hansollie! What are the two of you doing outside?” Seokmin called out loudly, gaining their attention.

I silently switched my position to stand beside Jihoon instead, feeling safer with him than with Jeonghan. Jihoon gave me a weird look, and I returned a smile back to him. He paused, his eyes widening a little before turning away from me.

“Ah, hyungs.” The man with the silver hair spoke. He looks mixed, with fair skin and a pair of light, hazel eyes. “We were just waiting for Kwan and Jun hyung.” His brows raised when he saw me. “Is this the new neighbour?”

“Yeah. Raeyang, this is Vernon, or Hansol, his Korean name. That’s Minghao,” the thin man with the mullet tilted his head at me. It was then I realised that his eyes were actually electrifying blue. “Hello.”

“Hello, Miss Raeyang.” Minghao’s voice is surprisingly soft. Vernon, on the other hand, nodded at me. “What’s up?” He said coolly. I gave him an awkward smile, the goosebumps once again rising up my arm. “Erm, I’m all good?”

“That’s nice to know.” Vernon’s features crinkled into a smile as he raised a thumbs up at me. Seokmin clapped him on his back, while Soonyoung hung an arm over Minghao’s shoulder. “Should we go in first? I wanna introduce Raeyang.” Soonyoung grinned, while Vernon seemed unfazed. “You guys can go in first. Jeonghan hyung, Kwan asked for you too.” He said, before his gaze fell on me again. “I believe Mingyu hyung would be very happy to see a new face.”

Minghao cleared his throat, and for a moment he seemed to be struggling to speak. “Is… Is that bouquet of flowers for Mingyu?” Minghao pressed his lips together, after he had spoken. I nodded in response, and he quickly looked away, not speaking another word. I blinked, not understanding his reaction.

“Alright then, let’s go, Raeyang!” Seokmin, seemingly noticing the rising awkwardness, let go of Vernon, beckoning me. Jihoon muttered something under his breath as he quickly walked past me to the corridor. I quickly followed in his footsteps, while Seokmin and Soonyoung trailed behind me. Feeling a nod on my shoulder, I turned my head around. Seokmin gave me an apologetic grin. “Sorry about Minghao, he’s not really good at socialising.”

“Ah, no, I wasn’t offended or anything.” I said quickly, waving my hands in front of my chest. Seokmin patted his own. “Thank goodness, a lot of people thought Hao had an attitude. He’s nice, he’s just a little introverted-”

“We’re here.” Jihoon’s voice cut Seokmin’s words off again. Apartment 301 was just right at the corner. The door was left open, and Jihoon went straight in. I held the bouquet of flowers tightly in my hand, entering the apartment.

A large, spacious living room greeted me as I entered. In it, I could see a kitchen. A tall figure was busing behind the stove, talking animatedly as another worked quietly next to him. A huge dinner table was placed in the middle of the living room, and Seokmin headed straight towards a black-haired man in a black hoodie sitting by the couch. Once he noticed us, he quickly stood up.

The man’s eyes were bright and expressive, and they seemed to hold a sense of mischief. His nose was small and slightly upturned, giving him a boyish charm. His lips were curled into a mischievous grin as he spoke. “Is this who I think she is?”

“Bingo!” Soonyoung clapped loudly, followed by Seokmin. The man held out his hand to me. “Hi, I’m Lee Chan. You can call me by my stage name Dino, or just Chan.”

A stage name, just like Soonyoung. They must be some kind of performers. I reached out to shake his hand. “My name is Kang Raeyang, nice to meet you, Chan.” I said, as the two people working in the kitchen walked out. “Ah! New neighbour!” The taller one said loudly, taking off his apron while the other beside him adjusted his glasses. “Hi, I’m Kim Mingyu, this is Jeon Wonwoo.”

Mingyu's appearance could be described as strikingly sinful; his face is strong, with a square jawline that gives him a ruggedly handsome look. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, hold a mixture of warmth and intensity, like smouldering embers. His eyebrows are thick and well-defined, adding to the intensity of his gaze. I was reminded of the sexy models I’ve seen in magazines - well, that could be Mingyu, only if he wasn’t smiling so brightly.

Beside him, Wonwoo's face had a different aura. His eyes, dark and deep, and beneath his sharply defined eyebrows, his gaze held a quiet intensity. His sharp jawline gave his face a certain ruggedness, contrasting with the softness of his lips, which are now curved into a subtle smile.

Noticing that I have been staring at Mingyu for quite a while, I quickly handed out the bouquet of flowers, hoping that no one noticed my flustered state. “I’m Kang Raeyang, sorry for coming at such short notice… I should have brought something better…”

Mingyu blinked, and then tears welled up in his eyes. I stood in shock as he sniffed, taking the flowers from me. “Oh, that’s s-so sweet of you, Raeyang… These jerks here didn’t even get me anything when I have been working my ass off, cooking them food…”

“I helped you prepare them,” Wonwoo's voice was low, sounding tired. Chan rolled his eyes in response, while Seokmin clapped his hands together, checking the time. “It’s almost seven fifteen, is dinner ready yet?”

Mingyu recovered almost immediately. “I’ll go find a vase for these flowers. Chan, set the table. The rest of you, bring out the dishes.” As the others moved to obey his command, he turned to me, grinning. I noticed that his incisors are quite pointy, like a vampire. “Meanwhile, Raeyang, do you mind helping me supervise them? Especially Chan.”

“Yah! Kim Mingyu, you dramatic puppy!” Chan scowled and Mingyu stuck his tongue out at him. Soonyoung quickly ushered me to the kitchen. “Ignore the both of them, they are very childish…”

“Says the person who believes that he’s a tiger!” Chan yelled from behind, and Soonyoung's eyes turned wide with disbelief. He turned back, hands on his hips. “What are you talking about? I am a tiger-”

A pair of pale hands suddenly pulled me into the kitchen. I yelped in surprise as Jihoon swiftly moved in front of me. He scowled at the noise outside, slamming the kitchen door shut after Wonwoo and Seokmin entered.

"They are so noisy," he muttered, his tone exasperated as he leaned against the door, letting go of my wrist as he folded his arms. Wonwoo snorted and went back to the pots and plates, filling them up with the delicious-smelling food while Seokmin helped him.

I stepped forward to lend a hand, but I felt Jihoon grab my wrist again. I looked back at him, not understanding. “I want to help…” I started, but Jihoon shook his head. “You can help Chan take out the plates, he’ll come in after they stop yelling.” He pointed to two cabinets opposite Wonwoo and Seokmin. “There’s fourteen of us including you.”

“Alright…” I quickly took out the utensils. Jihoon opened the drawer beside me, carefully taking out the cutlery. The shouts outside died out, followed by a loud cackling of laughter and a roar of anger by someone unseen. I looked up in fear at the roar, but the other three in the kitchen didn't seem to be affected by it.

Soon, the kitchen door slid open, and Chan marched in, looking furious. His eyes blazed as he stormed past us, muttering curses under his breath.

"Stupid Seungkwan hyung," Chan complained to Wonwoo while walking past him, taking a tray from the shelves above and starting to load the cutlery Jihoon had placed on the counter. "I’ll bite his head off one day, acting like he owns the place again… And Cheol hyung always sides with him…"

Seungkwan. Soonyoung and Vernon had both mentioned his name. “Kwan’s here?” Seokmin asked interestedly, while Chan gave him a side eye, exiting the kitchen. Wonwoo sighed, giving me an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, they are like Tom and Jerry-”

“I heard that the new neighbour is here!” A head peeked out from behind the kitchen door. He has a slightly rounded face with soft, chubby cheeks, his eyes bright with light. He has a slightly pointed nose and a prominent chin, and his hair was dyed to a soft brown, falling short from his eyes. “Oh, hello! Jun hyung! Come say hi!”

A second head peeked into the kitchen. He has high cheekbones and a defined jawline, his nose is straight and well-proportioned, adding to the symmetry of his face. Unlike Seungkwan, who seemed friendly and excited, he seemed a little tired and disinterested. “Hi.”

I placed my hands in front of me politely. “Hello, I’m Kang Raeyang.”

Seungkwan waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t need to be so informal. I’m Boo Seungkwan, and this is Wen Junhui.”

“And can you not block the door?” Chan’s irritated voice came from behind them, and Seungkwan quickly turned around, scowling. “Is that how you talk to your elders, you rascal?”

“The both of you, enough!” A familiar deep voice boomed from the living room, instantly quieting the both of them. Junhui disappeared, while Seungkwan pouted. “Okay, okay, hyung. Keep your hair on.”

“He’s even more naggy than Kim Mingyu.” Chan muttered as Seungkwan stepped aside for him to go into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Seokmin had loaded the dishes onto another tray. “Hey, Raeyang, do you mind helping me with these?”

“Sure,” I nodded and walked over to him. Wonwoo passed me a second tray, “careful.” He warned. I followed Seokmin to the living room, where a big dining table is set up. Most of the seats are filled with the people I’ve seen. Joshua sent a gentle smile my way. “Hello, Raeyang.”

“Hi, Joshua.” I replied, standing beside him and putting down the tray. Opposite him, Seungcheol frowned. “Why are you loading the dishes?” He snapped, looking frustrated.

“Oh,” I was a little taken aback by his reaction. “I said I wanted to help…”

A pair of slender hands appeared on Seungcheol’s shoulder. I see Jeonghan shaking his head at Seungcheol, before turning to me with a smile.

“Thank you for helping, Raeyang,” he started. “But I think you should just sit down, Vernon will take it from here,” as if on cue, Vernon stood up, giving me a lazy smile. “You can sit there.” He pointed to an empty seat next to Junhui, and the mentioned man waved at me. “Dinner will start soon.”

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#☁️k's the maestro series #seventeen ot13 #svt ot13 #seventeen ot13 x oc #svt ot13 x oc #seventeen crack #svt crack #seventeen #svt #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic

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waterdeep-weavemoss · 4 months

Text

Soul

Thank you @sorceresssundries for sending Young and Beautiful as a prompt! It's a beautiful song, I hope you enjoy this. 💜

'Will you still love me when I got nothing but my aching soul? I know you will.' - Lana Del Rey, Young and Beautiful

Taglist:

@netherese0rb @boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @amorgansgal

His first engagement gift to her was a white gold ring adorned with a pear cut diamond, huge and sparkling, haloed with tiny amethysts. The band twined prettily like strands of Weave, and engraved on the inside in his own hand were the words: ‘I found divinity in you.’ Tav received it via courier, opening the door in her home just off Heapside Strand to see the poor dragonborn woman obscured by armfuls of blooms: blue irises, red roses, massive clouds of peonies and bright purple anemones, even cascades of delicate wisteria.

‘Someone must absolutely adore you!’ the woman gushed, her copper scales gleaming in the morning light. ‘When you’ve taken all these, love, there’s something else for you. There’s a vase here, too- do you want me to help you arrange these?’

‘Oh! That would be wonderful,’ said Tav. ‘Thank you.’ She backed inside for the lady to pass and spied the vase. It was a work of art; a sculptural piece of rose quartz veined with gold. Bringing it carefully inside, she set it by her reading nook, filled it with water, and watched as the courier carefully arranged them. The sight of them brought her such great joy she wanted to cry.

‘And one more thing. I was told to be incredibly careful with this,’ she said, smiling and reaching into her satchel. She withdrew a small box and an ornate letter on quality parchment. ‘Have a wonderful day!’

‘Bye,’ she said to her retreating back, closing the door slowly behind her. With trembling hands, she opened the letter.

My love, I know I proposed in haste. I had to, in truth. I was so terrified it would all be a dream and I’d wake, and you’d be gone. Not that I don’t trust you, of course. It’s more that you are so beyond even my most audacious dreams that I cannot believe you’re real. I hope you like what I chose for you. White gold for your complexion of course, a diamond for the pure beauty of your soul and the endless love I hold for you, and, if you’ll forgive me a little vanity, amethysts for myself. I would say more here but those things are best said in vows. I hope you like the flowers. I’ll tell you why I chose them, but those things are best said running my fingers through your hair, murmured softly into your waiting ear. I wish I could see your face… not long now. Still, being apart from you is torture. Here’s to eternity. Gale.

‘Oh,’ said Tav, blinking back tears and kissing his name on the parchment. ‘Gale, I adore you.’ She reached for the box and gasped at its contents. The most perfect ring, just as he’d described. It twinkled on her finger like a piece of the astral plane. She curled up in her favourite chair and wept tears of joy, wishing she could hold him.

His second gift arrived a week later. Tav opened the door to a cheerful dwarven man holding a sturdy basket in his arms. ‘Hello ma’am,’ he said, eyes twinkling in delight. ‘I’ve a gift for you from Mr Gale Dekarios. He gave me express instructions to deliver his gift to you personally. It’s important it’s opened indoors, in a secure area, and away from any fine furnishings. Ahem. He hopes you enjoy your gift. Blessings, ma’am.’ He handed the basket over and off he went with a cheery wave. Frowning in puzzlement, Tav took it inside and set it down in the kitchen, gingerly lifting the lid. She gasped, astonished. Inside, fast asleep, was a tiny, winged kitten, silver and grey. It had a small, jeweled collar and a letter tucked beneath one dainty paw.

My love, Tara has been my stalwart companion for most of my life. She saved it, in fact, more than once. I cherish her utterly, and I want you to have the same unwavering support when I can’t be there for you. I hope that is a rare occurrence, since if it were not, I fear it would drive me mad to be apart from you for long. Still… this is Calliope. Admittedly she’s only a baby, but I want you to have as much bonding with her as possible. She’ll speak in time. May she be a comfort to you when I cannot be. Forgive my presumption, I put your name down as Dekarios. Selfishly, it brought me such joy to do so that I wept. Be here. Would that time would speed up, just a little, so I could hold you in my arms. Gale.

The kitten stirred in her basket, stretched and mewed softly. Delicately, Tav drew her into her arms. ‘Hello, Calliope,’ she said, kissing her fuzzy little head. ‘I hope you love your dad as much as I do.’ She stroked her soft wings, cooing to her as she showed her the house. Calliope blinked her golden eyes slowly and pushed her head into Tav’s palm, purring. ‘He knows exactly how to make me feel like the most special woman in the world, doesn’t he? Hmm?’ Calliope meowed in agreement, climbing up onto her shoulder and settling around her neck, like she'd always been there.

Tav was in Waterdeep, finally. It was the night before the wedding, and she stared at the ceiling in Morena’s spare room, her heart like a hummingbird’s wings in her chest. Calliope had tucked her face into the crook of her neck but did not sleep, sensing her excitement. The wedding dress hung on the back of the door, a confection of seed pearls and silk perfect for the summer heat. Tiny flowers cascaded off the shoulders in a froth of lace, putting her in mind of seafoam. She knew Gale was in his tower feeling exactly the same, and drifted off to sleep with his face in her mind, the first time he told her he loved her all that time ago.

The day dawned bright and cloudless. It was a flurry of activity the moment she woke: Morena had called Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach and Astarion to her home early to help Tav dress and prepare themselves.

‘I hope you’re ready, darling,’ said Astarion, kissing her on the cheek.

‘What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in Gale’s party.’

‘Oh please,’ he purred. ‘You know I love you more.’ He chucked her under the chin and winked. ‘You ought to know, I made that delicious dress for you. It pains me to know it’s just going to end up in pieces on the fl-’

‘Alright Fangs, that’s enough,’ said Karlach, clapping a hand over his mouth. ‘You’re making the bride blush and only one man gets to do that today.’

‘Chk,’ admonished Lae’zel. ‘Both of you are children.’

‘For once we agree on something, Lae’zel. It must be a special day indeed,’ replied Shadowheart. ‘C’mon Tav. Makeup first.’

‘If you get even the faintest smidge of makeup on that dress,’ began Astarion dangerously, ‘I will drain you dry, love. So be careful.’ Shadowheart shot him a quelling look and set to work. When Calliope leapt into Tav’s lap, Astarion came to the rescue. ‘Ah-ah, little one,’ he said, scooping her up. ‘Mummy’s making herself extra beautiful, alright?’ He held the kitten in his arms, looking for all the realms like a doting uncle.

‘I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, angel,’ said Morena when she came to check everything was alright a little later, ‘I think Gale may just die when he sees you.’

Lae’zel and Karlach helped Tav into her dress, Astarion hovering anxiously as they did so. Finally, he slid pearl encrusted slippers onto her feet. ‘I think she’s ready,’ said Karlach, beaming.

Her friends were dressed in assorted colours themselves: Shadowheart in midnight blue, Lae’zel in maroon, Karlach in cyan and Astarion in emerald green. Morena wore deep purple.

‘A couple finishing touches,’ said Morena, fastening a pair of diamond studs in Tav’s ears. ‘I wore these on my own wedding day. And these-’ she handed her a massive bouquet of blue irises. ‘Ready?’

‘I am,’ she said.

The wedding party converged on the tower; Tav was hidden from Gale with the aid of a strong invisibility spell, spirited away while everyone took their places, Astarion taking her by the arm. ‘Are you sure you want me to do this for you?’ he murmured softly.

‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘You’ve become very special to me.’ He smiled, and she could’ve sworn unshed tears sparkled in his eyes.

‘Alright darling.’ He lifted the invisibility spell and threw open the great oak doors before her. She stared; Gale had never mentioned a ballroom in his tower before. It was festooned with what could only be the work of all the florists in Waterdeep, the same flowers Gale had sent her with her engagement ring. The natural magic of the space swirled around them in colourful motes, sparkling and beautiful. At the far end of the room, Wyll and Minsc were speaking quietly with Gale, Jaheira and Halsin murmuring quietly with Morena, who held Calliope in her lap. Astarion squeezed Tav’s arm as music struck up from nowhere, piano and violin and harp. She recognised this. It was the music Gale had played for her in their vision, all that time ago.

Astarion walked Tav down the aisle, his presence calming and steady. She knew he was proud of her, and she would’ve wanted no-one else to give her away. As she approached, Gale beamed, his eyes wide and soft. He took her hands as Astarion took his place beside Wyll and kissed them, unable to stop himself.

‘Hello,’ he murmured.

‘Hello,’ she whispered back, grinning.

‘Beloved, we are gathered,’ said the wood elf priestess, ‘to witness the joining of two souls in eternal love. They will speak their vows to one another, and ritual will be sealed in the ancient magics of Realmspace.’ She gestured to Gale. ‘Mr Dekarios, if you would.’

He cleared his throat, cheeks going a little pink. ‘Tav. I believe you are one half of my soul. I will protect you until my last breath, and then I’ll walk out of the fugue plane to do so again. You are sacred to me in a way I’ve never experienced before, you helped me see life for all its beauty and wonder and worth. I would die for you if fate willed it, but I swear to you I will live for you instead. I adore you. You’re more to me than anything in all the realms, including magic. If I lost it all tomorrow, I’d be content, because you are utterly irreplacable. I love you. Gods, I love you.’

Tav felt tears sliding down her cheeks, giggled when Gale brushed them away gently with his thumbs. Taking a breath, she responded, ‘Gale. You are the most special man I’ve ever known, magic or not. I’ve never known someone so generous, so open and kind and wonderful. You saved me as well. I was so lonely. So lost. And you took my hand and led me out of the dark into your world of beauty and wonder. Wherever you are is consecrated ground. I will cherish you forever. I love you.’

Dimly aware that everyone around her was weeping into their hands, Tav could only just hear the priestess telling Gale to kiss her; he drew her to him by the waist and kissed her with such tenderness it made her feel faint. Only when they needed to breathe did he pull away, pure adoration on his face. He pressed his forehead to hers as their friends and family cheered, and she felt at home- with her husband- for the first time in her life.

#gale x tav #mine #if you'd like to be on the taglist shoot me an ask #enjoy! i adored writing this one 💜

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