#without it seeming preach-y

[im-in-andromeda]

okay the scene in s1 ep1 when there is the flashback to the hargreeves waiting to say goodnight to reginald but he doesn’t acknowledge them and allison says ‘he’s always busy’ only to move onto the modern day scene where there are random noises and movements coming from the study?!?!

obviously it’s played for laughs and i know this wasn’t the original intention but the idea of going from the flashback to that scene really makes the study seem haunted for a few seconds, until you realise it’s klaus. the man who is haunted (literally) and plagued by ghosts. storytelling at its peak

[anystalker707]

nightmare

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Sanji has from a nightmare, unintentionally shoving you away in the process Tags: drabble / comfort

Requested by @mere-mortifer

MASTERLIST

          The crew had always been very affectionate—cuddling and being together all the time—, so it was not surprising that you’d share beds, but it wasn’t that often that you’d be sharing a bed to sleep with Sanji rather than just to cuddle with him. Sanji’s chest moved against your back rhythmically with his even breathing, arm draped around your waist. The rest of the crew was scattered around the ship, sleeping in other quarters or wherever they found themselves comfortable.

Sanji’s breath hitched as he stirred in his sleep. His eyebrows furrowed, and he moved, inhaling sharply before suddenly pushing you enough to send you rolling off the bed. Thankfully, you didn’t hit anywhere, shuddering at being woken up so suddenly; the ground under your ass was the first thing you’d noticed. Some of the bedsheets came down with you when you tried instinctively to prevent yourself from falling, tangling on your limbs.

At first, you wondered if there was an invasion or something, but the silence you were met with made you even more confused.

“Fuck,” you whispered. Your heavy breathing was the only sound to fill the room as your heartbeat hammered in your ears, and you gasped when Sanji suddenly sat up with a broken scream that wasn’t actually loud.

Sanji sat there for a solid minute before his breath hitched, and he looked around the room until his eyes landed on you. It was hard to see his face in the darkness. “Uh, what… what are you doing there?’ He swallowed, trying to catch his breath as well, without much success. He furrowed his eyebrows, about to move to help you when you climbed back up on the bed, adjusting the pillows and sheets.

You furrowed your eyebrows and took a deep breath. “I guess you kicked me off the bed. Were you having a nightmare? Are you okay? Do you—”

Blood drained down Sanji’s body as he looked at you, eyes wide. He had kicked you? You? Out of all people? His heart sank, a bitter taste heavy on his tongue, as he observed you incredulously. A lump formed in his throat and made it hard to talk. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, compelling you to stop talking at the same moment.

“Huh? It’s fine, you didn’t mean to.”

Sanji pressed his lips together, shaking his head. He felt like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole and make him disappear from existence. Hitting someone like you—who he loved and cherished so much—went against everything he ever preached and what he believed in. Worst of all, he knew his kicks weren’t weak. He swallowed, pressing his eyes shut.

“Sanji,” you tried. “Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do it consciously.” The words didn’t sit right, like they were more of a bother than a help, but you didn’t feel like you could do anything else to help him. Sanji rarely showed his weaknesses, so dealing with him wasn’t quite an easy job.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Sanji said, and you were afraid he said it just to make you stop talking. “Where did I hit you?”

You only observed him briefly, or at least tried to do so in the darkness. Clearing your throat, you rubbed your hip, an area near your back. “Here.”

A frown was evident on Sanji’s face as he gently touched the area with a trembling hand, gulping. He was such a mess. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice strained. “Does it hurt? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Sanji was shaking, his hands now on your shoulders and rubbing your collarbone lightly. “Really, I’m sorry.”

The pain wasn’t that bad, but you still gave him a moment, taking a deep breath to fully recover from the whole thing. “Sanji, trust me.”

His blue eye was barely visible in the darkness, but you could see it was full of tears. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” you reassured with a light nod, even though it didn’t seem to do much. He looked down before his gaze met yours again. “Oh, Sanji,” you whispered, instinctively pressing your forehead to his. It felt right.

Whatever happened—whoever leaned in first—was unclear among the fog of feelings all over the place, though the only thing that mattered was how comforting it felt. Sanji’s lips pressed to yours in an intense kiss, the taste of the last cigarette he had before bed lingering on his lips before you were forced to pull away because of the lack of air. It didn’t stop you two from trying to keep kissing despite the heavy breathing, tugging each other closer.

The kisses weren’t sexual, but they held their own intimacy and heat to it, craving the comfort and relief they brought. Relief of finally being as close as you wanted to be, after pining over each other for so long. “I… I’ll make it up to you,” Sanji mumbled against your lips, guilt still heavy in his chest no matter what you told him. “I promise.”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

The Girl That Disappeared | Suspect #2 JJK

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢  

✧ Synopsis: It was a gloomy Friday evening when you felt the mists of melancholy pulse through your veins, aching body floating above the deep water. Squeezing your eyes shut, your lips trembled with fear. You didn’t want to die, but you sure as hell didn’t want to live. Not in this town. Not with the people in it. So, why don’t you just disappear? Leave them to search for the remnants of who you had been before you realised that life is more painful than death. Park Jimin. Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook. Best-friend, step-brother, and an ex-lover. Although their paths had never crossed before that gloomy Friday evening, their names, printed in bold, now remained on the top of the suspect list. Stories entangled in your mystery.

✧ w/c: 6.1k ✧ a/n: a lot is going on here but please let me know what you think, mwuah 💓 ✧ taglist: @kookieandjoonberries @whoa-jo @taevestr @smoljimjim @kookxin

@11thenightwemet11 @xumyboo @kingofbodyrolls @jksusawife

“Y/n-ah! I’m leaving, please turn on the security,” your mother’s voice echoed from the entrance as you heard the front door close. She was working on-call today, and while it seemed like you finally had an opportunity to spend some quality time together, the hospital rang her in for an emergency operation at the last minute. 

“Okay, love you,” you yelled from your room, picking up the laundry off the floor before heading downstairs. No one was home. Mr. Kim had a night shift and wouldn’t be back until later and only God knew where Taehyung was. 

Scrolling through your phone, you smiled at the photos Jimin sent you from his parent’s ranch house. It’s been a week since he left, and you couldn’t help but miss him. The two of you haven’t gone this long without seeing each other, so it felt weird not being able to call him over. 

“Y/n, it’s so nice here, you would’ve loved it,” he smiled through the phone, resting his head on the soft pillow. 

“I bet,” you whined. 

“Next time, you’re coming with me, okay? There’s this waterfall I’ve been dying to show you,” 

“Okay … I missed you Jimin-ah,” your voice broke, glossy eyes looking down at the teddy bear he got for your birthday. 

“Y/n-ie, you know I missed you more,” Jimin moved in closer, placing a kiss on his front camera as you glanced up.

“Now, get some sleep, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, mmhm,”

“Goodnight,” you whispered with a little wave. 

“Sleep tight, angel,” 

He never called after that. All your attempts went straight to voicemail. It was strange, Jimin always valued communication, and never was the type to let you wonder about his whereabouts. Kept you posted even with a little “k”, just to signify that he got the message. But, now, it felt like he was gone. Vanished into thin air, like nothing happened. And, it killed you knowing that you couldn’t do anything about it. 

The clock read 7 am on the dot, which meant that you still had about two hours till the first bell. It was the first day of your period and your cramps were horrendous, to say the least. They’re usually a pain in the ass but never this bad. Looking through the medicine cabinet you rummaged past the bandaids and the gummy vitamins before remembering that Taehyung took the last Ibuprofen for his headache last night. It was ironic how little painkillers you had in the house, knowing that your mom was a doctor. But, it’s because she always preached the importance of letting your body heal naturally. Science could only get you so far, I guess? 

Zipping up your windbreaker, you grabbed your wallet and keys before heading outside to the local grocery store until the sound of a slammed door left you frozen in your tracks. It came from upstairs. Looking up at the dark corridor you turned on the lights, following the breeze seeping through the cracks of your room. 

“Taehyung?” you called, hands hovering over the doorknob. No one answered. Why would they? You were the only one in the house, right? 

“Taehyung, if this is one your stupid jok-” you whispered again before facing the empty room. 

No sight of Taehyung, but your window was open, which explained the door. The only problem was that you didn’t remember opening it in the first place. Nonetheless, you would gladly accept this version of the incident over the possibility of some paranormal activity. One problem at a time, please. 

So, you shut your blinds and went back downstairs to turn off the security system before grabbing your bike from the garage. You didn't have a licence, and only got your learners about a month ago, so if no one was home you had to resort to another form of transportation. 

You didn’t mind biking though. Found it rather therapeutic. Loved the alone time it allowed for without the bombardment of life and its constant obstacles. Just you and your thoughts. And, although there was a bit of a fog, it was clear enough to see where you were going. So, you buckled your helmet and went off on your journey to secure some Ibuprofen. 

Exiting the gated community, you biked through the local primary school, passing by a parking lot of sleep-deprived parents rushing to work after dropping off their little ones. It was getting a bit chilly as the wind picked up, so you stopped to put on some mittens and a hat before glancing back at the rustling sound behind the corner. 

“Hello?” 

Again, no one answered. But, that didn’t stop the chills running down your spine, remembering the incident earlier at home. Looking down at your watch, you gasped at the 20 minutes that had already passed, yet, you were nowhere near the grocery store. So, it was time to focus. 

Biking down the empty road, your eyes were scattered across the painted scenery. The old brick houses and the tall trees. The rusted mailboxes and the garden gnomes. It all felt so nostalgic. So close to your heart, as if tethered by the strings of your past. But, the feeling was short-lived. Consumed by the eerie melancholy inching up your skin as you felt someone's presence behind you. 

This time, you weren’t wrong. Covered from head to toe, it looked like a man. Keeping a civil distance, he followed your turns. Left. Right. Straight. Right. Left. Straight. Coincidence or not, this wasn’t a common path that people took. Not many knew of the shortcut. So, you began to speed up, feeling the adrenaline kick in once he did the same. Now, it was a chase. 

Pushing through the burning pain in your calves you picked up the pace, feet firm on the pedals. He didn't pity your fatigue, only fueled it more by inching closer before the two of you were riding side-by-side. Keeping an eye on his uncanny demeanour, you flinched at the sound of a car horn blast through your trembling state as a white Honda glared past you, pointing at the stop sign. 

“I'm sorry,” you whispered under your breath. 

“You're fast,” the man scoffed, tilting his head with a sly grin. That's all you could see. 

“Who are you?” you yelled, voice trembling in panic. 

“I’ll give you a head start, mmhm?” he sneered, changing the gears on his bike. 

Feeling the tightness in your throat, you were gasping for air, dilated pupils scanning the surroundings for help. Unfortunately, as if praying on your downfall, the street was empty. Not a soul in sight. So, you pressed on the pedals, leaving the man in the dust as you prayed that the next turn led to people. 

Gas station. Bingo. 

Hoping off your bike you bolted towards the door. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the cashier yelled out, furrowed gaze searching the panic on your face. You could feel the flush rise up your cheeks, but the absence of Mr. X occupied your mind. 

“I’m so sorry,” you mouthed, clearly out of breath before dialling Jimin’s phone number. It was like second nature. You didn’t even realise it until your call went straight to voicemail. 

“Oh, right,” a sigh escaped your lips, remembering that he was still MIA.

Looking through your contacts, there was only one more person you could call. But, the possibility of them actually agreeing to help you was as slim as your waist after all that exercise. Nonetheless, you took a deep breath and pressed the call button. 

“Taehyung?” 

“What do you want, y/n?” he scoffed. 

“Right. So, potentially … if you could … would you mind picking me up from the gas station near River Banks?” you whispered, careful with every word as you anticipated his response. 

“Potentially, screw you. What the fuck did you lose there?” 

“It’s kind of a long story but I do need to be at school in about half an hour,” 

“Can I even say no?”

“Last time I checked it was a free country but a dangerous one at that. So, if I'm kidnapped, my blood is on your hands,” 

“You and that victim mentally of yours go way back, huh?” 

“Please, Taehyung. I’ve never asked you for a favour before,” 

“Fine, give me 10 minutes,” he sighed, ending the call before you could even thank the guy. 

The car ride home was quiet. No radio. Windows rolled up. Silence. 

“So, you’re really not gonna tell me?” Taehyung asked with an arched brow, glancing at your stiff form as the light turned red. 

You’ve never been good at lying. Even if your mouth stayed shut, your face would’ve revealed it all. Essentially, there was no running away from the truth in your case. 

“Well … no one was home and I needed medicine so I decided to bike to the grocery store,” you began explaining, avoiding his eyes. 

“Mmhm,”

“And then …” you paused, hesitating the next part. What if Mr. Kim finds out? What if you were blowing this out of proportion? 

“Y/n. You’re making me angry. Just say it,” he scolded, pressing on the pedal. 

“Sorry. Um, so yeah … I was biking and then out of nowhere this man started following me. So, I tried losing him by taking different turns but … ended up getting lost,” 

“You were followed?” there was a slight change in Taehyung’s voice. Less sarcastic, more intrigued. 

“I guess?” 

“Well, did you see what he looked like?” 

“Not, really. He was covered from head to toe. Except …” you gasped, eyes shut as your brain scavenged through its short-term memory, recalling the moment at the stop sign. 

“Yes?” 

“The side of his mouth was … bruised like he got punched or something?” you leaned back into the seat, fidgeting with your rings while Taehyung merged onto the right lane. He was too focused on the road to hear what you said, but as you glanced at his face your eyes widened, spotting the same purple marks. 

“What?” he growled, furrowed gaze glaring back at your parted lips. 

“Nothing.” you chuckled awkwardly, reaching for the radio before his cold hand touched yours. 

“Look me dead in the eyes and tell me.” he sneered, interlocking his fingers with yours. You’ve known each other for almost a year, yet, your shoulders have never even grazed past each other. So, this was strange, to say the least. 

“Tell you what?” you said hushly, gulping down the nerves as he levelled his face to meet your scattering eyes. 

“That you’re scared,” 

“I’m not,” you scoffed, feeling the flush in your cheeks. 

“Good. Because why the fuck would it be me, you dumbass.” his voice got louder with each word, throwing your hand back before rolling down the windows. Finally. Some fresh air. 

Why would it be him, y/n? You weren’t his favourite but, this was too much. Taehyung was a straightforward person, if he hated you he would say it to your face. So, these mind games were really not his thing. But, then again, what’s up with the bruised lip? 

Fixing your uniform you walked into the brightly lit classroom. First period. Physics. No one was in their seats, let alone bothered by the fact that the teacher was almost 10 minutes late. Placing your books on the desk you looked over at the empty seat beside you. Jimin was still gone. No one has heard from him in weeks. 

Bing Bing

Rampaging through your backpack you searched for your phone. You didn’t have time to properly pack because Taehyung was counting down the minutes before he threatened to drive off, so you just threw everything in hoping to fix it during your free period. Scrolling through the notifications your eyes focused on the text message from an unknown number. 

“I missed you.” you mouthed under your breath.

“Sorry everyone, the meeting took a bit longer,” Mr. Choi chuckled softly, speed-walking into the room before ushering everyone to their seats. 

“I missed you?” you whispered again, eyebrows knitted with confusion. Was it Jimin? Did he change his number? 

“Nonetheless, I am pleased to introduce our new transfer student …” 

You couldn’t recognize the area code, so you tried looking it up on the internet but found nothing useful. Was this some kind of a scam? An innocent prank, maybe? 

“Jeon Jungkook” Mr. Choi’s voice suddenly echoed in your ears making you glance up at the dark-haired boy standing in front of the class. Interestingly, he was already looking at you. Hooded gaze focused on the way your demeanour changed completely. 

“Jungkook, feel free to take any empty seat,” 

Bowing to the man, he did exactly that. Slowly passing by the first three rows before stopping by the seat next to you. Nodding his head, he seemed pleased with the pick. 

“Oh, no sorry, Jungkook-ah, that seat belongs to another student,” Mr. Choi called out with a smile that quickly faded as he watched him sit regardless. 

“There’s plenty of options. I’m sure they’ll find another one,” Jungkook muttered with a sly grin, taking out his books before turning his attention to your widened eyes. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, y/n,” he rasped against your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear to fix the back of your collar. His dark orbs flickered down to your parted lips, sending shivers down your spine.

The first kiss you shared with Jungkook was between your eyes. The way his furrowed gaze softened upon seeing you walk down the wooden stairs of your childhood home, in the lavender dress he bought for your birthday. The way he nervously nibbled on his lip ring before caressing the back of your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. Everything about him was gentle when it came to you. The way his warm embrace moulded into yours, as you grew to share the same breath, the same heartbeat. One singularity in the form of two lovers. 

He filled the void your father left as you failed to please his expectations. The ones only a son could bear. The nights you spent crying in your room, wishing that your mother didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of raising a daughter, Jungkook was there. Like a knight in shining armour, he always saved you. Hoped to give you the future you deserve if you promised to share it with him. The two of you were inseparable. Attached by the hip. 

Until, one day, you weren’t. 

It’s been a week since Jungkook transferred schools. His seat still next to you. Inches away from the past that tethered your souls. You didn’t talk much. Mentally exhausted from the consequences. But, his eyes. They never lied. Sneaking glimpses across the room, watching your every move. He wanted you to give in, to tell him why you left. Help him understand how someone so close could betray his trust, his loyalty, his love. Jungkook didn’t hate you, wouldn’t let anyone get too close, but he was hurt. You could see it in his eyes. The same eyes that onces sparkled under the shimmering lights of the night sky when you shared your first kiss.

Dipping your feet into the pool you wanted to test the water before running through the new drill your coach crafted for the upcoming swim meet. To put it lightly, it was freezing. Goosebumps all over your skin, nipples cut through glass type of freezing. You would think a school with such a budget could afford a heated pool but beggars can’t be choosers. So, you tucked your hair under the swim camp and started on some stretches. 

“One … two … three …” you breathed out, counting the reps before glancing up at the flickering lights. School ended about an hour ago, so the place was pretty empty except for the janitors and a few teachers who stayed back to work on some grading. There was no practice today, but you had a spare key to the pool, so it was just you and the water. 

“Hello?” you called out, covering yourself with the towel. No response. 

“Sorry, this is a closed practice,” you shouted out again, hearing footsteps coming from the changing rooms. 

“Hel-” 

The lights went out. Goosebumps covered your skin, heart beat through the roof. Now what? 

“This isn't funny. Turn the lights back on!”

No one answered, but the footsteps inched closer. You could sense that they were near but it was too dark to make out a figure. Then, he chuckled. Subtle but devious chuckle. Like it was all premeditated. 

“Where is it?” a voice echoed, bouncing off the four walls. It was familiar. 

“Jungkook? Is that you?” you gasped, looking over your shoulder, hands trembling in fear.  

“Where is it, y/n?” his tone was firm. 

“Where's what?” 

“Don't act dumb, love,” he sneered, hands hovering over your waist making you flinch at the sudden feeling. The smell of his vanilla musk lingered in the air as you matched each other’s breathing, skin to skin. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered, chest heaving up from the tension. 

“Where’s my baby?” he rasped against your ear pushing your frail body into the water as his hold around your waist tightened. Eyes squeezed shut, you began to kick him off of you. But he was stronger, assertive, more needy. Gasping for air you felt the water seep into your lungs, nails digging into his skin as a warning to bring you back to the surface.  

However, once you were up, he would have more questions. Questions you didn’t have the heart to answer. But, Jungkook deserved to know the truth, even if it hurt. Because, deep down, your father’s abuse wasn’t the only reason you left. 

You didn’t remember much of that night thanks to the five whiskey shots that pulsed through your veins. Intoxicated your system till you became numb. Unaware of the dangers around you and vulnerable to those with bad intentions. Until it was too late. 

“Stop … please …” you whimpered, flinching at the feeling of his tongue on your breast. Parted lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down your stomach, wrists red from his tight hold as your arms stayed pinned over your head. But your cries for help were as worthless as the consent he never got. 

Until the door slammed open and Jungkook’s irate gaze saw your lifeless body buried under the weight of another man. No amount of restraint could hold him back. He was flammed with rage. 

“Y/n!” Jungkook growled, pushing the guy onto the floor as blood covered his fist. And, as the four walls caved in, your world fell apart. 

But, you could barely open your eyes, let alone get up. Too ashamed to move anyways and the migraine only made it worse. Searching for your top your heart ached with pain once you saw Jungkook’s hollow orbs swelled with tears as he wiped the blood off his face. He looked defeated, almost as unconscious as the man on the floor. Stepping over the body with one hand on his side he whimpered, biting down the pain in his ribs before covering you with his jacket. 

“We have to go.” he muttered, picking you up bridal style. 

“Koo, we can’t just leave him,” you yelled out, worried gaze searching his pale face. 

“It’s nothing fatal, he’ll be fine,” Jungkook scoffed, feeling the tightness in his throat as he glanced down at your saddened eyes.

Tension consumed the air. It was suffocating. 

“Jungkook, please slow down.” you exclaimed, tightening your hold on the seatbelt. And, although his glare was focused on the road, he couldn’t hear you. Too occupied by the burning pit in his stomach. It didn’t take long until the dashboard flashed warning signals as his speed reached 200 km/h. You were virtually flying. Yet, there was no end to his high. 

Reaching for his cold hand you tried to snap him out of it before the car suddenly stopped. 

“Oh, shit!” Jungkook yelled out, protecting you from the impact, as your body swung forward. 

Eyes squeezed shut, your hands trembled in fear. He hit someone. You hit someone. Fidgeting with your seatbelt you desperately tried to get out and help the crouched man on the ground. He wasn’t bleeding but his skin looked burnt. 

“Y/n!” Jungkook jerked you back, tightening his hold on your arm as he pressed on the pedal. 

“What are you doing? We have to go back!” you yelled with a furrowed gaze. 

“Jungkook!” you threw a few hits at his chest, reaching for the steering wheel as the car swerved along the bumpy road. 

“Enough!”

You couldn’t recognize him. He never raised his voice at you. Barely ever argued. But, now, Jungkook felt so distant. So cold. 

“Fine.” you whispered, digging your nails into your palms. It felt like a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from. Stuck in a maze of despair, robbed of peace and the possibility that it was all in your head. That none of it was real. 

But it was. And, it would only get worse. 

Unlocking his front door, Jungkook stepped aside, letting you go first, hesitant with his touch. Furrowed gaze fixated on the ground, his head hung low, heavy with thoughts. Tucking onto the ankle straps of your heels you hissed out of frustration, vision blurring in and out of focus. 

“I can do it myself.” you scoffed, as he bent down to help. You didn’t mean to sound rude but there’s only so much one can endure before the sun sets. It was exhausting. 

“I know you can but let me,” he muttered softly.

And, for a moment there was silence. No words were exchanged. No one knew what to say. Feared that something else would go wrong. But your eyes, they were screaming. 

“Koo?” you whispered, caressing his cheek as he inched closer, burying his face into the warmth of your palm. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Jungkook blurted, gripping your dress. 

You weren’t his first love but you were his first love. And, he promised to always keep you safe, fight for the beating of your heart until the air was stripped away from his lungs. But, he failed. 

“I’m sorry for letting you get hurt” his voice was quiet, shaky. Glossy eyes looking up at your trembling lips. 

“Baby, you saved me.” you exclaimed softly, pulling him into your embrace, feeling the tension in his body slowly dissipate. 

“Nothing happened, right?” he whispered into your skin. 

“Nothing,” you said hushly. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

To be honest, you didn’t remember what happened. Only the scars remained witness, your body painted like a canvas with purple hues of abuse. But, nothing happened, right? 

“How do you know about the baby?” you questioned with an arched brow, trying your best to stay afloat as Jungkook inched closer. 

“Oh, y/n, you always underestimated the power of a small town. News here spreads faster than wildfire.” he grinned, resting his hands on your waist before your back hit the concrete. 

That night, when you layed on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, the puzzle pieces began to come together. Something did happen. Something that didn’t belong to Jungkook. You were raped and on very thin ice with your father who was ready to kick you out of the house if you didn’t oblige his threats. The ones that entailed getting rid of the baby, and clearing up the family name. But, you couldn’t bear to lose someone so close, so innocent. 

So, you didn’t. You hid the pregnancy from everyone. Of course, your mom knew but you didn’t want to risk getting her into trouble with your father, whose behaviour worsened with each fight. Completely unhinged, he couldn’t be stopped.

But, when he slammed you against the kitchen cabinet while you stood in front of your mother���s trembling body you finally felt it. The striking pain in your abdomen that travelled up your pelvis and into your back. The pooling of blood that rolled down your leg, marking your clothes with the loss of your baby. And every day since then, you wondered. Wondered what life would feel like without the constant longing to be whole again. 

“And, hey, thanks for this,” Jungkook teased with a sly wink, parading the dove necklace Mr. Kim gifted you for your graduation. 

“Give it back Jungkook, this isn’t funny.” you snapped, reaching for his hand before his hold on your waist tightened, pulling you in. 

“You stole something from me, now it’s my turn,” he rasped against your ear, nibbling on the soft skin. Inches apart, his heavy gaze flickered down to your lips. 

“Hmm, I haven’t swam in a while but I think I can make the team, right captain?” Jungkook glanced up, searching your furrowed expression. 

Unfortunately, he did make the team. If you couldn’t tell already, he was a crowd favourite. Always managed to get what he wanted, even with minimal effort. Simply put, life just seemed to work out for Jungkook. 

So, when the team went on to win the Nationals your coach decided to splurge and take everyone out for the weekend. Nothing special. Just a trip to the next town over. He rented a bus, but if you had a ride you could just meet everyone there. Sadly, both your mom and Mr. Kim were busy with work and Taehyung closed the door on you when you asked, so that seemed like a hard pass.

“Damn, Mr. Lim couldn't wait till sunrise?” your friend teased as the two of you waited by the school entrance. It was just shy of 7 am, but the sky was grey and foggy. 

“That's what I'm saying. I couldn't even sleep yesterday,” you scoffed, feeling the puffiness around your eyes. Something about the little getaway fueled your nervous system to stay alert the whole night. Was it excitement? Fear?Anxiousness? Only time will tell. 

“It's fine, in about 5 minutes we should already be hitting the road. And, hey, I brought the book you asked for,” she exclaimed, digging through her bag. 

“Nice! Fair warning though, I will be taking my beauty slumber as soon as we get on or else I might just die,” the two of you chuckled before collecting your stuff noticing the bus turn into the school parking lot. 

Heading up the stairs you were welcomed by an older gentleman. 

“Hel-” his words were cut off by the shouting outside. 

“Y/n!” 

“Sorry, could you excuse me for a second?” you giggled awkwardly, turning back to see who was making all that noise.

“Y/n, get in. I'll drive.” Jungkook urged with no hesitation, patting the passenger seat. 

“That's not necessary,” you scoffed, arms crossed over your chest. 

“That wasn't a question.” a sly grin covered his face. 

Parking his Mercedes in front of the bus, you looked back at the old man who was busy checking in the other students to notice Jungkook’s stubborn act. Well, shit. 

“Fine.” you muttered, ushering him to open the trunk.

As promised, you fell asleep almost immediately, suppressing the daunting feeling inside your chest. Jungkook didn’t mind, and kept as quiet as possible, reclining your seat before covering you with his jacket. It was better that the two of you didn’t speak. This gave him the perfect opportunity to look at you without being threatened. 

The drive was supposedly only 4 hours, but the rain lengthened the process. 

“Hhmm?” you flinched from the sound of hail hitting the glass window. 

“Sleep well?” Jungkook whispered, glancing at your drowsy eyes. 

“Yeah,” you muttered, stretching your back. 

“Are you hungry? We will have to stop at a motel, it’s too dangerous to drive.” 

“Alright. Let me just text Yuri then,” you said, unzipping your bag. 

“No need, I already let Mr. Lim know,” he winked, pulling into the parking lot. 

Mother Nature was pissed and decided to take it out on all of us. So, it wasn’t long until the two of you were drenched from head to toe. 

“Quickly, let’s go!” Jungkook exclaimed, grabbing your hand before locking the car. 

The place wasn’t brand new, per se, but it served its purpose. As soon as you walked in, you were welcomed by what could only be described as a parade of taxidermy deer heads mounted onto the wall with a complimentary coffee station by the corner. 

“I'll be right with you!” a female voice echoed from the back room. 

Glancing at the water dripping down your face Jungkook chuckled, pulling you in to wipe the excess with his sleeve. 

“You okay?” he hummed, levelling his head until your eyes met. 

“Cold,” you muttered, nibbling on your lip before turning him back towards the front desk. 

“Right, so sorry for the wait. What can I do for you, dear?” an older woman exclaimed with a soft smile. 

“Oh, no worries at all! We’re just looking for a room for the night,” Jungkook explained, pulling out his wallet. 

“Of course! Are you two a couple by any chance?” she giggled, dimples popping out on both cheeks as your mouth dropped. 

“Oh, n-” you scoffed before his glare pierced through you. 

“Shhh, let her finish, love,” 

“Well, it’s just that Saturdays are usually our couple specials. You get a 30% discount!” she clapped, admiring what you assumed she thought to be the epitome of young love standing in front of her. 

“Lucky us, then,” Jungkook clapped as well, inching your stiff body closer to make it more believable.

“Go us!” you smiled awkwardly, patting his chest before whispering something in his ear. Don’t get too excited. 

Placing a gentle peck on your forehead he grabbed the bags, following the sweet lady towards your room. 

“Alrighty, here it is! If you need anything I’m just a call away.” 

“Thank you!” the two of you said in unison, unlocking the door. 

One bed. 

“So, how is it?” Jungkook asked, laying out his jacket on the cabinet to dry. 

“You’re sleeping on the floor.” a teasing chuckle escaped your parted lips. 

“The rain will stop soon. I doubt we’ll even need the bed,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. 

“What? We wasted all that money for nothing?”  

“Well, first of all, I paid. And, we got a discount, remember?” 

“I'm sorry. I'll pay you back,” your gaze lowered from the sudden guilt, fingers fidgeting with your rings. 

“Are you kidding? I would pay triple to spend more time with you,” his tone was genuine, pupils dilated at your timid state. 

“Jungkook,” you whispered. 

“If only you knew how much I missed it,” he tilted his head back on the wall, nibbling on his lip ring. 

“What?” 

“Hearing you say my name,”

“I thought we hated each other,” you muttered, folding your hands over your chest.

“You did. I just loved the thrill of it,” 

You would be lying if you said that you didn’t miss it too. In hindsight, your feelings were always suppressed but obvious to the naked eye. To his eyes. However, just because you miss something, doesn’t mean you have to go back. Sometimes, the door is better off closed. Hidden deep in your subconscious mind, buried under a pile of broken promises. 

“I’m going to shower.” you blurted in a hurry, walking past him to avoid the thoughts running through your head. 

The water was cold no matter which way the faucet turned, so you had to be quick unless catching hypothermia was on the list of things Mr. Lim wanted you to experience over this trip. If so, then you were ahead of the game. 

Wrapping yourself with a towel you washed off your makeup, combing your hair with a detangling brush before getting startled by the swinging of the door, hitting your side. 

“Hey! I wasn’t done.” 

“Sorry, it’s cold,” Jungkook whined, welcoming himself in. 

“Did you try putting on a shirt?” you scoffed, eyeing his naked chest before his furrowed gaze caught you red-handed. 

“It’s wet, smartass. And, I didn’t want to put new clothes on before showering.” 

“Well, go stand over there and face the wall,”

“Are you shy?” he teased, leaning on the counter. 

“Well, I’m not comfortable.” you hissed, tightening the fabric around your body. 

“I’ve seen you naked plenty of times, y/n,” Jungkook grinned, eyes squeezed shut as if reminiscing the good old days. 

“You don’t have to remind me. I'll be taking that sin to the grave,” 

But it was too late. Lips inches apart, your chest heaved up from the intensity of his heavy gaze, eyeing your form from top to bottom. Tilting your chin with his fingers, he leaned closer. 

“We can’t,” you blurted, hands hovering over his chest. 

“No?” he glanced at your scattering eyes, pressing your palm against his burning skin. 

“What about Soojin?” 

“What about her?” 

“Seems like you guys were hitting it off pretty well,” you hissed, looking past his glare. 

“Meh … not my type,” Jungkook scoffed, eyes flickering down your lips.

“Oh, really?” 

“Why? Was y/n jealous?” he said with a sly grin, tracing his fingers up your thigh. 

“Soojin, is not your type? Ha! Hard to believe when she was all over you a few days ago.” your tone was low, annoyed at the whole thing. You were jealous. Fine. Whatever. Moving right along. 

“Hmm, is that so? Then what does that say about us? If I leave a trail of kisses down your neck, does that mean you're my type?” he whispered in your ear, pulling your body onto the counter before finding himself between your legs. 

“I'm not your type,” you chuckled, ignoring the obvious tension. 

“I could've been a dad by now and you're questioning if you're my type? Really?” Jungkook teased, resting his forehead on yours.  

“Jungkook, the baby wasn’t yours.” you said firmly, palms holding his face to make sure he was paying attention. 

“But, it was yours. And, what’s yours is mine. Isn’t that right?” he winked, fingers intertwined with yours. Then it happened. The long-awaited kiss. And, although you knew this wasn’t the best of your decisions, you didn’t mind revisiting this door, at least for the time being.

Until that night. The night in the forest. When a locked door was the only thing separating you and Jungkook. 

“Call him. Let's see if he actually cares,” you could see the grin smear across the man’s masked face, as your blood-shot eyes swelled with tears. 

Hands tied behind your back, you watched him press the call button, turning the phone towards you before resting his knife right under your chin. 

“Jungkook!” you cried out with a shaky voice.

Ring Ring 

“Oh, shit, where’s my phone,” Jungkook exclaimed, patting his pockets before reaching for the glove compartment. 

“What the fuck?”

His eyes widened. It was you. Rather, snapshots of you. One’s that he had no recollection of taking. But, they looked strange. As if you also weren’t aware of them being captured. 

Call from 647-568-0349. Call from y/n-ie❤️ 

An automated voice broadcasted through the speaker system set up in his garage.

“Y/n?” Jungkook yelled out, bolting towards the locked door. 

“Jungkook … please …” you whimpered, feeling the tip of the knife poke into your skin as your chest heaved up.   

“What the fuck? Why won’t it open?” Jungkook growled, fidgeting with the knob before banging on the wooden door. But, no one was home. 

“Please … please … pick up.”

Running back into his car, he turned on the engine, scattering eyes looking back at the empty driveway until the garage door began closing on its own. 

And within seconds, he was trapped. No way in or out. But, the engine was still on, running inside the confined space. Gaseous fumes slowly intoxicating the air he was forced to breathe. 

“Fucking hell.” Jungkook coughed, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Please …” you kept trying, hoping to hear his sweet voice on the other line. Completely naive to the carbon monoxide that was now spreading through his lungs. 

“Help!” he cried out, feeling the tightness in his throat. 

“Jungk-” you gasped, widened eyes glaring back at the masked man. 

“Tsk … what a shame.” he sneered, ending the call abruptly before piercing through the phone.

“Oh, angel, it’s okay. We can wait if you wish. Hopefully, his lungs don’t collapse,” he rasped against your hair, cold touch sending shivers down your back as you felt your heart sink.

[danikamariewrites]

can i request feysand x reader where they’re all pissed at each other. they’re all petty and pissed and won’t pass the butter or close the door and everyone else is like wtf are you doing

Grudges

Feysand x reader

A/n: everyone would be so tense lmao

Warnings: slight angst I think

The sound of cutlery against porcelain plates was especially loud this evening. You, Feyre, and Rhys sat as far away from each other as you could.

Everyone could feel the tense energy rolling off the three of you. Cassian looked around tentatively, meeting Mor and Azriel’s gazes. Then Elain’s, her usual soft brown eyes hardened and annoyed.

Nesta and Amren looked done with your bullshit. Both wearing twin scowls with the same brow raised.

Rhys looked around causing everyone to focus on their food again. “Can someone pass the salt?” He asked monotonously.

Azriel went to reach for it but you beat him. Picking up the glass shaker you hold eye contact with the High Lord. Feyre didn’t bother looking up, muttering to herself as she violently cut into her steak.

Continuing your state down with Rhys for the salt you start unscrewing the top of the shaker. Never once breaking eye contact. “Stop.” He says sternly.

You throw the top on the floor. The tiny metal piece making the loudest clanking against the wood floor. Turing it over you dump all the salt out onto your mashed potatoes.

Rhys slumped back into his seat. His jaw tightened as he gives you an angry look. “Sorry. We’re all out.” You say sweetly, tilting your head. Rhys goes back to his food as he too started muttering to himself.

Without warning you hurl the glass shaker at Rhys’s head. Missing on purpose of course. Rhys shot up staring daggers at you that you returned tenfold.

“HA HA,” Feyre screamed sarcastically.

Amren slammed her tiny hands against the table, pushing up with so much force the room shook. Anger and annoyance swirling in those dark eyes. “Everyone out,” she seethed, “except you three.”

Cassian dashed for Nesta, pulling her along quickly as Elain and Mor followed quickly behind with Azriel at their backs, shielding them from the start of a rough conversation.

Amren motions for the three of you to sit across from her. None of you look at each other. Crossing your arms and legs so no one touches anyone. Amren takes a deep breath, composing herself.

“This idiotic behavior has been going on all day. We are sick of it. You are getting over it now.” Feyre rolls her eyes. Amren hissed at her, slamming another hand down. “Listen girl!” You all sit up paying extra attention to her. Amren takes another deep breath composing herself.

“Varian has told me I should try listening more. In a calm way, to help mediate better instead of just commanding everyone. So let’s go down the line and work through this.” She looks to you first. “You seem to have the most anger,” Amren narrows her eyes at you. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Resting your elbows on the table you clear your throat. “Thank you for deciding to hear the truth first, Amren.” Your mates roll their eyes. Feyre makes something like a fake puking noise and Rhys just grunts leaning further back into the chair.

“This morning this one,” you emphasize by pointing at Rhys, “decided no one was going to have a good day. Usually we all get ready together but he just slammed the bathroom door in our faces, taking an hour in the bathroom.

“As much as he preaches communication and empathy he wasn’t doing that much. So Feyre and I ignored him but I could tell it was getting under her skin. I tried talking to her but then she pushed me away. I’m not sure why else they’re mad but that’s me.”

Amren looks between the High Lord and Lady. “Well, is that true?” They let out a synchronized sigh.

“Yes, but he hasn’t been talking,”

“Yes, they won’t give me space,”

The two speak over each other getting louder and louder, trying to outdo one another. You joined in yelling and begging with them to stop.

“Silence!” Amren commands. Stopping your chatter immediately you stare at the tiny fae terrified. “Work it out yourselves. If you’re going to bicker I won’t be part of this.”

She dramatically pushed her chair in stomping out of the dining room. Leaving you to look at each other longingly, hoping this fight wouldn’t leave you all feeling empty inside.

[equestriagirl16]

Y/N: I’m sorry.

Sebastian: For what?

Y/N: *handing him Frozen Tears* For bothering you.

Sebastian: ..well if you think it’s bothering me then why do you keep doing it?

Y/N: …

Y/N: ..I think it’s all I know how to do.

Y/N: I came here ready to start over, I was so excited to see new things and meet new people. That I forgot how bad I am with words..with how it doesn’t feel like I can always tell others how much they mean to me.

Sebastian: You seem to have it pretty well thought out.

Y/N: *chuckle* That’s because it’s all I think about. But I get so busy with work and the farm, trying to make the most out of everything. Being communal just gets tiring.

Sebastian: Preaching to the choir.

Y/N: And when I like people..more than I think I should. Nothings more terrifying than screwing that up so..

Y/N: What’s more full proof than shoving gifts in your faces, without another word.

Sebastian: …

Y/N: And I’m sorry-*hic*

Sebastian: !

Y/N: I’m sorry that I-I’m trying to make you like me-*sniff* I’m sorry that it’s so hard to tell you!*sob*

Sebastian: Hey, but you’re telling me right now aren’t you?

Y/N: But it’s scary, I’m scared. I don’t wanna mess up again! Not after getting to start over!

Sebastian: ..not everything’s going to be perfect. Believe me if everyone could auto reset their lives they would. That’s why we get second chances, and I think your doing a pretty good job with this one.

Y/N: …

Sebastian: Plus I don’t think it’s fair to hate the way you show love. Talking to people everyday sounds excruciating, but you’ve seemed to have found a pretty good way to work around that.

Sebastian: Actions speak louder than words after all.

Y/N: Heh-*sniff* Yeah I guess so.

Sebastian: …

Y/N: …

Y/N: *hands him more Frozen Tears* Thanks for letting me bother you.

Sebastian: Hm, anytime.

[juelzsstuff]

Can u pls do armin, hange, mikasa and levi x a depressed reader

YES I CAN

i can try. okay i can attempt

AOT CHARACTERS X DEPRESSED READER ft. armin, hange, mikasa, levi.

TW WARNING: self harm (non descriptive, don't relapse on me babez) depression, not eating (im serious) lack of sleep, thoughts of self induced not alive. no smut or anything just fwiends. i want to say most of these are gathered from stories of my own experience. if you don't like it please do not read it.

(f!reader! implied in hanges) your days in the scout regiment were hard, grueling, hopelessly doomed. the initial adrenaline of joining has worn off, you've seen unspeakable things and as of late you can't seem to find the energy anymore.

Armin

everyday was the same. wake up, train, meals, missions, failure, embarrassment, loneliness, sleep, repeat. today is no different you got dressed, went to the mess hall and sat beside a group of people without any words to speak and ate some kind of food you couldn't really taste. you got up and headed to the training grounds, the air outside as fresh as the old stale air of the barracks, the sun beaming down on you and your comrades the same way it does every other day, screaming at you with its light. you don't bother looking around anymore to count how many soldiers their were compared to the mission the day before. today though you stand to a blonde boy due to the missing comrades you once stood next to, you're sure you've seen him before with his two friends but his name left your mind, you didn't bother to look at him. you didn't want to know his face just to soon one day not see it ever again. you listened to the commander preach about the mission that day beyond the wall, his voice loud and somehow far away. you got the basic idea and headed out to the stables in the crowd of scouts.

you stay in formation listening to the gallop of horses surrounding you, listening to the ring of green flares burst into the air. red smoke fills the sky one after another. a titan. you heard it before you saw it. sprinting in from the left, since when was that blonde haired boy next to you? you wondered before veering off to the right per instructions. the vile creature still sprinting, leaping, toward you, you look back and thought shoots through your mind. go straight do not turn. a dark malicious vision of your end flashes with it. you slowed your horse without thinking and starting turning to your original path. the titan starting to change course and catch up with you, feared stung through your body, your mind fighting with instinct to turn back but it's too weak. day after day of feeling so heavy and hopeless takes a toll, memories flash in your mind of sitting alone, giving up on talking to others because the words never came out right. you hear something in the distance, a change in the pattern of galloping and signals being fired off and it snaps you head to look at it. it's the blonde boy and he's looking at you..... is he saying something? no he's screaming something. your ears and senses shoot you back to reality and you hear him scream, "y/n come back what are doing?!". he knows your name? when did you ever tell him that? before you can think you're heading back to the formation and the familiar ring of metal zipping around you attaches to the titan and two scouts take it down. silent small tears stream down your face and you pull your hood over your head not daring to look at the boy who's glancing at you.

the mission is over and you're walking back to the mess hall alone to eat whatever it is you're fed and something grabs your arm, you turn quickly to be met with a concerned face. it's the blonde boy, his eyebrows are knit together and his eyes are filled with worry. you look up at him, "hm?" "what the hell was that?" he says low and almost a whisper. "i panicked that's all", your voice sounded strange, in fact, when was the last time you even heard it? "don't lie, i see you everyday. i know that look" his grip on your arm tightening "why do you want to do that? why don't you talk to anyone or even look at anyone". you stare at him in shock, how did he notice? what do i say? his eyes meeting yours and suddenly yours are now burning and starting to water. shit. "i just.... i don't want to do this anymore, not this..... or anything else" the silent tears pour down your face and his eyes widen and he lets go of your arm. "im sorry" he mumbles and he pauses with a deep breath "i understand". he understands? dead fills your arms. you look up at him to say something but you can't. "i-" before you can finish your words he steps towards you and pulls you into a hug. you don't fight it but you don't hug back and yet he doesn't let go. it's not a hug of anything ill intended but one of understanding and care, the weight on your arms lift ever so slightly and the pit in your stomach lessens. here you are with a complete stranger hugging you in the middle of a empty hallway and yet he's saying he sees you and he understands. you don't bother doubting him, and suddenly the thought of not being alone this whole time washes through you. you've always watched and listened as scouts will comfort and spill their thoughts to each other like this but now it's happening for you. you lift your arms and lightly put them on his, a sad attempt for a hug but you're trying. it only lasted for a moment before he lets go and steps back. you look down sniffling before he speaks, "would you want to um... sit with me and my friends at dinner?". is he really asking me this? you wonder why he'd want to invite you of all people but you nod yes anyway. during dinner he introduces his two friends and himself, catching that you probably never knew who he was. you listen and say hello before going back to your food, taking bites that tasted slightly different, better even. you listens to them laugh and even breath out one yourself. today was different. today was better.

Hange

you roll out of bed with memories of yesterdays mission fresh on your mind. recalling the tragedy and suffering. you slept like shit. that's the only way to explain it, maybe an hour at most but the world does not stop turning for lack of sleep. you scrambled around on the floor for your white button down, brown pants, and beige jacket. you slapped them on and snatched the report from off of your desk. the headache never stopped, your eyes closed whenever they could be, not finding enough reason to look around when you didn't have to. you roam down the familiar halls, dragging your feet and listening to the noise. it took 32 steps and a right turn to get to hanges office, you braced yourself before knocking. god why did everything hurt even something as simple as knocking was such a annoyance. you knocked anyway and the thick wood of the door sent the feeling through your hand. you shake it out and put on a acceptable face. "come in", you walk in to see hange sitting at her desk. it was was a mess per usual, a microscope neatly in the middle with papers scattered everywhere else. "hello hange, i've got more papers for you" your voice rasp from lack of sleep. hange was the same age as you, infact her village wasn't far from yours growing up but you joined the scouts about five years later than her. "ah thankyou y/n! i'm drowning over here...hey do you think you could miss a few reports? i won't tell erwin" she says with such enthusiasm you're not even sure if she's joking. you laugh anyway "maybe ill just start summing them up to a couple words then, i bet erwin would love that". "she chimes back with something but you're too out of breath to think about it, why is everything so hard. even breathing is exhausting at this point. you sigh trying to get more air, the muscles around your lungs are constantly constricted. "is something bothering you y/n"? you blink at her "oh no not at all just taking a deep breath, my lungs are giving out on me" you force a chuckle because it's probably the truth but she doesn't need to know that. she speaks up "hm you aren't sick are you?" "no i think i must just be tired" you look at her and she's staring back with suspicion. "i get pretty tired too you know, i like to burry my head in my research for the truth on titans, it's a nice distraction" she smiles. "how's that going by the way?" you ask contemplating if she's talking about being more than "just tired". "to be honest i don't think i will ever come up with anything but that's not the point of it. having something to do is good for the soul!" she softens her voice, "when im feeling...tired i find going out for walks are nice too, plus a bottle of wine never hurt anyone" she shrugs with a laugh. you laugh with her even through it hurts from the muscles that will never not be sore, you don't have any drinking buddies or yk buddies at all for that matter and drinking alone in your room is a little too close to admitting defeat. you keep yourself together, "well if you ever need a drinking partner i would be happy to chat and get shit faced with you" you smile as she responds with a promise to take you up on that. they weren't many women in the scouts around your age other than hange and a few others that you never seemed to click with. you head out the door and give a wave before continuing on with you day.

night finally rolls around and you get to do your favorite thing. sleep. it's never great and honestly it sucks. nightmares and thoughts of the day always flood your precious time alone but for at least an hour, if you're lucky there is peace even if you aren't conscious for it. you peel off your clothes and change into another set. a white dress.....thing. it covered what it needed to and it was atrocious to look at but it did the job and you had a pair of beige shorts that were fuzzy on the outside from some animal. they were your favorite. finally you lay down in your bed and close your eyes, just as they close you hear a thunk at the door, a loud one at that followed by a quick "ow". you sit up, your back aching and your feet feeling like nothing but bones as you stand and walk over to the door. why? by the walls who wants something from me? you open the door to see hange?! she's wearing some clothes similar to yours, a white shirt and long beige pants and she's holding.....is that wine? uh oh. "hey y/n! why is your door locked? are you afraid of the dark?" she teased and you gave a giggle back. "yes absolutely and crazy ladies with bottles of wine on the middle of the night . what are you doing here?". she smiles and grabs your arm and drags you down the halls. this is not the usual slow 32 steps you take everyday to either destination and it hurts like 10 less steps more than usual. we are walking way too fast. i did NOT mentally prepare for this.

she brings the two of you outside to a camp fire out in the grounds and makes you plop down on a log adjacent to her on her log. you gasp trying to catch your breath inconspicuously, your entire body screaming to go back to bed . "did we have to run here? sweet ymir, hange how did you get all this wine?!" she lets out a short manic laugh and tells the story of how she made moblit steal it for her while she started the fire. "i told you id take you up on the offer" you remember your conversation from earlier. she's never done anything like this? embarrassment crawls up on you as you recall the two of you talking about being tired. you'll never admit what it truly is, the unshakable tired, the sore muscles, the closed eyes anytime possible, never talking unless spoken to. life was incredibly dull. so tiring. aimless. no partner. no friends. no joy. why do i even keep go..... you shut out the thought as soon as it comes. refuse to believe it. hange pops open the first bottle, you look around for a glass but before you can question it she shoves it towards you and pops open her own."moblit was very against this always nagging at me" she imitates his voice "'oh it's not good for you, hange wait what if you get caught' all that nonsense" you chuckle "i can the poor man losing it already" she laughs and you two continue taking gulps of wine with fuzzy heads. as the night goes on the two of you talk titans, missions, the people you miss, the people you don't, steamy scout experiences from old times in the barracks had the two of you howling laughing and cringing from horrible experiences now. you gossiped and talked about the thing you wouldn't except and she talking about the same, you took turns dancing and sang horrible tunes from bards for one another. eventually the sun came up and the two of you were passed out on the same log where moblit assembled captain levi to help carry the two of you back to your room. when morning came they day felt calm but was instantly interrupted by memories of last night and a new type of headache. a improvement nonetheless. you ending up holding back hanges hair as she spewed her guts in your bathroom before taking turns. a horrible display but a new best friend and better days followed.

Mikasa

the two of you were top of the class. essentially acquaintances nothing more, you sat together at lunch and throughout training as per command. everyone was paired together with a main "buddy" when not on missions. you two were paired together because everyone else had chosen, you overheard eren be angry with mikasa for whatever reason and he chose armin out of spite so you went up to her both with last resorts. you left her alone when you could, you didn't know eren or armin and all the other people you at least knew the name of had groups. alone essentially. it was hard and isolating, the highlight of your day was whenever someone was forced to speak to you. your family was turned into titans along with connie's parents, you two were from the same village but never spoke never bonded over it. connie seemed to recover okay, everytime you saw him he was laughing and chatting with sasha and jean, maybe because his mom had a chance still. your family did not, they weren't the nicest people to begin with but you had a little sister, she was only six at the time. it's hard to get over something like that, staying up at night thinking of what she must look like. is she tall? a low class meter? does she even move? where was she? is she scared? you parents could rot in hell, you always took care of her, little marie, the cutest thing ever. now all you could do was think of her, the pain in your heart was immense ever since the day you found out. the urge to eat wasn't there anymore, the grass was no longer green, killing titans made you sick especially the smaller ones. you didn't sleep much, you didn't eat much, you didn't talk much and there's wasn't much to make you smile.

tonight you went to dinner just like every other night, you thanked the people who cooked it, scanned the room for mikasa and sat next to her. you were missing a tray, for the third night in a row. no one ever noticed and you ate when you had the stomach for it. you listened to armin and eren argue about the walls and the ocean of fire or whatever it was they talked about. they talked about other scouts and how to improve while stuffing their face, you watched them today was bread and some suspicious meat. not enticing enough, you thought of marie and how maybe you could've spoke with her too like they did. eren and armin walked off with their tray and mikasa went with them. you sat alone and sighed from the weight on your chest and the thoughts in your mind. is she okay? does she remember me? i miss her and her cute curly tendrils of black hair and little yellow dress, how she would pick weeds and call them flowers. she didn't deserv- a tray slapped down in front of you and mikasa came back with hers. your head snapped to look at her, she looked angry and perfectly calm all at the same time. "eat" she said flatly. you blinked "oh im really not that hungry" you tried to convince her but prepared for her to spit back. "eat it or im going to make you. i'm not going anywhere till you do and i don't think either of us want to be embarrassed" she was deadly serious. "i'm really not hungry mikasa" she glared her eyes and picked up a spoon and threw it in front of you, "you haven't eaten in three days y/n. you getting too skinny, you won't be able to fight ti-...... you won't be able to train if you're any more of a stick than you already are. you will end up sick". you noticed her shift in words, did she know? i wasn't any skinnier than her was i? she seemed to read your thoughts, "if you get any skinnier than you won't be able to pick up a sword and you'll look like floch" she pointed to the gangly boy who's build was almost scary......wait was she saying i'll look like a boy. you picked up the spoon and held it. she stared before looking away and started eating herself not looking back. you blocked out the thoughts that haunted your brain about your sister, though your heart weighed so heavily you had tears in your eyes and your hand shook but you shoveled some gloop into your mouth. it tasted like nothing before it turned into something great, you didn't realize how hungry you actually were. the mystery food was warm and savory, you didn't stop until the plate was clear. in 10 minutes your body strengthened and you burped and tried to cover it up, embarrassed. mikasa let out a chuckle and looked around before burping quietly herself. no way she just did that. you held back a laugh trying to keep food in your mouth. she spoke, "i'm sorry i was rude but i thought you were gonna die if you didn't eat something soon enough". you sat there and swallowed your food and whispered, "thankyou".

the dining area had cleared out and she asked the question she was dying to know. "so you were from connie's village?". the gloop was coming back up and you covered your mouth. her eyes widened and she apologized quickly and shoved more food into her mouth. you swallowed back you bile and spoke, "i had a sister, i took care of her all the time. she had hair like yours but hers curled on the ends but your eyes are similar too" you managed a smile. she really did resemble mikasa and that was nice. "i didn't have any siblings just eren and armin, brothers i guess but no sisters". she blushed for a unknown reason to you,"i um i don't know if this is weird but sometimes i think we are friends like that, like sisters". a warmth spreads through you for the first time in months. she really feels that way? about me? "that makes me happy" you whisper out while you wipe tears. "stop making me cry mikasa" you give her a nudge and she smiles. "i don't know what it's like having a sister of course" she said again, she must be nervous about what she said. you spoke up, "they force each other to do things they don't want to because it's good for them, they fight and braid each others hair too tightly, pick weeds and pretend their flowers". you smiled and leaned on her. "you fit the role pretty well if you ask me". she smiles and asks if you can try to braid her hair because she never learned how. you agreed. later that night you told mikasa about your little sister and your old life, you ranted about not talking to anyone and how boring it was, you told her you were grateful and she said she was too. by then end she had two perfect braids and you had one scrambled attempt of one.

Levi

the years of being a scout had taken its toll, you were surrounded by people who you called your friends and lived your life as well as anyone else. in public anyway. when you were alone the mask would fall and the all consuming darkness would take over. you were numb to the things you once spilled tears over, the whole had gone gray but you pushed on through the misery. over the years bad habits had developed, teeth went unclean, baths were longer than allowed, you were always too early to events, stressing over insignificant things. the worst habit of all you hid like a addict, no one knew and that was okay with you. it wasn't meant to be seen, it was purely just for you and you alone. though sometimes you'd wished deep down that just maybe there was someone else who would know what's going on, a silent cry for help but that was illogical. regardless of that it was how you coped and you had accepted that, a way to get out of bed in the morning, to accept the fall of your comrades, to stop yourself from losing your shit before a event.

night had fallen after a long mission with the recon team. dinner in the mess hall was filled with small jokes and picking around at food and gossiping around per usual, nothing strange, you filled out your report for the captain and turned it in earlier, all that was left now was to go to bed. the thought was tiring enough, the feeling of longing to stay and chat with everyone lingered hard on your heart but the world doesn't stop turning for things like that in fact it even spins faster it seemed. everyone had trickled off into the dorms and you decided you should go too. walking down the familiar hallways to your cadet core dorm. maybe tonight everyone will stay up talking, that was your favorite. to hear others laugh and to know their outlook on life had not turned sour. on your way there someone stopped you, grabbing your arm. your faced twisted into something sour and your arm went limp trying to stop that pain. "hey what the-" you turn and see the captain, he's staring with a certain flat look on his face. he let go immediately and spoke "i need to talk to you about your report, you're missing key points". your eyes widen, why is he looking at you like that and what could you have missed. you feel your shirt start to stick to your arm where he grabbed. shit. you salute with the wrong arm to put it behind your back, "yes captain" you begin to follow him through the halls. uh oh. uh ohhhhh. once you reach his personal office, you sit in the chair by his desk and he sits across from you. "so you are missing the armory report, i've noticed it on a few other reports you've done". he slides you a paper and points at it,"it should be written in here other than that the reports are perfect". you smile and thank him for notifying you but this whole thing was just embarrassing. "am i free to go now?". "no not yet" he said sternly and so you sat waiting before he spoke again, "you are injured. you need to go to the infirmary immediately". you eyes widen you've been caught? but how did he know just from that? you speak up, "oh it's really nothing i already had it looked at, my odm gear got too hot and the wire stung me a bit. it happens" you smile through your lie. he does not buy it one bit and the two of you stare as you keep your arm pressed to your side. he sighs and speaks again,"let me look at it then if you won't go yourself". panic struck through you, you've never gone against a word he had said you were a soldier after all. filling orders was your only ask. your heart was racing trying to think of something, anything at all. "it- it's really okay sir, i should really go". that alone would have you running laps till the sun came up but he stared at you angrily. he dug through a drawer in his desk and pulled out some gauze and water in a canteen. " i won't question how it's there but that story is bs, don't lie to me again because i already know. let me do it or do it yourself but im not going anywhere till it's done". you fight back tears, mortified. why was he doing this? you reached for the supplies with shaky hands and said you'll do it yourself. he watched you take it and closed his eyes while he spoke, "i won't look". you were incredibly grateful, and let out a shaky "thankyou". you cleaned and bandaged yourself and took deep breathes to calm your nerves. the embarrassment was immense. his eyes still close as he spoke, "don't be embarrassed, it's not that uncommon. i just couldn't bare to see it anymore y/n. you're very bright and the thought of you doing.....that, made me sick". you've known the captain for years but he only spoke a few times and occasionally he'd ruffle your hair or reprehend you for sneaking into the kitchen or being too reckless. the two of you had a unspoken bond, he cared deeply like a family member would. "i'm sorry captain". you looked up at him to see sorrow in his eyes and you started crying, hard. the tears wouldn't stop and you barley noticed when he walked over and put a hand on your shoulder. "it's so hard" you said in between tears. "i know y/n, i know".

he knelt down to look at you and inspect your first aid skills. "you can't do this anymore, okay?". you sniffled and looked up at him, "okay i won't, i promise". he stood back up and smoothed your hair, "good....if you ever need someone to talk to don't be afraid to ask me. i understand more than you know". that only nearly shattered your heart again but you didn't want to disappoint him so from then on you kept your promise and confided in him about trivial things you usually kept locked away and about the harder things. some days he would talk to, sharing stories and trying his best at a joke. on nights when you couldn't sleep he'd let you pass out in his chair while he worked on the other side of the desk, before helping you to your dorm for the night.

[lvrhughes]

Marry Me | Q. Hughes

pairing: Quinn Hughes x f!reader

summary: Quinn's always been in love with you, but you're getting married.

warnings: angst, marriage?, drinking

word count: 0.6k

italics are flashbacks:)

not my gif!

You’ve been invited to Y/n Y/l/n and…

The name blurred in his eyes, irrelevant. He knew the day would come but he wasn’t ready, knocking the wind out of him as he read it. 

They’d been friends for forever, they were always seen together, it was always Quinn and Y/n. Ellen always knew they’d end up together, yet Quinn never quite got the nerve to ask. 

So they never were, letting her slip through his fingers. Falling in love with someone else while he followed her. 

“Quinn,” Her voice was breathy, sounding of excitement and fear. “You made it.” she grinned, reaching her arms out to tug around his shoulders.

Dragging him down in the process, his arms slipping around her waist, just like it used to be. It was a feeling of peace over Quinn for the moment, before she pulled away back to greeting other guests. 

She had it planned out since they were five. She’d have her granddad preaching the service, she’d have magnolias all over, never too many people. Always thinking to save her dad money, keep everything small, just her and her man. Ellen used to swear how it’d be her and quinn on the isle one day and how he wished that were true now. 

He wore his black suit, standing in the back corner. Tucked away in one of his pockets, his only flask he was given as a joke once. He never planned on using it but it seemed needed today, the strongest whiskey he had filled the flask. 

The music starting, everyone turning to see the groom enter, his tux the perfect shade of bue. Just like she’d always dreamed of.

“Quinn! Come, we’re playing wedding!” 

“What if I don’t want to play?” he teased, holding his ground as the young girl tugged on his wrist. 

“Please? Quinn, you make the best groom!” He never stood a chance, agreeing to her every ask, following her out there to be her pretend groom. 

“Would you ever marry me?” He asked, standing at the fake altar with her. 

“No! I’ve gotta marry my prince charming and you're not him!” The child grinned, imagining her perfect prince waiting for her like the movies. She wouldn’t see how it hurt Quinn, she wouldn’t see that he’d never move on. 

She looked like a princess in person, her dress was exactly the same as the one she dreamed of as a girl, her hair tied just as she wanted. The tears filled Quinn’s eyes quickly, taking a shot of whiskey to cover it up. 

“Love?” He asked, looking at the girl staring out the window. They were sixteen, he’d just gotten his license. What better than a road trip?

“Hmm?” She hummed back, turning to look at him. 

“What's on your mind?”  He asked, pulling into the parking spot of the motel for the night, leaning onto the console when he parked the car.

“I don’t know, just thinkin’”

He knew he shouldn’t, the leaning in was subconscious. Almost kissing her. He freaked out, pulling away the minute he realized what he was doing, shaking his head and the thought away. 

“Let’s get in, huh?” He asked, trying to move on. 

Even from the back row he could see the tears glistening on her father’s cheeks, the tears slipping down her grooms too. 

He was there early, he could go find her. He could get it off of his chest, tell her he still loved her, how he’s always been in love with her. But he won’t.

“Tell her! You know she loved you!” His brother's pleas fall to deaf ears, Quinn mumbling out a reply. 

“I’m not gonna mess it up.” 

He could feel the tears get closer and closer to falling with every step she took, taking more shots of whiskey, try to make it through without crying. 

Yeah she wanna get married, yeah she’s gonna get married, but she ain’t gonna marry me.

[ne0nic]

Late Nights & Shorter Skirts

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Fem!Reader x Vash the Stampede

MDNI

ִ ࣪𖤐 Word Count: 2.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 CW: NSFW, Sex, Car Sex, Threesome, Dubious Consent, Sneaky Sex

ִ ࣪𖤐 No use of Y/N, Never use of Y/N

It's been an exhausting day, spent mostly on the run. Eating was a luxury you barely had time for. Now, the car is filled with an uneasy silence, broken only by Roberto's snores up front, seemingly indifferent to the day's chaos. The radio softly plays, its evangelical preaching ignored by the occupants. In the back, you find yourself sandwiched between the two formidable men – Wolfwood on the left and Vash on the right. Both wrapped in their own contemplative quietude.

The late hour extends beyond the appropriate time for driving, a result of being abruptly chased out of the last town by relentless bounty hunters, leaving you all restless. Meryl yawns from the driver's seat, gradually turning up the radio, likely in an attempt to stave off drowsiness.

The weariness and frustration are palpable among the occupants of the car. Yet, each person in the vehicle copes with this exhaustion in their own manner.  

Wolfwood's calloused fingers graze over your bare thigh, a gesture both sweet and comforting. The touch is gentle, barely skimming your skin, and as he gradually adds more fingers, you feel a sense of warmth enveloping you. His fingers dip towards your inner thigh, his palm pressing against your skin with a hearty squeeze. Your hands slowly wrap around the arm pressed into your chest, and you find solace in resting your forehead on his bicep, savoring the comforting presence after a long day.

After a few moments you feel his fingers slip under your skirt, but he doesn't go much further. Simply continuing to run his fingers along your upper thigh. But that obviously doesn't last long as his hand slides up higher. His middle finger just barely brushes your panties when you grab his wrist to stop him. Your wide and curious gaze meets his. Wolfwood senses your questioning thoughts about the timing of his movements, not the movements themselves. He smirks, confidently reaffirming his touch and slipping his middle finger between your legs. The first initial dull touch to your clothed clit has you grabbing onto him tighter. He rubs shallow circles over your panties, awakening your senses just like he intended. 

You press your lips into a fine line as he adds his ring finger. The two digits stretch downwards, pressing against your core that's already making your underwear damp, a fact he revels in. 

Roberto snorts and stirs, causing Wolfwood to retract his devious fingers from you. He corrects his posture as you pull your skirt down. But it's momentary and soon Roberto is snoring again and everyone else in the car didn't notice the two of you. Wolfwood rubs the stubble on his chin, taking a glance at you. Even in the dim light he can see the unease on your face. A fire between your legs that he started, evident by the way you press your knees together in an attempt to smother it. But it would be such a waste. The thought of you, cheeks pink, head reeling, cunt dripping next to him wanting more, makes his cock flood with need. And, fuck, would he be stupid to pass it up. 

You go stiff as you feel Wolfwood's fingers slip behind you. Between you and the seat he reaches down, fingers slipping past the band of your skirt. Your breath hitches as you realize what he's doing. 

Vash hears the jolt in your breath and turns. He glances over your form, but other than your pursed lips and stiff back, you seem fine. On the other side of you Wolfwood rests his head in his hand, his elbow against the door, uncaring. Vash returns his gaze out the window.

Wolfwood's slick fingers pass the top of your panties and reach down further beneath your ass. From underneath you, without restriction his fingers finally reach your slick pussy. He runs his fingers through the sopping mess, emphasizing it, making sure you know he can tell how much you want this. And then slides his fingers inside. 

You press the back of your hand to your mouth, hoping to cover the mewl that threatens to escape your lips. From this angle his fingers reach deep within you, stirring the need that boils through your core. He starts out gentle, just brushing the parts that have your head spinning. But soon it's clear that his teasing is only making it worse. 

God, you're fucking soaked. His hand becomes covered in you, begging for something more, something harder. And, fuck, does he want to give it to you. But no matter how much his dick is starting to hurt he needs you to suffer, just a little bit. He needs you to feel what he felt all fucking day while you bounced around in this short ass skirt. Jutting your hips out every time you bent over even slightly. Jumping onto your toes every time Vash addressed you. Not to mention watching other men take even just a peek at what was his. He needs to make sure you know what you've done, what you've put him through. And engrave into your body just who it belongs to. 

Your head is going fuzzy from pleasure and need. He's ruthless in the way he takes you apart with nothing to brace yourself with. Wolfwood is usually the rougher type when he steals you away in the night. But this time he's just brutal, doing everything to wear you down into a begging mess. You need more. You need him. 

Your fingers trace over the thick bulge in his pants. Pleased to find the protruding line of his dick already hard and ready. Wolfwood drops his head at your touch. The sigh that passes his lips half full of relief and frustration. With confidence your hand moves towards his belt and pulls it. 

Wolfwood snatches your hand, pulling it away. “That's dangerous, babygirl.” 

“Keep messing with me and I'll show you dangerous.” 

The subtle threat you spit back drives him. You're already so needy you're getting mouthy. Usually after saying something like that he'd shove you down, his hand around your throat, and fuck you hard enough that your eyes would roll back, but he can't, not here, and you know it. Instead, he whips out his cock, stiff and leaking. You press your lips together feeling his fingers slip around your neck. 

“You want it so badly? Take it.” You glance around the car, making sure no one else is paying attention to you both. His fingers grip tighter causing your breath to hitch. “Don't you worry about them.” Swiftly and carefully you seat yourself in Wolfwood's lap, his cock between your thighs. He's quick to smooth your skirt over the top of you both. Then presses your legs together, smothering himself against your soaked panties. The tips of his fingers dig into your plush skin as his hips rut into you. 

Ah shit. He's not gonna last. Fucking these thighs that have been testing his patience all day, he'll lose it. 

It feels so good, the hard tip brushing against your swollen clit, dulled by your panties. Your pussy is clenching in need. You want to be filled, but Wolfwood is so damn cruel. You know he's upset about the skirt, but he was the one who made you wear it! And now he's punishing you for it! 

His head smothers into your neck, trying to hide his groans and sighs of pleasure. In no time your thighs are slick with your combined juices and there's no chance of saving your panties nor the skirt. But he can't hold back anymore. He needs to feel you tight around him. Wolfwood reaches under the skirt pulling your panties to the side and adjusting his hips. Before you can even breathe he's thrusting into you. The both of you sent reeling. 

You clench tight around him instantly, causing his teeth to bare. Your cunt flutters around him, your eyes rolled back body shuddering. Wolfwood smirks as his hands wrap around your torso. 

“Did you just cum? Just from me putting it in?” He asks, his tone full of taunting. 

“You prick,” you huff at him, only making his sadistic smirk grow wider. And he thrusts again, throwing your oversensitive body back into the fray. You clamp a hand over your mouth, begging that nothing comes out. He takes you, brutally and silently, knowing how to make you fall apart. 

His rough fingers slide up your shirt, pushing the flimsy bralette out of the way to pinch at the pert nipples it did a terrible job of hiding. Your other hand takes his wrist, trying to stop him from making you any more sensitive. Fearing that you may be discovered soon. 

His lips trace the back of your neck, kissing and biting until he's sure he's marked your whole shoulder. That way no one can even question who you belong to. 

From the corner of his gaze he can see Vash. None the wiser about the inappropriate things being done just next to him. What a shame. It was Vash's idea to get the skirt in the first place. It's rude not to share with him the fruit of his labour. 

Wolfwood turns your head, bringing your hazy eyes towards Vash. “Let him have a taste of you too.” 

You purse your lips, but you can't deny, you want Vash too. It's a shame you were all chased out of town before you had a chance to mess him up. You'd been craving him all day, making it apparent in the way you'd hold your chest out to him with big sweet eyes, bouncing in the skirt he got for you. The way his cheeks would tinge red and he'd began to stammer would drive you mad with want. 

You slip from Wolfwood's lap, your attention on Vash like a tiger stalking their prey. Your hands on the seat as you crawl towards— Without warning Wolfwood grabs your hips and shoves his cock in, throwing you forward into Vash. 

The blonde, startled by your sudden weight looks down at your dazed, blissed out expression. His eyes widen as he turns, seeing Wolfwood smirk at him as he thrusts his hips forward again. Your arms wrap around Vash's neck loosely, his cheeks now burning crimson. 

“Kiss,” you mewl to him. “Vash. Kiss.” 

He's conflicted, but it's evident his turmoil is a losing battle when you look at him like that. His flesh hand caresses your face lifting it so he can slot his lips against yours. Vash covers your moans with his mouth as Wolfwood's cock reaches deeper inside you. Wolfwood grows even harder at the display of Vash crumbling to your needs before him. 

Your hand rests on Vash's thigh as he kisses you breathless. Breaking the kiss you lean into his ear. “Mmh~” Your fingers brush over the tent in Vash's pants making his body go rigid. 

“Shit. What are you doing?” Vash asks you. Your lips kiss just below his ear. 

“Let me make you feel good too. Please?” you ask, desperate to feel him as well. Vash doesn't protest as you pull his zipper down and free his aching cock from the confines of his pants. Your hand wraps around him stroking him. His breath shudders at the contact making you smile, pressing kisses to his jaw. 

You bend down eagerly, licking the tip, making Vash's thighs tense. And then you swallow him whole, relaxing your throat to take him all the way in. It hurts a bit but it's worth making Vash throw his head back, hand covering his mouth as he tries to hold back his own moans. His hand rests on the back of your head. His dick pulses in your throat while simultaneously Wolfwood thrusts undeniably harder. 

You work in tandem, Wolfwood thrusts you forward and down onto Vash. The blonde becomes weak to the motions. His cheeks burning red as he looks out the window with glassy eyes, trying to hide his pleasure. But it becomes evident he wants more as his hips move upwards, trying to push himself deeper into your mouth. 

Wolfwood grips your hips painfully tight and smacks his hips into yours causing your limbs to go limp instantly. He's getting close, and he wants you right there on the edge with him. 

Little does he know just how ready you are. Stuck between your two favorite men, pleasing them with your body, it's enough to make anyones head spin. 

Vash's hand tightens in your hair signaling his own approaching release. One more hard thrust has all of you cumming. Both men filling either side of you as your mind goes numb. 

You float through your daze, feeling a simultaneous ache in your pussy and your throat. Your head rests against Vash's shoulder the blonde feeling like he's shaking beneath you. Once your head clears enough you look up at him. His hand pressed tightly to his lips and eyes glassy as if he's either in pain or going to cry. It alarms you so you lift your head only to see his dick still standing straight up, tip red and angry. 

It wasn't enough and he's so hard, ready to burst, that it hurts. Luckily, you think you can manage another. 

Shifting over to Vash you straddle his thighs his face showing surprise and imminent relief. You take his cheeks, kissing his lips feather light. “I've got you. You only need to ask.” You reassure him just as you sink onto his cock. The stretch burns in the wake of your second orgasm, making your head fall to his shoulder. Vash huffs and pants, the sensation immediately too much for his sensitivity. God, he needs you, he needs more of you. His arms wrap around your back, one gripping your waist the other your shoulder and he plunges you deeper onto him. Your body tenses at the depth of his cock within you. 

“S-Sorry. I'm sorry,” Vash mutters into your ear. “I need you.” He snaps his hips upward and you realize you've made a grave mistake. 

Vash loses his reason to the pleasure, quickly, and you start to loose consciousness with the way his tip hits your cervix. He pummels his need into you, holding your arms at your side so that you're helpless against him, not that you'd stop him anyway. The pain and pleasure mix so good you're growing addicted to the way every other part of your body turns numb. 

Tears drip down your cheeks, as you beg him for release. Whether you're begging for his or yours no longer matters. You want this pleasure to peak so badly you can taste it. Or maybe that's just you biting his neck, trying to find something to ground yourself. 

Vash's cock grows impossibly bigger inside you making silent cries fall from your lips as he snaps his hips once more throwing you both over the edge. He fills you up, a relentless amount, the kind that's determined to keep you, make you his forever. And all of it only makes your orgasm all the harder. Your face smothered into his shoulder, trying to silence yourself the best you can as Vash's struggled groans fill your ear. The sound itself so sexy you could listen to it always. 

But your mind is getting fuzzier than before, exhaustion suddenly taking you. You slump against Vash, eyes already closed, sleep floating you away. 

After a while Vash finally stops cumming. His hands rub against your back before realizing just how deep in sleep you are. Not that he can blame you. With great care he lifts your head, sliding you off his lap and into the seat next to him. Your head against his arm. Wolfwood fixes your clothes and brushes his fingers down your face, knowing the mess they'll have to deal with whenever they get where they're going. 

One simultaneous thought in agreement between the three of you. 

Skirts are dangerous.

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

 

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of child abuse, masturbation. (separately, not related to one another)

Words: 2.4k

[A/N: we are so back yall, i think... (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous

V. (NSFW)

Preach, pray, consume, forgive, kneel, repent, repeat.

Viktor’s  worn fingers traced the grooves of the heavy missal as the morning light filtered through stained glass, casting lazy hues upon the cold stone floor. The scent of incense, mingling with the earthy aroma of old wood and dust, rose in spirals as thoughts meandered like the smoke. He recited every prayer, absent from the materiality needed but without a misstep. Not a single one of the faithful that had congregated on that Sunday morning noticed something was amiss, which in retrospect made it seem like he had been doing this for a while, unbeknownst to him.

Their eyes, some pious, others wearied by life's burdens, stared back in expectation, and in their collective gaze, he intoned the familiar prayers, his voice a low murmur resonating through the vaulted space. No part of his body registered the passage of time; only the ashen-colored light that now bathed the right-most side of the altar accused the hours he had lost to the liturgy. A soft voice calling out to him gently nudged him out of his stupor. 

“Father” The altar boy whispered with an outstretched hand that held the washed communion plates. 

“Thank you, Tobias.” Viktor said as he reached out to grab the plates, “I’m sorry, I’ve been a bit distracted as of late.” 

The boy nodded animatedly and skipped his way down to the altar again. Tobias was a lad of scarcely ten summers. Like many others—including Viktor himself—he had been ‘donated’ to the church. To everyone else, this was seen as a foolproof way to skip purgatory, a show of mercy from his parents that proved their love for him and their devotion to god. To Viktor—who was there on the day he arrived and was charged with paying his parents an appropriate amount for him—it was a desperate plea to guarantee his five other siblings did not starve to death.

Viktor looked down again, and the boy was still walking around, clad in a robe slightly too large for him, its hem brushing the floor. His small hands worked with care, putting out the candles with a long, brass taper. Viktor watched as the boy handled the sacred objects with a reverence that belied his tender age, so full of potential and untainted by cynicism. When he was done with his duties, he walked back over to where Viktor sat and stood there in silence, waiting for more orders. 

“What do you wish to be when you grow up?” Viktor asked casually.

He spoke quickly, like he had rehearsed it. “A priest, like you.”

Viktor let out a small, good-humored chuckle in response and raised an incredulous eyebrow. Tobias looked on both sides like he was afraid someone would be there to hear him before speaking again. 

“A stonemason, like my father.”

“Do you miss him?”

His glossy eyes didn’t escape Viktor’s, but he didn’t wish to pry for answers any further, afraid the boy’s feelings would end up triggering memories of his own. And even though Tobias quickly left after Viktor nodded in understanding, the memories he was trying to repress came flooding down. 

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

The day his parents took him away was etched in Viktor’s memory with painful vagueness. Cold hands pried him from his mother’s skirt, her eyes wet and empty, filled with a sorrow too deep for words. He barely remembered her face, and now and then, when he tried to latch onto her ghost, she escaped him like smoke. His father’s voice, gruff and resigned as he muttered it was ‘for the best’, was the only thing he managed to recall clearly. He was never able to tell if he felt sad; although his tone seemed tired, it always had, this time seeming nothing more than a feeble attempt at justification. 

The heavy monastery door closed behind him with a finality that echoed through his young heart, and despite the fact that they lived nearby, he never saw them again. Stone walls towered over him, pressing in, their cold embrace devoid of the warmth and comfort he had known. Father Isidore's face, nothing more than a priest back then, loomed hard and unyielding, offering no solace.

Lonely nights were spent in a narrow cot. This was, for all intents and purposes, a better sleeping arrangement than what he previously had, but he longed for home, for the familiar sounds of his mother’s cooking and his father’s laughter as he woke up before sunrise, which had been replaced by an oppressive silence and whispered prayers. Days blurred into weeks, and the unfamiliar routine and stern discipline pressed down on his spirit as curiosity, once a joyful pursuit, became a dangerous trait to have.

He remembered the sting of Father Isidore’s cane against his skin, the punishment for asking questions deemed too freethinking. The pain on his back that burned with each strike, shame and pain mingling as his stern gaze bore into him, and the sickly feeling in his stomach when he smiled at him with the slimy insincerity of someone who believes he’s doing you a favor.

Back then, he bit his lip to stifle his cries, the taste of blood trickling down his throat that for so long he associated with fear, and now it had mutated into a morbid parade of all the wrong sentiments: pleasure, anger, and defiance. If only little Viktor the altar boy knew that the joy of discovery that was crushed under the weight of dogma and the vibrant world of his imagination that was stifled by the constant threat of retribution were once again enkindled, and by the spine-chilling yet exciting presence of a demonic creature nonetheless, he would not believe it. 

The university days provided a brief respite from the oppressive confines of the monastery. The city, alive with possibilities, offered a tantalizing glimpse of freedom. The rush of independence was exhilarating, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline he had known. Yet, even as the world beyond the monastery beckoned, he found himself bound by an inexplicable sense of duty. The decision to return was made—a choice that haunted him. The familiar chains of the clergy tightened around him, the opportunity for escape slipping away.

And although each passing year brought a deeper sense of regret and the burden of faith grew heavier, the ache of what could have been was, at this very moment, no longer a constant. His path led him to where he stood now, an experience so formidably unique that it felt tailor-made for him. Did he deserve such a test from god? It depended on how you saw it. If this was a punishment, then it was fit for all the sin that blackened his soul, and he would endure it in silent penitence. But if this was a reward for being a pious servant and having endured the temptation of unbridled knowledge before, a bigger and more difficult challenge for Viktor to prove his worth, then he did not feel deserving of it. 

Either way, no matter how he sliced it, he was failing. Whether this test had been put before him to teach him restraint or not, it was doing quite the opposite. She had given him a new set of eyes, and now he found a fresh and bitter perspective for every aspect of his practice that he had accepted and embraced before.

Confession was no longer a way for him to provide the people in his community with relief and forgiveness; it was a dirty show of egos for people who are disgustingly contaminated by greed and gluttony to flaunt their superiority in the eyes of a corrupt institution. Their opulent vestments were nothing more than a vainglorious boast of wealth, unfit for a group of men who made a vow of poverty to mirror the temperance of their god. The altar boys were only an unfortunate bunch of children stripped of their choices due to their inescapable place in society, a society where the poor, the vulnerable, and the young were exploited with the promise of salvation if they paid tithe and served their godly emissaries. 

And then there was the liturgy. Granted, he was never too entranced by any of the rites he had to perform; they had always felt like a distant repetition of nonsensical words that he felt no real connection to, as he always felt closer to god in silent and private prayer, but now, with his unintentional new perspective, it was the aspect that felt the most different to him. 

For decades, he had been taught to be passive, to repress, and to contain. To escape anything that was even remotely tempting and to be satisfied and held in contempt by the only nude body he’d ever be allowed to see, the one nailed to a cross. Why is it then that the art scattered around the church puts such an intent focus on the immaculate figures of naked men? Why is it that he is thought to rub, to whisper, and to consume in that context but is forced to repress such acts once he steps down the altar?

Viktor took a deep breath. His long fingers twirled the beads of his rosary absentmindedly as he pondered, and before realizing what he was doing, he brought it up to his nose, taking in the faint smell of roses that still lingered from when it was made. While he did that, images ran through his mind—of himself kissing the crucifix during Holy Week, the defined torsos carefully painted in the sacred images of saints, the almost ecstatic feeling brought by communion. Flashes that appeared in quick succession fused with the intense pleasure of flagellation and the still vibrant recollection of what She had made him feel. 

___________________________________________________________________

He knew those thoughts would lead to these, and not only did he purposefully not repress them, but he was hoping as much. There was that distinct tension, that heightened awareness of his body, that sense of electricity that seemed to hum just beneath his skin. Something that was no longer new to him and also no longer unwelcome. 

He stood from the chair he had spent the afternoon rotting away in deep thought on and lethargically walked back to his quarters. Once there and with the door tightly shut behind him, he fell on his back against the stubborn mattress, not waiting even a moment before pulling up the fabric of his cassock to reveal the tight clasp of his trousers. 

His fingers trembled as they moved to untie the sash with deliberate slowness, the anticipation heightening his senses. He hesitated for a moment, as if seeking some final absolution, before he grasped his swelling desire. An almost cynical laugh escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, the motion tentative at first, then more assured as he slowly understood the intensity of his own touch. The sensation was electric, his body responding with a fervor that he had only experienced deep in prayer. 

His free hand, with his rosary entangled between his fingers, gripped the edge of the cot, knuckles white with tension as the wooden frame creaked under the strain and the beads etched small marks into his skin. As the feeling of that distracted him from the pressing heat gathering with each pump, another unusual feeling took him out of the moment. 

The same bone-chilling breeze he had felt for the past few days, every time she came around. There was no fear inside of him this time and no guilt either, so when her figure became clear and visible, he didn’t flinch, freeze, or even stop what he was doing. A silent acknowledgement was given in the form of a lingering look, before the pleasure building to an almost unbearable intensity urged him to start moving his hand once again. 

She looked at him with pleased eyes, contemptuous but not gloating. She recognized that her role had been simply one of a catalyst for something that had been inside of Viktor all along. Did she want to participate? Of course, but there would be a time for that; this was his victory to enjoy. 

He continued stroking with a rhythm characteristic of someone who was slowly trying to connect with his own body, not rushed by guilt or fear. In the midst of one of the pauses he took to prevent himself from coming to his release too early, he took notice of her again, still standing opposite him near the door. 

“Will you be in hell to welcome me when I die?”

“Hell is now, this, and here.”

���So there is no realm of eternal punishment?” Viktor chuckled bitterly. 

“If there was, it wouldn’t be for people like you.” 

“Eh, I don’t believe that.”

“Can you confidently say...” She started as she walked over and kneeled near the edge of the bed where Viktor sat, gently placing one of her cold hands over the one that gripped his cock. “...that something that feels like this is undoubtedly immoral?”

She slowly guided him up and down once again, increasing the pressure of his grip with her own as Viktor looked into her obscured eyes, mouth agape. 

“Perhaps, though I’m prepared to pay the price.” He said, almost in a whisper. 

They both continued moving, aided by her firm touch over his hand, and the pressure building became almost unbearable. In those final moments, his thoughts became a blur, a cacophony of want, desire, and need, with part of him wanting to touch her and another part wanting to completely lean back and let her finish him off. Instead, his body tensed right where he was, every muscle tightening as he reached his climax with a shuddering release that left him gasping for breath.

The crucifix dangled on his neck as he started to lean over. 

[lil-elle]

idea from loml @chiiyuuvv !! (Sorry it took so long to get to this pookie)

Truth or Dare

group: xikers

pair: seeun x fem!reader

genre: fluff, crushes, shyness, best friends to lovers (yknow me 🥰)

word count: 3.2k

content: drinking, kisses ‼️

a/n: TYSM POOKS FOR THIS AWESOME IDEA IM GIGGLING SM

Seeun dragged you by your wrist through the front door as you rolled your eyes. 

“C'mon, you'll have fun!” He insisted, but you just weren't the type to enjoy parties, you only ever went because he loved them and you were such a sucker for that wide, gummy smile of his.

You followed behind him like a small obedient dog as he chatted with his friends, people you'd never even seen before. You felt silly following him like this and almost hiding behind the broadness of his back, but you were much too afraid of straying off on your own in a house full of strangers.

You were busy zoned out, counting the tiles on the floor, when Seeun pressed something cold to your cheek: a beer can. You quickly took it from him and analysed the label.

“Woah, I didn't know you actually drank at these things.” You mumbled, spinning the can around in your hand.

“What, do you think we just sit in a circle holding hands or something??” He chuckled teasingly, making your face flare up in embarrassment.

“Of course not!” You quickly defended, popping the can open.

“Have you ever even drank before?” He smirked, cracking his own can open and taking a swig like he did this everyday.

“Pffft, h-have I- pshhhh- o-of course I have.” You waved your hand at him dismissively, avoiding his eyes despite the fact you were certain he could see through your lie. Without another thought, you lifted the icy can to your lips and took a sip, your face screwing up at the sour taste of the alcohol on your tongue. You swallowed after some struggle and smiled at him crookedly.

“See? Easy..”

He chuckled, taking another sip of his drink before grasping your hand and pulling you with him.

“Where are we going?” He looked back at you with a smile as he pulled you through the house into a bedroom where most of the friends of his you recognised from earlier in the night were gathered.

“I said we don't sit in a circle holding hands, but we do sit in a circle and play truth or dare!” He tugged you so you were sitting next to him in the circle, the sudden multitude of eyes on you making you shrink back and you timidly took another strained swig from your can.

One of his friends suddenly started speaking to the rest of the group in a confident voice.

“Okay, classic truth or dare, house rules: when someone asks you truth or dare, you pick one, and you do whatever they say. If you refuse, we get to all like- uh- point and laugh at you or something. Got it?” 

The group nodded their heads and began chattering quietly before he spoke up again.

“Okay who's going first?” Seeun's hand shot up before he even finished speaking and a few faces around the room chuckled at his enthusiasm. You felt a smile creep onto your face as well, charmed by how much he seemed to be enjoying himself. That was until he slowly turned to you with a smirk on his face. “Oh this motherfu-”

“Y/n! Truth or dare?” You gritted your teeth, making your disdain for him obvious on your face, and spoke up with the most confident voice you could muster.

“...Truth.”

“Lame!” Someone called out, followed by a few chuckles, but you kept your eyes on Seeun and ignored the embarrassed heat crawling up your neck.

“Hmmm…What do you really think of the beer?”

Your eye twitched and you promised yourself that you'd beat up this nutrient deficient string bean as soon as you got him alone next.

“....It sucks. Like it tastes like piss genuinely. But…it kinda makes being here easier, so…” You lifted the can and took this biggest gulp you could, Seeun smiling as you sighed with a twinge of regret for doing that.

“Preach!” You heard someone from across the room yell, making you smile shyly.

“Your turn now, shorty.” Seeun ruffled your hair and you swiped his hand away before scanning the room and quickly realising you had no idea who to pick, not knowing any of the people sitting around you apart from Seeun. Your eyes bounced from person to person, inevitably being drawn to the confident boy that introduced the game. You pointed a shaky finger at him.

“T-Truth or dare?”

He chuckled and set his own drink down before leaning back on his hands.

“Dare.” He said the word without hesitation and you panicked again as you wracked your brain for a dare to give that wouldn't make you sound lame (again). You nervously swirled your drink in your hand, just that action giving you an idea.

“...I-I dare you…to chug the rest of your drink right now.” You felt slightly proud as his eyebrows raised and his lip quirked up in a smirk. He sat back up straight before lifting the can to his mouth and throwing the rest of it back with a few hard bobs of his adams apple and various cheers and playful yells from the group. His eyes met yours again as he dropped his can, crushing it in his hand before tossing it behind him in a dramatic display. You quickly looked away, overwhelmed by the eye contact, and your eyes met Seeun's face, eyebrows tight in a frown and eyes almost boring holes into the boy you just dared. You lifted your hand to tap him on the shoulder, your attention being stolen away by the continuation of the game before you could make contact.

You continued nursing your beer as the game went on, Seeun nudging your shoulder to make jokes into your ear every-so-often. You couldn't tell if it was the buzz of the alcohol or Seeun's light-hearted presence making you feel so comfortable, but you were starting to enjoy yourself, laughing and chatting with the group like you belonged there as much as they did. That was until the attention was flipped back onto you and Seeun for the first time in a good 10 minutes.

“Seeun,” the boy started, “truth or dare?” 

Seeun leaned forward playfully.

“Dare.” 

The boy smiled and finished off his drink, crushing the can, before continuing.

“So…we've all noticed how close the two of you are,” he pointed, finger moving between you and Seeun, “don't think we haven't.” 

Your face flushed red and you shrunk back slightly before you felt Seeun's large hand rest on your back reassuringly.

“...And what about it?” Seeun responded with a confident tone, earning a multitude of teasing coos from around the room which only made you blush harder.

“Well!” He clapped his hands together as he continued. “Your dare…is to give her your phone…and let her go through it.” 

Your eyes snapped up to Seeun's face upon hearing those words, expecting Seeun to pull his phone out of his pocket without hesitation, only to watch as the colour drained from his face for the first time that night. A few seconds passed, then a minute, as Seeun's hands lay frozen at his sides.

“So…you're not gonna do it? This is the dare that's gonna break you?” The boy teased as a few other people chuckled. Seeun took a deep breath in before seeming to snap back into his usual confident persona.

“Of course not.” He smiled, grabbing his phone from his pocket and almost tossing it to you. Your eyes stayed glued on his face, frowning at the way he was almost refusing to make eye contact with you. You couldn't help but feel how wrong this whole situation was, feel how not like himself Seeun was acting. You clutched the phone to your chest in an attempt to push down your nervousness before putting on your best smirk and speaking up in a stutter.

“I-I think I'll look through it later…when me and Seeun are…alone…” 

You slipped the phone into your pocket and sighed with relief on the inside when you heard the teasing comments from the group, although embarrassing, reassured you that they hadn't caught onto your act. You caught Seeun glancing at you, a very small amount of blush on his face before the both of you turned away in unison, earning more cooing and teasing.

The night went on as usual and the group was beginning to get more rowdy and tipsy, you and Seeun included as you somehow managed to get down a whole beer and start on another one. 

By the time the two of you left the house you were giggling to each other about nothing in particular and just yapping about random things as he walked you home. The cold night air was refreshing on your flushed cheeks and the short walk to your house passed by in a flash. Eventually, you were pulling your front door open and attempting to pull him inside with you, insisting that you “had to have a sleepover with your bestie”.

He easily slipped out of your grasp and stepped back, chuckling.

“I have to go home,” he poked you lightly on the forehead, “and you need rest.” You pouted and leaned dramatically against the door frame.

“But but but- are you even sober enough to get home?” You questioned, just trying to find any excuse to get him to stay longer. He chuckled again and you were too hazy to notice the redness in his ears.

“I'm fine.” He smiled and you couldn't deny that he had a much better alcohol tolerance than you.

“Okayyy…,” you sighed, lifting your hand weakly to wave, “bye bye…”

The last thing you saw was his crooked smile as you shut the door, luckily remembering to lock it in your dizzy state, before scrambling to your bedroom and flopping onto the bed. As soon as your face hit the softness of your pillow, you were out like a light, shoes on and everything, but that wasn't something you cared about as you drifted into a dream filled sleep.

You were suddenly pulled from your sleep by an obnoxious alarm coming from the phone in your pocket, yanking it out in your half asleep state and slamming your finger on snooze before tossing the phone next to you and rolling over. It took you a few seconds, but you suddenly registered that… “Wait, I don't set alarms.”

You sat up, blinking against the sun shining ruthlessly into your window, curtains wide open and failing to protect you. You grasped the phone and pulled it up to your sleepy face, turning it around in your hands for a few moments before the memory of the dare crashed back into your head. 

“Oh.” You tapped on the screen and analysed the pic on his lockscreen: what seemed to be him and one of his friends you recognised last night posing together and making silly faces, both of them with drinks in their hands. You smiled to yourself and instinctively swiped up to unlock the phone, quickly met with the realisation that he has a password because why wouldn't he?? You thought for a moment before chuckling to yourself and jokingly typing in your own name, the click of the phone unlocking stopping you dead in your tracks. You sat up straight, looking down at the phone with a serious and slightly confused expression before you finally processed what his home screen was…it was a picture of you. A candid photo of you laughing taken most likely by him when you weren't paying attention. A photo that you didn't even know existed. Your heart suddenly sped up and you felt a small amount of heat enter your cheeks but you took a breath in and reassured yourself that it was normal for someone to have a picture of their best friend as their phone background.

You timidly swiped again, bringing up all the apps he had open and giggled, quickly realising why he always complained about his phone dying really fast. You scrolled mindlessly through the multitude of random apps before a text conversation with Hyunwoo, a mutual friend of the two of you, caught your eye. Quickly tapping on it and bringing it up, your heart started to pound at the idea of going through his private messages and you felt slightly guilty, especially because you were defeating the whole purpose of the reason you kept it with you. Despite your guilty feelings, your finger scrolled up like it had a mind of his own, all the way up to the beginning of the conversation Seeun had with Hyunwoo right before the party yesterday:

H: So do you have a plan?

S: Uhhhh. 

S: No.

H: Dumbass

S: STFU!?? IM TRYING MY BEST?!?!

H: Alright well keep trying ‘your best’

H: Meanwhile she's gonna go and fall for someone else before you can even confess

You blinked frantically like you couldn't believe your eyes. Confess?? Like, confess confess?? You started scrolling faster, eyes scanning over every word at twice the speed.

S: You're harsh man

H: If I wasn't you wouldn't even be considering confessing now would you

S: …

H: Yeah okay

H: Did you at least invite her to that party?

S: Yeah

S: I'm on the way to her's now to pick her up

H: This is the perfect opportunity! Confess tonight!

S: CRAZY

H: Just try man

H: For my sanity

S: 💀

S: No promises

Your eyes stayed stuck on those last two words as the gears in your head went into overdrive, your whole face burning red at the thought of Seeun having a crush on you. Even more so at the thought that there was a chance of him confessing last night and you had no idea. You quickly found yourself with your nose buried in his phone, scrolling through all of his messages without remorse, too busy dazed and confused over the situation you're in to feel guilt.

It didn't take you long to find your own messages with him, feeling a pang in your chest at the hearts he had put around your contact name.

The more you searched, the more you found, and the more real it all felt. A folder in his gallery dedicated to pictures of you. Instagram open specifically on your profile. A stupid buzzfeed article on different ways to ask out a crush that was clearly directed towards 14 year olds. All those symptoms pointed to one diagnosis of a boy in incredibly deep (and only a little bit pathetic) unrequited love. With you. Except that love wasn't actually so unrequited.

Your head was spinning trying to process everything happening when a sudden bang on your window made you almost fling the phone across the room. You lifted your head only to meet eyes with the exact man making your mind all jumbled up standing outside your window. Your blush only got worse upon seeing him in that plain but charming grey hoodie of his and you were certain there was no way you were hiding your feelings from him now.

Carefully, you lifted yourself from the bed and circled around it to the window, sliding it open and being met with the cold and fresh morning air.

“I'm glad you're awake.” He started with a smile, already making you melt with just 4 words. “Sorry for the startle,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “there was no way I could knock on your door without waking your parents so I had to improvise.” He stared at you for a moment as you stayed silent before his gaze fell to his phone caught in your death grip. He sighed and a look of relief covered his face as he leaned against the window frame.

“Thank God you have it. I remembered giving it to you but I can barely trust this brain of mine when it's not under the influence, y’know?” He joked but something seemed off about his demeanour, like he was nervous or hiding something, just like how he was acting before handing you his phone last night. Although, now you know why. 

His eyes travelled back up to yours as he spoke.

“You okay?” 

You felt your face only heat up more, a change he obviously noticed as he finally began slipping from his denial and started realising what you must've seen. A pink hue entered his cheeks and he spoke up again with a noticeably shakier voice.

“H-how much…did you see…?”

You finally found your own voice to respond to him.

“...Hyunwoo…he…was helping you…” Before you could even finish, Seeun folded his arms on the windowsill and buried his face in them.

“Fuck…” He mumbled, his soft hair falling over his now bright hot ears.

“A-and your wallpaper…a-and my name in your contacts…a-and your gallery-” You suddenly started spilling to him everything you'd seen, watching breathlessly as he sunk further into the plushness of his hoodie sleeves. He sighed again and lifted his head, the state of his face and the splotchy redness that covered it making your heart pound.

“Well whatever…” he mumbled before pulling himself through the window, forcing you backwards to make space for him. Once he was in he steadied himself before leaning back against the window frame awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with you the whole time. 

“Y/n.” The suddenness of his voice made your breath catch and you looked up at him, clutching the phone to your chest.

“I really like you…will you be my girlfriend?” He continued avoiding your eyes and spoke in a flat voice. It felt less like he was confessing and more like he was admitting and accepting defeat. Your fingers tightened around his phone and you mustered every ounce of courage you had to speak up in a tiny voice.

“...yes…” His eyes widened instantly, making you feel a strange sense of excitement and pride.

“Did…you just-” He finally turned to you and met your eyes, his red cheeks somehow growing redder. 

“-say yes…?”

You could barely hold back your excitement as you nodded, smiling and watching as his expression twisted from confusion to shock to disbelief to pure joy. You almost dropped the phone as he scooped you up into his arms, giggling so happily with an expression of such unfiltered happiness you'd never seen on him before. He spun you around a few times as the two of you giggled together before he finally settled down and hugged you close to him.

“...You mean it?” He asked in a quiet voice with a slight tinge of disbelief still present.

“Seeun…can I be your girlfrie-” your words were cut off as his lips suddenly pressed to yours. You were almost convinced your heart would explode in your chest as he kissed you in a way that felt like it would never end. He pulled away just enough but still keeping his lips only a few inches from yours, allowing you to catch your breath.

“Sorry…” he muttered with a smile telling you he wasn't really sorry at all. But you didn't care, not one bit, as a hysterical fit of giggles burst from your throat.

Thank God he forced you to that party.

-

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

TAGLIST:

@chocoeon @hyunukitty @ihyeokzu @cake1box @chiiyuuvv @shortnstupid @dogyunslover

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Shamura meeting a spider s.o who isn't really apart of the cult and lives the life of a traveler but visits from time to time and members consider her to be a 'big sister' and people love to come to her for advice...

like she'll be pulling pieces of debris, leaves, twigs, pieces of mushroom, etc. from the lambs wool (which she had lectured him about a few minutes prior like "Lamb, you got this in your wool AGAIN?? I will not allow you to continue to talk to people when you basically have a FOREST in your wool, sit down and let me help you.") and Shamura is there and I feel like they have real deep conversations, maybe s.o telling him their story after a while, how they think that they might be from the Silk Cradle but aren't sure because they were taken when they were young and raised in the mountains ... just a little thing i thought abt haha

"I-I can assure you, [y/n]..I don't need-"

"Oh no, you absolutely do need this." You tutted as you made Lamb sit down on a tree stump, picking bits of mushrooms and leaves out of their wool.

They winced as you harshly tugged on a twig that was especially embedded in it, casting it aside once it was plucked free. "I need to do my morning sermon," they grumbled. "Can this wait until-?"

"There's still a few more hours till noon. I will not have you walk up to that podium with your wool being a literal Anurian forest! How do you keep letting it get this bad anyways?"

"I-"

"Actually..don't answer that."

"But...!!! Ugh, fine." With a pout, the Lamb sat with their cheeks puffed out, remembering that they couldn't order you around...as you weren't one of their followers. So you didn't have to abide by any of their rules.

You were a nomadic spider who traveled all across the Old Faith. Your heart desired adventure, but every once in a while it would lead you back to these temple grounds, and you'd witness Lamb's cult growing steadily with each visit.

When they weren't around, their followers would flock to you, having grown accustomed to your frequent appearances. You carried a lot of knowledge during your travels, so you'd share stories of your recent journeys and offer advice to those who asked for it.

Whether it's about something personal or just how to navigate through a domain safely, you had plenty of answers for most of them. Some followers even looked up to you as a sister, which made you happy.

The most important part of your visit, however, was ensuring Lamb looked their best before they went to preach in the temple. You always caught them after they return from crusades, finding them covered in earthly debris without a care in the world.

If this new "god" of the lands wanted to be taken more seriously...they had to look presentable to their followers.

But even so, they were quite the fussy one; stubborn like a child: Bleating constantly, kicking their hooves, and sometimes even demonically hissing if you suggest they removed their crown for a moment.

They only acted that way because Narinder saw you preening their wool once and mocked his former vessel until your glare shooed him away.

Fortunately, Lamb chose not to argue with you any further, making your job easier to finish.

It took a few more minutes, but their wool finally looked a lot better, so you sent them on their way to preach the Red Crown's gospel after bidding them farewell.

Whatever debris you plucked out of them went into a bag of silk you've crafted for yourself. Surely you can do something with the twigs, leaves, mushroom stems, and pumpkin seeds they carried back to the cult grounds--you couldn't let any of that go to waste.

"Greetings, traveler. Back so soon?"

The familiar voice made you perk up, looking to see Shamura standing there with a book in their hands. It seemed to be one from Silk Cradle, detailing trap layouts and designs.

You smiled. "Hello, Lord Shamura. And yes. I like to come and go as I please."

".....forgive me, but your name slips past me.."

"It's [y/n]."

"..ah yes, yes...Sister [Y/n]. Welcome back." They bowed their head politely. "I do have a question, if you have the time."

"Of course." You nodded, before frowning as you noticed the somewhat troubled look on their face. "What ails you?"

"...hm?" They blinked. "Do I look sick?"

"Oh, no. I mean..your expression. I've seen it on other followers, and it's usually because something's weighing heavily on their mind-"

"Why call me "lord" if you have not served under me?" Shamura abruptly interrupted, confused as their gaze went to the open book in their hands. "I have seen many spiders in Silk Cradle...but none quite like yourself. If only I could remember..were you a servant? A warrior? A merchant...?"

The more they struggled to recall, the more ichor began leaking through their bandages. And you could see it was physically paining them, too.

It made you wonder how they ever survived losing the Purple Crown, but then again it probably took a miracle from the Lamb to give them a fighting chance--a second chance.

Even so, you felt bad for Shamura. Their memory gaps kept widening despite their desperation to remember things and continue reading.

"Oh dear..allow me to hold that for you." You gently took the book away from them before the liquid could splatter all over the cover, closing it up. "I didn't grow up in Silk Cradle, but I'm sure I was born there. I only remember being taken up to the mountains..perhaps my family became deserters who disliked the violence."

"Hm...under my ruling, deserters would have been swiftly found and jailed."

"I see-"

"No, no..that's not it...they...would have been swiftly found, tried in my court, and publicly executed." They corrected themselves, huffing. "My apologies."

"...oh. Then I guess I'm glad we weren't ever found out." You awkwardly chuckled, having much preferred what they said before. "It seems your memory has been improving since the last time we met."

"Yes, indeed...indeed it is.." Shamura nodded, before you both heard the tolls of the temple bell, signaling that it was time for the sermon. "The Lamb calls..they are speaking now." They looked to you. "Shall we go together, [y/n]?"

"Sure." With a smile, you linked arms with them. "But as a fair warning, I tend to hang around the back and just listen."

"As do I, my friend...as do I." A tiny smile formed between their fangs. "I hope Lamb's wool isn't covered in earthly vermin anymore."

"It's clean as a whistle." You reassured, smiling back at them, before you two headed towards the temple.

Perhaps you'll stay here in the cult for the rest of the day. Just to spend a little more time with Shamura.

You enjoyed the company of a fellow arachnid.

[jeonqkooks]

hello, my angel! congrats on your anniversary for starters hehehehe, i love you!

for the drabbles requests, could you do:

21 and 41 - smut

or

8 and 9 - fluff

thank you 🥰

velvet cherry | jjk (m.)

pairing: jungkook x reader

prompts: "call me that again." + "lay down and stay still."

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre: exes to lovers (??), agent/spy au (idk it's pretty vague but all you need to know is that their profession is smth like this!), some fluff, some angst, definitely smut

warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of violence (gunshots, blood), mentions of death, cursing, shower sex, unprotected sex (this is fictional. don't do it irl, be smart dudes), fingering, a lil dirty talk, UNEDITED bc i'm a menace :p

word count: 5.9k

note: pauli bby!! thank you for the request hehehe. the initial idea i had for this request was different but i was watching bad and crazy (kdrama) and every time lee dong wook has an action scene i'm just sitting there in front of my laptop, full on thirsting bc 🤤🥵 and i just had to channel it into this piece!!

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Everyone is yelling, screaming. Even the force trying to shake you into consciousness practically shouting in your face. Your head feels like it’s been split into two even without all of the loud noises threatening to deafen you. Your body hurts. You’ve definitely bruised your ribs, if they aren’t already broken. Even your face, which remains unmoving, aches from the simple act of breathing.

Inhale. One, two, three…

Exhale. One, two, three…

Stay alive.

It would kind of really suck if you died right now.

Embarrassing, even.

“C’mon, c’mon, wake up! Y/N!”

Huh? You know that voice.

It feels like your eyes have been glued shut, but that voice is so familiar that your lids wrestle with weariness to get a look. It can’t be him, can it? How would he even know that you were here?

Does that mean this is heaven? Or the void, or wherever the fuck it is that people often preach about? You have never believed in an afterlife because any and all life ends after death. Your soul doesn’t enter another spiritual plane of existence; you just simply cease to exist. This has always been your stance on the matter, but now, as you listen to that voice desperately cursing out your name, you waver.

Because that’s the only way you can explain why he’s here.

Oh, so you did die?

“Y/N!”

Heaven, or the void, or wherever the fuck this is, sure is loud.

You force your eyes open despite the debilitating exhaustion eating away at you. It takes a moment for your vision to adjust to your poorly lit surroundings. From the corner of your eye, you see small fireworks erupting before their booming echoes reverberate throughout the room. The lead projectiles whiz above your head, right behind the silhouette of him hovering over you, calling for you, shielding you.

Once his face becomes your focal point, everything around you staticizes. You can’t find it in yourself to care about the screams, nor the gunshots, or even the gash in your side where a knife grazed you earlier.

Not when he’s looking at you like that. Like if you were to die, there’s not a single part of him that would hesitate to follow.

“I thought I recognized th–that voice.” You cough, feeling the cut on your lips open wider. You hadn’t noticed the metallic taste on your tongue until now. “Funny seeing you here, Jeon.”

The feeling in the pit of your stomach thickens. It could be relief, or it could be dread. The lights go out before you get a chance to decipher which one it is.

The next time you wake, you jolt upright with a gasp. 

“Ah, shit,” you instantly groan; it feels like something sharp is jabbing into your abdomen. You brush your hand over the spot to find smears of crimson on your clothes, but the wound underneath doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

Where the fuck is it now?

Your frantic eyes scan the room, expecting to find yourself still in that warehouse, hopelessly holding on for life while your teammates get killed one by one.

But you aren’t there anymore. There aren’t bodies scattered all around you nor bloodstains splattered carelessly on peeling walls. 

No, where you are smells like jasmine and fresh cotton. It’s warm and bright, and it’s filled with framed photos of a familiar dog that you once loved even more than his owner. The couch beneath you feels like a cloud carrying you through the pearly gates.

Arguably, this seems more like heaven. Or is it a twisted version hell? It feels like a stretch that someone like you could get into heaven, if there even is one.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” His voice from behind startles you into action. You spring from the couch, or more like, you clumsily jump up only to be met with white hot pain that courses through your entire left side, and fall down onto the sofa again.

“Fuck!” you hiss through gritted teeth.

He rushes over, almost dropping the mug he was holding in his hand. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Apologetic hands help you into a proper sitting position. You don’t know why or how, but it really is him.

Jeon Jungkook, what a sight for sore eyes. 

The discomfort you feel in your body takes a backseat momentarily as you stare at him and his beautiful doe eyes, shimmering with concern though it’s now much more diluted than before. He examines the stitches on your forehead and your side, it’s been a while since he’s done this.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You snap back into reality at the sound of this.

Fuck! How could it have possibly slipped your mind?

Your words come out in an uneasy rush. “Where’s Namjoon and the others?”

Jungkook stares at you, tongue in cheek, blinking in mild disbelief. Of course the first question you ask is about your team. You haven’t changed, he sees. “They’re at the hospital. They’re fine,” he says.

You close your eyes and heave a heavy sigh, visibly relaxing at his confirmation. When you turn to him again, you ask, “Where are we?”

“My apartment.”

“Why? Why am I not at the hospital with them?”

“You don’t remember?”

The confused look on your face tells him as much.

“You woke up while they were stitching you up. Nearly made a scene and everything. You kept saying you wanted to go home, but your place was trashed so I… brought you here.”

You wonder if you had actually demanded to be brought to his place specifically, after seeing him when you were so delirious before. You wonder if he’s just sparing you the embarrassment. “Oh,” you say simply, glancing around the room. You haven’t been here in a long time, but most of the things here are still the same.

“You haven’t answered my question. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

You shrug, ignoring the throbbing pain that has dulled into a perpetual pinch in your side. “Of course I’m okay. Still alive and kicking.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow just the slightest. “You almost died tonight.”

“But I didn’t die, did I?”

“Why are you acting like it’s no big deal?”

Nostalgia washes over you in waves. You’ve had the same conversation a million times before.

“Because it isn’t that big a deal,” you say, feeling the urge to coat your words in a thick layer of bravery. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better? You could’ve died!”

“What is up your ass?” you ask jokingly, but it doesn’t sound right even to your ears. “You keep pushing it like you wanted me to die.”

Jungkook stares at you blankly, but you can tell that he’s agitated by your flippant attitude. You regret the words the very second you said them.

“That’s not funny,” he says, his voice strained.

Slightly ashamed, you look down at your hands and fiddle with your grimy fingers. “Y–yeah, I’m sorry. That was… too far.”

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you watch him grit his teeth and attempt to exhale a steady breath. It comes out a little shaky, a sign of his frustration. He takes a few minutes to calm his nerves while you sit there in silence, not usually tongue tied around him but even you know that what you just told him was pretty fucked up. 

Finally, Jungkook says, “Get some rest. You had a long day.” He goes to help you up without you asking, still so considerate even when he’s trying to not be angry at you, but that’s not what you need right now.

“Can I take a shower first?” you ask.

“You just got your stitches a couple hours ago. You can shower in the morning.”

“I know. It’s… I’m covered in blood and dirt. I’d really like to wash it off.”

He looks at you as he considers it. This isn’t Jungkook’s first rodeo either. He had to deal with you countless times like this, when you’re freshly wounded but you don’t seem to give a damn about doing things that might hurt you even more.

“Suit yourself. You know where the bathroom is.”

You mutter a thanks as you let him pull you up from the cloud that he calls a couch. You could feel his eyes on you as you wobble to your desired destination, but even the short distance between his living room and bathroom proves to be a whole trek in your current condition. You’re surprised that you even made it to the hall when your legs finally gave out on you. You brace yourself against the wall, but one of Jungkook’s strong arms is already wrapped around your waist, steadying you before you could collapse.

“You should get some sleep. You can barely walk,” he urges gently.

“I feel like shit, Jeon,” you tell him. “I won’t be able to get any rest like this.”

“Y/N–”

“We both know you’re not talking me out of it. You can choose if you’re gonna help me or not, though.”

“You want me to help you… shower?”

“Will you?”

He won’t, you’re sure of this. Jungkook isn’t teasing or frivolous as you are. He doesn’t go around testing people’s patience like you do. The relationship didn’t end on bad terms, and you think he has deliberately kept it that way because you have to see each other at work so often, even though you’re assigned to different teams. You want to keep things light, to joke around with him, to essentially still be you and him minus the romance but Jungkook keeps you at arm’s length. And if you’re honest, you can’t blame him for that. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck sometimes; you used to love him after all.

He looks pensive for a moment, and you don’t know why he’s even pretending to consider it when he’ll just say no anyway. You’re prepared for him to reject you and leave you to your own devices, but then–

“Fine,” Jungkook says, voice flat, eyes blank. “C’mon, I’ll help you.” It surprises you into complete stillness, wondering if the doctors and nurses fucked up when they were stitching up your head. The man in front of you raises an eyebrow when you don’t respond to him, as if he’s challenging you, which staggers you even more because he usually doesn’t entertain your outrageous ideas like this. Especially not after you parted ways.

You blink a couple of times and find your voice from where it’s stuck to the back of your throat. “Okay then. Lead the way.”

Jungkook guides you down the hall and into the bathroom. You think he’s just baiting you, challenging you back to see if you would actually be okay with hopping into the shower with your ex because even though it isn’t that scandalous of an idea to you, it is to Jungkook. You expect him to back out any second now, but once you’re standing under the warm white light of his bathroom, he asks if he could take off your clothes.

Have you underestimated him?

You nod your head, eyeing him with a smug smile tugging at the corner of your lips and a barely-there layer of underlying nervousness. His face gives nothing away. So you two are really going to do this, huh?

Jungkook peels off your bloodied shirt, careful not to let his fingers brush against your skin though they will have to in just a few minutes. He averts his gaze as he helps you step out of your clothes until you’re completely bare.

You mistake his reluctant eye contact for shyness. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” you joke.

True.

But no, that’s not the reason why he refuses to look at you.

He hated seeing you in pain, covered in bruises and cuts. It’s why the two of you broke up. You were too stubborn to quit, and he couldn’t stand watching you treat yourself like mere collateral damage, as long as you get the job done.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t take care of yourself. In a lot of ways, you’re far more capable and skilled than he is. But sometimes you can be reckless, a little too hot headed for your own good, a little too heedless of your own safety than he can handle. 

He loved that you were remarkable at what you do; it’s what drew him to you in the first place. When you used to spar together, at the beginning of your relationship, he loved that you could kick his ass so easily. Sometimes, even on his best days, he was still no match for you.

But what’s the point in dwelling? None of that matters anymore.

Jungkook takes off his own clothes then, and you resist the urge to focus on his body too much. He’s gotten even more muscular than the last time you got to see him naked. Hard pecs that are practically popping in your face, solid abs that demand to be touched… Well, this is going to be… interesting.

He tests the water first before he lets you go in. When you finally do, you sigh as the warm water rains down on your skin, enveloping you in a liquified blanket of comfort. You’re trying not to let your eyes wander, you really are.

You hum happily when he smooths the shampoo over your hair. As his fingers massage your scalp gently, a soft moan escapes your throat. The sound travels straight to his groin, making him stiffen just a little bit and poke into your thigh. You bite your bottom lip to suppress a giggle but Jungkook just clears his throat awkwardly. Getting a boner feels inappropriate in a moment like this, when you’re his ex and you had nearly died earlier tonight.

But he isn’t responsible for the way his body chooses to react, not really. You’re showering together, for fuck’s sake. Though to be fair, he has no one to blame but himself for this irrational decision.

When he lathers you up with his body wash, you decide to do it again, just to tease him. As his hands start kneading one of your breasts, you let out a slightly exaggerated moan.

He knows you’re doing it on purpose, but his dick is stupid and it hardens regardless. “Quit it,” Jungkook says.

“Quit what?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him coquettishly. You put a hand on his chest, then trails it lower to graze his defined abs. “You look like you’re enjoying it, no?”

He doesn’t answer you, choosing to focus on his task of washing you instead, as if ignoring you will make you stop whatever it is you’re doing.

You trace your fingers along his V-line until you wrap your hand around him, making him hiss as you touch him. You give him a few lazy pumps until his member is standing tall and proud, just for you.

“Y/N…” Jungkook grits his teeth and swallows thickly. The steam is suffocating him. You are suffocating him.

“You can tell me if you don’t want it.” You tilt your head up, letting your face inch closer to his until your breath fans his lips. You feel him grip your waist – an act of restraint – then quickly loosen his hands around your body as if he suddenly remembered that you’re still battered up. You brush your lips against his, just testing him. You both know a kiss would be so much more intimate than what you’re doing to him down there.

He parts his lips slightly, the temptation is getting too strong to resist. You cloud his judgment the same way the hot water encloses the room in a mystifying haze. He presses forward to capture your lips, only to feel himself completely melt against you in an instant. 

You taste like longing, like regret. Something like a needle pierces right through his heart when you give him a needy sigh, muffled by his own lips. 

He knows he shouldn’t do this, but is it a mistake? Even if it is a mistake, he can’t find it in himself to stop, now that it has already started. You’re still as alluring and captivating as ever, and he’s still the same Jungkook who always fell to his knees for you.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

“Y–you’re hurt,” Jungkook rasps. Is that the only reason? There’s no conviction behind his words and he knows you know it. If he was really against this, then he would’ve stopped you already.

“Please.” Your voice is different, desperate, when you say this. He can’t tell if you’re crying or not because of the water still glistening on your face, but it doesn’t matter. When your hand guides one of his between your legs, he squeezes his eyes shut, searching inward for that last bit of self-control that’s nowhere to be found right now. You’re so fucking slick, and as his middle finger slides through your sodden folds to find your entrance, your head falls upon his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, barely audible to you over the sound of running water. You’re hurt. He knows he should stop, but he can’t. His thumb finds your clit in no time, and nudges it the way he remembers you liked. You choke on an exhale, now grinding against his hand and gripping his biceps to keep yourself upright. He rubs you leisurely as the water cascades down your bodies. A part of him thinks he’s twisted for enjoying the quiet whimpers you let out.

“Are you sure?” he asks, both hoping for and dreading the answer you might give him.

“Yes,” you confirm. You press his hand harder against your core, as if you’re begging him to pleasure you. “Make me feel better.”

Jungkook slides two digits into you before he slants his mouth over yours, swallowing the moan that you instantly keen out. You’re wet enough that his fingers can drive in and out of you without much mercy from the get-go. He buries them in you until he’s knuckles deep, scissoring you open how he always did to prepare you for his cock.

“Fuck, Jeon,” you purr, rolling your hips to meet the thrusts of his hand. “That’s good.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, finding that spot inside of you that never fails to make your legs shake. His strong arm holds you flush against his body as he relentlessly fingers you, absolutely loving the way your juices run down the back of his hand. There’s a sense of arrogance in the way he fucks you, even though he was hesitant about it just moments ago. The quivering moans that you grace him with are fucking addicting. At least for now, he has you. Standing in his shower, begging him for release, whispering in his ear things that he hasn’t realized how much he’s missed hearing until this very second.

His fingers ram into you until your inner walls are pulsing around him and your voice hitches beautifully. “Fuck!” you cry, holding onto him as the high crashes down on you, sending shockwaves throughout your entire body. You grind down on his hand, wanting so desperately to prolong the pleasure like you’re afraid he’ll take it away from you. Jungkook would never dream of giving you anything less than what you deserve, so he maintains the momentum of his thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm even when you clench so tightly around his digits that it becomes more difficult to move. He helps you through it until your breath no longer comes out in heavy pants, until the only stars you see are the ones in his eyes.

As he withdraws his fingers, you give him a chaste kiss as if to say thank you. He doesn’t expect anything more; it’s enough that he could give you a helping hand in your time of need, make you forget about everything even if it was only for a little while.

But then you’re deepening the kiss, one hand tugging on his hair as the other finds his hard cock again. He groans against your mouth, torn between asking you to keep going and letting you stop. “You don’t have to…” he mutters, placing a hand over yours.

“I want more,” you say breathily, but somehow it sounds almost demanding. “I want you.”

He stares at you with uncertainty in his eyes. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

Your answer comes in the form of a squeeze around his length, making his eyes flutter briefly as he rests his forehead against yours. “I can always take you.”

You watch Jungkook clench his jaw before he crashes his lips onto yours, promptly slipping his tongue into your mouth to draw the neediest of moans from you just by his kiss alone. He lifts you up by the back of your thighs and cages you between the wall and his chest. Your legs wrap around his waist as he presses his body against yours, slowly grinding his cock against your throbbing heat. You whimper when his tip nudges your sensitive clit.

“I need you,” you cry out, rutting against him desperately. He hears it then – the vulnerability in your voice that you try to mask with desire – and that’s when he thinks he gets it. You’re shaken.

You were scared tonight. That’s not something that happens very often.

He was scared too. He nearly lost his mind when he heard the news that your team was ambushed. You should’ve seen his frantic state when he raced to the scene, heart speeding a thousand miles an hour at the mere thought of something happening to you. He prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that you’d be okay, that the phone call he received minutes prior was just a sick prank someone was playing on him.

“I’ve got you,” Jungkook says, diving in to kiss you again. There’s a lot more to those words than either one of you would like to admit.

You both sigh when he pushes in, and although it’s been a long while since your bodies knew one another like this, there’s barely any resistance. He fits perfectly  like you were made for each other. He’s bigger than you remember, already feeling so good inside of you that you think you could come with just a few thrusts. Instead of moving, he stays there like he wants to memorize the feeling of you, so warm around him and so inviting. 

He was always the sentimental one.

“Move,” you whine, still bossy in a moment like this. He chuckles against your mouth before trailing his lips tantalizingly slowly across your jawline and down your neck to your breasts, where he sucks on your skin harshly, marking you. His hips pull back, making you moan from the delicious glide of him along your slickened walls, before they snap forward and set a pace that has your eyes rolling backward.

“Shit, nghhh…”

It’s like no time has passed at all. Jungkook still remembers everything you like, still knows your body like the back of his hand. You feel like you’re practically transcending the limits of space and time with every thrust of his hips and every motion of his mouth. The rough way that his fingers dig into your thighs to hold you up makes it so much more heightened as his lips wrap around one of your breasts, sucking it harshly into his mouth, his tongue laving at your hardened nipple. Now that you’re finally experiencing this again, you don’t know how you could go two whole years without it.

Every part of you misses him.

No one knows how to please you like he does.

“So fucking good…” Jungkook grunts, flicking your nipple with the wet muscle of his mouth. You arch your tits further into him as moans of unfiltered pleasure fall from you. Even as he fucks you into oblivion, he’s still mindful of your injuries. Strong hands kneading your skin roughly but softening when they brush over your bruised spots.

He tries not to pay much attention to your battle scars, but how could he not? He feels them under his fingertips everywhere they go. Some are from before you met him, some from after. Some he doesn’t recognize because you must have acquired them during your time apart. He always hated them. You used to tell him that you wore your scars proudly, that they are proof that you survived every horrible thing you’ve had to face.

That’s certainly one way of looking at it, but Jungkook hated them then and he hates them now. Not because he thought they made you ugly – no, nothing could make him see you as anything less than the most beautiful person he has ever laid his eyes upon – but because they remind him of all the times that you have had to suffer. They made him feel unworthy of you, for not being there to keep you safe.

But not like you would have let him anyway.

“Ah, fuck, Koo…”

His hips stutter in surprise. He’s not sure if you did it on purpose, or if it just slipped out in the heat of the moment.

“Call me that again,” Jungkook tells you. It doesn’t matter that the simple nickname brings up feelings he’s been trying so hard to suppress. It doesn’t matter that those feelings are damn close to spilling over the confines of his wretched little heart, that it will fucking hurt later when you leave He just needs to hear you say it again.

“Koo, fuck! Right there, keep doing that…”

He tears his mouth away from your chest to come up and chase your lips. His tongue slips inside to dance with yours, so much more intimate than it is dirty that it makes you dizzy beyond nostalgia. In a split second of weakness, it makes your heart want to be his once more. His thrusts are now even faster than before, harder and more calculated.

He pulls back enough to look at you and takes in the blissed look on your face, how your lips part when he hits your g-spot just right.  “Y/N, I…”

“I know,” you whimper, your nails digging into his back and leaving angry red trails in their wake as they drag downward. “I’m close too.”

That’s not what he was going to say. Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re too fucked out to notice it.

“C’mon, I’ve got you,” Jungkook resorts to saying. He keeps up the rhythm of his hips, determined to give you what you want the most. He’s pounding into you so impossibly deep that you can feel him in your guts, each thrust making the base of his cock grind against your aching clit. It feels so fucking good, you can’t even see straight anymore. His hand is unknowingly digging into a bruise on your leg but the pleasure is too overwhelming that you’ve stopped caring about the discomfort. This is exactly how you wanted him to fuck you – hard enough to make you forget the pain.

It hits you even harder than before. You cum with a cry of his name as your toes curl and your body shakes in his hold, stars exploding behind your eyelids when the orgasm wracks through you like an earthquake. Jungkook’s hips never cease their movements, fucking into you until you find enough strength to squeeze your walls around him and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss. He unravels then, filling you up endlessly with his warmth that you’re sure you’ll feel for days.

You stay like that for a while, just holding each other, until he softens inside of you and you feel your releases drip down your thighs and onto the floor. The water promptly washes away the remnants of your heated session. When he slips out and helps you to your feet, you want to chase it instantly – the feeling of him, with you, where he’s supposed to be.

You aren’t fully present for everything that happens afterward. As Jungkook dries you off and dresses you, he feels something tug on his heart at the sight of you in his clothes. Your tired face and the way you lean into him, trusting him to keep you steady as he prepares you for bed. Trusting him to keep you safe, to protect you.

He can’t help it.

He tilts your head up by your chin and kisses you softly. Slow. His lips are gentle, but he’s sure of himself. This isn’t the first kiss you’ve shared tonight, but in many ways, it is.

When Jungkook pulls away, he doesn’t say anything. No excuses or explanations on why he chose to do it when the lust has waned and the moment is no longer heated enough to muddle his mind. You don’t ask for anything either; you just let him lead you into his bedroom. That doesn’t mean that you don’t want him to just tell you anyway.

He tucks you into his bed as if you’re a child. When he’s sure that you’re comfortable enough, he turns to leave.

You protest immediately. “Where are you going?”

“To the couch,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You sit up in order to push yourself from the bed, erasing his previous effort of tucking you in. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch in your own home.”

“Lay down and stay still,” Jungkook sighs before pushing you back onto the mattress again. “If I stay here with you, will you please sleep in the bed?”

You purse your lips, considering this for a moment before you compromise. “Yes.”

He turns off all the lights and makes his way to the other side of the bed, getting under the covers with you. You’re disappointed when he puts a little distance between your bodies. It’s not that you expected anything to come from your brief reunion, but your heart sinks regardless. Surely, sleeping in the same bed as your ex can’t be worse than having sex with him? You’ve already done the latter, but somehow this feels so much more intimidating.

You do what you do best when you don’t want to deal with your more difficult feelings – crack lame jokes and hope they’re enough to diffuse the tension. “Why are you so stiff? Scared that I’ll fuck you? Already did that, Jeon.”

Jungkook throws you a humorless chuckle. “Was that your plan all along? To seduce me?”

“It just happened,” you say. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted it before y’know… you popped a boner.”

If the silence in the room was a little bit louder, then you could probably hear the way he pauses halfway through a breath. He doesn’t entertain you for much longer, even though it feels like he’s got something on his mind.

He doesn’t ask what this means for the two of you, if it even meant anything. What’s the point in trying if the outcome is the same? His stance on the matter hasn’t changed at all. After what happened to you tonight, it just fueled him even more. He won’t deny that his feelings for you are still there, because he’d be the first to admit that they never went away to begin with. Jungkook would try, he would try for you a million times over, but in the end, where would that lead to if you wouldn’t even try for yourself? You’ll just keep breaking his heart day in and day out, over and over again if this recklessness of yours persists.

“Go to sleep, Y/N,” he says tiredly.

You bite your lip, disheartened that he’s shutting you out again, even though he has every right to. “Okay,” you mumble.

Despite the exhaustion submerging you like a tidal wave, you can’t find rest. You were conscious for barely half a minute when Jungkook found you in that abandoned warehouse, but you could hear the panic in his voice as he tried to shake you awake. He never had to find you like that before. When you were still together, every time you got hurt, you never let anyone call him until after your wounds had already been stitched up, until you were sure that you were good enough to crack a joke once he’d rushed to the hospital.

Tonight was the first time he saw you on death’s door. You didn’t know if he even cared anymore. You were scared to think that he didn’t.

But then you heard that voice of his, and you opened your eyes just long enough to see the tears fill his eyes. You were so out of it that you thought maybe, just maybe, there was a piece of his heart that still felt something for you. Something beyond just concern for an ex lover.

You don’t know how much time has passed, with you lying there staring into darkness. “Jeon, are you asleep?” you ask quietly, only to be met with silence from his side. Nothing but his steady breathing. You want him to be awake to hear you say it, though you’re not sure how you want him to react to it. The past 2 years have been hard. Your own guilt chews you up and spits you out every single day. The breakup was your fault, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just Jungkook who repeatedly expressed concerns for your safety. Your parents never wanted you to go into this line of work in the first place.

You were too selfish to really consider anyone but yourself. You and Jungkook both do the same thing – you go out and risk your lives every day. But back then, you didn’t understand why you should be the one to stop. Why not him? Why just you?

The difference between the two of you is clear as day. Jungkook knows when to stop, and you don’t. He wanted to be able to make it back home to you more than he wanted to catch a bad guy. He put you first. He put the people who loved him first.

“I think I’m going to quit.”

Your chest feels so much lighter as soon as the words leave your mouth. Something evaporates from within you, a burden that’s finally been lifted, and that’s how you know it’s the right decision. You aren’t doing it just for everyone who loves you but is terrified for your life all the time. You aren’t doing it just for Jungkook. You’re doing it for yourself too.

Peace finally finds you then, as though it’s been waiting for you this entire time.

You don’t mind that Jungkook is already asleep. You said it, and admitting to yourself that maybe it’s time to stop, is good enough. Having that conversation with him in the morning won’t be late. You’re already halfway to dreamland when you feel him right behind you, enveloping you in a warmth that’s so distinctly Jungkook. He carefully wraps an arm around you and pulls you close to his chest, close enough that it feels like his heart is beating right into yours. He sighs, like he’s wholly relieved too.

You can’t discern what he says next, but you can feel the kiss he presses against your hair.

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 11.01.23]

[whiteskullofroses]

STAR OF JERUSALEM

Baldwin Iv x Reader

🕯️Imagine you're a theatre star touring the world. Once you perform on the Holy Land, The king notices your talent and wishes to get to know you.🕯️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"AND ONE AND TWO AND THREE AND Y/N GO!"

And you went. Stepping on the red X drawn upon the stage. Your joyful and youthful face turning into a straight and emotionless one.

"Esto quod es, ex animo, ex Luna."

The scene looked absolutely mesmerising. On the huge wooden floor sat a man-made moon in the phase of waning crescent. Behind you swung stars, the hot weather of Jerusalem making them shimmer and shine as though they were a sheet of a book kissed by candle light.

"Esse est percipi." Clapping sharply and reaching for one of the stars: "ad altiora tendo." Throwing the star on the ground, having it dramatically break apart: "ad astra."

Swirling in your own little world as the strings played a gentle, heart touching melody on the command of the harpist's fingertips.

"Luceo non uro." You sang, breathing steadily and stopping on the centre of the stage again: "nec spe" the music picked up the pace, you dropped to you knees: "nec metu."

"BEAUTIFUL Y/N! BEAUTIFUL!"

You inhaled deeply, for this night wasn't like no other. Rumors roaming around like a vampire at night, that his majesty, Baldwin the fourth will be joining the hopeful crowd of people who share a passion for ancient poetry combined with dread that comes with being alive and wanting it acted out infront of them.

Such news excited you madly, wanting to do the best of the best you practiced day and night for this magical show which will appear before everyone's eyes tonight.

You were incredibly lucky to have God bless you with the talent of being such a delicate preformer. The bigger the crowd, the better. The more eyes were glued to you the smoother words ran out of your mouth.

'What a lovely feeling it is, to be loved.' you thought, not only today but often as you've seen all of Europe, have met hundreds of impressionable people of whom you only heard in fairytales as a lowborn child. Them preaching what a fine show you've put on behind the stage curtains after every show made you feel like a flawless angel with bright wings and the purest soul.

The Holy Spirit inside you was preaching that showing off your skill to who some call 'the messenger of God', or simply the ruler of the Holy Land, should be your top priority. You always listened to it, as a personal belief of yours was that It was in fact God speaking to you through it. So what other choice could you have?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heavy clouds casted upon the wide stadium. Whispers of wonder were dominated by laughter of those already tipsy ones. These kinds of special events that to foreigners often seemed formal, were in all reality a party for all kinds. Those who wished to drink through the show were allowed without any restrictions, yet those who listened and watched you, were rather intoxicated with words that cut deep.

And so it is. The Greek harpist began strumming a century old melody called: 'Stella iuxta Lunam'. The crowd went silent like birds during a storm. Curtains coloured dark blue opened, presenting a beautiful young woman in a black dress with pearls in her hair. That woman was you.

The people of Jerusalem weren't used to a woman showing her hair, not only because of how religious the people were, but also because of the hot weather. Many people would suffer heat strokes and terrible migraines without them.

As you sang in Latin, the clouds cried down on the Earth. Soft tapping mother nature provided with the downpour gave out a great additional scene.

"Ad astra..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Folks cheered, threw roses and whistled in your honor over and over again. The rain had long before stopped allowing the stars to shine up in the skies.

Bowing and sending kisses to the sea of people, you left the stage.

Sighing and letting your hair down. Just as you were about to go drink some water, you heard an unfamiliar voice speak your name.

"Yes?" Breathing out and turning towards the one standing behind you.

As soon as you saw his metal mask you quickly added: "Your majesty."

Straightening up and giving your hair a quick fix, he started: "I greatly apologize for interrupting you while on break."

Sitting down on a chair, breathing heavily.

He was so sick. It broke your heart, poor twenty year old couldn't even walk a couple of meters without almost passing out.

"However" he continued: "I must say I'm a great fan of your work."

Taken back from the fact that the King of Jerusalem himself came to see you perform despite his state: "I'm truly honored, your majesty-"

"Baldwin." Interrupting you. Noticing your surprised expression he chuckled.

"Alright, Baldwin. Thank you for coming to see me tonight." It wasn't unusually for you to have people of power view you as one of them. After all you made good money and were loved to death by whole of Europe.

"I'm really proud of how far you've come." Baldwin was showering you in compliments and all you could do was redden in the cheeks and grin.

After a while he pondered: "How long are you staying here, Y/N? Tilting his head to you, who was now sitting opposite to him.

"Three days."

Baldwin leaned forward: "Do you play chess?"

You did. And you were bloody good at it too.

"Join me tomorrow for a round then." Standing up and taking one last look at you: "when the Sun goes down."

THE END.

[tiredrxtz]

New beginnings: down with the sinners [Part 1/3]

T’was a dreary night when two stars destined apart finally aligned, their shine— blinding yet enrapturing —seen throughout both heaven and hell alike; a symbol that shattered through Japans history.

This was, without a doubt, the recreation of two beings that died two very different deaths on the same hour but on two very different days...

It was so dreadfully boring being kept in the depths of a citadel dungeon in the middle of the forest, hanging from the wall by nothing but chained wrists. There was no telling what time of day it was; days could’ve turned into nights and Fyodor wouldn’t have know.

However, despite being conducted to such torture methods, Fyodor did not yield nor did he give into the aching sensation that settled within his body— a silent plea that forged many to confess their crimes.

Yet he was no criminal, in fact he was a traitor— that’s what he was deemed to be. On the orders of Count Bram Stocker, he was played for a fool; he had been charged (mostly under suspicion) for trespassing into forbidden land and being a spy from a neighboring land.

What a joke. Like he’d allow some useless king to have the upper hand over him...

Being a prisoner held at capture for such heinous things did prove to be quite the bore. There was nothing to do but stand around and listen to the conversations of the guards that often switched places between dusk and dawn. Everyday was practically the same; but today was rather different and Fyodor appreciated the change...

“The Count want this criminal at mid city?” One of the knights abrupt disbelief echoed through the small underground chamber. Fyodor’s eyes gleamed a sinful crimson at the sudden news— today will prove to be a spectacle indeed.

Unlike all those fantasy books that scribed the tale of criminals being killed while in transportation portraying a fake reasoning, Fyodor’s journey to the city centre was rather peaceful— the guards left him alone and he had the chance to gaze into the evening skies once more.

That alone meant that something important was to occurs and he was summoned to witness the deed on purpose— on an order perhaps?

There were thousands, if not, millions of people gathered around the spectacle housed in the centre when Fyodor was forced to his knees next to the vampire that captured him. The people didn’t pay heed towards his figure and yet instead continued their chanting of��

“Down with the sinner, long live the lord!”

As much as Fyodor liked the ideology of being gods messenger, he truly wondered if the beings inhabiting earth were even human; the violent verdicts conducted on those who wronged the rules were nothing a human would recommend but be such things a demon would spew.

Reality was a confusing spectrum that not even he understood but there was one thing that settled in his mind at the end of the day: Sinners must die and the lord must live— and being the messenger of the Devine meant becoming a sinner to unravel the blade of divinity...

“Proceed with the onslaught.” Bram commanded lowly, his piercing crimson gaze never strayed far from the sight before him.

Eyes boring into the crowd, Fyodor could just about make a discrete vision of a silhouette perched upon a stage, their hands restrained to the pole that loomed above them; it was a girl...

The female didn’t seem much older than he was, perhaps she was even younger; She stood unaffected by the common people’s discrimination and simply gazed at the wooden surface below her own feet.

Ah, an execution.

”With being charged several times with the allegation of witchcraft, today, Y/n L/n shall no longer take her final stand against humanity and instead will be purified by the flames of god!” A man preached from beside the young girl, holding a flaming torch to the people in accomplishment, earning cheers of joy from the crowd.

what a pity.

Fyodor expected the girl to plead for mercy before the executioner like most did when put on similar trials of death, but... she did nothing at all...

For the first time in his life, Fyodor wished to know what was going on in somebody else’s head— he wanted to know everything that played before her in her mind as the man dropped the source of fire onto the stack of hay surrounding her.

he...wanted to know her name...

“A pity, really.” Bram spoke sternly yet not directly towards the crown or his guards, this was directed towards him.

“May I ask what it is that you find so pitiful?”

“You humans taking another’s life just because somebody pointed a finger—what kind of humans are you if all you do is play follow the leader?”

“sometimes people need someone else to take their blame, it’s a natural way of life. Humans cannot feel nothing more than humanity if they do not commit a sinners act.”

The Count did not dare speak after that but Fyodor could feel his piercing gaze on him as he sat motionless on the ground, peering at the burning corpse of the young girl.

The beige maiden dress cascading her figure was burnt from the waist down as the flames grew higher and higher. For the first time, Fyodor met her [e/c] eyes head on.

They were just like his own; blank yet held an abyss stronger than hell itself...

The guards surrounding the Count and himself gaped in disbelief and horror, as did the crowd, when the girl being burnt to death before their very own eyes managed to remove a single hand from the restraints and reach outwards.

Fyodor couldn’t compel himself to gaze away. Her hand was covered in the soot of the flaming ashes spewing into the atmosphere but that didn’t seem to stop her from cradling the air as if it were a face.

“....A human born to be different from the rest; a wondering soul that carried humanity to its end...”

From there on out, Fyodor couldn’t help but visualize that very girls death over and over again in his mind. Even when he was escorted back to the dungeon, those fake flames of god burned at the pure self hidden away deep within him, leaving the impure counterpart behind...

The sinner he had been made to act as was no fake facade, he was a sinner born through both spirit and soul....

T’was a night so dreary when Fyodor was impaled by a spear, a death recommended by the Count Bram Stocker himself.

A suitable way to rid the world of his sinful body.

What had made history was never seen again because, after both dreadful nights, the two stars that shone hand in hand, despite being destined apart, vanished and never shone again...

That left the sky devoid of purity, leaving nothing but a vulnerable canvas of evil...

[heliads]

Hello Could i request Genya x Fem!Reader where Y/N is Nikolai's little sister and just about Genya's age so they used to play together a lot when they were little. Since Y/N was from the royal family she had little to no freedom and 0 opportunity to make friends, so Genya was her only one and they grew up together. I just picture her sneaking into Genya's room and climbing into her bed when she had a nightmare because the queen didn't like her sleep being disturbed and Genya braiding her hair until she calms down. Nnow that they're older, they're slowly learning that this friendship could be something more. Just a very soft childhood bestfriends to lovers, you know? Thank you anyway

'my home is you' - genya safin

masterlist

A lot is expected of the princess of Ravka. She must sit straight in every assembly, no matter how long or tedious the function. She must be able to converse with foreign dignities without seeming too exuberant or, worse still, not interested enough in many hours’ worth of old war stories. She must connect with her people, but still float above each and every crowd. And, most pressingly of all, she must be able to learn a hundred state secrets and then abstain from the urge to immediately gossip about them with her oldest friend. Especially if that friend is a Tailor and a lady’s maid to boot.

Genya Safin sits across the small round table from you, fingers idly tapping on the creamy tablecloth. In front of her rests a teacup, mostly untouched. Neither of you are here for the tea itself, more the information that comes with each and every delicate china cup. In the process of growing up and into your role as the darling princess of Ravka, you’ve been doing your best to maintain decorum. It would be wrong to immediately spill your true feelings on the latest round of political appointees to Genya. It would also be exactly what you want to do.

You take a sip from the cup in front of you as a way to buy yourself time. You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when you invited Genya over to your quarters for tea, but you’d like to at least try to hold out for as long as possible. You can do this. You don’t have to tell your best friend everything.

“Nice weather we’re having,” you muse.

Genya arches a brow. “Indeed. It was also nice out last night at the diplomat’s ball, was it not?”

“It was,” you state, eyeing her cautiously.

The corners of Genya’s mouth flash up into a barely obscured smile. “You looked lovely that night. Have you captured the hearts of any more suitors?”

You feel your cheeks heat up and look away, eyeing the pattern woven into the tablecloth even more thoroughly than before. Every girl blushes to discuss potential suitors with her friends, but for some reason, discussing the men and women that you may marry feels even more embarrassing in front of Genya. 

Although you love talking over anything and everything with the redhead, there’s something about your marriage prospects that feels almost wrong to bring up in front of her. You want to guard her from it, almost, pretend as if you’ll never have to be married off even though both of you know it’s only a matter of time. You’re a princess, and at some point, you may even be queen. Although your two older brothers will likely fight amongst themselves for that title far before you could ever claim it, you’ll still have plenty of merit as a political pawn.

So, when it becomes clear that Genya is still waiting for an answer, you sigh and give in. “Yes, Genya, I danced with several young men. Charming, all of them.”

Genya gives you a knowing look. “Really? All of them were charming?”

The teasing lilt of her voice brings down the last of your walls in one final tug. “No,” you admit in a rush, “They were terrible, Gen. Like you wouldn’t believe. The first one stepped on my feet five times in one waltz. Another wouldn’t stop preaching the virtues of Kerch beer, as if I’d ever willingly drink anything other than kvas or champagne. And the last one–”

You break off into a shudder. Genya leans forward, evidently delighted. “What did he do to be worse than the others? Did he actively declare war on Ravka?”

“Worse,” you grimace, “He said his sister was prettier than I was and offered to put me in touch with her so she could give me some beauty tips.”

Genya’s jaw drops. “No way. He couldn’t possibly have done such a thing.”

“He did,” you declare, still horrified over the memory even though it happened many hours ago, “I mean, it’s already a terrible faux pas to say someone isn’t pretty, but to say that his sister was better– There’s so many problems there, Genya. So many.”

“So many,” Genya agrees, laughing. “Oh, that’s horrific. You poor thing.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” you say crossly, “I have been suffering. And yes, I am quite aware that it sounds foolish to complain of being the belle of a ball, but I was deeply unhappy the whole time.”

Genya smiles again, just barely managing to suppress her laughter. “I’m not making fun of you, darling, you know I could never do that. I just think it’s funny that you’re hung up on some boy who’s that blind. I couldn’t fathom looking at you and not being blown away. You’ve always been pretty to me.”

“Because of your handiwork?” You ask, one brow raised.

Genya shakes her head definitively. “A little bit, maybe, I shan’t deny my talents, but not completely. You’re a lovely, lovely girl. Even when you’re gossiping about political matters that you had better keep to yourself.”

You poke her in the arm. “You can’t chide me for gossiping, Genya, when you’ve been practically dragging the information out of me. You’re a terrible influence.”

She grins broadly. “Don’t I know it? And don’t give me that look, Y/N, I think you need my terrible influence. It makes you well-rounded if you’re both angelic and terrible.”

You laugh quietly to yourself. “Well, I appreciate your efforts. I’m sure the suitors will be glad of it.”

Genya’s smile slips slightly. “Yes, of course. The suitors.”

For some reason, the look on her face makes your stomach twist in an infinity of knots, so you quickly change the subject in an effort to see her smile at least one more time. “So you’ve been at this from the very start, huh? Even when we were children, your end goal was always to improve my character?”

“Always,” Genya snorts, “But maybe I just wanted a friend.”

“That too,” you smile softly. 

You’ve known Genya for a very long time indeed. Talking about the early days now brings back a rush of memories. You were just a little girl when Genya was brought to the palace, and you got along with her instantly. Both of you were about the same age, and although you were quiet around each other at first, it didn’t take long before you were the best of friends.

The Grand Palace of Os Alta wasn’t the friendliest place for a girl to grow up, especially not when you were under the influence of so much political pressure. For once, though, you didn’t spend endless cold winters walking by yourself through the empty halls. Genya was there, and Genya swore that you would never be alone again. From what you’ve seen, she intends to keep that promise for as long as you both may live.

Your parents were always busy with their lives as royals, so you didn’t see much of them. Your older brother Vasily was difficult, less pleasant to be around than not, so you avoided him as much as you could. Nikolai was much better, but he was gone before you knew it, off to the army and university. He was genuinely sorry to leave you, but he left anyway. Genya never left.

You have many, many memories of waking up in the cold darkness of your room, desperately alone and in need of company after a bad dream. You had tried to wake up the queen when you couldn’t sleep once and only once; your knuckles still smart from the memory of that mistake. Instead, on nights like those, you’d sneak into Genya’s room. She’d pull you under the covers so she could braid your hair with neat, skillful fingers, or you would talk quietly until both of you fell asleep.

There had been lovely days when the two of you explored the castle grounds, finding secret rooms or deserted corridors. After you were taught ballroom dance by the prickly dance master your parents employed, you dragged Genya out to one of the many ballrooms so the two of you could waltz around the empty space, twirling until you were dizzy and fell down, laughing, to the ground.

And then you had blinked and both of you were older, almost adults and expected to make your way in the world. Genya is still a constant in your life, but she’s different somehow. She’s more than a friend, but not quite a sister, something more. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, even when presented with the most dashing of princes.

It’s a feeling that keeps repeating itself, over and over again when you least expect it. You try to push it from your mind, but then Genya does her hair differently and your heart won’t stop stumbling over itself. There is a lot demanded from you as princess, but when you’re with Genya, every stress is banished from your mind. All you can do is think about her, how to make her happy, how to chase each and every one of her smiles like seeing even one more will make you live forever.

This is wrong. You know who you are and what is expected of you, your future. The king and queen will pick out a noble or royal and you’ll marry them. Odds are, they won’t even be from Ravka, and you’ll disappear from your home forever to end up on strange lands, cursed to forever wander the halls of a palace that will always be unfamiliar to you. You’ll go to sleep with a stranger by your side, and when you close your eyes at last, you’ll dream of a girl with hair like burnished copper who used to know you better than anyone else, who you’ll never see again.

The future is terrifying, so you ignore it as best you can. No marriage proposals have been finalized, so you don’t have to think about them. Why should you, in fact, when Genya is here to tease you about your speeches at upcoming political banquets and endlessly dream up new ways to style your hair so she can stay close to you for as long as possible. You don’t have to think about anything else but her. You don’t need anyone else but her.

The thoughts feel as if they might consume you whole. You’ve started sleeping less and less, because whenever you dream, your mind torments you of visions in which you are married, but not to some nameless prince, but a girl with fiery hair who smiles at you like she loves you because she does. In your dreams, you have a home together just for the two of you, a home where no one bothers you or separates you. It is a paradise, and every time you wake up, you weep for the life you could have had.

It hurts to wake up from the dream and remember that it will never be yours, so you’ve started pushing off sleep in order to avoid that awful recollection that Genya is not yours, not like that, not ever. Dark circles form under your eyes; Genya fixes them every morning, chiding you for not going to bed early enough, but you never tell her that it’s done on purpose so you won’t be haunted by her.

She must guess at it, though, or at least be able to tell that the loss of sleep is your fault, because one evening when you’re about to push off unconsciousness for yet another night, Genya knocks on your door and announces that she’ll be forcing you to take care of yourself since you seem to be allergic to doing it yourself. When you stammer about it not being proper, she just laughs and says that you’ve been doing this for years, so how could you care about it being proper now?

You’ve never been able to argue with her, not really, so you push off the last of your principles and let her lead you back to bed like you’re a child again and still in need of her to make you safe again. You still need her like that, of course, but it’s different now. Everything is different now.

You let out an involuntary sigh of relief when your head hits the pillow. It’s been a long day, of a long string of long days, and the thought of sleep is, admittedly, quite wonderful at a time like this.

“See?” Genya chides from beside you, “You can let yourself rest, Y/N, no one will die because you decided to get a proper night’s sleep.”

“I know,” you mumble.

“Then why haven’t you been allowing yourself to go to bed?” She presses.

You look away. “Just busy, I guess.”

You can feel the weight of Genya’s stare burning into the side of your head even without looking directly at her. She has always been able to see directly through your lies, hasn’t she? “Just busy, huh? With what?”

“Princess things,” you mutter vaguely. “We have to, uh, think of suitors.”

Immediately, Genya goes stiff beside you. “Suitors? Now? Isn’t that a little early?”

You hate yourself for saying it, for ruining this moment, but it was the first thing that popped into your head. “I guess, but you can’t be too sure. It’s an important decision.”

“Most marriages are meant to be happy,” Genya comments, “Will yours be happy?”

There are many answers that you should give her. Yes. Of course. I’ll find a way. However, what comes out is a desperate, broken, “No.”

Genya lets out a quiet breath, reaching out an arm to pull you closer to her. “Why not?”

Your head is tucked against her collarbone, and you can hear the even rhythm of her heartbeat like a drum guiding you to peace. You don’t have it in you to lie, not anymore, so you whisper in the stillness of this shared night:  “Because it won’t be you.”

It is silent. Absolutely silent. The sound of Genya’s heartbeat seems a hundred times louder in the face of all that quiet. Genya has never had a problem saying the perfect thing as long as you’ve known her, but right now, not a single word comes to her lips. You wait for her to tell you that it’s okay, you wait for her to say anything, but nothing happens. You imagine a thousand scenarios– her, hating you forever, breaking that promise to never leave your side because you’ve done that first by being so stupid as to fall in love– each one worse than the one before it, each one capable of tearing your heart into a million awful pieces.

You should leave. It’s your room, but she doesn’t leave. If she wanted you, she would surely have said something by now. You start to pull away, but just when you’ve lifted your head enough that you can see her face, you realize that she doesn’t look angry at all, not in the slightest. In fact, she’s– she’s smiling.

You sit up slightly. Genya follows suit. “You want it to be me?” She asks at last, voice quiet from disbelief.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you,” you confess. “Is that okay?”

You’ve never seen a sunrise as bright as her expression right now. “Y/N, it’s more than okay,” she declares. “It’s fantastic.”

“Fantastic?” You repeat carefully.

“Fantastic,” she confirms. “I love you, Y/N. I love you more than anything.”

You have heard stories of people having their best and brightest dreams come true, of explorers discovering uncharted territories, of brave generals winning wars and soldiers coming home to their sweethearts. This one night blows all of them away. Right now, you think you are happier than anyone has ever been in their lives. The only person who could rival your sheer delight is Genya, and so long as she’s here with you, you know that you won’t have to fear unhappiness ever again.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[depressedbagpipe]

Enchanted (Prince Caspian x you)

Part I

Words: 3547 Warnings: i do not live in nyc so i have no idea what i'm talking about here. some family trauma, mentions of calories and wine. pretty tame, nevertheless. no use of (y/n), but it’s kinda written in second person. also, i believe this is rather gn, but again, i wrote this while i was sick so maybe some other pronoun for reader has slipped my mind A/N: based on this request i got, i decided to turn this into a multi-chapter fic based on the movie 'enchanted' (2007)

Part II -- Part III

One minute, Caspian was easily strolling around the Narnian woods, weirded out by the strange small metal tower with the faint light shining on top. Next thing he knew, he was standing right at the center of a giant square, surrounded by the tallest buildings he had ever seen, showcasing light scenes that danced around without really moving. 

The thick needles of the Narnian trees had somehow turned into bumping shoulders, and his feet, instead of walking forward in a single straight line, were now desperately fighting to keep him while the sea of brown and black crashed into him. 

A few of the many people dressed in suits looked at him unbothered by his looks, but Caspian’s eyes were wide in confusion and fear at all the unrecognizable faces. He prided himself in being a kind king, knowing every single citizen who walked his kingdom, yet, for the first time in years, he couldn’t tell who anyone was. Or where he was, for that matter. 

“Please, I, pardon me, my lord, uh, hey!” he yelled at a particularly strong push he received from his back, making him stumble forward. 

“Get out of the way, freak!” someone barked at him, but when Caspian turned to face the person, they were already gone, their face blending in with the next person who came behind them. 

Caspian was still dazed and confused, even feeling wounded at the person’s words. He was no stranger to blasphemy and disrespect, but even in his short time as a king he had managed to live in peace and harmony, had learned compassion and tenderness in his early years, and those were the only values he deemed important to preach.

He managed to get out of the ever-flowing river of people, standing in a corner while he looked around. It dawned on him that he did not recognize the place, despite having walked through every corner of his kingdom as well as the neighboring ones. His previous hurt psyche turned to disorientation once again, his gaze jumping from one spot to another in mere seconds. It didn’t matter where he looked, life and movement seemed to spring from every angle. The sky was dark above him, yet the black ground under his feet reflected all the lights around him. Looking up, he felt claustrophobic. He couldn’t even see the Spear-Head, Narnia’s brightest star. He couldn’t know which was the way home. 

In his stupor, he completely ignored some of the weird looks he got from the rest of the passersby. He wore Rhindon by his side, still sheathed, for he had not felt any immediate danger despite the place he found himself in, and his riding attire contrasted greatly with the people around him. 

“Hey, pretty boy, did you lose your princess?” someone called from the other side of the street. 

The man was sitting down on a worn-out mattress and was missing a few teeth, but Caspian went to his side regardless.

“No, not princess, but my way home,” he spoke.

The man looked at him weirdly, not expecting Caspian to even listen to him in the first place.

“You British have a weird sense of humor,” he said, taking a sip from what Caspian imagined to be a small covered goblet. 

“British? What is that?” Caspian wondered, sitting on the man’s mattress.

“Boy, I don’t know what game you playing, but better leave my mattress alone. It’s been a hard night already,” the man pushed Caspian out of the mattress.

He fell to the floor, flabbergasted.

“Pardon me, my lord, but need I remind you who you are talking to?” he gripped Rhindon a bit tighter.

The man snorted. “Yeah, another lunatic from Times Square,” he chugged the rest of the beverage and threw it to the ground. 

“Times Square?” Caspian asked again.

“Don’t tell me you’re lost in New York. You’re good as dead, boy,” the man grabbed another can. 

The man burped loudly, making Caspian cringe at the sound and his attitude. Certainly, nobody had ever behaved that way in his presence. Maybe Peter.

Peter. The Pevensies. Caspian’s mind suddenly filled with hope. He remembered Peter’s stories about their true world and promptly wondered if he too, somehow, had switched places as they had all those centuries ago.

“Where am I?” Caspian suddenly stood straighter, with panic evident in his voice.

The man looked at him weirdly. “Times Square, New York?” he responded.

“Where are the Pevensies?” Caspian tried again.

“The who?”

“The Kings and Queens of Old.”

The man paused again, his drunken state not helping the situation. “England, I guess.”

“England…” Caspian whispered, the name sounding familiar in his head. “And how do I get there?” he asked the man again. 

The man shrugged. “I don’t know, boy. Go to Central Station, I guess. It’s just down the street,” the man pointed in the direction and continued burping.

“Thank you, kind man. May Aslan protect you,” Caspian replied with a renewed glow in his eyes, bowing slightly at him.

He immediately left running in the direction the odd man had pointed to, despite not knowing what a Central Station was. 

He now expertly avoided the rushing people, wheezing past them and dodging the horseless carriages that seemed to come for him. His mind was blank despite burning with blazing thoughts. He only had one goal in his mind: to find the Pevensies.

You, on the other hand, just wanted to get home. The train ride from New Haven was, incredibly, the highlight of your trip. A whole weekend spent at your parents' house for Thanksgiving, criticized for eating too much, not eating enough, working too hard, not working at all. Every family reunion was enough to send you spiraling again, and on nights like these, New York City had a bit of a habit of treating you even worse. 

The only thing you wanted was to get to your quaint apartment, take a much-needed bath, order some takeout, and drink your anxiety away until the bottle of rosé was empty. You had thankfully asked for the next day off from work, but it honestly felt like you needed at least ten to eleven working days just to recover. You loved your overbearing family, but it was simply too much, especially with Christmas just around the corner. 

With a big sigh, you exited the train, dragging your suitcase with tired movements. You really weren’t looking forward to the overcrowded station and subsequent streets, but you knew that, with some dissociation, you would soon enough find yourself at home. Walking towards the exit, a familiar logo caught your attention, and whilst, under any other circumstance, you would’ve avoided the overpriced bakery, you now felt an overwhelming sensation of wanting to reward yourself with a couple of cupcakes. Thankfully, there were few people at the shop due to the late hour, and you quickly found yourself on your way, absentmindedly bringing a cupcake to your mouth and enjoying the melting chocolate fondue that was on the inside after taking a big bite. 

Your eyes closed momentarily, enjoying the sweet flavor, completely ignoring your aunt’s shrilling voice in your mind about the calories. Maybe you should’ve paid attention to her annoying voice because you suddenly found yourself on the floor, the cupcake now staining your conveniently white shirt.

“Ah, shit, watch where you’re going! Look at my shirt!” you complained, overlooking the tingling in your knee from where you landed. You groaned when you saw the mess you’d made on yourself, your hands too covered in frosting.

“I am so very sorry, my lady,” the stranger spoke in a comforting voice. “Are you alright?”

You looked up at him. The man had long, raven hair, with the darkest eyes you’d ever seen. He dressed weirdly, with a sword by his side, almost as some sort of medieval knight. He was certainly attractive, and he was staring at you with a deep frown and what you could only classify as real concern in his features.

Unluckily for him, you’ve had a bad day, and it was only getting worse.

“What do you think? I fell on my butt and now I’ve got expensive cupcake smeared on my shirt! So no, I’m not alright, thank you for asking,” you huffed, a small part of you feeling guilty that you were taking your anger out on him, but an even bigger part of yourself urging you to let the steam off on the poor man. That’s what a good New Yorker does, anyway. Even if you technically weren’t.

You struggled slightly, using your suitcase as leverage, cringing at the sticky sensation on your fingers due to the sugar. The man held his hand out to you.

“I don’t need your help, thank you, I’m quite capable of getting up on my own,” you said, only for the wheels on your suitcase to roll unannounced and send you down once more. Only this time, the stranger was holding you a few inches above the floor. 

“Easy there, we do not want you to hurt yourself further, do we?” he spoke with serenity and empathy. That only angered you further.

“Yeah, alright, I’m not a kid so you can let go,” you said once you were standing on your own too feet.

You huffed, noticing the small crowd that was seemingly enjoying your little show. Your face felt hot in embarrassment. “What are y’all looking at?” you yelled at everybody.

The audience quickly dispersed as you looked in your bag for some tissue to clean yourself with. Yet the man kept standing there. 

“Can I help you?” you asked with an overly-sweet smile, hoping he would catch the drift and finally leave you alone.

The man shook his head as if shaking himself out of a daze. “Actually, yes. I seem to be lost. I was hoping you could help me find the way to England.”

You stared at him for a few moments. 

“Listen, if this is a joke or something, I don’t have the time or energy for that, so I’d appreciate it if you left me alone,” you thrust the now-dirty tissue back into your bag and grabbed your suitcase, with every intention of leaving the man and the day behind. 

“My lady, please, I’ve been asking around but nobody seemed to listen. I do not know where I am or how I came here and you are the only person who even stopped to talk,” he begged.

Despite the exhaustion and your anger, your gaze softened ever so slightly at his words. 

“I mean, England’s a long way from here. You either get a plane or get a boat, but that’ll take longer,” you replied after a few seconds, still with a tight grip on your suitcase.

You had learned distrust and wariness from a young age, especially in a place such as New York City, and the fact that the unknown man was dressed as if he had come out of a fairytale was making your internal alarm blare as loud as it could go. But his eyes… Those were the eyes of a scared kid.

“Pardon me, a… plain?” he asked, with confusion written all over his face.

You tried to keep the laugh in. “No, a plane. You know, this thing that flies?” you made the small notion with your arms, weirded out at the stranger’s ignorance.

“Fly? As… a bird does?” he asked again.

You frowned. “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that, but yeah.”

“What kind of world is this?” he whispered to himself, but you heard him nonetheless.

You shook your head. “Alright, look, I have no idea if you’re being legit right now, or if you accidentally hit your head too hard at the LARP convention, but I really need to go. You wanna go to England? Go to JFK, someone will help you there. Now, if you excuse me, I need to leave and get some sleep. Nice to meet you,” you said with another huff, and quickly grabbed your belongings and left the man standing right at the center of the station without another word. 

You didn’t even want to look back at him, but you had no choice when one of the strips of your bag fell from your shoulder and a few of the contents fell to the floor. With a groan, you crouched and picked them up. Your little compact mirror had rolled to the top of the stairs, and you quickly grabbed it after turning around to reach for it. But then, you down, at the center of the main hall.

The man was still there, successfully failing to gain anybody’s attention, asking loudly how to get to the airport you had directed him to, with his eyes wide and shoulders tense. You bit your lip at the sight, your heart breaking slightly at the sight of his state.

You suddenly remembered your first night in the city. A blackout in your old studio apartment had left you standing in the middle of the street arguing with the cable guy from the electric company. If it hadn’t been for good old Antoinette, your downstairs neighbor, who had listened to the entire conversation and had let you spend the night at her apartment after giving you some homemade soup, you wouldn’t have stayed in New York. You groaned again, cursing your humanity, and quickly made your way back to the man.

You tapped him on the shoulder, making him turn around in desperation. His eyes widened when he saw you again, and a light smile grazed his lips. If you weren’t so tired, you would’ve found that cute.

“Alright, you’re clearly lost and it wouldn’t be nice of me to let you fend off for yourself. Is there anyone you can call?”

He seemed relieved, quickly nodding his head. “Yes! I am looking for some friends, the Pevensies. They’re from England. Something about… Spare Oom, or the city of War Drobe, perhaps?”

You regretted walking back to him immediately. “Are you drunk?”

“Drunk? No, I barely like wine,” he said earnestly. 

You slowly nodded, trying to follow along. “Right, Spare Oom… I do have a wardrobe but I don’t think that’s the one you’re looking for,” sarcasm flowed out of your mouth, but the stranger didn’t seem to understand it. “Do you need cash? I can call a taxi for you,” you offered.

“I am afraid I do not understand what you mean. Taxi?” the stranger replied.

“I’ll repeat myself once more. Is there anybody you can call to help you, other than me?” you added.

The man closed his mouth in thought. You then noticed the little stubble on his chin. You thought it looked nice, but you also wondered what a full beard on his beautiful face would look like.

A migraine was making its way into your head, the tiredness mixed with whatever that was, leading you to make a decision that, otherwise, you wouldn’t have in a million years.

“Okay, I’ll probably regret this later, but I can let you call your friends in England from my house phone. Otherwise, the bill would skyrocket if we did it here. So, um, if you want, and if you promise you won’t murder me on the way there, I can lend you the phone. I don’t normally do this, but, I don’t know, I’m tired and not thinking straight,” you rambled, suddenly insecure and quite aware of your surroundings.

But in your youth, you had also learned how to never back down. And to always help someone in need. And he clearly needed help.

His face glowed after your words. “Oh, Aslan, that would be lovely, thank you so very much! The kingdom of Narnia will forever be indebted to you. And fear not, my lady, for my intentions are only pure,” he grabbed your hand and softly stretched in his own. His fingers were surprisingly soft, although you noticed faint lines and scars littering his palms. 

You almost forgot his words when his thumb softly caressed the back of your hand.

“The what now?”

“The Kingdom of Narnia,” he dropped your hand.

“What, you’re some sort of prince or something?” you snorted loudly, readjusting your bag and grabbing your suitcase once again. 

You started walking toward the entrance, with the man hot on your tail.

“A King, actually, my lady,” he said, readjusting his posture.

You nodded, hiding in your light scarf as soon as you stepped out into the street. “Well, your majesty, no need to use titles here.”

“Then you must call me Caspian.”

“Caspian? Like the sea?” you wondered out loud with a frown, more preoccupied with hailing one of the taxis that flew by every time you tried to reach for one.

“There’s a sea named after me?”

“By any means, you would be named after the sea. It’s been around far longer than you have,” you continued, the pain behind your eyes only growing with every question the man–Caspian, threw your way.

Caspian remained silent for a few seconds. “What an odd War Drobe,” he kept following you around, looking up at the skyscrapers, wondering where, out of all the places Aslan could have sent him, was he. “And your name is?”

You suddenly remembered that you still hadn’t introduced yourself. He tasted your name on his lips, and you couldn’t deny that you loved the way it sounded coming out of his mouth. You couldn’t deny it, but you could blame it on your migraine, and that’s what you were going to do.

It didn’t take long to reach your apartment once you managed to catch a taxi. Your corporate job had so gracefully given you an incredible space right by Central Park on the Upper West Side, much to your parents’ delight. Caspian had been too busy looking out the window, marveling over the horse-less carriages, and getting bewildered at the sight of the driver at the front of the yellow car. You were still massaging your temples on the elevator ride to your floor, all the while Caspian talked about a metal tower and an old man and a talking lion –whatever that meant. 

Taking your coat and scarf off, you motioned Caspian forward into your apartment. You had thankfully cleaned before leaving for the weekend, therefore there was no dirty laundry accidentally on the floor.

“Are these your quarters?” Caspian asked, looking curiously around. 

He also looked tired, even though he was clearly trying to hide it. Just this morning he had been waking up in his quarters in the old castle of Telmar, and now he was standing in a complete stranger’s living space with no clear way of going back.

The pounding in your head was only getting worse, so you just nodded. “Sure, let’s call them that. Look, the phone’s over there. There’s a pad right next to it with the international codes, so just type in the UK one and be done with it.”

You quickly got your suitcase and went to your room. You knew that you weren’t being smart about this. You didn’t know this Caspian, and everything that came from his mouth seemed to become weirder by the minute. Some part of your brain still thought he was messing with you. Maybe he was too much of a method actor, taking his acting a bit too far. But those eyes… Whatever dark color they were made you want to trust him. But then again, you had never had a perfect stranger standing in the middle of your living room dressed as a medieval king claiming to have friends in England that he so desperately needed to reach. 

Your stomach grumbled in hunger, and you looked down at your shirt, remembering the big chocolate stain on it. You changed into different and more comfortable clothes with a sigh, making sure you were still properly covered before stepping out.

You don’t know how much time had passed, but when you stepped out into the living room again, you found Caspian half laying on the couch, light snores coming from his mouth, and the phone slowly slipping from his hand. 

“Damnit,” you cursed under your breath, taking careful steps toward him.

You shook him a bit, trying to wake him up in the most comfortable yet ‘get-out-of-my-house’ way you could muster, but the man was clearly a heavy sleeper, for he made no move. If anything, he sunk deeper into the cushions and made himself at home at yours.

Against better judgment, you grabbed one of the blankets at the end of the couch and threw it over him. You looked at him for a few seconds, yet another sharp pain in your skull reminded you of the situation. But then again, you were too tired. Despite your slow movements, you managed to grab some painkillers from the bathroom, relieve yourself after the long train ride, and throw yourself under the covers of your bed, not without locking your bedroom door first, because it would be stupid to leave the door unlocked when a self-titled king was sleeping just outside.

With that, you too, fell asleep, dreaming of talking lions, dreamy princes, and wardrobes.

Part II

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