#and will keep moving forward with strength | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skzophreniic · 19 hours ago

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⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, creampie, chan is a wee bit manipulative, mdni

notes: im currently out of the country so this is a queued post I had pre-written to keep you hoes guys well fed 😇 can't wait to read what you guys think when i get back <3

You were just trying to get work done.

Really. The spreadsheet is still open on your screen, cursor blinking accusingly from where you left it. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, your eyes blurry from staring too long, but still—you’re trying.

Chan is the one who’s not letting you.

“Just the tip,” he whispers again, soft and sinful in your ear, voice cracking like he means it. Like it’s not the third time he’s said it in the last two minutes. His hands are already under your hoodie, thumbs sliding across the swell of your hips, coaxing you back into his lap even as you lean forward to type.

“Chan,” you sigh, warning in your voice.

“I won’t even move, baby. Just let me feel you,” he breathes, cock straining against his briefs beneath you. “I just need it for a second, that’s all. You can keep working—I'll be quiet, promise.”

You glance over your shoulder. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, cheeks pink. He’s already flushed like he’s inside you. Like this whole thing isn’t absolutely deranged.

You’re still in his lap. You should’ve never sat down there in the first place, but he’d looked so sweet. All pouty and clingy and pathetic, murmuring “don’t wanna be away from you,” pulling you down with him on the chair like you weren’t busy.

Now his hands are splayed across your thighs, warm and firm, shifting you just enough that you can feel the outline of him, thick and ready and twitching.

“Chan, I have three reports due tonight—”

“And I’ll help,” he interrupts, kissing the back of your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Just lemme slip in a little. Just the tip, baby. Just want to warm up in you while you work—feels good for both of us, yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at your laptop, like it’ll give you strength. But your traitorous body is already pressing back into him, pulse fluttering low.

He feels it.

“See? Your body wants it too,” he whispers, voice cracking into a whine. “So warm for me already, baby. Don’t be mean.”

You feel him shift beneath you, one hand slipping between your thighs now, fingers curling over your waistband and tugging slow—so slow it makes you shiver. He’s savoring it, like dragging it out will make you beg instead. Like he’s waiting for that last thread of resistance to snap.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, kissing just behind your ear. “Let me in. Just a little. Just to take the edge off.”

You lift your hips without meaning to.

It’s instinct. That’s all. Instinct and exhaustion and the heat of his breath behind your ear. You don’t even look at him as you help shimmy your shorts and underwear down to your knees, keeping your eyes on the screen like that’ll anchor you.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes.

And then he’s there—pressing the thick head of his cock between your folds, guiding it with a shaky hand. He groans the second he feels how wet you are, lets out the softest “shit,” and you feel the tremble in his thighs as he drags the tip through your slick again and again.

You should stop him. You don’t.

He notches himself at your entrance, breathing through his nose like he’s trying to behave.

Then slowly—slowly—he sinks the tip inside you.

Your hands curl into fists on your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, already breathless.

You nod, just once. Not trusting your voice.

“Good,” he pants, lips brushing your nape. “Good girl. Just like that. Just the tip. Just the—”

He pushes deeper.

“—fucking tip, baby, shit—”

He doesn’t bottom out.

He could. He’s close—closer than he said he’d be. But he stops, hips twitching, breath caught in his throat like it physically hurts him to hold back.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he whispers, rocking his hips just enough to press deeper into your heat, but not enough to give you relief. “So warm, so fucking wet. You’re dripping all over me, baby.”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but his hand slides between your thighs before you can speak. His fingers come back soaked.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, holding them up, then licking them clean. “You sure you don’t want it?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Your eyes flick back to your laptop screen—numbers blurring, words meaningless. Your body is hot, trembling, strung out on the edge of something you don’t want to name. You should tell him to stop.

You don’t.

“I could make you feel so good,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “So good you’d forget your deadlines. Forget your name. You’d let me fuck you right here in this chair and you’d still thank me for it.”

You clench around him, involuntary.

He laughs, soft and breathless. The sound curls straight into your gut.

“You feel that?” he asks, nuzzling behind your ear again. “Your pussy knows what you want even if you won’t say it. She’s so honest. She wants me.”

You press your lips together to keep from moaning.

He feels it—of course he does. He’s tuned to every twitch, every breath, every little squeeze of your body around him. And right now, you’re holding onto restraint by a thread, and he’s sawing through it with every word out of his mouth.

“She’s being so good for me,” he murmurs, one hand drifting back between your legs to stroke where he’s barely inside you. “So soft, so greedy. Just keeps pulling me in, baby.”

You grab the edge of the desk like it’ll help you hold yourself together. It doesn’t.

“She wants more,” he continues, the tease thick in his voice now. “I bet you do too. You want it, don’t you? Want me to fill you up, fuck you dumb, keep you nice and stuffed while you try to finish your little reports—”

“Christopher—”

His name breaks in your throat, barely a breath, but it makes his whole body shudder.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, like you just said something filthy. “Say it again.”

You don’t. You can’t. Your lips part, but nothing comes out, and he takes that as its own kind of answer.

He noses along your jaw, voice a cracked whisper. “You know what that does to me. You say my name like that and expect me to just sit still?”

He rocks his hips—again, shallow. Controlled. But deeper this time. Enough to make you gasp. Enough to knock the breath from your lungs when he sinks just a little more inside.

“Fuck—look at you,” he whispers, holding you tight as you writhe in his lap. “You’re taking me so good, baby. Didn’t even need prep. Didn’t need to be told. Just opened right up like you were waiting for me.”

You shake your head, weak. “You said—just the tip—”

He hums, low and teasing. “I said that. But you didn’t say no when I gave you more.”

You don’t respond.

“Didn’t stop me,” he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. “Didn’t push me away. You’re still letting me fuck myself in, baby. You know it's yours, baby .”

His voice is wrecked now, slurred with need, but still so tender. So sweet it makes your throat tighten. His cock pushes deeper like he’s punctuating the words—inch by inch, careful and slow, dragging it out like he wants to feel every trembling second of you giving in.

“And you’re mine,” he whispers. “All mine, aren’t you?”

You nod. Barely. But it’s enough. You hear the way his breath catches in his throat, feel the way his arms tighten around your waist like he needs to hold you to keep from falling apart.

“Fuck, I love you like this,” he groans, forehead pressed to your temple. “So pliant. So sweet for me. Just letting me take whatever I want.”

Another thrust, deeper. His cock finally, fully sheathed inside you.

Your breath stutters. Your body seizes around him.

And he moans, low and ragged and grateful.

“God—baby—look at that. Took all of me, didn’t you?” he murmurs, hips barely moving now, just enough to let you feel the stretch, the weight of him. “Knew you would. Knew this tight little cunt missed me.”

You gasp, jaw slack, spine curving back against him.

He laughs softly, mouth against your skin. “Yeah. That’s it. You can pretend you didn’t want it. But look at you now.”

He rocks up once—slow and deep—and it’s too much. You cry out, sharp and quiet, and his hand immediately comes up to cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh—baby,” he soothes. “You said you had work to do, remember?”

You nod against his palm, eyes fluttering, mouth parted around gasps you can’t even hear over your heartbeat.

“Then be a good girl,” he whispers, voice like silk soaked in sin. “Keep working.”

His hand drops from your mouth, slides down to your thigh as he rocks into you again—slow, syrup-thick thrusts that force soft whines out of you with every drag.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs. “Hands on the keyboard. Don’t make me ask again.”

You blink at the screen, vision blurry, legs trembling where they straddle his. The spreadsheet is still open. The cursor still blinking. You could type something. You could pretend.

That’s what he wants, after all.

Just pretend.

You bring your hands up, fingers shaking as you rest them over the keys. You press a few—nonsense inputs—like that’ll satisfy him. Like it’s not so obvious how far gone you are..

“Good girl,” he says, hips snapping up once—sharp and precise. “That’s it. Keep typing while I fuck you full.”

Your fingers stutter over the keys—random characters stringing out across the screen in some hopeless imitation of productivity.

It doesn’t matter. Not to him. Not to you.

Not when he’s buried to the hilt inside you, cock dragging deep and slow with every calculated thrust. Not when every word he says drips honey and sin into your ears.

“Such a pretty little worker,” he groans, mouth brushing your temple. “Look at you. Taking my cock like you were made for it, still trying to do your job.”

He presses a kiss there, tender, like he isn’t actively wrecking you from the inside out.

Your legs tremble again. Your hands slip off the keyboard for a moment and he catches your wrist, brings it back into place.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs. “No slacking.”

He thrusts deeper, harder, and the gasp you let out nearly knocks your laptop off the desk.

You can’t feel your fingers anymore. Can’t see the screen. The spreadsheet is a blur of black and white and nothing.

But he’s everything.

The way his voice wraps around you like velvet. The way his cock drags through your soaked heat, claiming every inch like he was built to be there. The way his breath stutters when your walls flutter around him, like he’s surprised you still want him after everything.

“Gonna come for me again?” he pants, voice ragged. “Look at you—so fucking perfect. So wrecked and still letting me use you. You’re gonna give it to me, aren’t you, baby?”

You nod. You don’t even try to speak.

Because he’s right. He’s always right when it comes to your body. Your reactions. Your limits. He reads them like scripture, responds to them like worship.

His hand finds your clit again, and this time, he doesn’t play. No teasing. No mercy.

Just pressure. Rhythm. Just enough.

Your body tenses instantly, the tight coil in your gut snapping before you even realize what’s happening. The orgasm hits hard, violent in how it grips you. You whimper, legs buckling, forehead pressed to your forearm on the desk.

And Chan—he doesn’t stop.

Not yet.

He fucks you through it, holds you tight as your cunt spasms around him, praises spilling from his lips in a broken rush.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. So good for me. So perfect. Letting me fuck you stupid while you’re working—fuck—you're so fucking sexy—”

His voice cracks on the last word, like he’s overwhelmed by his own need, like even he can’t believe how far gone you’ve made him. His thrusts stutter, his hands gripping your hips too tight to be gentle—but even now, there’s love in every filthy word that spills from his mouth.

“I can’t—fuck, baby—I’m gonna come—”

And you just nod, barely able to breathe, still shaking from your own release, still dripping with him, stretched and full and ruined.

“I need it,” he groans. “Need to come inside you again, baby, please—wanna fill you up, wanna make you mine—”

You don’t even need to say yes. Your body says it for you, clenching tight around him, pulling him deeper, and that’s it.

He breaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck—baby—god—”

He spills into you with a desperate cry, hips jerking up into yours as his orgasm tears through him like a storm. He holds you there, flush against him, trembling beneath your weight as his cock throbs deep inside.

And then—

Stillness.

Silence, except for the sound of your breathing, ragged and uneven, and his heart pounding against your back like a war drum.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t even let go.

He just wraps his arms around your middle and buries his face in your neck, breath hot and shaky against your skin.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “You’re unreal.”

You laugh—barely. More like a broken breath through your nose. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Worth it,” he murmurs, smiling into your shoulder. “Die full.”

You snort, weakly. “Shut up.”

He kisses your neck, then your jaw, then the space just behind your ear that makes you shiver again. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get you cleaned up in a second,” he promises, voice already softening with aftercare. “But right now…” He lets out a content sigh, arms tightening around your waist. “I just wanna hold you.”

You hum and let yourself sink into him, hips still nestled against his, cock still buried inside you, warmth still spreading between your thighs.

He strokes your hair, pressing another kiss to your temple.

Then—after a long pause—he peeks over your shoulder at the screen.

“…You didn’t finish the report,” he says solemnly.

You groan, letting your head drop forward onto your arms. “You think?”

He chuckles. “If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll type the rest for you.”

You turn just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. “With what energy?”

He grins, all smug and sweet and way too pleased with himself. “Fair point.”

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idkyetxoxo · 15 hours ago

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Three | Threadbare | The Ruin

Pairing - Rhysand x reader (Mafia Boss Rhysand x Nurse Reader)

Word count - 2.7k

Warnings - Attempted assault (brief), implied violence

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Another long shift. Another long day of putting broken pieces back together with trembling hands and borrowed strength.

My shift was supposed to end at 8:30. Supposed to.

But when you're the young dependable one—the one who never says no, it somehow becomes your responsibility to clean up after everyone else.

Discharge summaries. IV drips left half-prepped. Two patients who needed turning. One panicked family member who wouldn't calm down unless I was the one to speak to them.

And no Lucien tonight. No warm car ride, no easy conversation to keep my eyes open until I got home. He'd picked up a morning shift and was already long gone.

It was nearly midnight by the time I finally stepped out into the crisp night air, the hospital doors closing behind me with a hollow thunk that sounded far too final.

The city was quieter now, its hum dulled by fog and fatigue. My limbs ached with that deep, marrow-level exhaustion that made every step feel like I was dragging weights.

I didn't even bother changing out of my scrubs—just threw on my coat, still vaguely smelling of antiseptic and caffeine, and shoved my cold fingers into my pockets.

I just wanted home. A long, burning-hot shower. A clean pillow. Silence.

I knew I should've called a cab. But the idea of waiting another fifteen minutes in the hospital lobby with its flickering fluorescents and low murmurs made my skin crawl.

So I made a decision I'd regret. I cut through the park behind the Sidra River.

It wasn't the safest shortcut. Everyone knew that. But it was faster, ten minutes off my walk, maybe more.

I'd walked it before. During the day. When there were dogs and joggers and the safety of sunlight.

Tonight, it was a tunnel of shadows.

The path snaked beneath skeletal trees, their branches creaking gently in the breeze. Moonlight filtered through in weak, silver ribbons. The river murmured softly nearby, its voice too calm for how on edge I felt.

I pulled my coat tighter and kept my head down. Almost out.

Then I saw him.

He stumbled from the left, cutting off my path with the slow, disjointed movements of someone far too drunk to care where he ended up. His frame swayed like a broken marionette, clothes dishevelled, breath visible in the cold air.

I slowed immediately.

He reeked of alcohol, sour and rotting. The stench hit me like a wave and I turned my face away, willing my feet to move faster. If I just kept walking quickly...

"Bit late for a stroll in the park, sweetheart," he slurred, his laugh cracking the silence like glass.

I didn't answer. Just kept my eyes forward, one hand tightening around the strap of my bag. Don't engage. Don't look. Don't stop.

"Hey, hey—I'm talkin' to you. Little nurse, come check my pulse, ay?" he rasped, stumbling a step closer.

The hair on the back of my neck rose.

I tried to step around him. Calm. Controlled. Just keep moving. But he moved with me, sloppily, yet deliberately, placing himself right back in my path.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "I'm just trying to get home."

His grin widened, teeth shining in the moonlight. "No need to hurry so much. The night is young, ain't it?" He sang the words in a tuneless melody, like it was some private joke between us.

I tried again, angling my body to slip past. But this time, his hand shot out grabbing the strap of my bag.

I was yanked backwards with a force that knocked the breath from my lungs. My shoes scraped against gravel as I twisted, trying to pull free.

"Don't be rude now," he said, his voice hardening. The sing-song tone was gone, replaced by something hungrier. Darker.

"Let go," I snapped, panic climbing my throat like bile.

But his grip only tightened. His other hand reached for me and I smelled the sharp tang of whiskey on his skin, the heat of it baking off his pores.

My heart thundered against my ribs. I shoved at him, hard. "Let. Me. Go."

He laughed again, and this time it was worse. Mean. Like he was enjoying this.

I didn't scream, I couldn't. My body locked between fear and fury.

Adrenaline surged and I twisted sharply, slamming my elbow into his chest. He grunted, startled, but didn't let go. Instead, he reached for my waist, fingers fumbling.

Terror, sharp and absolute, exploded in my chest. And then—

Light. Blinding. Harsh.

Headlights slashed through the shadows like a divine intervention. A sleek black car skidded to a stop on the path's edge, engine still growling as the doors flung open.

Cassian stepped out of the car like a storm on two legs. Tall, broad and brimming with violence.

Gone was the grinning brute I knew, the one with the easy charm and the teasing smile. His face was carved from stone now, eyes like molten steel.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't ask. Didn't speak.

In one fluid motion, Cassian crossed the space and slammed the man to the ground with enough force to rattle the earth beneath my feet.

The attacker cried out—winded, writhing but Cassian didn't even blink.

He knelt, a knee on the man's chest, one massive hand pinning him by the throat. All that strength, all that fury, poured into brutal stillness.

"You okay?" he asked me, voice like gravel. Then, without waiting for an answer because he could see I wasn't, he added, "No? Good. Rhys is gonna kill someone tonight."

I stared at him, unable to speak. My mouth opened, then closed. All I could do was blink. My entire body trembled with the aftershock, my limbs jelly, my thoughts fragmented.

I hadn't even realised I was crying until a tear slipped down my cheek and chilled on my jaw.

Footsteps approached from behind, softer, slower. My instincts jolted, I flinched, spinning toward the sound, heart leaping into my throat again.

But it wasn't another threat.

It was him.

Rhysand emerged from the shadows, black coat billowing, every inch of him radiating something primal and barely restrained. His eyes, normally laced with amusement or calm calculation, were fathomless and furious.

But when he saw me, saw the state I was in more like it, his expression shifted.

Mine, his eyes seemed to say.

He stopped a few feet away, hands slightly raised like he was approaching a wounded animal. "It's okay," he murmured. His voice wrapped around me like velvet—warm, anchoring, familiar.

And something inside me broke.

I didn't think. I didn't weigh the consequences. I didn't try to be strong or rational or careful. I just ran to him.

The second my arms wrapped around his chest, I let go. Of everything. Of the fear. Of the weight. Of the shaking tension that had held me upright like scaffolding all day.

I pressed my face into his chest, clinging like a drowning woman to the only piece of driftwood left in a storm.

His arms closed around me instantly, strong and secure, one hand curling protectively over the back of my head. He smelled like cold wind and clean soap and something warm and earthy beneath.

"I've got you," he whispered, one hand rubbing slow circles down my spine. "You're safe now. You're safe."

But I didn't feel safe. Not yet. The memory of that grip was still burned into my skin, the echo of helplessness still howling in my bones.

I didn't want to be standing in a park. I didn't want to be here at all. I wanted to disappear. To be small. To fold myself into nothing and never, ever be touched again.

I stayed in Rhys's arms, trying to piece myself back together with every heartbeat that thudded quietly against his chest.

And as he held me, his coat wrapped around my shoulders, his hands steady and unshaking—I realised something terrifying.

I'd never wanted to be vulnerable in front of anyone.

But with Rhysand... I almost didn't care if I shattered.

Rhysand's POV -

I was already in a foul mood. The kind of simmering, teeth-clenched, cold-blooded fury that made shadows coil tighter in my veins.

Tonight's business had run far too long.

A failed negotiation turned to threats, threats turned to blood, and blood turned into me walking out of that meeting with more death on my hands than answers.

Cassian, of course, tried to lighten the mood on the drive home—going on about his latest conquest with the usual arrogant flourish.

I didn't say much. Didn't need to. The tension rolling off me filled the car like smoke.

And then he stopped talking suddenly. No warning, no signal. Just a string of curses and the car lurching to a violent halt as his foot slammed the brake.

Cassian was out of the vehicle before I even fully processed what was happening. I followed after him, senses flaring, instincts snapping to attention.

And then I saw her. Her. My bunny.

She stood frozen under the harsh spill of our headlights, her figure trembling in those thin scrubs, tears carving silent lines down her cheeks.

Cassian had a man pinned to the ground, his face twisted in pure rage, one hand tight around the bastard's throat.

I didn't need details. Didn't need her to say a word.

I saw her bag on the ground. Her arms wrapped around herself. The panic still etched into every line of her face.

And I knew. He touched her. He laid his hands on her.

That was all it took for every scrap of rational thought to vanish. The darkness inside me roared for blood. My fingers twitched with restraint I didn't entirely trust.

Murder would have been easy—satisfying but the second she saw me, it was over.

She moved like a magnet had pulled her, crossed the short distance between us in a breath and slammed into me. Her arms locked around my middle like she was drowning and I was the only thing left floating.

I caught her. Instinctively. Completely.

My arms wrapped around her frame, holding her close, holding her tight. My coat fell open and I drew it around her like a shield, like it could erase everything that had just happened.

Her face buried into my chest. Her body shook with silent sobs, the kind that scraped deep, deeper than sound could ever reach.

And all I could think was—mine. She is mine to protect.

I turned her away from the scene, from the man now whimpering beneath Cassian's knee, from the blood, the fear, the danger. I'd end him. Not here, not now.

But soon. Painfully. Quietly. Permanently. Not in front of her. Not when she needed comfort more than vengeance.

"Let me take you home," I murmured against the top of her head, pressing the softest kiss to her hair before I could stop myself.

She flinched slightly at the sound of his groaning behind us, her head starting to turn, but I gently brought her gaze back to mine.

"Cassian's got it," I said softly, brushing her tear-streaked cheek with my knuckles. "Don't worry, bunny. You're safe now."

She nodded, still shaking, and I opened the passenger door for her. She slid in with a soft, broken sound—more breath than voice and folded into herself, like she was trying to disappear entirely.

Once I was behind the wheel, I glanced over. Her arms were wrapped around her waist now. Her fingers kept tugging at the hem of her coat like it could somehow anchor her.

"Where are we going?" I asked, keeping my voice light, as if this were just any other drive. As if my fury wasn't pulsing under every inch of my skin.

She sniffled. "The apartment blocks past the Sidra... It's not far."

Of course I knew that.

Her building. Her floor. Hell, I knew the code to her front door. My people had swept the place weeks ago to make sure it was safe enough.

But I let her tell me. Let her feel like she still had control of something.

"Alright," I said, already pulling out.

The silence between us was fragile, stretched thin. The streetlights washed pale gold over her skin, and I could see the smudges of mascara beneath her eyes. The ghost of a bruise beginning to form near her collarbone.

Then, in a voice barely louder than a breath, she whispered, "You're bleeding."

I looked down. A thin smear of red streaked across my forearm where my sleeve had pulled back. Old blood. Not mine.

"Not mine," I said casually, brushing at it like it didn't matter.

Her eyes lingered on me for a second longer than necessary. She didn't ask who it did belong to. Smart girl.

But the way she looked at me. So hollowed out. So bone-deep tired. I wanted to tear the world apart just to see her smile again.

I reached across the centre console, slowly, careful not to startle her, and gently took her hand in mine. Her fingers twitched, like she wasn't sure whether to pull away.

But she didn't.

Her hand stayed in mine. Cold. Fragile. Shaking. I lifted it to my lips and kissed her knuckles.

"We'll be there soon," I whispered. "You don't have to say anything. Just breathe."

And she did.

Broken. Soft. But she breathed.

When we reached the apartment blocks, I eased the car to a stop and let the engine hum into silence. The night folded in around us—quiet, still, the world holding its breath.

But she made no move to get out.

She just sat there, eyes fixed on the dashboard like it held answers to questions she hadn't dared ask aloud. Her shoulders sagged beneath her coat, hair clinging to damp cheeks where tears had long since dried.

"I wasn't even meant to finish this late," she said suddenly, voice small, roughened by exhaustion. She turned to me and gently pulled her hand back from mine.

I felt the loss like a blow.

Still warm from her touch, my palm curled into a fist against my thigh, but I said nothing. Just waited. Let her speak.

"Then why were you?" I asked softly, careful not to press. Careful not to make her retreat into herself again.

She let out a bitter breath, her mouth twisting into something that wasn't quite a frown, wasn't quite a smile.

"Because everyone needed something. An IV here. A second opinion there. Someone's chart got misplaced, then someone else needed help lifting a patient. And then it just... kept going." Her voice cracked as the words spilt out, tangled and breathless. "Suddenly it was nearly midnight and Lucien was gone, and no one noticed I was still there and I'm just—"

She broke off with a sharp inhale. Her eyes shimmered. "I'm so tired."

That last word wasn't about work. It was everything.

"I just want to run away and make cupcakes for a living," she said, a quiet laugh slipping out. It was hollow. Brittle. Like the sound of glass right before it shatters. "Open a shop in Velaris, wear cute aprons, frost things all day and forget people bleed."

Her laugh died, and silence stretched again.

I turned toward her more fully, careful to keep my voice gentle. "Next time Lucien can't drive you, you tell me."

She looked at me then. Really looked. Eyes wide and damp and disbelieving.

"You don't even know me," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

I leaned in just a little, just enough for her to feel the sincerity in my words.

"That can change," I said with a small smile—the same words I'd spoken to her in that dark hallway.

Her lips parted, like she might say something, then closed again. She blinked once. Twice. Then, slowly, she reached for her phone.

We exchanged numbers. I pretended to type hers in manually, but I already had it saved. Of course I did.

"I'll text you when I get in," she said after a beat, her voice still quiet. But there was something steadier beneath it now. Like she'd built the first brick of a wall she wanted to stand behind, but only just started.

"Good," I murmured. "I'll be waiting."

Her fingers lingered on the handle before she opened the door. She paused on the threshold, half in the car, half out, the streetlight casting a faint gold halo around her.

Then she slipped out, letting the door close softly behind her.

And I sat there for a long moment, watching her walk toward the building, small and tired.

Dreaming of peace, and soft mornings far away from blood and midnight panic.

Gods, I'd burn kingdoms to give her that.

A/n - For the love of self-preservation don't take scary shortcuts, no matter how exhausted you are after a brutal shift where you didn't even get your first break, let alone the second :/

Anyway—we got a number exchange! Sure, Rhys already knows her address (and has her number saved, because of course he does), but he's playing it cool, nonchalant. Gotta keep up appearances, right?

This was the moment she finally crashed out and Rhys and the one who saw it :)

Thank you for reading <3

The Ruin tag list - @queenoffeysand @sttvrdustt @wedonttalkaboutvoldemort @coeurdeveea @maltemp @sillyfreakfanparty @justtryingtosurvive02 @bosssliv5g @hyruledemigod20 @sstrohma @zoeisdreaming6 @shellsarepretty @moonlitlavenders

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rhiannonsknife · 12 hours ago

Note

going crazy rn over the thought of rhiannon topping from the bottom, tugging your hair & directing ur every move while u fuck her with ur strap/fingers

or maybe having u on a leash while u fuck her & degrading u idk i have too many thoughts i cant put into words 😫

i believe in rhiannon who tops from the bottom!! 🙂‍↕️

you could be on top, wearing the strap, yet anyone watching would probably know who’s really in control…

rhiannon would be sprawled under you, your strap buried deep inside her, her thighs wrapped around your hips. rhiannon’s hands, unlike your own if you were in her position, aren’t idle: one is fisted in your hair, the other curled around the back of your neck, squeezing.

“is this you trying to take control?” she pants, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. “darling, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

you thrust harder in response, slamming forward with enough force to make rhiannon moan. she doesn’t let go of your hair, though. in fact, she tightens her grip, pulling your face down until your foreheads touch.

“look at me.” her breath fans hot across your mouth. “fucking look at me.”

you can feel her clench around you as she rocks her body upward to meet your thrusts, setting the pace with the strength of her thighs, grinding against you. “that’s it,” she praises. “right there. don’t- don’t stop.”

it’s not like you could stop, with her heel digging into your lower back to keep you flush, your strap soaked and the sheets ruined where you’re thrusting into her.

“harder,” rhiannon hisses. “don’t make me tell you again.”

your rhythm falters, caught in the burn of her pulling at your scalp.

when rhiannon’s back arches and her moans die on her tongue, she continues giving orders through gritted teeth. more. faster. there.

you don’t stop until she tells you to.

#rhiannon lewis ღ #˙🔞 ̟ !! mdni #rhiannon lewis x reader #rhiannon lewis x female reader #rhiannon lewis x you #sweetpea

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astroxrion · 2 days ago

Text

How to Heal from Heartbreak Trauma ❤️‍🩹🔱❤️‍🩹🔱

Aries Moon

Heartbreak feels like losing momentum. It bruises your pride and leaves you restless. You must stop pretending it did not affect you. Let yourself admit it hurt. But do not stay still. Start something new. Physical action is how you release pain. Movement helps you process and rebuild. You heal when you stop waiting for closure and give it to yourself by living again.

Taurus Moon

Heartbreak hits your sense of safety. It disrupts the life you imagined and the comfort you built around someone. You must stop replaying the past. Start by creating a new routine that does not include them. Nourish your senses. Touch texture. Make a warm meal. Ground your emotions in your physical space. You heal by proving to yourself that you can feel stable again without them.

Gemini Moon

Heartbreak sends your thoughts in a loop. You try to talk your way out of the pain or distract yourself with new ideas. But the feeling sits under the noise. You must slow down and let the emotion speak. Name exactly what hurt. Write the truth of what you lost. You heal when you stop explaining and start accepting what cannot be fixed with logic.

Cancer Moon

Heartbreak for you feels like abandonment. You gave more than you had and now it feels like a piece of you is missing. But you are still here. You must take all the energy you once gave to them and redirect it back into yourself. Cook for yourself. Write your younger self a letter. You heal when you stop waiting to be held and start holding yourself with care.

Leo Moon

Heartbreak wounds your sense of being valued. You start to question if you were ever truly seen. But you cannot tie your worth to someone else’s inability to keep loving you. Take pride in how deeply you cared. Dress for yourself. Create without an audience. You heal when you realize you were never rejected. You were rerouted back to the center of your own light.

Virgo Moon

Heartbreak makes you search for where you went wrong. You look for small mistakes to blame. But love does not fail because of a missed signal. You must stop dissecting the past and start tending to what is real now. Clean your space. Care for your health. You heal when you stop needing a reason and give yourself permission to move forward imperfectly.

Libra Moon

Heartbreak feels like imbalance. You miss the connection even if it was not healthy. You want closure that may never come. You must stop waiting for peace from them. Sit with yourself. Ask what you need now. You do not need someone to complete you. You heal when you stop searching for reflection in others and build wholeness within.

Scorpio Moon

Heartbreak does not just hurt. It shakes your trust in everything. You feel betrayed by how deeply you let yourself feel. But love is not weakness. You must stop holding onto the pain as proof. Let it rise. Let it burn out. You heal when you let go of needing control over how it ended and accept that grief is part of your power not the end of it

Sagittarius Moon

Heartbreak makes you question your optimism. It challenges your belief that things will always work out. You want to move on fast but the lesson stays behind. Do not rush. Let yourself sit in the discomfort. Travel inward. Ask what this pain is teaching you. You heal when you stop trying to escape it and instead choose to grow from it honestly.

Capricorn Moon

Heartbreak makes you feel like you failed. You take the end personally and carry the weight alone. But love is not something you earn through effort. It either flows or it doesn’t. You must stop measuring your value by how long it lasted. Focus on what you are building now. You heal when you stop performing strength and allow yourself to feel without judgment.

Aquarius Moon

Heartbreak makes you emotionally distant. You analyze it from above instead of feeling it. But pushing it aside creates isolation. You must stop pretending it was not that deep. Let yourself feel strange and human. Cry without needing a reason. Talk to someone who sees you. You heal when you let the emotion be as real as the thought.

Pisces Moon

Heartbreak makes you want to dissolve. You idealize what you had and escape into memory. But fantasy cannot bring closure. You must stop romanticizing what was not fully real. Ground yourself through art music or water. Let your heart ache without needing to explain. You heal when you choose to stay here and love yourself through the process.

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saltnsugarbear · 3 days ago

Note

I need someone to write a Dennis Whitaker smut revolving around the scene where he snapped that rat's neck! Plz, plz, plz!!!!

Whitaker who doesn't get why you keep looking at his hands

I can't find anything that suggests if such an action requires much force or strength but those were decent sized rats and I mean,,,,, i can only imagine,,,,

I see this more as a,,,, you're also a resident/intern and have been enamored with this pathetic-looking boy since you started your shift and he just seems to have the worst luck and it draws you to him so much more. hes simply so pathetic and miserable looking and also kind of funny

anyways

you've been tailing around Santos all day, only catching glimpses of Whitaker, and he seems to be miserable every chance you see him. you're taking a moment to eat, Samira offering to cover when you're about to be called into a trauma with Trinity and Langdon. that left you at the desk with Perlah and Princess, humming when Dana mentions stepping out for a smoke. after that is the big commotion with Crosby and you're quick to leave the desk to find the problem.

Whitaker acts fast enough to distract you, trailing to the dog shaking around a rat before being covered in a sheet. then Whitaker jumps for them, removing the rat from the dogs mouth quickly before he straightens up. you can see how he tightens his grip before flicking his wrist forward and a tiny snap sounds through the room.

you have a moment to register that its Dennis before people are clapping, murmurs going around before he bows bashfully. something about the dorky motion made your head spin, trying to match the Whitaker who had a "funky" ringtone, to the one who just caught a rat.

you spend the rest of the shift staring at his hands and arms.

and arguably, Whitaker isn't traditionally muscled but he is a fucking farm kid in Nebraska i can tell you for a fact he helped and has enough muscle for it to count. theres also a specific scene where he has his arms crossed that makes him look good. he doesn't have a six pack but hes got strong arms from chores if hes a real farm kid.

because of this, ive been thinking about Whitaker already knowing about your thing for his hands and just,,,,

it takes a while to romance Whitaker and even longer to get him in bed HOWEVER I think if you ask nice enough he'll use his fingers on you even before you guys are ready to go the whole way

you lose your mind a little with how he grabs your jaw firmly to guide your mouth back to his but also hes fucking you so sweetly

I dont know he'd ever be into choking but he guides your jaw easily and rests his palm along your collarbone and against your sternum. Just a heavy warmth there.

also if he just,,,,, man handled you everywhere? he needs to get to a cabinet? hes moving you by the hips to get to it

truly theres some strength there and its not enough to show visually but its enough to drive you nuts cause he can probably toss bails of hay so I mean,,,, a person isnt too far of a stretch i think

#saltnsugarbear #sugartalks #dennis whitaker #dennis whitaker x reader #dennis whitaker smut #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 hours ago

Text

Members Only 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, cheating, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Grace is asleep as the streetcar drives up to the gate of the Shelby abode. You look over at her as the driver rolls through and toward the house. He stops just around the other side of the fountain, the water trickling down like music.

“Mrs. Shelby?” You say. She’s slumped against the seat. “Mrs. Shelby? Are you okay?”

She doesn’t respond. You touch her arm lightly. You’re terrified. One time she asked you to zip a dress then lashed out at you when it got stuck part way.

“Mrs. Shelby?” You repeat a third time.

Nothing. You’re all alone and helpless. You can’t leave her out here, but you also don’t know how to get her inside.

You stretch your fingers around her arm. You tug her. She jerks then folds forward.

“Mrs. Shelby, I’m sorry.” You push her back up. Her body is slack. She’s heavier than you expect.

You lean her back and stare at her silhouette. Would the driver help? You hold her in place and slowly peel your hand away.

You slide over the seat and get out. You go around her side and grab the handle. You slowly open it. You bend to look at her. She’s dead asleep.

You lean in and hook your arms under hers. You really don’t think you’re strong enough. You try to move her. You grunt and nearly fall into her lap.

“Come on, Mrs. Shelby. Please,” you beg.

A flash of light startles you. You pull back but Mrs. Shelby nearly falls out. You catch her, digging in your heels, and hold her up with all your strength. You look back at the headlights drawing up behind the streetcar.

The engine rolls over and the night air quiets once more. The fountain water plucks like woodwinds. A car door opens and shuts and footsteps stride up the stonework. You watch Mr. Shelby as he approaches.

“Mr. Shelby, I—I'm sorry. She must be tired.”

“Tired?” He tuts. “Allow me.”

“I’m sorry,” you utter again. “I tried--”

He comes close and leans in. He brushes close and you back away, crushed against the car door as he crowds you. He lifts her, draping her over his shoulder with a sigh. You wince as he reaches for you. He grips the car door and you blink.

You move out of the way. He shuts the door and you hover around him nervously. Should you go home? Do you follow him?

“You shouldn’t have to try,” he rebukes. “My wife should walk upon her own strength and not leave even her most basic labour upon you.”

“Sir, I...” You trail after him. You haven’t been dismissed after all. She’ll need help. “I apologise.”

“Which you should stop,” he climbs the curved steps up to the front doors.

You get ahead of him and open them. He enters. You step inside and quickly pull off your shoes. He keeps his one as he marches across the echoing foyer.

You keep two feet back from his heels. You’d hate to tread on them. He carries Mrs. Shelby’s limp body upstairs and down the hall. You open her bedroom door as well. You suppose it’s his as well though she cried to Charlotte how he rarely slept in the bed. That’s none of your business.

He lays her on the bed as you go into the attached bathroom. You take a clean white washcloth and run cold water over it. You wring it out then smooth it. You go out and near Mrs. Shelby. You wipe her forehead with the wet cloth.

You gently clean away her layers of makeup. She’s really a beautiful woman. She could wear less. You quietly work away.

Mr. Shelby clears his throat. You jump and glance back at him. You assumed he’d left. You give a sheepish look.

“You put great care into your work.” He comments. He stands, hands in his pocket, eyes set on you.

“Mrs. Shelby isn’t feeling well.” You look at her again and wipe her lips gently. “She’ll need water. I’ll get her some and maybe if she stirs, some tea.”

He shifts. “I’ll fetch the water.”

“Sir, I can do it. It’s my job.”

“Is it?” He wonders.

You stare at him. You’re not sure. You focus again on Mrs. Shelby. You don’t look up again until you hear him go.

You put the cloth aside. You drag the blankets out from under Mrs. Shelby then pull them to her waist. You tidy her hair and adjust her head on the pillow. She’s not going to feel very well tomorrow.

Mr. Shelby returns. He crosses the room and pulls a mother of pearl coaster from the stack near the lamp. He puts the glass of water down.

You stare at his wife. You snatch up the wet cloth and squeeze it. You spin and scurry away. You put the cloth in the hamper before you enter the bathroom. You grab the bin and return with it.

“In case she is sick,” you set it beside the bed. “Should she be on her back?”

He hums. He rolls his wife and leans her on her stomach. He stands straight and clucks down at her.

“I owe you an apology. For her. She would too but we both know she’ll never give it,” he faces you. “I have another favour to ask.”

“Favour? Sir. I work for Mrs. Shelby. It’s my job.”

“No, I’m not your job,” he drawls. “But you mentioned tea. Might I trouble you to brew some before you’re off?”

You nod and stare at his tie. A nice grey and black paisley. “I can do that, sir. No trouble.”

You sidestep him. You go out of the room and hear him follow a few paces back. The switch click off as you get to the staircase. The door shuts with a snap.

You descend and go to the kitchen. You put the kettle onto boil and take down a painted mug. You measure leaves into a steeper and hook it over the brim. The water steams and you pour.

You wait. You smell the tea. You can just tell it’s just right. Or rather, just how you like it. You remove the steeper and empty it, rinse it, then put it aside to dry.

You pick up the cup and pause. You realise, you don’t know where Mr. Shelby would be. You turn and nearly shriek. He sits at the square island on one of the high stools. He watches you.

You come around the marble counter and place the cup before him. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Touch of milk, please,” he intones.

“Yes, sir.”

You flit to the fridge and take out the glass jug. You bring it to him. He gestures to his cup. You add a small dollop. A cloud plumes in the reddish brew.

You take the milk back to the fridge. You face him again as he watches the tea change colour. He hooks his finger through the handle and lifts it. He sniffs before he tastes.

“Perfect. Finely steeped,” he praises, keeping the cup before his lips.

“Sir.” You bow your chin.

He watches you over the rim. His blue eyes sparkle and he inhales. He sets the cup down. He grabs the knot of his tie and loosens it.

“Tommy,” he insists. “No one else around.”

“Yes, s—Tommy,” you toy with his name on your tongue. “Is there anything else I might get you?”

His gaze lingers for a moment then falls to the tea. “No, suppose not. You will go home and sleep.”

“Thank you,” you say. “Have a good night, sir.” You go to the door and stop. You look back at him and catch him watching again. “Tommy,” you correct yourself.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #dark tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby #drabble #series #the club #au #members only #peaky blinders

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i-nssomniia · 3 days ago

Text

Take me away, Wooin

Pairing: Wooin x reader 18+

Tags: smut, drunk!Reader, in the car, hair pulling, ending inside, established RS

Note: I've read – @sunariiiiiiin now I can't calm myself down.

"baby, seriously, why are you so demanding when you're drunk?"

Wooin just sighs briefly, keeping his hands on your hips as you make him in the front seat of his car.

"I've m-missed you soooo much," - you giggle drunkenly, leaving smeared kisses on his neck, leaving a trail of your lipstick and saliva on his skin. You can't even find your balance, so you stubbornly hold onto his shoulders, digging your nails into his fabric.

it was your day off, when you and your friends decided to go out to a bar to relax a little. And since Wooin came home so late for several days in a row, because of his important work, during which he did not devote you, you were so tuned to his absence that you drank more than necessary.

"Baby, my car's windows aren't tinted, if you don't stop, –oh hell"

Wooin hisses when you bite his neck. you have no control over your strength, and it's a bit painful, but it makes a big mess in his pants when you move your hips against him, mimicking the motion of riding him. and he's fucking sure that's exactly what you're doing on purpose.

"I waant you, r-right noow.."

you're drunkenly humming under your breath, touching your lips to the lobe of his ear, sticking out your tongue to run it around, and that's enough for your dear boy to pull the seat back and throw you into the back seat quite roughly, pressing your chest against the leather backrest.

"well, you wanted this"

Wooin's hand is wrapped around your neck as he presses your back against him. The car is so cramped and uncomfortable that the discomfort causes him to curse under his breath as he uses his other hand to slide under your blouse, taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

"Oh! Wooin, damn it..."

Your head falls back against his shoulder as he applies pressure to your throat, changing his grip to your jaw to gain more space on your neck.

"isn't that what you wanted? to get fucked right now in my car"

Wooin leaves a wet open-mouthed kiss on your skin, playing with your breast, twisting your nipple with his fingers, pressing it inward with his index finger, then pinching it to pull it forward.

"You're just like a little dirty whore who needs me so much, aren't you?"

he pulls the skin on your neck with his teeth, leaving a red mark, and moves his hands to your stomach, holding you in a tight grip, and to your skirt to slide down to your underwear.

you moan long and hard, spreading your legs wider, holding on to the chair harder, feeling how Wooin slides his fingers from your thigh and slides into your wet cunt, pressing on your clit that the knot in your stomach goes through your whole body like an electric shock, making you scream.

"oh god–, you're so wet, so in need, it's so bad, baby"

his soft laughter trembles against your skin when one of your hands reaches back to grab him by the strands of hair on the back of your head, pulling him closer to you.

"Wooin, please—", you turn your head to him, nose to nose, to moan right into his mouth as his fingers twist around your clit, slipping occasionally to your hole, over your wet folds, - "I s-swear, I need– I need you to f-fuck me, oh god, baby– please"

you stumble drunkenly, closing your eyes. To be honest, you could have come just from that, because you've been missing him for so long, if he hadn't changed the pace every few seconds, deliberately сбивая you off to tease you.

Wooin snorts softly as he looks at your face. He could have punished you for a couple of hours because you and your drunken calls asking him to pick you up distracted him from important meetings at the club, and he didn't quite understand what was wrong with you at first, so he just rushed to your side before realizing your drunken state.

but the truth is, he's missed you so much, even in this position of complete control, he can feel his dick twitching in his pants. So he pulls his hand away from you, puts his wet fingers in his mouth, licks them, runs his forked tongue between them, and looks into your eyes, never breaking eye contact, before lowering his hand to the waistband of his pants and pulling them down.

"Spread your legs wider, baby"

you lean your hand on the headrest of the chair, spreading your legs wider, pulling your skirt to the side. You're still so drunk, your knees are shaking, and your vision keeps swimming, but his figure and touch are so clear.

Wooin pulls the fabric of your underwear up to the side, squeezing it into a fist, pressing it on your wet folds, holding himself with his other hand by grabbing the back of the chair as he thrusts his dick into you.

"Damn! I haven't been around for a few days, and you're already so tight"

his mouth opens as he enters your wet pussy. he sees you whining and moaning underneath him, ready to collapse from him and the alcohol right now, but he won't let you, starting to thrust into you forcefully.

he knows that passersby can see you through the front windows of the car, and the car starts to shake uncharacteristically as he moves into you, slapping his hips against yours, watching his dick enter you without a condom, and how you drip in the car without stopping at all. but he doesn't give a damn. He's so hungry for your pussy, for the way it wraps around him.

"Oh, fuck, you take me so well, agh, yes, just like that–"

Wooin smirks, pulling the elastic of your panties to press the edge on you. He knows it can be painful, but he's clearly not in a position to think so clearly.

"Wooin, W-Wooin, Wooi-in, oh— fuck, please, I'm like this!–"

You arch your back, shaking under him, grabbing the headrest with both hands, saliva dripping from your mouth, and your legs begin to spread on their own. and you would have damn well collapsed right there, so uncomfortable, if it weren't for Wooin, who pulled your head back by your hair.

"Come on, little bitch, you can do it, agh-"

his slaps on your thighs get deeper as his rhythm gets off track, he’s no longer watching it, just sticking it in you. he’s wrapping your hair around his fist, with the other hand accidentally tears your underwear, throwing it back and pushing your skirt away, which you let go.

“that’s it, baby–, agh, you’re taking me so good”

you’re gasping as your body shakes, tits bouncing up and down, the sound of slapping all over the car. Wooin's hand slaps your ass, leaving a red mark.

"yes, yes, oh Jesus, Woo-in"

he's so close, fuck, fuck, fuck! he pulls your head back, gripping your hair in his hands, it hurts so much that a few tears roll down your cheeks, but you're more focused on his dick than anything else.

"I want to c-cum, god, let me— agh!"

you scream as he slaps your ass again, thrusting into you even faster. it's enough for you before you come all over his dick, wrapping your tightest around it, arching your back and shaking with a big shudder.

“oh babygirl..“

he takes a breath through his nose to bury himself inside you, finally coming inside you, closing his eyes.

It's so hot in the car right now, your ragged breathing coming from both of you, sweat dripping down your skin, and your bodies shaking.

after a few moments, he pulls out his cock, watching as your cum and his cum leak out of you. He untangles your hair, letting go of you, and you collapse on the seats in the back of his car, shaking, leaking, and sobbing drunkenly.

Wooin pulls his pants back on, leaning over your body, running his thumb over your thigh in a circular motion, and placing a kiss on your temple.

"Let's go home so I can take care of you"

you sob, looking at him and nodding briefly. sleep begins to overtake your body as you roll onto your back in the back seat of his car, still leaking.

and he laughs softly at your state, but he's so fucking happy that you called him, because he's missed this sight in front of him so much.

but now he won't let you take cover with your skirt. It's such a good sight, isn't it? And when he takes you home at the wheel, he wants to look at your ruined body through the rearview mirror of the car.

i like this song so much, I'm just exploding

#windbreaker #windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker one-shots #windbreaker sabbath #windbreaker wooin #wooin yoo #wooin x reader #wooin windbreaker #sabbath crew #Spotify

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xx-dinah-writing-xx · 9 hours ago

Text

Where the cradle lies empty

Daemon Targaryen x reader

angst

A/N: Hi again, loves 💀. Back at it with more Daemon angst because apparently emotional devastation is my love language. If it doesn’t ache a little… did I even write it? Suffer beautifully. 💋

————

They bury your child before the sun rises.

There is no fanfare. No ceremonial rites. No white cloaks or dragon’s cry to send the soul to the gods. Just the sound of earth being shoveled over a box that’s too small. You stand a few paces away, arms hanging limp at your sides, your body hollowed out by too many nights without sleep, too many hours of bleeding on cold stone floors while the maesters whispered things you weren’t meant to hear. You do not weep anymore. You did enough of that when the baby stopped kicking. When they told you that your babe had ill heart and there was nothing they could do. When Daemon didn’t come back in time.

He should have been here.

The rage you once clung to has thinned into something worse. Disbelief. He swore he’d be gone only a fortnight. He left with fire in his eyes and steel in his hand, chasing some fool’s errand in the Vale to prove his loyalty to Viserys. You begged him not to go. You were already so far along. You felt your daughter move like a tempest in your belly and told him she would come early. He kissed your forehead, called you dramatic, and promised he’d return before the first snow fell.

That was seven weeks ago.

You named her alone. Held her alone. Felt her warmth fade in your arms as the sun dipped behind the walls of the Red Keep and you begged the gods, old and new, to take you instead.

When Daemon finally arrives, it is long past the burial. His armor is still bloodstained. His face gaunt from war. He smells of horse and smoke and the salt of long travel. But you feel none of it. You feel only the tremor in your knees when you see him dismount. Only the scream rising in your throat, the one that never makes it past your lips.

He looks at you like he doesn’t understand. Like the pieces haven’t fallen into place.

“Where is she?” he asks.

You cannot speak.

He says her name, the one you carved into your chest with your own voice, syllable by syllable, the one no one else has dared utter. It shatters something in you. You turn and walk back into the keep.

He follows. Of course he does. He always chases too late.

Inside, the nursery remains untouched. You haven’t had the strength to face it. The maids do not dare enter either. The swaddling cloths still hang across the empty cradle, embroidered with little dragons. A silver rattle sits unused on the window ledge, dust gathering around it like snow.

When he steps inside and sees the silence where there should be crying, he finally understands.

His knees buckle. Just a little. Just enough that you almost reach for him.

You do not.

Instead, you say, “You weren’t here.”

His head lifts. There’s blood in his mouth from where he bit down on grief. “I didn’t know—”

“You should have,” you whisper. Your voice is like broken glass in your own throat. “I told you. I told you she was coming. I begged you to stay.”

He steps forward, hands outstretched, as if to pull you close. But there’s nothing left of you to hold. You are cold marble and dried blood and ashes. You shake your head, stepping back into the shadows.

“I held her, Daemon,” you say. “I held her while she died. She was warm, and she smelled like you. And I watched her go cold, and you weren’t here.”

There is silence again. That cruel, gaping silence that swallows everything soft and good.

“I should have been,” he says. It is not a plea. Not an excuse. Only fact.

“Yes,” you say. “You should have.”

The pain doesn’t fade. It never will. It lives with you now. Sleeps beside you. It is the space where your child should be.

Daemon drops to his knees before you. Not like a prince. Not like a warrior. Like a man who has finally been broken beyond repair. His forehead touches your skirts, and he clutches the fabric as if it is the only thing keeping him alive.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “Gods, forgive me. Forgive me.”

You look down at him, at the man who once set the world on fire for you. And for the first time, you feel nothing at all.

Not hate.

Not love.

Only the deep, devastating knowledge that nothing he says will bring her back.

And the even crueler truth.

You are not sure if you can ever let him touch you again without thinking of what you lost.

#fem reader #reader #yn #daemon targaryen angst #hotd daemon #daemon fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #hotd #angst #x reader #female reader #reader insert

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makingfanfictionstosleep · 2 days ago

Text

defying fate

previous ... next

CHAPTER 4 : POSSIBILITIES

The world had become a whirlpool of threats, each day bringing a new wave of fear. It was a well-thought-out plan: you wouldn't be left alone. For safety reasons, one of them was always by your side. It was a good thing they all agreed, because days later, incident after incident kept coming.

EVER was relentless, their shadowy organization still hunting your unique abilities for their twisted experiments. Smaller, lesser-known groups also emerged, all vying for the same prize.

UNICORN, your current organization, were barely keeping up.

Onychinus, through Sylus, had extended their offer of sanctuary, an offer you’d declined, leading Sylus to dispatch the watchful Mephisto to trail your every move.

Resurfacing Memories

The external threats were only part of the storm.

Inside, memory fragments, like shattered glass, kept resurfacing, each shard cutting deeper into your already tangled emotions. Your feelings for each of the men deepened with every passing moment, leaving you in a constant state of confusion and guilt.

Every time you were with one, you couldn't help but think of the others, a gnawing worry about how they’d react if they ever discovered the true depths of your entangled affections.

And the memories… they were the most disorienting of all.

Xavier's Fading Time

The truth about Xavier’s own timeline unfurled in your dreams, vivid and heartbreaking. You had been together before, trained, and fought side-by-side. He was the prince of your planet — Philos, in another lifetime, and he had searched for you relentlessly after you were swallowed by the Deepspace tunnel. The confrontation was inevitable.

You found him by the panoramic window in his apartment, the city lights a distant blur against the suffocating night. "Xavier," you began, your voice a fragile whisper, trembling with a volatile mixture of anger and a desperate, clawing ache that twisted your gut. "Tell me the truth. About… before. Everything."

He tensed, his broad shoulders subtly stiffening, his jaw clenching. You could feel it, the frantic flicker of a lie forming, the desperate urge to shield you from the crushing weight of a painful past.

But the ancient wisdom in his eyes, the deep, undeniable resonance between your souls, told him it would shatter everything.

He turned, his gaze meeting yours, and the silence that followed was his confession, a heavy, suffocating admission that hung in the air, thick with unspoken sorrows. His eyes, usually so fiercely protective, now held a raw vulnerability, a profound sadness that mirrored your own, tearing at you.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you finally choked out, tears stinging your eyes, a searing, bitter burn against your skin. "We were… everything. Our world, our future… it was ours. How could you let me forget?"

His hand reached out, trembling, hovering an inch from your face as if he feared his touch might break you, might crumble you into dust. Then, with a choked sound, it dropped, uselessly to his side.

"I couldn't," he rasped, his voice raw, laced with agony, a desperate plea for understanding. "Not when your memories were fragmented. Not when… not when my time is so… limited." His voice cracked on the last word, a sound that ripped through your heart.

You fumed, a tempest of anger and betrayal raging within, but beneath it, a chilling, gut terror gnawed at you, colder than any deepspace vacuum.

You knew.

You knew his time was up. He was fading, a slow, agonizing erosion of light and life, like sand slipping through your desperate fingers, impossible to hold onto.

"No," you whispered, stepping forward, your hands instinctively reaching, grasping his arm with desperate, bone-crushing strength, as if you could anchor him to this reality, to your reality.

"No, Xavier. I won't let you. Fate be damned, I will save you. I will defy fate itself, even if it tears me apart piece by agonizing piece."

Rafayel's Ancient Bonds

It was Rafayel’s saving grace, his shimmering, almost translucent Lemurian form, that shattered the barriers of your forgotten past.

The memories surged back, overwhelming and profound.

You had saved him once before, a sacrifice lost to the cruel mists of time. And then, further back, further still, you were his bride, offering your very life for his, a forgotten oath whispered on the winds of an ancient sea, a vow etched into your very soul.

Clarity and confusion intertwined, a dizzying, painful dance of truths that both illuminated and tormented you.

Rafayel was bound to you, and you to him, by threads of destiny older than time itself. He, the Sea God, and you, forever tethered to his ancient power, his very existence, his sorrow, his joy.

You cornered him after days of his deliberate, agonizing avoidance, his usual playful charm replaced by a skittishness that clawed at your heart, a haunted, distant look in his eyes that spoke of unbearable secrets. You found him by the ocean, the waves a cruel, mocking symphony of what you remembered, what you should have remembered, what you felt you remembered.

"Rafayel!" you cried out, your voice raw with desperation, a ragged sound torn from your chest, echoing over the crashing surf. He flinched, as if your voice was a physical blow, a harsh lash against his soul, his shoulders tensing.

"Why are you avoiding me? Why… why do I remember being your bride? Why do I feel like I died for you? What did I sacrifice?"

He spun around, his eyes wide with an ancient, unbearable sorrow, like the deepest, most shadowed depths of the ocean. "You —," he choked out, his voice hoarse, raw with suppressed pain, his hands clenching at his sides. "It was too much. Too much suffering for you to bear again."

But the memories kept coming, a terrifying, relentless flood, drowning you in forgotten grief, in echoes of a past love too profound to be forgotten.

A vision, hazy with time – was it past or future? – of the sea drying up, cracked earth stretching to an endless, desolate horizon, ancient bones bleached beneath a dying sun.

The desolation clicked into place, a horrifying puzzle piece slotting into your fragmented mind. You understood his disdain for humanity, the targeted deaths, all linked to Lemuria’s plight, to the dying echoes of his people, his very soul shriveling with their demise.

"The sea… it dried up," you whispered, the words catching in your throat, a desperate gasp for air, your own heart aching with a grief that wasn't entirely your own. "Is that why? Is that why you hate them so much? Why you’re so… broken? So alone?"

He closed his eyes, a single, shimmering tear tracing a path down his cheek, a clear drop of ocean sorrow, a perfect reflection of the pain in his soul. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling with suppressed rage and grief, his body shaking almost imperceptibly.

"They took everything," he hissed, pain lacing every syllable, every strained muscle. "They always take. But you… you were different. You were my light. My very reason. My sacrifice. My bride."

Regardless of the pain, you knew how vital Lemuria was to Rafayel, how deeply it was etched into his being, into every fiber of his ancient soul. You reached for him, tears blurring your vision, your fingers brushing his arm, then gripping, desperate to convey your unwavering resolve.

"I'll help you, Rafayel," you vowed, your voice breaking, raw with emotion. "I'll do everything in my power to save what remains. We’ll save your home. We’ll save you. I won’t lose you again."

Zayne's Hidden Struggles

Zayne's true nature was revealed not by a grand revelation, but by a journal, stumbled upon by accident in his neat, organized office. The words within spoke of a losing battle against his own power, an internal struggle that shattered the perfect façade of his unwavering control.

When you confronted him, he couldn’t find the words, only a weary acceptance and an explanation that felt like a quiet surrender, a final, painful admission. There was no point in hiding it any longer.

"Zayne," you said, your voice barely a whisper, holding up the worn leather journal, its pages almost brittle with age, trembling in your hand. "What is this? What does it mean, ‘losing control of your Evol’? Are you… are you dying?"

He looked up from his microscope, his eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, now clouded with a deep, aching vulnerability that made your stomach clench, a knot of dread. He sighed, a sound of profound exhaustion, of burdens carried too long, too silently.

"There's no easy way to explain it," he murmured, pushing his glasses up his nose, running a weary hand through his hair, as if trying to physically smooth away the truth. "I… I'm not sure if it's in the past or the future, but it's starting to happen. The power… it's becoming too much. It’s tearing me apart from the inside. Slowly. Irreversibly."

"I didn't want to worry you," he confessed, his voice barely audible, his gaze dropping to the journal in your hand, avoiding your accusing eyes. "I was trying to find a solution myself. To spare you. To bear it alone."

Your heart ached, a sharp, piercing pain that felt like a physical blow, a wound opening in your chest. This man, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, was crumbling from within, silently enduring an unimaginable torment, for your sake.

You walked over, gently taking the journal from his hand, and placed it on the desk. You reached for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, a silent plea for honesty, for shared burden, for connection. His skin felt cold, despite the warmth of your touch.

"We’ll figure it out," you said, your voice firm, resolute, despite the tremor in your own soul, despite the tears pricking at your eyes. "Together. You are not alone in this, Zayne. You never were. And please… please, never hide anything from me again. Not like this. Not anything. Let me help you carry this."

He squeezed your hand, a desperate, silent promise hanging in the air, his fingers clutching yours as if you were his only anchor, his only lifeline in a swirling abyss. You felt the raw despair radiating from him, and you held on tighter.

Caleb's Painful Truth

The sight of Caleb in his room, hunched over, carefully fixing his bionic arm, sent a tremor of pure, unadulterated fury through you, a searing, hot anger that threatened to consume you.

The harsh glow of his desk lamp illuminated the sheen of sweat on his brow, the grimace of pain twisting his features into a mask of silent, agonizing suffering. He groaned, a raw sound of agony ripped from his throat, and it felt like a knife twisting in your own heart, a gut-wrenching pain that stole your breath.

You couldn't bear to see him like that, broken and in pain, at the mercy of something so cruel, so dehumanizing.

You slammed the door shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the small, sterile room, making him flinch violently. He snapped his head up, his eyes wide with surprise, then a flicker of apprehension, of knowing, as he saw the storm in your eyes.

"What happened?" you demanded, your voice laced with unbridled rage, a dangerous, barely contained edge you rarely allowed to surface. "Why are you always in pain? What did EVER do to you? What have they done to you, Caleb? Tell me!"

He had no choice but to explain everything, the experiments, the constant adjustments, the phantom pains that clawed at his very nerves, the insidious corruption of his own body, the way they had taken him apart and rebuilt him, leaving a part of him forever scarred.

He spoke in a low, even tone, his face a carefully constructed mask of stoicism, but his eyes, dark and haunted, betrayed the unbearable agony beneath, the quiet despair.

When he finished, a chilling, vengeful fury coursed through you, potent and undeniable, a primal urge to destroy. Your hands clenched into fists, your nails digging into your palms, drawing blood, the sharp sting a mere flicker compared to the burning inferno in your soul.

A raw, guttural scream built in your throat, demanding release. You turned on your heels, ready to walk out, to unleash a storm of vengeance that would leave nothing but ash in its wake, to burn EVER to the ground.

"Don't," Caleb's voice was sharp, cutting through your rage, a command laced with a desperate, heartbreaking plea. He was already out of his chair, faster than you thought possible, blocking your path.

His good arm shot out, his hand grasping your wrist, his fingers a strong, unyielding band, pulling you back. "It won't solve anything. It will only put you in more danger. And I can't… I won't let that happen. Not after everything." His grip tightened, a silent promise to protect you at all costs.

You stared at him, tears blurring your vision, streaming down your face, the searing fury warring with a devastating, crippling helplessness.

You knew he was right, the cold, brutal logic of his words piercing through the red haze. But the injustice of it all burned hotter than ever, a consuming fire in your soul that demanded retribution.

Sylus's Unbreakable Cycle

You didn't have to ask Sylus. It was one of those quiet nights, both of you lost in thought, the city lights a distant hum, the world outside a muted echo, when he began to tell you a lore about dragons. His voice, usually so composed, so detached, now held a profound, aching sorrow that resonated deep within your bones, stirring ancient, forgotten pains.

"There are tales," he began, his gaze fixed on some unseen horizon, his profile etched against the dim light, almost ethereal, "of dragons cursed to repeat cycles, forever bound to a specific fate, to a soul they are destined to meet… and to lose. Again and again. For eternity."

Your heart knew instantly he was speaking of himself, of you. A cold dread settled in your chest. You swallowed hard, the bitter taste of truth coating your tongue, a premonition of grief already settling in, cold and heavy.

"I've had dreams," you confessed, your voice barely a whisper, thick with unbidden emotions, with the echoes of nightmares. "Memories, I think. Of killing you. And… of you killing me. Over and over. A dance of death."

He turned then, his eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now filled with an ancient, unbearable grief, like staring into the heart of a dying sun, a cosmos of sorrow. He pulled you into a tight embrace, a desperate, crushing hug that spoke of a thousand lost lifetimes, of endless partings, of promises broken by fate.

His arms wrapped around you, possessive and despairing. "Our fate," he murmured into your hair, his voice raw, broken, a ragged sigh. "Is a cruel one. A relentless torment. A cosmic joke."

But you were determined to defy it. You would not be a pawn in some cosmic game, strung along by an unseen hand. You would break free, even if it meant breaking everything else.

Then, his voice, gentle but firm, cut through your thoughts, a surgeon’s precision dissecting your emotions, yet laced with a palpable, profound pain. He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones, forcing your gaze to meet his.

"Is this," he asked, his voice filled with a desperate assurance, a raw vulnerability, "the same promise you have given to others? The same hope you offer them?"

You stared at him, confused at first, then slow, dawning realization bloomed, a sick, churning sensation in your gut, the crushing weight of your tangled affections.

He was talking about the other four.

Your gaze darted away, guilt searing your cheeks, burning like a brand, a tangible weight on your soul. You had indeed entangled your fates with theirs, a complex, agonizing knot of longing and devotion, promises whispered to each, unknowingly.

Every single one of them.

Sylus’s fingers tightened on your jaw, gently, but insistently, tilting your head back, forcing your eyes back to his, pulling you back from the brink of despair.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice filled with a desperate certainty. "It's not your fault. No one is at fault for what fate has orchestrated. Not you. Not us. We are merely caught in its web."

"No," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, tears finally spilling over, hot and heavy against his thumbs, tracing paths down your skin. "It’s fate's fault. This sick, twisted design. And it is time to stop this loop, this disgusting cycle of us being played by fate. I won't be broken again. Not for them, not for me, not for us."

Sylus then suggested a meeting with the rest. His eyes held a flicker of something ancient and knowing, a dangerous resolve.

"We need to break this, together," he urged, his voice resonating with a quiet, undeniable power. You were adamant at first, the thought of them all in one room, knowing your shared secrets, your entangled hearts, the unspoken desires, was terrifying, a precipice you feared to cross. But deep down, a cold, hard truth settled in your soul: you knew it was bound to happen.

So, with a heavy heart, you agreed.

A Fated Gathering

The meeting was, as expected, chaotic and tense, a volatile cocktail of unaddressed emotions, of desires barely contained.

The air crackled with unspoken words, with the weight of shared secrets and individual burdens, each man a force of nature barely contained, their gazes like tangible things.

Yet, amidst the tension, a strange, profound sense of déjà vu washed over you. You felt, inexplicably, that this wasn’t the first time these five formidable men had gathered in your presence, their fates converging around you, their eyes all on you.

Caleb was the one who confirmed it, his voice a steady, grounding anchor in the storm of your emotions. His gaze swept over each of them, a silent challenge passing between them, then settled on you, unwavering, accepting. "We've been here before," he stated, his jaw tight, a flicker of pain, of weariness, in his eyes. "All of us. Many times."

You were a whirlwind of shock, fury, and a strange, profound touch that pierced through the confusion, a sudden understanding that shattered your composure. "You knew?" you demanded, your voice laced with incredulity, with betrayal, directed at all of them, a desperate plea for answers, for honesty. "All of you knew? And you kept it from me? All this time?"

Zayne then explained, his usual calm demeanor strained, a rare tremble in his hands as he adjusted his glasses. "We didn't know how to bring it up. Your memories… they had to resurface naturally. We decided to unpack it one at a time, to spare you the immediate shock, the inevitable heartbreak." He ran a weary hand through his hair, his eyes filled with a deep regret, a silent apology. "It was the only way we knew how to protect you. To protect us all."

Xavier, who had been largely silent, his gaze distant, lost in unseen timelines, his very essence shimmering, finally spoke. His voice, when it came, carried the ethereal weight of a dying star, ancient and resigned, yet laced with an undeniable tenderness. "We decided to be patient. To give you time. To let you find your way back to us. To let you remember on your own terms."

You scoffed, a bitter, broken laugh escaping your lips, tears welling up again. "Time? You don't have a lot of time, Xavier! You’re fading! What good is time if you’re gone?" The words ripped from your throat, raw and desperate, a plea to the heavens.

He merely shrugged, a subtle, painful acknowledgment of his grim reality, a quiet acceptance that made your heart clench, a silent goodbye already etched in his eyes, a sacrifice he was ready to make.

Rafayel, ever the dramatic, but with a raw edge of grief, scoffed, a sardonic twist to his lips, his hand rising to run through his silver hair, pulling at the strands. "It's absurd. This whole situation is an affront to sanity. Fate has a twisted, sadistic way of tying us all together in a sick, painful cycle of endless agony. A cosmic joke at our expense."

It was Sylus who finally cut through the tension, his voice resonating with an unexpected depth, his eyes, like twin pools of ancient wisdom, fixed solely on you, burning with an intense, unwavering focus that promised both devotion and danger.

He stepped forward, drawing your full attention, reaching out to gently cup your face again. "How do you want it?" he asked, his voice filled with a desperate assurance, a raw vulnerability that surprised you. "You don't have to choose between them. You can have all of them, however you want it to be. This time, you decide. Break the cycle with us."

You stared at him, shock blossoming into a scandalous, dizzying realization, a revolutionary thought. The very idea, so forbidden, so impossible… yet, so profoundly, terrifyingly right.

It was a path you hadn't even dared to dream, a whispered hope you hadn't let solidify. But then, a new possibility unfurled before you, breathtaking in its audacity, its impossible hope.

Having all of them… fighting fate together… maybe this was the only way.

Maybe, just maybe, you could help each other, heal each other, break the cycle together, as one.

"All that matters is your safety and happiness," Caleb reiterated, his voice a solid, unwavering anchor in the storm, cutting through the swirling confusion, his hand reaching out, a silent offer of unwavering support, his touch a comforting weight on your arm.

"How… how would that even work?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, a strange tremor running through you, a chaotic mix of fear and burgeoning hope. Your mind reeled, trying to grasp the enormity of it, the sheer, audacious scale of their offer.

Sylus’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, a dangerous glint in his eyes that promised untold depths. He answered with a nonchalant shrug, as if discussing the weather, as if this grand, impossible plan was merely a logistical detail.

"We've got it all figured out. Bought a mansion for all of us. Maybe set up a schedule or something. Depends on how you want it. We adapt. We always adapt. Whatever keeps you safe. Whatever keeps you with us."

And in your mind, a fleeting, forbidden image flashed, vivid and potent, almost overwhelmingly real: you, wrapped up between all of them, their bodies a warm, protective cocoon, their intertwined fates a shield against the cruel whims of destiny, their breaths mingling, their heartbeats synchronized with yours.

You instantly pushed the "dirty" images away, a hot flush spreading through your body, a deep blush staining your cheeks, clenching your thighs, a silent acknowledgment of the raw, undeniable desire that flickered within you, undeniable and potent.

They all noticed, of course, their gazes lingering, hungry, a knowing, predatory glint in their eyes, but said nothing. It was a silent confirmation: you were in. And they could have you, shared – yes – but it was the only way to have you, truly and completely, in this lifetime.

The only way to save them all.

The only way to break the curse.

#love and deepspace #lads #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace zavier #lads xavier #lads caleb #lads rafayel #lads zayne #lads sylus #sylus #rafayel #zayne #xavier #caleb #love and deepspace imagines #[defying fate]

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sweetestmilli · 2 days ago

Text

We Will Be Free

00. | 01. | 02. | 03

an: hello! this is my first fic ever and i haven't written anything in SO long so i'm kind of rusty with this stuff and i apologize for that. english is also not my first language so please, please, be kind. this is unedited and i’m quite unsatisfied with its length and how it turned out but i had fun writing it. still, i hope u enjoy! <3

very short chapter. sorryyyy

there's barely any dialogue on this part!! but the next parts will have many of it

CONTAINS WARNING FOR K-POP DEMON HUNTERS!!!

guaranteed happy ending :p

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Rumi hated nights like this.

Ones when it was so dark you could barely see anything and not even the brightest of the bright city lights that shine below helped. Nights when the stars seemed to shine a little duller than the usual. When the moon hid, not daring to show its face and it seemed to have been in a deep slumber way before the thought of sleep even crossed anyone's mind.

But if Rumi had the chance to be honest, what she hated, in truth, was the silence that comes with nights like this. The silence that kept ringing on her ear. The same silence that she once found solace in was now something that she couldn't even bother listening to for a second more. What used to be a comfort was now associated with fear.

Not of monsters and not of demons.

But the thought of him. And this turmoil of feelings that never found peace ever since that fateful night happened almost half a year ago.

She hated how the silence seems to be whispering those last words. The words that’s seeping through her cracks, making its way right into the very core of her heart, twisting it just enough to make her feel the weight but not so much that it distracts her from the things that needed to be done and the words that needed to be said. Gripping it oh so tight but never crushing it.

On her usual days, the thought and memory of Jinu would be something that keeps her moving forward. A source of strength. But seldomly does she let herself go. Let herself fall apart and mourn til her eyes almost fell apart with all the crying. Grieve him and grieve what could've been.

If only...

Rumi shooked her head and waved off the thoughts that were filling her head. She looked around, feeling the air thicken as every second pass. Her footsteps becoming heavier with each step.

Only now does she realize that she often found herself back here. She doesn't know why. Not exactly, at least. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was because here, right here, was the first time she felt free and it was with him.

As she walked past the very same alleyway, her mind flooded with the memories. The words to the song they sang. The almosts. The way his grip on her wrist was so tight yet so gentle and so warm and soft didn't go unnoticed by her. The risks they were finally willing to take.

Her train of thoughts on till to up was immediately cut off when Derpy—with a quick and sudden movement—stood in front of her, its back facing her as it fiddled with something on the ground while Sussie could only look back at Rumi, seemingly tired of Derpy’s antics while Rumi could only chuckle at the sight.

Rumi bent down. "Well, what do we have here?” She asked Derpy, her hand grabbing whatever it was that caught Derpy's attention.

She stared.

And her heart dropped.

Her hand shook as she traced the intricate knot of the bracelet. Colored in blue and purple. Her head tilted to the side as she brought it closer to her, inspecting it, seeing how the bracelet is so identical to the one she'd given to Jinu.

“But that's impossible.” She spoke in a low and soft voice, careful not to let it tremble like the way her hands—heck— perhaps her whole body did. “It's supposed to be gone.” She added, wanting to convince herself.

And suddenly, the wind felt like it blew a little stronger. Like the stars were shining a little bit brighter. And she was quite sure that the moon had finally come out of hiding.

And then she heard a voice. A voice a little too familiar. It sounded so soft but she could swear that it almost made her knees go weak, almost making her stumble and fall to the ground.

“I think that's mine.” The voice said.

She didn't know what else to do but to look up and meet those eyes

“You...” Her breath hitched, eyes almost watering as her heart thumped against her ribs. “Jinu?”

The way his name rolled out of her tongue, it sounded like a prayer. An angel's song. A lover’s poem. A siren’s lullaby.

But he just stood there.

Unmoving. Unaware. Unbothered.

Not even uttering a single word. His eyes—they were not blank but she wished that they were. She wished his eyes reflected anything but this.

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all works and contents belong to @sweetestmilli. do not reupload.

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