#inner conflict and rage

[aventurineswife]

helloo, may I req platonic blade,jing yuan,dan heng and moze with a teen!reader who is like sirin from honkai impact 3rd?

“You can destroy everything in your path, but you can never destroy what lives inside you”

Tags: Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Moze x Reader, Teen!Sirin!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mentorship, Emotional Struggles, Inner Conflict, Vulnerability, Angst, Personal Growth.

Warnings: Mentions of pain and emotional turmoil, Inner conflict and rage, Destructive thoughts (brief), Themes of vengeance and loss, Mild language.

Blade stood motionless, the broken sword in his hand reflecting the dim light of the underground hideout. His eyes narrowed as he watched you, a figure consumed by inner turmoil and rage. Your expression flickered between innocence and something far darker, a complex mix of vulnerability and an undeniable thirst for vengeance. Blade recognized it instantly—the hunger for destruction, the same fire that burned within him.

“You have a choice,” Blade said softly, his voice devoid of emotion. “The path you’re walking leads to nothing but despair. I know this better than anyone.”

You glared at him, eyes flickering with frustration, before your voice cracked, “I don’t care. The world deserves to burn.”

Blade tilted his head slightly, observing your inner conflict. “Burning it all down won’t make the pain go away. Trust me, I’ve walked that path.” he muttered, glancing down at his fractured sword, a symbol of his own lost humanity. He could see the darkness in your eyes, but also a hint of something more—something worth saving.

“You’re not alone in this,” Blade said, a rare softness in his tone. “But don’t let your anger consume you. You’ll end up like me. A weapon without a soul.”

Jing Yuan leaned against a pillar, the soft glow of his golden eyes observing you as you paced restlessly. The weight of the world seemed to sit heavy on your shoulders, and the way you clutched your hands, as if holding back a storm, was telling. Jing Yuan's reputation for his foresight and calm demeanor preceded him, but he could still sense the conflict beneath your hardened exterior.

“You seem troubled,” Jing Yuan remarked, his voice slow, measured, as always. “I know what it’s like to carry the burdens of the world, but you need to understand one thing: you’re not alone.”

You stopped and turned sharply, eyes blazing with unspoken words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m stronger alone.”

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but there was no pity in his gaze—only understanding. “Strength is not always about being alone, my young friend. Sometimes, it’s about learning to rely on others. Even the greatest warriors rely on those who walk beside them.”

You looked away, clearly struggling with the idea. Jing Yuan could sense the unresolved anger in you, a mirror of the feelings he had fought to keep in check for centuries. “I know it’s hard to trust,” Jing Yuan continued, his voice a little quieter. “But don’t let your pain isolate you. It can only make you weaker in the end.”

Dan Heng sat silently on the edge of the Astral Express, staring at the vast, starry expanse. Your footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, as you approached him. He didn’t look up immediately, but he could sense your presence—tension hanging thick in the air.

“You’re avoiding them,” your voice broke the silence, a directness that took Dan Heng by surprise. He finally looked up, his expression guarded, though his dark eyes betrayed a certain wariness.

“Not avoiding,” Dan Heng replied coolly. “Just staying out of trouble.”

You smirked bitterly, stepping closer. “Seems like you’ve been doing that your whole life.”

Dan Heng’s gaze hardened. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough,” you retorted. “You hide behind your responsibilities, your stoic face. You think running will make things go away. But it doesn’t.”

Dan Heng stiffened, and for a moment, his calm mask cracked. He had seen too much of himself in your rebellious defiance—too much of the pain he had buried deep within. “Running won’t solve everything, no,” he admitted quietly. “But it can keep me from destroying the things I care about.”

Your eyes softened for a brief moment before you turned away. “Yeah, I get that. But maybe you don’t have to run forever.”

Dan Heng’s gaze lingered on you. “Maybe.”

The room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of your breathing as you sat, your back pressed against the cold stone wall. Moze stood in the shadows, watching you with a cold, calculating gaze. He had been sent to observe, not to interact, but there was something about you that drew him in.

“You’re restless,” Moze said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. You flinched, not expecting the intrusion into your thoughts.

“Yeah, so?” you shot back, sharp and defensive. “What’s it to you?”

Moze stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Restlessness doesn’t serve you. It’s a sign of a broken mind. You seek control, but you can’t control what’s inside of you.”

You clenched your fists, your shoulders tense. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Moze raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not. But I know what it’s like to feel trapped by your past. To be consumed by the things you’ve done and the things you’ve lost.”

Your anger flickered in your eyes, but there was something else—something vulnerable, buried deep. Moze could see it, and it troubled him more than he cared to admit.

“Pain is a part of life,” Moze said, his voice steady. “But it doesn’t have to control you. You can choose to let it define you or let it go.”

You didn’t respond, but the silence between you felt different—less tense, perhaps, more thoughtful. Moze didn’t expect you to understand right away, but sometimes, it was enough to plant a seed.

[positivelyruined]

Just because you lost me as a friend, doesn't mean you gained me as an enemy. I'm bigger than that. I still wanna see you eat, just not at my table.

Tupac or Tamlin

[imastoryteller]

20 Ways to Show Anger in Your Writing

Here’s a list of 20 signs of anger that writers can use to show, rather than tell, a character’s emotions through physical, verbal, and internal reactions:

1. Facial Expressions

Clenched jaw or grinding teeth

Narrowed or glaring eyes

Lips pressed into a thin line or curled into a sneer

2. Body Language

Fists clenched tightly at their sides

Tense shoulders that rise or square up

Puffing out the chest or stepping closer to confront

3. Speech Patterns

Voice lowered to a dangerous, icy tone

Shouting or raising their voice suddenly

Speaking in short, clipped sentences

4. Breathing Changes

Heavy, rapid breathing (nostrils flaring)

Sharp inhales and audible exhales

Holding their breath as if trying to stay in control

5. Sudden Physical Movements

Slamming fists onto tables or walls

Pacing back and forth restlessly

Pointing a finger or jabbing the air during speech

6. Uncontrolled Gestures

Shoving objects off a desk or knocking over a glass

Finger tapping or knuckle cracking

Wrapping arms tightly around themselves

7. Temperature and Flushes

Red face, neck, or ears

Visible veins on the neck or forehead

Breaking into a sweat despite the situation

8. Eye Movements

Eyes darting or rolling sharply

Avoiding direct eye contact out of fury

Staring someone down with unblinking intensity

9. Words and Tone

Cursing, insults, or verbal jabs

Sarcasm sharpened to hurt others

Accusations thrown in frustration

10. Breaking Personal Space

Leaning in closer, looming over someone

Pointed steps toward another person to intimidate

Physically turning away to dismiss or avoid conflict

11. Physical Reactions

Throwing objects or breaking things in rage

Punching walls, doors, or inanimate objects

Shaking hands or trembling with pent-up anger

12. Posture Shifts

Back stiffening and chin lifting defiantly

Shoulders jerking or twitching

Rigid stance as though ready for confrontation

13. Inner Thoughts (for internal POV)

“I could feel the blood boiling in my veins.”

“The room seemed to close in on me.”

“My pulse thundered in my ears.”

14. Displacement of Anger

Kicking objects on the ground (chairs, trash bins)

Storming off abruptly or slamming doors

Snapping at someone unrelated to the cause of anger

15. Temperature Descriptions (metaphors/sensations)

Heat rushing to their face or spreading through their chest

A cold sensation washing over them, signaling restrained anger

Feeling fire “lick” at their insides or their temper “ignite”

16. Instinctive Responses

A growl or grunt escaping their lips

Baring their teeth as if instinctively defensive

Ripping or tearing something in their grip

17. Silence as a Weapon

Pausing dramatically before responding

Refusing to speak or meet someone’s eyes

The ominous quiet just before they explode

18. Physical Sensations

Muscles twitching or vibrating under the skin

Heart pounding visibly at their throat or chest

A bitter taste in their mouth or nausea from anger

19. Reactive Behaviors

Interrupting others to correct or attack

Dismissing concerns with a quick wave of the hand

Throwing out ultimatums like “Don’t push me!”

20. Lingering Aftermath

Hands trembling after the initial outburst

A headache, buzzing ears, or lingering tension

Regret or shame slowly replacing the heat of the anger

These signs can be layered together to create realistic and powerful depictions of anger, whether it’s smoldering beneath the surface or erupting violently.

[myun-saidthoughts]

❦♡❦♡ Astrology Observations ❦♡❦♡

❥Dominant un-evolved Libra/7th house placements prioritize romantic partners over platonic relationships. The amount of depth or care that they allow themselves to feel is curated for their partner, and no matter how much consideration or care you show them, the amount of depth they will allow in from you is limited.

❥For Aquarius Moons (or dominant Aquarians) the root of many long-term struggles lies in how they respond to discomfort—by default, they tend to avoid it, which only delays growth and resolution.

❥1st House Chiron (maybe Pluto depending on other factors in the chart) can create the native to have deep self worth issues around their self image. They could lack confidence and there's often times dilemmas on how they "should" act or "should" look based on how others treated them.

❥If the native's Sun has little to no aspects in their birth chart, the chance that their Father is either emotionally or physically absent is likely, especially if the Sun is in the 7th, 10th or 12th house.

❥Nessus (the asteroid) aspecting the Sun, Moon, Mercury, Mars, Venus or the Ascendant indicates the native has dealt with deep abuse with the people they are closest with in their life. This abuse has fundamentally shaped them to become the person they are today.

Sun

Abuse from the father or dominant parental figure

Ego wounds; struggles with self-confidence and identity

Difficulty asserting autonomy; fear of being alone or independent

Potential for codependent behavior rooted in early validation issues

Moon

Abuse from the mother or maternal figure

Emotional manipulation, neglect, or inconsistency

Victim mindset or emotional enmeshment is common (your mother may have shown those traits early on in your life)

May struggle with emotional regulation and safety

Mercury

Abuse from siblings or through verbal communication

Childhood pain transferred into sibling dynamics

Parental abuse may distort thought processes or communication patterns

Mental overstimulation or inner criticism may stem from early verbal harm

Mars

Physical abuse or exposure to violence

Aggression as a learned coping mechanism

Impulsive, reactive behavior tied to unresolved rage from upbringing

Prone to conflict or projecting anger when triggered emotionally

Venus

Abuse from romantic partners or through love and affection

Tendency to seek self-worth through others

Attracting unhealthy relationships due to unhealed abandonment wounds

Love becomes a battlefield for reenacting early trauma

Ascendant

Abuse tied to early childhood and identity formation

The trauma is deeply embedded in how one shows up in the world, the abuse feels foundational, like it shaped your core self

Can manifest as self-protection, masking, or people-pleasing

Deep-rooted need to protect yourself; hyper-awareness of how others perceive you

Can result in either shrinking away from attention or overcompensating through control

❥Air and Fire dominant natives become bored with romantic connections quite quickly when there's no mental stimulation or attraction. Fire Venus/Asc/Mars will stick it out for the most part if there's genuine physical attraction. However Air dominant natives especially Venus/Asc/Mars will likely leave a connection if there's not enough conversation or playfulness involved.

❥Neptune conjunct Descendant can indicate a tendency to be deceived by romantic partners. They may choose partners who withhold a part of themselves, or they have 'rose colored glasses' towards individuals who are not healthy minded. They may see the red flags but ultimately chooses to ignore or give them the benefit of the doubt and forgive very easily. Especially if Neptune makes harsh aspects to the Sun, Moon, Venus or Mars.

❥Mars + Uranus + Pluto in the 5th House can indicate a tendency to form a gambling addiction. It also can showcase an intense need for outside fun, stimulation or adrenaline.

❥A native with an 11th house in Scorpio may experience pain or hardship when forming friendships or when it comes to finding a sense of community—especially if the Moon, Chiron, Saturn, or Pluto is present. The friendships they attract often bring intense lessons around self-worth and self-love. Compared to others, they may find it more difficult to build and maintain friendships, and might also rely more heavily on their friends for emotional support or validation.

❥Scorpio/8th house Moon individuals can have a harsh and emotional distant relationship with their Mother. Either the mother was emotionally abusive, narcissistic, absent or cold (depending on the sign). As the native matures, their relationship with the mother may improve. However, in early childhood, the native likely experienced emotional absence or instability from her.

❥Aries/6th House placements prioritize the gym more than other placements. Routine and a consistent workout schedule mentally calms their mind. They feel their best when they are at the gym, or when they are doing physical self care, such as facials, yoga, pilates, cardio, practicing a fixed diet, and so fourth.

❥5th/10th/11th House Moon, Venus, Sun, Mercury, Libra/Pisces placements are naturally in the Universes favor when it comes to gaining fame online or being noted for their beauty. Their appearance is favored on camera and the chances of gaining popularity online is very likely. They also may have incredibly soft skin and are blessed with facial genetics.

❥12th House placements especially Chiron, Venus, and Lilith often attract unwarranted animosity or jealousy from others. These individuals frequently become targets of projection and are blamed for actions they haven’t committed. They either speak up and are punished for it, or stay silent and are misunderstood. Others often driven by insecurity—construct false narratives about who they are.

As a woman, other girls may misconstrue your character, often withholding trust or projecting unwarranted animosity—especially if they feel you threaten their relationship with a partner or romantic interest. Their insecurities cast you as the villain, leading to you being reprimanded for actions you never took. They might label your behavior as “fake” or inauthentic, causing you to question yourself. Even if you know deep down that these narratives are false, the consistency of these experiences can make you wonder if there’s any truth to their accusations. Constant gossip could occur where these girls talk behind your back and nothing is every stated to your face, if you were to ask where their animosity stems from they will say "Just because."

Insecure boys may treat you poorly as a reflection of their own inner wounds. They might desire you but resent the fact that they can’t have you, which leads them to act cold, dismissive, or rude. Some may react with anger or irritation to your natural behavior simply because you don’t reciprocate their interest. On the opposite end of the spectrum, others may idealize you—seeing you as an “angel” or someone who can do no wrong. If there are aspects of you that remain a mystery, or if little is known about you publicly, they may fill in the blanks with fantasies or projections. You could be deeply admired without even knowing it. Groups of boys may talk about you behind your back, viewing you as a prize or someone unattainably special, yet never expressing these feelings to your face.

❥12th house Stellium vs 5th house Stellium: Both can do the same action, say the same comment and do the same exact thing; however the 5th house native will receive grace and prolonged consideration for their action while the 12th house native will experience backlash, gossip, and repercussions.

❥Moon/Venus opposite Uranus natives oftentimes struggle with consist relationships or monogamy. They may be drawn to polyamorous relationships or place romantic connections at the bottom of their priority list (especially if they are an avoidant or struggle with emotional vulnerability/intimacy). They may desire a partner in one moment then become completely disinterested in the next. This has to do with the fact that their Mother was often erratic or irrational when it came to the natives needs. One moment the mother was emotionally/physically present, and in the next completely fixated on their own needs and desires. So now, consistency forms as red flags and can even create boredom for the native. They may always be on the go or prefer to change scenery. Stagnation creates uncomfortability especially if they have 9th house placements.

❥8th house/Pluto synastry — especially when you carry deep wounds around self-worth, love, value, and abandonment — can feel very similar to the peace people describe during near-death experiences.

When someone’s Pluto touches your personal planets or activates your 8th house, the feeling isn’t just healing — it’s otherworldly. There's suddenly no more abandonment wounds, no more aching past; the deeper your wound, the more powerful their presence will feel.

8th house/Pluto synastry mirrors this freeing frequency, and it's the one your soul knows intimately, the one your consciousness is most familiar with and that's why this person will feel like "home."

❥12th House Venus natives often hold onto the ‘what ifs’ of a connection because the lingering longing creates an illusion of love. This longing allows them to feel as if the person once chose them, and they cling to that imagined moment for comfort. Longing becomes familiar—safe—because, deep down, they know it’s someone they likely can’t have. In truth, these natives often fear real, reciprocal emotional intimacy. They would rather idealize a connection from afar than face the vulnerability of having one.

❥A Leo Moon/Venus combined with a Virgo Sun and Rising can create a complex relationship with praise and recognition.

The native may crave validation and admiration to feel emotionally secure, yet struggle to truly receive it. Deep down, they long to be seen — not just for what they do, but for who they are. Still, Virgo’s influence brings a strong inner critic and a constant push for perfection. As a result, even when recognition is given, they may feel undeserving, leading to imposter syndrome. The tension between their need for appreciation and their fear of falling short can make it hard to embrace success without self-doubt.

[cutehoons02]

Between love and revenge

*pairing: alpha leader Heeseung x omega Girl

*trope: : Forbidden love/Enemies to lovers/Dark romance

*synopsis: Y/n, an omega, has avoided an unhappy marriage with Jiwon thanks to the intervention of Heeseung, an alpha who, driven by revenge against his father, has bonded her to him. Despite the bond, Y/n struggles with anger and resentment towards Heeseung, feeling trapped between hatred and a growing passion. Their relationship develops amidst Y/n's inner conflict and Heeseung's determination to show her that, beyond revenge, there is a deeper connection. But between secrets, lies, and the weight of the past, both are forced to confront the truth of their emotions and the meaning of the bond that unites them.

Between lust and revenge <- I recommend that you read Part 1.

(6.8k❤️‍🔥)

*tags: A lot of tension, Heeseung slowly becomes downbad for her, Y/n discovers a secret that will upset his life, lies, obsession, kisses, bites, unprotected sex (in the woods) traformation of Heeseung in alpha, double annotation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) (normal sex-doggy sex) tamper with your feelings, +18 *(reference to a pregnancy to violate the laws between alpha and omega by Y/n’s father raping an alpha girl)

You had always thought that the worst moment of your life would be the day of your marriage to Jiwon. The idea of being chained to an omega who treated you like an object to possess, who dreamed of breaking your wings to force you into a golden cage, made you sick to your stomach. But now… the worst was over. Or at least, that’s what you believed. You walked towards the college cafeteria with a heavy heart and a head full of questions. The bond with Heeseung had been real. Raw. Powerful. Your body still carried the marks from the night before. But your mind? It was a battlefield. You had given everything, even what you never thought you’d offer anyone. And now… you would be watched. Judged. Commented on. You entered the grand Victorian cafeteria, and the silence was almost deafening. Everyone was looking at you. Some with their mouths hanging open, others already whispering among themselves, throwing glances your way. You could feel every unspoken word like a blade on your skin. You lifted your chin. You had to. They wouldn’t see shame, not today. You walked as if every step was a declaration: “I’m here, and I don’t regret it.”

It was then that the voice of your best friend, an Alpha, broke the tension. She ran toward you with a smile that clashed with the coldness of the atmosphere. She hugged you tightly, as only someone who truly knew you could. 'Y/n… how did it go?' she whispered in your ear, her voice full of real emotion. Then she pulled back slightly and sniffed the air. 'Oh my God… you smell like him. I can sense him everywhere.' You smiled faintly, your eyes already burning. “It was amazing,” you answered in a hoarse but honest voice. Too amazing. And at that moment, you hated yourself for still having feelings for him. She caressed your face. 'You were so brave. The Alphas… the elders… they’ll want to honor you. They’re already preparing a ceremony—' She didn’t finish. A scream cut through the air. “Y/N!”

You stiffened. Your blood froze in your veins. You turned slowly… and you saw him. Jiwon. He was walking toward you, furious, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He yelled at you, words full of venom. <WHORE! You got bonded to that piece of shit just to avoid marrying me?!> he shouted, his voice echoing off the ancient walls. You trembled. Not from his words, but from his hatred. He stopped five steps away, suddenly panting. He put a hand to his nose, disgusted. <You stink… you smell like him. That fucking Alpha!> You forced yourself to stand tall. “At least Heeseung… will let me study. Go out with my friends. Live.” <Live?!> he laughed bitterly. <You’re an Omega! Your duty is to stay at home, give birth, serve. It’s the man who works, who commands. It’s nature!> You stared at him. “It’s not mine. I don’t want that.” He looked down at you, degrading you with his gaze. As if you were just a mistake. <Your father will kill you for this.>

-No, he won’t.- The voice came from behind. Cold. Sure. Deadly. Sunghoon. One of Heeseung’s best friends. A feared and respected Alpha. He stepped forward, positioned himself between you and Jiwon. He looked down at him. -She is one of us now. Part of our family. No man will touch her again. And if any of them tries… they’ll die before they even get the chance.- Jiwon clenched his jaw, but took a step back. <It’s not over,> he hissed. He looked at you one last time… and walked away. You stood there, your heart in your throat, Heeseung’s scent still on you, your body tense, and your mind screaming. But had you won? Or at least, had you begun to?

Sunghoon looked at you with a cold, cutting gaze. There was no compassion, only a chilling, unrelenting authority. -Take her to her room,- he said to your best friend. -It’s better for her safety.- She let out a soft sigh, pulling you close. 'Hoon, don’t you think you’re overdoing it? She’s already under enough pressure. There’s no need to treat her like she’s in danger—' But he interrupted her with a cynical look. -The problem isn’t her. It’s the others.- Then he turned to both of you, his tone ice-cold: -From now on, move in pairs. And don’t open the door to anyone who doesn’t carry our mark.- It wasn’t a request. Your friend nodded, holding your hand tightly and pulling you away, away from those inquisitive eyes. As soon as the door to your room closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. You whispered quietly, almost not wanting to hear the answer: "I’ve messed up, haven’t I?" Absolutely.

Your phone had been vibrating for hours. Every relative, every branch of the family, every Omega who knew you… wanted to know if it was true. And when you answered yes, insults, threats, screams, and spit flew through the screen. They’d called you a disgrace. A traitor. A broken piece. But still, no call had come from your father. The door opened slowly. Your mother entered in silence, as though knowing she had to measure each step, each word. She sat down beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair. 'You were brave,' she said softly. 'I’m proud of you.' You looked at her, surprised. "Did you know I didn’t want to marry Jiwon?" you asked, your voice cracking. She smiled bitterly. 'I’ve known for years. I just hoped that… time would fix everything. But you’re not like me, Y/n. You don’t bend. Never.' You swallowed hard. "Did I do the right thing?" There was a long silence. Then she said: 'There’s no right answer. But if Heeseung bonded you without killing you… it means that, somehow, you’re his. Almost like you’re soulmates.' You jumped to your feet, your heart racing. "Don’t say nonsense, mom. Heeseung hates me. He did it just for revenge." But inside, deep down… a tiny spark. A stupid, fragile hope that there was more to it. That touch, that caress at the end of the knot… had been real, especially the kiss he’d given you on your forehead…

The moment was abruptly interrupted by a firm knock on the door. The headmaster. He entered with the solemnity of a judge. 'Y/n. I need you to come with me. The royal hall has been called to order.' Your blood froze. You didn’t even have time to ask why. You followed him. The hallway seemed endless. When you entered, every important figure on campus — Alpha, Omega, Beta — was there. The clans were gathered. And at the end of the room… there he was. Heeseung. Standing still, motionless, with his clan surrounding him. He was looking at you. Dark, deep, unreadable eyes. But he was looking at you. He made a slow, barely perceptible nod. It froze your blood, and then you saw him. Sitting in the middle row. Your father. The world crashed down. He couldn’t look you in the face. When he did… it was only to spew words full of hatred. ---You’ve dishonored me. You’ve humiliated me in front of everyone. You were supposed to be a wife, a mother. And instead… you allowed yourself to be marked by a murderer! By that bastard!-- Every word was a dagger. --You’re no longer my daughter. You are nothing. You are a damn disgrace.-- You didn’t know what to say, but Heeseung’s laughter was dry, muffled, yet it exploded like a gunshot in the council hall. A sound so out of place that it broke the silence, making even the oldest leaders flinch. You spun around quickly. You watched him rise slowly from the throne reserved for the supreme Alphas. His clan was silent, united, eyes focused on him, and some on you, like Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jay.

With confident strides, Heeseung stepped forward. Every movement seemed calculated. Lethal. He stopped in front of you, his body almost brushing against yours. One breath, and you would be enveloped in his scent. But he didn’t turn. His gaze was fixed straight on your father. "The only murderer in this room is you," he said, his voice sharp as glass. "You killed my brother. Not for revenge. Not for survival. But because he was stronger than you. Because you couldn’t tolerate another Alpha being superior to you." A murmur spread among the crowd. You were short of breath, your hands shaking. "And now you play the moralist?" Heeseung continued, his look full of pure contempt. "Y/n doesn’t belong to you. She never did. And she will be mine. Because inside her, there’s not only Omega blood… but Alpha blood as well." The silence became deafening. Some leaders whispered, others stared at you in disbelief. You didn’t understand. You stammered, "W-what is he saying? I… I don’t—" Heeseung laughed again. A fiercer sound, almost amused. "Your father has never spoken to you, except for duties. He has never touched you with a gesture of affection. And you know why? Because he knew you weren’t his wife’s daughter."

You turned towards your father. His eyes were filled with hatred. With blind rage. But also… with something that seemed like fear. "It was you who came to me," Heeseung continued, his tone now harsher. "You were the one who sought me out. Because something inside you knew. That becoming the wife of an Omega would have killed you. It would have taken everything from you. Including your soothing powers." A roar rose. Someone stood up. The others looked at your father, shocked. You felt like you were drowning. "ENOUGH!" your father shouted. And in a reckless gesture… he drew a sword. Panic spread. You didn't think: you immediately took refuge behind Heeseung, your heart pounding furiously. He didn't move. He didn't step back even an inch. "Say it," Heeseung hissed, his eyes fixed on that man who had ruined two generations. "Say it in front of everyone. Confess the truth." Silence fell again like a curtain. "That Y/n… is not the daughter of your mate. But the result of your sick experiment." The eyes of the council were fixed on him. Some already knew. Others didn't want to believe it. Heeseung continued, relentless.

"You raped an Alpha. Because you wanted to prove that an Omega like you could break the natural law. You wanted to see if an Alpha, and my brother’s future wife, could accept the knot of an Omega. And when the result... was Y/n... you hid everything. But she is not your mistake. She is your sentence."

Your father shouted. But no one listened. The leaders stood up, one after the other. The guards moved, and you, amidst it all... felt your knees buckle. Your eyes burned. The truths fell down on you like avalanches, the tears carved your face like burning blades. You couldn’t breathe, nor think. Only one question, desperate and raw, exploded in your throat.

"Is it true?!" you screamed, your voice cracking with anguish. "I’m not my mother’s daughter?! I was never loved because... because I was just the result of an experiment?!"

Your father didn’t speak.

But it didn’t matter. Silence is consent. The law was clear. The room was a witness. And you had just lost every foundation of your existence.

You collapsed to the floor, on your knees. Your hands on your face, your body shaken with sobs. Everyone was watching you. The leaders. The clans. The elders. But no one moved. Except for her.

Your best friend, the only one who, in that moment, could have pulled you away from that hell. She ran towards you but stopped suddenly. Not because she didn’t want to reach you.

But because of him, Heeseung.

Still there, unmoving, tall, cold. One look—just one, icy, full of command—was enough to stop her. And she obeyed. She stopped a few steps from you, bitten by pain, but helpless.

You kept crying, silently screaming. In your mind, all the lies played out, all the moments when you’d only asked for a caress, a hug, a word of love... and you had received only coldness. Now everything made sense. A horrible, sick sense, then, in the chaos of your collapse, a hand. A warm hand, placed on your back. A slow, almost imperceptible touch. It drew circles, small, continuous. Trying to calm you. To support you, and you... felt it. Him.

His scent. The one you now knew all too well. The one you had burned into your skin. Heeseung. You froze because in that gesture, there was too much. Too much warmth for someone who hated you. Too much sweetness for someone who had used you. Too many contradictions, now you understood it.

You hadn’t just been his revenge. You hadn’t just been the daughter of the man who had killed his brother. You had become the perfect pawn. His way to prove to the world that an Omega could be strong, that the rules could be rewritten... but also a weapon to mask his own needs. His desire to dominate... and maybe, something more.

You suddenly stood up. Eyes swollen, but proud, you looked at him, your voice trembling, but clear.

"I don’t want to be touched by anyone, especially not by you, Lee Heeseung."

He didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t say a word and you... ran away.

Leaving it all behind: the lies, the council, your family... and him. But not the feelings. Those, like the knot... you carried them inside.

In those days, you hated everyone.

From the first to the last. There was no face, no name, that didn’t make your blood boil. Discovering that all the Alphas knew the truth was like receiving a second knot, this time in your soul. Not just Heeseung, not just your father: even the others. All those proud, arrogant faces, who had always looked down on you... they knew, and they kept silent. Your "mother" had tried to talk to you in every possible way. She knocked softly on the door. She left letters under your teacup. Sometimes she sat outside your room, in silence, just to let you know she was there. But you... couldn’t even look at her. You had been given a new room, closer to your best friend's, in the section reserved for Alphas. An exception granted only because of your bond with Heeseung, but you didn’t feel like an Alpha. You only felt the echo of his knot inside you. A mark. A call. A sentence. The Omega aura that surrounded you had become stronger, more palpable, and at that moment... more painful. That afternoon, however, you gave in. You opened the door, and she entered in silence. Red eyes. A tired gaze. She told you everything. She said she loved you. That she had always loved you. That, even though you hadn’t come from her womb, you were her only daughter.

"I couldn’t have children," she confessed, her voice cracked. "And when your father told me that... that he had found an infant, I... I thought she was the daughter of his previous partner. That she had died in an accident. I never knew the truth. Not until much later. But when I held you in my arms... you became mine." You looked at her. In silence. "Do you know my real mother?" you asked. You didn’t even know where that calm voice had come from. She shook her head. "No. Only the Alphas know her. Only them... and Heeseung." Your stomach tightened. You nodded slowly. No tears. Just exhaustion.

You saw him every day. Heeseung. In class. In the cafeteria. In the halls. Everywhere. Always with that leader-like posture, with that inscrutable gaze and slow, dominating steps. But there was something different. A subtle tension. A crack in his usual control. He tried to talk to you. He waited for you outside the classroom. He got closer when you were taking notes. Sometimes he let you pass in front of him in line, as if it were casual. But it wasn’t. Once, he brushed your wrist when you both reached for the same book in the library. "Y/n..." he murmured. And you gave him only a blank stare, your eyes frozen. And you left him there. Another time, after a class, he followed you all the way to the courtyard.

"You can’t avoid me forever," he said, his voice low, controlled. You didn’t stop.

"Look how you managed to do it for twenty-two years," you replied without turning around. You saw him stiffen. But he didn’t respond.

Every gesture of his was poison. Every attempt, every look, reminded you that he had lied to you.

He had pretended to hate you to justify his control. He had used your desire for freedom to take revenge. He had known everything. About your birth. About your identity, and yet... he had tied the knot with you. He had chosen you, and you couldn’t understand if it was yet another lie or the cruelest truth of all.

A month had passed. Four weeks of silence. Of walls built up. Of coldness that burned more than any knot. You only spoke to his cousin, your best friend, and with the teachers, you only answered when absolutely necessary. A word here, a nod there. And the rest? Silence.

He watched you. Always. He followed you with his gaze in class. He looked for an excuse to brush past you in the hallways. Occasionally, he would place his tray near yours in the cafeteria, but you’d change tables before he could even open his mouth. Everyone had started whispering. That maybe Heeseung had made a mistake. That maybe choosing to knot with you had been a mistake. An Alpha chasing his mate, a half-Alpha Omega, and being ignored like any other student. An embarrassment. A reversal of roles that no one understood… except you. In class, you threw sharp barbs. Once, while discussing bonds and compatibility, you raised your hand:

"Professor, what happens if an Alpha deludes himself into thinking he can control an Omega just because he’s marked her body, but not her heart?" The class erupted in laughter. Heeseung didn’t move a muscle. But his fingers, under the desk, clenched until they turned white.

Another time, while discussing leadership: "There’s a difference between commanding and knowing how to lead. Some Alphas think arrogance is charisma, when it’s actually just… weakness disguised." And there you looked at him. Straight in the eyes, with contempt.

That evening, however, something in him snapped. Heeseung knocked on your door. Once. Twice. Ten times. "Y/n!" Silence, he knocked harder. "Open up, damn it!" The door next to yours suddenly opened. His cousin, your best friend, popped out in pajamas, looking annoyed.

"What do you want, Heeseung?" she huffed. "Where is she?!" he growled. "Where the hell has she gone?!" She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with feigned calm. "Maybe she doesn’t want to be found." "Don’t play games with me, ___!" He snapped at her, approaching menacingly. "Tell me right now where the hell she is!" But she didn’t back down. She looked him in the eyes and teased him with a sharp smile. "What’s wrong, does it bother you that now she gets to decide where and with whom she stays? That she’s ignoring you like a first-year girl who’s regretted it?" "Enough!" Heeseung growled. He grabbed her wrist, but without force. Only desperation. "You know her better than anyone. Where could she be?!" She lowered her gaze for a moment, sighed. Then, she looked him in the eyes. "If you know her at all... you’ll know where to find her." He stopped. His mind was in chaos. Three places. Three memories.

- "The classroom where we kissed for the first time..." A whisper. - "The waterfalls... no. Too far." And finally: - "The lake... beneath the university. On the edge of the forest." He said it in a half voice. His eyes full of panic.

"You’re crazy!" He shouted at his cousin. "You let her go there alone?! At this time?!" She pulled away from him with a sharp motion. She looked at him proudly. "She’s not just an Omega. She’s half Alpha, Hee. Like me. She knows what she’s doing." Then, with a cutting tone: "But you... do you even know what you want to do with her? Or do you just want her to come back to you to fill the emptiness you’ve created yourself?"

Heeseung ran down the castle stairs. But halfway down... he was no longer human. His bones cracked and rebuilt themselves, his clothes shredded to pieces, and his breath became sharper, deeper, wilder. The transformation was instinctive, necessary — his true Alpha nature broke free from all control. He sniffed. The evening wind immediately brought the scent. Your scent — a mix of Omega and Alpha, a fragrance that no one in the world had ever had, and within that aroma was his. Imprinted, mixed, fused. The knot was still inside you, still alive. Still his. The garden opened before him. His paws sank into the wet ground. He ran as fast as he could, between the hedges and the night flowers, sliding toward the lake like a shadow among the stars. When he neared the water... he howled. A desperate, raw, primal howl — a call. A lament. A cry of love and anger together. Where are you...? Then... he saw you. Sitting.

On that wrought-iron chair facing the lake. Still. Hair in the wind, face absent, the aura powerful — a creature born to exist between two worlds and hated by both. Heeseung ran. He jumped between the bushes, lowered his muzzle, felt the beat of your heart even from afar. When he was only a few steps away from you, your aura reacted. You turned. You looked at him and stood up abruptly to leave. No. Not this time. With a leap, he trapped you. He pushed you against the chair, with both gentleness and force, using his animal body to hold you in place. He sniffed you. Everywhere. Your neck, your wrists, your heart. Then he began to lick you. A warm, slow, adoring tongue. On your neck. Under your ear. Your jaw. Your cheek. Your chin. Every lick was a confession. A "I miss you," a "forgive me," a "you're mine," and your body… began to give in. "Heeseung…" you murmured. His name came from you like a stifled sob. He stopped. Pulled away. And in an instant, he was human again. Naked, trembling, vulnerable — his eyes… were not the same as before. A mix of deep brown and blood red. The animal soul and the human one merged within him. And all of it was directed at you. "Y/n…" he whispered. But before he could say anything else… "I hate you." The words came out like an open wound. They weren’t just anger. They were pain — a "you broke me." He stayed there, naked under the moon, silent. And for the first time… he didn’t know what to say. You spat out your anger. "You disgust me." "You're just a bastard." "You used my body for revenge, and now what? Do you want me to forgive you?!"

Each insult was a wound. But he didn’t stop. He bit your skin, with delicate animal-like tenderness. As if to say, "I’m here. Still. Even if you hate me." Then he changed. He slowly transformed. His paws became hands. His muzzle took the form of his face. His chest rose and fell in search of breath. But his eyes remained those of the Leader. The eyes of the Alpha who had marked you but also those of the boy who, maybe, had chosen you. "Stop…" he whispered. He held you tighter, pressing you against his bare chest. "Stop trying to be strong alone. Stop thinking that only you are suffering." You lifted your face, your eyes watery, full of rage. "And what do you know? You who plays at being the savior. You’re weak too, Heeseung." He closed his eyes, as if those words had hit him square in the chest, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he caressed your back, then your side. Slowly. As if he didn’t want to scare you, but to make you crumble. "I wanted to make you suffer… truly." Your voice trembled. "I thought about ending it. So you’d never be able to knot anyone. Not love. Not forget me." Silence. Only the lake. Only the heartbeat. Heeseung paled. His eyes widened. Then he screamed.

"Never say something like that again!" He grabbed you by the arms, and with slow movements, he took off your sweater. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed. He bit with gentle ferocity, not as punishment, but as a confession. A plea. A "forgive me" without words. His voice lowered, broken, angry. "You’re mine. But not because of possession. Because I feel you in every breath. In every dream. In every damn part of my being." And in the silence that followed, while his teeth left an imperceptible mark on your shoulder, you... stayed. His lips were everywhere on your neck, your chest, between your shoulder blades, along the fragile line of your soul. And his bites... Oh, his bites made you moan. Not only for the primal pleasure that set every nerve on fire, but for the dull pain you had been carrying inside for weeks. It was as if his body wanted to heal you. As if each lick, each kiss, each press of his tongue meant: "Stay. Breathe. Come back."

Your hands gripped his strong arms, the pulsing veins of his bare chest, illuminated only by the full moon. He looked like a vision, a nightmare and a dream fused together. "I can't take it anymore…" he whispered, his voice broken, labored. His fingers trembled slightly on your skin. "I want to feel your lips on mine again." You stopped him. You looked him in the eyes, those eyes so familiar yet so foreign. And you warned him. "You didn’t come to save me. You came to ease your conscience, Heeseung. You don’t want me… you want to forgive yourself." For a moment, even the wind stopped. His breath slowed, his body still wrapped in yours, but his soul laid bare. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I'm really sorry. I want to make up for everything…" And that’s when you screamed. With all the pain. With all the truth. "I want to forget! I want to forget all of this, Heeseung! I want it to never have happened! I want you to have never touched me! Never looked at me! Never chosen me!" He snapped. He grabbed your face in his hands, gently but roughly. His eyes, wet and furious, pierced through your soul. "NO, the most beautiful thing in my life… the only thing I don't want to forget… is you." He looked at you as if you were his entire universe. As if all the chaos that had built him had been created for this moment alone. "You were my ruin and my salvation. The only moment I felt peace was when I knotted you. When you fell asleep in my arms, naked, fragile… mine. Even when I pretended to be cold, distant, cruel with you… I wanted you. For years. It wasn't revenge, Y/n. It was desire. It was love I didn’t want to admit." And there, in the silence that followed, only the moon dared to watch you. Only the lake reflected your truth, and without thinking any longer, you crashed your lips onto his. It was like setting the night on fire.

Heeseung grunted against your mouth, a deep, animalistic, primal sound. His hands tightened around your waist as his tongue invaded your mouth with a hunger that seemed to have been held back for centuries. You clung to him, straddling his legs, feeling the warmth and strength vibrating from his body beneath you. You pulled him toward you, hard, as if you wanted to fuse together. You bit his lower lip with a sweet cruelty, and he admonished you with a low growl. But you, with your voice broken and venomous, degraded him with a cold whisper. "I hate you... and you know it well." But your hands spoke a different language, an ancient one, made of repressed desire and anger that burned hotter than love. Heeseung didn’t stop. He continued to kiss you, deeper, more desperately, while his fingers lifted your sweater. In a few seconds, you were left with only a thin tank top and your bra. His eyes, now red and filled with Alpha aura, scrutinized you like prey.

He also slid the tank top off you with a slow, almost ritual gesture, and when he saw your breasts covered only by fabric, something in him changed.

As if he was possessed.

His mouth fell on your chest, between bites and feverish kisses that made you moan, scratch him, pull his hair.

«You bastard... you are just my knot, nothing else.»

Yet your voice trembled, for every bite of it left you confused, every lick made you long again.

He sucked your breasts out of his bra with ardor, and you kept pulling his hair with your aura as a submissive omega, but also as a ruthless alpha. A fragile balance, perfect and then... click.

The hook of the bra gave way under his fingers.

Your breast leaped free in the crisp air of night. The nipples hardened instantly for the cold and her hungry look.

He panted, almost lost and you, with a filthy but sweet voice, whispered into his ear:

«Don’t pretend, Heeseung... you’ve always wanted me, right? Even when you said you hated me.» His hands trembled on your hips and he answered with a roaring voice:

«I wanted you... even before I knew you were mine.»

The forest was in a vibrant penumbra, only the moon filtered through the branches, drawing silvery shadows on the nody logs. The air was saturated with smells: musk, moist earth... and its scent. The spicy and pungent one of an Alpha in full call.

You didn’t have time to react.

He lifted you without warning.

«Ah!» you screamed, surprised, as your body was pushed against the trunk of a tree. His arms squeezed you with a fierce possession, as if that moment had been written in his flesh.

«Do you hear it?» he whispered against your ear, his voice crusty, broken by longing. «Your pussy is rubbing against my cock, and it’s looking for it even if you keep telling me that you hate me.»

«I... I can’t take it anymore!» you froze, trembling. «I hate you... I really do...»

But even as you were saying it, your pelvis moved imperceptibly against his, seeking that heat, that pressure.

He laughed, gloomy, deep, with a grin that was pure sin.

«No, darling. It’s not just your body that wants me. It’s every part of you. Even the one who lies to herself.»

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes lit up with an animalistic glow, and then - without further preambles - slowly slid her fingers under your skirt. The panties came down with a swift movement, and his fingers found at once the proof of your surrender.

«Already wet? So much?» he growled softly, as he stroked you with expert fingers. «I would have taken my time... Open you up, get ready, get yelled at while you were enjoying. But fuck... I can’t resist. I just want to sink into you, tie you and leave you full. Only mine.»

Your eyes were filled with confused tears: desire, anger, fear... and longing.

Your trembling hands, driven by a primitive instinct, pulled off his boxer shorts with ardor. His member was hard, imposing, pulsating with warmth. Your breath was cut off.

The wood seemed to hold your breath. Only your sighs broke the silence.

«Tell me,» he whispered against your neck. «Tell me you want me, even if you hate me. Tell me that your body belongs to me, even if it drives you crazy.»

«I hate you... but I fucking love you!» you shouted, your heart racing. «You drive me crazy, but my body... can’t stop.»

«Good little omega confused...» he muttered. And then howled, a primordial sound that shook the fronds above you.

In a single movement, it sank into you.

A moan will tear your lips, long, deep. The nails dug into his back as he began to move with force, with a wild but precise rhythm. Each shot was a message, a claim, a mark.

«I will keep you here,» he growled. «I will fertilize you, I will keep you tied up... until you learn that you can no longer run from me.»

The moon was the only witness of your bond. United bodies, broken breaths, souls entwined in a darkness that was more desire than shadow.

His impulses were bestial, ferocious, as if he was trying to erase every space within you that did not belong to him.

Each stroke of his cock made you scream, and your screams were mixed between extreme pleasure and uncontrollable tears. You cried, yes, but it was not pain - it was too intense, it was a pleasure so deep that everything shook. You felt split in two and at the same time more alive than ever.

«I hate you!» you shouted at them, with a broken voice, your face wet with tears and sweat. «You’re a bastard!»

He growled softly, squeezing you with a force that made you groan.

«And you are a little half omega and half alpha in heat, mine... always mine. Even when you insult me, your body calls me.»

Your words were full of poison and need, each offense a crooked, animalistic cry of love, which smelled something deeper. He bit your neck, strong, leaving the mark, and then sucked you slowly, mixing violence and tenderness as only an Alpha knows how to do with his mate.

Every push made you jump, your body stretched and broke under him, but you looked for it, you wanted it. His name exploded between your lips as a wave of heat swept you away, that primordial feeling that made you groan like never before.

«Keep on...» you whisper with a broken voice, almost praying. «Please tie me up. Make me yours for real.»

He grunted against your ear, going deeper.

«I want you tied to me. Tight. Filled. Possessed.»

You felt his knot begin to swell inside of you, slow, insistent, and the scream that came up from your throat was no longer contained. Your body bent to his, accepting everything, every pulsation, every wave of pleasure that spread like fire in the veins.

«Yes... yes, so... I want your knot, I want to feel full...» you sigh.

He stopped only when it was completely knotted within you, your tight bodies, fused into an indissoluble bond. His hands caressed you now with sweetness, the breathless breath mixed to yours but the pushes became stronger and deeper, as if he wanted to cross every border of your body and engrave his name inside you. He held you firmly, completely in his power, while the knot kept swelling inside you, and your belly began to stretch, full... full of him.

«Look how my knot is swelling...» he growled against your neck. «Your body accepts everything, wants it, begs for it.»

The words struck you like a hot and violent wave. You babbled between sobs and cut breath.

«It’s too... too deep inside... you’re... you’re filling me up... I can’t think...»

«You must not think,» he replied. «You must only hear.»

And it sank again. Deeper, stronger.

He lifted you with a single gesture, as if you were light as air, bouncing you against his chest. The friction was unbearable, sweet and fierce at the same time. And then... his finger found your most sensitive spot. A pinch, a precise touch, and the world exploded.

A scream escaped from your lips, your body trembled in a wave of uncontrollable pleasure, while the knot felt it pulsating more and more inside you, while your orgasm passed through you like lightning, hot and blinding.

«Good girl, come for me, all over me...» he murmured with a broken voice, adoring you.

You felt your excitement slide down, cover it, drip on your joined bodies. And he did not stop.

«I want you tied, filled. I will bind you again, mark you with my seed, leave you full of me, so much that every breath of yours knows of me.»

With a deep growl, you felt his movements become even slower, more powerful. And then... the heat

A liquid explosion inside you, very long, unstoppable, while the knot pulsed with violence, pushing that pleasure even deeper. You screamed, again, as you felt it fill you completely, so much that you lost the sense of time.

And for a long moment, the world stood still. Only the moon looked at you. Two wild souls, broken, chained by desire and something that neither of them had ever dared to call his real name.

Then, with studious slowness, he made you come down from his arms. Your legs shook as soon as they touched the ground but her touch didn’t leave you for a second.

His hands were fast and strong, they turned you with force and pushed you slightly forward, bent in front of him, the back arched. His gaze burned on exposed skin.

«Get your beautiful ass up,» he ordered in a roaring voice. «I’m not done with you yet.»

You were anxious. «It’s too much...» you protested with a little voice, but didn’t move.

He approached, fingers running down the curve of your hips. «You played the rebel for too long, my companion. Now you learn. You are mine. And I... am yours. That’s how the bond works.»

You sighed, but your legs did not move. His hands caressed the stretched skin, then slipped between your thighs and stopped.

«Look how beautiful you are...» she murmured. «Shine. Swell up. And you’re still leaking my seed.»

Closed your eyes, your breath broken. Yoy did not make in time to reply.

With a single leap, he was again inside you. A cry escaped from your lips, wild, uncontrollable. The pleasure hit you like a slap. The feeling of fullness, after the knot, was even more violent. Each movement was an electric shock, a liquid fire that went through your entire belly.

«Do you hear it?» he growled, sinking with ever greater force. «You take it so well, my little one. Half omega, half alpha... yet your body knows exactly who it belongs to.»

You were stuttering, unable to find sensible words. The sentences broke on your lips, between sobs and groans.

«It’s... too much... inside... too hot...»

He grabbed your hips with force. «And it will be even more. Because I want you completely. With another knot, another mark. I want you to not even walk without feeling me inside of you.»

Each push was deeper than the previous, as the words died out in your throat. Your body trembled, bending to the rhythm. And when you felt the pressure grow again, that second knot that swelled slowly, groaned his name in a broken voice, as if he were praying.

He praised you in a low voice, with words full of desire.

«So good... so mine. My perfect companion. And now you come again. I want to hear you hug me as I fill you up again.»

A few pushes were enough. Your body became stiff, then it was shaken by a violent, uncontrollable pleasure. A scream burst from your lips as she felt it everywhere - inside, around, in every fiber. And when he exploded inside you, you felt it all: the warmth, the depth, the strength. His seed filled you again, warm, abundant, and you groaned again, letting go completely.

The bodies remained united, once again merged under the full moon. There were no more words. Only breath. Only beats. Only them.

That morning, you woke up wrapped in a strange kind of warmth.

It wasn’t just the blankets—it was something deeper, more visceral… a heat pulsing beneath your skin, between your ribs, and in your thoughts.

The air carried a scent you knew all too well by now: wild mint and tobacco—the scent of his skin, his presence.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his red hair—messy and soft—resting against your neck like a silent promise.

You were wearing one of his oversized shirts, hanging down to mid-thigh, and his arms were wrapped around you with a quiet, natural possessiveness—as if he had never known a world where you weren’t his.

You moved gently, trying to slip away without waking him, but his voice reached you in a low, sleepy murmur.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your heart skipped in your chest.

You blushed, inevitably, at the memory of the night before—the moon, the moans, the knot, your bodies tangled in the woods like creatures born to vanish into the wild.

“I just… wanted to get up,” you mumbled, but the words faded as you watched him slowly sit up.

He looked at you seriously, but with a soft light in his eyes.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked, one hand brushing over your side.

You shook your head slightly. “No… just a bit… full, maybe.”

He laughed quietly, almost amused, but his gaze fell immediately to one of the marks he’d left on your neck—a deep, dark bite, still faintly sore.

He touched it gently, a caress that clashed with the roughness of the mark.

You gave him a mock scolding look, more amused than anything.

“You told me you’d only mark me like that after we got married.”

He shrugged, carefree.

“To me, you’re already mine. No ceremony. No fuss.”

“So this is your romantic way of telling me you love me?” you teased, a smile playing on your lips.

He stared at you for a moment, then tilted his head slightly.

“I’ve already told you I love you. The thing is—you haven’t said it back yet.”

His words hung in the air like a sweet blade.

They stole your breath for a moment.

You chuckled, shyly, but he didn’t smile.

He looked at you with that disarming seriousness, his heart written plainly in his eyes.

“Hey… I’m really sorry. For everything you’ve had to go through these past few weeks… and for these 22 years of your life,” he murmured.

And before you could answer, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks, your forehead.

He kissed you like he wanted to erase every doubt, every hesitation, every unspoken word.

And only then, between one kiss and the next, in the softest voice—like a confession you could no longer keep—you said it.

“I love you too.”

The world seemed to stop.

He froze for just a second—long enough to look into your eyes.

And the smile that bloomed on his lips was so real, so raw, it made you forget everything else.

Taglist: @stwrlightt @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio @ancnymcnzjy @sofiafromvenus @kayjiguki @annovaz @kkamismom12 @forrds @inishij @amortenha @sunnysidesins @isagistar @schniti-is-in-the-house @nyxiebabyyy @rubylace @petalsofink @asteriscoverde @azzy02 @sievenderz @reading-wh0re

[globaloppaaa]

how do we feel about boynextdoor having cuteness aggression :ppp

oh i KNOW they’re hiding it fr. thank you so much for requesting! i love little chats with my anons :))

warnings: none i believe!

leehan really does try to keep it undercover, and i think he does the best job at it? he can be really calm in most public situations, but when you two are alone? ohhh that’s a whole different challenge, because now he has you all to himself. he’ll slowly start to break, giving you quick, snarky remarks so that hopefully you won’t notice the blush creeping up on his face. but if you place his face in your palms and straight up ask him what’s wrong, he’s a stuttering mess.

“you’re always puffing your cheeks like that y/n, do you only get like this for me?”

(he’s silently combusting inside.)

jaehyun is not your strongest soldier. anywhere and anytime he is with you he just erupts into this fit of coo’s and pouts. he really can’t control it. try walking past him and watch the way his eyes widen as they linger on you, then his fingers start to tremor, then he’s pursing his lips trying to keep in how cute you look wearing his clothes… before you can even ask why his head looks like it’s about to explode, there he goes!

“oh my god look at you. how could you do this to me??”

“im wearing your shirt? didnt you ask me to-”

“i can’t take it anymore!”

sungho is another one who tries veryyy hard to keep his cool. he’s actually super sensitive about his and your feelings, which makes him attentive to your every move, but he feels so embarrassed ogling at you 24/7, so he mainly tries to find any kind of distraction to keep himself off of you. It’s hardest for him to keep it in when he hasn’t seen you in a while though, he’ll do his best but trust his hugs will be tighter and his kisses just a bit more feverish.

he scoops you into his arms, entangling you in such a strong embrace that you find it hard to exhale when he finally lets you go.

“sungie did you miss me that much?”

“you have no idea.”

taesan is gonna try to be soo nonchalant about it, but his inner romantic is screaming and clawing at his skin. forget him maintaining his dignity during any kind of conflict with you. the way your eyebrows furrow, and how you pout your lip for only him to see, oh and if you put your hands on your hips? hes a goner. can’t even remember what the initial argument was for because now he’s enamored. absolutely has to squish your cheek or squeeze you physically to get the frustration out.

“baby, you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“doing what?”

“there you go again, i said stop it!”

riwoo is like, totally natural about it? i feel like cute things are just a regular part of his daily life, and he’s always appreciated those softer, cuter moments with you. rather than getting aggressive he just basks in the cuteness with you. is NOT afraid to tell you you’re cute, because how could he try to lie? when riwoo sees something cute he just HAS to have it. though he does say it so often that you have to question what exactly is so cute to him, do you ever get an answer? nope.

“aww look at you!”

“riwoo baby you’re doing it again.”

“i can’t help it, look at you!”

woonhak is like, the worst person to keep collected about this. he gets overly expressive and dramatic when he’s talking to anyone, so when he’s talking to you up close and your big doe eyes have his full attention, it’s 10x worse. as soon as the rage hits he’s already making a fool of himself. He’s fighting it so hard in hopes it’ll help the agression subside, but he doesn’t realize he’s practically yelling over his own thoughts and laughing ridiculously to try and cover the thumps of his heartbeat.

“woonhak is everything ok?”

“YEAH YEAH ITS SO GOOD, YOU JUST LOOK SO GREAT TODAY. IS IT HOT IN HERE OR IS IT JUST ME-“

[dreamersworldduh]

HIS AWAKENING

• NATE JACOBS x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Nate Jacobs embodies the quintessential all-American quarterback—athletic, commanding, and effortlessly attractive. Beneath the surface, however, lies a man riddled with inner conflict. His outward bravado conceals a fragile core shaped by toxic societal expectations, a broken family dynamic, and a deep struggle with his own identity. Nate's carefully constructed image masks a storm of repressed emotions, his intimidating presence serving as both armor and a warning to those who might venture too close.

That is, until Y/N entered his life. Strikingly handsome and unapologetically bold, Y/N exudes a magnetic confidence that demands attention the moment he walks into a room. His blend of charisma, sass, and fearless energy challenges everything Nate thought he knew about himself—and about the walls he's built to keep others out.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 10.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Sorry for the delay—this is quite a long fic that I had to break into two parts. Now, I know some people feel about the immensely complicated Nate Jacobs, however, I wanted to show a different side of him and give his gay awakening.

NEXT PART! HIS AWAKENING — PART 2

The late afternoon sun bathed the campus in a golden hue, casting long, uneven shadows across the pathways. Y/N stepped out of the administrative building, a folder clutched tightly in his hands, filled with room and board information, dormitory rules, and a map of the sprawling university grounds. His mind buzzed with anticipation and a hint of nervousness as he mentally ticked off the steps to get settled. The day had been a whirlwind of check-ins and introductions, and all he wanted now was to find his dorm, unpack, and get a moment to breathe.

Lost in his thoughts, Y/N barely noticed the bustling crowd of students around him until it was too late.

Without warning, he collided with what felt like a brick wall. The impact sent his folder slipping from his grip, papers scattering onto the ground.

"I'm so sorry—" Y/N began, crouching to gather his things, but his apology was cut short by a sharp, irritated voice.

"Maybe you should watch where you're standing," the stranger snapped, his tone clipped and unforgiving.

Y/N froze mid-reach, his gaze snapping upward to meet the source of the hostility. He was greeted by the sight of a towering figure, broad-shouldered and radiating a palpable air of arrogance. The guy was wearing a football jersey, the bold number on his chest practically screaming athlete. His jaw was set, and the way he loomed over Y/N gave off a distinctly entitled vibe.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, straightening up slowly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Didn't realize this was your sidewalk, Mr. Quarterback. Want me to bow next time you grace it with your royal cleats?"

The guy's face darkened, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes. His jaw tightened as he took a small step forward, towering over Y/N even more. "What's your problem, man?"

"No problem," Y/N replied smoothly, his tone calm but laced with amusement. He dusted off his papers and tucked them back into the folder before glancing back up. "Just don't appreciate being plowed into like I'm part of your warm-up drills. Or is that how you flirt?"

That comment landed like a slap, throwing the quarterback off balance. His brows furrowed, and his mouth opened slightly as if to retort, but he hesitated. Finally, he muttered, "Yeah, not interested, thanks."

Y/N smirked, unbothered, his sharp eyes scanning the guy with calculated precision. There was something about his tightly wound demeanor, the tension in his shoulders, the barely contained frustration in his voice. It was fascinating in a way that made Y/N want to push a little further.

"Relax, big guy. You're not my type either," Y/N said, his smirk widening. "Too much bottled-up rage under all those muscles. But hey, therapy exists for a reason."

The quarterback growled under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "You don't even know me," he bit out, his voice low and simmering with frustration.

Y/N shrugged, already stepping to the side as if to end the encounter. "Don't have to. You've got 'walking anger issues' written all over you." He turned back briefly to add, his tone almost lighthearted, "Oh, and next time you want to storm through a crowd, maybe pick someone who won't call you out."

The quarterback's patience snapped, his voice lowering into a growl as he took a step forward. "What makes you think I won't—?"

Y/N didn't miss a beat, spinning on his heel to face him again, his smirk sharp and dripping with confidence. "Fight me? Go ahead, QB. But fair warning—I fight dirty. And I don't lose."

For a moment, the two stood there, tension crackling between them like a live wire. The quarterback's fists remained clenched, but he didn't move. There was something flickering in his eyes—something unreadable, caught between frustration and intrigue.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N turned on his heel and walked away, his steps confident as he rejoined his waiting parents by the car.

As Y/N disappeared into the crowd, the quarterback remained rooted to the spot, watching him go. His fists slowly unclenched, but his mind raced, replaying the encounter over and over.

What Y/N didn't know, as he laughed with his parents and carried his things to the dormitory, was that the guy he had just clashed with was none other than Nate Jacobs—his soon-to-be roommate.

The dormitory hall buzzed with the energy of move-in day, a cacophony of shuffling boxes, shouted instructions, and the occasional crash of something fragile being dropped. Parents bickered over furniture placement, wide-eyed freshmen struggled to find their rooms, and the air smelled faintly of fresh paint and sweat. Y/N navigated through the chaos with a box tucked under his arm, its contents rattling with every step. His other hand gripped the edges tightly—his track gear was in there, and he wasn't about to let it spill everywhere.

When he reached the door to his room, he paused, his gaze sweeping over the space. It was compact, the two beds crammed against opposite walls, a small shared desk wedged between, and a closet barely big enough to hold his shoes, let alone his wardrobe. Functional, sure, but it was far from luxurious. Still, Y/N's mind was already buzzing with ideas for rearranging the space as he crossed the threshold and set his box down near one of the beds.

"Guess this'll have to do," he muttered to himself, surveying the drab beige walls with mild disinterest.

As he began unpacking, the sound of heavy footsteps thudding down the hallway pulled his attention. The steps grew louder, and then the door creaked open wider behind him. Y/N turned, his curiosity fading into sharp recognition when he saw who was standing there.

Nate Jacobs.

The guy from earlier—the walking brick wall in a football jersey. He stood in the doorway with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his sharp features framed by the dim light from the hallway. His hoodie hung loosely over his broad frame, but the edge of his jersey peeked out, making it impossible not to identify him as "QB." Their eyes locked, and for a moment, neither said anything.

"Oh, great," Y/N said, breaking the silence as he dropped a shirt onto his bed with an exaggerated sigh. "It's you."

Nate's brow furrowed, his face twisting in mild disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath as he stepped inside. He dropped his bag with a heavy thud onto the empty bed opposite Y/N's, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of all the people on campus..."

Y/N leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms as his lips curved into a smirk. "Didn't think the universe hated me enough to make you my roommate, but hey, here we are."

Nate shot him a look, his irritation obvious. "Trust me, I'm not thrilled either. Last thing I need is to share a room with some loudmouth track star who doesn't know when to shut up."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Loudmouth? Big talk coming from the guy who growled at me like a pissed-off grizzly bear earlier."

"You were the one running your mouth first," Nate countered, his jaw tightening as he crossed his arms.

Y/N straightened up, walking to his stack of boxes with a casual air. "Right," he said, tossing a look over his shoulder. "And you were just minding your own business, Mr. 'Maybe you should watch where you're standing.'"

Nate scoffed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Look, let's just get through this without killing each other, alright? I've got enough on my plate without you adding to it."

Y/N paused, one hand resting on the box he was about to open. For a moment, his smirk softened into something more contemplative. "Fine by me," he said lightly. "As long as you don't turn this place into a football locker room, we're good."

"Deal," Nate replied, though his tone carried the faintest hint of skepticism.

Satisfied, Y/N returned to his unpacking, pulling out a stack of books and arranging them on the small shelf above his desk. "You're not gonna do the whole 'alpha male' thing in here, are you?" he asked without looking up.

Nate frowned, clearly caught off guard by the question. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You know," Y/N said, waving a hand in Nate's direction without turning around. "All the posturing, random yelling, punching walls when your team loses. That sort of thing."

Nate's glare could have cut through steel. "Do I look like the kind of guy who punches walls?"

Y/N turned to face him, his gaze raking over Nate's broad frame. "Honestly? Yeah, you kinda do."

Nate opened his mouth to argue but stopped, clearly deciding it wasn't worth the effort. With a low growl, he turned back to his duffel, pulling out a stack of neatly folded shirts.

Y/N chuckled under his breath as he returned to his own unpacking. "Relax, QB," he said with a grin. "I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine. Fair enough?"

Nate didn't look up from his bag, but his response was low and clipped. "Fair enough."

For a while, the room was filled with the sound of zippers, rustling papers, and shuffling clothes. The tension between them hadn't disappeared, but it had simmered down enough for them to coexist—for now.

As Y/N placed a framed photo on his desk, he threw a sly glance in Nate's direction. "By the way," he added, his tone casual but teasing, "you should work on your comebacks. 'Loudmouth track star' isn't exactly cutting it."

Nate's jaw tightened again, his hands pausing mid-fold. But this time, he didn't rise to the bait.

"Welcome to the dorm, Nate," Y/N said with a grin, leaning back against his desk. "This is gonna be... fun."

Nate didn't respond, but as he turned back to his bag, the faintest twitch of a smirk crossed his lips—though it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

The sun hung high in the sky, its relentless heat radiating off the manicured grass of the university's sports complex. Sweat clung to the air, sticking to every athlete who dared brave the afternoon heat. The track team had just wrapped up their grueling practice session, their laughter and chatter filling the space near the bleachers.

Y/N stood in the center of his group, casually stretching out his legs. His running shorts were impossibly short, exposing the full expanse of his toned thighs, every muscle seemingly sculpted to perfection. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his skin, catching the sunlight as he leaned into a stretch, completely unbothered by the attention his appearance drew. Y/N was always confident, effortlessly commanding the room—or in this case, the field—without even trying.

Not far away, the football team was mid-drill, their coach barking orders as they ran through their routines. The rhythmic thuds of cleats on turf filled the air, accompanied by the occasional grunt of effort. During a water break, Jake and Ryan, two of Nate's teammates, wandered toward the sideline, their eyes drifting to the scene by the bleachers.

Jake nudged Ryan, nodding toward Y/N. "Man, look at those shorts," he said with a snicker. "I swear, are those even legal? Dude's got more leg on display than half the cheer squad."

Ryan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Right? He's just out here showing off. Like, we get it—you've got legs. Congrats or whatever."

Standing a few feet away, Nate overheard the exchange. He rolled his eyes, tossing a football absently into the air and catching it. Normally, he tuned out their locker-room banter, but today, for some reason, he couldn't resist chiming in.

"Maybe he thinks the shorts make him faster," Nate said, his tone deadpan as he spun the football in his hand. "Aerodynamics or something."

Jake laughed, emboldened by Nate's comment. "Yeah, or he just likes the attention. Look at him. Bet he spends more time flexing in the mirror than running on the track."

Unbeknownst to the trio, Y/N's sharp ears had picked up every word of their conversation. His smirk widened as he straightened up, casually brushing a hand over his shorts as he turned to face them.

"Aw," Y/N called out, his voice sweetly mocking as he strode toward them with deliberate ease. "I didn't realize the football team was so interested in my thighs. Should I start charging for the view, or are compliments enough?"

Jake and Ryan froze mid-laugh, their faces flushing with embarrassment. They exchanged panicked glances, unsure how to respond.

Jake stammered first, trying to recover. "W-We weren't—"

"Oh no, please," Y/N interrupted, holding up a hand as he stepped closer, his smirk wicked. "Don't stop. It's flattering, really. I had no idea my legs were such a hot topic. Maybe next time, though, you could focus on your drills instead of gossiping like high school mean girls."

Ryan muttered defensively, "We weren't gossiping—"

"Sure you weren't," Y/N cut in smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "By the way, if you're gonna talk about someone, maybe be a little less obvious. Your whispers are about as subtle as a marching band."

Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He looked like a fish gasping for air, which only made Y/N's smirk grow.

Finally, Y/N's attention shifted to Nate, who was still standing there, the football frozen in his hand. "And you," Y/N said, his tone growing sharper as he cocked his head. "I'm surprised, QB. You had a whole two cents to throw in, but it's funny—I don't remember asking for your opinion."

Nate blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He wasn't used to being directly challenged, especially not by someone like Y/N. His faint smirk faded into a defensive glare. "I didn't say anything worse than what they said."

Y/N tilted his head, pretending to consider this. "True. But unlike them, I thought you had a spine. Guess I was wrong."

Behind Y/N, the track team, who had been watching the interaction unfold with barely contained glee, erupted into muffled laughter. Jake and Ryan didn't dare respond, their embarrassment palpable.

Satisfied with their stunned silence, Y/N tossed one last smirk over his shoulder as he sauntered back toward his team. "Don't worry, boys," he called out breezily. "Not everyone can pull off confidence and shorts. Better luck next time."

Jake muttered under his breath, "Dude's savage."

Nate didn't respond, though his grip on the football tightened. His gaze lingered on Y/N as he rejoined his group, laughing easily with his teammates as if nothing had happened.

Something about Y/N got under Nate's skin, and it wasn't just the sass. It was the sharp wit, the unapologetic confidence, and the way Y/N had absolutely no fear of putting him in his place. It irritated Nate—but it also intrigued him, in a way he couldn't quite shake.

"Jacobs!" the coach yelled, jolting Nate from his thoughts. "Back on the field!"

Nate turned sharply, tossing the football to a teammate with more force than necessary. But as he jogged back to join the drills, his mind stayed stubbornly stuck on Y/N, replaying the encounter over and over.

The silence between Y/N and Nate had become suffocating, stretching across days with no sign of breaking. The tension hung heavy in their shared dorm room, in the classrooms, even on the fields where they practiced their respective sports. Y/N had made it abundantly clear—he wasn't interested in speaking to Nate, or even acknowledging his existence.

For Nate, the lack of interaction was an unfamiliar and deeply unsettling feeling. He wasn't used to being ignored, especially not like this. It gnawed at him in ways he couldn't fully explain, like a splinter lodged too deep to reach but impossible to forget.

It started off as the first rays of dawn spilled into the room, bathing it in a warm orange glow. Nate lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying their last conversation on the field. Y/N, as usual, was up early, moving quietly around the room as he pulled on a fitted t-shirt over his toned frame. His movements were precise, methodical, and entirely devoid of unnecessary noise—a courtesy Nate was beginning to resent.

As Y/N grabbed his backpack and water bottle from the desk, he glanced briefly at his phone, scrolling through notifications. He didn't so much as glance in Nate's direction.

"Morning," Nate offered, his voice low and tentative, breaking the stillness.

Y/N didn't respond. The only sound that followed was the click of the door as it shut behind him.

Nate sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. It was going to be another long day.

By the time class started, the lecture hall buzzed with muted chatter as students trickled in, taking their seats and pulling out notebooks or laptops. Nate entered behind Jake and Ryan, scanning the rows instinctively until his eyes landed on Y/N. He was seated a few rows ahead, angled slightly toward a classmate he was chatting with.

Without realizing it, Nate chose a seat a few rows back, perfectly positioned for an unobstructed view.

Y/N sat with one leg crossed over the other, his notebook balanced on his knee as he scribbled notes in the margins. Every now and then, he leaned toward the person next to him, whispering something that earned a quiet laugh. Nate couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to. The easy smile on Y/N's face, the relaxed way he carried himself—it was a stark contrast to the cold shoulder he'd been giving Nate.

Nate's eyes lingered. The way Y/N tapped his pen against the desk, the slight furrow of his brow when he focused, the unconscious habit of brushing his fingers through his hair when he stretched—it was all maddeningly distracting.

"You okay, man?" Jake asked, nudging Nate's elbow.

"Yeah," Nate muttered, tearing his gaze away and forcing himself to focus on the professor's droning voice. But even as he tried to take notes, his eyes kept drifting back to Y/N.

As the heat of the afternoon sun bore down on the sports complex, baking the grass and filling the air with the faint scent of sweat and turf. Nate was supposed to be focused on running passing drills, but his attention kept slipping to the track just beyond the field.

Y/N was sprinting, his powerful strides eating up the distance effortlessly. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, and the way he slowed to a stop after his lap left Nate momentarily frozen.

"Jacobs!" the coach's voice barked, snapping Nate out of his thoughts.

"Focus!"

"Yeah, sorry, Coach," Nate muttered, catching the football mid-air and throwing it with a little more force than necessary.

As he jogged back into position, his eyes darted toward the track again. Y/N was standing by his team, his chest heaving as he took a long swig from his water bottle. One of his teammates said something that made him laugh—a loud, easy sound that made Nate's chest tighten.

It was infuriating how completely oblivious Y/N seemed to his presence.

By the two made into the dorm, it was quiet, the air heavy with unspoken words. Y/N entered first, tossing his bag onto his bed without so much as a glance in Nate's direction. Nate followed, shutting the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

For a while, the only sound was the faint rustling of Y/N unpacking his gear. Nate leaned against the door, his eyes fixed on him. The silence was unbearable.

"Are you ever gonna talk to me again?" Nate asked finally, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife.

Y/N didn't even pause. "Didn't think there was anything left to say."

Nate's jaw tightened. "You're really this pissed about what I said on the field?"

Y/N snapped his head up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Pissed? No, Nate. I'm disappointed. I thought you were at least capable of being decent, but clearly, I overestimated you."

Nate frowned, stepping closer. "I was joking!"

Y/N shook his head, his voice calm but biting. "Oh, I got the joke. It's just not funny coming from someone who doesn't know the first thing about respect."

Nate opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. Y/N had already turned away, pulling a fresh shirt from his drawer and pointedly ignoring him.

A knock on the door broke the tension. Y/N walked past Nate to open it, revealing one of their neighbors leaning casually against the frame.

"Hey, you two coming to the frat party tonight?" the guy asked.

Y/N glanced over his shoulder at Nate, his tone dismissive. "I'll be there," he said. "Can't say about him."

Nate bristled. "I'm coming too," he said firmly, stepping forward.

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to the neighbor with a small smirk. "Guess we'll see you there."

The door closed, leaving them alone again. Y/N grabbed his things and left without another word, the silence in the room now suffocating. Nate stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, wrestling with his frustration—and something far more complicated that he couldn't quite name.

The bass reverberated through the cramped frat house, shaking the walls and drowning out any chance of meaningful conversation. The air was thick with the mingling scents of cheap beer, sweat, and an overzealous amount of cologne. Multicolored lights pulsed in time with the music, casting flickering shadows over the packed rooms. People were crammed into every corner, laughing, drinking, and dancing, their movements chaotic but full of life.

In the middle of it all, Y/N commanded the makeshift dance floor in the living room. He wore a cropped black graphic tee emblazoned with a bold design, the hem cutting off just enough to reveal his toned stomach. His low-waist black jeans hugged his hips perfectly, emphasizing his every movement. The outfit, combined with his easy confidence, made it impossible not to watch him.

Y/N moved like the music was a part of him, his arms swaying above his head, his hips rolling effortlessly in time with the beat. His friends surrounded him, hyping him up with loud cheers and playful shouts as he spun and struck teasing poses. A playful grin danced on his lips as he leaned into the energy, the kind of carefree charisma that lit up the entire room.

Across the space, Nate stood with a group of his football teammates near the beer pong table. A red Solo cup dangled from his hand, barely touched, as his gaze kept drifting toward the dance floor. Specifically, toward Y/N.

"What's got you so distracted, man?" Jake nudged Nate's arm, his voice cutting through the din.

"Nothing," Nate muttered, his tone clipped, though his eyes remained locked on Y/N.

Jake smirked but didn't press.

The situation shifted suddenly when a tall guy with dyed hair and a silver chain stepped confidently into Y/N's circle. The stranger's movements were smooth, his intentions clear as he joined Y/N in the rhythm of the music. He leaned closer, his hand brushing Y/N's hip as their steps aligned.

Nate's grip on his cup tightened, the cheap plastic creaking under the pressure.

Jake, noticing, glanced toward the dance floor. "Looks like your roommate's got himself an admirer," he said with a teasing grin.

Nate didn't respond, but his jaw clenched as he watched the stranger say something to Y/N, earning a laugh. Y/N threw his head back, his carefree laugh cutting through the music as he spun into the guy's arms. Their faces were close now—too close.

An unfamiliar irritation churned in Nate's chest, sharp and insistent. It wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be. He didn't even like Y/N like that. So why did seeing him with someone else feel like a punch to the gut?

"You good, man?" Jake asked again, his tone more curious now.

"I'm fine," Nate said shortly, his voice harsh as he tore his gaze away. He tipped his cup back and took a long swig, trying to focus on anything else.

But his resolve faltered almost immediately. His eyes found their way back to the dance floor, where Y/N now had his hands in the air, his body leaning into the guy's. Their movements were perfectly synced, like they'd been dancing together for years. The crowd around them seemed to blur, leaving only the two of them in Nate's focus.

"What's your problem with him, anyway?" Ryan chimed in, noticing Nate's growing tension. "You've been weird about Y/N since day one."

"I don't have a problem," Nate snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Right. And the way you're glaring at that guy right now is totally normal."

Nate scowled, his knuckles whitening around his cup. "I'm not glaring."

"Sure," Ryan said with a smirk. "Whatever you say, QB."

Nate ignored them, his attention snapping back to Y/N just as he threw his arms around the stranger's neck, laughing again. The easy intimacy of it—the way Y/N could just be himself, confident and unbothered—grated on Nate's nerves.

It wasn't just the dance. It was the way someone else was getting Y/N's attention, his laughter, his energy. It was the way Nate couldn't seem to draw that out of him anymore, no matter how hard he tried.

Before he could stop himself, Nate muttered under his breath, "What's so great about that guy, anyway?"

Jake burst out laughing. "Oh, this is gold. Jacobs is jealous."

"Shut up," Nate growled, shoving Jake lightly, though his flushed face betrayed him.

Jake kept laughing, but Nate didn't care. His focus was entirely on Y/N, who seemed to sense Nate's eyes on him. Y/N glanced up, his gaze locking with Nate's for the briefest moment.

Y/N's expression was unreadable, but the smirk that tugged at his lips wasn't. It was sly, teasing, and far too knowing, as if Y/N could see right through him.

Nate's stomach twisted.

Y/N turned back to his dance partner, but not before throwing Nate a look that seemed to say, I see you watching.

Scowling, Nate tipped his cup back again, downing the rest of his drink in one go. He tried for the rest of the night to focus on his teammates, on the beer pong game, on anything other than Y/N. But no matter what he did, his thoughts kept circling back to him.

And that damn smirk.

Soon the party had shifted into its final stages, the once-deafening music now muted, replaced by the hum of lingering conversations and occasional bursts of laughter. The crowd had thinned, but pockets of energy still buzzed throughout the house. In the corner near the door, Y/N leaned heavily against the wall, his cheeks flushed, his eyes slightly glassy from one too many drinks. Despite his clear intoxication, he retained that magnetic, carefree air, laughing easily at something the guy next to him said.

The guy—a tall, confident-looking student with a cocky smirk—leaned in close, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear as he whispered something that made Y/N giggle. Y/N swayed slightly, his balance unsteady, and the guy placed an arm around his waist, guiding him with ease. Y/N leaned into the touch, his body language loose and trusting as the guy began steering him toward the front door.

From a few feet away, Nate watched the scene unfold, his grip tightening on the edge of his Solo cup. For the past ten minutes, he had been quietly observing, his irritation building with every second. Jake and Ryan stood nearby, but their banter barely registered as Nate's attention remained fixed on Y/N.

When he saw the guy's arm slide more firmly around Y/N's waist, something inside Nate snapped.

"Where are you going?" Nate's voice cut through the air as he stepped forward, his tone sharp and commanding.

Both Y/N and the guy turned to face him, the sudden interruption catching them off guard. Y/N blinked, momentarily confused, before a lazy smirk spread across his face. "Hey, QB. Didn't know you cared," he drawled, his words slurred just enough to betray how drunk he was. He leaned more heavily against the guy, his body swaying slightly.

Nate ignored Y/N's teasing and turned his full attention to the other guy, his piercing gaze hard and unwavering. "You can leave," Nate said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "He's not going anywhere with you."

The guy frowned, holding up his hands defensively. "What's your problem, man? We're just leaving. It's not a big deal."

"It is if he's drunk," Nate snapped back, stepping closer. His voice was low and edged with a quiet intensity that made the guy falter. "Find someone else to bother."

Y/N chuckled, clearly amused by the exchange. "Relax, Nate," he said, his voice thick with amusement and alcohol. "I can handle myself. Not my first rodeo."

"You're wasted," Nate retorted, his eyes narrowing as he reached out and gently but firmly pulled Y/N away from the guy's hold. His hand rested on Y/N's arm, steadying him as Y/N stumbled slightly. "You don't even know this dude."

Y/N looked up at Nate, his expression shifting to one of annoyance and mild curiosity. "Wow," he said, his tone biting. "Since when are you my babysitter?"

"I'm not," Nate shot back through gritted teeth. "But I'm also not letting you do something stupid."

The guy, clearly irritated now, stepped forward. "Look, man, it's none of your business—"

"It is now," Nate interrupted, his voice dangerously low. His glare alone was enough to make the guy hesitate. "Go."

The guy looked between Nate and Y/N, his frustration evident, before scoffing and throwing up his hands. "Whatever, dude. Your problem now." He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the thinning crowd.

Y/N pulled his arm free from Nate's grip, his movements unsteady but deliberate as he glared at him. "Seriously, what is your deal?" he demanded. "I was having fun."

"You call that fun?" Nate shot back, crossing his arms. "Getting blackout drunk and going home with some random guy?"

Y/N smirked, but it was weaker now, less sure. "Jealous, QB?" he teased, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

Nate's jaw tightened, his gaze darting away for a moment as he struggled to find the right words. "No," he said finally, though even to himself, it sounded unconvincing. "I just don't want to deal with you getting into trouble and me having to explain it to the RA."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as his smirk returned, sharper this time. "Right. Totally about the RA," he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity, "and not because you can't stand seeing me with someone else."

Nate's eyes snapped back to Y/N's, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, the silence stretching between them thick with tension.

"You're drunk," Nate said finally, his voice softer now, almost reluctant. "Let's just get you back to the dorm."

Y/N sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall. "Fine, QB," he muttered. "But only because these shoes are killing me."

Nate rolled his eyes but stepped closer, steadying Y/N with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come on."

As they made their way out of the frat house, Y/N mumbled something incoherent about his shoes and the terrible music, his head lolling slightly against Nate's shoulder. Nate kept his grip steady, his chest tightening in a way he couldn't quite explain.

It wasn't about the RA. He knew that much.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop pretending otherwise.

The dormitory door slammed open with a loud bang, the sound echoing down the quiet hallway as Nate strode inside, his steps purposeful and heavy. Draped over his broad shoulder like an unruly sack of potatoes was Y/N, who groaned loudly, his legs kicking weakly in protest. Despite his best efforts to wriggle free, Nate held him firmly, his strength making any escape attempts laughable.

Y/N had made a valiant, if poorly coordinated, attempt to run away halfway back to the dorm, weaving unsteadily down the sidewalk in a way that had Nate's patience snapping. Without a word, Nate had hoisted him up with an ease that left no room for negotiation.

"Put me down, Nate!" Y/N shouted, his voice muffled against Nate's back as he bounced slightly with each determined step. "I don't need your help!"

"You're drunk," Nate replied flatly, his tone devoid of amusement as he kicked the dorm room door shut behind them with a sharp thud. "And you almost ran into traffic, so yeah, you kinda do."

Y/N let out an exaggerated groan, his fists weakly thudding against Nate's back in a half-hearted attempt to protest. "I hate you," he grumbled, his words slurring slightly from the alcohol still coursing through his system.

"Sure you do," Nate replied dryly, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he moved across the room. Despite his curt tone, he lowered Y/N onto his bed with far more care than he wanted to admit, making sure the other boy landed softly.

Y/N sat up almost immediately, swaying slightly as he jabbed a wobbly finger in Nate's direction. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and defiance, though his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes robbed it of any real weight. "I don't need your hero complex right now, okay? I can take care of myself."

Nate crossed his arms, his broad frame looming over Y/N as he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Really? You couldn't even walk in a straight line five minutes ago."

Y/N scowled, his hands fumbling with the hem of his crop top as he attempted to smooth it out and reclaim some semblance of dignity. "Doesn't mean I needed you to carry me like I'm some damsel in distress," he shot back, his voice petulant. "I'm fine."

"Fine?" Nate repeated, his tone heavy with disbelief. He stepped closer, leaning down until they were at eye level. His piercing gaze locked onto Y/N's, refusing to let him look away. "You're a sweaty, drunk mess who tried to ditch me in the middle of the street. That's not fine, Y/N."

Y/N opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. The closeness between them was almost suffocating, the intensity in Nate's expression enough to leave him momentarily speechless.

"Exactly," Nate said after a beat, his voice softer but no less firm. "Now sit still and stop trying to act like you've got this handled."

Y/N opened his mouth, ready to fire back with another slurred but defiant retort, but before he could get a word out, Nate moved. In one swift motion, he reached forward and tugged Y/N's crop top over his head, leaving the smaller boy momentarily stunned.

"Hey!" Y/N squawked, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to grab the shirt back. His movements were clumsy and ineffective, his balance still shaky from the alcohol. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting you out of this," Nate replied matter-of-factly, his tone steady and unbothered. He held the damp, sweat-soaked crop top between two fingers as if it were offensive before tossing it unceremoniously onto the floor. "You're gonna feel like crap in the morning if you stay in it."

For a moment, Y/N could only blink at him, his brain scrambling to process what had just happened. He crossed his arms over his now-bare chest, his cheeks flushing a deep pink—not entirely from the alcohol. "You could've asked, you know," he muttered, his tone more flustered than annoyed.

Nate smirked faintly, crossing the room to rummage through Y/N's drawer. "Yeah, because you totally would've cooperated," he shot back, pulling out an oversized t-shirt that looked soft and well-worn.

Y/N glared at him, the heat in his cheeks only intensifying as Nate approached with the clean shirt. "I could've done it myself," he muttered, but the bite in his tone was weak.

"Sure you could've," Nate replied dryly, kneeling slightly to pull the shirt over Y/N's head with surprising gentleness. His hands brushed against Y/N's skin as he adjusted the hem, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N froze for a split second, his heart racing inexplicably as Nate leaned back to survey his work.

"There," Nate said, straightening up. His tone was softer now, almost satisfied. "Better."

Y/N shifted on the bed, his arms dropping to his sides as he glanced down at the oversized tee now hanging loosely on his frame. He tried to ignore the way his pulse was pounding, instead narrowing his eyes at Nate in an attempt to regain some semblance of control.

"Great," he muttered sarcastically, crossing his arms again. "You've played dress-up. Now leave me alone."

But the way his voice wavered slightly at the end betrayed him, and Nate's smirk deepened just enough for Y/N to notice.

Nate ignored Y/N's protests, dropping to a crouch at the foot of the bed and reaching for his shoes. The laces were tangled, no doubt from Y/N's stumbling attempts to leave the party earlier. Nate tugged at the knots, his fingers moving with a practiced ease, his expression calm despite the grumbled complaints coming from above.

"Seriously?" Y/N said, his tone a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. He tried to sit up straighter, wobbling slightly as he propped himself up on his elbows. "I can handle that."

"Uh-huh," Nate replied without looking up, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slipped off one shoe, followed quickly by the other.

Y/N scowled, his brows knitting together. "I'm not completely useless, you know," he muttered.

Nate finally glanced up, his piercing eyes locking on Y/N's. "Right. Because you've been handling everything so well tonight," he quipped, his tone dry. Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, he added, "Do you wanna try taking your pants off yourself, or are you gonna make me do that too?"

Y/N's face turned a deep scarlet, his mouth falling open in disbelief. "Excuse me?" he sputtered, his voice pitching higher than usual.

"Relax," Nate said, rolling his eyes as he reached for Y/N's legs, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed with little effort. "It's not like that."

Y/N froze, momentarily too stunned to respond as Nate's hands moved to the waistband of his jeans. With a flick of his fingers, Nate unbuttoned them, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Nate worked with practiced efficiency, sliding the jeans down Y/N's legs and tossing them aside in one smooth motion. Left in nothing but his snug boxer briefs, Y/N instinctively crossed his legs, his flushed cheeks now impossibly red.

"Happy now?" Y/N muttered, avoiding Nate's gaze as he tugged at the hem of the oversized shirt Nate had put on him earlier.

Nate didn't respond immediately. He stood, his full height towering over Y/N, and for a moment, his gaze lingered. It wasn't just exasperation anymore—there was something softer in his expression, something unspoken that made Y/N's heart stutter in his chest.

"There," Nate said finally, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "You're good."

Y/N looked up at him, his lips pressing into a thin line as he tried to ignore the heat rising in his face. "You're really annoying, you know that?" he mumbled, though there was no real malice in his tone.

Nate smirked, taking a small step closer. The corner of his mouth quirked up in that infuriatingly confident way, but his voice carried a hint of warmth. "Yeah," he said, his tone low, "but you'll thank me in the morning."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, meeting Nate's gaze for the first time. "Doubt it," he shot back, his voice softer than he intended.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful tension from earlier dissolved into something heavier, more charged. Nate didn't move, and neither did Y/N, their eyes locked in a silent exchange that seemed to stretch on forever.

The sound of Nate's steady breathing filled the small space between them, his presence overwhelming. Y/N could feel the heat radiating from him, his own pulse racing as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

Nate leaned forward slightly, his smirk softening into something more tentative, more vulnerable. Y/N held his breath, his gaze flickering to Nate's lips before quickly snapping back to his eyes.

But then Nate straightened, stepping back with a barely audible sigh. "Get some sleep," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant.

Y/N didn't respond, his heart still pounding as he watched Nate retreat to his side of the room. The unspoken tension hung in the air long after the moment passed, leaving Y/N staring at the ceiling and wondering why he couldn't shake the way Nate had looked at him.

The dormitory bathroom was dimly lit, its harsh fluorescent lights buzzing faintly in the stillness. The quiet was broken only by the sound of Y/N brushing his teeth, the rhythmic scrape of bristles against enamel filling the otherwise empty space. He leaned lazily against the sink, still groggy from the remnants of sleep and the unsettling memory of a strange, vivid dream he couldn't quite shake.

After rinsing his mouth, he splashed cold water on his face, hoping to clear the lingering haze in his mind. Grabbing a towel, he dabbed at his skin, his thoughts elsewhere. When he turned to leave, he froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat.

Nate stood in the doorway, his broad figure filling the frame, one shoulder casually propped against the wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms tense, and his expression unreadable. He didn't move, blocking the exit as his piercing eyes bore into Y/N.

"Jesus, Nate," Y/N said, his voice muffled as he tossed the towel aside onto the counter. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What are you doing here?"

Nate shrugged, his eyes flicking away for a brief moment before locking back onto Y/N. "Bathroom's on the way to my room," he said casually, his voice steady but lacking its usual bite. "Didn't know I needed permission to stand here."

Y/N narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the sink. "Right. Because loitering outside the bathroom at midnight is totally normal behavior."

Nate didn't reply immediately. Instead, he studied Y/N with an intensity that made the air between them feel heavier. The silence lingered too long, his gaze dipping slightly before snapping back up.

Y/N's expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he straightened slightly. The teasing edge in his voice was gone when he spoke again. "Alright, spill. Why did you really stop me from leaving with that guy at the party?"

Nate's posture stiffened, his arms dropping slightly as he stood up straighter. His jaw worked for a moment before he finally spoke. "I already told you," he said, his voice clipped. "You were drunk. You could've done something stupid."

"Uh-huh," Y/N said slowly, tilting his head as if trying to see through Nate's words. His tone was skeptical, almost mocking. "And I'm supposed to believe it had nothing to do with... jealousy?"

Nate let out a bark of laughter, but it sounded forced, too sharp to be genuine. "Jealousy?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Trust me, I wasn't jealous. You're not that special."

Y/N raised an eyebrow at that, his lips curving into a sly smirk. "Oh, really?" he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "Then why were you staring daggers at him all night?"

"I wasn't," Nate snapped, his response too quick, too defensive.

Y/N pushed off the sink, taking a step closer. The distance between them was shrinking, and with it, the tension in the room thickened. "You sure about that, QB?" Y/N asked, his voice low, teasing. "Because if I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't like the idea of me with someone else."

Nate's jaw tightened further, his fists flexing at his sides as if he were trying to keep them still. "Don't flatter yourself," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm straight, okay? You're not my type. At all."

Y/N paused, studying him closely, his smirk fading into something softer, more curious. His eyes searched Nate's face, lingering on the tight line of his mouth and the tension in his brow. "Right," Y/N said finally, his tone quieter but no less pointed. "You're straight. That's why you've been acting weird around me since day one."

Nate stepped forward, his height casting a shadow over Y/N as he closed the remaining space between them. "I'm not acting weird," he said firmly, his voice lowering. "You're the one making this into something it's not."

Y/N didn't back down, his chin tilting slightly as he met Nate's gaze head-on. For a moment, the room felt impossibly small, the charged silence pressing in on both of them.

"Okay," Y/N said finally, his voice calm but tinged with something knowing. "If that's what you need to tell yourself." He moved past Nate, his shoulder brushing against him as he stopped at the doorway. Y/N paused, glancing over his shoulder with a faint, almost teasing smile. "But just so you know, people who are totally straight don't usually get this worked up over their 'not-my-type' roommate."

Nate didn't move, his fists clenching at his sides as he watched Y/N disappear down the hall. His chest felt tight, each breath harder to take as Y/N's words echoed in his head.

I'm straight, he told himself, gripping the edge of the counter as he turned toward the mirror.

But as he stared at his own reflection, the doubt that flickered in his eyes told a different story. For the first time, Nate wasn't sure what he believed anymore.

The countertops were cluttered with stray utensils and empty mugs, evidence of late nights and hurried mornings. The air was thick with the mingling aroma of freshly brewed coffee and whatever leftovers Nate had just pulled from the fridge.

Y/N stood by the counter, the picture of effortless ease. He leaned back casually, his mug cradled in one hand as steam curled lazily upward. His other hand drummed a slow, steady rhythm against the counter's edge, as though he had all the time in the world. His eyes flicked to Nate, who was bent over, half inside the fridge, rummaging noisily.

"Move," Nate said abruptly, his tone more gruff than polite as he turned, balancing a carton of milk and an apple in one hand. His shoulder bumped Y/N's in an impatient nudge.

Y/N, unfazed, merely smirked. He didn't shift an inch. "Say 'please,'" he drawled, his voice teasing, laced with just enough challenge to be infuriating.

Nate huffed audibly, clearly not in the mood for games. He stepped closer without hesitation, closing the already minimal gap between them. His broad chest brushed against Y/N's back as he reached over the counter to grab the half-empty box of cereal perched precariously near the edge.

The contact was brief but electric. Y/N's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, a small hitch in his breath betraying him before he quickly smoothed over the moment with a practiced veneer of nonchalance. He tilted his head just slightly, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Careful, QB," Y/N said lightly, his tone deliberately playful. "Buy me dinner first."

Nate recoiled as if burned, retreating a step too quickly. "You're annoying," he muttered under his breath, his voice low and clipped. He kept his gaze fixed on the counter, avoiding Y/N's eyes entirely as he busied himself pouring cereal into a bowl with far more focus than the task required.

But the flush creeping up Nate's neck was impossible to miss. A faint pink dusted his cheeks, standing out against his otherwise stoic expression.

Y/N noticed, of course. He always noticed. A slow, self-satisfied grin spread across his face as he turned back to his coffee, taking a deliberate sip. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he pretended not to notice Nate's embarrassment.

The gym was quieter than usual, its usual cacophony of clanging weights and rhythmic grunts reduced to a distant hum. The faint smell of rubber mats and chalk lingered in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of sweat. Y/N lay stretched out on the bench press, his fingers curling around the cold metal bar, the plates on either side gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights.

Nate's shadow loomed over him, breaking his focus. "Need a spot?" he asked, his tone casual but carrying a slight edge, the way it always did when he was talking to Y/N.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His lips quirked into a lazy smirk. "Didn't know you cared."

Nate crossed his arms, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Someone's gotta make sure you don't drop the bar on your face," he shot back, stepping closer. His hands hovered just above the bar, ready but not intrusive.

With a small huff of amusement, Y/N settled back into position and began his reps. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, muscles contracting and releasing as he powered through each press. The bar creaked faintly under the strain, but Y/N's focus didn't waver. Nate, however, wasn't as disciplined.

Despite himself, Nate's gaze kept slipping—drifting over the line of Y/N's arms, the way his biceps flexed with each upward thrust, the tautness of his shoulders under the weight. The faint sheen of sweat on Y/N's skin caught the light, highlighting the sharp lines and curves of his body. It was distracting, far more than Nate would ever admit, even to himself.

"You gonna stare all day, or are you actually spotting me?" Y/N teased, his voice breathless but carrying that familiar sharpness. He didn't even look up, but the smirk in his tone was unmistakable.

Nate jerked slightly, caught off guard. A faint flush crept up his neck, and he quickly averted his eyes, his focus snapping back to the bar. "Focus on the bar," he muttered, his voice tighter than usual.

Y/N chuckled, a low, knowing sound that Nate found both infuriating and—he'd never admit it—amusing. With a controlled motion, Y/N lowered the bar back onto the rack, the clanging sound reverberating through the gym. He sat up, rolling his shoulders and reaching for his water bottle, his grin still firmly in place.

"Whatever you say, coach," Y/N said, the words dripping with playful mockery.

Nate didn't reply right away, his jaw tightening as he busied himself adjusting a nearby weight. He could still feel the heat creeping up his face and silently cursed himself for it. Meanwhile, Y/N leaned back against the bench, casually stretching his arms overhead, his grin widening as he watched Nate's back stiffen ever so slightly. The unspoken tension between them hung in the air, heavy but electric, as Nate fought to maintain his composure.

"You done admiring me, or should I grab the dumbbells next?" Y/N quipped, breaking the silence with another laugh.

"Shut up, Y/N," Nate muttered, but his voice lacked the usual bite, and Y/N only laughed harder.

The library was nearly deserted, the silence broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Rows of bookshelves stretched out in every direction, casting long shadows across the polished wood floors. At one of the large study tables near the back, Y/N and Nate sat side by side, an unintentional arrangement born from choosing the same spot at nearly the same time. Neither had moved, both too stubborn to concede the table to the other.

Y/N was sprawled comfortably in his chair, a picture of effortless confidence. A few loose papers and an open notebook were scattered in front of him, but he wasn't exactly focused on them. Instead, he leaned forward to grab a book from the far corner of the table, the movement causing his cropped hoodie to ride up just enough to expose a strip of skin along his waist.

Nate noticed. He hadn't meant to, but his eyes flicked downward, caught for a moment too long on the sliver of skin and the faint shadow of muscle underneath. His jaw tightened as he quickly looked away, his fingers tapping out a random rhythm against the keyboard of his laptop, but it was too late.

Y/N straightened up slowly, his sharp eyes catching Nate's fleeting glance. A smirk spread across his lips, equal parts amusement and challenge. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, the motion making his shirt ride even higher.

"See something you like?" Y/N asked, his voice low and teasing, the tone carrying just enough edge to make Nate freeze.

Nate's ears turned bright red, a telltale sign he was flustered despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. "Your shirt's just... short," he mumbled, awkwardly gesturing toward it with one hand, his eyes resolutely fixed on the table now.

Y/N's smirk only deepened. He tilted his head, leaning slightly toward Nate as if to close the already narrow space between them. "Yeah? Guess that's why you can't stop staring." His tone was light, almost casual, but there was a deliberate weight behind his words that made Nate's discomfort palpable.

Nate cleared his throat, his fingers suddenly flying across his keyboard with an intensity that suggested he was trying to summon every ounce of focus he could muster. "Focus on your work," he muttered, his voice gruff. He didn't look up, but the slight jiggling of his leg under the table gave him away, a nervous tell he couldn't quite control.

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound barely louder than a whisper in the quiet library. "Whatever you say, Nate," he drawled, leaning back even farther in his chair, his arms still crossed. He watched Nate out of the corner of his eye, clearly enjoying the way the quarterback's posture grew more rigid with every passing second.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and Nate stepped into the room, steam trailing after him like a veil. His hair was damp, darkened by water, and clinging messily to his forehead. A towel sat low on his hips, barely secured, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones and the lean muscle of his torso. Droplets of water traced erratic paths down his chest and abs, glinting under the soft glow of the desk lamp in the dim dorm room.

Y/N, seated at his desk with his laptop open, barely registered the movement at first. But as Nate leaned casually against the doorframe, the sudden presence was impossible to ignore. Y/N's gaze flicked up instinctively, his eyebrows shooting upward in a mixture of surprise and exasperation.

"What?" Nate asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence, though the smirk curling at his lips betrayed him. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning more comfortably against the doorframe, the motion emphasizing the play of muscle under his skin. "Never seen someone fresh out of the shower before?"

Y/N scoffed, forcing his attention back to his screen even as his ears burned. "Boy, please. You could... put some clothes on," he said, his voice coming out more strained than he intended.

Nate didn't miss the tension. His smirk widened, and he pushed off the doorframe with deliberate slowness, walking across the room to his side. Each step seemed to echo, purposeful, and exaggerated.

"Oh, what's the matter, Y/N?" he drawled, his tone rich with teasing. "Afraid you'll see something you like?" His voice dipped just enough to make the words hang in the air, playful but laced with challenge.

Y/N didn't look up, his fingers hovering over his keyboard as if pretending to type. His shoulders were stiff, his neck tense, and his face was turning a shade of red that Nate couldn't help but notice.

"Shut up," Y/N growled, the words coming out more flustered than threatening. His eyes stayed glued to his laptop screen, though his focus was clearly elsewhere.

Nate chuckled, the sound low and satisfied, as he finally pulled open his dresser drawer. He took his time grabbing clothes, moving as if he had all the time in the world. Every so often, he threw a glance over his shoulder, catching the way Y/N's jaw tightened, the way his hands fidgeted in his lap.

Revenge had never tasted this sweet. For all the teasing Y/N had put him through, Nate was finally getting his moment, and he was enjoying it far too much.

"I'm just saying," Nate added, his voice light and casual, "if it bothers you that much, you could always move to another room."

Y/N didn't respond. His screen was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world, though the pink flush creeping down his neck gave him away.

Nate grinned to himself as he pulled a shirt over his head, the satisfaction of his victory lingering in the air like the faint mist from his shower.

However, victories can only last so long.

The music pounded through the packed frat house, the bass vibrating through the floor and reverberating in Y/N's chest. The dim, colorful lights shifted and spun, casting the room in flashes of blue and red as bodies swayed to the rhythm. Y/N was in the center of the makeshift dance floor, moving effortlessly to the beat, his hips rolling with a confidence that was impossible to ignore.

His low-waist jeans clung perfectly to his figure, dipping low enough to reveal the faintest hint of skin between the waistband and his cropped graphic tee. The shirt, short enough to tease his toned stomach, shimmered slightly under the lights. Every movement, every turn of his body, seemed to draw eyes his way.

Across from him, a frat guy stepped closer, emboldened by Y/N's easy energy. His hands inched toward Y/N's waist, a sly grin on his face as he leaned in. Y/N let it happen, his lips curling into a mischievous smile as he played along, his movements slowing to match the guy's. The moment lingered, electrified by the heat of the crowd and the pull of the music.

But from the edge of the room, Nate stood frozen, his grip on the Solo cup in his hand tightening with every second. He hadn't touched the drink in over ten minutes, his focus entirely on the scene unfolding in front of him. His jaw was set, his chest rising and falling as he fought the growing frustration gnawing at him.

When the frat guy leaned in even closer, his hand brushing against Y/N's hip, Nate's patience snapped.

He pushed through the throng of dancers, his broad shoulders cutting a path as he moved toward Y/N. Without a word, he reached out and grabbed Y/N's wrist, his grip firm but not rough.

"Hey—what the hell?" Y/N yelped, stumbling slightly as Nate yanked him away from the dance floor.

Ignoring the frat guy's startled protests and Y/N's struggles, Nate dragged him through the crowd and up the stairs. The music faded to a dull thrum as they reached the second floor, the noise from the party below muffled behind closed doors. Nate shoved open the door to an empty room, pulling Y/N inside before slamming it shut behind them.

The sudden silence was jarring, broken only by Y/N's heavy breathing as he wrenched his arm free.

"Seriously, Nate? Again?" Y/N snapped, spinning to face him. His chest was still heaving from dancing, his hair slightly damp from the heat of the room. "What is your problem?"

Nate stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes dark and unreadable as they bore into Y/N. "What the hell were you doing with that guy?" he demanded, his voice low and strained.

Y/N scoffed, throwing his hands up. "Dancing? Flirting? Having fun? You know, normal things people do at parties?"

"That guy wasn't—" Nate started, his voice rising, but Y/N cut him off.

"Oh, don't even start," Y/N said, stepping closer and jabbing a finger at Nate's chest. His voice was sharp, each word like a dagger. "Straight people don't get to interfere in their gay roommate's love life just because they're feeling territorial. You've got no right to—"

"Shut up!" Nate barked, his voice rough and cracking at the edges.

Y/N froze for a beat, his eyes narrowing. "No. You shut up, Nate," he snapped back, his tone fierce. "I don't know what's got you so wound up, but I'm not gonna let you treat me like I'm some kind of—"

"I don't know what I'm doing, alright?" Nate interrupted, his voice suddenly softer, almost desperate. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room in agitated strides. "I don't—this isn't normal for me. I've never felt like this before."

"Felt like what?" Y/N asked, his voice losing some of its bite as he crossed his arms.

"Like this!" Nate snapped, stopping abruptly to face Y/N. His eyes were raw with emotion, his composure slipping with every word. "About a guy. About you."

The confession hung in the air like a thunderclap, the weight of it pressing down on both of them. Y/N stared at Nate, his expression softening but his guard still firmly in place.

"You're kidding," Y/N said finally, his voice quieter but still edged with disbelief. "You, Mr. I'm-Straight-As-An-Arrow, have feelings for me?"

Nate exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as he looked away. "I don't know what this is," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "I didn't let myself think about it."

"Think about what?" Y/N pressed, his tone gentler now, the anger replaced by curiosity.

Nate's gaze snapped back to Y/N's, and for the first time, his vulnerability was laid bare. "You," he said simply. "How you make me feel. How much it pisses me off to see you with someone else. How I can't stop thinking about you, no matter how much I try."

Y/N blinked, stunned into silence as the words sunk in. For the first time, he didn't have a quick comeback.

Before he could respond, Nate crossed the room in a single step, his hands cupping Y/N's face as he leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first, almost unsure, but the moment their lips met, everything else fell away. Y/N's hands instinctively found the front of Nate's hoodie, gripping the fabric as he kissed back. The hesitation dissolved into something more certain, the kiss deepening as weeks of tension and unspoken feelings spilled out between them.

It was messy and unpracticed, their movements slightly clumsy but real. When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they struggled to process what had just happened.

"Wow," Y/N murmured after a beat, his voice soft but tinged with amusement. "Didn't think you had it in you, QB."

Nate let out a shaky laugh, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Yeah. Me neither."

[astuteology]

Some more astrology notes/observations🍀🦫

🪐Aries placements are more observant than Scorpio placements. Here's why- they are the babies of the zodiacs, and as a baby, they observe everyone and everything around them. Learning things on their own. Knows who has bad aura or energy.

🪐Planets in the 5th house makes you more appealing to others than planets in the 1st house.

🪐Capricorns placements are hard to anger but once angered, their rage is worse than an aquarius or a cancer.

🪐Underdeveloped cancers fit the stereotype of gemini having 2 faces than gemini itself.

🪐Mercury in the 1st house individuals are turned off "badly" by people who talk shit and speak with half knowledge.

🪐1st house moon has this brightness on their face that makes others stop and stare. I'm sure they've had this question "do I have something in my face?". Actually you do, it's your magnetism.

🪐Underdeveloped Scorpio rising are all talk and no action. They're gonna be like "oh I'm gonna show them why they shouldn't have done that!". And then they run away, avoiding confrontation.

🪐As much as an aries like direct, clear and open communication, they themselves act passive-aggressive sometimes.

🪐Speaking of aries, their love for freedom is above everything. They want love that frees them. Same goes for aquarius.

🪐Virgo's perfectionism can make them loyal and dedicated partners.

🪐Cancer sun + leo moon, when in an argument with their love, they became dramatic and attention seeking, needing reassurance.

🪐Aquarius sun + Scorpio moon makes the individual fear intimacy and emotional vulnerability. Aqua's reluctance to open up and scorpio's intense emotional needs. This create a push and pull dynamic.

🪐Taurus venus + Sagittarius mars makes an individual have conflicting desires. Commitment vs exploration. Stability vs adventure. Emotional intensity vs intellectual connection.

🪐Scorpio placements are often lost in their thoughts even more than gemini or pisces placements. They often feel like outsiders, observing life from afar.

🪐Leo placements are passionate. Like VERY passionate. They do be having a tendency to burn the bridges, quick and fast.

🪐Capricorns often possess a witty, understated sense of humor.

🪐Speaking of Capricorn, they are sooooooooo slow to trust. Even more than a Scorpio.

🪐Aries moon is as sensitive as cancer and pisces moon. They feel so deeply.

🪐Aries placements competitiveness can lead to sabotage and self destruction.

🪐Cancers strive for perfection more than a virgo. But this can lead to anxiety and burnout.

🪐Taurus placements can love you and never let you know. Ever.

🪐I've seen virgo placements being obsessive in relationships more than Scorpio placements. (Tell me why, please.)

🪐Sagittarius placements are often restlessness. They are looking for something that they don't even know.

🪐Mars square uranus- self destructive tendencies.

🪐Aries venus in the 12th house: hidden vulnerability- fear of loss. Fear of losing themselves or their lover.

🪐Mercury square neptune- inner turmoil and emotional depth.

🪐Moon square Saturn: inner critic. Perfectionism.

🪐Gemini in the 12th- easily distracted. Easily scattered. A small memory can scatter them.

🪐Cancer moon in the 12th: fear of abandonment. Fear of emotional rejection. Difficulty in trusting others.

🪐Sun square Jupiter- confidence or arrogance?

🪐Sun conjunct saturn- fear of not shining. Fear of not meeting the expectations. Self doubt.

🪐Mercury conjunct pluto- obsessive tendencies.

🪐Mercury square chiron- self doubt that feels like it goes on forever. Self criticism.

🪐Venus square Saturn- harmony or authenticity?

🪐Libra venus in the 12th- fear of opening up. Fear of being judged. Fear of angering your partner.

🪐Pluto square moon- terrified of superficial people tbh. They are very very very scared of opening up.

🪐Pluto trine neptune: rebirth. Transformation. Regeneration. Renewal.

🪐Jupiter square uranus: restlessness for something. Something that needs a change.

🪐Jupiter conjunct mars- fear if the unknown. (Strange? I know.)

🪐Saturn square moon- weight of responsibilities. Their head are usually heavy. (I'll fight with god to take half of your responsibilities.)

🪐Uranus square venus: detachment. Fear of intimacy. May even lose interest in love.

🪐Neptune square moon- reality or illusion? Is it real or is it fake? Am I being guided or am I being lied to?

🪐Scorpio in the 8th house is same as the Scorpio sun, moon or venus.

🪐Aquarius moon experience emotions in different ways, often needing space to process.

🪐Aquarius ascendant- unpredictable first impression.

[aventurineswife]

HEYYYYYYY if I can may I ask for Aventurine, Sunday and Dan Hang protecting reader when they get badly injured protecting them please ( I’ve been desperate for some angst and comfort recently with them 😭😭 )

“If I Fall, Let It Be for You”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protectiveness, Sacrifice, Vulnerability, Emotional Conflict, Guilt, Platonic or Romantic Love, Selflessness, Inner Struggles.

Warnings: Graphic injury, Blood, Violence, Desperation, Guilt, Emotional distress, Death-related themes.

A/N: Hope you like this!! 🫣

The battlefield stretched before you, a blur of smoke and chaos. You had acted on instinct—throwing yourself in front of Dan Heng to block a strike meant for him. The blade tore through your side, pain radiating through your body as you stumbled.

“[Name]!” Dan Heng’s voice, usually so calm and composed, cracked as he caught you in his arms. His eyes widened, a rare display of emotion breaking through his stoic mask.

You gave him a weak smile, your hand clutching the bleeding wound. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on you was firm yet trembling. “You should never have done that.” There was an edge to his voice, sharp and laden with guilt.

You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming. Darkness crept at the edges of your vision, and you felt yourself fading.

“Stay with me,” Dan Heng ordered, his voice softer now but no less desperate. He cradled you closer, his usually steady hands pressing against your wound to stem the bleeding. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.”

He carried you swiftly to a safe spot behind the ruins, shielding you from the chaos. His spear, Cloud-Piercer, stood guard nearby, its sharp tip still dripping with the blood of your enemies. Dan Heng tore a strip of fabric from his coat, fashioning a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding.

“Why?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on your pale face. “Why would you put yourself in harm’s way for me?”

You managed a weak chuckle despite the pain. “Because I care about you, Dan Heng. Even if you keep pushing people away, I won’t stop protecting you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, his usual reserve cracked. “I don’t deserve it. Not after everything I’ve done… everything I’ve failed to prevent.”

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek. “You’re worth it to me.”

Dan Heng’s eyes softened, guilt and sorrow mingling with something deeper—something he had tried so hard to suppress. He didn’t speak, but his actions spoke volumes. He leaned into your touch, his fingers brushing your hair as if trying to commit every detail of you to memory.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, his voice low but resolute. “Not again.”

Dan Heng stayed by your side, his spear within reach, ready to defend you from any further threat. The battle raged on around you, but his focus never wavered. He wasn’t just protecting you now—he was protecting the fragile hope you had given him, the chance for something beyond the weight of his past.

And in his quiet way, Dan Heng vowed to repay the trust you had shown him, no matter the cost.

The echoes of the gunfire still reverberated in the empty corridors, a cruel reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Aventurine stood frozen for a moment, the world around him slowing to a crawl. The usually confident smirk plastered on his face had vanished, replaced by a rare expression of raw, unfiltered fear.

You lay crumpled on the ground, your blood pooling beneath you. You had thrown yourself in front of him, a human shield against the sniper's bullet that had been meant for his chest.

“Why?” Aventurine whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you, his gloved hands hesitating before pressing against your wound. His pristine, gold-adorned sleeves soaked in crimson as he tried to stem the bleeding. "You absolute fool. What were you thinking?"

Your eyes fluttered open, a weak smile playing on your lips despite the pain. "Because I knew you'd never let yourself be hit," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're too important... too smart to take risks like that."

Aventurine let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. "And yet here you are, bleeding out because of me," he muttered, his tone laced with guilt and frustration. "You're supposed to stay out of the crossfire, not throw yourself into it like some kind of martyr."

The mask he wore so effortlessly in high-stakes games and political negotiations shattered in that moment. He was no longer the composed strategist, the man who always had a plan. He was just Kakavasha—terrified, helpless, and desperate to keep you alive.

“Stay with me,” he commanded, his voice shaking as he pulled out his communicator and barked orders for immediate medical assistance. “You don’t get to leave like this. Not here, not now.”

Your hand weakly reached up, brushing against his cheek. "I trust you, Aventurine," you whispered, your voice faltering. "You'll fix this... you always do."

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I’m a gambler, not a miracle worker," he admitted softly, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "But if there’s one thing I never bet against... it’s you."

The minutes felt like hours as he stayed by your side, murmuring reassurances that neither of you believed. His mind raced, calculating odds and outcomes, but none of his usual strategies could guarantee your survival. For the first time in years, Aventurine felt powerless.

When the medics finally arrived, he refused to leave your side, riding with you to the emergency unit despite their protests. As the doors closed behind them and the sterile lights flickered above, Aventurine made a silent vow.

No matter the cost, he would ensure you lived to see another gamble, another day by his side. Because without you, even victory would feel like defeat.

The clash of blades and the sound of explosions filled the air, but Sunday’s focus was solely on you. The two of you had been ambushed, and though he had held his ground, one stray attacker had slipped through his defenses, aiming for his unprotected flank.

You hadn’t hesitated. You’d stepped in without thinking, intercepting the blow meant for him. Now, you lay slumped against a ruined wall, clutching your side as blood seeped through your fingers.

“Why... why would you do that?” Sunday asked, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you. His eyes, usually so calm and composed, were wide with panic. He pressed his hands over yours, trying to stop the bleeding. The glow of his halo seemed dimmer, as if it mirrored the dread coursing through him.

“You needed protecting,” you gasped, a weak smile crossing your lips. “That’s what friends do, right?”

“Foolish,” Sunday whispered, his tone a mixture of frustration and anguish. "I am the one who should be protecting you." He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gloved hands trembling. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.”

Your hand reached for his, squeezing weakly. "You’re worth it."

Sunday’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his dignified mask crumbled. "No one is worth losing you," he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not even me.”

The world around the two of you seemed to fade away as Sunday focused solely on keeping you conscious. He whispered soft reassurances, his usually formal tone replaced with a raw, desperate plea. “Stay with me,” he urged. “I’ll fix this. I swear it.”

Using his limited healing abilities, Sunday poured his energy into stabilizing you. The effort left him visibly drained, his face pale and his breaths labored, but he refused to stop. "I’ve seen too much suffering," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I won’t allow it to claim you."

As reinforcements arrived and medical aid was administered, Sunday stood by your side, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. When you were finally safe, he let out a shaky breath, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

"You risked yourself for me," he said quietly, his eyes softening. “But know this: I will never allow you to come to harm again. You are too precious to lose.”

In that moment, you saw a side of Sunday he rarely revealed—a man burdened by the weight of his ideals, yet willing to fight against them for the sake of someone he cherished.

[astroxrion]

What’s Blocking Your Success

( in your Subconscious Mind ) PT.2 | 12H:

Aries 12H

Keeps sabotaging momentum by secretly fearing power. Acts passive then explodes. Pretends they don’t want control but gets bitter when overlooked. Hides rage in silence. Must stop waiting for proof of worth. Move without asking permission. You’re the fire. Start it.

Taurus 12H

Addicted to comfort but calls it stability. Dreams big but refuses to risk. Clings to fake peace and numb habits. Fears change more than failure. Procrastinates out of pride. Must kill the need to appear secure. Shake your own ground. Nothing grows in still soil.

Gemini 12H

Talks about truth but hides the core. Lies to self then confuses others. Becomes everyone’s mirror but can’t face their own reflection. Distracts with chaos or intellect. Must stop intellectualizing feelings. Say what you mean. The mask is rotting.

Cancer 12H

Clings to old pain like identity. Mother wounds run everything. Sabotages success to feel safe in sorrow. Hyper-empathic to escape self-responsibility. Guilt keeps them small. Must stop crying for validation. Heal in silence. Don’t bring everyone into your wound.

Leo 12H

Needs the spotlight but hides in shadows. Craves recognition but pretends they’re above it. Secretly devastated when ignored. Acts detached to avoid rejection. Self-suppression becomes bitterness. Must own their light without the stage. Be the sun even when unseen.

Virgo 12H

Tries to perfect the inner world by controlling the outer. Obsessive over flaws that aren’t real. Numbs anxiety with fake productivity. Always fixing never living. Must stop self-diagnosing and start acting. Imperfect action breaks the loop. You’ll never be clean enough to start.

Libra 12H

Avoids conflict to the point of self-erasure. Always shaping identity through others. Peace becomes prison. Betrays intuition to appear likable. Fantasizes about beauty instead of becoming it. Must stop compromising truth. Let things fall apart. Real balance isn’t polite.

Scorpio 12H

Carries buried rage like inheritance. Thinks secrecy is power. Projects betrayal before it happens. Self-sabotages intimacy to stay in control. Drawn to destruction disguised as depth. Must purge the victim mindset. Own the shadow. Stop acting like pain is sacred.

Sagittarius 12H

Spiritualizes everything to avoid grounded action. Escapes through meaning but never applies it. Idealizes chaos as growth. Plays wise but avoids roots. Must stop floating. Turn wisdom into discipline. You’re not free if you’re always running.

Capricorn 12H

Acts unbothered but burns inside. Performs strength while secretly crumbling. Shame is the real ruler. Builds invisible prisons. Achieves in silence but never feels worthy. Must stop hiding weakness. True power is exposed and ugly. Let someone see the collapse.

Aquarius 12H

Rebels without knowing what they’re fighting. Disconnects from humanity then cries about isolation. Plays god behind closed doors. Obsessed with the mind but emotionally starved. Must ground their genius. You’re not above connection. Be weird and still belong.

Pisces 12H

Lives in dreams to avoid reality. Melts into others and loses self. Suffers in silence then demands to be rescued. Romanticizes being misunderstood. Must stop waiting to be seen. Come back to your body. Your softness means nothing if you disappear.

Get an Astrology Reading With me : https://www.tumblr.com/astroxrion/784631769533136896/o-my-readings-the-rion-code-o?source=share

[the-irreverend]

There were a lot of things I loved about this finale, and one of my favourites was how they wrote Octavia's conflict with her dad, and the inner conflict within herself!

This little moment y'all see above perfectly captures what I'm talking about. Just look at her expression when Stolas is begging her to her him out. It's not one of bitterness, rage, and simple hatred, it's one of sorrow, regret, and even sympathy!

It perfectly captures the conflicted feelings that she has about the whole ordeal. It demonstrates that even after all that's happened, she still loves him and cares for him and doesn't want to leave him behind, but the feelings of betrayal and resentment that Stolas's actions caused her are just too much for her to let go. It reminds me a lot of how Toriel was toward Asgore when she met him again in the Pacifist Route of Undertale.

That's so much more interesting and narratively compelling than just having her turn against him on the spot and just straight up hating him!

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter IV: Never Going Back Again 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond answers your performance of 'Dreams' by singing yet another newly composed song during rehearsal. This time, you can't contain the rage he elicits within you.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, smut, hatesex, rough sex, oral (m. receiving), spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, P in V, choking, degradation, manhandling

Word count: 4880 A/N: Thank you always to my love Justine, @theoneeyedprince for helping me by having a look at the edited version 🩵

Bringing Aemond’s old hoodie on tour feels like harbouring a shameful secret.

You’d felt weak enough when you spontaneously brought it with you when you moved out of your shared flat. And when you realised it was the only thing that could make you fall asleep any time anxiety weighed heavy on your chest.

So when you packed your suitcases to tour the Seven Kingdoms, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to leave it behind. But the shame of still needing it; still needing the memory of him, resulted in you storing it away somewhere no one would see it, least of all yourself. 

Until you sought it out. 

You wake up still curled on the side of the large bed, Aemond’s scent encompassing you.

How long will his smell linger on the fabric?

Soon, it’d disappear and you’d have no trace of him left. 

You reach Winterfell the next day. Luckily, you’re allowed a small break before the next performance, leaving you some time to explore the city and rehearse with the band. 

You spend your day sightseeing in the capital of the North; grabbing coffee with Helaena and window shopping around the bustling city centre. 

Despite the quick friendship you had established after joining the band, your relationship with Helaena has become greatly strained following your separation from Aemond. 

You know she hates the tension and the fighting. She has a habit of closing off and retreating whenever she feels uncomfortable, and having two band members in an infected conflict is not something she finds easy to navigate. You still love her like a sister, and you know Aemond holds her dear as well, so you try to spare her from it all, even if your attempts aren’t always successful. 

“We’ll be late for the rehearsal if we don’t leave soon”, you tell her as she’s eyeing a pair of sparkly firefly hair clips. She nods absentmindedly in response and picks up the clips, 

“I know, I know. Let me just get these”, she answers with a smile, heading towards the register.  

Helaena pays for the newest addition to her endless collection of insect trinkets, and you leave for the venue you’ll be performing at in two days; Winterfell Arena. 

This is going to be your biggest show yet. 

When your management booked the arena you were scared of not selling enough tickets to justify such a large space. But you’d been pleasantly surprised by the interest shown in the North. The last tickets had just sold, and it would be your largest audience to date. 

Entering the arena, you’re taken aback by its sheer size. You can’t believe you’ll be performing in a place like this, and to a sold-out crowd. You’re suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense of nauseating anxiety. Will you be able to give them a worthy show? 

Will you be good enough? 

The constant self doubt that plagues your mind had been easier to handle when Aemond was by your side. He’d always been your biggest supporter; chasing away all your inner demons with his reassurance. 

He always made you feel better. 

Now, you were left alone and with nothing but doubt keeping you company. You miss having someone to soothe you by your side. 

Miss having someone to confide in. 

To rely on. 

The stage’s larger than any you’d ever been on before. You try to shake the nerves taking over you, but it’s hard not to get overwhelmed by the size of the hall. It’s intimidatingly large. 

You and Helaena begin to set up and prepare for tonight’s rehearsal, and Jace, Erryk and Aemond drop in one by one to join. You’d expected the latter to have his usual gorgeous companion on his arm, but he surprises you by showing up alone, five minutes after the time you’d all agreed upon and without saying a word. 

It isn’t like him to show up late, and you can feel the stress radiating from him, though he stays quiet. 

You know he’s been working on yet another song for the new album, and today he mentioned in the group chat that he’d like to play it for you during rehearsal. 

He’d sent you the name; ‘Never Going Back Again’. 

Is it about his relationship with his grandfather?

When Aemond told Otto Hightower that he wanted to quit working for him at Oldtown Solicitors in order to fully focus on his music career, his grandfather had nearly cut all ties to him. 

In a particularly weak moment, he’d even given you a call, insinuating that you were a bad influence on his grandson,

“I let him entertain this silly band for the sake of Helaena and Aegon! I even let him do a minor in history at the university I financed. And yet, he meets you and suddenly wants to give that all up to record an album? Talk some sense into him, won’t you?” 

Aemond had been furious when you told him about the call from Otto, making it clear to his grandfather that he’d never go back to working with him or in property law. He’d been prepped and groomed since birth; the perfect heir to carry on the Hightower legacy. Not as flaky or unreliable as his older siblings. Always the dutiful son. 

Aemond moves across the stage to grab his bag, pulls out a water bottle and places a tablet on his tongue.  

You realise he must’ve been late due to the pain of his eye injury flaring up again. Despite his recent awful behaviour, you can’t help but feel bad for him. 

When you first started dating, you’d been scared of asking about his eye. Evidently, it was a sore subject, and you didn't want to pry. Eventually, he told you about the car accident he was in when he was 10. 

He’d been in the backseat of the family's car with his nephews, engaging in a petty fight. As the driver tried to de-escalate the situation in the back, he lost control of the vehicle, crashing it into a large tree by the side of the road. 

The only casualty from the crash was Aemond’s left eye. A piece of metal from the car had come loose during the crash and flung back through the window, creating a scar going from his forehead down to his cheek; robbing him of his vision and permanently causing him pain. 

When you started dating, you made sure to learn his routine and preferences, to make it easier and less unbearable for him when the nerve damage caused intense pain to shoot through his head. 

You still remember. 

He likes the room cool. He always lies on top of the duvet on his back, letting the chill air sooth his aching skin. Unless you’re there. Then he used to lie on his stomach next to you; one armed wrapped around your waist and his head on your chest. You’d thread your fingers through his silky hair with the softest of touches, stroking his head until the pain killers drag him into slumber. 

It had been in one of those moments that he’d first told you he loves you. 

You look over at Aemond as he makes his way towards his guitar, picking it up and experimentally playing a few chords to check the volume. 

Did he manage the pain by himself now? 

Or did he lay his head on Alys’ chest, hugging her? 

Does she run her fingers through his hair? 

Does she let them trace the outlines of the beautiful sharpness of his face? 

Over his cupid's bow, nose bridge, cheekbones?

Does he lay his head on her chest, letting the drum of her heart lull him to sleep? 

Does he allow her to come as close?

You go through the set list, discussing the order of both your older and newer songs. 

Jace, Helaena and Erryk all praise your performance of Dreams, asking you to perform it each night moving forward. 

Helaena, standing next to her brother, leans towards him and mumbles, “Your back-up vocals really make the chorus shine”, while offering him a gentle smile. 

Aemond replies with a hum and moves to stand by one of the microphones with his guitar in hand. His usual stoic yet quietly commanding self returns when he starts to play without any explanation or introduction, fingers plucking the strings with precision. He sings, 

‘She broke down and let me in’ 

During recording, you’d briefly glanced at the words in the recording studio, huffing a laugh at his audacity. They definitely sting more on stage. Your face turns hot and you can’t decipher if it’s from humiliation or anger. Maybe both. 

He really is a dick. 

‘Made me see where I’ve been’

‘Been down one time’

‘Been down two times’ 

‘Never going back again’ 

Any sympathy you’d felt for him; any longing you’d felt for him, vanishes as he sings. Another song about you, this time in the form of the final nail in the coffin that is your marriage. 

And he had the nerve to ask you not to perform Dreams anymore? 

‘You don’t know what it means to win’

‘Come ‘round and see me again’ 

Back at the hotel room, rage makes your entire body feel hot and restless. 

How fucking dare he? 

Never going back again? 

First, he’d sung about how you broke his heart and now, he paints you like you’re the plague; like a sickness to avoid. 

All you want to do is call Alysanne and spew out all the pent up emotions storming inside of you. 

You place your phone on the nightstand and roughly shove the charger inside, fingers tapping furiously to call Alysanne.

She doesn’t answer and you call her again. Still no answer. 

You’re so restless you can’t sit down, irritation making your skin feel hot and hands tingly. 

What if you asked him to not play the song? That’s what he’d asked of you. 

Unable to stay still, you grab your key card and shove your feet into a pair of white hotel slippers, heading down to where you know Aemond’s hotel room is. 

You reach the door and knock on it firmly while your feet shuffle from side to side impatiently. 

You're not sure what you’ll tell him, the rage inside guiding you instead of your senses. 

Aemond opens the door, face unreadable and eyebrows raised in question at your sudden visit. He’s clad in nothing but a pair of green joggers and your gaze briefly flickers down to take in his shirtless stature. 

“Really? Never going back?”, you question and move in closer. The heavy hotel door shut behind you, and suddenly it’s only the two of you, in his room. 

He neither answers nor moves, and you’re standing so close that your clothed chest bumps into his naked one. You crane your neck to look into his eyes. His stern demeanour doesn’t quite reach them, gaze softer than you’d imagined. 

Anger still guides you, and a pathetically spiteful idea prompts you to slowly kneel before him, still standing impossibly close and eyes never straying away from his.

“Not even if I do this?”

Your face is level with his crotch as you look up at him. He’s always loved this sight; you at his mercy. But not now. Now he’s at yours. 

You slowly lean forward and press your lips against the exposed skin of his torso, fleetingly kissing him right by his happy trail, just above the hem of his trousers. 

You’ve missed the soft smoothness of his flesh; a tender veil over the hard muscles hiding underneath. So contradictingly beautiful. 

Aemond stays unmoving, eyes staring at you with a scorching intensity. You know he won’t stop you. If he didn’t want this, he’d have let you know by now. 

So you press another kiss right under his navel, and feel sickly delighted by the barely-there shiver vibrating from him. 

Slowly, and with light kisses to his stomach, you reach for the hem of his joggers, letting your hands softly pull down the fabric and reveal his manhood. He’s already half hard, and you have to bite back a smile. 

Never going back again? Yeah right. 

Your eyes never leave his as your delicate kisses trail downward, towards his cock, yet never making direct contact with it. 

His face still is as impassive as always, but he’s now grown so hard his tip is leaking precum, fuelling your actions. 

You haven’t been this close to him in months and it almost feels intoxicating; his smell encircling you. 

You want to see him lose control; you need to see him lose control. Need to hear him beg for you. 

Plead for you. 

Come for you. 

You squeeze your things together at the thought, arousal making an ache drum between your legs. It’s an addictive thought; imagining him pleading for you. Begging for you. Needing you. 

You want him to want you. 

He still hasn’t moved, or said anything. You take his silence as an invitation to continue. 

Want him to want you. 

Still locking eyes, you slowly graze your lips over his skin until your mouth is by the base of his cock. You know he won’t give you the satisfaction of letting you in on what he’s feeling, but that’s alright. 

You’ll force it out of him. 

Your hand travels up his leg and moves to grip his cock, now so hard it’s aching to be touched. You work in long, firm strokes, just the way he likes. 

The staring contest continues. You know his stoic appearance is meant to frighten you, but you know him too well. You can see the cracks appearing already. 

Eager to push him further, you slowly open your mouth and let your tongue out, gently swiping it over his leaking tip to collect the glistening beads of precum. You feel the proof of his arousal on your tongue, and you see his gaze flicker down to observe it in your mouth as you unhurriedly close your mouth and swallow. 

He stays silent, but you see his jaw twitch. 

He likes it. 

Growing bolder, you move your lips back to the tip of his cock, kissing it in a far too innocent manner before wrapping your lips around him and sucking firmly.

In the briefest of moments, his eyebrows knit together and he closes his eyes.

The satisfaction you feel at his clear arousal goes straight to the thrumming between your legs, and you briefly squeeze your thighs together. You move your mouth lower, placing feather-light kisses down his length before gently swiping your tongue over his balls. 

You can hear the restraint in each laboured breath he huffs through his nose. 

Your soft lips envelop one of his balls, and your hands continue to stroke his length. You know he loves this; loves when you get down on your knees and worship him. 

You let your tongue massage every inch as it rests in your mouth, and when you let out a moan, pure theatrics to make him succumb to you, Aemond’s jaw goes slack and his lips part uncontrollably. 

Just a little further and you’ll break him. 

You’ll win. 

Perhaps the look in your eyes let him in on your scheme. 

Perhaps he’s too close to continue. 

But when he grabs you by the hair and yanks you off of him, it takes you by surprise. 

“About to cum, baby?”, you mockingly ask.  

He clicks his tongue and grabs your forearms to pull you up so you're standing in front of him again. 

Still not saying a word, he tries so hard to appear stoic, but you can see the storm brewing within him. A sudden push to your shoulders causes you to stumble backward and land on Aemond's soft hotel bed. 

“Let’s see how fucking wet you get from sucking off the man you hate”

His voice is both calm and taunting at once. His hands come up to the sides of your leggings, pulling them down with force, taking your underwear with them.

You know you’re wet, but you really don’t want him to know that. 

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

You try to press your legs together, but one of his large hands finds its place on your mound and cups it perfectly as one of his fingers slides down between your folds to meet the silky wetness there. The fact that his hand seems to fit against you perfectly, like two puzzle pieces, amplifies your desire. And rage. 

“Having my balls in your mouth made you that wet, huh? Still so dirty, baby”, he teases, emphasis on the pet name to match your previous mock. 

You let out a yelp as his hand briefly leaves you to land a quick smack on your exposed clit. His cocksure expression flashes by before he grabs your hips again to place you on your stomach, bare ass receiving a smack as well. 

He works quickly, sitting down next to you on the bed and pulling you towards him. He places your middle on his lap, and lets his hand come down to land another smack on your asscheek. 

His hand stays on your soft skin, lingering a bit longer than you’d anticipated, before travelling down between your thighs to meet your neglected centre. 

“You like that too, don’t you?”, he asks as he catches your clit between his fingers and press harshly. 

It stings. 

It feels good. 

You press your lips together to prevent any sounds from escaping, racking your brain for a way to gain back control. 

Aemond’s fingers begin to draw firm circles and your mind starts to feel foggy from want. Without thinking, your hips begin to move in tandem with his fingers. He chuckles. 

“I know you inside out”, he triumphs, but as you move your hips, you can feel how achingly hard he is beneath you. 

You know him too. 

You pull away from his lap, sitting back on your haunches on the bed, and remove your cardigan, then your tank top, and finally your bra. 

You manage to startle Aemond by your sudden move, and you seize your chance at dominance by placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him down, so he lies on his back on the plush, white sheets of the hotel bed. 

You straddle him, and move one hand down to pull down his sweatpants once again. Revealing his cock, you encircle him softly before placing his length between your folds, dragging your wetness all over him. You bite back a moan as his cock pushes on your clit again and again, hips move back and forward. 

Aemond seems lost for words as well, undoubtedly enjoying you moving against him. 

His seeing eye flickers wildly to take in your naked body, damaged eye not able to keep up with the rapid movements. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink. You momentarily feel mesmerised by his beauty. 

The realisation that you’ve missed seeing him like this, missed being with him like this, pierces your heart painfully and your hips still. 

You don’t want to think about the sadness inside. You want to break him. Like he broke you. 

Up until now, it’s been a constant fight for dominance; a never-ending back and forth. But you got him now.

“Beg me to fuck you”, you command, voice slightly out of breath. Aemond’s eyes are fixed on your heaving, naked chest.  

“What?”, he questions, like he doesn’t understand what you’re asking.

“Beg”, you repeat, voice more demanding as your breathing calms, 

“Beg me to fuck you, Aemond”

Though confusion had briefly flashed over his face, it’s now set in fury. 

His eyes narrow.

Without answering you, he places one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist, manhandling your body down on his cock in one swift motion. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, much to Aemond’s satisfaction. He grins victoriously. 

Fuck, it’s been so long. 

He begins bucking up into you in an instance. The firm hold he has on your body feels bruising, and his fingers dig into your flesh meanly so that you won’t move. 

He angles his hips, and each stroke touches your sweet spot. You bite down on your lip to hinder the moans that are fighting to escape. He’s essentially fucking you on his cock, and it feels so good you can’t think clearly anymore. 

“Come on, I know you can’t keep quiet”

He pushes your body down harder, bucking his hips up faster. You can’t help but move with him, it feels so fucking good. 

You’re still not going to come. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction. He’s gonna come. 

You clench down on his length each time he slides in and you see the tension in his jaw; the vein bulging out at the side of his neck. 

Maybe if you push him just a little bit further? 

“Oh, Aemond”, you moan as you throw your head back, tightening your muscles again, gripping him like a vice. 

He’s always loved getting praised. 

The hand he’d placed on your shoulder moves to your throat, engulfing the entirety of it. His fingers press down on the sides, 

“Shut up” 

His grip tightens. The movement of your hips begin to falter as the restricted blood flow to your head amplifies your pleasure. You bite your lip harder not to moan. 

He knows exactly how to get you. 

He continues to fuck up into your dripping cunt, ignoring your change in pace. Each stroke of his cock within your walls feels like pure ecstasy; like sparks of sheer pleasure shooting through your body. 

His expression is infuriatingly smug and you realise you must look completely blissed out as he uses your body. 

You feel the familiar tightening in your lower stomach, the sign that your peak is approaching rapidly. 

No no no, he can’t win! 

You pull away from the grip he has on you, abruptly getting off him, internally mourning the pleasure you rob yourself of. 

He needs to come. He needs to break first. 

You sit next to where he’s lying on his back, hand moving down so that you can work his length again. 

Aemond catches on to your scheme quickly and uses his strength to push you away, manhandling you so your face’s down in the mattress and ass exposed. 

He pulls on one cheek, admiring your wet and wanting centre. When he shoves back inside with an exaggerated tut, you can’t take it anymore; the pleasure’s just too much.

His touch feels too good, no matter how harsh it is. 

You try to push your face as far as possible into the bed, hoping Aemond can’t hear the moans you can’t contain any longer. 

The loud smacks of his hips against your backside and the lewd, wet sounds coming from your cunt fill the room. 

It’s so aggressively erotic. 

One of his hands finds your clit and as he starts massaging it with vigour, his other hand moves towards your head. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back so you are facing him. The grip hurts; like a thousand little needles assaulting your scalp. 

“You’re gonna come, I know it. Don’t you fucking dare not look me in the eye when you do”

You’re stuck in his painful grip, yet your orgasm’s racing towards you, making you clench down on his length and moan louder and louder, no longer able to hide the effect he has on you. 

The hand in your hair moves down to grab your breast roughly, nipple pinched between his fingers. You find it hard to keep your body up as pleasure makes it feel like you're floating, but Aemond’s arms around you makes it impossible for you to move. His face moves to press against yours; cheek to cheek, 

“When you sing your silly little songs about what a player I am, remember that no one else can make you feel as good as I do”

And you’re gone. The orgasm hits you so hard you almost black out. It makes your entire body jerk uncontrollably, and if Aemond hadn’t been holding you, you’d be on the floor. 

He keeps fucking your through your orgasm, breathing heavily and grunting at the intense way your walls contract around him. 

As the movements of his hips turn sloppy and frantic, you feel his face move to press between your shoulder blades, arms still holding you tightly, like he’s hugging you from behind. 

Or trying to crush you. 

You can’t decide which. 

You stay like that for a few moments. The room is quiet, save for your shared heavy breathing. You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity between the two of you and feel too exposed, regret storming inside you like in icy waves.  

Shit, what have you done?

Aemond loosens his grip around you and lowers you down on the bed much gentler than how he’d touched you before. 

You stay on your stomach, burying your face in the bed as you feel Aemond shuffle behind you, softly tracing a hand down your back before getting up and making his way towards the adjacent bathroom. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Hearing him turn on the faucet, you quickly get up from the bed. 

You have to get out before he comes back. 

You frantically look for your clothes, scattered all over the hotel room floor. Trying to be as quick as you can be feels impossible when your legs still feel far wobbly, and your mind way too fuzzy, to cooperate.  

You hear Aemond turn off the faucet as you pull on your leggings and underwear. You can’t find your bra, and you don’t even bother looking for it before pulling on your tank top and cardigan hurriedly. 

You just need to get away. 

Away from Aemond. 

You step into your slippers and dart out the front door as you hear him emerge from the bathroom. 

Not patient enough to wait for the elevator, you head towards the emergency exit and climb the two stories up to your room. 

As soon as you're inside, you toss the hotel card key on the desk by the window and throw yourself on the bed, body jolting from the force. 

You want to cry. 

You want to scream. 

You want to go to sleep and realise this was all just a fucked up dream. 

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, now fully charged and with a few messages from Alysanne, asking you how you are and if you’d gone to the cafe she’d recommended by Winterfell Central Station. 

You press her name and the small telephone icon, hoping she’ll pick up. 

“Hi honey, you okay?”, she answers, voice evidently concerned from your sudden call. 

You usually stick to texting, or pre-scheduled face-time dates. 

“I fucked up”, you say, barely above a whisper. You hope that she’ll know what happened without you actually having to say the words. You don’t want to speak it into existence. 

“Did you kill him?”, she jokes and you let out a hollow laugh. 

“Worse”, you say, and Alysanne sighs on the other end.

“Was it good?”, she asks after a long pause, making you let out another snort. 

“What do I do now, Aly? I was just going to push him a little and now-”

“That’s your problem. You always want to get a reaction out of him. What happened to just focusing on yourself?”

Her words feel patronising, like you’re being scolded by your parents. Yet you know she is right. You stay silent and mentally search for a reply; any excuse for your behaviour. 

“Yeah”, you sigh in resignation. 

You know you fucked up; that you’ve acted childish and petty. Still, the satisfied afterglow of experiencing the best orgasm you’ve had in months leaves you feeling a bit less anxious. 

Alysanne tries to distract you by asking about Winterfell, the tour, and what you’re planning on wearing for the big show tomorrow. 

It feels good to talk to a friend without holding anything back. Even if you appreciate Helaena’s company immensely, you know she’s being pulled between you and Aemond, and you’d rather not add to her suffering. 

As Aly tells you about the guy she went on a date with last night, your phone buzzes. 

You briefly glance at your screen, ready to swipe the notification away, when you notice it’s an email from your solicitors office. 

You say a quick goodbye to Aly, open the email and quickly scan through the overly formal text. Your eyes flicker over the screen, taking in what’s written. 

…finalised… 

…shared assets… 

There’s a PDF at the bottom of the email. You click on it, seeing the document you’d left for Aemond in your flat over three months ago. The empty space you’d left next to your hurried signature is now filled in, reading; 

Aemond Targaryen. 

A/N: Thank you for reading 🫶 If you wonder about if he signed the papers right after she left his hotel room; it’s a pdf with his signature, I imagine he actually signed it before leaving for the tour and it just reached her solicitors now.

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Too much discourse time to cornplate...

Something about Mel slashing around a palette knife doused in red when she's painting Noxus, ellicting this sense of violence, and rage that of course shows her frustration with Jayce but also symbolises the inner conflict of her as a person (empath) and her as a Medarda. When Mel is in this quiet yet subtlely hostile state the strokes of red she applies to the canvas seamlessly blend in with what's already there but she instantly halts her assault of the canvas when Jayce tells her that Viktor's dying. Her empathy immediately overtakes her anger, her Mage nature overcoming her Noxian conditioning/upbringing which I think foreshadows her future actions in the series.

(This shot is also half submerged in shadow and half in light - once again reaffirming Mel's internal conflict, you could argue because Jayce is literally on the light side that his presence indicates that he is consequential perhaps a harbringer of her good-naturedness and empathy and what not)

Also of note, Mel completes (or defiles) the painting with broad brushstrokes of gold, her colour, her magic, her empathy.

These brushstrokes quite literally look like her magic. The gold accents are smooth and fluid and have very obviously not been made with a palette knife. Its splattered so passionately and interrupts such a triumphant vision of her homeland; Its a fervent rebellion against her mother, her roots and her upbringing but I think it also serves to hint at her eventual return to Noxus, where I believe, her empath nature will be tested and will win out in the end; she will figure Noxus out, but she will not conform to the ideals of others.

(Me getting emo because Mel's magic looks like brushstrokes, she's just a painter at heart man I'm drinking tonight)

[slylycurioustreasure]

The Priest with Four Faces — Teaser

Summary: In an ancient monastery isolated from the world, a priest is haunted—or rather, inhabited—by four distinct souls, each once bound to a forbidden ritual. Condemned to share the same body for eternity, they take turns, fight, and control each other.

But everything changes when you arrive. You, the sweet, curious young nun, driven by a vibrant faith—and with a heart more fragile than you care to admit.

They fall in love with you. All four of them. Each in their own way. But you... You don't yet know that the man you see changing so often isn't one. You love what you believe to be one man.

Until the day the inner voices become too loud. Until the day they can no longer hold back.

Genre: dark romance, reverse harem, psychological fantasy, gothic romance, religious mysticism

Pairing : Enha hyung Line x reader

Rating: +18 — explicit content (sexuality, obsession, emotional abuse, sensitive religious themes), more to come.

Triggers: Mind possession, loss of control, inner conflict, sexual tension, extreme jealousy, misplaced faith, more to come.

word : ??

Publication date : ??

The dying light of day barely filtered through the grimy stained-glass windows of the old chapel, distorting the sacred colors into dull shards, like so many corrupted relics. 

The windows, spattered by years and dust, let through a dying light, yellow and reddish, which seemed to come from a world already gone, from a forgotten promise. 

The setting sun, like a final sigh of life, cast its last amber breath across the cold flagstones, blackened by time and the silent prayers of thousands of lost souls. Each shadow, elongated and sinuous, stretched across the stone like an eternal punishment, an insidious reminder of sins never confessed, never washed away. 

Here, in this abandoned sanctuary, devotion mingled with desolation, grace withered in ruin.

At the center of this funereal theater, Jake stood motionless, like a statue of ashes and resentment. His black coat, made of thick, worn fabric, absorbed the dim ambient light, his tall, haughty figure camped against the sculpted column, a vestige of an ancient and fallen faith. The collar of his coat was turned up, protective, like armor against a world he hated or that had rejected him. 

His arms were crossed, but beneath this disdainful pose betrayed a dull, insidious tension, a rage contained deep within him. His fingers, thin and nervous, constantly twisted, intertwined, and tensed, each micro-movement testifying to an invisible struggle. A struggle between fury and fear, the desire to efface himself and the desire to inflict violence on himself.

You were there, a few steps away, kneeling by the worn altar, where the worm-eaten wood seemed to weep centuries of silent tears. Your head was bowed, your back straight despite your fatigue, your hands clasped in your lap, fingers intertwined as if to ward off the unbearable weight of the silence that hung in the air. 

The acrid scent of still-smoldering incense rose gently, mingling with the suspended dust, enveloping the room in a fragile, almost sacred veil, yet eaten away by decay. The contrast between the former purity of the place and the decay consuming it formed a palpable, electric, almost painful tension.

The silence between you wasn't simply an absence of sound: it was a presence. An invisible barrier, thick and rough like sandpaper, that chafed and irritated the skin of souls. Laden with expectation, fear, buried regrets, and raw wounds. A silence as heavy as a sermon never delivered, a secret that weighed more than all the words in the world. It was a religious silence, a silence sanctified by pain and betrayal, where every breath seemed a blasphemy.

Then, abruptly, Jake broke the silence. His voice, hoarse and broken, as if plucked from the bottom of an abyss, rose with the slowness and gravity of a cursed oracle. "You know..." His breath vibrated in the cold air, carrying a dull bitterness, almost a funeral sermon. "I don't think it's God who makes a place sacred. It's the people."

This sentence, simple and terrible, tore you from your silent prayer. You raised your head, surprised by this unusual tone—a strange mixture of bitterness, melancholy, and a raw truth that weighed like condemnation. 

Usually, Jake looked at the world with a cold, mocking, almost mocking gaze, like a jaded judge. But here, in this chapel, worn by time and desolation, you discovered an unexpected crack in his armor: an almost sacred vulnerability, a glimmer of humanity he tried to hide.

“When you’re here,” he continued, his voice falling just a little lower, like a whisper between prayers, “the walls seem less cold to me.”

His eyes, black and unfathomable, rested on you with an almost burning intensity, as if they were seeking to probe your soul beyond your skin. You thought you read in that gaze a silent request, a desperate plea. But beneath that bright flame, an imperceptible tremor shook his eyelids—a weakness he wanted to deny. His jaw clenched painfully in a tiny spasm, as if this simple admission cost him his entire being. A shard of inner fracture, an invisible wound bleeding behind his mask.

Then, without warning, that fragile moment shattered. A cold, cruel, merciless voice insinuated itself into his mind. A deadly whisper, a faceless specter, coming from the darkest depths of his soul.

"Pitiful."

The word cracked like a divine sentence, a cleaver falling on still-raw flesh, tearing him apart from the inside. Jake froze, his breath caught, his muscles stiff. He closed his eyes, seeking refuge in the darkness of his own mind, trying to stifle that poisonous voice.

But the voice continued, more violent, more scathing, like a heavenly punishment:

"Look at you. You're practically crawling. Do you think she'll love you like that? Like a dog?"

Each syllable vibrated in his skull like a blazing iron sword, a divine accusation made by Jay, that infernal presence that haunted his thoughts and his nights. Hatred, judgment, remorse condensed into a single voice, an inner demon that gave him no respite.

"Give me back the body. You've kept it long enough."

Jake leaned more firmly against the rough stone of the column, his fingers gripping the surface like a lifeline. But in his mind, he silently pleaded, "Not now..." That inaudible whisper was his desperate prayer, a silent cry to ward off the storm within, a stubborn refusal to give up the war he was waging against himself.

Then the inner voice grew even more ferocious, filled with sacred rage:

"You want to kiss her, do you? You want to take her up there, into your fallen light, and defile what's left of pure in her?"

A hoarse growl escaped his lips, barely more than a breath, a fragment of agony:

“Stop…”

You had watched all this, silent, motionless, your heart beating with a dull violence, caught in the invisible storm that was ravaging Jake. Your mind was a battlefield where incomprehension, fear, and attraction were engaged in a merciless battle.

"What?" you asked softly, your voice trembling, betraying confusion and pain, overwhelmed by this sudden change of atmosphere, by this inner struggle that Jake had never wanted to reveal to you.

Jake opened his eyes, heavy with fatigue, as if he'd just returned from a journey to the depths of a secret hell. You watched him intently, your brow slightly furrowed, aware that you'd crossed an invisible boundary. You had accidentally touched a wound too fragile, an abyss too deep.

In this fallen sanctuary, between distorted shadows and lights, between sins and aborted redemption, a silent war raged—a battle of souls, desires, fears, and lies. A struggle between the flickering light of what remained of humanity in him, and the voracious darkness that sought to consume him.

And you, despite everything, you were there.

Helpless. Irresistibly attracted.

Near this dark fire.

Near that burning abyss that was Jake.

The chapel seemed to close in on him, its rough, leprous walls bearing the scars of a bygone era. The dying light filtered with difficulty through the filthy stained-glass windows, casting dull, faded shards like defunct prayers, fragments of shattered faith. 

The air was laden with the smell of ash and incense mixed with cold, rancid humidity. Every stone, every crack, seemed to whisper the secrets of tormented souls, captive in an invisible purgatory.

At the center of this desolate sanctuary, Jake stood erect against the column, his black coat absorbing the gloom like a tomb. His tense body, arms crossed, barely concealed the storm roaring within him, far more violent than the storm outside. His fingers trembled, clawing at the air, searching for an anchor, an outlet for this silent suffering, this black fire that devoured every part of his being.

Then, into the sacrilegious silence, Jay's voice rose—cold, cruel, implacable. His voice vibrated like a death knell echoing in the crypts of his soul.

“See? You're already cracking. You're standing there, broken, and she's looking at you like you're crazy, like a lunatic. Do you know what you are? A creeping weakness, a pathetic fragment she'll never truly see. You're weak.”

Each word was a blade, sharp, penetrating beneath his skin, piercing his veins with a burning poison. Shame crept into him like a cursed sacrament, reminding him of the abyss he was sinking deeper into each day. The weight of judgment, as implacable as that of an uncompromising confessor, crushed him.

But then, amidst the tumult, a softer, almost tired voice was heard—Heeseung.

"Jay... stop. You'll break him. This isn't what we wanted."

Heeseung's voice was like a faint, flickering light in the darkness, a whisper of pity and regret. It carried the weight of a resigned grief, a weariness of soul that still wanted to believe, despite everything, in a possible redemption.

“At first,” he continued, his voice low, heavy with memories and broken promises, “we just wanted to look out for her. No… not this fall, not this tearing pain.”

Jake groaned, his hand clutching his temple as if to muffle the voices, to keep their words from seeping in, from digging into the already gaping wound.

"I... just have a headache," he breathed, his voice hoarse, lying to himself. "Too many sleepless nights, too many murderous thoughts eating away at me."

But then you stood up, slowly, like an apparition from nowhere, your figure moving forward in the darkness with solemn gravity. Your gaze, hard and painful, fell upon him, implacable.

“Jake… you’re scaring me.”

The silence suddenly grew thicker, denser. That word—fear—fell heavily into the stagnant air, weighing like an anathema. A silent accusation, a reproach suspended between you. In your mouth, it echoed like a forbidden sacrament, a divine verdict borne by an icy breath.

Jake gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles tensing with pent-up rage, pain too long repressed. That sentence, so simple yet so devastating, pushed him deeper into his personal abyss.

A cruel shudder ran through his body, like a slow, insidious blade, digging into flesh and soul.

Then came the third voice, the sharpest, the most implacable. Sunghoon. His voice echoed in his mind like a celestial tribunal, a merciless judge.

"It's your fault." 

Each syllable fell with the heaviness of a funeral sermon, chilling the blood. 

"You want to be loved, loved by the one who can only touch you, but you are only a fragment, a shadow, a broken reflection of what she truly desires. Do you think she loves you?"

Jake staggered, suddenly weak, as if his own body were betraying him, refusing to carry the unbearable weight. His muscles felt alien, his mind hostile, rebellious.

“She doesn't like you. She likes what you represent. It's not you. It's not real.”

Sunghoon's words were invisible chains, tying him to a truth he refused to accept, an abyss where light never reached.

Jake laughed. A short laugh, a fragile crack on the edge of an unfathomable abyss. Cold, like the echo of a funeral bell ringing in the deserted nave of an abandoned cathedral, where every sound seems to call for damnation. It was a nervous laugh, trembling under the invisible pressure of an endless night consuming his mind. Almost desperate, like a man suspended on the edge of nothingness, at the mercy of a breath that could plunge him into oblivion.

"It's funny…" he murmured, his voice broken, raspy with the anguish of countless restless vigils, where demons never ceased to whisper. "You’re jealous. Even in there."

The silence that followed fell heavily, a silent, implacable accusation. As if the mute choir of forgotten saints held their breath, awaiting a final judgment. Around you, this degraded, once sacred sanctuary seemed to be closing in, every stone oozing guilt and condemnation. The incense-laden air had grown acrid, heavy, saturated with tears and suppressed pleas.

Your voice trembled, fragile and flickering, like a flickering flame in the abysmal blackness that enveloped you. "Jake, who are you talking to?" The question floated in space, a timid prayer, a desperate cry launched into the sacred void. Your fear, until then contained beneath an armor of reason, was tearing at you, insidious, infiltrating every syllable, betraying the dull unease that gripped you.

Jake slowly turned his dark eyes towards you. Those once blazing eyes were now nothing more than a dying, flickering blaze, ready to extinguish itself under the weight of his own inner chaos.

And everything collapsed.

It was that imperceptible recoil, an invisible step backward. Like an instinctive, mechanical survival reflex, a barrier rising between you—not of flesh, but of shadows and silence. A gap that no words could bridge.

Doubt clouded your eyes, dulling the light you offered him, a light now too fragile to save him. An invisible blade crept in, thin and sharp, carving an abyss where your souls could no longer join, where the sacred bond seemed to break, dissolved in the venom of doubt and fear.

Then Heeseung's deep, weary voice cut through the silence, heavy with sermon and cruel truth:

"You can't stay, Jake. You're losing control."

A warning whispered in the cold shadows of a ruined church, where even angels wept in secret.

"Give me back the body. Or you'll lose her."

The sentence fell relentlessly, like a rain of black ashes on the ruins of what remained of his will. Jake staggered, reeling under the invisible weight of this condemnation that weighed on his bruised shoulders, like the weight of the sins of a world too heavy to bear.

Then, slowly, he collapsed to his knees, like a broken sinner before the altar of unquenchable despair. His trembling fingers clutched the rough fabric of his cassock—this last refuge, this last link to what he was meant to be, a humanity teetering on the edge of nothingness. As if he wanted to tear himself away from himself, to tear away this skin that burned with a fire he no longer controlled, a fire of damnation and forbidden passion.

But his face… His face was a fractured mosaic, a battlefield of unquenched rage, visceral fear, forbidden desire, unrelenting shame, and a gaping fracture that seemed impossible to mend. Every tense muscle, every wrinkle of anguish, was a silent testament to the internal war he was waging against his invisible demons.

You slowly knelt down too, your breath coming short, your throat tight with silent grief, your hands trembling. You felt the weight—an unbridgeable chasm between you—yet you couldn't look away.

But you didn't dare touch him. An intangible barrier of pain, shame, and silence separated you. To touch him would have been to shatter a fragile balance, to awaken a storm you feared would rage.

"What are you hiding from me...?"

Your voice rises, a hoarse, trembling whisper, carried by the acrid incense that burns slowly, drowning the chapel in a smell of melted wax and forgotten sulfur. The stone walls, cold and damp, seem to absorb your words, turning them over a thousand times in their depths like echoes of a confession one would like to keep silent at all costs. The air is heavy, saturated with the weight of forgotten prayers, and each breath seems to freeze under the weight of this forbidden question.

Jake slowly raises his eyes to yours. But what you see is no longer a man. It's a mosaic of shattered shadows, a shattered sanctuary where several voices coexist in a muted struggle.

First, Jay, an icy, sharp figure, a sword of divine justice, with a coldness that pierces like a blessed blade. His gaze is no longer that of a simple man but that of a merciless, upright, and merciless judge, capable of splitting souls and decapitating lies.

Then Heeseung, tired, weary of a burden too heavy for his broken wings. His sigh rises, laden with infinite melancholy, like a fallen angel consumed by resignation and the pain of no longer being able to protect the one he loves.

Finally, Sunghoon, lurking in the shadows, a silent, sharp presence, a knife hanging over his throat, patient, implacable, a whisper of death in the sacred silence, ready to strike at the fatal moment.

You don't know how you perceive this, nor by what mystery your senses have been sharpened to this fractured presence. You see what no one else could guess: Jake's torn soul, torn into a thousand pieces.

Jake opens his mouth to speak, but the voice that escapes is no longer his own. It is a cold breath, a divine sentence pronounced by a furious oracle, a word of damnation.

"Get out of here."

Jay's voice echoes through the chapel like a death knell, sharp, implacable, terrible as a decree from Hell. It is a judgment without appeal, an order of exile issued in this sanctified place, defiling the sacred space with an authority that crushes and humiliates.

You step back. Slowly. Your body bends to the will of that cold, unearthly voice, as if an ancient power were chaining you to this flight. Your heart beats frantically, a funeral drum announcing the approach of a sacrifice. Fear seeps into you, slides through your veins like venom, making every fiber of your being vibrate. You are both fascinated and terrified by this scene of a fractured soul, of shattered possession, where four entities struggle for a single body.

Jake—or rather, whatever governs him at this moment—bows his head. It's a gesture of surrender, but also an admission of abysmal pain. He is no longer a man on his knees, but a broken altar, a desecrated sanctuary where the light flickers, swept away by an endless night.

Silence falls again, dense, suffocating, a veil of soot covering the holy stained-glass windows, smothering every spark of hope. Every breath becomes a silent prayer, every heartbeat a death knell echoing in the void.

You remain there, motionless, a helpless witness to a sacrilegious struggle, to a soul torn between fallen light and victorious darkness, where faith is lost in an abyss without redemption.

In this deserted chapel, it is no longer just one man who is bowing, it is a whole world that is collapsing.

Taglist : @immelissaaa @tnafzi @writespjm-blog

[kantsuri]

TOUCHING YOURSELF ! [18+]

Giyuu is the embodiment of restraint, his emotions tightly held in check. He’s unshakeable and unwavering, but there’s something about the way you’re touching him now, in this public setting, that threatens to unravel his composed nature…he can’t help but pop a boner !

Giyuu sits beside you at the small table in the tea shop, his posture rigid and stiff as always. He keeps his gaze lowered, focusing on the steaming cup of green tea before him rather than meeting your eager, excited eyes. The soft murmur of other customers and the clinking of dishes fills the air around him, but Giyuu remains stoic and unperturbed.

"You know, I've always wanted to come here with you," you gush, glancing around the shop with wide, appreciative eyes. "The atmosphere is so nice and relaxed. And the best part is, I get to spend it with you!"

Giyuu merely nods, taking a sip of his tea. He isn’t sure of what to say to you, his social skills lacking and conversation skills even more so. The warmth of the tea help soothe his nerves, but he still feels out of place in this setting—at least you're here.

As you continue to chatter about the decor and how much you enjoy your tea, Giyuu tenses up, a jolt running through his body as he feels your hand brush against his inner thigh under the table. His face flushes a light shade of pink as he averts his gaze.

He tries to focus on his tea, taking a long sip in hopes of distracting himself from the sudden, unfamiliar sensation growing in his lower body. But it’s no use—your touch has ignited something within him.

Giyuu shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to adjust himself discreetly without drawing attention to his predicament. He can feel the blood rushing to his dick, his member stiffening and hardening with each passing second. His cock hurts against the confines of his hakama, the fabric tenting obscenely. It's a strange, new feeling for the usually stoic and aloof Hashira, leaving him flustered and unsure of how to handle it.

His grip tightens on the tea cup. He takes another long sip, trying to focus on the warmth and taste of the tea rather than the warmth and stiffness growing in his pants. When you mention wanting to come here with him again, Giyuu swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He clears his throat softly before responding, his voice a bit hoarse.

"I'm glad you’re enjoying yourself, [Name]. It's not often I find myself in such a setting..." He admits, still not quite meeting your gaze. You offer a gentle apology, your hand brushing his arm in a comforting gesture. Giyuu's cheeks flush once more, and he shifts in his seat again, trying to find a more comfortable position for his hardening cock.

As you continue to chat and laugh, Giyuu listens intently, nodding along. But his mind is elsewhere, focused on the new sensations coursing through his body. He can feel his heart beating faster, his breathing growing slightly heavier.

Suddenly, Giyuu stands up abruptly, nearly knocking over his tea cup in the process. He mumbles a quick apology before grabbing his haori and heading towards the back of the shop, needing a moment to compose himself and deal with the raging hard on in his pants.

Once in the bathroom, Giyuu locks the door behind him and leans against it, panting softly. He looks down at the prominent tent in his pants, his eyes widening at the size of his erection straining against the fabric. With a shaky hand, he reaches down and palms himself through his pants, letting out a soft gasp at the contact.

Giyuu bites his lip, conflicted about what he's feeling. As a Hashira, he's never experienced such feelings before; it's foreign and overwhelming, but also strangely exciting. He knows he needs to take care of this before he can go back out there and face you.

Giyuu takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. With a determined expression, he reaches down and unties his pants, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud. He wraps a hand around his hard, throbbing cock and starts to stroke it slowly, biting back a moan that threatens to escape his lips. The sensation of his own hand on his cock is overwhelming, and Giyuu has to cover his mouth with his other hand to keep quiet.

As he strokes himself, his mind unwillingly wanders to you, imagining it's your small, soft hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own. He pictures you touching him intimately, exploring his body in ways no one else ever has, not even himself. The thought alone is enough to make his cock twitch and leak pre-cum. Giyuu picks up his pace, stroking faster and tighter. He's never done anything like this before, but the intense pleasure coursing through his body is too good to ignore. He can feel the pressure building, his balls tightening as his orgasm approaches.

With a few more quick strokes, Giyuu finally reaches his peak. He bites down hard on his hand to keep from crying out as thick ropes of hot, sticky cum erupt from his cock, painting the inside of the bathroom stall. His body shakes and jerks with the force of his release, waves of intense pleasure washing over him. As the last spurts of cum dribble out, Giyuu slumps against the door, panting heavily. He feels exhausted but strangely satisfied, a sense of relief coursing through him now that he's taken care of his need. He knows he needs to clean up and go back out there soon, but he takes a few more moments to collect himself first.

“Giyuu, you alright in there? You’ve been gone a while…”

Giyuu freezes for a moment, startled by the sound of your voice coming from the other side of the bathroom door. He quickly wipes the last traces of cum from his hand and pulls up his pants, trying to look as put together as possible.

He clears his throat before responding, his voice still slightly hoarse from his recent activity. 

"Yes, I'm alright. I just needed a moment to myself. I'll be out in a second."

Giyuu rinses his hands and splashes some cool water on his face, trying to cool down his still flushed cheeks. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before unlocking the door and stepping out. He notices your confused look, but he can't really face you right now.

As he walks back to the table with you, Giyuu keeps his head down, avoiding eye contact. He can feel a lingering heat in his cheeks and sensitivity in his spent cock, but he tries to focus on sitting down beside you again.

Once seated, Giyuu finally meets your gaze, his blue eyes still darkened with lingering desire. "I apologize for the wait, [Name]. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

He reaches for his tea cup, noticing that it's now empty. Giyuu frowns slightly, realizing that he's going to need to find a distraction or a change in topic to take his mind off the intimate thoughts still lingering in his mind.

“D'you have fun in there?" You tease, a grin tugging at your lips. "You're not very good at keeping quiet when you jerk off...”

Giyuu's eyes widen in shock at your teasing comment, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. He nearly chokes on his own spit, coughing as he tries to regain his composure. He glares at you, but there's no real heat behind it. Instead, he just looks flustered and embarrassed. You only smile back, playfully.

“It's okay, Giyuu. There’s no reason to be shy about it. You can tell me. What made you so hard you needed to relieve yourself in the bathroom, hm?”

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: So, I've sort of aged up the younger dragons a bit. Not much. And Tyraxes is now a different colour? I've read a few times that he's a bit purple-ish/red.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

๋࣭⭑ 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 ✶⋆.˚

・Grey Ghost is known for being elusive, shy, and distrustful of humans.

・At first, he might keep his distance, circling his rider warily while growling or hissing softly.

・This would not be due to a lack of care but rather his instinct to observe and assess the situation before taking action.

・His sharp eyes would sweep across the area, and his ears would twitch at the faintest sound, ensuring that the injury wasn’t part of a larger trap or attack.

・In all honesty, Grey Ghost's natural instinct is to flee or hide and this would create conflict with his loyalty to his rider. Only for the first event of such kind.

・This inner turmoil would manifest as pacing, soft growling, or circling his rider protectively while he deliberates his next move.

・But he would never leave you on your own.

・Once Grey Ghost realizes the severity of his rider’s injury and identifies that they are in immediate danger (or distress), his protective instincts would kick in.

・His usual elusive nature would fall away, revealing a dragon fiercely devoted to safeguarding his rider.

・Grey Ghost would position himself over or around you, spreading his massive wings to shield you from any threats. His pale, ghostly form would seemingly blend into his surroundings, making it hard for enemies to target him directly.

・His tail might lash aggressively, and he could stomp the ground or snap his jaws at anyone he perceives as a threat.

・While Grey Ghost is typically non-confrontational, the injury of his rider would awaken a primal rage in him if he suspects foul play. His usual avoidance of human settlements or other dragons would be forgotten in the heat of the moment.

・If Grey Ghost identifies anyone responsible for harming his rider, his vengeance would be swift and terrifying. Despite his elusive reputation, he is still a dragon—a creature of fire and blood. His attacks would be calculated, using his natural camouflage to ambush and devastate his enemies.

・He might nudge you gently with his snout, his usually cold and distant eyes change to warmth and concern. If you're conscious, he might emit soft, almost apologetic rumbles, as if to comfort you.

・Grey Ghost would likely carry you to a more secluded, hidden location, away from prying eyes and potential threats. He would be hyper-aware of your condition, moving carefully to avoid causing them more pain or distress.

・Due to his distrust of humans, Grey Ghost might be reluctant to allow even trusted allies near his rider. He could growl or flare his wings at medics or friends attempting to approach, forcing them to convince him they mean no harm.

・If you are taken away for treatment, Grey Ghost would resist at first. But following you closely or circling above.

・His deep bond with you would make it difficult for him to be apart, even temporarily.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Known for her beauty, grace, and even temperament. Tessarion's reaction to you being injured would be a mix of deep emotional distress and protective instinct

・Tessarion would be instinctively aware the moment you were injured

・Her voice, often described as musical, would take on a mournful tone that would echo her concern.

・Despite her typically calm and composed demeanor, Tessarion’s protective instincts would flare to life in response to her rider’s injury. She would become a fierce guardian, determined to shield her rider from any further harm.

・Unlike more impulsive dragons, Tessarion’s actions would be measured. She wouldn’t lash out recklessly but would unleash her fury with precision, targeting only those she deemed a threat.

・Her flame, described as a brilliant cobalt blue, would light up the area in controlled bursts, warning enemies to stay away. The colour of the flame would entrance and create fear in allies and foes.

・When the threat is gone, she would become very gentle.

・Tessarion would lower her head to nuzzle her rider, her usually powerful and commanding presence softening in an effort to comfort you. Her large, expressive eyes would convey worry and sorrow, a silent plea for her rider to stay strong.

・If her rider were unconscious or unable to respond, Tessarion might grow increasingly agitated, pacing or flaring her wings in frustration.

・Tessarion’s even temperament would make her more likely than some dragons, to allow trusted allies or medics to approach her rider, yet she would still remain watchful and alert.

・She would recognize the difference between friend and foe, especially if her rider had established a connection with certain individuals. She might lower herself slightly to give others better access to her rider, though she would never stray far.

・After your recovery, Tessarion would definitely become more attentive, sticking closer to you during dangerous situations. She would even keep an eye when resting, ready to act at the first sign of trouble.

・Tessarion’s gentle and noble spirit would lead her to express her devotion in quiet moments. Either through soft purring sounds, affectionate nudges, or simply lying beside her rider, she would show her love in physical ways

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐘𝐑𝐄 ✶⋆.˚

・The Golden, would react to you being injured with a combination of raw emotional and unwavering protectiveness. His regal personality would shape his actions, making his reaction dramatic, furious, and deeply loyal.

・Feeling your pain, Sunfyre would unleash a deep, earth-shaking roar, his golden body gleaming fiercely. The roar would serve as both an expression of his anguish and a warning to anyone nearby.

・Sunfyre’s proud nature would make him defensive of his injured rider, viewing your harm as a personal affront.

・He might thrash his tail or stomp the ground in frustration, his distress manifesting in physical displays. His wings would flare dramatically, creating a display of dominance

・Even trusted allies might find themselves at the mercy of Sunfyre’s suspicion.

・If he perceives any danger to you or identifies those responsible for your injury, his response would be swift and catastrophic.

・Sunfyre’s flames, described as golden and almost as radiant as his scales, would blaze brightly as he targets threats.

・His attacks would be both theatrical and overwhelming, meant to obliterate his enemies and display his dominance.

・Despite his massive size, Sunfyre would lower his head to nudge you softly, emitting low, rumbling sounds that carry both concern and reassurance.

・His golden body would give a comforting heat, as if trying to envelop his rider in his presence and shield them from further pain. This warmth could be soothing, both physically and emotionally.

・He would allow medics or friends to help, but only under his watchful gaze. Any sudden movements or signs of aggression toward his rider would provoke an immediate reaction.

・Sunfyre’s reaction wouldn’t end once his rider is treated. The event would leave a lasting impact on his behavior and deepening his bond with his rider.

・After witnessing their vulnerability, Sunfyre would become even more vigilant and attentive to his rider’s safety. He might hover closer in dangerous situations or insist on staying near them, even when resting.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・Vermax is a spirited and bold dragon known for his youthful energy and eagerness. His reaction would be a mix of emotional distress, protectiveness, and a strong desire to "fix" the situation in any way he could.

・Vermax’s bond with his rider would alert him instantly to their injury

・Once his initial panic subsided, Vermax’s protective instincts would kick in

・If danger were present, Vermax would attack with swift, almost reckless aggression. His flames would burst forth in short, erratic bursts, his movements quick and sharp as he prioritizes eliminating the threat.

・Once the threat was gone, his focus would stay comepletely on you. Landing, he would choose somewhere with cover and natural protection. Getting as close to the ground as he can, you would hop off of him slowly.

・Then, he would position his body around you, wings spread wide and head lowered defensively. Despite his smaller size compared to older dragons, his posture would convey an undeniable determination to protect.

・Vermax would turn to you, and rub his snout on your cheek. He'd show an endearing, almost puppy-like concern for you.

・The green dragon's boldness might lead him to perceive any movement near his rider as a potential threat. He could snap at allies or growl at medics trying to help, only calming once he senses no ill intent.

・Vermax would refuse to leave his rider’s side, lowering himself so his body is near them, even curling protectively around them if possible.

・You would have to give the command to calm him, and let the others help you.

・Vermax’s reaction to his rider’s injury would leave a lasting impression on both his behavior and their bond. The event would serve as a learning experience, shaping his maturity and deepening his loyalty.

・Vermax would become more protective and attentive in the future, keeping a closer eye on his rider during dangerous situations.

・The trauma of this would influence some of his youthful impulsiveness, making him more cautious and deliberate in his actions.

・The experience would solidify the connection between Vermax and his rider, making him even more devoted and emotionally attuned to their well-being.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・A nimble and intelligent dragon known for his responsiveness and strong bond with you, he would react to your injury with swift, calculated actions and visible emotional distress.

・Arrax has incredible intelligence and quick thinking. It would make his reaction precise and effective; perfect for a situation like this.

・His instinct is to release a high-pitched, distressed shriek or a series of short roars. These sounds would carry both his fear for his rider and a warning to any nearby threats.

・Arrax’s intelligence would shine in his ability to rapidly assess the situation and prioritize his rider’s safety.

・He would immediately survey the area for potential dangers, his sharp eyes darting around to locate enemies or hazards.

・Arrax would instinctively place himself between his injured rider and any perceived threat, his smaller but agile body coiling protectively around them.

・Despite his smaller size, Arrax’s protective instincts would be fierce. His loyalty to you would drive him to defend you with every ounce of his ability.

・If he perceived danger, Arrax would strike with precision. Arrax’s agility would allow him to outmaneuver larger or slower threats. He could take to the air, swooping low to distract enemies or disorient them with quick bursts of flame and rapid movements.

・He might use his quick movements to dart at attackers, snapping his jaws or unleashing bursts of flame.

・His flame, though less powerful than that of larger dragons, would be controlled and effective, aimed to intimidate or incapacitate rather than destroy indiscriminately.

・Once he perceived the immediate danger to be neutralized, Arrax would turn his attention fully to his injured rider, showing his concern in ways that reflect his bond with them.

・Arrax would prod you with his snout, letting out soft, crooning sounds as if trying to reassure you.

・He would want to be as close to you as possible. Lowering his body next to you, either trying to keep you warm, be a protective presence and somehow take some of your pain.

・Arrax’s intelligence would make him more likely than some dragons to allow allies or medics to approach you, though his protective instincts would keep him vigilant.

・This first time trauma, would leave Arrax different. One, it would deepen the bond with you, change his behavior by becoming more intune with you.

・As well as becoming more attentive to your well-being, staying closer during dangerous situations and reacting more quickly to threats.

・The experience would mature him

๋࣭⭑ 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・Tyraxes has a steady, balanced temperament. While his initial reaction might not be as volatile or dramatic as some dragons, it would be no less intense.

・Unlike more reactive dragons, Tyraxes wouldn’t thrash or panic. Instead, he might move slowly and deliberately his calm demeanor masking the depth of his worry.

・Tyraxes’ protective instincts would emerge fiercely in response to your vulnerability.

・If an immediate threat were present, Tyraxes would act decisively, using his flame or physical strength with calculated precision to neutralize the danger without endangering his rider.

・Tyraxes’ obedient and loyal nature would make him especially attentive to your well-being. He would stay close, offering physical and emotional comfort in his own dragon-like way.

・He'd gently nudge you, his large, expressive eyes reflecting his concern. His body heat would radiate toward you,making you feel at ease.

・Tyraxes might also produce deep, soothing sounds akin to a purr, an instinctive effort to calm and reassure his rider.

・His usually calm demeanor would become even more pronounced as he remained perfectly still, a silent but steadfast presence beside his injured rider.

・Tyraxes’ mature and even-tempered personality would make him more likely to allow trusted allies or medics to assist his rider.

・For strangers or unfamiliar allies, Tyraxes would need convincing.

・Unlike more reactive dragons, Tyraxes’ emotional response would be quieter but no less profound. His loyalty and concern would manifest through his steady nature.

・This occurence would strengthen Tyraxes’ already obedient nature, making him even more responsive to his rider’s commands and needs. It would have left a lasting impression; giving him a boost of confidence and moving him into maturity.

・Tyraxes’ reaction to his rider’s injury would be a masterclass in calm, controlled devotion. His docile nature wouldn’t stop him from fiercely protecting his rider when needed, but his response would always be measured and thoughtful.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 ✶⋆.˚

・Moondancer’s bond with you would allow her to sense your injury instantly, triggering an intense and visible emotional response.

・As a slender, quick, and fiercely spirited dragon, she'd react to your injury with a mix of emotional intensity, relentless protectiveness, and tactical ferocity.

・Moondancer’s body language would display a fierce determination. Her head would lower, her teeth bared, and her tail would flick with calculated aggression, warning anyone to stay back.

・Moondancer’s intelligence and combat style would come into play as she deals with any immediate threats to you.

・Moondancer’s flames would cause chaos and destruction. She'd pursue them relentlessly. Her smaller body alloing her to move through tight areas or challenging terrain.

・Once the immediate danger has passed, Moondancer’s fiery persona would soften as she turns her attention to you. Her loyalty and bond would manifest in tender, almost maternal behavior.

・Moondancer would nuzzle you with her slender snout, her usually sharp and quick movements becoming deliberately slow and gentle.

・She'd then make soothing trills or rumbles, her voice taking on a melodic, comforting quality to reassure you

・Her smaller size would allow her to curl closely around you, creating warmth and care.

・When help arrived, Moondancer may not allow others near, especially if she doesn’t trust them.

・However, if you were conscious and able to calm her, Moondancer would reluctantly allow help, though her watchful eyes would remain fixed on anyone near you

・After the event, Moondancer would become more attentive and protective

・Her fiery temperament might become more pronounced in future conflicts, her determination to prevent another injury to you driving her to act even more fiercely.

・The trauma of seeing you injured would deepen Moondancer’s loyalty, making the bond unshakable and the partnership even stronger.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐎��𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✶⋆.˚

・Morning's reaction would reflect her spirited, loyal, and deeply protective nature.

・Her youth and bond with her rider would make her response emotionally intense, with her actions blending fiery determination and tender care.

・The pink and black dragon would let out a piercing, mournful cry—loud and desperate. This cry would be both a call for help and an expression of her anguish.

・Morning would become increasingly protective. It would take over quickly as she moves to shield her rider from further harm, regardless of the danger or odds.

・Quickly, Morning would place herself over or around you, using her slender, agile body to create a protective barrier. Her pink-and-black form, usually elegant, would become a fierce and imposing presence.

・If she needed to defend you, her wings would flare wide, forming a physical barrier. Even in her panic, Morning’s movements would remain precise, ensuring you are fully covered and safe.

・Then her next actions would be absolutely destructive. Swift, agile, she would release a breath of flame. Magenta in colour with white swirling through, it would be intensely hot.

・Precise and targeted, she would strike until they were nought but ashes.

・Once the danger passed, Morning’s demeanor would shift from fiery defender to tender caretaker.

・She would curl her body or tail protectively around you, creating a cocoon-like space of warmth and security.

・Morning would create a calm stillness as she watches over you.

・Her expressive eyes would reflect her concern, locking onto you as if willing you to recover through sheer devotion.

・Morning wouldn't like anyone to come near you; even allies. She may see them as threats - her connection with you means she can feel your pain and she doesn't want you to feel anymore. So, she might growl softly or block access with her body

・When you're getting help, she wouldn't be far. Probably much too close. But she wouldn't be able to leave your side.

・This would leave a lasting impact on her. From then on, she would become much, much more protective of you. It would increase the bond, or might bolster Morning’s confidence and refine her ability to act decisively in future challenges.

𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

acrosaurotaurus

yok.sa_art

the_art_of_armmy

kennykwanart

𝒈𝒊𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

@targaryensource, @gameofthronesdaily, @daenerys-stormborn, @fireandbloodsource, @hvitserkk.