#can a man still be brave if he's afraid

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Bran III

He was desperately afraid.

“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?” he heard his own voice saying, small and far away.

And his father’s voice replied to him. “That is the only time a man can be brave.”

Now, Bran, the crow urged. Choose. Fly or die.

Death reached for him, screaming.

Bran spread his arms and flew.

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ make it known (op81)

You and Oscar have been friends for almost two decades and it’s been smooth sailing, except for now—when you have to make it publically known you're pining for him to even notice.

oscar piastri x childhood bestfriend!reader smau / face claim: none :D

warnings/notes: none really? one kinda bitchy comment from oscar bc he's king of the sassy man apocalypse. i love this so much, also do we like the new insta post format ?? im kinda meh about it.

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and others...

uruser: last week of cramming before the summer ( and visiting my favorite aussie in monaco ...)

user1: literally my queen.

nicolepiastri: best of luck with finals !!

⤷ uruser: thank u mama piastri !! 🩷

user2: best of luck yn!!

oscarpiastri: see u soon loser

⤷ ururser: u too bitch <3

⤷ logansargeant: what book are u reading now??

⤷ uruser: rereading pride and prejudice again

⤷ logansargeant:so we're watching it again after monaco ? @ oscarpiastri

⤷ oscarpiastri: movie night !!!

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, landonorris, and others...

uruser: ' i know im just a fool who's willing to sit around and wait for you ' 🩷

user3: stop who are u pining for queen ??

oscarpiastri: now whats all this then.

⤷ landonorris: u sound like @ georgerussel

⤷ uruser: lando don't bring more brits on my page pls im scared of u people

⤷ georgerussell: right, whats all this then?

⤷uruser: BACK!!! OUT!!! SHOO!! ALL OF U BOYS. THIS IS FOR THE GIRLS.

user4: oh honey its BAD.

logansargeant: oh this is the approach?

⤷ uruser: im desperate man.

⤷ oscarpiastri: wow. i introduced you to logan and you tell him your secrets before me?

⤷ logansargeant: oscar. i beg you to use your brain.

⤷ user5: logan what do you KNOW?

liked by laufey, nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri, and others...

uruser: new low: crying over lovesick by @ laufey

oscarpiastri: and you still wont tell me who this is about?

user6: and shes so real for this !!

laufey: NO. i didn't mean to make you cry beautiful :(

⤷ ururser: you've revived me by commenting so its ok queen <3

user7: hot take: she's pining over oscar.

⤷ user8: clearly you havent been an oscar fan since prema. this is not a new take LMAOO

user9: oscyn truthers RISE

nicolepiastri: you are too pretty to cry over a pretty song ! be brave and follow your heart !

⤷ uruser: i would if i wasnt afraid it would all go horribly wrong :(

⤷ nicolepiastri: trust me, if he's as smart as he was raised to be, it wont!! 😉

⤷user10: MAMA PIASTRI KNOWS?

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, alexalbon, and others...

uruser: we'll end up like always.

user12: second time shes posted that handwriting....

user12: can someone explain how she and the f1 grid know eachother?? im so confused

⤷ user13: yn is oscar's childhood best friend!! her older brother karted with oscar and logan so she ussed to hang out with them a lot. shes an engineering student at MIT right now :)

lilymhe: oh my god STILL?

alexalbon: this is gonna go to after belgium PAY UP @ logansargeant

⤷ logansargeant: let me have faith alex please

⤷ uruser: i cannot BELIEVE you bet on this.

user14: is oscar writing the notes??

⤷ user15: you might be onto something...

logansargeant: we need to enact phase two. i swear it will work.

⤷ nicolepiastri: uh oh. be careful logan !!

⤷ logansargeant: i will mama piastri !

⤷user16: god speed logan

liked by williamsracing, logansargeant, alexalbon, and others...

uruser: help me tom cruise !! (i got abducted by williams this weekend)

tagged: logansargeant, alexalbon, lilymhe, oscarpiastri

logansargeant: tom cruise, use your witchcraft on me to get the fire off me !! ( it was great to have you !!)

user17: oscar only in the group photo... logan in almost every picture... yn and logan quoting talladega nights?? we are SO OVER OSCYN TRUTHERS.

williamsracing: blue is a nice change of color for you!

⤷ oscarpiastri: no >:(

⤷ uruser: LMAO OSCAR PLS

oscarpiastri: WOW. my TWO BEST FRIENDS hang out WITHOUT ME.

⤷ uruser: you both hang out without me ALL THE TIME.

⤷ logansargeant: i am the superior driver

⤷ oscarpiastri: and who has a seat next year

⤷ uruser: JESUS CHRIST OSCAR 😭

user18: IS THIS JEALOUSY?

user19: jealousy on oscar is FUNNY

alexalbon: i would say something but im afraid oscars gonna come at me too

⤷ oscarpiastri: 🧍‍♂️

⤷ alexalbon: @ uruser get ur man im scared

⤷ uruser: not my man

lilymhe: so fun to see you this weekend <3

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, logansargeant, and others...

uruser: i forgot cats get jealous....

tagged: oscarpiastri

user20: THE IDENTICAL SHOE TYING PHOTOS IM IN TEAARRSSS

oscarpiastri: the cat agenda is so mean

⤷ uruser: says the man literally smacking me to get my attention

⤷ oscarpiastri: it worked didnt it?

nicolepiastri: oscar has always been like that since you two were very young!

logansargeant: phase two complete. good luck soldier 🫡

⤷ uruser: thank u logan, ive got it from here

user21: did they plan to make oscar jealous?? so he would admit he likes yn??

user22: SHUT UP THATS SO FUNNY

landonorris: oh thank god he'll stop whining now

⤷ user23: HELLO?

user24: OSCAR BEING JEALOUS OF LOGAN SHUT UPPPP

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon, oscarpiastri, and others...

uruser: logans plan worked?

tagged: oscarpiastri

logansargeant: and im still alive?

⤷ nicolepiastri: oscar won't kill spiders half the time, I didn't think he'd kill you, logan!

⤷ oscarpiastri: i was gonna ask kmag to hit you again (@ FIA this is a joke.)

⤷ uruser: oscar PLEASE THE FIA??

oscarpiastri: 🧡

⤷ uruser: wow u have such a way with words.

⤷ oscarpiastri: my pr team is staring over my shoulder i have to be careful

⤷ oscarpiastri: what i can say is sorry for being a blind idiot

alexalbon: i cannot BELIEVE this worked?

lilymhe: logan the mastermind, cannot wait to hear his speech at the wedding

landonorris: finally.

⤷ uruser: lando the strongest man thru this all

⤷ landonorris: i have heard oscar admit things you couldnt pry out of me.

⤷ oscarpiastri: literally what?

⤷ landonorris: ur mother is in this comment section, i can't say.

⤷ uruser: LANDO TEXT ME RIGHT NOW.

⤷ oscarpiastri: i was drunk probably

⤷ landonorris: stone cold sober. after practice during belgium?

⤷ oscarpiastri: oops.

⤷ uruser: JAW ON THE FLOOR.

[gremlingottoosilly]

What lies within (Tentacle!Monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

It's mating season for monster hybrids. Unfortunately for you, the colonel didn't have time to dump his eggs everywhere. TW and tags: Non-con, size difference, oviposition, monster hybrids, forced breeding, belly bulging, yandere Konig, possessive Konig, tentacles, double penetration. Word count: 3278

The brave new world of opportunities for monsters.

The illustrious life for those who are not afraid of being a hunter in the billion flocks of weak, stupid prey. 

There are endless possibilities for the ones who decide to serve in the various armed forces specifically tailored to monsters. 

And loads of other bullshit that König had to endure every day on the briefs. Propaganda, advertisement, and weak attempts to make a new generation of monster hybrids abandon their old ways and join either army or contracting forces, making them glorified mercenaries. Jaided and disillusioned, the colonel long abandoned the thoughts that service can be fun, that it can bring him something other than money and occasional bullets in various places. 

“Most inclusive workplaces for monsters,” his ass. They were fed bullshit on top of other bullshit, and he is already tired of war – but there isn’t much he can do besides it. The payment is nice, he gets to eat his enemies and tears through entire units of squishy, weak humans who make perfect snacks from their useless fucking bodies. 

— So. Abandoned by your team, ja? 

Unfortunately for him, sometimes war operations meant that he was not supposed to eat prisoners – he was supposed to take them, hoard them into rounds, and send them for either ransom or whatever higher-ups wanted to do with them. Sometimes, it’s torture for information, sometimes, it’s attempts to bring them to their side if they are worth it. 

Sometimes, he just looked in the eyes of a soft, squishy little prey and just couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. 

Well…” sometimes” is a very big word. He had never once thought about keeping the POW for himself before he met this stupidly beautiful, soft nurse with a perfect face, nice pair of legs in that ugly baggy uniform, and the most beautiful scent in the entire…

He never thought of keeping the prisoner for himself before he met you. 

It was supposed to be an easy mission for you – he can see it from your lack of normal armor. Either you had no idea that KorTac had their own plans for whatever you wanted to do here, or your contractor is extremely cheap. He likes either way – you smell like a human, and he likes dumb humans who would make perfect victims. You smell and look weak, trembling, perfect fucking pray for someone like him. König didn’t feel the need to transform for this battle. Your team ran away like a bunch of bunnies before he ever fired his first shot, but he could still feel his tentacles slowly stir under his hood. He can feel his body transforming without the need to – and he feels the pressure in his lower stomach. 

When was the last time he was able to put his eggs somewhere other that cold, unforgiving air? 

Even the bagginess of your uniform doesn’t obscure him from looking at the sway of your hips, at the perfect surface of your tummy, and feeling the smell of your ripe, fertile body. Having a strong sense of smell always came like a curse in the team of monsters where showering after a mission isn’t something that is done by many, buy König can appreciate his nose now – he can smell how perfect you are for breeding. How scared, too. 

Poor thing, probably terrified of his. König knows how he looks, even in his human form – tall, broad, bigger than any man you saw before, so much more muscular that even with your military training as a combat nurse, he could still break your spine with one hand. His size is something that made it impossible to find a partner normal ways – monsters are naturally too dominant to ever submit to him, and humans are simply too scared to deal with someone like him. He isn’t surprised, no – if anything, he understands completely. 

You sob, your voice is melting with incomprehensible pleas and little whines. You are shaking under him – a poor, dumb girl who wasn’t aware that her best shot at surviving was to try and shoot his crotch off before he pulled a gun out of your hands. 

— Pl…please, you can’t…you can’t do this! It’s a crime, I was on medical duty, it’s…

König likes humans because they are dumb. Civilian humans are even cuter – run around, thinking their lives are protected by sets of laws and rules that, in fact, don’t apply to the strong – and you, in your full half-military half-civvie glory, are fucking perfect. You whine and sib, tears running down your face when he presses you under him. Your hand hits the hard rocks of the ground, and he shifts slightly, dragging you closer to a softer patch of grass. 

He laughs when you are trying to scramble from under him, your lower half is pinned by his weight – he is surprised you can still move. You move your pelvis, trying to get out – and he moans quietly when you start rubbing your crotch against his. You freeze, fear spreading on your face – god, he missed that feeling. When was the last time he got to actually breed someone? Or even just have sex with someone as cute? 

— You really think so, Schatzen? That rules will protect you? 

He moves his crotch against yours, making you sob a bit more. You’re sweet and compliant, and he just loves breaking soft things like you – it’s a desire to break, to destroy, to make you his. He knows that, technically, forcing himself on women from enemy lines really is a war crime. He also knows that if he’d managed to breed you with his eggs, monster laws would never allow you to separate after mating. 

Besides, it's not like he is going to let you go, so you could tell on him. König never believed in love at first sight, but you would be a perfect vessel for his eggs and his tentacles – what else would he need from a wife, right? 

— You’re pretty. 

He says plainly, his hand goes to rub your chest through the fabric of your uniform. You won’t need those ugly clothes anymore – he’d make sure to buy you something nice and frail that won’t make you too uncomfortable to carry his eggs. Maybe a soft, frail dress or some of those cute maternity clothes when your body starts to change. He can’t wait to see his breasts swelling with milk – even if his unfertilized eggs won’t need it, he certainly would. Even if you’re too weak to handle his load, he’d make sure to get you a nice, firm plug and keep you on his tentacles constantly. 

You start to sob even more when you understand what he is trying to do – when he rips your pants to reveal the softness of your cunt and the fragility of your [anties, you actually manage to push your legs against his dick a good few times. He is too aroused to notice – if anything, he likes how fiery you are, your little yells and loud screams for help. No one will come to aid you – he barked the orders for his soldiers to go and fuck around somewhere else while he was busy devouring his little prize. Colonel doesn’t like having an audience – if anything, he is saving your dignity right now. If anything, he is remarkably soft when he pushes one of his long, red tendrils down your body, massaging your pussy through your panties. 

You’re moist already when his tentacle finds a way to your labia. What a slutty nurse you are – getting off the enemy colonel breeding you in the middle of the battlefield. Your tears mean nothing when he is too busy massaging and pressing and playing with your sticky, puffy folds – poor girl, so deprived of attention that even the weird texture of his extensions only fuels your desire. 

So fragile, so perfect – and so, so wet that your adorable white panties are already become transparent, sticking to your soft pussy. When he takes you home, he’d make sure to forbid you from wearing any underwear at all – you would meet him dressing in nothing but his shirts, a hand on your tummy to support the weight of your eggs. Walls of your pussy clenching on the plug he’d make to insert in you every morning. 

— Don’t…please, don’t, n…

You whine ever so sweetly, trying to close your legs so he won’t be able to touch you. It’s futile, just one of his tendrils is ten times stronger than your hands. He gets through your closed legs, buried in the moistness of your sweet, perfect pussy. You taste heavenly – just one minute enough to make him hungrier than before. König’s mating season was often postponed due to constant adrenaline rushes and things he takes to enhance his battle abilities – but he can feel eggs pressing at the inside of his body now, preparing to be released in the sweet heat of your body. But he has to prepare you first. 

— Quiet now. It won’t hurt unless you want it to. 

His tendrils are coming to moisten your pussy even more – sweet numbness filling your body from the lower stomach and right to your head. Knowing that you must feel dizzy and just a tad bit dumb, König can’t wait but chuckle. He likes you empty-headed, adorable dumbness in your eyes. He knows that he doesn’t know you, that you might even already have a boyfriend on the civil side of your life – but he doesn’t care. His mind doesn’t easily fall for just anyone,  but if he saw a perfect vessel in you, there is no escape. At least he is nice enough to be gentle. 

You whimper slightly when he pushes the first tendril inside of you. Too impatient to use his hands or tongue to make you feel a bit more at ease – after all, you are still on the battlefield, even if your friends abandoned you to get picked up by KorTac. Too impatient to soothe you with his words, he uses one of his smaller, thinner tentacles to push your pussy walls, make you squeeze him and milk for all his worth. You are wet, but not enough to take him without crying. Hot and soft, the cold texture of his extensions contrasts with your body too much – you are shaking, he can feel slight vibrations at the soft walls of yours. 

Fitting him like a glove, too perfect to exist – he just wants to take you with him, to flip you on your tummy and push all of his tentacles inside. You’re tight and warm, you make him go crazy from desire. It’s weird how a strong and mighty colonel can be so charmed by just some enemy nurse, but when you whine slightly and try to adjust your body to fit more comfortably under him, he just knows that he has to take you. That, no matter how much you are crying and praying for him to stop, you want to be used by him. Perhaps, with certain training, you would want his eggs, too. 

Second tendril caught you by surprise. Just when you started to adjust to the weird, slimy feeling of something writhing inside of you, spreading your tight walls around it and clashing with the heat of your insides, a second, bigger one started to press on your clenched folds. You wanted to beg, to ask him to stop – you’re too tight for this, too small, you would never be able to take even just one of his tentacles, you were…

But his tendrils press easily, he accesses lube spreading between your legs. You are sobbing from the feeling, and he is laughing. His hand goes to rip the upper part of your clothing, revealing your midriff. Fingers pressing on your tummy, just to feel his tentacles inside – he laughs when the skin of your stomach is tensed up, revealing the outlines of his extension. God, he can’t wait to make your body swell from him. Even though the eggs are not bearing his children, he can imagine you and a bunch of little ones – you’d look much better like this than pretending to be a nurse. Honestly, what were you even trying to do on the battlefield? 

— Stay still, ja? 

— Too much! Please, n…no more…

— Poor thing. You’ll feel so much better after I add the third one. 

He knows that he is overstepping a bit, that your body isn’t used to taking something as big as his tentacles – but König also knows that his pre-cum makes you feel dizzy warm. Acting like a natural aphrodisiac, you won't be able to resist relaxing under him. The lubricant is enough to allow his other tentacle to force himself in your ass – he isn’t going to breed that hole yet, but it doesn't mean that he can’t use it. 

He groans loudly when your asshole clenches around him – he had to stretch you quite a bit, that sweet numbness of his precum isn’t making you relaxed enough to take him whole, but he is managing, one agonizing centimeter after another. At the point you’re out of breath, with your face all flushed, he already knows he fucking won – he knows that you, poor, fragile thing, isn’t going anywhere. He would say that he feels horrible about forcing you like this – but this is the start of a new, better life for you. Being the bride of a monster of his rank is a dream for any lowly human like you. Can go as far as to say you’re lucky he ever laid his eyes on you. 

— Stop, please…’s too much. 

— You feel good, Katzen. Relax, and you’ll be even better. 

— I don’t…please, just let me go, I…

— Is this your first time with a monster? 

— Yes. 

— Gut. Would break you in for me. 

He laughs at your whimpers, his hand goes to cradle your face in an almost soft expression. He gently presses his fingers across your skin, making you all nice and warm for him – he wants to kiss you all over, but the only thing he can do in his more monstrous form is to press one of his shorter tentacles against your lips, mocking the way normal people kiss. You sob, but he presses the tip on your mouth, passing it through your teeth – you would feel better after ingesting his pre-cum, can even clench around him so more, chasing your own pleasure. 

König wants you to feel good, so he presses his hand against your face, allowing you to tremble and cry as much as you want. He wants to be nice to you, so his other hand presses on your clit, finding the tense bud and breaking the nothingness between your legs. You tremble even more when he starts to spread your folds around his fingers, both of his tentacles working to milk your holes and spread you as much as possible. 

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear when both of the tendrils working on your pussy suddenly change their direction – they start to spread your walls instead of just fucking it. You feel exposed and vulnerable, he can see the pink flesh and glossiness of your cunt. It’s embarrassing for you, and he knows it – but god, you’re too fucking perfect to pass. 

You don’t even manage to ask him what he is doing when you feel something much larger pressing against your pussy. The biggest of his tentacles – almost as thick as an arm, pushing inside of you. He had a purpose, a desire to do something with you that you could never understand – silly humans know nothing about his biological need to push his eggs somewhere, of course, but you’re just fucking perfect. Too perfect to pass on this opportunity. 

You plead and cry when he presses further, a little bump on your tummy is obvious now, with each centimeter of his tendril pushing. When he finally bottoms inside of you, pressing directly against your cervix, you are too fucked out to even think. 

It’s painful, you think. Three thick tentacles roam inside your pussy, pushing and grinding against your gummy, tight walls – and another one of his extensions in your ass, writhing and massaging your insides. 

It’s pleasurable, you feel. The tentacles are uneven, cold, each little bump makes you cry out from pleasure, the overwhelming feeling is something you could never achieve with a normal dick. He cradles your face and chuckles softly when you moan and cry at the same time when he gently presses his red tendril against your soft lips, and you part them because you don’t want to resist anymore. Because you can’t resist anymore. 

— So good for me. Such a good girl, liked being fucked by the enemy. 

— I don’t like it! He laughs at your misery, pushing his tentacles back only to fuck you harder. He can feel the tension multiply in his stomach – he feels the movement of eggs forming from inside and pushing down the biggest one of his tendrils. 

When you first feel the pressure of an egg in your pussy, you want to scream. 

You scratch on his hands like a wild cat, clenching on him like crazy. If he didn’t see horror and shock on your face, he’d think you wanted him. You are tight, tighter than you were before – your pussy is closing around him, not letting him go, and he can only smile to himself when he feels every little bump sending electric shocks right into your core when you feel his eggs traveling from the start of his tendrils down, to your soft, welcoming womb. 

God, you will look perfect, all swollen and helpless – he can bring you a fucking collar, maybe push you on his lap and parade you as his precious wife for everyone to see. His scent lingers on your body, no matter if you want it or not. Silly human, you try to fight him like you didn’t lose the moment you let him pin your body. So perfect, he thinks of where you were before he found you. How many partners do you have, and how well would you play the role of his little breeding machine.

 He massages your tummy, with each egg taking its place in your womb. Soothes tense skin and whispers sweet promises in your ear when you cry and try to push him away. So perfect, so sweet for him – he doesn’t know the fuck he lived without you. 

When the last egg takes its place, making you bulge from all the weight inside of you, he can finally calm himself down enough to bring his human form partially. When he finally retracted his tentacles from your tired, sensitive body, not forgetting to press against your clit a good few times to prolong your unwanted, exhausting orgasm, he could finally press a kiss on your lips. 

You’re a mess – torn clothes, covered in cum and thick transparent slime, trembling and crying softly. You close your pussy around every one of his eggs like a good girl, and he knows you would be a perfect mating partner – but god, you need a good shower and soft mattress so he can try to fuck you again in his human form, and steal all the hugs and silly affections he wanted. 

— Will you let me go? 

He laughs, picking you up swiftly. So fragile in his hands, he doesn’t even want to think about letting you roam freely. 

— Of course not, Schatzen. Just get used to it, ja? 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can I request headcanons for Sunday, Boothill, Welt, Gallagher, Blade, and Dan Heng react gn s/o who always makes it a habit to tell him that they love him whenever they can like when they wake up, before going to sleep, before they leave, and when they return?

Welt: loves, loves, loves the domesticity of it all.

It never fails in making him smile knowing just how much you love him, so much so it was enough to melt his heart as he smiles softly every time he heard you say it.

For it never gets old for welt and never will as its quite possibly his most favourite thing to hear.

He feels warm, loved and happy knowing you felt so strongly about him to make a habit of letting him know just how much.

‘I love you too my dear.’ Welt would say with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘So much.’ He adds fondly as he strokes his thumbs against your cheeks as he looks at you fondly.

‘Not as much as I love you.’ You cheeked as you pressed kisses into his large hands.

‘My dear don’t start something we both know you can’t finish.’ Welt replies with a chuckle.

He didn’t want nor need much in life to be happy. He’s a hopeless romantic and this was the easiest way to his soft, old heart.

Blade:

Not use to it at first.

He grows stiff and doesn’t know what to say in response because it wasn’t everyday someone openly admitted to loving him at any given moment.

So the more you do tell him you love him, the more Blade will grow accustomed to having that one special someone who’s seeing his scars and still looks at him as though he were the most beautiful man in existence.

Someone who loved him unconditionally and wasn’t afraid to show it, whether in public or in private settings.

Sooner or later Blade would become addicted to you saying you love him at any given moment and will sometimes not let go do your until you did tell him you love him.

‘You’ve known what I’ve done and yet you still feel brave enough to admit that you love me?’ He asks.

‘I do,’ you replied, ‘and I don’t regret ever admitting that I love you because if I ever did it’d be a lie. I love you beyond words but am forced to use words because there is no action that could truly convey how much I love you.’

‘Then I hope you don’t live to see the day where you regret saying those three words.’ Blade then said seriously as he keeps you close.

‘I won’t.’ You assured him and all he could do in response was chuckle humourlessly and say. ‘Don’t make promises to someone you’ll later regret giving ownership of your heart.’

Sunday:

It’s like music to his ears.

It’s all he wants to hear from you and now he has it, he felt as though he had everything he could possibly want.

He’s selfish with your love and wants it all directed towards him, and so to hear you admit your love for him at every possible opportunity makes him feel more entitled to you and your love.

He don’t want you uttering those words to anyone else other than him for the rest of your life together.

‘Say it again.’ He’d say.

‘I love you.’ You reply.

‘Again.’ He then says with a look in his eye.

‘I love you.’ You reply once more.

‘Good.’ Was all he said before he’d go on about his day.

He often wouldn’t let you leave until you’ve told him you loved him enough to satisfy his own greedy desires.

Dan Heng:

Blushy baby who loves gets all weak in the knees when you say you love him whenever you could.

He can’t look you in the eyes the first time you said it because it took him aback that badly.

Now however Dan Heng only smiles and lightly blushes as he scratched the tip of his nose.

You’ve still got a strong effect over him and he knows that you’ll be the death of him one day with your sweet words and affection. He swears upon this.

He could be doing something a simple as reading a book and you’ll come along, sit on his lap and rest your head against his chest only to casually say that you love him; causing him to go rigid as you could obviously hear his heart go at a million miles an hour.

He swore you got a thrill out of his reactions and seeing him caught unawares, he just knew you did but he couldn’t help but love you for brining light and unexpected joy into his life.

Boothill:

Can’t stop smiling whenever you tell him you love him.

‘Really sugar? You mean it?’ He’d ask.

‘Of course I mean it Boothill, why would I say something I don’t mean?’ You replied.

‘Never mind, just say it once more for your handsome boy?’ He’d try to the quickly change the subject with a smile.

He just doesn’t see what was there to love about him at all but he feared that if he brought this up to you then he was questioning your genuine feelings for him, which wasn’t what he wanted.

He knows you adore him to death but he doesn’t understand what appeal he has going for him when 90% of him was unfeeling metal, and the only part of him that could feel was his face.

It was something that he frequently felt invalidate about, but hearing you say you love him gives him a semblance of confidence that he had been missing after getting his new body.

He needed someone to look at him and think he was beautiful, handsome and above all a sweet soul and that’s what you did, but you also did so much more for him then anyone else had and he didn’t want to throw all of that away because he felt as though he wasn’t worth you.

Gallagher:

Enjoys the moment as much as he possibly can.

Acts like he didn’t hear you the first time when he did just because he wants to hear you say ‘I love you’ in that heavenly voice of yours.

‘Don’t think I caught that one, this old dog doesn’t hear as well as he use to.’ He says with a cheeky smile.

‘Of course he doesn’t.’ You scoffed before continuing. ‘I love you, you old dog.’

Gallagher smiles sleepily as he brings you into his chest for an extra five minute nap. ‘Love you too, you punk.’ He said affectionately.

He loves the moments where it’s just you and him, living in your own little fantasy where no one else besides you two exist, and drinking in the love and how happy you made each other without really even trying.

He loves how playful you can get, how serious you can get with it and for it to always end in you saying ‘I love you.’ A hundred percent of the time.

And Gallagher would love nothing more then to hear you say if a hundred times more in the future.

[museandwords]

we don't gotta be in love (bucky barnes)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, dubcon (reader is a bartering chip), arranged marriage, blood, implied age difference, virginity loss, wedding night, rough sex, Bucky is an animal, reader is Tony Stark’s daughter, alludes to Bucky beings powerful man of ambiguous design, alternate universe, breeding kink, big dick kink, Bucky is in love with her but she hates him, it’s not a fairy tale, it’s primal and it’s kind of messy.

Author’s note: this is just….pure filth, send me to jail, don’t tell my therapist.

continuation is right here

MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY

—

You, sweet, angelic, siren-like you. All wrapped up in a delicate lacy bra, a white ribbon in your hair, and your legs spread wide enough for Bucky to slot in between them.

Your glistening pussy was on full-display, tight and pink and soaked. Virginal and leaking slick as you lay there. You’re nervous, though you keep a brave face on as you present.

Your fiery eyes look up to meet his. You’re nervous and you’re scared. He's so big. His thick shaft dwarfs your folds as he rubs it along your seam.

You squirm, not sure what else to do. "Bucky…It's too big, it's not going to fit…" You whine at your new husband softly.

Bucky's gaze lingers on your delicate form, taking in the sight of his precious little Omega before him. He teases the tip of his thick member along your slick folds again and again, reveling in the way you quiver at the contact.

Your innocence and vulnerability only serve to stoke the primal desire within him. His intense blue eyes darken with hunger, your sweet scent of arousal enveloping him.

His large hand grips your chin firmly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze with eyes filled with determination.

"Shh, princess. Trust me," he growls softly, his voice a gravelly reassurance as his other hand snakes between your thighs, spreading your lips further to accommodate his size.

"You can take it, baby girl. You were made for me," he murmurs, the authoritative tone in his voice leaving no room for argument as he lines himself up with your entrance.

With a swift thrust, he enters you, the stretch causing you to gasp and tense against him. Bucky's restraint slips slightly at the sensation of your tight warmth surrounding him, but he reigns himself in, not wanting to overwhelm you. He holds still, allowing you to adjust to his size, his own need for you almost unbearable.

"See, you can take it," He reassures you, his hand moving up to cup your cheek tenderly as he begins to move, setting a steady pace that promises to fill you completely. He watches your reactions closely, his own control a thin veneer over his desire to claim you completely.

And just like that, Bucky made you his.

You should be afraid of this Alpha, this beast of a man who claims your virginity like he's entitled to it.

You want to hate him.

But how can you?

Your whole world is zoned in completely to where he's breaching you. He's so thick, his length seems to never end, and your back arches as you’re forced to take all of him.

It's like you can feel him in your stomach. You let out a high pitched whimper, and your thighs tighten around his waist.

As your eyes screw shut and you grip on his bicep for purchase.

Your virgin blood coats Bucky's cock, and it stains the white veil you still had on as he begins to fuck into you with a steady pace.

"I—…Bucky, I can't breathe…." You gasp, so genuine, soft and whimpery.

With your desperate plea for air, your voice tinged with a mix of fear and desire, Bucky's eyes bore into you, a glint of possessiveness shining through.

"You belong to me now, little wife," He growled, his voice husky and commanding, a mix of roughness and control.

Feeling your innocence and resistance only fueled Bucky's primal desires. He relished in the challenge, the conquest of your body like a prize waiting to be won.

As Bucky's relentless thrusting claimed you, your gasps, so pure and vulnerable, only served to fuel his aggression.

Bucky's grip tightened, his strength overpowering as he took what he wanted, his hips moving with a fierce determination. The room was consumed by the intoxicating scent of your arousal, mixing and mingling as your bodies became one.

Your eyes are screwed shut as you’re forced to take all of it again and again, the feeling of being so full is an adjustment, you hated how quickly you were coming to relish in it.

His arms come up to hook beneath the crease of your thighs and he begins to fold your body into a more submissive position. Your body curls and your eyes fly open, your glassy gaze meeting stormy blue as you can't help but let out a whiney moan from the sensation. The sight of you, vulnerable and yielding, stirs something within him, a hellish urge to devour, claim, push you to your limits as he delves deeper inside your velvety warmth.

You’re quick to realize whether you like it or not; you belong to him, for better or for worse. You go from a Stark girl to a Barnes wife. Tony Stark gave you to this beast of a man. And he takes it. Bucky takes all you have and consumes you.

Like an animal fucking for purpose rather than pleasure.

Your hand flies to the creaking mattress as you grip the sheets, your breasts bounce with each thrust and you begin to let out harsh pants that match each thrust in.

"Bucky…" You whine through gritted teeth as the pain begins to subside and the friction from the drag of his cock inside begins to feel good.

Bucky growls low in his throat as he moves within your eager, wet heat. The sound of your mingled pleasure filling the dimly lit room. His powerful thrusts are relentless. The scent of your arousal, sweet and heady, fills the space around you, driving Bucky wild with desire.

You want to hate this man. You want to hate him with all that you are because you were forced to marry him, to be his wife.

But the way he fucks into you has you confused, your brain more focused on how this Alpha takes your body so well, so dominantly and rough that it makes your pussy throb and your heart swell. It’s so ridiculous, so fucked up in your mind you can’t seem to bridge the gap.

With one particular thrust, Bucky's tip kisses your cervix, and you let out an involuntary scream from the sensation. Your manicured nails dig into the sheets, nearly shredding them as he picks up the intensity and drills harder into you.

You take it, you moan and you whine and you whimper and your tight warmth sucks his cock in, hungry for it now that you have it.

You’re overwhelmed from all the sensations, the way he's biting and sucking and licking your flesh, the way his pubic bone grinds against your clit and the way his cock stuffs you so perfectly that he rubs against your g-spot and cervix every time.

Tears begin to form in your eyes, a sign of your increased pleasure as your mouth falls open, Bucky forcing moans from your lips with each thrust in.

You know the purpose of this, you know what his instincts are telling him to do.

Reproduce. Claim. Mate.

"You're…trying….to get me pregnant…." You gasp out in realization as Bucky's hips slam into yours. You mewl, your body blossoming for him as he continues to drill into your tight wet heat.

Feeling you tighten around him, reacting to his every thrust, sent a dark thrill through him. It was as if something wild and feral prowled just beneath the surface of his skin, urging him to give in to his most basic alpha instincts.

He didn't speak, but his actions painted his intentions vividly.

You should fight, you should kick and punch and try to get this man off of you because you do not want his babies.

But your primal, baser brain won't allow you.

Because it's thriving off the Alpha presence, the possibility of pleasing your mate is more important.

The knot at the base of his cock began to swell, a signal of his impending release. As Bucky pushes his knot inside, your whole body tenses, and you begin to tremble as your pussy clenches impossibly tight around him. With a guttural growl, Bucky's body tensed, his hips stilling as he spilled his essence deep inside of you, each pulse of his release a sick twisted mark of ownership. You could feel the warmth spreading within you.

You let out a muted scream, and suddenly you’re shattering all over his cock.

Slick pools as you reach your climax, your walls constricting rhythmically around him as you grind your hips down — and involuntary action of pleasure as you ride it out. You can feel Bucky twitching inside of you, the swell of his knot keeping you locked together to ensure that they are in optimal condition to conceive, his need to give you a baby overriding any other thought in his mind.

You pant, your body is sweaty and weak as you finally begin to come down to earth.

You look at your Alpha, glowing eyes in the dark of night as you try to read him.

"Are you all calm now?" You ask, in a bratty tone.

Looking down at you, Bucky observed you with a mixture of possessiveness and satisfaction. He likes the challenge in your gaze.

Despite your bratty demeanor, Bucky found himself oddly pleased by your feistiness, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips.

"Yes, my little wife, all calm now," Bucky drawled, his gravelly voice tinged with satisfaction.

[astraystayyh]

An eye for an eye.

assassin!hyunjin x journalist!yn. slow burn. suggestive and angsty at times. she/her pronouns. 7.4k.

it is perhaps the most decisive night of your life. what are the odds that at the same time and place, it happens to be hyunjin’s too?

warnings: mention of alcohol, guns, bruises and injuries. brief talks of grief.

a.n: this is prompted by how hot villain hyunjin looks in the ate era 😭 it was supposed to be a drabble and i didn’t plan on it to be this long.. but i hope you’ll enjoy reading tehee it’s different from anything i’ve ever written so please feedback would be so appreciated,, muah muah 😘❣️

A ruby red lipstick. 

Your first childhood dream was to become a journalist, but not the complacent, obedient kind. You wanted to shed light on uncovered events, dig into the raw truth with your claws, and hold it up for the entire world to witness. You craved justice. You never believed in letting things flow their way, like a current that morphs into a torrent, destroying everything in its path.

No, you were a dam, forcing the water to change its trajectory. After all, you have always believed that all it took for change to happen was a trigger, a single flicker that would in turn burst into flames.

You wished to be it.

It was hard to grow into this specific kind of journalist, though. Not because you lacked drive, passion, or discipline. Especially not because you weren’t curious enough, brave enough. You were Seoul Press’s youngest and brightest reporter, after all.

But in a highly competitive field, you still needed your big story, your breakthrough which would put you on the radar of esteemed awards that all journalists venerate. Though you deemed it much easier to obtain a Pulitzer than to squelch your heart’s quest for truth, justice, and most importantly, in an unpredictable curb that life threw at you— revenge.

Your second childhood dream was to put on ruby red lipstick. Your thirteen-year-old self deemed it the ultimate show of power and confidence, each time you saw your aunt wearing one to her most important meetings. You dreamed of the day you could put it on as well, on your way to uncover the truth. 

And tonight, as you applied your ruby lipstick precisely, gliding the vibrant color across your lips, you felt nerves tighten like thorny vines in your stomach, puncturing your tender skin and leaving you a bloodied mess from within. 

Tonight, in your black gown and your ruby lipstick, in San Heo’s mansion, your country’s most prominent presidential candidate, and the man who ruined your life, it seemed like you were about to achieve both dreams at once.

… 

The clock hand points nine on Hyunjin’s Tank Louis Cartier watch. He throws a fleeting glance at the Victorian watch, before eyeing the people mingling at San Heo’s party. 

He knows all of the guests, memorized their faces and their habits. He knows the school where they drop off their kids and what bar they frequent every Sunday. He memorized their mannerisms and antics, knows what set them off and what did not.

This is the fruit of two years of work, after all.

He knows exactly why everyone is here, tonight particularly. Three politicians’ families and friends gathered as a show of power, to prove that they weren’t afraid of whoever’s been forcing politicians to come clean about their crimes for the past three months.

In the least glamorous manner, at that too, to put it delicately—ten bloodied tapes sent to the country’s most prominent media channels, where ministers and heads of multinationals are bound by ropes to a chair, recalling their most heinous crimes: money laundering and embezzlement for most, theft and murder for some.

The latter is Jung Cho’s case, San’s most successful competitor for the presidency, who has also mysteriously vanished from the police’s grasp since the release of his tape. No one can get a hold of poor Jung Cho anymore. 

Hyunjin smirks lightly to himself. His knuckles seem to have healed well since he last dislocated Jung Cho’s jaw. Well, that was before he shot him through the roof of his mouth.

The golden cuffs of Hyunjin’s Versace blazer reflect the light of the dangling crystal chandeliers, and he runs a weary hand through his black locks. He never chose to gel them back; he wasn’t one for structure, preferring the feeling of his silky strands brushing against his fingers. 

His eyes catch those of San’s across the room, who tips his glass of whiskey towards Hyunjin—a job well done, he reads in San’s stare. Hyunjin raises his red wine back, before settling it across the table once more.

It is a boring half an hour that awaits Hyunjin.

That is until he sees you.

You weren’t here two minutes ago, Hyunjin is sure of this. And, judging by the way you are leisurely sipping your sparkling water, your eyes gliding across the room in search of someone in particular, you had just stepped foot into the party.

Fashionably late, if he were to add.

But that is none of Hyunjin’s concern. What intrigues him the most is that your face isn’t familiar to him. That isn’t normal.

You weren’t supposed to be here, then.

Who are you?

As if hearing his question, your gaze locks onto his. He cocks an eyebrow at you; you mirror the gesture like clockwork.

Thus ensues an intense game of eye contact. You don’t break away from his gaze until two minutes later, a light scoff escaping your lips that he can discern even from afar. You then turn to look at San, your eyes morphing into something fiercer, more determined— a sniper finally locking eyes on its target.

Hyunjin feels a slight headache growing at the base of his temple. He downs his drink, before taking long strides towards you.

It’s official, you’re going to be his nuisance for the night.

27 minutes.

“Care to dance?” Hyunjin inquires as he materializes before you, a hand extended towards your body.

“Pardon?”

“A dance? To the lovely music we are hearing right now?” 

“I know what you mean,” you roll your eyes, leaning your body against the chair right next to you. Hyunjin’s eyes glaze over your legs peeking through the high slit of your dress. Had it been another setting, the sight of your black sheer tights would have made this night turn much differently.

Your voice dispels his thoughts like morning fog. “I mean why are you asking me?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“How flattering,” you grin sarcastically and Hyunjin feels the smallest urge to return your smile, although he knows it isn’t genuine.

“I know. Shall we?”

Your gaze flees to San once again, seemingly debating something in your head before finally sighing.

In the few seconds of scrutiny you consecrate to his boss, Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on your bright red lipstick, and the way you tuck your lip slightly into your mouth as you ponder.

A beautiful nuisance, he corrects himself.

“Fine,” You place your manicured hand in his in response.

“What’s your name?” he asks, as he settles one hand atop your waist. The fabric of your black dress is too thin, he can feel the heat emanating from your body seeping through his palm.

Focus. You need to discover who she is.

“Julia,” your hand settles atop his shoulder, while the other entwines with his. “And you?”

“Sam. What are you doing here?” he quickly inquires.

You shake your head slightly, gliding your hand from the base of his neck to the end of his shoulder.

“Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?”

Hyunjin tilts his head curiously at you, before smirking slightly— “Yes ma’am.”

“What do you work for?”

“I’m Mr. Heo’s political adviser.”

“You’re quite young, though,” you note.

“I know.”

“And I don’t see you by his side a lot.”

“I work in the background, mostly. I don’t do well with the cameras.” He spins you around, picking up speed as the orchestra picks up the violin. “How do you know Mr. Heo?”

“I’m Kang’s niece, you know, Mr. Heo’s economic adviser? Uncle Kang is ill, and my father is out of the country so both of them chose not to come.”

Hyunjin’s memory faintly brushes off Kang’s single niece, completing her architectural studies in Paris’ Sorbonne. 

“C’est beau à Paris?” Is it beautiful in Paris?

You don’t even blink— “Même magnifique, tu devrais visiter.” Marvelous even, you should visit. 

Checks out.

“I’ll hold you on to that offer,” he says, before spinning you around, your chest settling across his back. Hyunjin ignores how his heart skips a singular beat at your proximity.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asks, his lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear. He watches as your chest rises once before your airy voice floods his ear.

“Networking, though you didn’t quite allow me to speak to anyone but you,” you tease slightly.

“I fail to see what an architect has to do with politicians,” he muses, as he sways you gently from left to right.

“I want to oversee the building of Jamsil Sports Complex.”

“So you’re using your father for work connections?” he taunts and you swivel around, placing both your hands on his shoulders before interlinking your fingers behind his neck, caging him within the notes of your perfume.

“Is it a crime?” your voice is airy, too airy, everything you say sounds rehearsed, you don’t seem intimidated by him, by this setting, as opposed to how a newly graduated student, one who grew up away from her father’s world should.

“Depends on your definition,” he counters.

“Do you regard it as such?”

Hyunjin’s gaze flickers all over yours. He senses something urgent in your gaze, as if you are pushing for more, beyond what this simple question entails.

When he remains quiet for a tad too long, you let your hands drop by your body, taking a step away from him.

“I need to go,” you say. He grabs your wrist instantly. “Where to?”

“Bathroom.” And with that, you quickly turn around and walk away, leaving behind notes of your floral perfume and ghosts of your ruby lips.

Hyunjin steals a glance at his clock. 09:13 p.m.

He drags a hand across his forehead wearily. He won’t let you ruin this night.

17 minutes. 

You are washing your hands obsessively in the bathroom, lost in thought as you gaze at your reflection, all blurry from your unfocused eyes. You only turn off the water once your skin starts to sting from the force of your touch. 

The orange-scented soap doesn’t seem to get rid of the stench of blood. 

A week ago. 

“I don't understand your obsession with Mr. Heo,” Christopher Bang calmly removed his glasses, placing them next to the shiny placate reading ‘Editor in Chief of Seoul Press’.

“He is corrupt.”

“As all politicians are,” he spoke matter of factly, and it angered you how unfazed he seemed before your, you admit, far-fetched request. 

“You don’t understand, sir. He’s different.”

“Did he do something to you?” Chris asked, leaning back against his chair. You felt exposed all of a sudden, like a flower left bare without its stem. 

“Would my answer change anything?” You inquired tentatively. 

“It would explain many things, yes actually,” he got up from his chair, before sitting on the one right across from you. “You are a talented journalist, Yn.”

“Thank you—“

“But you are utilizing the company’s resources to conduct your personal investigation on San Heo.” 

He knew. 

“You’ve been working on his case from the day you joined our media. Which was exactly 389 days ago. I know that you’ve managed to uncover quite some dirt, one that would make an explosive case if you get more information. That’s why I turned a blind eye to everything you did because I trust your skills and integrity.” 

You remained silent.

“But now, you’re asking me to completely disregard my deontology by finding a way for you to break into Mr. Heo’s mansion. That is a crime.”

“Not break in. I want an invite to his party, it is the first time he organized one in his home, probably the last time, it is my only chance to—”

“Details,” he waves a hand disinterestedly in the air, cutting you off. “Your intentions aren’t to mingle with politicians, it is to dig in his office and find something of substance. While I admire the lengths of what you want to go through, I must stop you here.” He leveled his eyes with yours. “This can land you in jail, he is the most important man in our country right now.”

“What if I tell you he did something to me, that he ruined my life? Would you help me then?” your voice was hoarse, tears pricked your eyes as you tried your best not to avert your gaze. You hated displays of weakness, despised them even more in professional settings. 

“What did he do?” 

You bristled at the question, ugly memories flashing before your eyes like a blinding light, your body begging you to flee away from this question and the heavy response it entailed.

Still, you spoke. 

Christopher remained silent as you recalled what happened on your doomsday, the night in which your world ceased to spin, and simultaneously, the reason why you joined his company, to begin with. When your sniffles subsided a few minutes later, he gently handed you a napkin, a silent invitation to wipe away the tears that had escaped.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his weary face before finally speaking. 

“I’ll give you the invite tomorrow. Say that you are Kang’s niece, her name is Julia. She went to Paris for architectural studies, and that you are back for a vacation. Kang is ill these days, he won’t attend the party, and his brother is out of the country, no one will question you.”

“How do you know this?” 

“Because I know them,” he toyed with his lower lip lightly before a tiny smile drew upon it. “An eye for an eye, right? I’m Kang’s cousin. I changed my last name because I didn’t wish to deal with them anymore.” 

“So Bhang isn’t your real last name?”

“No.” He ran his thumb across his lower lip, seemingly debating adding something. “San’s office is on the far end of the third floor.” 

You heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t get yourself killed.”

13 minutes. 

It was one thing to stare at photographs of San seared behind your reddened eyelids or to stand at the far end of his press conferences. It was another to step foot into his mansion, to stand amidst powerful people who are capable of ruining your life had they known of your motives. 

But you didn’t have time to dwell on your personal feelings. Fear, nerves, all of those feeble emotions pale before the chance you have today. So, you nod at your reflection in the mirror, count to three in your head, and finally head out of the bathroom. 

“Five minutes, were you crying?” Sam’s bored voice startles you as soon as you set foot outside. He’s leaning on the wall across from the door, hands deep into the pockets of his suit.

Not again. 

“I know that I’m very pretty but don’t you have better things to do than to follow me?” you ask, pausing right in front of him. 

“I’m not following you, I just happen to be particularly fond of the architecture of this corridor,” he jokes and you ignore his words, walking past him with a renowned determination. He pushes himself off the wall, only to grasp your wrist once again, spinning you around until you’re facing him. 

He chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side. His icy blue contacts pierce through your skin like a puncture needle.  “You know, I’m curious, Julia. You seemed very eager to get away from me.”

You take a step forward, closing the distance between you two. “Have you considered that I found your company utterly boring?”

“You wound me,” he places a hand on his heart, any trace of humor absent from his voice. His grip tightens on your wrist for a millisecond. A warning. “I need you to leave.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

“And why should I listen to you?” you challenge and his eyes darken further. 

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then let me go,” you mutter, slipping your hand away from his grasp. 

“Julia,” he says sternly, pulling you back till your back is against the wall, his hands rooted on either side of your body. 

It is a dimly lit hallway, and the sound of the orchestra barely reaches you. Your worry intermingles with a new kind of nerves, all orchestrated by his proximity, and the way his gaze brushes against your body like a skilled painter. 

“I’m not joking, leave.” His voice is much softer when he adds, “It’s for your own good. What will happen later doesn’t concern you.”

He knows something that you don’t know, something that, from his tone, none of the guests are aware of. You see something human in his eyes, in the slight crease doting his eyebrows. He seems genuinely worried for the innocent civilian he thinks you are. 

Your eyes turn to look at his hand near your head, only to notice his faintly bruised knuckles, shades of purple and green doting a delicate porcelain skin. They have healed well, then. 

Should you unearth the memory from two weeks ago— pleas for mercy, a deafening gunshot, and an excruciating silence afterward, the quiet after the murder that you remember most? 

Then, another scene rings in your head like bells of an ancient church— a bruised hand brushing against your own in an art gallery from two days ago, raven locks, and familiar, melancholy-tinted eyes. 

Could it be? 

Your voice turns sweet, tender, “should I trust you for the night?” your thumb brushes against the skin underneath his eye, wiping away the concealer you knew you spotted.

There it is, the eye mole you thought he covered. 

It clicks in your mind in an instant, pieces of a puzzle falling into place, there are still a few missing but you manage to grasp the bigger picture.

If he’s not letting you go then he could be of good use. 

What other choice do you have but to gamble with a killer? 

Your sharp nails drag across the nape of his neck, before settling right beneath his jaw. You mimic a gun, his eyes narrow in response.

“Is this how you killed Jung Cho, Hyunjin?” 

You feel a cold barrel instantly press against your stomach. “Police officer?” he asks. 

“No.”

“Journalist ?”

“Yes,” you slowly mutter.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t wish to tell you.” The gun only presses further onto your skin. You feel a cold bead of sweat roll down your exposed spine. 

Breathe. 

“It’s Yn.”

“What do you know?”

“It’d be easier for me to talk if you removed the gun,” you smile lightly and Hyunjin only leans further, a distance as thin as a blade between you both.

“Speak.”

“You killed the only candidate that stood a chance in front of San. You drove him to the empty deposit near Inwangsan Mountain, tortured him for three days, filmed his confessions, and then sent them to many media outlets. Ours included. I know it because I followed you.” 

“Why did you follow me?” he questions. Your eyes flee to the end of the corridor where an impossible staircase sits. You are wasting your time. 

“Because I am investigating San. And through following him I ended up getting to know you. You are different from everyone he meets. Very secretive. So I figured it’d be worth a shot following you too,” you explain as calmly as you can. You’re sure the barrel of the gun will leave a bruise on your skin. 

“And why didn’t you write a piece about me? Everyone is dying to know who I am.”

“I have, I just haven’t released it. If I don’t come back home in an hour my head chef will post the video of you murdering Mr. Cho on every SNS. The public loves you for what you’re doing. But the politicians will come together to kill you. They have a price on your head. You are threatening everything they ever built.” 

Hyunjin drags his gun up your stomach slowly, trails it across your collarbones before it settles on your jaw. 

“I could kill you too, right now.” His tone is cold, evil. Very different from the man who asked you to dance. You know that I can.” 

“My death would only sign yours.”

Hyunjin’s forehead rests on the wall right next to your head. You can hear him inhale deeply, hear the gears turning in his head. “Fuck, you are driving me crazy.”

He drops the gun and takes a step back. “Why didn’t you expose me?”

“You are not the one that matters to me.” 

“What do you want from me then?” 

“Three minutes. Open San’s office, and then I’ll go. No one will ever know of your identity.” 

He remains silent. 

“Hyunjin, please.” 

“Fuck, fine. But whatever happens next you’ll have to trust me, okay?” his hands settle on your shoulder, his eyes leveling with yours, “if you’re not leaving then you’ll have to trust me enough, for tonight.” 

8 minutes. 

“After you,” Hyunjin bows slightly as he opens the door to Heo’s office. You step in first, and he steals a quick glance behind him—no one’s here, for now.

“That saved me the hassle of breaking the door.”

“You know how to do that?” he asks, slightly impressed.

“One of my hobbies,” you shrug before walking directly to the desk. Hyunjin leans against the wall, watching as you lift your dress slightly, revealing a small packet tucked into your garter. The sight drives Hyunjin a little crazy, and he closes his eyes for a second.

He really, really wishes he hadn’t met you here tonight.

You take out a listening device, tapping the bottom of the desk until you find a suitable spot, and then you stick it in place.

“Another one of your hobbies?” he smirks.

You giggle. “Mm, aren’t I the most fun?”

“You are,” his eyes drag across your figure, and he notices a slight falter in your posture, “the most beautiful too.”

You blink, and he’s suddenly in front of you, trapping you between the auburn desk and his toned body. You don’t seem intimidated, placing a palm on his chest as you tilt your head to the side. 

“Aren’t you curious why I’m going after San?”

“No, he angers a lot of people.” His thumb caresses your cheek, a touch so soft in contrast to his next words. “A lot of people fantasize about his death.”

“Are you one of them?” you question, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Right now, all I’m fantasizing about is you.” His voice is husky, and he finds it comes out much easier when he actually likes the person he’s attempting to seduce. 

It takes you a few seconds to speak again. “Is that so?”

“Mm, let’s dance.”

“Didn’t we dance downstairs?”

“That was Sam and Julia dancing,” he says as he entwines his fingers with yours. “You see, Hyunjin is a different kind of dancer.” His hand presses against your back, snaking against your bare skin. “Can I pull you closer?” he asks, and you simply nod, eyes fleeting widely all over his face. 

His chest presses to yours, so close he’s sure your hearts are syncing with one another, his inhales alternating with your exhales. 

“Yn,” he whispers your name, as you look up at him through the curve of your eyelashes.  

“Yes, Hyunjin?” His name sounds soft as it stumbles from your ruby lips, innocent from all the blood that drenches his soul.

“I like the way you say my name.” He glances at his watch above your head. 9:57.

“Hyunjin,” you repeat, as your hand drags up his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair and gently dragging it backward, exposing his enticing neck to you. “You are always looking at your watch, what are you waiting for?”

He chuckles faintly, grabbing both your hands and spinning you around till his chin rests on the small of your shoulder. “You’re perceptive,” he mutters, as his fingers drag down your bare arms. “But so am I,” he says coldly as he grabs both your hands, bringing them behind your back. “Look, your hands are shaking just from my proximity. I don’t think you have it in you to film me killing Jung Cho. I don’t think you have it in you to watch me torture someone for three days.”

Click. Cold metal wraps around your wrist in an instant, handcuffing you to the leg of the table before which you’re standing. 

“I think you lied to me, Yn. I don’t like being lied to.”

“What are you doing?” you ask disoriented, panic spilling from your being like an overflowing cup.

Hyunjin pays you no mind, taking out his phone and dialing a number. “Boss, we have a problem. I caught a journalist trying to get into your room,” he taps his chin slowly as he looks at you. “No, no need for security. Just come alone. Don’t alarm the guests.”

2 minutes

“Are you serious?” you ask as soon as he hangs up, a prominent lump in your throat. “You told me to trust you.”

“Did I say I was worth that trust?” he pouts, seemingly mocking the vulnerable ordeal you found yourself in. 

A loud chuckle escapes your lips, your head thrown back as if before a hilarious spectacle of sorts. Hyunjin frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest as your giggles slowly quiet down. 

“You’re a peculiar person, aren’t you Hyunjin? You need to hide your identity but you crave normalcy still, so you open your art gallery. You go to crazy lengths to cover your moles and wear contacts because you wish for people to look at you with admiration in their eyes, kindness. But you don’t deserve it.” There is a fire lit in your eyes, flames latching into his black suit and burning his already scarred skin. “You’ll always be as evil as them.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t respond for a while, his eyes simply softening at your words.

“I know,” he whispers. 

“Who’s this?” San’s voice booms loudly as he sets foot into the office. Hyunjin’s eyes break apart from your figure to look at San, bowing slightly to greet him. 

“Julia, she infiltrated the party,” Hyunjin explains, stealthily locking the door behind San. “She’s been investigating you for quite some time now. And… She knows about the murders.”

“Mm, she’s clever. Should we hire her?” San jokes and Hyunjin smiles politely, dragging his eyes over your face. You simply roll your eyes, seemingly more bored than scared. 

Cute. 

“Anyways,” Heo stares at you for a fleeting second before tapping Hyunjin’s shoulder. “She looks easy to kill. Just get rid of her. But don’t stain my carpet though, it's expensive.”

“Sure thing,” Hyunjin nods, taking out his gun and pointing it at your temple. He steals a final look at his watch— 9:30 p.m. he reads. 

Time’s up. 

“You didn’t think I’d let you go?” Hyunjin mocks, cocking his head at you. In a split second, a bullet ricochets loudly, but not at you. It grazes San’s ear, making him pause near the door, his back towards you both. 

“Right boss?” Hyunjin’s tone is slightly whiny, annoying is the best way to describe it. You can hear police sirens blare loudly outside, see the red and blue hues reflect off the window. Loud shouts erupt downstairs, Hyunjin leisurely reloads his gun, one hand deep into his pocket, San’s posture slightly falters, his fingers digging into the skin of his palm. 

“Do you hear that Heo? Your mansion is surrounded. All your filthy dirt is exposed. The police officers are arresting everyone downstairs right now. And they’re coming for you. The man of the hour.” Hyunjin makes a show of curtsying deeply. You stifle a giggle at his theatrics.

“You dare turn your back on me?” San yells, pivoting around to face Hyunjin’s barrel, the latter simply yawns as if it’s a regular Saturday activity for him. 

“Oh, don’t get emotional on me,” Hyunjin pouts, before his eyes narrow down coldly. “Now kneel. Let’s end this without staining your carpet.”

You see San slowly lowering himself to the ground, Hyunjin’s gaze sets on you for a millisecond, his pupils dilated in apology, in concern, you don’t know, you don't get to decipher his look because San is taking out his gun from his back pocket, aiming it at Hyunjin. “Watch out”— is all you manage to shout, and hyunjin ducks in an instant, propelled by the sound of your voice to the ground.

He could have died, he could have died because he looked at you. 

It all happens so fast, Hyunjin diving into San to take away his gun, both their weapons flinging into the air, San punching Hyunjin’s mouth and the latter retaliating by flinging his fist up against his nose. You’re struggling with your restraints, trying to reach out for the lone gun that fell to your right. 

A bit more, tune out the sirens, tune out the punches, slowly, only a few centimeters left, your wrist is on fire but that is the least of your concern, almost, there, you grab it.

You fire the gun.

It’s quiet once again, for the first time in two years, it is quiet in your head.

It’s over. 

You close your eyes, tilting your head back into the desk. The sound of your mother’s laughter floods your ears, her airy giggles as she brushes your hair and tucks you into her chest, her being a vision of beauty underneath the sun’s caress. 

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin kneels before you, wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks with his bruised knuckles. He is worried, even behind those icy blue contacts, you can still grasp his worry.

You nod, swallowing the sob that is lodged within your throat. Hyunjin is quick to unlock your handcuffs, entwining your fingers with his as he pulls you off the ground. 

You slightly push him aside, your eyes set on San’s bleeding figure. He’s still alive, rugged breaths escaping his chest, his palm pressed to the bullet that punctuated his stomach. 

“I want him dead,” you mutter, grabbing Hyunjin’s forearm to support yourself, “but I want him to rot in prison too.” 

“He will, for all his crimes. I have it all documented. The police have it too,” his palm rubs soothingly against your back, you lean further into his touch.

“He’s a monster.” 

“I know. They all are. That’s why I killed them,” he simply says, before guiding you back to a couch on the right of the office. He shrugs off his suit, draping it over your trembling shoulders. 

“Give me a minute.”

You watch as he grabs the gun you fired off of the ground, before taking a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wipes your fingerprints, making sure to leave his all over the gun. He then walks to the table, taking away your listening device and crushing it to the ground.

He’s calm and collected as he rearranges the scene to his liking, it looks like he has done this a million times before, as if this is the element in which he thrives— a sunflower turning to face the sun, at long last. 

He kneels before your freezing figure one last time, tilting your chin to the side so you’d look at him.

“I fired the gun. You had no idea any of this would happen, you’re just an ambitious journalist who wanted an insider scoop.” He senses you’re somewhere far, pulled by the ropes of memories that had long haunted your dreams. His warm palm presses to your cold cheek, your eyes are glossy as they rest on him. 

“You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who used you as a scapegoat to bring San up here, just like I agreed with the police. Alright? You did nothing.You know nothing.” 

“Alright.”

Hours pass in a cold blur, the weight of time lost on you as three police officers take turns questioning you. You repeat the lines Hyunjin taught you, your voice flat, devoid of emotion. Even as you step out of the police station, with Hyunjin's hand resting gently on your back, you feel nothing. A slight tremor runs through you when he mentions that San survived and will be transferred to prison once he's healed.

You don’t know why you’re disappointed you didn’t become a killer.

You don’t know anything, don’t feel anything as Hyunjin drives you home. You don’t question how he knows your address or the code to your elevator. It’s only when you unlock your door and he starts to pull away that reality snaps back.

Without thinking, you grab his wrist, suddenly aware of the loneliness that awaits you inside, an uninvited guest preying on your vulnerable heart.

“Would you like some tea?” you ask, your voice tinged with hopelessness, knowing just how silly you sound. Why would he stay? He has so many loose ends to thread after his finishing blow, you know he’s part of something far larger than you. 

As if mocking your question, his phone buzzes for the tenth time in the span of five minutes.

But then, to your surprise, he turns it off.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I’d like some tea.”

As you bring the water to a boil, Hyunjin rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, casually wandering around your apartment as if it’s not his first time setting foot in here. He’s always at ease— with a gun pointed at him or while looking at the souvenir magnets on your fridge. 

His calmness helps instill some peace in your heart too. 

“I like your apartment,” he says, accepting the cup of chamomile you hand him. “It’s cozy, feels like a home.”

“Thank you,” you whisper as you sink into the couch, your head hung low. So much has happened in just half an hour, too much for you to fully comprehend and process.

“Let me see,” he says a few sips later, as he gently removes the cup from your clutch, before sliding his thumb across your right wrist. The bruises have already begun to form, the red marks from the handcuffs clear evidence of your struggle to reach the gun.

“I’m sorry I involved you in this,” he murmurs, frowning as he avoids your gaze, staring intently at your wrist as if he could will the blue hues away. “I didn’t plan for you to be at the party.”

“I involved myself,” you chuckle softly. You’re not one for physical touch, but you don’t feel the usual urge to pull away from his grasp. His hands are warm, the roughness of his fingertips a stark contrast to the softness of your skin.

“You’re a stubborn journalist,” he says with a small smile, finally meeting your gaze. you suddenly yearn to look into the rich brown of his eyes once more. Was its shade as deep as you remember?

“And you’re an excellent painter,” you retort, eliciting a surprised laugh from him. The sound is unexpectedly endearing, and you’re caught in a whirlwind of contradictions. Is this really the same man you saw taking a life? The same man now holding your wrist as if it were made of porcelain?

“Right, you figured out my identity. What gave me away?” he asks, still smiling.

“I heard about this new gallery where the artist’s only clue to his identity was the name signed on his paintings. So, I decided to see for myself. While everyone else was captivated by the artwork, I noticed you, standing in the corner, observing the reactions of everyone around. You smiled when someone smiled, and your grin grew wider with each compliment. That’s when I started to suspect that the artist was you, all along.”

“I remember it now. I bumped into you as you were leaving,” he says, and you nod.

“What stood out to me were your sad eyes. That’s what I remember most. Well, besides your bruised knuckles.”

“And that’s how you connected the dots.”

“Yes, and your eye mole, too. Even though you tried to conceal it with makeup, it still showed.”

“Very perceptive,” he says with a grin.

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll expose your identity?” you ask, as his hand gently slides into yours, his fingers resting lightly on top of yours. A simple, innocent touch, yet it stirs something unknown in the pits of your stomach. 

“I trusted you when you said I’m not the one who matters to you.”

“Why would you trust me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I miss putting my faith in someone, even if they end up failing me. Isn’t that the most human trait of all?”

How could an assassin create such heartfelt paintings, overflowing with emotions too hard to explain with words, let alone colors? Perhaps because this isn’t the life he always wanted.

“Did you choose this?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the interrogation, or the near brush with death, or perhaps the relief that this chapter is finally closing for both of you. But something compels you to keep talking, to ask, to hold on to Hyunjin just a little longer.

“Being a killer, you mean?” His voice carries a tenderness that seems at odds with the weight of his words. He’s a walking contradiction, balancing two identities within himself—Hyunjin and Sam. One feels heavier on his bones than the other. 

“I grew up in this world,” he continues. “My parents run a large network of assassins—or vigilantes, depending on how you see it. Some people hire us, and sometimes we act on our own when we see injustice or corruption festering for too long. We conduct thorough background checks. We only kill those who truly deserve it. We always make sure of that.”

“An eye for an eye.”

He nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I always feel good in the midst of a case. One less evil in the world. But after, there’s just this emptiness. Now what? I always wonder. So I try to fill the void with painting.”

“Now what…” you repeat, your voice trembling as a lump forms in your throat. “Now what? What should I do now?” Tears well up and spill over suddenly, streaming down your face in an unstoppable torrent. “San is behind bars, but my mom isn’t coming back. So what now? What was all of this for if I can’t get her back?”

You find yourself burying your head in the crook of Hyunjin’s neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close as if he could contain your sadness, preventing it from seeping from your soul and reaching your mother, wherever she may be.

You haven’t allowed anyone to hold you like this in two years, denying yourself any comfort until you could bring your mother’s killer to justice. It was a promise you made to yourself after San drunkenly ran her over and fled the scene, leaving you alone to hug her cold body in that sterile hospital room.

“It drove me crazy,” you sob, your words broken and incoherent. “He bribed everyone—the doctors, the paramedics, the stores nearby. Everyone acted like my mom didn’t d-die because of h-him,” you hiccup, and Hyunjin only holds you tighter, closer, enough to stitch your wounds with time, only if he remains this close to you. If he wishes to, if you allow him to.

“But now he’s behind bars, and I still don’t have my mom. What do I do now that I can’t bury myself in revenge? Hyunjin, what should I do when I miss her so much and I can’t see her?”

Five hours later.

“The article is perfect, no corrections needed,” Chris says, removing his glasses and looking at you with approval. “Excellent work, Yn.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief, but mostly exhaustion. “I stayed up all night working on it.” 

“Goid, it’s only 6 a.m. so we know that no other media outlet has touched this yet. Our article will be the one to shape public opinion. This is a big win for us. It’s a thorough investigation, and I’m confident you’ll get the recognition you deserve,” he writes something down onto his notebook before looking at you once more. “Take a few days off—you’ve earned it. I’ll reach out if anything urgent comes up.”

“Thank you, sir.” You bow slightly before turning to leave the suffocating office. Or maybe it’s your own mind that’s suffocating you. You don’t have time to dwell on the question before Chris speaks again. 

“Oh, Yn?” Chris calls out just as your hand touches the doorknob. “One last thing, did you ever figure out who was behind all those tapes?”

Your grip on the doorknob tightens imperceptibly. “No sir, no clue.” 

One month later. 

It’s a few minutes before the art gallery closes when you walk in. Hyunjin spots you before you see him, your distinctive walk etched in his memory as vividly as if it were only yesterday that he had seen it.

He approaches quietly, stopping behind you as you gaze at the newest addition to his collection.

“Is this us?” you ask, not turning around. Hyunjin’s eyes follow yours to the abstract painting of a couple waltzing in a ballroom, their hands intertwined just like yours were, four Saturdays ago.

“Yes,” he replies softly.

“It seems I left an everlasting impression on you,” you tease, he can hear the smile in your voice without seeing it. 

“You did. You looked beautiful.”

“So did you.”

“I’m glad you came,” he says sincerely. “I missed you.”

“But we only spent a day together,” you giggle quietly, and Hyunjin wishes he could capture your laugh and tuck it away in the veins of his heart.

“Didn’t that day feel like a year, though?” he muses, resting his chin gently on your shoulder. You lean back into him, closing the space between you.

“It did,” you admit before nervously clearing your throat. “Are you free right now? We could grab a drink, if you’d like?”

“Chamomile tea?” he chuckles, and your laughter vibrates through his being.

“No, something stronger this time.”

He hums, hesitating as he despises the words that would stumble out of his mouth. “I have some things to handle tonight. Urgent matters.”

“Ah,” your voice dips slightly, the disappointment clear in your tone. “Well, it’s okay. I’ll see you another time, then,” you say, finally turning to face him. 

He really missed you. 

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Okay.”

“Congratulations on your award, by the way,” he says, watching your expression soften, a delicate smile forming on your lips.

“You saw it?”

“I did. I read your piece, too. I’m sure your mom would be proud of you.”

Tears of gratitude well up in your eyes, and you squeeze Hyunjin’s hand tightly as you whisper, “Thank you. Really. Thank you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s words linger in your soul, echoing through your mind for the rest of your day, his voice the only sound that seems to fill the silence within you. That is until three loud knocks resonate through your apartment, just minutes before midnight. 

You open the door to find Hyunjin standing there, a fresh bruise marring his jaw, his knuckles freshly scraped and bloodied.

“Let me guess, you had nowhere else to go?” you joke, trying to regain your composure at the sight of him once more.

“No,” he replies, his tone earnest, “I wanted to come to you.”

Your smile falters at the sincerity in his voice. You can’t quite place what it is about Hyunjin that pulls you toward him, how amidst everything that’s happened in the past month, the most vivid memory is how he held you gently as you cried and cried.

“I forgot something,” he says, pulling a tube of cooling cream from his back pocket and offering it to you. “I meant to give this to you for your bruised wrists.”

He’s a month late, you both know your wrists have long since healed.

“I… yeah,” he sighs before your silence, turning to leave, a light blush tinting his cheeks. But before he can, you drop the tube and grab his hand, spinning him back around.

“I forgot something too,” you say quickly before pressing your lips against his.

You don’t fully understand what draws you to Hyunjin, but you know his lips taste as sweet as cherry chapstick, that his hand around your waist feels like water flowing gently over your skin, warm and encompassing. That his brown eyes remind you of sunlight dancing on autumn leaves, that no one has touched your soul as deeply as he has.

You know you wish to make him feel as human as he makes you.

[cordeliawhohung]

You created a monster in me with underboss!Simon and now you must take responsibility.

Please feed my new addiction with relationship headcanons 😩😩😩. I love him and Shy!reader.

i've created so many monsters y'all gotta stop biting at my ankles or at least start paying rent or smth <3 also i'm still trying to work out a lot of the dynamics of the relationship between them so this is still a little bare boned but i hope you enjoy!

mafia!141 masterlist <3

warnings: mostly fluff :3 simon is a bit of a prick lol, fem!reader,

just in case anyone missed it, this is how underboss!Simon and shy!Reader meet <3

it takes a brutally long time for the two of you to start dating. a brutally long time.

and it isn't for lack of trying on Simon's end. he manages to get your number somehow (i hear Soap is very tech savvy...) and asks you out the week after the dinner at John's house, only for you to decline.

which is fine. he can take rejection. but this is... different. you're too kind when you say no. you're not saying it because you think you're too good for him, you're saying it because of something else, and Simon can tell the difference but can't exactly tell what it is.

it drives him nuts for a long time. you were supposed to be just another number in his phone for a booty call. he's used to getting pretty much anything he wants, after all, but even then it shouldn't have bugged him as much as it did. maybe it was because he liked the way you looked at him. not with disgust. not with some lustful intention. you were... soft. kind, even.

as for you? you think it's crazy how this 6'4", ripped, and kind guy showed interest in you. you, someone too anxious for her own good, someone who said no because it was less scary than committing to something. and you hate yourself for rejecting him.

so in an effort to stay close to him, you text him pretty often. you send him pictures of things you see or run into during your day. something funny at work, a cool rock you found in someone's garden, the spider that decided to make its home in your shower. and sweetheart, you have no idea what you're doing to the poor man ):

this goes on for a long while. just simon being a stupid man, not wanting to push your boundaries after you already rejected him, and you being too anxious to fix things and ask him yourself.

eventually, by some miracle (that i might write more about later because like i said BARE BONES) the two of you get together. and it's... interesting. simon isn't really used to dating. like properly. he's used to buttering a girl up, going back to her place for a quick fuck, and then only seeing her whenever either of them are too bored and horny to function. but with you it's nothing like that at all. there's no sex on the first date, not even a damn kiss, and he finds himself craving you more than ever because of it. wanting to be around you all the time, wanting to hear about your day.

man is fucking obsessed.

he treats you like a princess. he only ever really spent his money on stupid shit but now he can spend it on you! you never ask for anything, but god forbid if you express that anything, be it clothes or otherwise, looks cute because he will buy it for you, no matter how awkward you are at receiving gifts.

also! because he's so big and somewhat brutish, no one fucks with you when you're in public together. annoying kiosk clerks trying to aggressively sell you something? one look from him and they're gone. someone messed up your order but you're too anxious to ask them to fix it? he's advocating for you.

because of him, you find yourself growing less afraid and anxious of things. he teaches you how to be brave, and you teach him how to be soft. there's nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for you <3

oh also btw he's in the mafia. he might have forgotten to mention that... hope that doesn't freak you out or anything. don't worry about the blood on his shirt or the bruises on his face or the cuts on his arms or... oh god you look like you're going to cry. it's nothing, sweetheart! promise! stop trying to take him to the hospital!

also, some sorta unrelated comments: i think shy!reader is def a hostess at a restaurant. i feel like simon would hang out at the restaurant too just to be around you. he'd also slip you a tip, even though you tell him you make hourly and don't depend on tips.

"consider it my way of saying thanks for sitting us at the table with the best view."

the view is you, btw.

AHHH i'm sorry this was such a mess? i have so many jumbled thoughts but i'm glad i was able to get some of them out and i hope they were somewhat enjoyable al;kdjf i'll be working on a short drabble/oneshot for him over the weekend, so i'm hoping that'll make up for this <3

[princessbrunette]

flirting with people that weren’t lord!rafe went against his house rules. duh. you knew that. what you didn’t realise, was that being flirted with was also a punishable offence — even though it wasn’t your fault.

maybe punishment was too dramatic of a term. but, rafe was very big on ‘sending a message’, which is exactly what he was doing as he had you totally naked— bent over the bed with his dick wedged inside you to the hilt. he pants, toned chest rising and falling as he adjusts his stance, his phone pressed to his ear.

he hadn’t said much to whoever was on the other end, but you knew from the small amounts of context given that it was him. one of rafe’s work friends had attended one of the infamous parties at tannyhill. with that, you instantly caught his attention. you were polite, not sure what to do as you assumed rafe thought highly of this man he works with, so when he was all but forcing his advances on you, perhaps you didn’t try hard enough to shoo him away. he’d grabbed you, complimented you, and when he’d pulled you onto his lap you quickly had found an excuse to get up. touching anyone but rafe did feel wrong at this point, and you’d dread to get in trouble.

his ringed hand slides slowly up your back, until he reaches the back of your neck — pushing you a little firmer against the luxurious bedsheets before slowly drawing back and grinding his cock through you. you shudder, breath hitching in your throat with a pathetic squeak and to match this a barely audible chorus of quiet, yearning moans from the doorway — rafes harem of apparent nymphomaniacs gathered to watch the show. he takes no notice of them, eyes on where you connect.

“i guess… i guess when you look the way you do everyone’s gonna want you, right? can’t really— can’t really get mad at you for that.” he addresses you this time, and you stay quiet, not wanting to step out of line. you’re drenched, walls spasming around him with enough need to drive you crazy. the pace he was going was torturous. now, rafe addresses the man on the phone.

“and you’re gonna listen to this, a’ight— gonna listen to every god damn sound. you—you know you really shouldn’t touch what’s not yours.” he drawls into the receiver as he speeds up. the bed starts to creak as rafe fucks into you, and you can’t hold back the whines and mewls that fall from you. “yeah.” he grunts out in approval as you do so.

you fuck back against him as best as you can from that position, and to reward you — he wedges his phone between his ear and shoulder and shoves a now free hand beneath you to grind his fingers against your clit as you fuck on him. your legs twitch, and you’re already getting close seeing as rafe had been working at this for ages.

“oh rafe — rafe!” you moan loudly, voice breaking and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“yeah, what’s my fuckin’ name, huh?” he picks up the phone, holding it up between you to pick you up better.

“rafe!”

“and who am i? tell him.”

“my lord!”

rafe stills suddenly, before pressing the phone back to his ear breathlessly. “you hear that? i’m her god damn lord. you touch my girl again, and i won’t be so nice alright?”

impatiently, he hangs up and tosses his phone aside before suddenly both hands are back on you and he’s putting his all in — fucking you through your orgasm and also his until it was bordering on painful.

catching his breath in the aftermath, you lay in fetal position as he sits up beside you with a cigar. rafe has one hand on your back, absentmindedly tracing your spine — and the rest of the girls had scurried off, leaving the two of you in silent solace. you brave a question through a cracked, broken voice.

“why didn’t he just hang up the phone?” it’s barely a whisper as you roll over to face rafe, looking up at him through sticky eyelashes. he stares ahead, nonchalantly shrugging one shoulder with downturned lips.

“uh, he just didn’t have the hands to do that anymore i’m afraid.”

you get a weird sinking feeling in your stomach, now piecing together that this man wasn’t willingly on the phone to rafe, more so being forced by his goons. you sit up a little on your elbow, eyeing him.

“rafe, did you hurt him?”

you sound so innocent, he can’t help but chuckle.

“no, uh— i didn’t.”

you decided not to ask anymore questions.

[edamette]

Analyzing König's presonality

Original post made in TikTok by shikided, published here with their permission.

Let’s start with the fact that König is not shy or self-conscious.

Social anxiety in his case is expressed rather by aggression towards others. Aggression is his defense mechanism (it is different for all people, for some may be a smile, for example).

He can treat people coldly, as well as rudely, out of a subconscious fear of getting into an awkward situation, of being in a vulnerable position. Of course, he is unlikely to like being in a crowd, but this does not mean that he will start to panic and blush, after all, he is a disciplined soldier.

However, König is active and restless, as evidenced by the fact that he was not accepted as a sniper not only because of his height, but also because of his inability to stay in place for a long time. (This is suits his stormy temper)

His expressiveness is especially noticeable in the way he speaks, and Jim Boeven conveys this perfectly. Just compare the original voice acting by Konig and, for example, the Russian one. In Russian, his voice is much calmer and more direct, more balanced, which is out of character.

König is impudent, proud, sharp-tongued. “Pick your guts off the floor” or “and they said that I couldn’t be a sniper” – he’s literally spitting bile, and this still hurts him, as a consequence of the fact that he’s trying to look like a sniper, making himself a mask with his own hands. This desire meant a lot to him, and this is to some extent his personal protest. König did not fully accept the refusal, did not resign himself.

König is brave, even somewhat passionate, not afraid to rush straight into the heat: “get me back into the fight”, “I’m ready for another round”, “don’t worry, leave the heavy lifting to me”.

However, he understands the advantage his height and build give him and uses it. Moreover, he knows how good he is on the battlefield, and does not hesitate to say about it: “finally, some worthy adversaries”, “they are no match for me”. These phrases reveal a need for personal self-affirmation due to his childhood bullying and humiliation. König compensates for the lack of recognition with arrogance and pride, as even his name (King in German) suggests.

This, like his defense mechanism, can cause a disdainful attitude towards other soldiers: “who taught you to shoot?”, “not bad, I’ve seen better”, “let’s be honest, it’s better off in my hands”, “hands off, it’s mine”, curses are also present.

Some fans for some reason see him as a big child, few others as a brutal killer.

König is a fighting unit, a man trained to kill, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’ll kill you for some little thing. He can, of course, but he won’t. König is a hostage rescue specialist, His task is not only to eliminate, but also to save.

Pay attention to his pose in the menu. König does not look shy and cute. On the contrary, his movements are calm, even relaxed, he demonstrates confidence and strength. He raises his hand and points at the player, as if to say “Pikachu, I choose you”, or “we’re gonna make this day”

His phrases sound friendly towards us, like “together we should be victorious”, or “you can be in my team any day” and even “with you until the end”

He seems to be encouraging his comrade, with whom he is now leading a mission. König is closed and cold, but loyal and kind towards his people. Due to his character, I doubt that he has many people whom he truly values, such a person will be very attentive and selective towards those who surround him, therefore he seems to me be a loyal and reliable friend to those whom he truly considers them his loved ones.

Summary: König is an interesting character with a psychological point of view, with his own bee in his bonnet.

Closed, arrogant, cocky, loyal, devoted.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Mark of Luck

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!reader

Summary: You give Feyd your mark of luck before he enters the arena. 

Words: 600

Notes/Warnings: Part of The Harkonnen’s Sweet Thing and The Harkonnen’s Claim, but I don’t think they have to be read to understand this. I doubt lipstick tubes are a thing in the Dune universe, but let’s pretend. Also, pregnancy. Fluff

Feyd Masterlist

“Open a little,” Feyd says as he lightly grasps your chin between his fingers. 

You part your lips the slightest as Feyd lines the tube of lipstick up with your mouth. The deep black shade slides smoothly across your bottom lip with the motion of his hand. Then he swipes the stick along your upper lip, dabbing here and there to ensure your mouth is richly coated. 

“There,” he says, satisfied. He caps the tube and tosses it on the bed behind you. “Beautiful.”

You smile, taking his hand so he can help you sit comfortably atop the mattress. Once you're seated, you place your hands at his waist and lean in to press a kiss to the scar your brother inflicted during their duel on Arrakis a handful of months ago.

On that day, you thought you'd lost the man you love, but he survived, and ever since, you've marked that line of raised skin on his abdomen with your kiss before he enters any battle. A reminder to you both that if he is strong enough to have cheated death, he is strong enough to defeat his opponents, no matter how many he faces. It's become a token of luck from you, and from your unborn son, that you like to believe is quite effective.

You draw back to examine the perfect imprint of your lips on his skin. 

“Will you come watch me today?” he asks as he tucks a few loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “Or is our son making you too nauseous for the arena?”

You run your hand over your swollen belly. “A bit nauseous, I'm afraid,” you sigh. You love your baby, but he has definitely put your body through it, and even with only two months left of your pregnancy, you still encounter symptoms the midwife said would pass after the first trimester.

Feyd leans down to kiss your forehead, then lower to meet your lips. “Maybe he's just eager to join us.”

You chuckle. “His incessant kicking would indicate so.” With your thumb, you wipe away all traces of the black hue from your husband's mouth. 

“Then rest,” he tells you. “And when I'm back we can have our bath, hmm?”

You grin at the thought. Another one of your rituals around his fights in the arena. When he returns to you, you always run enough warm water to fill the tub, settle in with him, and wash the blood of his victims from his body, which, more often than not, leads to other activities.

You nod. “Yes.”

“I love you,” he says, giving you one more long kiss. Then his hand joins yours on your stomach, eyes lighting up when your son’s little foot pushes against his palm. 

“I love you,” you repeat back to him. “We love you. So you better fight well for us, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.”

Feyd takes your hand and guides it to his heart. Ferocious beats thump against your palm, the steady rhythm reminding you so much of the strength and will of your baby. You can feel him through your shared bond as he grows within your body, and he is his father’s son—another Harkonnen to prove the resilience of this Great House. Just like your husband, your boy will be brave, he will be powerful, and he will have the same thirst for the fight.

Feyd’s thumb strokes over your knuckles as he says, “I always do.”

---

tags: @avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t

[pseudowho]

Thinking about Takuma Ino, who becomes a father so young when you fall unexpectedly pregnant. Thinking about the fear in your eyes, the shaking hands going to hold each other's, the positive test clasped between them. The way Takuma reassures you; "it's okay, it's okay, I always wanted to be a dad...sure, not this soon-- but we'll be fine. Better than fine, we'll be great."

The way Takuma goes for a walk that night, after you've cried yourself to sleep, crouching down in an alleyway with his beanie'd head in his hands, wondering how he could possibly ever be a good father. Wanting to marry you, to do things 'right', but afraid you'd think he only wanted to marry you because of the pregnancy.

The way Takuma arrives on his mother's doorstep (the mother who raised him alone, young, single) in the dead of night, pale-faced. The way his mother holds him as he cries and apologises at the dining room table, his face in her robed chest. The way she cups his face, and stares into his eyes; "we can do this, together, the right way. You're a good boy. Now be a good man."

The way Takuma learns to be a father, from his mother, who was his whole world. The way Takuma works himself to the bone, squirrelling money away, booking in with estate agents to go and view your first home together in a way that makes your hormonal heart clench.

The way Takuma's head hits the pillow, weary after working all night, then comes straight up again as he hears you vomiting in the bathroom, kneeling behind you to stroke your hair back, holding you gently round the waist on the tiled floor; "attagirl...it'll be better soon, right? Toughest girl I know. Doin' such a great job."

The way Takuma takes up embroidery, buying cheap plain clothes for the baby, because he can't afford much, but adding small artistic touches of beauty; a frog with a toadstool hat, a little trailing succulent vine, a shooting star.

The way Takuma is bright and excited; there for every scan, every class, every milestone. The way Takuma puts on a brave face. The way Takuma hides in the staffroom at work, his head in his hands, creaking under the weight of responsibility. The way he feels a strong hand clasp his shoulder, a beige suit, a blue shirt, a leopard print tie at the corner of his eye; "I know you're going to say no...but I'd like to buy a gift. For both of you. For the baby."

The way Takuma feels so ashamed for accepting help; the way a crib, a beautiful buggy, a snug and safe car seat, all gradually arrive at your new home. The way he tries to insist on paying Nanami Kento back. Nanami naturally refuses, pretends to be inordinately interested in his newspaper.

The way Takuma can't help but buy the baby a few beanies. The way you retaliate by buying an outfit that looks just like Ino's. He is thrilled.

The way Takuma's embroidery has advanced so well, he makes four little Auspicious Beasts to hang from a mobile above the crib.

The way Takuma paints beautiful, geometric, zany black and white shapes on the wall in the baby's bedroom; "They only see black, white and red at first babe. Neat, right?"

The way Takuma is pale throughout your labour, his eyes feverish, your pain so much harder than any battle he's ever been to. The way his tears hit him in a huge whooshing breath, a head-holding groan of relief when his baby son is placed on your chest, wet and crying, a little angry clenched face. The way Takuma rests his cheek on his arm at the top of your bed, gazing down and sniffling as his son holds his finger.

The way Takuma takes you both home, proud, woefully in love, still wondering how he's ever going to grow up and be a man, without realising he's already so much more of a man than so many others in this world.

Thinking about young dad Takuma Ino.

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Bran I

So deep in thought was he that he never heard the rest of the party until his father moved up to ride beside him.

“Are you well, Bran?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Yes, Father,” Bran told him.

He looked up. Wrapped in his furs and leathers, mounted on his great warhorse, his lord father loomed over him like a giant.

“Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid.”

“What do you think?” his father asked.

Bran thought about it. “Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“That is the only time a man can be brave,” his father told him.

[buckys-metal-arm]

Comfort

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: three instances of Bucky associating someone stroking his hair with comfort.

Warnings: fluff and angst, mentions of illness, period-accurate toxic masculinity, mentions of nightmares, no y/n used, only pronoun used is "you"

A/N: this is based on something I wrote for my self indulgent self-insert OC Juniper, where Bucky tells them the story of the first two memories and then decided I wanted to also do an x Reader with a similar idea.

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

1930

One time, when Bucky was young, he was hit with an awful bout of illness. He felt like there was a hundred pound weight on his chest, and he couldn’t stop coughing. Steve kept trying to sneak in to go see his friend, but would be shooed away before he could actually see his friend. Rebecca, Bucky’s little sister, would slip notes from her and Steve under his door as often as she could, trying to remind him he wasn’t alone. One night, when his sickness got real bad, his mother came in to sit up with him. Since it was the Depression, she would be up pretty much every night working on sewing alterations until her fingers cramped and bled. But tonight, she was staying with her Baby Boy. She rubs Vick’s on his chest in hopes of soothing the cough, and sits by his bedside. When Bucky’s coughing gets so bad that he can’t fall asleep, she sits on the mattress next to him, running their fingers through his hair until he falls asleep. She saw how much it soothed him, and from then on whenever he was sick she would stay with him, running her fingers through her son’s hair to calm him. 

1942

Bucky was an adult now, dressed in a soldier’s uniform and trying to pretend he was proud of that. He’d just gotten home from the Stark Expo, and found that his mother and sister had stayed up to wait for him. Rebecca hugs her brother goodbye before heading to bed, but Bucky and Winnefred stay up late talking. During the conversation everything hits him at once. He’d spent the entire day forcing a smile and pretending to be brave, being strong in front of his date, of Steve, of anyone who saw him and saw a young man ready to take on the world and fight for his country. 

When in reality?

 He’s been terrified ever since he learned he was drafted. 

He broke down in front of his mother, telling her that he’s not ready, that he’s scared, and that he hates that he’s scared. That he’s a coward. But his mother shakes her head, and hugs her son tight. She doesn’t tell him to “man up” or that he needs to “get ahold of himself”, just held him and assured him that it’s okay, that he’s not a coward, that he’s not weak for being afraid. She took him back to his bedroom, getting him settled under the covers and sitting at his bedside, stroking his hair the same way she did when he was young. 

“Rest now, James,” she whispered, brushing his hair out of his eyes, “you don’t have to be strong tonight…” 

Now

Bucky woke up screaming, drenched in sweat. He tried to take deep breaths, to calm himself down, but the nightmares that had forced him awake still ravaged his subconscious. 

“Bucky?” He whipped around to see you, eyes tired but still filled with concern, “are you alright, Baby?” 

“Yeah,” he gasped out, running a hand through his hair, “yeah, yeah, I'm…I-I’m…” 

“Oh,” you cooed, wrapping your arms around him and laying your head on his back, “oh Sweetheart…” 

You hugged him close, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Can you feel my breath?” You asked, running your fingers along his stomach. Bucky nodded, “good, Buck. Can you follow my breathing?” 

He matched your breaths as best he can, and you held him until he calmed down. Once his breathing evened out, you pressed another kiss to the crook of his neck and smiled softly. 

“What do you need to feel better, Sweet Boy?” You asked, “what do you need to go back to sleep?” 

Bucky chewed his lip for a moment, trying to decide. His mind drifted to his youth, to his mother carding her fingers through his hair and the feeling of serenity it brought him. 

“M-my hair,” he murmured. You looked confused, “will you stroke my hair for a bit?” 

He didn't give you a chance to respond. 

“Sorry,” Bucky's blue eyes wouldn't meet theirs, “that sounds stupid, but my Ma used to do it when I was younger but–” 

“Shhhh,” you slid in front of him, “it's not stupid. Of course I'll stroke your hair.” 

His blue eyes met yours, relief flooding his gaze. 

“Lay back down, Sweetheart,” he settled himself on top of you, laying his head on your chest and listening to your heartbeat. You cradled his head against your body, running your fingers through his dark hair. His eyes were already starting to feel heavy, and he nuzzled into your neck, a little hum escaping him.

“Get some rest, Bucky,” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head as he started to give in to sleep, “I love you.” 

The same feeling of serenity overtook him, and Bucky drifted off in his partner's arms.

[hyukakisses]

-emo taehyun accidentally knocking you up!

pairings: taehyun x fem reader

plot: random headcanons of taehyun knocking up reader, (vv old re-edited request repost from my old page)

warnings: smut, cursing, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), disapproving family (on reader’s side)

“t-too much!” your voice came out in desperate pleas due to feeling overstimulated from taehyun’s brutal assault against your needy pussy

the man above you, taehyun let’s out a deep chuckle, his lips finding your ear as he whispers. “you can take it. i know you can”

“you’re strong baby, aren’t you? my strong girl” the emo boy rasped in attempt to comfort you by encouraging you

your mind was in a daze, you could only think taehyun taehyun taehyun “i-im your strong girl”

taehyun cups your face very much enjoying your response as his thrusts quicken, loud squelching noises echo throughout the room as he can sense you’re about to cum again.

“that’s right you are my strong girl, you’re so brave baby and you can take everything i give you can’t you? my good girl” taehyun kisses you, the kiss needy and desperate as your whines increase. you were too spent to even reply, so you just nod at your boyfriend’s words.

taehyun snickers at your fucked out state, loving how you’d get when you were fucked too dumb to reply back to him. “you’re so good for me baby, taking everything i give you like a perfect little girl.”

his head lowers to the crook of your neck again as he releases the grip on your face, “my good girl. you want to cum don’t you?”

“y-yes” your poor body trembles at the pace of taehyun’s thrusts, he was so close you could feel him budge at your stomach

“you can cum baby” taehyun grants you your release before speaking up again. “but only if i can breed this pretty pussy”

you were too blissed out to remember if you were on the pill or not, so you dumbly nod signaling it was okay immediately cumming around your boyfriend’s member your little legs giving out as you whine in relief.

taehyun could only coo at you, finding how you got after cumming so hard so cute as he releases his white robes deep inside you stilling his movement. his big arm pressing down your tummy budge to calm down your trembling, afraid that his cum would go to waste if you both weren’t still.

“ssh baby just relax, you’re doing so well being good just taking my cum in your pretty pussy” taehyun presses tiny kisses around your face this action calming you down as you melt away into a deep slumber.

taehyun smiles down at your sleeping state, pulling out of your sloppy cunt reaching over for a rag because even if you were asleep taehyun always cleaned you, scooping you into his big strong arms as you lay there defenseless deep into dreamland :(

the next few weeks taehyun has noticed your change in personality, although you were your cute yapping self he’s just noticed you’re more clingy than normal. “d-don’t go don’t go!” you’d let out a shriek as your arms loop around your boyfriend’s neck pulling taehyun into a tight embrace. “baby im just going to the gym i’ll be back in an hour” taehyun sighs “then take me with you!”

taehyun start connecting the dots, you were moody, clingy and your period hasn’t came yet so you definitely had to be pregnant.

taehyun groaned quietly, seeing the notification of an incoming phone call from your father. already assuming the worst since you were always such a daddy’s girl of course you told about your pregnancy, you told him everything.

although you and taehyun now wish you hadn’t, since your pregnancy was the only thing your father could ever talk about

“i can’t believe this!” “what were you thinking?” “you’re both only twenty two give yourselves some time!”

“you really think taehyun is going to help out with the baby? he’s in a rock band for crying out loud and he wears makeup!”

part of taehyun wanted you to get an abortion so he wouldn’t have to deal with your father anymore but anything you wanted to do with the baby taehyun will support even if that meant dealing with your annoying dad ):

a/n: im sorry im a golden star lesbian i don’t know how pregnancy works :( enjoy enjoy!

[writemekpop]

Imperfect | Lee Jeno

Summary: You and Jeno make a list of everything you don’t like about each other. 

Genre: Established relationship AU, angst

Word count: 1k

“You don’t believe in soulmates?” Jeno says, as you lie with your head on his chest. His fingers freeze in your hair, showing his shock. 

“I mean, you’re not gonna like everything about your partner,” you say.

“You don’t like – things about me?” Jeno says. “Like what?” 

Your breath falls short. 

“Not big things!” you say, struggling to dig yourself out of this hole. “Your aftershave! It’s a little… intense.” You suppress a grin. “Like I’m drowning.”

Jeno flops back onto the pillow. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You’ve gotta have things you don’t like about me too!” you insist.

“I can’t think of any,” Jeno groans. “I’m too busy trying to smell myself!” 

You hug Jeno tightly, savouring the feeling of his tight muscles beneath your hands. 

“Let’s just make a list, okay? Whenever something bothers us, we’ll write it down, then at the end of the week, we’ll share. No fights.” 

Jeno smiles. “Good idea.”

-- One week later --

Jeno tries to snatch the piece of paper from you. “Just show me! It’s been ages...”

You wrestle the paper out of his hands. Your heart is racing. “One sec! Just making some – last minute – edits.”

You are desperately scratching half of your list out with a pencil – because you realised that Jeno’s list was just a tiny post-it note, whereas you had a full sheet. 

Jeno snatches the paper from your fingers. “A-ha!” Jeno says. 

He clears his throat dramatically. “Mis-matching socks. Too afraid to talk to the people at the store.” He sits down on the bed, a frown growing on his face. “Kind of ugly… laugh.” The paper starts to shake in his hands. “Sort of – a – crybaby.”

Jeno tries to fling the paper on the floor, but it just wafts slowly down. His chest is rising and falling fast. He scrubs his eyes furiously. 

“Hey! Don’t be mad!” you say, sitting next to him. “You wrote a list about me too. Oh, Jeno, please don’t be upset.”

Jeno glares at you, his eyes red. “I’m not upset. Because that would make me a huge crybaby, and you hate that.”

He storms out of the room. 

You scramble to the floor and pick up Jeno’s list, on its yellow Post-it. You read what is written on it. 

You sink slowly to the floor. You feel like a horrible person. You wish you had never been born. You finally found a good guy, and you stamped on his heart like it was nothing. 

List of things wrong with Y/n:

Nothing 

You’re perfect 

---

You are crouched outside the bathroom door. Jeno has been in there for an hour. 

“Jeno, honey, please talk to me,” you say. 

“Get out!” Jeno yells. 

“You didn’t read the end of the list!” you say. “It says – none of this matters, because you’re the kindest, most passionate, most caring man I’ve ever met.”

You hear the lock clicking, and jump to your feet. 

Jeno opens the door, just a crack. “You don’t get it, do you?” His stare is ice-cold. “All my life, I was told that I wasn’t tough enough, brave enough, man enough. Until I met you, and you told me I was enough.” He shakes his head. “But you were lying.”  

He closes the door in your face. Through the door, you hear him say, “You know what hurts? The fact that I truly thought you were perfect. I was wrong. You’re mean, Y/n.”  

---

For the next two weeks, you spend every day reminding Jeno all the reasons that you love him - but he still gives you the silent treatment. 

One day, when you and Jeno are eating dinner in silence, Jeno slapped a piece of paper onto the table.

“What is that?” you say. 

“It’s my list.” Jeno says. “For you.” He picks it up and reads aloud. “Wears too much makeup. Judgemental. Mean. Can never take responsibility in arguments…”

Each word feels like a slap in the face. You thought that Jeno was too sweet to notice any of that stuff, but you were wrong. 

You clasp his hand, as tears start to fall. “I’m sorry, Jeno. I’m gonna treat you better, I promise.”

Jeno frowns. “Wait. You’re not… mad?”

You shake your head. 

Jeno’s eyebrows rise. “You’re not gonna deny it? Or fight back?”

You shake your head. “No. These past few weeks, I’ve realised that I – I don’t like looking at who I really am. Because who I am is… ugly. But I’m gonna change.”

Jeno clasps both your hands in his. “Oh, Y/n.” 

He comes round the table and pulls you into a tight, warm hug. You have been craving his touch for so long that that hug restores you to life. 

“I love you, you stupid idiot,” Jeno says. 

“I love you, too,” you squeak.

“Now who’s the crybaby?” Jeno says, chuckling. 

You laugh through your tears. “Shut up.” 

Jeno’s smile is warm, all signs of anger completely gone. But you have a niggling feeling you can't quite shake. 

“Do you really think I wear too much make up?” you ask, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. 

Jeno scratches his head. “Maybe… I dunno, I think I was just lashing out.” 

You stay silent. 

“Y/n, I think you’re gorgeous, inside and out. Smoking hot. Ten out of ten. Definitely would bang.” 

You snort. 

Jeno smiles, eyes crinkling. “I’m sorry, baby. I hate it when we fight.” 

You bury your head in Jeno’s neck, touching your lips against his soft skin. You can feel his soft sighs against your ear. Heaven. 

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[dean-winchesters-clit]

Been thinking about the kiss scene and Ed asking to go slow and Stede reaching out to hold his hand, asking if it's okay.

Yes, it's awesome that Ed is setting boundaries and Stede is honoring those boundaries, but I think there's more to it than that.

Stede tries to initiate more during their kiss. He's the one who grasps Ed's hair, the one who takes the kiss from chaste to passionate. Stede is a man who has been denied human connection and intimacy for most of his life. He's a man dying of thirst in a desert and Ed is the beautiful oasis he's stumbled upon, so of course Stede wants to drink his fill. Who wouldn't want a piece of Edward Teach? But then Ed pulls away, uses Stede's own words against him, and you can immediately tell that Stede is scared he's being too much.

I've been a very physically affectionate person my whole life. I love hugs and giving cheek kisses and snuggling so much. I still sleep with my baby blanket so I have something to hold at night. I'm always afraid of being too much for other people. I've overstepped other people's boundaries before and it feels awful to do so. Because of this, I've often compromised my own need for physical affection, always letting other people set the boundaries and never telling them if I need more. This became a big problem in my last relationship; I accepted less than crumbs even though I was starving.

Stede is clearly starving for any physical contact with Ed. He sits close to him on the couch in Anne and Mary's house, always moving and leaning closer. He tries to initiate more during their kiss and even grabs Ed to keep him from moving away. So, when Ed sets a clear boundary, Stede is terrified to even initiate another touch. He's afraid of being too much, of scaring Ed off.

Which is why it's so fucking brave of him to ask if holding Ed's hand is okay.

Ed jokes about them both being the fish that wants to get caught and Stede visibly relaxes at the familiar banter between them. So, he takes a risk and reaches out for a point of contact that he needs. Because he's scared of being too much, scared of scaring Ed away, scared of never being touched ever again. He needs reassurance, needs to make his own need for contact known, needs to make sure he's not too much.

And it's almost like Ed realizes this and immediately takes Stede's hand, immediately says "this is perfect this touch is perfect this contact is perfect your touch is perfect." And then Ed initiates even more touching by stacking their hands, by initiating play that Stede immediately latches onto. Ed sees Stede's desire and says "I'm not ready for more yet, but I can meet you halfway. I can give you reassurance and contact in simple ways until I'm ready for the next step."

And that is just so beautiful. It's not just the boundary setting and boundary honoring, it's the recognizing of needs and making a compromise to meet someone halfway.