#expressing his yearning for her return that she could take her time but he would be waiting

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.  

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation. 

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges. 

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice. 

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.  

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled. 

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages. 

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.” 

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.  

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story. 

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after.  You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him. 

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.  

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt. 

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags. 

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her. 

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee. 

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.” 

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”  

“No.” 

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.” 

“So why can’t I see him?”  

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.” 

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-” 

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate. 

 You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently. 

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing. 

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you. 

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.” 

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?” 

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity. 

“Wait for what?” 

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek. 

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.” 

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.  

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes. 

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.  

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding. 

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-” 

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint. 

“I’m hungry now.” 

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-” 

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees. 

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg. 

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand. 

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.” 

“But-” 

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops. 

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps. 

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away. 

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.  

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while. 

“Tell me when to move” he soothes. 

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.  

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance. 

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release. 

“I’m gonna come!” 

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face. 

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down. 

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy. 

[thatonelovingwalker]

Carl Grimes x GN reader

///TW: none💗///

Summary: you see Carl with Judith and wonder if he would want a child of his own.

Walking along the sidewalk lining your neighborhood, you heard the cooing of a baby. You immediately recognized it as Judith. Carl always walked Judith at this time, and you had just recently started walking with them.

You and Carl have been together for about three months now, and Judith has become really close to you.

Her noises got louder as you rounded the corner, and saw that she was patiently waiting for you in her stroller.

“Judith! Good morning,” you told her, letting her grasp at your hands.

You looked up to Carl and saw him looking at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. As if he saw Christmas lights brightening before him, rapping him in warmth and the feeling of safety.

“Good morning, Carl,” you told him, walking around to give him a peck. He returned it gratefully, taking ahold of your hand.

“Ready?” Was all Carl asked, making you nod.

The three of you started walking, listening to the silence that surrounded you both.

It was quiet for about fifteen minutes, and that was when Judith started to fuss.

“Nap time, Judy?” Carl asked her, circling around to pick her up.

Carl gently cradled Judith in his arms, rocking back and forth on his heels. He was whispering to her, trying to calm her down, and all you could do was watch.

He was so good with kids, especially Judith. Whenever he was with any of the younger members, he treated them as if they were his blood. As if they were his own children. It made you yearn for a normal world. One where it wouldn’t be a life or death decision.

But you knew that if it were to ever happen, whether it’s with you or another, he would be absolutely perfect.

“You’d make a great dad,”

“What?”

Carl turned to you, shock all over his face. He didn’t look upset, but he looked distracted.

And you that was when you realized you said it out loud. You didn’t mean it to slip. It just happened.

Even with his surprised features, he still looked even more fatherly with Judith calming in his arms. His hat and eye patch displayed experience, ones that he had learned from. The gun strapped to his leg showed he was capable. You knew he would be everything you ever needed. Everything any child needed.

“You’d make a great father…” you said a little bit more softly. You stayed where you were.

You saw his breathing pattern change. It was the one thing you could catch before he muttered, “Let me go put Judith down,” before turning away from you.

He left you with a sense of regret. Why did you say that?

You found yourself sitting on the couch, listening to Carl shush Judith to sleep a few rooms down. You had no idea if he knew you were there, but you waited, hoping you didn’t ruin things.

When Carl expressed what happened with his mother, Lori, and how he had to put her down for the sake of Judith, your heart broke.

Maybe mentioning anything to do with a baby was a bad idea.

You no longer heard Carl. His whispers or humming. Just footsteps. Heavy footsteps. You didn’t dare watch him, no matter how much you were dying to.

You felt the couch shift with his weight, and you knew he sat closer to you on purpose.

“You really think so?”

You could barely hear him, but you understood completely what he meant. You turned to face him, and was met with his pleading eyes. He looked so vulnerable in this moment, you just wanted to smother him with cuddles and hold him.

“I do.”

“Well, I think you’d make a great (mother/father), y/n. You’d be amazing,” Carl grasped your hand with one of his heart stopping smiles.

“Doubtful,” you said, trying to be playful. Carl picked up on it.

All he said in return was, “How about we try and see?”

[eisdendrobium]

𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

pairings : ayato x reader summary : you're in a loveless marriage with ayato, you thought you could make it work at first but it seems impossible, so you left.

note : heavy angst, not proofread, sad ending (sorry y'all), nothing else - enjoy ^^

this is a part 2 of "glimpse of us"

yeah he's gorgeous but that's all he is. all you've ever liked in him. never once did he ever bring you joy

"let's get a divorce ayato." ayato snaps out of his trace and looks up at your eyes. taken aback.

"what makes you get to this point, [name]?" he place his tea cup down and asked you calmly.

you let out a sigh and straighten your posture, "i know you still love her ayato. I know the 'secret' letters you sent her and the letters you received from her. and i know, i know that i came and ruined your relationship with her. So, why stay in this loveless marriage right? torturing ourselves every single day"

a small smile forms on ayato's lips, yet his expression is unreadable.

"... yeah, i'm sorry [name], but,, i'm afraid we can't. what will our family thinks? what will the people say when they see us divorced?"

a hand went up to ruffle your hair. frustrated.

"i know. i know it's for our family, but i'm not going to waste my life just for politics ayato, and so should you.."

"i..."

"i'm tired of this, please understand me. i've tried to make this whole thing works alright? i've tried to make us work so many time yet you never seemed to put any effort in this"

———

finally back to his beloved, ayato felt like he's the happiest man alive. All the catching up, the i love you's, the casual and fancy date ayato does with her to fill up his one year yearning.

"look ayato! i've bought you dango!" she smiles while showing a pack of tricoloured dango

ayato couldn't help but smile, taking the dango and eating one of it.

"ayato? i've made you dango! thought you could use a break,, there's also milk tea! i know how much you like dango milk"

"are you alright love? is it bad?" ayato didn't even realize his smile falter as he looks to the ground. why would he think about you? maybe it was a memory to appreciate you. that's what he say to himself.

but somehow it keeps on happening.

"how's the food love?" "what do you think, ayato?"

"oh how fun! let's go make a sand castle love!" she laughed while dragging ayato by the hand. "woah... the view is breathtaking during sunset, thank you for bringing me here, ayato" you thanked, eyes focused on the orange ball of fire.

"oh love... this is the third milk tea you've had this week, you know it's not good to consume too much.." she said, gently taking the bottle from his grasp "are you drinking milk tea again? you know it's not good to consume too much of it.." you said, concerned.

too much. it's too much for him to handle.

why are you there? why are you haunting him? the thought of you is eating him alive. what is it he asked, guilt? regret? you're happy now. probably with someone new, someone who actually loves you. So should he. right? so why is it so hard to let you go?

his night were constantly filled by your smile, your laugh, you.

"My Lord, there's a package for you" thoma enters the estate one day, carrying a rather small box.

taking it from thoma and giving him a thanks, ayato opens the box and sees the small gifts he once gave you in act of formality towards you and your family.

slowly picking one of them up, he spot a letter under it, opening it he reads what was written:

to Lord Kamisato,

hey... i was sorting things out and find these gifts you gave me, thought i should return it to you.

signed, [name]

closing the letter he scavenge into the box as he recalled the day he gave you each of those trinkets.

"ooh who gave you those gift love?" she asked, entering the room

"uhm.. i'm not sure darling" standing up from the chair he excuse himself out.

ayato needed space, he needs to think - i don't even know what is there to think really, there's only one obvious answer.

he crimple the letter and rush towards your house.

halfway there rain started pouring and thunder starts dancing around the sky, seems like the universe is not letting him meets you yet he push through. he have had enough of this whole thing.

\

a knock was heard through your door, 'who could it be?' you thought. standing up from the sofa you make your way towards the door and opens it only to find someone you've least expected.

ayato, drench in rain, breathing heavily - looking at you intently, his violet eyes dancing with yours.

"ayato? what are you doing here?" and without warning he hugs you.

he hugs you? this is the first.

neither of you break away from the hug for a while, you're too shocked to push him away, and him getting too comfortable embracing you.

"i'm sorry [name], i'm sorry.." he mumbles as he pulls you closer.

finally regaining your composure you pull away from him,

"why don't you come in and change first hm? then we could talk" you move and gesture him to come which he gladly did.

after changing he joins you in the tatami room. it was quiet, yet ayato finds it comforting. the only sound that could be heard was the rain outside and the fireplace, the perfect ambience to live in for ayato.

"...so....wanna explain why you came?" you starts, eyes never leaving the fire.

"yeah, uhm.. [name], you've been on my mind lately.. and i couldn't help but feel these negative emotion around me,,, i just- .. i thought maybe talking about it with you would help" he explains

"was it because of the package i sent you?"

"no- well.. that package was what pushed me to came here... [name] i know i wasn't the husband material then and i know you're happy now, but i can't.. stop thinking about you, about us. and i know it's wrong, i know it's cruel but i just can't help it" he turns his whole body towards you. totally breaking his character.

finally turning your head to look at him you answer, "yeah, it is cruel ayato. i've tried everything to make us work but you threw all of it away without even glancing at it, and now you're asking me to what? take you back? what about your lover? you loves her and so does she"

"i know! i know i messed up badly and truth is i'm still a mess right now [name]" he cover his face with desperation and ruffle his hair.

silent took over the atmosphere as you think about it.

you gave him your everything, your love, time, effort, everything. yet he gave you nothing in return. what's in it for you if you gave him another chance?

"..i'm sorry ayato." ayato looks up towards you and sees that you've already averts your gaze towards the fireplace.

quickly standing up ayato make his way towards you, kneeling in front of you, taking your hands in his "no.. please [name]" he whispers

"i loved you ayato, but now,, i just wish you'd stay in my memories. you're happy with her and that's it. don't make this any harder for me.." you look down towards your interwind hand and slowly pulling them away from his grasp.

"please.." he whispers once more.

shaking your head and raising your head to look at him with a sad smile "i can't" you whispered in return.

ayato let his head fall along with the tears, staining your clothes.

closing your front door you finally cut the relationship between the two of you. slowly you feel your eyes stinging as the tears finally starts flowing.

why did he came? why did he have to ruin all of your effort to move on and let him go?

you're supposed to put him in the past, and you did. So why are you crying now?

"i'm sorry ayato.. but i have to do it for me.." you say quietly towards ayato's retreating figure from the window.

\

a few months after you finally found someone, a person you loved and who loves you just as much.

ayato finds that fact lovely yet crushing at the same time. he said that he’s happy for you yet he knows that he’s lying to himself, missions after missions he did just to forget you. busying himself so he wouldn’t drown over the fact that he’d been replaced.

he saw you once in one of the stores buying sweets with a guy, you looked happy— in love, maybe that’s more accurate. ayato felt like the world stop spinning for a moment as he spied over you and your beloved.

that moment was his before, yet he didn’t cherished it like he should.

you were his but now anymore. that’s the fact that he’s trying to accept.

he’ll be marrying his beloved next month, the kamisato family finally agreed to do it and he’s happy about it. it’s everything he had dreamt of!

so why is there a longing for you? a desire to just leave everything behind and take you with him, away from everybody else?

oh how history is repeating itself. what a cruel thing.

a/n : reblogs are greatly appreciated! and please feel free to comment what you think about this fic ^^

taglist : @ayatoslovelywife @kawaiiskeletoneggsnerd @alexiris @yummyberry @starlightaura @tiredasiandaughter @almond-t0fu @clevercatprotector14 @ilovemilfs1111 @rose-ly @genshinloversposts

[darkestspring]

So Aegon cuts his hair short so he doesnt look like a Targaryen, he hated being a Targaryen. So imagine Jaces twin sister, long dark curls and dark brown eyes.

Even as children Aegon thought she was pretty, he loved that she didn't look like a traditional Targaryen.

As they grew older Aegon became obsessed with her. If he has to marry he wants to marry her and hard dark haired babies, and that what he tells his mother, right before she slaps him.

Aegon managing to push hos wedding to Helaena off for years, but when Rheanyra and her kids comes back to Kings Landing and Aegon sees Jaces twin again.

Aegon won't let her slip through his fingers again.

You'd always look so.... unlike a targaryen. Unlike how he and his siblings looked. with Brown hair and dark eyes, you were everything his mother hated, a targaryen that didn't look like one.

But... you were so pretty.

Aegon once again snuck away from his lessons to watch you with your dragon, you looked so happy. Dark eyes alive with mischief and happiness as you whispered something to your dragon and he roared in return, eliciting a laugh from you.

He'd never heard you laugh before then, it was like a forgotten song, a melody he could never escape from.

He's also never seen you as angry as you were that night, glaring with teary eyes as you held onto your younger brothers. His attraction to you hadn't ceased even in that moment. when you were brimming with happiness and when you were seething with anger, both expressions made him want to kiss you senseless.

But then you were gone. As soon as that. He wished he could have more time. More time to see you, to follow you, to find a common interest or even feign interest in what you liked if only to hear your voice say his name.

It wasn't until he saw you again, still unmarried despite his mother's ire and nagging. He'd never marry anyone but you. He hoped that the children he had with you would be dark haired babies.

You turned, feeling eyes on you and your lips curled into an almost snarl at seeing Aegon staring at you before you turned away. "He's staring at me." You hissed to your mother and step-father.

"I can collect another head." Daemon suggested, hand already on his sword.

Much to your disappointment, your mother shook her head. "Not yet."

He won't marry Helaena, Aegon decided. Anyone else can have her but you. You were his.

"Let me marry her." His words were spoken boldly to Rhaenyra and Daemon after basically forcing an audience with them. "I'll fight for your claim, I won't challenge it. I don't care about ruling. I just want her." Aegon stared at them with fierce eyes.

Daemon looked like he wanted to draw his sword until Rhaenyra stopped him, hand on his chest.

"I'll think about it." Rhaenyra answered coolly, dismissing him.

That wasn't good enough. Aegon couldn't stand it anymore. he has spent years yearning for you, craving to hear you say his name at the very least.

"You've always been the pretties girl I've ever seen." His words made you stomach clench and you didn't want to think about it. "Pretty brown hair and dark eyes, you look like a dream." He might be a bit drunk and babbling word vomit but it was all true.

You stared at him for a moment, almost stunned before reaching over and taking another drink of you wine. "And your mother? What does she think of this?"

"I don't care. I don't care what she thinks or what she wants. I just want you. I don't want glory or power. I just want to sleep on your thighs for the rest of my life." Aegon couldn't stop talking

A laugh slipped from your throat and an amused look filled your eyes at his words. "Is that so?" You mused softly. Taking pity on him, you leaned forward and kissed him. "Once you're sober, come find me and tell me again that you want to sleep on my thighs for all eternity. Maybe i'll let you."

With those last words, you were gone from his view and Aegon barely stopped himself from scrambling after you like a lost puppy.

[euno11a]

Tattooed Hearts VII

Genre: No one to someone Tattoo artist! Jungkook X Reader

Summary: What happened to us? Why did we end up like this? It was only a one time thing. Now it’s ruined us both.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, mentions of hookups, insults, arguing, blood, mentions of period, insecurities

Pt I • Pt II • Pt III • Pt IV • Pt V • Pt VI • Pt VIII *** God, she was meant to be a quick fuck and leave. Why couldn’t I get her out of my mind? I need her…

It was stupid of me to get drunk, and even stupider that I went to her apartment. She didn’t want me there, but she looked so cute in her pjs, I couldn’t help staying. I wasn’t so drunk that I couldn’t move, how’d you think I got there? It was a good excuse, even if she didn’t know it, to get her to touch me again. Her touch was intoxicating, something my body craved, yearned for, but I fucked it up. Ever heard the saying ‘drunk words are sober thoughts?’ “M’missed you…you looked s-so good in that long thing you were wearing in the flower home…”; “Baby, I know what I’m saying…miss you…miss your pussy…miss your love…”; “So pretty…su..such a good girl…my baby…” Even if some thought are more vulgar than others, they’re still true. Showing up drunk probably proved her point of how reckless and selfish I am, but you don’t know how much I miss you. I couldn’t get you out of my head, your curves, your eyes, your laugh…I need you beside me.

Playing limp body was fun, I got to hold her leg, cuddle up to her and even kiss her a little. So I have to pretend to be drunk all the time? No, no, bad idea! You’re trying to prove to her that you need her and only her. It was supposed to be a romantic gesture of some kind, but it failed…miserably. What happened to me? Every time I see her now, talking with Eloise, laughing with V, something burns inside of me. It’s an emptiness that I can’t explain, eating me from the inside out. Using other women to try and fill the hole was a shitty idea, especially since she found me with one. I think I get somewhere with her, but then I fuck it up again. She kicked me out of her apartment, “Stop coming to me when you’re high.” That one sentence haunting my mind, making me lose sleep at night. I fucked it up so bad, I need to earn her trust again, I can’t breathe without her. She doesn’t know the things she does to me, making me spend hours in my office, fucking my hand imagining it was her. My blood boils every time I see her with V, she laughs at his jokes, he gave her juice. He gave her the juice I bought for her, waiting for her to come back! Of course I had to lie to the others, saying I mixed up the flavours, no way I was telling them about the girl I was pinning over that I was also waiting for to return. God, I was whipped…

You were hard to find. I had to dig through the fucking system at work to figure out how to contact you. I swear, I wasn’t trying to be a creep, I just knew you wouldn’t willingly give me your number! And I doubt Lindsay would give it to me either. You sounded so sweet over the phone…your voice was like honey, something I’d be willing to drown in if it came from you. Yeah, you hung up on me, but I got to talk to you for a little! I’d call that a win. Another win was when you took the bouquet…I knew you’d like them. You always told me how you loved secret stories behind things, even if I could T give them to you, I’m glad Eloise could. Building that bouquet was hard! I wanted to take all the flowers you liked, but that wasn’t allowed. If I had a dime for the amount of times Eloise slapped my hand and told me to express my emotions through the flowers instead of pick what was prettiest, I’d be a millionaire. All those flowers that were strategically placed to tell you a story were working. After work, I’d come in to ask Eloise if you’d stopped by, gladly listening to her as she told me about your sweet smile and laugh, the way your nose scrunched up when you found a new flower and wanted to know what it signified. All of this will be worth it in the long run. Seeing you at the bar alone, sipping your rum and coke made me smile. The drink you ordered the first time we met. Sitting down, I expected you to leave or to tell me to leave. But you didn’t. Sure, you put up a fight, telling me to spit out what I wanted, so you could be alone and drink in peace but I wasn’t expecting you to listen. “I want you,” it just slipped out. But it sent shockwaves through me when you spoke “If you want me…like genuinely want me, you have to beg for it.” I had never been one for begging, but if that’s what it takes to have you in my life, I will beg for hours and hours, days, weeks, months. I need you in my life.

Taglist: @talyaaas-blog @cassies-cookies @junecat18@jk97bam @bluewarmsunshine @diame93 @bangtans-momma @lil0u0 @borahoe @peterstarkchrishiddleston @telepathytae @apobangpo444 @gimeow @taekritimin123 @butterymin @skzthinker @someone-1997 @kookswifesblog @jjk-1999 @bulubulubulublabla @xo79 @thesmutconnoisseur @nikkinik485 @coldcoffee2121 @jjk97091 @onlybunss @kopiosuam @nanmolla @peachtown @kopiosuam

[almightyellie]

all your'n

in which you both know that he loves you. of course, you do.

word count is 1.6k

author says i simply love jake seresin, but not as much as i love a wedding date fic <3

title inspo is all your'n by tyler childers

“you two are a beautiful couple.”

an hour and a half ago, you might have corrected jake’s aunt (cousin?), but how many times can you smile politely and say, oh, just friends, actually and face that expression, half confused and half disappointed? now, you and jake just smile, and jake squeezes your waist while you say, “that’s so sweet, thank you.”

a wedding had seemed like an easy favor, but now you wonder how it ever could be. a room full of seresins, a little boozy and high off a joining of two souls. they’re as southern as southern comes, and the thrill of love and alcohol only further emphasizes this. jake laughs softly in your ear, squeezing you close. 

he should have known that this would happen—you have a sneaking suspicion that maybe he did—but he had a little extra faith in his family, hoping they would be focused only on his baby sister on her day. you can tell she kind of loves it, though, because every time you catch her eye with a silent plea for help, she giggles and claps. she’s almost as bad as her brother.

neither of them are half as bad as their mother.

“isn’t it wonderful?” she croons, holding the two of you together. “i’ve been telling them to get together for years. they finally listened.” she finishes with a wink in your direction and a knowing smile. she truly had been telling you two to get together as long as she’s known you, but she’s taking this opportunity to really play it up.

you pinch jake’s side, sharing a knowing look with him. his tux offsets his tanned skin beautifully despite his complaints. beth had insisted he not wear his uniform (“don’t steal my limelight, asshole!”) to her civilian wedding, and though you loved a chance to see him in his uniform, it had been years since you’d seen him in any non-military formal wear. oh, was it a sight. 

with a soft smile, he nods once. “c’mon, sweetheart,” he goads. “i think you’ve earned a drink.”

it’s almost a struggle to get to the bar unscathed, but it’s oh so worth it when you do and jake pays for your drink. “you shouldn’t have, babe,” you giggle. 

he laughs good-naturedly. “you’re annoying. sit down.”

jake’s feeling like a real big man with you on his arm, looking so right and pretty. he’s been looking forward to this for weeks; any excuse to spend a few hours with you making him look better. he has to admit, his family is right. the two of you are a damn fine couple, and the ache he’s gotten so used to hurts a little more than normal.

you’ve known one another for years. somedays, jake thinks you know him better than he knows himself. most days, though, he knows that couldn’t possibly be true. if you knew him better than he knew himself, you would know that sometimes you smile at him and he gets a head rush. you would know that he lies awake at night just in case you text him something ridiculous about your cat or your job. you can’t know that just the sight of you makes his heart pound and his mouth dry because if you did, you would never look at him the same. you could never treat him like he’s just jake ever again, because you would know that you weren’t, and never had been, just you. you had always been everything.

you know a little more than you let on, but you won’t ever bring it up. he hadn’t always been so obvious, but since his return from top gun, he’s been just slightly different. you can’t know the specifics, but you know that he’s had a change of heart; he’s a little more open, a little more apologetic. a little less subtle. your best friend has such an ego, he might never survive if you told him that his jealousy, that his almost-yearning has been clear as day for the last few months.

he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring until you tilt your head at him with the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. “what?” you ask, taking a long pull from your water.

“i like this,” he answers honestly, brushing his knuckles softly against your hairline. 

you smile disbelievingly at him, slightly incredulous. “like what?”

his cheeks pinken up and his smile, though still trying to pull off that smug act, can’t fool you. he’s bashful. “i just mean…that i like when we’re together.”

with a quiet laugh, you say, “well, i should hope so. we’ve spent the last ten years glued together.” the song changes and he loses what little nerve he managed to scrape together, so he finishes your water and nods when you insist, “come dance with me.”

“the road cones blur like memories of the miles we shared between,” he sings easily, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and grabbing your hand with the other. it’s one of his favorites, one you know far too well, and you’re happy to let him hum in your ear. he’s only a little tone-deaf—he struggles with the higher notes, and it’s such a familiar sound that you melt into his chest.

with his mouth against your ear and his thumb stroking circles against the back of your hand, you two sway on the dance floor. you like this, too. you like the way he holds you, how he smiles at you like you’re the only person he can see. you like when he sings to you even though you always jeer him, even though there are people around, even though he doesn’t need to. 

the lights strung across the venue ceiling reflect in your eyes when you pull back to look at him. he’s entranced, especially when the corner of your lip turns up. “now what’s that look?”

he shakes his head with a growing grin, pulling you a little closer. “just thinking,” he answers.

your brows pinch in faux concern. “careful, seresin. you’ve been doing a lot of that tonight; don’t hurt yourself.”

with a roll of his eyes, he pinches your side. “watch it,” he warns, the smile evident in his voice, and you giggle. 

“i think i smell smoke.”

jake heaves a long sigh, still swaying with you as you muffle your giggles in his suit jacket. “you think you’re cute, huh?”

you beam at him, tilting your head. “i think we both know that i’m adorable.”

“and you’re lucky you are, honey,” he murmurs, warm hand stroking up your spine. he’s looking at you unflinchingly, that twitch of his lips giving away his thoughts. It’s the first time all night that he isn’t shying away from openly adoring you.

you shiver under his gaze; he looks better than ever, under the soft lighting in his fancy suit. it’s the low rumble of his words, your chests pressed together, and the way he looks at you. you’ve always seen that little glimmer of adoration in him; you know him too well not to. part of you was waiting on him to make a move, but something about this moment—the warmth of his body and the way his eyes flicker to your lips, the unconscious way he pulls you closer. 

jake feels faint at the sober way you look at him, like you’re looking right through him into his very soul. he almost shivers against you, but you don’t notice. you’re too busy leaning into him, resting your weight against his chest and nudging your nose against his. you’re sure his mother is staring, but you can’t find it in yourself to pull away; the thought of being watched doesn’t even cross jakes mind. he’s too wrapped up in you, eagerly awaiting your next move.

featherlight, your lips brush his. it’s hesitant, a little bashful, and he doesn’t want to startle you away but he can’t help himself. he makes the final leap and presses his lips to yours. a large, warm hand fills the dip of the small of your back, and you take in a deep breath as he kisses you earnestly. you stroke his cheek tenderly, allowing him more access. a little shiver trembles down your spine, goosebumps blooming across your arms; you hadn’t realized how desperate you had been to break the contract of your friendship until you had. years of waving off his mother and sister, years of waiting for him to make the first move, and you could have had him like this the entire time.

you pull away to suck in a soft breath, keeping him close when you press your forehead against his shoulder. his nose buries itself in your hair, breathing you in while you take a moment to consider him. over the speakers, the emcee—jake’s little brother showing off his seresin charm, naturally—begins to calling for the bouquet toss. “single ladies,” he croons, arching a suggestive brow. “what are y’all waiting for? get up here.” jake chuckles, rolling his eyes, and you can’t help your own laugh, muffled against your best friend’s chest.

“he’s such a showboat,” you scoff.

you lean back to look at him, and those green eyes look back at you so tenderly. his hand lifts, fingertips brushing your cheekbone, and in that soft tone that you love so much, he asks, “you gonna go up there?”

as if it were possible, you lean even closer and give him another soft kiss. “no. think i’m going to stay with you.”

he beams.

[xas24]

pedri x reader angst based off of tv by billie eilish🤭

the heart wants what it wants (pt.2) ~ pedri

summary: yearning for a love that can possibly never be returned can be quite foolish, but pedri can’t seem to get her out of his head.

part 1 (y/ns pov)

the crowd was roaring with fierce happiness. it was almost deafening and pedri could barely hear his own heart beat over the screams of the culers and the cheers of his teammates in his ear as they all celebrated his goal, his first goal in quite a while.

hands were brushing his hair, gripping his shirt and arms were engulfing him, his teammates vocalising their pride in him for his winning goal. there was only a few minutes left of the match, no doubt in anyone’s mind that barcelona had won this one, all thanks to their star magician.

pedri cupped his hands over his eyes, facing one of the many cameras and doing his signature celebration. a genuine smile graced his lips, a smile he hadn’t had the strength to flash so widely in so long. after everything that had happened, this was the first moment where he felt that familiar sense of freedom, that same freedom he had last felt with her.

pedri dropped his hands and watched as his teammates walked back to their positions, ready to continue the few minutes that were left. he pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes and looked up at the big screen at the front of the stadium. the cameras were still on him and his name was still flashing across the screen. his smile started to falter and he thought about her again.

what was she doing right now?

was she watching him on tv right now?

did she just see his goal? was she proud of him?

stop. stop thinking about her.

he gave a final wave to the fans and moved back into his position, his temporary happiness being barged with thoughts of her once again.

•••

it was late at night. it was cold and dark and pedri couldn’t sleep. she was there, in every corner of his mind, she was always there. when would she finally leave his mind? when will i finally get over her?

leave me alone.

the clock on his nightstand read 12:09, its dimmed light being the only source of brightness in the otherwise pitch black room. he could hear the trees outside of his house whooshing from the harshness of the wind and the cold was creeping into his bedroom. he pulled his duvet over his cold body and turned to the side, watching as the light of his clock glimmered and flickered.

12:10.

what was she doing right now? was she in bed, reading one of the million books she owned? was she fast asleep? what was she dreaming of?

pedris lips tipped up at the million questions that raided his mind all at once. he smiled at the thought of her, his heart flooding with heat. he remembered the way her hair splayed all over the place as she slept, he remembered the way he would chuckle at her small snores, he remembered loving the way she fisted his shirt in her sleep, wanting to be close to him.

her relaxed expression, her warmth, her scent, her tender skin, her soft lips that always tasted of her cherry flavoured lipgloss.

what he would give to feel those lips against his one last time. to hear her giggles as he repeatedly kissed her into oblivion.

he felt ridiculous, smiling about her in the middle of the night when he knew she probably didn’t even think of him. why would she even spare him a thought? it’s been almost a year.

did she have another man in her bed right now? was he whispering to her the same things he would at night? was his arm draped around her waist, taking in her heat the way he craved to every night?

his smile instantly dropped as she faded from his mind and the happiness, that was temporary yet again, vanished from his being. a shiver went down his spine and he suddenly felt cold as she left him all alone. he hugged his duvet tighter to his body.

how foolish he was. how stupid he was for letting her invade his mind again.

if only he knew, as he lay in bed and yearned for her warmth.

if only he knew that she stood infront of a bar somewhere in barcelona, her body freezing and her heart yearning for his warmth too.

•••

it felt like a sickness that kept coming back. memories, flashbacks, it was almost like pedri could feel her here. stupid. she wasn’t here.

he didn’t even know where she was right now. did she move away or did she still live in barcelona? was she still in her apartment close to the city’s edge where she had the best view of barcelona or did she buy one closer to the university?

he always used to drop her off and pick her up from uni. he was always on time, sometimes even earlier with a bouquet of flowers for her, sometimes ready for the gossip that she had to spill almost everyday, sometimes for the complaints she had about her school work.

who dropped her off to university now? did she pass her driving test? did she move on?

of course she’s moved on. it’s been a year, why wouldn’t she have moved on? it’s only me who can’t.

pedri shook his head at his foolish thoughts once again. the brightness of his phone blinded him as his vision cleared from yet another thought he was having of her. he realised that his thumb hovered over the send button, and he retracted it to see what he was about to send.

yet another ‘sorry, i can’t’ text. yet another ‘i’m busy’ text. with a sigh he sent it off, throwing his phone on the couch down next to him. his hand came up to rub against his tired eyes, clouded with fatigue and hidden agony.

it was painfully obvious that he was actually not busy, and ferran knew that as he also stared down at his phone, open on his chat with pedri. ferran was used to it by now though. he realised that the loss of last year was hitting his friend again, he realised that he just needed some space, needed some time to think before he was fine again.

so he gave him it.

he sent off a text of agreement with a heart emoji, indicating his understanding of his friends situation. ferran gave him his space and swiped off the chat, deciding to invite some of his other friends over to his house instead.

ferran: its okay hermano, take care ❤️

pedri read the message, swallowing the guilt that crawled up his throat at yet another cancel of plans. he rarely saw any of his friends nowadays, outside of trainings, outside of his work.

is this what love does to a person?

he told himself it’s nothing. he’s just going through a tough time. he’ll get over it.

you’re in love - a painful, mind-numbing type of love. you’re stuck in it.

this is what love does to a person. it makes them so unaware of their surroundings, makes them so weak and fragile until it decides to leave and they are left soulless.

pedri crossed his legs in his seat as he threw his head onto the back of the couch. a tired sigh escaped his lips once more and his eyes roamed the plain, white ceiling of his house, mind wandering off once again.

“you’re not understanding me, pedri!” her voice was slightly raising by the minute, her frustration surfacing.

“oh, please tell me what i don’t understand! enlighten me, y/n!”

“you’re never here anymore. i feel like it’s just me in this relationship and i don’t even know what to do about it! i feel so alone and you’re- not here with me.”

“i’m busy, y/n. you need to understand that.”

“i do! how much more do i need to understand to realise that you don’t care about me anymore pedri! i’m just a side object in your busy life. it’s not even recently, its been so long since we’ve actually had a meal together! so long since we actually had a conversation, since you properly kissed me. what, you don’t think i have feelings too?”

his lips pursed and he tilted his head, wanting to look away from her - the girl he loved so much to the point it made him blind and stupid. his eyes started welling up with tears of ache and frustration, but he didn’t let them spill, not like hers that were currently streaming down her cheeks at a slow speed.

“my parents called me the other day and asked about you, where you were. i didn’t even know what to fucking tell them, pedri.” she didn’t wipe them away, only stared at him in his eyes with nothing but hatred pooling in hers.

pedris eyes snapped open as the memory faded into the back of his mind again. the plain ceiling returned into vision, that was blurred this time and he leaned up to wipe his eyes. tears had formed in them, rising to the corner of his eyes and threatening to fall out from between his lashes.

if only he hadn’t walked out that day. if only he hadn’t ignored her and her pleas. if only he hadn’t acted so ignorant and idiotic.

they had argued and he had walked out. he never returned, never made an effort to talk to her for the weeks that followed their argument. the pride overtook his love for her, it blinded him so much to the point he couldn’t handle it anymore.

it was weighing him down and after months of no contact with her, no sign of her, it was crawling up to him in the form of burning pain and hurt and heartache.

all she wanted was for him to be there with her, for her, and he couldn’t even do that. she just wanted to feel loved.

maybe i’m the problem.

he was in denial before. he paid no mind to what he had done, what he had inflicted upon the one he loved.

but he couldn’t even deny it anymore because it was entirely his fault.

everything. every single drop of torture and affliction that had fallen upon both of them had been the consequence of his mindless, selfish acts. she had to watch him leave. she watched him walk out of her life without realising that was the last time she would ever see him again.

all my fault. my fault. myfaultmyfaultmyfault.

the sob that ripped through his chest then was agonising. it was rattling in its cage, wanting to be let out but being restrained by the pride and carelessness. he hadn’t realised that the key to his heart was her. she held the key in her hand, held it within herself and she had just opened him up.

she made him weak, vulnerable.

pedri sat there on his couch, his house as silent and gloomy as his heart. the only sound that rang throughout the room was his cries, his pleas that he muffled into his mouth, the unheard apologies he was throwing out to no one in particular.

i’m sorry. i’m so so sorry.

all my fault.

i love you.

“you’re all mine.” he breathed into her mouth, planting another kiss onto her lips. “mi hermosa esposa.” (my beautiful wife)

y/n leaned back with a surprise yelp, brows raised at his sneaky expression. “your wife, huh?”

he pecked her once more. “of course, my future wife. i want to marry you some day.” pedri chuckled as his cheeks slightly warmed at the confession he just had.

she couldn’t hold back the smile that clung to her lips like a tattoo, cheeks burning with heat and love and the feeling of a dream come true. the happiness she felt with him would always be unmatched.

“i love you.”

“i love you so much more.”

but he wished she could hear them, hear how sorry he was for causing her so much heartache.

[faetreides]

RASPBERRY - CORIOLANUS SNOW

summary: the apparent end of an era

cw: implication of infant death, canon typical violence and canon major character death (if that’s how you read it), unnecessary oc children (mention of pregnancy), reader’s in lucy grays place (chosen to be in the games and etc. not as a substitute for coryo) but if she went back to capitol with him, old man snow loses his marbles, open to interpretation ending, canon typical district citizens slander (and katniss slander but it’s snow’s pov), og timeline reader in this story died in between thg and catching fire, treating this as dark content due to vagueness regarding how willing the reader is

wc: 1.3k

requests are open (read the rules first <3)

block & move on if uncomfortable

do not repost or translate!!

“Boys, workin' on empty

Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?

I just think about my baby

I'm so full of love I could barely eat

There's nothing sweeter than my baby

I'd never want once from the cherry tree

'Cause my baby's sweet as can be

She give me toothaches just from kissin' me.”

- Work Song // Hozier

Caecilia Snow can hardly stomach what she is about to witness. Her oldest sister, Iovita, stands stoned faced behind her. One of her svelte hands clasped around her left shoulder. A mask, she’s sure. Vita always did have troubles with expressing her emotions. The middle sister, Agrippina, is a complicated mix of both. Her hand is warmer on Caecilia’s right shoulder, but the blisters make it uncomfortable. Cato, the steadfast and tough oldest son, does not look at all. One can only wonder how he felt about that tribute from two, poor souls. Little Ignacius (she will always see him as such even though he's grown a head taller than her) brow is furrowed so terribly, she fears it might get stuck.

And strange Silvanus, the second son, he isn’t even on the balcony with his beloved siblings. Perhaps he is lost in his thoughts again. He wonders now if when his father smells the wood of the gallows, he thinks of a forest out in twelve that he haunted decades ago. The handkercheif he uses to hastily wipe his tears before he can gather the courage to join his family possess drops of blood every time he pulls it away. From his nose or drug up from his lungs, who can say? The wall outside the library his father had made especially for their mother on their wedding anniversary takes several blows from his aching clenched fist. So much blood, like father like son. Silvanus feels comforted by the persistent thought.

Ignacius eyes his brother with open concern as he saunters into view beside him. He barely manages to hide his wobble and his rush to stuff a stained cloth into his pocket does nothing to ease Ignacius’s worries. Silvanus has been one of the more sensitive ones in their parade, though that has never meant that he has not fought for his family. It is because of that that when Silvanus relents to the beseeching stare of his younger brother, Ignacius nods with utmost determination. The second son softens minutely and eventually returns it.

“Snow lands on top.” Six voices whisper in chorus.

Somewhere in an alabaster mausoleum, resides an ornate urn containing what would have been a seventh voice.

At the end of it all, President Coriolanus Snow smiles and he laughs with his entire chest like you’ve told him your funniest joke. Blood pours from his mouth like hot wax. His forked tongue doggy paddles in the little sea of crimson. A weathered hand with hard to spot cracks in the skin and light purple spots clasps itself firmly around the rose pinned to his suit. The wind seems to circle around Coriolanus Snow and he heaves a hearty chuckle when it ruffles through his hair. You’re with him even now as the foundations of your dynasty crumble and scatter over a stormy cliffside. A most welcomed and yearned for torment. His dearest specter.

Finally.

It seems even a Mockingjay’s tiny brain can manage.

It brings to mind the memory of another unfortunate like her. An Angel of Death from 11, tall and hunkered over. A flag being ripped from its rightful place and being pulled over rotting corpses. They were laid so closely together, they might as well have been a pack of sardines. There was ample meaning in his rustic burial, and there were snakes that suffocated it in their multicolored den. A precious rainbow after a great flood.

He’s not the only boy she reminds him of, but he’s unable to recall the second one’s name. A ghost that hovers on the edge of his mind.

Nevermind how useless her brief moment of assumed triumph will be. The games may be locked in a box in the minds of Panem and shoved away so they can be blissfully ignorant, but there will always be those in favor of them. What they represent will remain just as their purpose will prove itself once again when the people are governed by the rabid cannibals that ate them. Dogs can’t be trusted to be left to their own devices and off their leashes. Such deranged creatures were far better suited for being submerged in the violence of their own making.

Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever.

The soft dulcet tones of silenced voices ring out, something he once knew about a man who murdered three. The white fog fades away and Coriolanus wakes with a muffled shout to find himself in a raggedy bunk in an all too familiar building. his hands tremble but they look no different. with a disbelieving laugh he realizes that nothing has changed yet, that he has been rewarded for decades of dedication and devotion to Panem. That his herculean task others once thought of as sisyphean had been irrevocably realized.

3 daughters, 3 sons. Countless grandchildren. A legacy that will no doubt be remembered no matter the connotations associated with it.

Coryo’s heart is thundering like it did back then on that fateful day, and it does not slow by the time he’s shoved his things into a sack and hidden in the back of a truck. He could sway from the dizziness of deja vu. The truck soon comes to a stop and he clamors out of it, jumping out and racing however many yards he has to until he can spot his heart doing a terrible job of hiding behind a pillar. Anyone with a working set of eyes could discern the scarlet edges of your skirt swishing from side to side. They would have an unchallenging time seeing you suppress the urge to pick at the skin around your nails.

For the first time in over a year, Coriolanus Snow is utterly consumed by the urge to burst into tears. His beautiful beautiful dryad. The blood red dress he had ran himself ragged to buy clung to you like a lover as you twirled around nervously looking for him. Never in his life had a decision been so easy, so with a grateful chuckle and an embarrassingly giddy grin he bounds over to you. The light splintered through the trees nearby, the way it raked through your eyes and made them sparkle brought him fantastic grief. To him, they have never once lost that illustrious shine.

“I thought you’d never show up, Coryo. I was startin’ to worry a bit.”

Your hand feels like a delicious brand when it slips into his, impossibly soft and his cock throbs in his pants at the countless memories it elicits. In an apparent recreation of Pygmalion gazing upon the stone turned flesh form of Galatea, his love spills from him like a reopened wound. his Aphrodite on earth, his goddess with a never-ending number of rose petals in her hair.

“Not even a bullet in my back could keep me from you, dove.”

A garter snake slithers by between the two of you and before you can notice, Coryo swiftly crushes its head under the heel of his boot. The forest is blessedly silent. His world is kept from cleaving in two by the invisible string you’ve looped around his neck.

The putrid smell of the woods around you forces you to attempt to hide yourself gagging behind your hand. His lips twitch but he suppresses the urge to smile in that smug but infuriatingly hot way he knows you secretly love.

You’d better make quick work of getting over the mountains, you’re pregnant after all.

a/n: I’m sick and on bed rest (the cold is kicking my immune system’s ass) so wip progress has stopped but I had this in the drafts. call me Suzanne Collins because I tried with the naming symbolism. Please reblog if you liked it and yell at me about him if you want <3

[deceitfuldevout]

Mercy (Part 1)

Dark!Tommy Shelby x Enemy!Reader

Word Count: +4,034

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Kidnapping, Hostage situation, Manhandling, Mind break, Threats of violence, Forced oral (m receiving), Forced stripping, Gore, Physical violence, Loss of virginity, Forced intrusion, Public humiliation.

Author's note(s): Bringing this back this series 💞

Tommy Shelby has always believed in an eye for an eye. He doesn't care how long it takes. He'll hunt down every single person who's ever wronged him. He finds out that your parents were the ones who informed the woman that cursed his Ruby. Well, he decides to save the best for last.

Since you were a little girl, your parents always warned you to stay away from gangsters. Your entire life being shielded away from any possible dangers. Being part of a clan but residing in the city. Your father had built an incredible wealth for himself. He made sure to shield you from any possible dangers the world had. But nothing would prepare you for this.

You were taken on a Sunday evening, just after church. The men who took you were ordered by their gang leader, Thomas Michael Shelby. Peaky Blinders, they were called. A group of criminals who were only up to no good. You were the first to leave mass, not wanting to partake in conversation with anyone. You decided to sit on the steps of the church, until your mother finishes conversating with the other women. You sigh, already yearning to return home. Knowing your mother, this would take a while.

You look up at the winter sky, hoping it would snow in time for Christmas. A car drives by, and two men step out. You move to the side to let them pass. They approach you, both of them standing on each of your sides. It was at that moment when you knew, they were sent by someone. Because over here, gangsters would only come for someone if they were given the orders to. A scream escapes your lips as you fought them off.

His partner muffles your cries with a rag. You scream at the top of your lungs and cry out, "Somebody help me! Help!" sobbing for them not to take you. What business did they have with you? Nothing good. Your mother is the first to notice your absence. As soon as she hears screaming from outside, she rushes out the church. To her horror she sees you being hauled into a stranger's car. She chases the vehicle now driving off, falling to the ground with a wail. Onlookers of the church try their best to console her.

The peaky men drag you to an abandoned building, the one reserved only for their worst enemies. Where numerous men have met their maker. You're tied to a metal chair, with both wrists and ankles secured. A satchel had been placed on your head. You have no idea where they'd taken you. Tommy doesn’t know if he can contain his anger any longer. It had taken them a while to find your location. A long trail of bloodshed led them directly to the church's doorsteps.

Tommy's men inform him of your parents involvement, how they had spoken of the cursed necklace to Madame. His Ruby was gone now because of it. When he heard of you he became excited. You were their only child. Their prized possession. Tommy's wedding ring feels heavy, and for once, he takes it off before getting started.

The covering is swiftly removed, a man now stands right in front of you. He takes a good look at your petrified expression. Almost as if he were admiring it. A grabs a chair to sit right in across from yours. It's cold inside the building. You could see your breath from the freezing air. He leans in, "Do you know who I am?" he questions. You shook your head. He doesn't like that, "Use your words,"

"N-no..." shrinking into the seat. Tommy doesn't buy it, "You're a liar, y'know? And a lousy one at that," because everyone knows who Tommy Shelby is.

"M-not--" you whine as he squeezes your jaw with a gloved hand. It hurts. He growls in your face, "You will speak when spoken to," he squeezes harder, "Do you understand?" he waits for what you had to say. You look up at him with a tearful look, "P-please this has to be a mistake! I've done nothing wrong!" because of that, he begins to choke you. He voice is deep, sharp, "My daughter had done nothing wrong, yet she was taken from me," he tilts his head, "Did she not deserve to live?"

You don't know what to say. How could you to a man hellbent on revenge? The real question is, what did you do to provoke him? He lets go, leaving the skin raw with visible bruising. Tommy retreats to a desk where assorted torture devices await. He careful inspects each one, examining which tool would be used. He retrieves a scalpel, one used to slice skin and gouge the flesh, "Which part of you do I cut away first, hm?"

You shook your head, now sobbing uncontrollably, "Nononono! P-please!" looking down to your lap to cry. Tommy isn't satisfied, "Look at me," he orders, "Look at me," he doesn't like repeating himself. You hesitantly rise your gaze, now looking up at the man. There's a bewildered look in his eyes. You notice the corners of his lips were up in a faint grin. He whispers, "This is the end...this is the end of your life, yeah?" he drags the blade the side of your jaw. He enjoys watching you squirm.

Tommy looks up at the men standing behind you. He orders them to leave. Now it was just the two of you. What did he have in store? He made sure you get a good look at the blade. It shines in the dim lighting, “You’re pretty, I’ll give you that much,” he brings the knife to your face, “but for how long?” he brings it down to your neck, teasing the collar. He whispers, "From now on, you are my property," he grips your jaw to open, sliding a finger inside, "It was a tongue that gave the order," his other hand digs into the sides of your jaw, forcing your mouth to open.

Tommy brings the knife to it, "Should I cut it out first?" he digs his fingers deep inside, reaching for the muscle. You try stopping him from doing so, even attempting to clamp your jaw shut, to which he began pushing them deeper in. He mimics the way you gagged around them in a mocking manner. You sputter into a sob, begging for him not to.

Tommy then stops, "No...I can't do that...then you won't explain it to me, and I want you to explain," He grips the back of your head to face him. His features are contorted with anger, "I want you to fucking explain!" he spat. Your bottom lip trembles as you say something. Tommy removes his hand to hear what you had to say, "Please...have mercy..."

“Mercy?” He scoffs, "Is that what you want?" it was almost humorous to him, the entitlement you and your family had, “Where was mercy when they took my little girl?” he brings the knife to your neck, it lightly nicks the skin. You don't say a word, too afraid of deepening the cut. He gave you a look of disgust. As if you’d done something terrible to anger him. Like you wronged him before this.

But what? Everyone in town knew there would be nothing to worry about when a blinder would arrive. No one would ever be worried of being targeted, unless they'd actually done something. So what did you, of all people, possibly do to anger a man like Tommy Shelby? You hadn't a clue.

His leans in, his forehead now pressing against yours, "I'm not going to kill you, no..." his mood swings changes, like fire and ice, "I am going to keep you alive for a very, very long time..." He flicks the button of your blouse open with the knife, "I'll have you praying for death," a promise he'll make sure comes true.

You began to plead with him, "No please! Don't do this!" tears began to form, spilling down both cheeks. You knew what happens to people who've crossed the Peaky Blinders. What they did to their victims. Sometimes not even a body was left. The thought of you being cut into a million pieces downright terrifies you, "Help! Someone! Please! Help me!"

Tommy isn't phased, he's dealt with people in denial before, “You can scream all you want, nobody will hear you,” he promises. He finishes flicking off the last button, revealing the swell of your breasts, you panic, "Mr. Shelby please! You're making a big mistake--" Both of his hands shoot for your neck. He held them in place, squeezing as hard as he can. His face nears your petrified one. There's a hint of gravel in his voice, "A lying whore is what you are," he squeezes harder, taking joy in watching you suffer.

Never in a million years would he imagine stooping this low. But this wasn't just any case, it was personal. He loosens his grip allowing you to breathe for a moment. He sighs, clearly annoyed with your behavior. Whatever games you wanted to play, he doesn't have time for, "What did I say about lying?!" Tommy yells at the top of his lungs.

"M'not lying! I swear! Ow!" you whine from his grip on your hair. He leans in and calmly states, "Fine, have it your way," Tommy didn't plan on going easy on you. But after hearing you lie right to his face? Well, he wants to make this hurt, bad. Tommy drags the sharpened tool along the fabric of your skirt. He tears your brand-new church clothes to shreds. Until you were left only in undergarments. Goosebumps began to form on your skin.

Tommy feasts his eyes on the sight of your unblemished flesh. He rakes them up and down, mentally capturing the moment. You looked soft, supple in all the right places. His tongue pokes out to lick his lips. His lids hooded from thinking about the things he would do.

Oh...this was going to be fun.

Tommy Shelby is dead set on one thing and one thing only: Revenge. There is no room for sympathy in his heart. Not after losing his wife, then his daughter. There is no other pain comparable to that. At this point, there's nothing in this world that could change his mind. What happened to Ruby changed something inside him. He would never be the same again.

"There are a few rules," he wants you to know, "Do not fight me, yeah? Or I'll break every last one of your fucking bones," he knows he's strong enough to, "Do not speak unless you're spoken to," the last thing he wants to hear is an excuse, "You are my property, what I say is law," both of his hands cradle the sides of your head. He makes sure you know, he's dead serious, "Am I understood?"

Your teeth can't stop clattering as you shiver a faint, "Y-yes,"

"What will I do with you? Hm? Should I start cuttin you up piece by piece? No...no one would waste their hard-earned money on you," he starts to mumble, "Maybe hire you as one of my whores? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he taunts. Tommy can't help but smile at the way you frantically shook your head.

He bit his lip, as if he were in deep thought, "No, you wouldn't make it, I know your type," he knows your kind very well, bunch of prim and proper pansies, "I should break you in first, mold you, so that you won't think of anything else other than cock," Tommy always had a way to make people squirm with only a few words.

He finds their weaknesses and uses it against them. He thrusts a few fingers deep inside your mouth, enjoying the sounds of your gargled cries. He pumps the gloved digits in and out. Drool spills from the corners of your mouth. Then an idea hits him, "How about I make you my personal whore?" he taunts, "How does the title of 'cock-sleeve' sound?" poking your forehead, "Tat it right...there," twisting a finger into the skin.

All you could do was cry. A deep wail pours from your lungs. Why? Why was he doing this? You haven't done anything wrong! "P-please, if you just listen to me--" a scream escapes your lips as he pulls at your hair. There's a burning sensation on the crown of your scalp. He's done playing games, "What did I say about speaking?" his voice booms.

Tommy's hand hovers over the tray of tools. He retrieves a gag, forcing the straps around your head. He pinches your nose shut, forcing you to part your lips. He secures the metal hooks inside your mouth, forcing it to open wide. A trail of drool leaks out. It's impossible to close it without hurting. He secures the buckles located on the back of your head.

Tommy still held onto your hair, so that you would face him. There's a scowl on his sharp features. His teeth are barred. Just looking at you pisses him off. He spits inside your mouth, watching as you squirm from the act. Your tongue swirls inside as an attempt to get rid of it. He does it again, this time right at your face, then again and again. He wants this to be as humiliating as possible for you. Bound and gagged, like an animal.

Tommy zips opens his fly, he pulls out his semi-hardened cock. He gives it a few lazy tugs before finding the right grip. Then he starts to pump his shaft while keeping eye contact with you. His cold blues stare down yours. Like a predator stalking its prey. He huffs, quickening his pace.

Tommy then grabs the back of your head and forces you to take his cock. He thrusts it as far as he could go. He bucks his hips a few times, groaning at the welcoming feeling of a warm hole. You were like a present wrapped around him. His eyelids shut, his lashes fluttering from the pleasure. He pauses for a moment to catch his breath. His hands are rough, gripping the sides of your head as he starts fucking your mouth.

You have no choice but to take it. He then plunges his member as deep as it could go, stifling your sobs. There are only squelching noises coming from your mouth, just how he likes it. He gives another deep thrust, holding it for a moment as you struggle to breathe. Your nose brushes against his pubic hair. A huge trail of drool and cum dribbles down your chin. Tommy moans, "Fuck yeah...let me fuck your throat..." he throws his head back in pleasure before looking back down at your pathetic form.

He indulges in the sight of you crying out. He could practically feel the scream trapped in the back of your throat, "M'gonna paint you with it..." His breath starts to shorten, "...mark what's mine," Tommy shuts his lids, his nose scrunches as he was close. Your throat was burning from the abuse. Soon enough he came, in hard waves. He shoots a load down your throat, painting the inside to his liking.

Tommy waits for a moment to catch breath. Some of his hair sticks to his forehead from the sweat. He brushes it back with a free hand, catching his breath. His cock was still buried deep inside your mouth. He hisses, baring his teeth while pulling it out. His cum trails from the tip of his cock to your now swollen lips. There's something so sinister about the act that he just can't seem to get enough of. He actually starts to laugh, "You'd let anyone use you, hm?" If he were in a romantic mood, he'd kiss you, make it all nice and sloppy.

But it just wasn't enough. He wants more of you. He cuts the ropes that bounded your hands to the chair, pulling you out of it. One of the first things you do is make a run for it. He groans with annoyance, what a stupid thing to do. Before you could reach the door Tommy plants a few bullets in it. You fall to the ground, shielding your head from the strays.

Tommy sighs, "You shouldn't have done that..." he places his gun back in into its holster, before approaching your quivering form still on the floor. If looks could kill, you would be dead on the spot. You're too scared to even move, trapped under his piercing gaze. Tommy's expression is purely livid. He strides over, his cock still half hard. He curls a finger, giving a nonverbal command. When you dare not to move, it only worsens his mood.

You shook your head, "Please...you don't have to do this..."

"I know, I want to," he confesses, "I want to break you,"

If you didn't want to comply, fine. He'll have to come over there. Tommy's shoe lands on your shoulder, sending you falling to the ground with a thud. He has a leg to each of your sides, now wrestling into submission. His strength is unlike anyone you've met. He forces you on your stomach. You try your best to fend off the gangster.

You land an elbow on Tommy's rib, before he ultimately wins the upper hand. He uses his belt to bind both your wrists together. As you twist and turn, Tommy lands a few hard cracks against your rear. A chain of curses escapes your lips. He doesn't stop, not even after your skin is raw. He'll make sure to leave bruises. When he hears your mumbled, pleas turn into full-on screaming, it was music to his ears. He wonders what it would sound like breaking you in.

Tommy doesn’t bother prepping, he wants this to hurt. He slides his leaking tip up and down, gliding it against your cunt. It takes him a moment to find it. Soon enough, he's pressing his leaking tip against your opening. He held your head still against the ground. His gloved hand spreads across the side of your face. His other held his cock, guiding it to your opening. As soon as he thrusts it in, you scream at the top of your lungs. Fuck did his ears hurt.

A hand shoots to muffle your cries. Tommy scowls, "Fucks sake would you keep quiet?!" he looks you in the eyes, "This isn't your first time," when he says it you only cry harder. That's when it clicked. Tommy grins, "So it is..." there's a hint of glee in his voice. He sounds smug, knowing that he'd taken something from you that no other man will, "Then I might as well take every last one..." he purrs, thrusting his hips faster.

There was something about being a woman's first that does something to a man. Tommy wanted to fuck that innocence away. He's going to train you really well, have you begging for his cock. He'll make sure to ruin you for any other man. He spits on his gloved palm, reaching down to rub at your sensitive bundle of nerves. He can feel your walls fluttering everything he rubs small circles against your clit. He can feel that you were close and quickens his pace.

He grunts, "You keep saying no..." he collects the growing slick from your folds, "But the body never lies..." he juts his hips. A stray of curses escapes his lips as changes pace. He presses his sturdy body against yours. His embrace was suffocating. Tommy only seemed to care for his own comfort, reveling in the feeling of a tight cunt. He tilts his head to face your ear, "When your husband finds out you've already been used..." he has a way to torment with words alone, "You will always remember this...remember me..." he slows his pace, now thrusting deep and slow. He's focused on making you come undone. He wants to be your first everything.

Tommy whispers, "...You’ll remember your first time, being taken by a filthy gangster,” he rasps, licking a stripe against the shell, "First fuck..." he forces your mouth to part, delving his tongue deep inside. He swirls the muscle around, taking his sweet time tasting the corners of your mouth. He muffles your whimpers in the kiss, parting with a smack, "First kiss..." his hand now rubs your sensitive nerves in short, hard circles, "First time coming undone..." he doesn't stop, not even after the waves of pleasure hits you, "All mine..."

Although you were the enemy, you have a snatch that could drain his balls dry. Tommy juts his hips back and forth, feeling for a good rhythm. He grunts against your neck, dipping his tongue out to taste those sweet tears. He moans, "You're going to take every, fucking, drop," thrusting his hips with each word. Just how he likes it, "'Gonna make you pay me back yeah?" he whispers.

Tommy fastens his pace. His breathing becomes ragged, to the point where he can only speak in short curses. He bites down on your shoulder, enough to draw blood. When he finishes inside, part of you felt almost grateful he was finally done. That spark of hope quickly dies out when he starts pressing his tip against your ring.

You've never screamed so hard in your life. You almost feel dizzy from how much pain you were in. Almost passing out a few times. Your comfort doesn't matter to him. After all, you're his property. Tommy locks an arm around your neck, squeezing hard enough to make you faint. You went limp as he began pummeling your channel. It was euphoric to him, seeing the enemy suffering.

Usually, he wouldn't feel this satisfied, not even with a killing, it was more of a chore for him. But this? There was no other pleasure like it, and Tommy Shelby has had a lot of sex. He leaves your bruised and battered body on the cold floor. Blood and spunk oozes from both holes. Tommy begins to dress himself. He doesn't even bother to look at you.

Only when he retrieves a handkerchief from his coat pocket, wiping it against your mound. He presses the fabric against the abused holes, scooping out its contents before pocketing it. He'll need this for later. Tommy doesn't feel any shame or remorse, he can't seem to feel anything. He takes a drag after a fuck like that. It helps him think. What to do, what to do, his options are endless.

There you are, his pet, still panting from earlier like some bitch in heat. He's still riding that adrenaline rush. You on the other hand, were out of it. Mentally and physically. Unable to even whimper because you had lost your voice a while ago.

Tommy crouches down, peering at your expressionless face. He mentally captures this moment, enjoying that foggy look in your eyes. He hums, "Let's get you cleaned up," he splashes a bucket of ice-cold water on you. He leaves you now soaking from head-to-toe. Your undergarments now cling onto your skin, leaving little to the imagination. Tommy forces you to stand. He held you up by the back of your neck with a firm grip, leading the way outside.

A group of onlookers see what's happening. Tommy Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders, parading a poor woman who had been stripped of her modesty. He doesn't bother covering your face. He wants people to recognize you. They don’t speak up, afraid of would happen if they would. He hands the bloodied napkin to one of his men, "For the parents," perhaps this will send a message.

Tommy clicks open the trunk, shoving you inside. He slams it shut before driving off to a new location. He knows that word will spread. Soon enough, it'll reach your family's ears. If it's a war they want, then it's a war they'll get. He's not worried at all about what would happen, he knows he has the high ground. He's going to enjoy watching your clan die out.

But for now, he needs to smuggle his new pet out of the city.

[azrielhours]

Restless Dreams

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Synopsis: Reader has unrequited feelings for Azriel, which is actively breaking her heart. She dreams about him each night as she copes. Azriel finds her one night brooding in her pain.

A/N: I put my whole azussy into this

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

Seated by the window in the Town House, you were surrounded by the laughter and merriment of your friends, but all you felt inside was a cold that could rival the snowfall outside. You sat politely so your presence wouldn’t be suspected of its fraudulent nature, smiling when it was appropriate, raising your eyebrows when it was required.

It was a rare evening where everyone had unceremoniously made their way into the House at one point or another, coming home from missions and meetings. Rhys declared it an official family night in, breaking out the good wine and moving everyone into the living room. In the past, these were the nights you loved the best; that hadn’t been the case for a while. You knew you couldn’t turn down yet another get-together without raising eyebrows, especially with how much you’ve already been avoiding your family. And so you sat, swallowing down your drink where it would sink to the pit of your belly, neighbouring the feelings you kept buried deep in your ribs.

You let your eyes wander over your friends to see if anyone suspected your fleeting detachment and caught Cassian’s eye across the room watching you. He was seated next to him, who you’ve become very good at avoiding when the yearning got too raw. It helped the pain, just marginally, to avoid him. He laughed warmly with Feyre in your peripheral vision, reinforcing the ache in your chest. You shuddered at both the pain and desire that flared up at his laughter. You kept your eyes trained on Cassian to keep the intake of him controlled. Like a maximum dosage that bordered fatality.

Cassian studied you. You cringed knowing he caught onto you, so you sent him your most convincing reassuring smile. His brows only furrowed further. It was time to make yourself scarce, lest the others see what Cassian saw. You kept your smile plastered on your face and stood to go to your room. As you walked by Cassian, he gently grasped your elbow to stop your exit. You noted the hurt in his eyes, and you shook your head softly to dismiss his concern, shrugging out of his hold.

Once you made it into your room, you let that familiar feeling of anguish wash over you like a safety net you could count on falling into each night. You sat in your armchair by the window and let your tears spill freely now. The cold from outside seeped generously into your room, but you welcomed the sting it brought, a slight numbness to contrast the excess emotions reeling inside you. Meals had become few and far in between, as if the stale love inside you occupied the space in your belly, leaving none for food.

You closed your eyes and awaited the dreams that came each night, dreams of a hazel-eyed male, his beauty that rivalled artistic sculptures, his patience and attentive nature, his beautiful hands that held your heart. The male you were so in love with that it bordered on insanity.

The male that didn’t return your feelings.

Did it count as heartbreak if it was ongoing? Was unrequited love the same as rejection? The definitions and borders were all blurry, just like your drowning eyes.

~

You were startled out of your thoughts at the sound of gentle knocking on your door, maybe a half hour later. You took a deep breath and walked over to open the door. There you found Cassian taking you in with the concerned expression he donned before. He looked behind you, scowling. “It’s freezing in here. Why are you sitting in the cold?”

You shrugged, hugging your arms across your abdomen. When you looked back up at him, Cassian was still visibly worried. His hesitation to come into your space was a testament to how aware he was of your vulnerable state because normally he’d walk right in. “Do you mind if I come in?” he asked. You nodded.

Cassian immediately made his way to your window, closing it shut. You didn’t miss him eyeing the empty bottle of drink you had near the window, but he didn’t comment on it. He sat on your bed and patted the spot adjacent to him for you to join him. You obliged.

“What’s going on, sweetheart.”

Cassian’s kind nature was testing your composure. You inhaled deeply. “Nothing, Cass. I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been fine for a while. Tell me what’s bothering you.” You hesitated, mulling it over. “Why haven’t you gone to Azriel?” he asked quietly. This prompted you to look at him in alarm. “You used to go to him for everything. Did he do something that upset you?”

You shook your head. “No, nothing happened between us.”

Cassian was thoughtful for a beat. “You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

“Not because anything bad happened,” you assured, voice small.

“Hmm,” Cassian pondered. “Nothing bad… but it is something to do with Az?”

Shit. Maybe you should’ve started with stronger denial. You exhaled in defeat, frowning at your hands in your lap again as you felt tears warm your eyes at the truth.

“You sure he didn’t do anything to upset you? I’ll kick his ass. Just say the word.”

You shook your head. “He didn’t do anything, Cass.” That’s the problem. You blinked at the tears, willing them to stay put.

“Ah,” Cassian said quietly. You looked up, sensing him reaching understanding. Cassian’s eyes were full of empathy as he spoke lowly, gently. “Do you have feelings for him, sweetheart?”

That broke your final hold on your composure. You bowed your head and began softly crying, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes. Yes. Yes. Yes. 

“Oh, (Y/N). Come here,” Cassian said, moving closer to hold you.

You let him engulf you, leaning into his warmth. You kept your hands on your face, but Cassian didn’t mind, holding you to his chest regardless. You cried silently, save for the occasional sharp inhale. Cassian rubbed your back, murmuring sweet reassurances into your hair. You felt exposed, embarrassed to be caught liking his brother, having unrequired feelings – how childish did this make you look?

You pulled away from him and Cassian released you. You furiously wiped away at the hot tears, taking shuddering inhales as you forced the crying to come to a stop. “Sorry,” you said weakly.

“Don’t apologize.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just drunk.”

Cassian saw through the dishonesty but let you have it. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“What difference would that have made?”

Cassian took your hands in his. “It would’ve helped. We’ve been worried about you, (Y/N).”

You looked at him, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Yes, Azriel is worried too. He thinks you’re mad at him.”

You huffed. “No, I’m not mad. It’s just, like… marginally easier this way.”

Cassian nodded in understanding. You saw him silently eyeing the bottle again. “It helps a bit,” you explained. “With the sleep.”

“What do you mean?”

“I… when I fall asleep, I, um, I dream about him.” You swallowed at the ache in your throat. “That’s the hardest part.”

“Why?” He asked, his patience endless.

“It’s just… he’s mine in the dreams, and then I wake up, and he’s… not.”

Cassian frowned. “You’re breaking my heart, kid.”

You smiled weakly, waving off his concern. “It’s not that bad. Sorry.”

He opened his arms to hug you once more, this time you reciprocated the hold. He murmured, “it’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Give it some time.”  

You nodded, indeed feeling a bit better. Cassian eventually released you, making you promise to keep the window closed all night. You laughed at the request but agreed. He even tucked you in and left you to fall into a deep sleep.

~

The next day, you worked up the courage to sit through dinner with your family. No one said anything, but you didn’t miss the momentary shock when you arrived to join them. Feyre beamed at you. Azriel tried to catch your eye, which you avoided. Cassian smiled and beckoned for you to sit beside him, so you did. Conversation resumed as you all ate.

“How was your mission in Summer Court, Az?” Rhys’s question caught your attention.

“Not bad,” Azriel answered.

“Everything go okay with Cressida?”

Azriel nodded. You firmly planted your focus on the table.

“You know, it’s time to put yourself out there,” Rhys suggested. You couldn’t suppress your frown. What?

“I can always put a good word in,” Feyre added.

“That could be a great Court relation,” Mor mused.

“You’d be great with her,” Rhys added.

You flinched.

Your cutlery clattered where they toppled onto your half-eaten plate.

Fuck. 

Your stomach dropped. Azriel and Cressida?

Everyone’s attention slid to you, and your cheeks reddened. Rhys opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, so you rose abruptly before he had the chance to do so. “I—Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” you spoke weakly as you gracelessly backed your chair. Azriel’s gaze burned onto you as you did, which you also promptly ignored.

You didn’t mean to have a visible reaction. Didn’t mean to draw attention to yourself. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“(Y/N),” you heard Azriel say.

 “I—just—my head hurts—” you said to no one in particular. You couldn’t swallow from the dryness in your throat. The silence was deafening as they watched you leave the dining room.

Everyone remained in their seats, stunned by your sudden departure.

“What was that?” Mor asked.

Cassian watched his family piece together your reaction. Azriel had a troubled look, shadows swirling as they whispered in his ear. When Cassian turned to Rhys, he found him already watching.

Do you know what that was? Rhys spoke to Cassian mind to mind.

Cassian swallowed. Yes. 

Rhys urged him on with a nod.

She’s hurting real bad, Rhys. 

Rhys was silent for a moment. Let’s go somewhere else. 

~

Cassian found himself in Rhys’s office with Feyre. They left one at a time to reduce the suspiciousness of the ordeal.

“What’s going on with (Y/N)?” Feyre asked.

For your sake, everyone tried to pretend not to notice, to let you work through whatever was hurting you on your own. You’d never been the type to close yourself off, so they all tiptoed. Cassian wasn’t sure if this was a breach of confidentiality; he winced but began. “(Y/N) has feelings for Az. She’s had ‘em for a while. It’s why she’s been so off lately.”

Feyre’s mouth formed an o shape.

“How long have you known?” Rhys asked.

“Not long. I didn’t want to say anything, but it’s eating her up inside.” Cassian says.

“Damn,” Feyre murmured.

Rhys frowned. “I only suggested Az moves on because I know he wants (Y/N).”

Feyre nodded. “He’s been trying to get over her. It was just bad timing, the suggestion.”

“Did you know?” Rhys asks Cassian.

Cassian grimaced. “I suspected but didn’t want to give her any false hope.”

Feyre silently mulled over it all. “What should we do?”

Cassian rose. “Leave it to me.”

~

“(Y/N),” you heard a voice say softly. “(Y/N).”

You stirred.

You opened your eyes to find Azriel crouched in front of where you’d fallen asleep in your chair by the window, his face etched with concern. Your heart swelled with affection.

“Azriel.”

“Yes, angel.” He was speaking to you so gently, like his voice could break you.

There was no way he was here. This had to be one of your dreams. God, he was so beautiful. You reached out with both your hands and traced your fingers down his cheeks. They were so much warmer than your fingers. He was looking at you with his full attention, something like longing in his eyes.

“You’re here,” you said, half-asleep.

He nodded patiently. “I’m here.”

If only. The longing in his eyes turned to pain as he took you in, prompting you to frown. “What’s the matter?” you asked.

“You haven’t been okay,” he continued using that gentle tone.

You cradled his face in your hands, letting yourself have him freely in this dream. “It’s okay,” you reassured.

He shook his head. “It’s not okay. I didn’t realize that I—that I was hurting you,” he pressed. The concern on his face drew lines of worry between his brows. “I’d never want that. I thought you wanted space, so I—” he cut himself off. He reached up and gently took your hands in his, pulling them off his cheeks and securing them into one of his hands, holding them to his chest. “Why are you in the cold? Your hands are freezing.”

You shrugged, indeed feeling the bite of the cold in your room. He must’ve closed the window upon entering. You looked around you, rousing more fully, noting how crisp everything was around you. You looked back to Azriel, feeling the warmth from his chest seeping into your hands, feeling his shadows gently caress your ankles. Was this—

“This is real,” he whispered.

You felt your pulse quicken, confirming this was indeed not a dream. “Oh,” you whispered back. But how did he—

“Cassian told me,” he answered.

“Oh,” you said again. That traitor. “What did he—how much did he—?”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “Not much, but he did say you were having trouble with sleep.” You simply nodded, dumbfounded. “I brought you some food,” he added. He pulled a bowl of hot broth from the floor. The gesture and the confrontation of it all brought tears to your eyes all over again. Neither one of you commented on them as they freely fell down your cheeks.

Azriel brought the broth between the two of you. You reached for the bowl, but he didn’t let you take it. You settled for the spoon, eating spoonfuls of broth as your tears fell, the warmth soothing the lump in your throat. After you had a good helping, Azriel was satisfied with your eating. You placed the spoon back in the bowl and he put it aside. He reached forward and wiped away your tears.

“I’m sorry for not—” he took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m not good at these things. I didn’t know if you… if you wanted this. The whole time we were close, I wanted you so bad, (Y/N). I just didn’t think I deserved you.” You shook your head, but he continued. “I still don’t think I’m good enough for you,” he confessed.

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you said.

Azriel shuddered. “God, (Y/N). You don’t know how badly I... I just don’t want to be selfish, but I suppose that’s doing us more harm than good.”

Your tears finally stopped.

“I’ll spend every day trying to do right by you, angel.”

You shook your head. “Az, I want you for who you are right now. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. There’s nothing more you have to do or any part of yourself you have to fix.”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

You shrugged, smiling. “Maybe all of this was just a cry for attention.”

Azriel barked a laugh. “Right. All of this was for attention.”

You laughed with him, and he watched as you did, eyes sparkling. You reached for him again. He opened his arms to you, and you practically threw yourself onto him, where he caught you and held you steadfast to his chest.

“So you dream about me, huh?” he mused into your shoulder.

You laughed. “Shut up. More like night terrors.”

He chuckled. “Sure thing.”

You pulled back. The two of you sat across from each other on the floor. He cradled your face. “I missed you,” he breathed.

“I did too.”

He pulled you to him gently. You didn’t resist.

His breath fanned across your face, and his lips grazed yours. He kissed you gently, testing the waters. You needed more. He complied, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulling you into his lap where you happily climbed into. He kissed you so deeply you felt warm everywhere. You followed his lead, the intensity of it all, matching his movements until he finally broke for air. The two of you stared at each other, dazed and wild-eyed.

“Don’t leave again,” he rasped.

“I won’t.” I can’t.

“Good.”

“Say you’re here to stay,” you breathed. He kissed you one final time.

“Always, angel.”

~

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopiaa @cityofidek @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Six

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, angst, strong language, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, smut. Word count: ~3k

Chapter summary: Daemon makes two life changing discoveries. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

Author's note: No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Maester Orwyle drops heavily to his feet once Daemon’s grip on the front of his robes loosens. He scurries away fearfully, scarcely even sparing a glance behind him.

Daemon’s temper still burns hot within his veins. How dare she hide this from me?

The force with which he throws open the doors would be enough to wake Melessa up ordinarily; but under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t be under the influence of milk of the poppy. Thus, she remains asleep.

He softens upon taking in her appearance, his anger leaving him as he watches her laying there. She’d look peaceful were it not for the tear tracks upon her cheeks—tears he has caused her. His wife. 

The mother of his child.

She does not deserve his anger any more than he deserves her forgiveness, as much as he yearns for it. He sits carefully on the bed next to her, longing to reach out and brush his fingers against the peachy softness of her face. He refrains. She has expressed a wish for him not to touch her. He owes it to her to respect that, even in sleep.

Whether she is prepared to allow him to make amends now or not, he knows he cannot permit her to return to Highgarden. Not now that she carries his child. She has given him a reason to do better, to be better.

He wants to watch her grow round and full with his offspring, to see the effects that he has had on her body as it adapts to the life nestled within. He feels his cock stir at the thought and swallows thickly, attempting to push the urge away. Perhaps her shape had begun to change already and he hadn’t noticed. He finds himself thinking back to the last few times they’d been intimate. He had been so rough, so hurried, so desperate for fulfillment that he had barely registered her beneath him. If he had the opportunity to go back he would take his time with her, run his hands over her curves and appreciate them, notice the subtle swell to her breasts and the added plushness to her hips.

There is an ache in his chest as he continues to look upon her. He has to make this right. A child of his own is something Daemon has never thought about; never wanted, until now. And now, he does not think he has ever desired anything more desperately.

He has no idea how long he continues to sit there for. Soon, the sky is breaking into vibrant hues of yellow, orange and red upon the horizon, indicating dawn’s approach. He hadn’t seen Melessa eat since Rhaenyra’s coronation feast the previous afternoon. She will awaken soon and surely feel ravenous with hunger. Daemon cannot abide that, not when their child relies upon her nourishment.

Reluctantly, he rises from the bed and makes his way to the kitchens. There is plentiful food left over from the day before; he orders the few staff that are awake and working already to put together a platter. Salted meats, pies, bread, hard cheese and tarts are piled high upon the tray, enough to feed both him and Melessa for today and the day after that. He knows it is too much, but this is as much to prove a point as it is to give his wife breakfast. Even in the wrong, Daemon cannot resist the urge to maintain the element of surprise.

Melessa is stirring, sleepily rubbing her eyes as he re-enters her bedchamber, setting the heaped tray upon the foot of the bed. She sits up, her brow furrowing as she looks upon the food that’s been placed before her.

“What’s all this?” she asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Breakfast,” Daemon tells her with a smirk, leaning against the bedpost and folding his arms as he watches her.

“There is so much of it…” Her blue eyes glance up towards him before dropping back to the spread of food.

“Yes—I suppose there is,” he says. “It was tricky for me to know how much to have brought up to you… considering you are eating for two now.”

Her hand that had been reaching towards the food pulls suddenly back into her lap. She stares at him, brows raised in shock. “You know.”

It isn’t so much a question as it is a statement. Daemon simply nods, attempting to mask the satisfied smile that spreads across his face. He may have caught her out, but ultimately he is still in the wrong.

“How?” she asks, pressing her lips into a tight line.

“I caught Maester Orwyle sneaking out of your chambers in the middle of the night,” he tells her matter-of-factly.

“Oh gods. Daemon—what did you do to him?”

His wife knows him too well. He is unable to help the upward tug at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing he won’t recover from. Eat.”

Melessa sighs and reaches for a piece of bread, tearing it apart with her hands as Daemon resumes his earlier position beside her.

“How long have you known?” he asks after a few moments pass between them in silence.

“Since we arrived back in King’s Landing,” she replies between bites.

“And how long since you last bled?”

He can see her considering his question as she chews, trying to recall. “About three moons.”

Daemon can feel his mood darkening and draws in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. His voice is tight when he asks his next question. “And not once did it occur to you to tell me?”

“I was going to,” she begins softly. “There was so much going on already, with your brother passing away. I had planned to tell you after Rhaenyra’s coronation, but then…”

She trails off, her bottom lip trembling slightly and Daemon feels his heart squeeze at the sight.

“Then I fucked it all up,” he says sadly.

“Hm.” Melessa places her half eaten bread back on the tray, leaning back against the headboard. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you? Not now that you know.”

Daemon feels like he’d be serving another blow to her, to admit this aloud, true as it is. He wants nothing more than to comfort her, to pull her against his chest and breathe in the sweet scent of her golden hair.

“I need you to know that nothing happened…with that girl,” he tells her. “I won’t deny that I tried, and I cannot begin to explain why I did, but I couldn’t…because she wasn’t you, petal.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful?” she asks bitterly.

“No, but it is proof of the fact that I care for you.”

“And yet you have never told me you love me.”

“I’ve never told anyone that before, not even my own brother. Perhaps that is my mistake.”

“But do you love me?”

He is determined not to leave the pause that he did yesterday, to not make her doubt his feelings for her any further than he already has. He takes a breath, steeling himself against his impending vulnerability. “Our time on Dragonstone together was the happiest I ever remember being. I hated having to give that up to return here. Everything in this wretched place serves as a reminder that I am not good enough for you, not good enough to be Hand of the King.”

“And yet, you are my husband and Hand of the Queen,” Melessa reminds him.

“I stole you from my nephew. My niece made me Hand because my brother would not.”

“Perhaps you ought to spend more time appreciating what you have, rather than resenting the reason you have it.”

He huffs through his nose. She is right and he despises it, but it is one of the things he has grown to love about her. Yes. Love. 

“I think about you all the time,” he tells her. “I find myself wishing for your presence when you are not by my side. Your scent is imprinted upon me in such a way that nothing else satisfies; I yearn for you more than I ever have for anyone. If that is love, then—yes. I love you… as much as I am able to love another person.”

She stares straight ahead as he speaks, her expression unreadable. The quiet hangs heavy between them when he finishes. Daemon’s heart races, worried she’ll reject him despite him having opened up to her.

Melessa shifts slightly in the bed. “Can you take the food away?” she asks. “The smell is making me feel unwell. I will not return to Highgarden, but I would appreciate some time to myself. I need to rest.”

Daemon nods, standing and removing the food from the end of the bed. He hovers by the door as Melessa settles back down to sleep, debating whether to try to kiss her or not. Deciding against it—he sees her eyes flutter closed—he pushes the tray into the hands of a chambermaid and makes his way out of the Red Keep.

He expects that Rhaenyra will summon him at some point today. It is her first official day as Queen; she will no doubt want a meeting of the Small Council. It is still early, however, and with yesterday’s festivities, he doesn’t anticipate her being ready to call everyone forth until the afternoon. He decides a ride on dragonback will help clear his mind. He has much to think about, though he is glad at having convinced Melessa to remain in King’s Landing without the need for force.

As Daemon approaches the Dragonpit, he notices excited commotion amongst the Keepers. The head of them gives him a beaming smile when he spots him and hurries over, staff in hand, to clap Daemon on the shoulder. He scowls at the overfamiliarity. Before he can enquire as to what the meaning of all of this is, he hears what the Keeper has to say.

“Syrax has laid a clutch! Her first in two decades!”

Daemon raises his eyebrows, the perceived slight immediately forgotten. “Dragon eggs?”

“Yes, Your Grace. We hadn’t known she was gravid. It appears the return of Caraxes has been fruitful for her.”

“Show me,” Daemon commands, excitement fluttering within him.

The head Dragon Keeper guides him through the gloom and humidity of the Pit until they reach a mucus-coated membrane upon the earthen floor. 

Daemon crouches, breaking apart the protective layer that coats the top of them. Beneath lay four dragon eggs. His eye is immediately drawn to one that is iridescent shades of orange and red, fading into a vibrant green towards the bottom.

Carefully, he lifts it, turning it over in his hands, feeling the warmth of its hardened scales against his fingertips. “Perzys se rūkla,” he whispers.

Two Keepers approach, a steaming pot meant to incubate the eggs carried between them.

Daemon rights himself, keeping a hold of the egg he’s taken. “You may take those three.” He nods towards the ground. “And inform the Queen of Syrax’s clutch. I am taking this one.”

Melessa is still dozing when he returns. This time, he has no hesitation in waking her. He grins down at her as she grouses to herself, blinking her eyes slowly open.

“For the babe,” he tells her, holding the egg out.

She gasps, reaching out to place her hands over it, her fingers overlapping with his.

Daemon releases a steady exhale at the contact, the first physical touch they’ve shared in what feels like an age. He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers as they hold the egg together, the aroma of almond oil and rosewater flooding his senses. Finally, it feels as though everything may work out exactly as he wants.

This time, he does not fear it.

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

Daemon paces the room. Each of Melessa’s pained screams cause him to wince as they echo off of the vaulted ceilings. A gaggle of attendants rally around her, mopping away sweat and blood as she produces each fluid anew.

Should there be so much blood? Is she going to be alright?

His throat constricts at the possibility he might lose her. He has ignored the pleas for him to leave the room, does not trust that she will not meet the fate of his brother’s first wife, Aemma, should she fall into difficulties.

He will not have her carved open like some roasted hog, just for the sake of some squawking brat. He will end this child’s life long before he ever considers taking hers.

He longs to brush her dampened hair from her temples, to hold her hand and encourage her through her labours, but he has not been allowed beside the bed. The birthing bed is no place for a husband, he is told. Daemon thinks that is utter shit.

He stills when he hears the first wails, too high-pitched to possibly be his wife’s. He turns to see Melessa exhausted but still very much alive, panting against the pillows as a bloodied, squirming mass is lifted from between her legs.

“A boy,” announces a voice from somewhere. He barely registers it, everything seeming far away as the child is separated from his mother, swaddled, and placed into Daemon’s arms.

He has never held anything so fragile before in his life. His arms wrap instinctively around the tiny bundle, a lump forming in his throat as he gazes down at the scrunched up, reddened face that looks up at him with apparent displeasure. 

“Ñuhus trēsȳs,” he whispers. “You have a face I’m sure your mother will love.” My son.

He walks around to the side of the bed, and places the child in Melessa’s waiting arms. “Well done, petal,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “You have given me a son.”

Daemon’s heart swells at the adoration with which she looks down at the babe with, her fingers tracing over his tiny cheek.

“What shall we name him?” she asks, voice hoarse from her labour pains.

“I was thinking Viserys, after my brother,” Daemon says, perching on the edge of the bed and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“A fine name, indeed.” She smiles. “Little Viserys.”

“Avy jorrāelagon,” he whispers, pressing his nose to her hair. It is a sentiment he ensures his wife and child will never go without hearing from him ever again. I love you.

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

Daemon’s hands wander over Melessa’s nightgown, pawing and squeezing at her flesh as she lays beside him. Under instruction from the Maesters, he and Melessa have not laid together for six weeks in order to allow her body to heal from having given birth. The wait has felt agonising to him; the last time he had been inside of her had been during the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Towards the end, Viserys had sat too low in her womb for them to be intimate without it causing her discomfort.

The wait has been maddening for Daemon. His fist will never satisfy him the way that the warmth of her cunt can.

She squirms uneasily against his touch. “Daemon— please,” she whimpers. “My body has changed since I became a mother.”

“And what is your point, petal?” he murmurs, his hand cupping her breast through the flimsy cotton that covers it.

“I do not look as I was before. I worry that you will not want me anymore, that you will seek out the comfort of another again…”

Daemon takes a gentle grip of her chin, tilting her face towards him. “There is no one that I desire more than you, sweet wife.”

He grasps her hand, guiding it towards his hardened length. “See what you do to me? Even in that oversized sack you insist upon wearing to bed.”

She giggles, and he captures her lips in a searing kiss, pulling at the lacings that keep her shift fastened as he does.

When she is bared beneath him, his eyes travel over the fullness of her breasts, the tautness of their hardened peaks slightly ruddier than they used to be. Her stomach bears the markings of having carried life, her hips more rounded, plusher than they used to be.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his throat. She is irrevocably marked as his and has never looked more beautiful to him.

He inhales a sharp breath upon finding her wet and wanting when he snakes a hand between her thighs. He wants to spend more time preparing her, but the way his cock aches painfully does not allow for such endeavours this evening. He needs her too badly.

When the tight heat of her walls envelope him, he groans in relief. It is like returning home after a lengthy absence. She sobs with pleasure at his every thrust, his hands vice-like against her waist as she eventually shudders and comes apart around him. He follows her over the edge soon after, white hot pleasure licking at his lower spine as he spills himself deep inside of her.

She is almost asleep against his chest when the piercing wails of Viserys startle them both into wakefulness. Melessa sighs, moving to leave the bed when Daemon places a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Allow me, petal,” he says, brushing his lips against her temple and rising from the bed.

Viserys cries in his cradle, little handles clenched into fists. The moonlight that streams through the gap in the curtains shines upon what has disturbed his slumber.

The dragon egg that lays beside him—vibrant hues of red and orange that fade into a brilliant shade of green towards the bottom—has begun to crack apart. 

Daemon’s lips part as he watches it. A little dragon for his very own little dragon. 

Perzys se rūkla.

FIN.

[spacekingdoms]

Swear To Me (It’s You)

Synopsis: My take on S5 E8 ending. Arthur is showing signs of jealousy after hearing Merlin was with a girl…or signs may point toward a male. To ease his own mind he makes Merlin swear to him.

Content warning/Trigger Warning: Unhappy Marriage, Potential Infidelity, Injury (leg), Jealousy.

Rating: Teen

Merlin’s leg ached, although healing, it still caused him to limp through his evening duties. That wasn’t the only thing weighing him down though. His heart heavy from the loss of a boy changed. As he prepared the evening meal for Arthur and Guinevere, the woman for whom he couldn’t bare to look in her eyes knowing that his friend was enchanted and there was, currently, nothing he could do to protect her.

In regard to other friendships, Arthur had barely even looked at him since returning to the castle. When Merlin laid their meal out, Arthur hadn’t even uttered a single expression of gratitude. Only opening his mouth to say to Gwen;

“I still can’t believe how lucky I was. I owe that boy my life…and I don’t know who he was or where he’s from.”

Then turning to Merlin, as if finally, deeming his presence worthy of acknowledgement.

“We need to make sure we give him a decent burial.”

Merlin softly responded, “I’ll do that,” turning back to the table with a hobble, carrying the final platters, “If you allow me the time.”

Merlin misses Arthur’s brow quirk, misses his indignant facial expression. Merlin does not miss the tone he uses though.

“Oh. So you can go and visit that girl again?”

Merlin lay Gwen’s meal for her, taken aback with confusion at his words. A girl? He has no time to meet a girl, or man, when he’s too busy dying in the forest or saving Arthur’s life, or more accurately pining desperately from the sidelines for a love he’ll never receive in return to even be able to look at another in a way his eyes are reserved for A-

“Girl.” Arthur states drawing out the word, eye brows cocking and he looks miffed.

Merlin is too tired for wisecracks and repartee. The grief is too thick in his blood, his leg aches and his body yearns for a sleep to cure the exhaustion laden heavy in his mind and bones. He achieves a pathetic barely heard scoff as he hobbles back to the sideboard to fetch the pitcher of wine.

“Don’t have one.” Even his voice sounds tired to his own ears.

Again, Arthur’s voice is annoyed and…something Merlin’s brain is too slow to catch.

“That’s not what Guinevere tells me.”

Merlin turns to stare at Gwen, his friend who smirks at him from the table. Merlin loves her dearly but this enchanted version of her is cruel. He knows she has always known - an unspoken secret never touched for all those years that Merlin first became Arthur’s manservant. Deep rooted insecurities shining through her enchantment. Knowing that Merlin and Arthur’s bond is unbreakable, unshakeable, a force that could never be matched. With understanding that her role in Arthur’s life has been rocky for nearly two years now. Another unspoken and avoided topic between the King and Queen.

So yes, it is understandable that kind hearted and the ever so loveliest Guinevere would present her secret depths within her evil bound enchantment. Setting a divide between the two, as if any other human being would take the place of the one he serves. Planting that seed of thought in her own husbands mind, that once again, he is always second best or not even best at all. To his father, to his sister, to his uncle, to Guinevere in place of Lancelot and now, even to the one who was most loyal, Merlin.

Arthur pushes his goblet toward Merlin, staring hard at him and he asks, leaning on demands,

“So, why don’t you tell us all about her.”

Merlin pours the wine, glancing between Arthur and Gwen. Who at the opposite end of the table smirks with mirth in her eyes. She holds up her goblet for Merlin. Merlin hobbles to her.

“Right…”

He pours her wine, her malicious smirk that Merlin has grown to hate.

“…and why you’re walking with a limp.” Arthur states.

Merlin could have spilt the pitcher if he hadn’t been gripping it tightly in frustration. And…oh. Arthur is insinuating that he hadn’t been with a girl, but rather a man. The tone…his mind screaming at him. One he doesn’t dare believe, he’s tired, he’s not thinking straight. He’s….Arthur’s jealous. Merlin turns to him. Wordless, he cannot say anything. For there is nothing to say. He cannot himself say aloud what Arthur insinuates nor can he voice if he is jealous. His mouth opens, closes, opens….closes.

“Arthur…” Guinevere begins, “Do you…insinuate?” She sounds scandalised but Merlin can hear her glee under it all.

Merlin still stares at Arthur who stares at him. Arthur who doesn’t even appear to have heard an uttered word from Gwen.

“Do you deny the truth?” Arthur demands

“I deny it. There…there isn’t anyone.” Else. Merlin replies quietly.

“Would you swear it?” Arthur stares deep into his eyes.

“Arthur.” Gwen cuts in, puzzlement now coats her words.

“Arthur.”

“Would you swear it to me, that there is no-one?” Arthur’s body is still, solid and locked as is his tone and penetrating gaze.

“That you are loyal to me, and only me?” He finishes.

“That is not the loyalty you can ask of him, Arthur.” Guinevere cuts in, standing up, “I must say you confuse the loyalty you seek with the love he is creating with someone in this instance, my husband.”

Arthur’s sharp gaze cuts to Gwen, Merlin can’t turn to look at her as he is frozen, heart pounding in his ribcage as he catches Arthur’s steely expression.

“This does not concern you, Guinevere. This is between me and my manservant.” Arthur’s eyes cut to Merlin’s before back at his wife. “I must ask you to take leave.”

“Arthur.” She laughs, but it’s shocked and confused.

“Now, please.” A sharp flicker of regret move through Arthur’s blue eyes.

Merlin can only hear her shoes against the stone floor, the creak of the hinge he needs to oil tomorrow and the boom of the heavy door slamming into its frame that makes him jolt.

“Merlin, again, I ask you. Will you swear loyalty to me and only me?”

Arthur’s blue eyes are hard, a mask slid in place that Merlin cannot uncover. He doesn’t like this Arthur, the one where he pushes Merlin out to protect his own heart. Foolish, supercilious, prat of a man.

“I swear to you.” Merlin says, scarce louder than a whisper. “I am and will always only be loyal to you.”

Arthur stares, his blue eyes shining more so but he does not speak. He only stares into Merlin’s eyes and finds what he is looking for in there. Merlin watches Arthur swallow thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly in his throat before he averts his eyes to grab at his goblet for a deep swallow of wine.

“Then, pray tell, why are you limping?”

Merlin rolls up his trousers leg, showing the wrapped cloth around the wound on his leg.

“I, ah, I hurt myself in the forest. That boy…he um. He came to me to seek a physicians support to cure a family member. Upon my journey, I was injured.” Partially the truth.

Arthur stares at him, eye brows furrowed and his top lip curled in confusion.

“You left unannounced to provide healing?” Arthur isn’t that stupid, he knows that there is a missing part, “Why would you keep is secret from me…and Gaius?”

“They were druids.” Not the truth, but as close to it as Merlin could get.

“You left me, in secret, to provide healing to the Druid’s?” Arthur stares,

“Yes.”

“And this is truly what you were doing?”

“I was delayed in my return due to my injury.” Merlin tells the truth.

“Okay.” Arthur nods, picking a piece of chicken from his plate and popping it in his mouth.

“Okay?” Merlin is…confused.

“Yes. I believe you.” Arthur swallows, “The druids are peaceful people.”

“So I didn’t need to swear loyalty to you then, and everything still would have been fine?” Merlin laughs.

“Perhaps, a reminder then.”

“A reminder?” Merlin frowns.

“Yes.” Arthur looks up at him, holding his goblet away from his lips. “That you belong to me and only me.”

Arthur drinks, Merlin barely chokes out an, “Arthur?”

Arthur places the goblet back down, ignoring him completely, “You might as well have that.”

Merlin looks behind him to where Arthur has gestured loosely with one hand,

“Guinevere won’t be returning now, and saves it going to waste.” Arthur cuts into the leafy green and skewers it with a piece of chicken.

“I, uh, I know things have been strange with Gwen these past few weeks but-“

“It has been existing between Guinevere and I for longer than you say, but I really have no interest in discussing this at present, Merlin.”

Arthur stands up and moves to pulls the other chair round before then taking the meal and placing it in front of the chair next to his own, then fetches a new goblet from the sideboard.

“Now, if you wish to share a meal with me, please shut up and sit down.”

Merlin hobbles into the chair, feeling foreign when he sinks into the unyielding wood. He looks up, Arthur is staring at him, he nods at the plate in front of Merlin and pours him a goblet of wine. Arthur returns to his own seat in silence, before then stuffing the fully loaded fork of food into his mouth.

They eat in silence, sparing glances at one another. Merlin’s heart swelling painfully in his chest. His emotions threatening to spill out is tidal waves he cannot hold back,

“You don’t ever have to think I am off…enjoying the company of others, Arthur. Destiny sealed where I belonged a long, long time ago.”

“Don’t be such a girl, Merlin.”

“Prat.” Merlin smiles.

“Idiot.” Arthur grins in return.

A comfortable silence takes them both while they finish their meal. Merlin begins to reach and nearly knocks over the goblet when he feels Arthur’s foot hook around the back of his ankle, rubbing softly once, twice…a third. Like interlocked fingers and thumbs caressing over knuckles, in their own unspoken way. Merlin’s face feels warm as he flickers his gaze over to Arthur. His face is equally a similar shade of red but the small smile playing on his lips as he cuts into the meal makes a similar one pull at Merlin’s own mouth. Well, let’s just say, this is just one other secret between the men who are two sides of the same coin.

***

Authors notes: Please note I do not hate Gwen and this is not a Gwen!hate fic. This is about a couple who came together and found out that they maybe weren’t supposed to be together but still care for one another. Gwen’s insecurities and feelings present negatively due to her enchantment by Morgana. Arthur treats her poorly due to his anger/jealousy over his feeling toward Merlin. I adore Gwen but I am a Gwen/Lancelot or Gwen/Morgana lover.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

KINDRED — 11

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

smau + written (2.4k words)

❥･• episode 11 — someone like me

Your fingers fumble awkwardly across the keyboard, pretending to craft messages for Jungwon. Though the conversation had concluded a while ago when he ventured off to hunt for a comic to occupy his next half-hour, you continued typing, feigning busyness on your phone to conceal the fact that you actually did not have a single clue how to act in front of all the cameras aimed at you. You curse Jungwon under your breath once more, silently wishing he’d materialise out of thin air to rescue you from the watchful eyes of not just the film crew but also the oblivious students populating the library.

In the ensuing minutes, a creepy awareness settles in as you notice the cameraman slowly edging closer behind you, aiming to capture your phone’s screen. Panicking, you spring up from your seat, and the chair scrapes harshly against the concrete floor, the jarring noise drawing the disturbed gaze of numerous students in the room. In that stifling moment, for the first time, you feel trapped within the four walls of the library, and you yearn for a breath of fresh air. Under the guise of needing a restroom break, you slip away. Producer Choi seems calm as she calls for a break before the next round of shooting begins.

Outside the library doors, you finally feel like you can breathe. The constant sensation of somebody watching your every move remains an unnerving feeling you’ll never grow accustomed to. Despite the ceaseless reminders to act naturally and behave like you always do, you can’t help but adopt a carefully curated persona, showcasing facets of yourself you didn’t even know existed.

Perhaps Jungwon has a point: you are, in fact, a people-pleaser. Somewhere within, you acknowledge the truth of his observation. The unending urge to fulfil expectations, the lingering dread of letting someone down, even if that person is a mere acquaintance—these sentiments reside within you, and you’d be delusional if you said you didn’t see them. You just, as usual, have too big of an ego to acknowledge it publicly.

Leaning against the rugged building's wall, you find yourself completely lost in the depths of your own thoughts, oblivious to the passage of time. Jungwon had returned to his seat mere minutes ago, his face etched with frustration due to the relentless prodding of the film crew, who incessantly insisted that he find you so the two of you could head off for his training session. It had sent him to the brink of madness, to say the least. Your phone buzzes insistently, but you pay it no mind, mentally willing for the seconds to pass by quicker.

In this fleeting moment of clarity, you become acutely aware of the judgmental gazes of students passing by, yet strangely, you couldn't care less. Park Y/N, perpetually burdened by concerns about how she's perceived, surprises herself by not putting up her customary façade—the studious nerd that everyone has grown accustomed to.

"Nerd! Is that you, looking all melancholic outside the library? What a shocker! Shouldn't you be frolicking in some science fiction book by now?" A group of familiar faces emerges, and you desperately wish they weren't advancing toward you at this moment.

If Chanelle were here, she would probably be unabashedly hissing at them, doing everything in her power to dissuade them from being remotely near you. But she's nowhere in sight, leaving Hana and her two lackeys striding purposefully toward you, their expressions bearing a mocking demeanour that suggests they have no intention of letting you off easily today.

"What do you want, Hana? I'm not in the mood to play your games today." You can't help but wish your words hadn't come off so irritated, for as soon as Hana's expression shifts, a tsunami of regret crashes over you.

"Poor Y/N, had a disagreement with your boyfriend?" You know she's referring to Jungwon; Hana's heart has always been ensnared by him, even if it's a one-sided infatuation. It's never bothered her that she can't have him because, quite frankly, nobody can.

So, when the entire campus discovered that Yang Jungwon was running around with you instead of his usual Taekwondo pursuits, imagine the green-eyed jealousy and envy that gripped Hana's heart. You somehow managed to capture his attention before she did, and you two were even sworn enemies at one point.

You can't quite explain what's come over you, but judging from your aura, it's clear you ain’t having it today. It's likely the reason why you couldn't care less about what Hana, her entourage, or the passing students might be thinking about you at this very moment. Perhaps it's also the source of the sudden surge of confidence that compels you to provoke her—something you probably shouldn't have done.

"Why do you ask? Could it be that you're jealous, Hana? Envious of me? I never thought I'd live to see the day." You let out a mocking laugh, partly savouring the myriad of expressions you've elicited from them. You've never challenged her authority before, no one else has dared to. So, when those audacious words escape your lips, it leaves Hana utterly dumbfounded. Not to mention furious.

"What did you say to me?" Hana seethes, pressing you firmly against the wall, her face contorting into expressions you've never witnessed before.

You must have genuinely enraged her, and oddly enough, you find a twisted satisfaction in witnessing how your defiance is affecting her. It's a stark reminder of how people can don masks of pretentiousness and cruelty just to feel a modicum of superiority over others. At the end of the day, those masks crumble with just a gentle push, much like how you find your own defences slipping around Jungwon when he manages to irritate you, if only a little.

"You heard what I said. Besides, Jungwon would never be interested in someone like you," you retort, your voice unwavering, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Oh? So you think Jungwon prefers someone like you?" Hana chuckles, and her two loyal followers join in with rehearsed disdain as if they had practised this very moment. What did she mean by someone like you? What could possibly be wrong with someone like you? Unlike Hana, you definitely weren’t a raging, jealous bitch. So why can’t Jungwon like you? Not that you’d want him to.

"Y/N, you're just like your mother," Hana continues, her smirk unwavering, her intense gaze never leaving you. Her words cut deep, leaving a gaping wound in your chest. "And eventually, Jungwon will leave you too, just like your daddy did."

The taunt hangs heavy in the air, and you struggle to maintain your composure in the face of such a personal attack. Growing up without a father figure never bothered you, but what does is the fact that she’s right. He left because of the controlling and suffocating grip your mother held over him—the very woman who raised you, moulding you with her unyielding methods and ideals. Now, you're an exact replica of the woman who tore your family apart.

Despite it all, you've never blamed your mother. Your father, in the end, proved to be a coward who couldn't stand up for you. And while you and your mother didn't always see eye to eye, she single-handedly raised you. As stubborn as she may be, your mother genuinely cares for and loves you.

As you grapple with these thoughts, you're unaware of the rivulets of tears streaming down your face, staining your cheeks. Hana, observing your emotional turmoil, sneers at your vulnerability. It's a stark reminder that, no matter how confidently you project yourself, she can shatter your façade with a single-cutting remark.

“That was a low blow, Hana.” Your body tenses at the familiar voice sounding out not too far away. In this moment, you fervently wish it weren't who you suspect it to be. Hana's eyes widen, and her expression instantly morphs into one of complete horror, her gaze locked onto the boy for whom she harboured her one-sided feelings.

Jungwon stands there, his presence commanding and enigmatic as always, his eyes locked on the unfolding drama. He's dressed casually, but there's an undeniable aura of strength and charisma that surrounds him. His brows furrow slightly as he takes in the scene, a hint of concern flickering in his gaze.

Hana, recovering from her initial shock, stammers for a moment, unable to form coherent words. She's caught off guard, her usual confidence crumbling in the face of Jungwon's unexpected appearance.

The tension in the air is palpable as the three of you share this awkward, charged moment. You can't help but wonder how Jungwon will react to this spectacle, and deep down, you're dreading what his response might be.

"Jungwon! I didn't see you there," Hana's voice suddenly rises a couple of octaves, her tone shifting from devilish to sweet in the blink of an eye as she addresses the boy she's been not so secretly pining for. Her personality undergoes a complete transformation with Jungwon's sudden appearance, leaving you incredulous. It's as if she's a completely different person now that he's in the picture. You can't help but scoff at the sheer audacity of the girl, barely holding back a cynical laugh. How can someone be so shamelessly two-faced?

Jungwon's voice cuts through the tension, his tone firm and unwavering, his eyes never leaving yours. "Cut the bullshit and leave her alone."

The words hang in the air, loaded with a protective intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Hana, clearly taken aback by his sternness, stammers for a moment, searching for an excuse or a way out of this uncomfortable situation. She finally mumbles something about needing to go and hurries away, leaving you and Jungwon alone.

"Park, you okay there?" Jungwon's voice is gentle, tinged with apprehension as he approaches you. You sneak a glance at him, your heart pounding against your chest as you silently curse the universe for allowing him to witness you in such a vulnerable position—one you've been painstakingly trying to conceal from him.

"She's gone now, in case you're wondering; I made sure of it–"

"Go away," you reply, your voice unexpectedly firm, surprising both Jungwon and yourself. You knew he was only trying to help, but deep down, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger that you needed his assistance at all. You despise this sense of helplessness, constantly being at the mercy of Yang Jungwon. Perhaps it's one of the many traits of your mother that has rubbed off on you—the absolute refusal to let anyone see your weaknesses.

"That's not a very nice thing to say to someone who just offered their help."

"I didn't ask for your help." You finally lift your gaze to meet his, only to discover that the entire production crew is standing behind him, their intrusive cameras pointed directly at your tear-stained face. You're left momentarily speechless. Revealing your vulnerability to Jungwon is one thing, but being exposed on national television? It must be a joke.

The realisation dawns on you like a sledgehammer. Panic courses through your veins, and you feel the eyes of the crew behind Jungwon burning into your soul. The tears that had welled up in your eyes now feel like an ocean threatening to spill over, but you're determined to regain your composure.

Jungwon seems taken aback by the sudden intrusion of the cameras and the crew, his expression shifting from concern to a mix of surprise and frustration. He glances over his shoulder at the crew, who seem to be waiting for something, and then back at you.

In an instant, he gracefully crouches beside you, his imposing figure acting as an impenetrable shield, blocking you from the invasive cameras. His fingers deftly move to cover the microphone discreetly affixed to his school uniform as he leans in to speak, his voice a gentle whisper that barely reaches your ears.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I had no idea they were following me."

The softness in his tone momentarily stuns you, causing you to question whether the person before you is truly the Yang Jungwon you thought you knew. It's a contemplative moment that makes you wonder if you've ever really known him beyond the surface. For far too long, you've held onto a deep-seated negative sentiment toward him, rooted in an incident that occurred several semesters ago. Now, faced with his unexpected act of protection, you're left pondering whether there might be more to Jungwon than the one-dimensional image you've held in your mind.

You take a deep breath, your emotions are still raw and tangled, but you muster the strength to speak. "It's not your fault, Jungwon. Thank you.”

He offers a small, understanding smile, and you can't help but be struck by how his presence has a calming effect on you, even in the midst of this unexpected and uncomfortable situation. "Let's get out of here," Jungwon suggests, extending a hand to help you up and you accept his gesture.

“I’m also twenty minutes late for training. Coach is definitely going to kick my ass.” Right, you were supposed to sit in for his training today. Not wanting to delay him any longer, you quickly rise to your feet with the help of Jungwon. In an instant, you transform back into the unbothered, confident Park Y/N that everybody knows, gesturing for Jungwon to lead the way to the gym.

Jungwon, though undoubtedly aware of the sudden shift in your demeanour, chooses not to comment on it. Unlike him, you wear your heart on your sleeve, and it didn’t take him more than a couple days to gain an understanding of your complex nature.

As you follow closely behind Jungwon with the rest of the crew trailing behind you, you can't help but wonder how this moment might change your relationship with Jungwon now that your vulnerabilities have been laid bare for the world to see.

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♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

authors note: i literally JUST finished writing this… took me 2 weeks 💀 also it’s not a smau by me if there’s no angst 😼 please do like, reblog or comment to help me reach!! edens this one is for y’all !

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee

taglist open! @uuzhanggggggg @missingemobeomgyu @jiawji @ocyeanicc @s7noo @asterizee @j1nniee @noascats @yunwonie @saturnmooonxx @enhaz1 @jiaant11 @clairecottenheart @i2lain @miumiuoi

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | seven

🐴Chapter summary: Your heart aches and you feel like you see Jimin everywhere you turn, it feels suffocating. When you suddenly get a call from your sister’s doctor saying that she never made it to her appointment, dread fills your bones. 🐴Chapter title: We Got it Wrong 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: car accident and bleeding from a head wound (I’m sorry 😢), OC is just very sad and angry, there’s a lot of angst and stupidity (thanks to the stupid misunderstanding last chapter), lol. It will get better! But not right now 🥲 And if you feel like you need a reminder where the story is heading, read this spoiler 🫶 🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!) 🐴Word count: 9.5k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “We Got it Wrong” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: in true ‘McLeod’s Daughters’ style, we open up for all the angst in this chapter! It was tough to write, and it was hard not to cry at the end. It’s more on the sad side, but the sun will shine again— don’t you worry! ☀️

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

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“Tears for all the damage Tears for all the joy Out in the dark, alone and lost I’ll try not to destroy Any more of what we had Because we got it wrong” - ‘We Got it Wrong’ by Rebecca Lavelle

Despite the persistent yearning for Jimin that echoes in your heart and mind, the refuge you find in your work with the wild horses becomes a haven for forgetting. In their presence, you master the art of maintaining a clear mind and keeping your emotions in check.

Otherwise, the delicate dance of gaining their trust remains elusive, and your efforts to gentle them might as well be in vain.

But sometimes maintaining a clear mind becomes a challenge, especially when the echoes of Jimin’s laughter reverberate from his house.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips, catching Yoongi’s attention as he glances your way from his perch on the fence.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Yoongi advises, enveloping you in a comforting sideways hug to emphasize his point.

You pout, your bottom lip jutting out, eyes imploring with a softness, “Easy for you to say.”

You sigh once more, a heavy breath escaping, and a profound sense of deflation washes over you. Is this truly the path your life is destined to take?

“He’ll open up to you in due time,” he reassures, and you can’t help but erupt into a manic chuckle, a blend of frustration and disbelief escaping your lips.

“You can’t be serious. It’s been weeks, and he still hasn’t uttered a word to me. I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon,” you express with a mix of disbelief and resignation.

Yoongi relents to your sour mood, descending gracefully from the fence with a resigned sigh, his boots meeting the sand with a soft thud.

Putting your lunch away, you gracefully descend, ready to immerse yourself once more in the comforting distraction of work, hoping to reclaim a few precious hours without the weight of Jimin occupying your mind.

As you stroll alongside Yoongi, you make your way back to the stables, anticipation bubbling within you to witness the progress on the chestnut mare he’s been tirelessly dedicating nearly a month to.

The expansive stable beckons, its generous proportions dwarfing yours, illuminated by a pristine, white light that banishes the garish yellow hues of your own barn. The stalls, noticeably more capacious, could easily accommodate two fully grown horses, prompting an eye roll at the absurd fixation on size—typical men.

With a swift yet gentle command, Yoongi effortlessly guides the mare out of her stall, relying solely on his body language and the cadence of his voice, a testament to the unspoken connection he shares with the spirited creature. “Come.”

His ability to command the horse without the need for a halter or rope leaves you in awe, like witnessing a magician performing an extraordinary feat. As he imparts his tricks to you, you’ve ventured to try them yourself with Mikrokosmos, turning the experience into a magical and exhilarating connection between you and the spirited mare.

Yoongi guiding the brown mare alongside you, you exit the expansive stables and make your way back down to the pens, the rhythmic echo of hooves on the stable floor harmonizing with the subtle sounds of nature surrounding you.

Your gaze shifts to Yoongi, a spark of curiosity brightening your eyes, “Have you thought of a name for her yet?”

A soft chuckle escapes him as you approach the pen, his hand reaching for the gate, “Holly.”

With the gate ajar, Yoongi ushers Holly into the pen with a deliberate calmness. In the center, she stands like a picture of patience, anticipating his gentle approach.

“That’s a cute name,” you remark, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you savor the sweet sound of the horse’s name.

You gracefully ascend, perching on the fence as if it were your throne, offering an unrivaled view of Yoongi’s equine magic.

“What are you gonna do with Holly today?” You inquire with genuine interest, your eyes fixed on the unfolding scene before you. Yoongi approaches Holly with a gentle touch, his hands navigating the contours of the horse like an artist sculpting a masterpiece, eliciting a contented whinny that adds a musical note to the serene atmosphere.

“I’m going to ride her today,” he declares with unwavering assurance, the timbre of his voice resonating with a mix of competence and excitement. As he applies gentle pressure on Holly’s back, the horse remains still, her tail swaying lazily to ward off an annoying insect.

With a graceful ease, Yoongi begins to mount Holly, his movement akin to an acrobat suspended in mid-air, creating a whimsical and amusing spectacle. He’s not fully astride her yet, more like a playful dance over her back, a sight so unique that it tugs at the corners of your lips, tempting a restrained laugh. It’s a display of horsemanship that you’ve never encountered before, leaving you both entertained and captivated.

Holly maintains her poise as Yoongi gracefully hovers on her back, and then, in a seamless motion, he descends to the sandy ground, his landing executed with a finesse that mirrors the effortless connection he shares with the gentle mare.

He recreates the move, elevating himself further on Holly’s back, until he dangles with his head swaying on the opposite side. Your grin widens, and though you’re tempted to burst into laughter, you restrain yourself, not wanting to disturb Holly’s tranquil demeanor.

He glides down once more, approaches her head, and caresses her with a tender touch. The whole interaction exudes a gentle harmony. Returning to her side, he pulls himself up onto her back, effortlessly swinging his leg over her body, finally settling into a comfortable seat.

You’re tempted to applaud, but you resist, not wanting to startle the horse. Yet, your admiration is palpable. This marks Yoongi’s inaugural ride on Holly, a momentous achievement that leaves you thoroughly impressed!

Yoongi stretches over her withers and strokes her neck affectionately, whispering, “Good girl.”

With a subtle click of his tongue and a gentle nudge of his legs, he guides her into a slow walk around the pen, no saddle, bridle, or halter in sight. 

Color you thoroughly impressed.

You watch in silent awe as he maneuvers around the pen, his presence commanding such tranquility that you’re hesitant to disrupt the serene atmosphere by uttering even a breath.

In a breathtaking display, Holly transitions from a slow trot to a graceful canter, and Yoongi remains a steady figure atop her back. His legs maintain a gentle connection with her sides, while his hands rest calmly on her withers. A moment of pure trust unfolds as he releases his grip, extending his arms outward, allowing Holly to dance freely in circles within the pen.

Yoongi embodies the essence of liberation, and a yearning grows within you to share a similar bond of freedom with Mikrokosmos. His infectious smile meets your gaze as Holly releases a resounding snort, prompting a heartfelt chuckle to escape your lips.

Allowing Holly to race freely, Yoongi skillfully guides her by exerting a gentle pull on her withers, coaxing her spirited gallop into a graceful deceleration, transforming the wild rhythm into a serene and controlled stroll.

The distant rumble of an approaching car draws your attention away from the serene scene in the pen, and you reluctantly shift your gaze towards the source. To your dismay, Jimin’s girlfriend arrives, her car pulling up with an elegance that seems to mirror her captivating allure. Ugh. Why does she have to look that good? And why does she look so familiar?

You scrutinize the unfolding scene, watching with a mix of bitterness and resentment as she gracefully emerges from her car. Jimin, despite his limp, crosses the distance to warmly embrace her. The sight sends a surge of conflicting emotions through you – your heart tightens, your blood simmers, and your hands involuntarily clench, the tension palpable as your teeth grind together in silent frustration.

A whirlwind of emotions engulfs you, an uncontrollable storm raging within. The intensity of your feelings is staggering – a deep-seated resentment towards Deiji, a lingering hatred for Jimin himself, yet paradoxically, a persistent love that refuses to fade. The turbulence within you paints an intricate mosaic of conflicting emotions, leaving you helplessly caught in the tumultuous crosscurrents of your heart.

As Jimin leans in to bestow a chaste kiss upon her cheek, bitterness seeps through your veins, staining your soul with an ominous shade of black. Above you, an unseen tempest brews, dark clouds of despair hanging heavily, casting a shadow over your heart.

Time, instead of healing, has only fueled the flames of pain, hurt, anger, and sadness within you. Over two weeks have passed since the last encounter with Jimin and his girlfriend, yet the agony persists, as raw and piercing as if it were yesterday. Rather than easing, the passage of time seems to stoke the embers, transforming your emotions into a relentless storm of fury and jealousy that intensifies with each passing day.

Suppressing the bitterness welling up within, you shift your focus back to Yoongi and Holly. Dwelling on Jimin, the man who once went out of his way for you, retrieving you from the city, proves too agonizing for your fragile heart. 

The nagging question persists: why won’t he engage in conversation, fight for you, like he did then?

“.... Mikrokosmos?” You snap back to the present, catching the tail end of Yoongi’s question. Offering him an apologetic look, you realize you’ve been lost in your own thoughts, missing every word he carefully uttered.

You pivot to fully engage with Yoongi, deliberately tuning out the sight of the content couple in the background. “I’m sorry, I got lost in my own world. What were you saying?” you inquire with a sheepish smile, noting that Yoongi has dismounted Holly and is now giving her affectionate pats.

Yoongi draws in a breath before repeating himself, his gaze fixed on you. “I asked if you want to work on Mikrokosmos?”

With a released breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you offer him a nod. Working on Mikrokosmos is exactly what you need. As you descend from the fence, Yoongi swings open the gate, leading Holly to a paddock where she joins the other horses, letting you both focus on the task at hand.

You stride purposefully into the stables, the familiar scent of hay and warm wood enveloping you as you approach Mikrokosmos, peacefully resting in her stall.

You swing open the stall door, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet stable. With a warm smile and a voice that echoes genuine affection, you greet Mikrokosmos, “Hi Kosmos.”

Mikrokosmos ambles over, her velvety nose brushing against your outstretched hand, and she playfully nibbles, almost giving it a gentle lick. Your laughter fills the air as you shift to pat her neck. Stepping back, she follows, and you guide her down to the pen. With a practiced motion, you swing the gate open, and as she steps inside, you secure it, sealing the quiet world between you and the rest of the bustling stable.

Perched atop the fence, Yoongi assumes his vantage point, keenly observing your every move with Mikrokosmos, a silent maestro overseeing a harmonious dance between human and horse.

You guide Mikrokosmos around the pen, allowing her to explore the boundaries with curious sniffs and gentle trots. Positioned in the center, your anticipation grows as you await the elusive connection, the ’join up’ that has eluded you thus far. A subtle worry creeps in, questioning if this profound bond will ever materialize between you and the majestic creature.

“Relax and let her come to you,” Yoongi advises from his perch on the fence, a keen awareness of the frustration simmering within you.

Another sigh escapes you, a gentle release that carries your thoughts through your body and spills out through your fingertips. Surrendering to the moment, you embrace the idea that sometimes losing control is the only way to regain it. With a deliberate clearing of your mind and a slow, calming breath, you reassure yourself that everything will indeed be fine.

You surrender to the quietude, closing your eyes as you inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. 

As you focus on Mikrokosmos with closed eyes, the subtle rustle of something against the fence flares your senses. Internally cursing Yoongi for disrupting your concentration, your heightened hearing captures the gradual crescendo of hoofbeats, a rhythmic melody slowing to a gentle cadence.

The hoofbeats draw nearer, and your heart matches their slow, rhythmic approach. A mysterious sensation caresses your back, creating an anticipation that hangs in the air like a delicate promise.

With a resounding whinny, Mikrokosmos echoes her presence against your back, a triumphant melody of connection. Pride surges through you like a victorious anthem. Overwhelmed with joy, you pivot slowly, locking eyes with your equine companion, and tenderly pat her forehead, sealing the bond that has blossomed between you.

As Mikrokosmos revels in her joined connection with you, a swell of pride, you become aware of Yoongi’s gratified grin. Yet, amidst the shared triumph, your eyes catch another figure— Deiji, leaning casually against the fence, her smile mirroring the prideful moment as an unexpected witness to your accomplishment.

“That was amazing!” Her voice practically squeaks with amazement, prompting an eye roll from you.

She glances between you and Yoongi, her voice carrying a sweet and eager tone as she proposes, “I was wondering if I could assist you with the horses?” Despite her happy demeanor, you can’t quite shake off the underlying discomfort you feel in her presence.

You don’t want her help. Refusing her offer with a swift and almost brusque retort, “No.” The refusal spills from your lips with an unintended edge, its abruptness catching even Yoongi off guard. He arches an eyebrow at your firm response, a smirk playing on his lips as he finds amusement in your conviction.

Undeterred by your rejection, Jimin’s girlfriend gracefully accepts your refusal, her smile unwavering. “Okay. Please let me know if I can help you somehow,” she offers, her kindness contrasting with the tension lingering in the air.

With a hint of sarcasm, you snide at her, the forced smile on your face barely concealing the complex emotions within. You nod in acknowledgement, and as she releases her grip on the fence, she retreats gracefully towards the house, leaving you with a bittersweet taste in the air.

You stand firm in your independence, a resolute desire echoing in your mind — you don’t want assistance, especially not from her.

Yoongi gracefully descends from the fence, his presence blending seamlessly with the rhythmic strokes of your hand against Mikrokosmos, creating a moment where time seems to pause, encapsulating the essence of your shared connection with the wild horses.

“Did you really have to be so rude to her?” Yoongi chuckles beside you, his laughter a dissonant melody to the tension in the air, and you can’t help but mutter a few choice words under your breath, realizing the complexity of your emotions.

You pivot towards him, a tempest of frustration swirling in your gaze. “She is the enemy!”

His laughter persists, revealing the expanse of his gums. You exhale sharply. “I can’t have her clouding my thoughts while I’m trying to find solace in my work.”

He smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Nah, I get it. You’re just yearning for that Park dick to fill you up,” he teases, winking playfully.

Your face heats up, a crimson blush spreading across your cheeks, and you shoot Yoongi an indignant glare. In a hushed tone, laced with irritation, you hiss, “Yoongi!” — wary not to disturb Mikrokosmos with your sudden outburst.

“Are we going on another epic grocery haul?” you tease with a laugh, watching Ara expertly navigate the car towards town. The anticipation builds as you approach, eager to snatch up all the essentials Jessi has meticulously scribbled down on her ever-growing list.

The town unfolds on the horizon, and a surge of excitement bubbles within you. It’s peculiar how a routine grocery trip can evoke such giddiness. Perhaps it’s the prospect of escaping the looming presence of Jimin and Deiji that adds an unexpected thrill to the mundane task.

So far, you’ve become a master of avoiding the couple. If Jimin harbors no desire for conversation, you find yourself questioning the necessity of extending the courtesy to him or his girlfriend.

Admittedly, you’re toeing the line of childish behavior, but damn it, it’s hard to resist. The complexity of your feelings for Jimin unfolds like a tangled web. While you harbor genuine affection, it feels like your chance slipped away, and he’s unwilling to grant you the opportunity to clarify or even listen. You grasp the sting of being picked last, yet you can’t help but wonder – did you fail to convey your feelings clearly enough for Jimin to comprehend?

Damn it, you wish Yoongi never kissed you. Then this wouldn’t be happening. 

In a moment of exasperation, a heavy sigh escapes your lips. Despite the internal mandate to banish thoughts of Jimin from your mind, his presence permeates your thoughts once more, defying your attempts at self-control.

Ara skillfully guides the car into a coveted parking spot near the grocery store carts, strategically positioning you for an efficient grocery haul. The convenience of proximity promises a seamless transfer of bags from store to car, sparing you unnecessary hassle in loading up your supplies.

“I’ll go grab a cart,” you declare, pushing the car door handle. Ara, Soo-ah, and Ha-rin follow suit, emerging from the vehicle with shared anticipation for the shopping expedition.

As your fingers inch toward the cart handle, your attention is abruptly drawn to a familiar figure across the street.

Park Jimin.

Jimin and Deiji share a moment across the street, his whispered words causing her to blush and giggle. Even though their conversation is out of earshot, the infectious sound of her laughter echoes in your mind. With a scuff, you finally grasp the handlebar of the cart, but your attention remains fixed on Jimin.

He seems happy, a devilish smile gracing his lips, and you yearn for that happiness to be aimed in your direction. His fingers play through Deiji’s hair in a seductive dance, and the sight of her biting her bottom lip, restraining a moan you presume, ignites a surge of anger within you. Red dots line your vision as Jimin’s hand trails down to the small of her back, and all you can see is an intense shade of red.

“What’s the holdup?” Soo-ah quips from behind, but met with your silence, she traces the direction of your gaze instead.

“Oh no, sweetheart…” she murmurs, her voice tinged with sadness, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. A stifled sniff escapes you, tears threatening at the edge of your waterline. 

No, crying is the last thing you want to do now. Hold it in.

Your gaze remains fixated on Jimin’s intimate gestures with Deiji, and a suffocating sensation grips your chest. It’s as if the air has grown thin, and a nauseating wave washes over you, threatening to spill an unsettling mix of emotions.

The other girls gather around you, creating a supportive barrier on either side, momentarily diverting your attention from the magnetic presence of Jimin. Their friendship acts as a shield against the emotional turmoil, offering a brief respite from the intense gravitational pull of Jimin’s figure.

“I just don’t understand,” you mumble, your gaze fixated on the ground, a wave of queasiness washing over you. As you lift your eyes, they inadvertently meet Jimin’s across the road in the parking lot. The irresistible brown orbs lock onto yours, causing your breath to hitch, and your body freezes. His expression is a tumultuous mix of anger and spite, a hurtful glare that pierces through you. A small voice in your mind begins to wonder if this spiteful display is born out of pettiness, and the question lingers – would he truly be so petty?

Your heart clenches, and your hands tighten their grip on the cart’s handlebar. Will this overwhelming ache ever dissipate, or are you destined to carry this horrible feeling forever?

Soo-ah and the rest of the girls guide you away from the cart station, gently urging you into the store. Everything inside becomes a blurry haze. A strange ringing noise echoes in your ears, its origin unclear. Your heart aches with an intensity you’ve never felt, and you start to question if you’re beginning to get sick.

“Can you manage the rest? I’m not feeling well…” Your voice carries a low, deflated tone, and the sensation of your vision spinning intensifies, leaving you dizzy. The unfamiliar feeling bewilders you. The girls nod, concern evident in their eyes, yet they allow you to leave their company.

You navigate your way out of the grocery store at a deliberate pace, locate the car, unlock it, swing the door open, and plop down in the seat. Leaving the door ajar, you take in the fresh air, hoping it might provide some relief.

Exhaling deeply, you sense your heartbeat gradually slowing down, but a nagging question lingers in your mind. Is illness creeping in, or is it the persistent ache in your chest that intensifies every time Jimin comes into view? The unexplained heaviness remains, leaving you searching for answers amid the uneasy beats of your heart.

As the girls return with a brimming cart full of groceries, you muster a wry smile. Once the car is loaded, they encircle you, offering tender hugs that carry warmth and reassurance, their silent promise echoing that, despite the current storm, everything will eventually find its way to calm waters.

You secure the seat belt, and Ha-rin takes the wheel, steering you homeward. Your head finds a resting place against the window, and you gaze out with a distant stare. The scenery, painted in hues of green, blue, and gentle yellows, unfolds like a soothing watercolor, gradually lulling your weary mind into a momentary state of tranquility.

Against the cool window, you surrender to the embrace of sleep, only to find yourself entangled in dreams where deep brown eyes pierce through you with a spiteful glare, carrying the weight of disappointment. Haunted by strands of blonde hair, your heart clenches, and amidst the fragments of slumber, you grapple with the question of how things went so awry between you and Jimin.

Every time you’re working with the wild horses, the world fades away. Jimin’s laughter, and the image of his overly joyful girlfriend, lose their vividness in the company of these majestic creatures. You don’t understand how a person can be so happy, it’s like a mystery you can’t unravel. Maybe it’s because your own mood mirrors the darkness of obsidian, overshadowing any hint of joy.

Perched atop the fence, your gaze follows Yoongi’s skilled hands at work on Holly. Today’s session involves a saddle on her back and a bridle, and you can’t help but marvel at the seamless harmony between them. Holly responds with grace, a testament to Yoongi’s expertise. In this transformative process, she inches closer to the coveted status of a fully trained stock horse, a journey Yoongi confidently assures you she’s on the brink of completing.

Your eyes trace Yoongi’s every move as he guides Holly in a mesmerizing gallop around the pen. The atmosphere is charged with a sense of calm, an unspoken understanding between rider and horse. Holly’s spirit, once untamed, now dances gracefully under Yoongi’s expert guidance, creating a scene that is both captivating and harmonious.

Yoongi’s question slices through your contemplation, catching you off guard like a sudden gust of wind. “Do you want to go for a ride?” His words, a tempting invitation, hang in the air, coaxing you to escape the confines of your thoughts and embrace the freedom that awaits on horseback.

Your eyes widen as his proposition sinks in, but you respond with a subtle nod, your silent agreement carrying the weight of anticipation.

As Holly gradually slows to a trot and then eases into a lazy walk, Yoongi reveals, “This is the final test for Holly.”

With a thoughtful expression, Yoongi shares his plan to test Holly’s adaptability in the wild. Intrigued, he proposes, “Why not venture out and seek the herd of wild horses again?” 

It might just be the escape you need from this ranch and its owner, who continues to stir uncomfortable feelings within your now delicate heart.

Jumping off the fence with a renewed sense of purpose, you stride towards the gate. As Yoongi gracefully maneuvers Holly out of the pen, you secure the gate behind you. Your journey continues with determined steps, leading you to where Marshmallow patiently awaits, reins neatly fastened to the fence.

You gently release the reins, your fingers caressing Marshmallow’s neck, eliciting a contented whinny. Placing your foot in the stirrup, you effortlessly swing your leg over his sturdy white frame. The moment you settle into the saddle, a profound sense of belonging washes over you, soothing your restless soul. The inexplicable bond between you and horses never fails to astound you, creating a sanctuary of comfort with every ride.

With a tender smile, your heart lightens, and you delicately urge Marshmallow into a trot by applying subtle pressure with your legs. As you follow Yoongi, the rhythmic beat of hooves creates a symphony that resonates with the newfound tranquility within you.

Embarking on a journey over the rolling hills, the grass beneath remains an enchanting green, bathed in the warmth of lingering summer. A gradual canter carries you through the landscape, your thoughts dissipating, leaving space for the soothing breeze to play with your hair, accompanied by the rhythmic pulse of hooves that mirrors the cadence of your own heart.

Lost in the passage of time, the duration of your ride eludes you, the profound silence between you and Yoongi accentuating the harmony of nature. The mountains, standing proud and towering in the distant horizon, seem to extend warm embraces, enveloping you in a sense of belonging to this picturesque landscape.

As you traverse the landscape, the familiarity of the woods, the serene lake where laughter once echoed with Jessi, and the expansive paddocks that seem to stretch endlessly into the horizon become a poignant backdrop to the rhythm of your horse’s hooves.

The wind tousles your hair, and there’s a fleeting sense that, perhaps, everything is gradually finding its way to being alright.

Lost in the vast expanse, you ride on, the anticipation building within you, wondering if today will be another day the wild horses grace you with their presence. The landscape sprawls before you, an unfamiliar tapestry of nature’s secrets waiting to be unveiled.

As you speak, a soft melancholy smile graces your lips, “I don’t think we’ll see them today, Yoongi.” Despite the disappointment, you hold onto the hope that eluded you, a silent acknowledgment that not everything unfolds as desired—recent events serving as a poignant reminder of life’s unpredictable nature.

“I don’t even know where we are,” you sigh, bringing the horses to a gentle trot. Your gaze sweeps across the expansive landscape, a moment of shared uncertainty between you and Yoongi. 

“I know where we are, don’t worry,” Yoongi assures you, confidence lacing his voice as you both come to a full stop before a vast and lush forest. 

You release the reins, allowing Marshmallow to lower his head and graze on the lush grass, while Holly follows suit. Holly’s remarkable behavior on this ride surprises you; her wild and untamed nature seamlessly hidden beneath a calm exterior. If it weren’t for her untamed origins, she could easily pass as a seasoned stock horse, blending effortlessly into the peaceful scenery.

While allowing Marshmallow and Holly to graze peacefully, their heads suddenly snap up, ears perked forward in unison, attuned to a sound that hasn’t yet reached your own ears. Then, like a wave crashing over you, the familiar rhythm of hooves pounding against the earth becomes clear – a wild and untamed symphony echoing through the air.

As the herd of wild horses materializes in the distance, a charismatic dark brown stallion commands the front, orchestrating the untamed ballet of freedom. They present a majestic spectacle, embodying the essence of the wild – eyes reflecting untold stories, a blend of soulful wisdom and mischievous spirit. With a profound exhale, you find yourself immersed in a deep appreciation for these creatures and the untamed nature that surrounds you.

Holly stands poised, her gaze locked onto the passing herd, perhaps recognizing the familiar faces of her once-wild family. Despite the untamed energy coursing through the herd, she remains steadfast, mirroring your own stance, both of you immersed in silent observation.

The sight of the wild horses in full gallop is nothing short of breathtaking, and as they surge across the landscape, a surge of emotion tightens your heart in your chest, leaving you captivated by the untamed beauty unfolding before your eyes.

In a hushed and reverent tone, you marvel, “They are so beautiful,” your words barely more than a breath, yet carrying the weight of admiration. A subtle nod from Yoongi acknowledges the shared appreciation of the magnificent spectacle before you.

As your heart swells with longing, a sense of crushing desire envelops you, wishing for the freedom these majestic horses possess—to express your truth and embrace the things you yearn for in life. The ache intensifies, a silent plea echoing in the vast expanse of the open landscape.

Your hands clutch the reins, and a damp sensation draws your attention. Glancing down, you discover small droplets of water clinging to your skin. A subtle sniffle escapes you, and it dawns on you—tears cascade down your cheeks, marking your hands with the tangible evidence of your silent emotional storm.

A constriction tightens your chest, and you draw in a deep breath, hoping to ease the pressure, only to release it in a slow exhale. The rhythm of your breath echoes the emotional turbulence within.

Yoongi’s gaze gently turns in your direction, his expression a silent symphony of understanding. No words escape his lips, yet the warmth of a caring smile lingers, offering a comforting embrace in the quietude between you.

You lift a trembling hand to your face, attempting to quell the rebellious tears that seem to have a life of their own. Your breath quickens, a desperate effort to steady your heart and rein in the tumultuous tide of emotions.

With a tear-streaked face, you turn to Yoongi, your eyes carrying the weight of a profound sadness. “Have you ever loved someone so much, it feels like you’re suffocating?”

Your heart carries the weight of your confession, a mix of both burden and liberation. The unspoken truth finally escapes your lips, echoing in the quiet spaces of your soul. Your feelings for Jimin, profound and unyielding, create a storm within, rendering you incapable of coherent thought, drowning in irrationality and a bitter sea of jealousy.

“Yeah,” he utters with a weighted exhale, the weight of that single syllable hangs thick in the air, a tangible presence in the shared space between you. Compassion wells up within you, not just for him, but for your own tender heart. Silent tears continue their descent, accompanied by a subdued sniffle that punctuates the shared vulnerability in the moment.

“I’m so sorry.”

Grumbling under your breath, you meticulously tend to the veggie garden, methodically extracting weeds and inspecting the plants for any sign of ripe fruit. Kneeling on a plush mat to provide respite for your beleaguered knees, your hands adorned with protective gloves, ensuring that both your hands and fingers remain shielded as you immerse yourself in the nurturing care of the flourishing garden.

Amidst the monotony of this laborious task, you find yourself immersed in the meticulous chore of weeding, the unfortunate bearer of the short straw today. Rows of carrots and potatoes bear witness to your diligent efforts as you navigate through the verdant expanse, determined to extract every intrusive weed that dares encroach upon the fertile soil.

Lost in contemplation, the rhythmic cadence of footsteps stealthily closes in on you, their approach unheard in the sanctuary of your introspective musings.

“Hi, I’m going into town,” your sister’s sudden announcement startles you from your gardening reverie. As you look up, her intent gaze meets yours, a tapestry of confusion woven into your expression.

“Why are you heading into town? Weren’t you supposed to tackle the tax today?” you inquire, your hands continuing their task of pulling stubborn weeds from the soil.

“I have that doctor’s appointment, remember?” Her raised eyebrow prompts a silent scold for forgetting such an important detail.

Panic flickers in your eyes as you abruptly halt your weeding, staring at your sister with genuine concern. “When did you mention the doctor’s appointment? Is everything okay?” Worry lines crease your forehead, a mix of surprise and anxiety clouding your expression.

With a light chuckle, she tries to alleviate your concerns, “Just a routine checkup, no big deal!” Her laughter carries a reassuring tone, and as she waves, the softness in her expression mirrors the warmth that envelops you.

You return her smile, your gaze lingering as she strolls away toward the yard, where the cars patiently wait.

“See you later,” she calls with a wave. From your perch in the veggie garden, you observe her unlocking the car, slipping into the driver’s seat of the pickup truck. The tail lights illuminate briefly, transitioning to brake lights before shifting to the soft glow of white. Jessi maneuvers in reverse, the wheels crunching on the dirt road as she disappears toward town.

As you return to the arduous task of pulling weeds, you find yourself grappling with the relentless tendrils of frustration, a silent curse escaping your lips like a rebellious whisper. Resigned to the fate of having drawn the shortest straw, you navigate through the sea of stubborn greenery, each tug of resistance echoing the monotony of your predicament.

Beneath the blazing midday sun, gratitude washes over you for the protective refuge of your hat, casting a welcomed shadow upon both your face and neck. Yet, despite this shield, beads of perspiration dance down your forehead, a testament to the unexpected physical rigor of the task at hand. The sheer demand of the job dawns upon you, surpassing your initial expectations. 

Anticipating the aftermath, you realize the likelihood of waking up tomorrow with sore arms, an inevitability intensified if you neglect the crucial post-labor ritual of stretching your fatigued muscles.

Emerging victorious from your laborious undertaking, you navigate your way into the kitchen, a sanctuary promising respite in the form of an icy glass of water. As the fridge door swings open, a cascade of cool air envelops your sweat-drenched face, offering a fleeting reprieve before you reluctantly seize the chilled jug. Your quest for relief continues as you reach for an overhead cabinet, extracting a glass that promises salvation. The sensation of the glass against your palms is a prelude to the ecstasy that follows as you pour the water, savoring its frosty embrace. With each indulgent gulp, the frigid liquid becomes a balm, soothing the searing heat that has claimed your body in this relentless weather.

Savoring the rejuvenating coolness, you lean leisurely against the countertop, the glass of water a welcome oasis in your hands. Just as the refreshing liquid begins to work its magic, Soo-ah strides into the kitchen, her expression twisted into a weird frown.

Your discerning gaze sweeps over Soo-ah’s form, a subtle intuition whispering that something is amiss, yet the unspoken question lingers on your lips. Before you can voice your inquiry, she breaks the pregnant silence, her words hanging in the air like a cryptic prelude. “Have you seen Jessi?”

A subtle tremor courses through your being as you dismissively shake your head, “She’s in town for a doctor’s appointment.” 

A shadow of concern paints Soo-ah’s features as she deftly retrieves her phone from the depths of her pocket, her eyes flicking to the screen with a mixture of urgency and unease. “How long has she been gone?”

A ripple of disquiet snakes its way through you, fueled by Soo-ah’s restive demeanor. Methodically, you rewind the clock in your mind, tallying the hours since Jessi’s presence graced your sight. “About five hours,” you declare, the admission carrying a weight that coils into an unsettling sense of foreboding.

Weariness etches itself deeper into Soo-ah’s countenance, her features now a canvas painted with both fatigue and concern. Your heartbeat quickens, a subtle but undeniable jolt, as the realization takes hold—this is not merely a cause for concern, but an ominous sign that tightens its grip around your heart, intensifying the ominous gravity of the moment.

A sudden, piercing ring shatters the stillness, and your gaze instinctively darts towards the source—a resonating chime from the landline. The air tightens around you, your heartbeat accelerating into a rapid cadence, each breath shallow and tense. A palpable wave of dread courses down your spine, a cold shiver that heralds an impending revelation. Locking eyes with Soo-ah, both of you stand frozen, caught in the ominous limbo between the echoing ring and the unknown that awaits on the other end of the line.

You should pick it up dammit! A stern scolding echoing in your mind, compelling your body into animated motion that seems detached from your own will. With a sense of urgency, you traverse the space to the countertop, your hand stretching out towards the ringing phone. As your fingertips make contact with the cream-colored plastic, a surge of anxiety courses through them, a prelude to the unknown that awaits on the other end. The plastic yields beneath the pressure of your grip, and in the hushed anticipation, you lift the receiver, your voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of tension. 

“Hello, Bora Ranch. How can I help you?”

The voice on the other end of the line weaves a narrative that acts like a chilling undertow, dragging your heart into an abyss of despair. Your hand involuntarily tightens around the phone, a desperate grip as if it were your sole connection to a vanishing lifeline.

The voice on the other end, that of the doctor’s receptionist, cuts through the air, delivering news that lands with a disconcerting weight. 

“We’re calling to let you know that Jessi missed her appointment today, and we wanted to know if she wants to reschedule another one?” 

You then realize that weird feeling you’ve been having— this isn’t good.

A furrow etches itself onto your brow, the cord winding around your other hand as if trying to anchor you in a moment slipping out of your control. “She hasn’t come home yet. Can I get back to you?” 

The words hang in the air, delivered with a voice that quivers with a blend of unease and uncertainty, as you begin to grasp what this means.

The receptionist’s agreement is a somber symphony in your ears before bidding goodbye. With a heart weighed down by the gravity of the call, you delicately place the receiver back in its cradle. As your eyes shift back to Soo-ah, her visage mirrors your own unsettled state, her features etched with a shared tension, a palpable reflection of the worry that swirls between you like an unspoken storm.

A thick silence hangs in the air, pregnant with unspoken fears. 

Soo-ah, unable to bear the weight any longer, shatters the tension like fragile glass. “Well, what is it?” Her words cut through the quiet, a desperate plea for answers.

You’re afraid.

Dread coils around your words, a vice grip on your throat as you grapple with the weight of unspoken fears. The hesitation lingers, but the urgency pushes you to break the silence. “Jessi never made it to her appointment…” 

You observe the subtle transformation in Soo-ah’s face, a haunting dance between anguish and concern. 

“Well, where is she then?” Soo-ah demands, her voice betraying an unsteady cadence that mirrors the delicate balance of the unspoken question hanging in the air, as if the answer hinges on your words. Your gaze reflects uncertainty, exhaling a breath heavy with the weight of the unknown.

“I think something bad has happened to her,” your voice wavers, the admission reluctant and laden with a vulnerability that you wish could be erased. The words, heavy with an unwelcome truth, carry the weight of a foreboding certainty that reverberates deep within your bones—an ominous resonance that refuses to be silenced.

Soo-ah, with her once sun-kissed complexion drains of its warmth, now veering into an eerie, almost gray pallor. A whisper of worry taints her words as she utters, “We should call Jungkook.” 

With a solemn nod, you reach for your phone, fingers betraying a subtle tremor as you punch in Jungkook’s number. As you raise the phone to your ear, the weight of the impending conversation echoes in the hollow space between each ring.

Holding your breath, time stretches into an agonizing eternity as you strain to listen to each ring, each heartbeat resonating in the charged stillness. The suspense tightens like a coil around your chest until, finally, a tremulous exhale escapes as Jungkook’s voice breaks the silence.

“This is Kook.”

An instant paralysis grips your vocal cords, a sudden constriction that renders your throat a silent battleground, incapable of surrendering even a solitary word. 

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook’s inquiry pierces the heavy silence, his voice carrying a note of concern that seems to reverberate through the unspoken void on the other end of the line.

A glacial stillness descends upon you, an icy grip that renders you immobile. 

Words, elusive and stubborn, refuse to surface. Soo-ah’s worried gaze lingers on you, but in a decisive sweep, she snatches the phone from your ear, her move cutting through the stasis like a sudden gust of wind disrupting a frozen landscape. 

“Hi, it’s Soo-ah. We need your help,” her voice, a steady prelude to the storm brewing beneath the surface, carries the weight of urgency as she unfolds the crucial details. “Jessi left for a doctor’s appointment, but she never made it, and it’s been five hours now. We’re afraid something has happened… Will you help us search for her?”

The murmur of Jungkook’s response on the other end remains elusive to your ears, but Soo-ah, in a breathy exhale that holds a universe of gratitude, utters a heartfelt, “Thank you.” She returns your lifeline– the phone, with a subtle yet meaningful gesture, restoring it to your hands as if passing the torch for the impending journey into the unknown. 

“He’ll be here in 10 minutes to pick you up,” she discloses, the gravity of her concern etching deeper creases onto her forehead. 

“What are you gonna do then?” The words burst from you, riding the crest of a wave formed by a potent mix of frustration and worry, their resonance echoing in the room. 

“I’m going to stay here… In case she comes home,” she reveals, her commitment to a vigil laden with unspoken hope. But then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, “or if the hospital calls.” 

The weight of her last admission sends a sinking feeling through your chest, an acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. Understanding settles in, and you offer a solemn nod, bracing yourself for Jungkook’s imminent arrival as the silent countdown to unravel the mystery begins.

Before the sleek silhouette of his black pickup truck materializes, the air is sliced by the cacophony of tires screeching—a desperate symphony of grip and resistance against the unforgiving dirt, an audible testament to the urgency that propels Jungkook towards the yard.

You dash outside, the urgent thud of your footsteps aligning with the accelerating heartbeat of the moment. Jungkook hurtles down the driveway, a kinetic force in his speeding vehicle that screeches to a dramatic halt before you. The window rolls down, revealing a face etched with determination, and he hollers, “Get in.” 

Obediently following his command, you seize the door handle, leaping into the truck with a hurried intensity. The door barely has time to shut before Jungkook slams his foot on the accelerator, leaving a swirling cloud of sand in the wake of the roaring vehicle. 

Worry etches deep lines into his face, transforming his normally composed features into a tapestry of concern. His lips press into a stern line, and his eyes, laser-sharp, pierce through the windshield, scanning the road ahead. The white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel betrays a tension that courses through him, turning his knuckles into pale anchors of anxiety. 

“What the hell happened?” The words slice through the air, dripping with a demanding tone that carries an undertone of a hiss, a viper’s sharpness in each syllable. 

Turning toward him, you admit with a meekness that hangs in the air, “I don’t know.” Your voice, a delicate whisper, contrasts with the clenching of your hands over your pants, while your bottom lip falls victim to the anxious bite of nerves. Fuck.

The weight of hope and fear interlaces in your thoughts—desperately wishing Jessi is safe, yet haunted by the gnawing question of why, if she is, hasn’t she reached out? 

Jungkook maneuvers the vehicle like a man possessed, hurtling down the lone road that unravels into town with a velocity that borders on recklessness. This is Jessi’s path, the very route she would undoubtedly have traversed. 

Your heart orchestrates a frenzied symphony of worry and fear, its rapid tempo matching the breakneck speed at which Jungkook propels the truck forward. 

The uneven terrain jolts beneath the truck’s tires, a relentless assault on the vehicle as it hurtles down these rugged, neglected roads. The coarse reality of the battered path becomes starkly apparent with every bone-rattling bump, each pothole a testament to the less-than-ideal conditions. 

“Slow down unless you want us to crash!” You warn him in a stern voice as desperation fuels your words and you clutch the handle at the top of the truck, your knuckles turning white as you seek stability amid the turbulent velocity. 

He merely huffs, an audible dismissal that betrays the resilience of his determination. It’s evident that your words struggle to penetrate the thick armor of his focus. However, your own concerns take precedence, and the prospect of a car accident looms like an ominous specter in the midst of your search for Jessi. 

“Fucking slow down or let me drive!” The urgency in your yell slices through the truck, a desperate ultimatum that demands immediate action. A tangible flinch from Jungkook, beside you, signals the impact of your words. With a reluctant release, he eases his right foot off the gas pedal, and the once-roaring speed of the vehicle unravels into a gradual deceleration. 

“Thank you,” you declare with a furious edge, your gratitude tinged with the lingering urgency of the search.

Jungkook skillfully guides the turn with a precise speed, threading the needle between velocity and caution. As the vehicle emerges from the curve, the truth unravels before your eyes. 

A sight that sends your heart plummeting, and an unspoken pact of dread settles between you and Jungkook, a bone-chilling silence that engulfs the interior of the truck. 

There it is, the all-too-familiar white pickup truck, an unexpected apparition right before you, nestled on the side of the road. It’s not parked; it’s crumbled against a tree. 

Jungkook wrenches his truck to a sudden halt, the engine silenced with a precision that echoes the urgency of the moment. In a flash, he bolts out of the car, a whirlwind of determination propelling him towards the scene. You trail closely in his wake, the echoes of your pounding heart reverberating alongside a disorienting ringing in your ears.

You sprint towards the crumpled wreckage, the front of the car wedged against the unforgiving tree. Panic fuels your frantic search for your sister amidst the twisted metal. Jungkook beats you to the driver’s side, and in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse, you tiptoe over his shoulders. 

The chilling reality reveals itself—blood stains the window, and Jessi’s head, eyes closed, rests against it in an unsettling image. 

Fuck.

“Jessi!” The desperate cry erupts from deep within you, a primal howl behind Jungkook, and you resort to clawing at his back in a futile attempt to let you pass. However, he remains an immovable barrier, unyielding in his protective stance. 

His hand extends, a forceful gesture that wards you off, and his demanding tone slices through the charged air, declaring, “No, let me.”

You cease your futile attempt to scratch through the barrier of Jungkook’s back, relinquishing control to his judgment. Your gaze fixates on the unfolding scene as he seizes the door handle, pounding on the window while the fervent echo of your sister’s name reverberates through the stagnant air. 

A leaden weight settles upon your heart, dragging it down to depths unknown, and you slump to the unforgiving ground beside the truck. The haunting question hangs in the air, an unspoken fear clawing at your consciousness—could she be dead?

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, a poignant manifestation of your helplessness, as you watch the scene unfold. The overwhelming sense of uselessness engulfs you like a suffocating shroud because Jungkook, with his determined insistence, bars you from contributing to the unfolding crisis. 

Jungkook channels every ounce of his strength into wrenching the door handle, a Herculean effort that, to your dismay, yields no success. Undeterred, he pivots, striding purposefully around the car to attack the problem from the passenger’s side. The moment of truth arrives as the door finally acquiesces to his relentless determination, swinging open with a sudden release of pent-up tension. Jungkook, caught off guard by the door’s sudden compliance, is propelled backward, almost airborne, a visceral testament to the raw force he exerted in the pursuit of accessing the vehicle’s interior.

With a determined crawl into the cabin, Jungkook bridges the agonizing gap between hope and despair, finally reaching your sister. The urgency in his voice echoes through the air as he commands, “Call an ambulance!”

You rise from the unforgiving ground, a determined surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With swift precision, you extract your phone, fingers dancing with urgency as you dial those three critical numbers. 

“Is she alive?” The question hangs in the air, a fragile whisper that dares not disturb the gravity of the moment. Holding your breath, you await his answer, the air thick with the weight of an impending revelation that could reshape the contours of your reality. 

“She’s breathing,” Jungkook exhales, his voice carrying the weight of relief, a momentary respite from the tension. You approach the driver’s window, eyes fixed on your sister’s form. The sight of her chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm becomes a visual anchor, a palpable reassurance that she clings to life. 

Well, that’s good.

Cradling the phone to your ear, you navigate the urgent conversation, orchestrating a plea for the ambulance to converge on your dire location. The proximity of the ranch intensifies the raw reality—you aren’t that far away. A sinking feeling grips your heart as you grasp the cruel expanse of time she’s endured out here, alone and injured. 

Jungkook delicately prods Jessi’s arm, a gesture pregnant with hope, yet the anticipated response remains elusive—a disheartening void that echoes the uncertainty of the situation. 

“I know it looks bad, but we shouldn’t move her. It’s best to wait for the paramedics,” Jungkook utters reluctantly from the passenger’s seat.

You acknowledge the truth in his words, but your gaze lingers on Jessi, a silent witness to the vivid evidence of her injuries—blood seeping from her head. The unsettling unknown looms large, a haunting question mark etched across your thoughts—what other wounds might she be concealing beneath the shadows of her stillness? 

The wait for the ambulance unfolds like a nightmarish blur until the air is pierced by the sound of a low voice. Both you and Jungkook pivot, your gazes converging on your sister, a crescendo of fear and anticipation reaching its zenith. 

Jessi stirs, her murmurs threading through the air, but the coherence of her words eludes understanding. As her eyes tentatively flutter open, a feeble attempt to articulate follows, yet the utterances emerge as a nonsensical cascade, the syllables twisted into a form of gibberish. 

“It’s okay. You’ve been in a car accident, and the ambulance is on its way,” Jungkook reassures, his words a tender balm delivered with a gentle caress on your sister’s cheek. Tears shimmer in his eyes, a raw display of his emotional turmoil, as his calloused fingers delicately trace the curve of her cheekbone.

Her head pivots towards you, eyes finally unveiling an unspoken distance, their luster dimmed. A pang reverberates through your chest as you meet her gaze—her eyes, once vibrant, now bear the weight of an unspoken ordeal. The visceral urge to pull her from the confinements of the wreck claws at your heart. Oh, why can’t you just extract her from this damn car, ensuring her safety and whisking away the haunting uncertainty that clings to the moment? 

“It’s going to be okay,” Jungkook utters, his voice quivering with a blend of reassurance and uncertainty that reverberates through the air. His attempt at strength is palpable, yet the vulnerability seeps through the cracks as tears cascade down his face.

Yet amidst the chaos, a fervent hope takes root within you, a beacon amid the storm of uncertainty. A silent plea echoes in the depths of your being, transcending mere optimism, as you yearn—truly, desperately, for everything to unfold in a way that defies the ominous shadows cast by the present.

The wail of the ambulance siren pierces the air, heralding the arrival of salvation, and it swiftly aligns next to Jungkook’s car. A flurry of activity ensues as paramedics spill out, each armed with purposeful bags. Amidst the orchestrated urgency, some of them extract a stretcher from the belly of the ambulance.

Jungkook emerges from the car, gracefully ceding the realm to the paramedics, and approaches your side. His arm envelops your trembling frame, a silent reassurance amidst the tumult. No words pass between you as the paramedics meticulously cut the seatbelt, delicately affix a collar around Jessi’s neck, their movements choreographed in a synchronized ballet of urgency. 

Within the orchestrated chaos, a paramedic deploys a machine, its mechanical whir echoing through the night, to pry open the driver’s door. Simultaneously, another paramedic stands sentinel, ensuring Jessi remains securely in place, a guardian against the imminent void that will unfold once the door is relinquished.

The scene is gruesomely vivid, and an involuntary welling of tears clouds your vision as the brutal reality sets in. Leaning into Jungkook’s unwavering presence, you find solace in the haven of his steady frame, though your sniffling breaths betray the emotional maelstrom within. As your tears mingle with his on the fabric of your shirt, a silent communion of shared vulnerability takes root.

With meticulous care, the paramedics lift Jessi from the driver’s side, each movement deliberate and measured as they lay her down on the stretcher. The air hangs heavy with collective breath, your own held in a suspended moment of agonizing anticipation. The constriction in your chest intensifies, a sensation of breathlessness seizing you. Seeking an anchor in the chaos, you find Jungkook’s hand, fingers interlocking in a tight, desperate grip—a physical manifestation of the silent plea echoing within as you navigate the precipice of uncertainty.

“We’ll transport her to the hospital in town. You can follow us if you want,” one of the paramedics offers, their words a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of emotions. Gratitude courses through you, and you manage a nod of appreciation, though the knot in your throat constricts your ability to voice your thanks. 

Your gaze lingers on the departing ambulance, the doors sealing your sister’s fate within its sterile embrace. A quiet sniffle punctuates the lingering echoes of the departure. When you turn to Jungkook, his face bears the marks of tear-streaked sorrow, a testament to the profound love he harbors for your sister. The depth of his emotions mirrors the tumult within you, both bound by an unspoken yearning for everything to be right—for the fractures to heal and the shadows to dissipate in the face of an uncertain journey that now stretches before you.

The ambulance departs, leaving a gritty trail of dirt in its wake, a visual metaphor for the unsettling uncertainty now etched into your reality. Your gaze lingers on the vacated space it once occupied, a void that echoes the fear reverberating within. The future looms before you, an ominous terrain shrouded in ambiguity, and you grapple with the unrelenting questions that cast shadows on the path ahead.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[gaysindistress]

Van Helsing Retold - four

pairings: vamp hunter!reader x vamp!bucky

Summary: Under the cover of night, vampires and their hunters have been at war for centuries, never letting their bloodshed reach the light of day. That is until the wife of a powerful vampire leader, Steve Rogers is murdered and he demands revenge. Y/N Van Helsing is the target of his crusade and she comes face to face with his right hand man, Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: cursing, mentions of death

Word count: 2.9k

three | series masterlist

Tag list: @vonalyn @hidden-treasures21 @cakesandtom @nerdytif @teambarnes72

disclaimer:credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest.

“Is she always this stubborn?” Bucky asks without looking back to Sam who’s returned from dropping off the she in question.

“Sometimes but we did just tell her that her entire life has been a lie,” Sam pauses, “why didn’t you tell her about being her mate?”

Bucky takes in a deep shaky breath as he stares at his hands that are clasped between his knees.

“I don’t see how that would’ve gone well for either of us. I half expected her to pull out a stake when I released her from my persuasion.”

“But she needs to know,” Sam urges.

“Don’t you think I know that?” He snaps back with an edge in his voice, “Don’t you think I know that I could help her but she won’t let me? It kills me to know that all it would take is for her to drink some of my blood and she would be healthy again. She would be safe but she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I can feel that hatred radiating from her when she sees me.”

Sam purses his lips for a moment before coming to sit next to Bucky, “She’s scared Bucky. She doesn’t want to die and she definitely doesn’t want to be the one thing she’s been taught to kill. You might be right in that she hates what you are but not who you are. None of that matters though because she’s terrified and her only chance at survival is one that she’s too afraid to take.”

Bucky can feel the heartbreak that Y/N is trying to ignore as she turns restlessly in her bed down the hall. He yearns to go to her and comfort her, lay next to her and take away any pain that she has.

But she would sooner kill him than accept any affection from him.

“I’ve never seen her hesitate the way she does with you; it’s her training fighting against her instinct and she’s never had that before. They’ve always been the same thing but with you, she hesitates, she fights against everything she knows,” Sam continues, “I’m not saying barge into her room right now and express your undying love for her but be honest with her. Tell her about your bond and tell her that you don’t expect anything, you wanted her to know so that everything is on the table. Give her the chance to fight her training and choose you.”

Sleep and I need to have an open and honest conversation because this whole flopping like a fish for hours on end is not cutting it. It’s been at least 6 hours of this and I’m starting to think that sleep will never come.

I tell myself that it’s because of what they told me about my mom or the fact that I’m a vampire safehouse (I can only assume so) but that’s not it. Nothing that I would be willing to openly admit is the cause of my restlessness. The true cause is the empty cavern that sits inside my heart and the gnawing feeling of barrenness that accompanies it. There’s a tug and small flood of warmth that follows but in its wake are more crushing feelings of nothingness.

I curl into a ball and tuck myself as close to the wall as I can. The kid in me hopes that if I make myself small enough, I’ll disappear but I know that won’t happen. No amount of shrinking could make me or these…feelings go away. They will always be there and the only time they lessen, if only for a moment, is when I’m near him.

There’s a shuffle outside of my door and a pause before a small knock. The person doesn’t come in and I groan as I lift my head enough to tell them they can, in fact, come in. Still facing the wall, I don’t see who it is and honestly I can’t find it in myself to guess. Whoever it is, takes a hesitant seat at the foot of the bed, just far enough away to not touch me or invade my space. I’m grateful for it but say nothing. They shift, causing the bed to groan under their weight. I can’t feel their eyes on me but I can hear the anxiety in their breathing.

“Sam, please don’t,” I start but the person interrupts me.

“Not Sam,” Bucky’s voice is small and timid, like a child too afraid of being scolded to speak any louder.

I still but the cavern inside of my heart feels like it’s beginning to fill in and I relax as much as I can at the welcomed feeling.

“Why are you here?”

“There’s…there’s more I wanted to tell you.”

I don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue but he doesn’t. Turning over so I can at least face him and he’s waiting for me to give him approval to speak like he did when he knocked. He’s just barely sitting on the edge of the bed. Almost to the point of falling off as he leans his forearms on his Jean clad thighs. He’s put on a black sweatshirt which surprises me. Vamps don’t get cold but here before me is an example of how wrong I am about his kind.

“If it has to do with my mom, I’d rather not know.”

His downcast gaze and long lashes hide his eyes from me but they flicker over to me for a moment before casting back to the ground.

“It's not about that.”

“Then what is it?” I know my voice isn’t as gentle as it should be and I immediately regret not fixing my tone as he flinches ever so slightly.

The faint sound of metal clinging together draws my attention to his hands where one ring sits. The sound came from him rubbing that ring against a bracelet tucked under his sleeve. Most vamos do wear jewelry but it’s usually massive and flashy to show off their wealth. It’s unusual to see such a plain signet ring and even more plain silver cuff. I’m half tempted to ask about them but I don’t. I don’t want to know anymore about him. I don’t want to know anything about him that would humanize him and validate the warmth that the vacancy in my chest.

“The bond can heal you,” he starts as he lets out a deep sigh, “it’ll hurt but it’ll stop the infection and you'll be healthy again.”

I push my blanket off of me and sit with my back against the wall. My legs are folded under me and I allow my eyes to settle on his back.

“How do we find my mate then, if I even have one? I know you’re supposed to feel something drawing you towards them and werewolves can scent theirs but I’m not a vamp. I’m still human.”

Bucky doesn’t say a word or let out a breath for that matter.

“Bucky?”

Nothing.

“Bucky?”

Of course he chooses the silent treatment during the worst possible fucking moment. Of course he would be that big of an asshole to do something like this….

Oh.

Oh.

Oh my god.

Oh my fucking god.

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” John’s angry voice threatens to burst everyone’s ear drums. The crowd that’s gathered inside of the Guild shrinks back at the sound of his voice.

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t find her?”

The man who John is yelling at, tries to stand tall but it’s nearly impossible.

“She was resting and Sam Wilson was watching over her. During the guard change…”

“I ALREADY KNOW HOW YOU FUCKING LOST HER, WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS HOW YOU CANT FIND HER!”

The man squeezes his eyes shut, “she went into the Masked Club and after that the trail went cold. There are no other leads for us to follow.”

“Fucking pathetic,” John spits at the shaking man. He spins, giving the man a false sense of relief, before he turns back and throws a stake at his heart. The man stumbles back from the impact and chokes as he falls to the ground.

“Let that piece of shit be a warning to all of you; find Y/N Van Helsing and Sam Wilson or you will end up with a stake in your chest.”

No.

This simply cannot be.

This simply cannot be possible.

The panic must be evident in my rapid breathing because Bucky barely tilts his head to look at me. His face softens and he turns his body to face me, his hands reaching out to comfort me but they fall to the bed. He searches my face for anything at all but all he would find is sheer confusion and panic.

“Talk to me,” he gently whispers to me.

I can’t though. I can’t get the words out. I can’t get my mouth or tongue to work. I can’t get my lungs to expand or my brain to function. All I can do is look at him with bewilderment.

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way but you need to know everything if I expect you to trust me.”

I stare at him.

I stare at the vampire who’d saved me at least twice.

I stare at the vampire who I'd only known for maybe a week but who has still taken up all of my mental space.

I stare at the man who I felt a strange sense of overwhelming comfort and safety when I’m around him.

I stare at the man who is offering to risk death to save me, someone who should’ve killed him that first night.

I stare at Bucky, the man who I know to be my mate, and I can’t find the strength to say anything to him.

“I’m not telling you this to manipulate you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How long have you known?” The words feel heavy in my mouth, like I haven’t spoken in years.

“Since the night you killed Peggy.”

I raise my eyebrows, “what did it feel like?”

“Like my entire world was falling apart and I couldn’t stop it but it didn’t matter because I’d finally found…you.”

my brows knit together at his sincerity and I have a million questions I want to ask, alas none of them come out.

It seems as though he can read my mind and answer the most pressing, “some humans will feel it too but not always. Sometimes it doesn’t happen until after they’re turned.”

“Would it affect the bond?” I mumble.

He sighs again, “I’m not sure.”

“And it could kill you? Breaking the bond?”

He nods, “but if that's what it takes to keep you safe and healthy, then i'll do it.”

I nod too, slowly and more to myself. Did I feel it that night? Did I feel the bond snap into place? I honestly can’t say that I did but I was also preoccupied with my head wound and Peggy having spit on me. It would make sense if it did and I just didn’t happen to feel it. Given everything I have been feeling, all signs point to that likelihood.

“It doesn’t have to be now or even soon. We can wait until you’re feeling stronger. It’ll take a toll on you too.”

My eyes make a slow ascent from the hand closest to my knee to his pale blue eyes. They're unyielding in the way they hold my attention but yet soft enough that I don’t shy away.

“It’ll kill you.”

“It could.”

“You’ll die,” I whisper as I search for any hesitation in his face.

“But if that's…”he starts and I stop him almost immediately.

“No there’s no ‘if that's what it takes’, Bucky. You can’t sacrifice yourself like this for someone you don’t even know.”

“I do know you.”

I scoff, “no you don’t. Besides would you let me do this for you? Would you let me risk dying to save you?”

He hesitates but shakes his head. He would never dream of letting me do the same for him.

“It’s different with me. I’ve lived my life and you haven’t.”

I lean forward and grip his hand without thinking, “You turned when you were 26, I hardly call that ‘living your life’. I can’t ask you to do this for me no matter what we are to each other.”

Bucky looks at our joined hands and then to me, “did you feel it?”

His eyes flutter shut when I gently squeeze his hand, “did you feel it that night?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

My blunt words shock him and he tries to pull his hand away but I clamp down on it.

“That’s not what… that’s not what I meant. I don’t remember feeling anything but a lot happened and now I feel something, I just don’t know what it is.”

He furrows his brows at me, well at the fact I wouldn’t let his hand go, but he keeps the conversation moving, “describe it.”

“Well,it feels like there’s an empty void inside of my chest that wasn’t there before. It’s like a door was unlocked somewhere down the line but I don’t know when and it aches all of the time. My chest, my whole body really, hurts constantly and nothing I do or take makes it go away. At first I thought it was because of my head but it gets better.”

I stop. I can’t say the next part. I can’t admit that. I can’t tell him that.

Bucky begins to rub his thumb over the tops of my knuckles in a soothing way and the words spill out.

“It doesn’t hurt as much when I’m near you. It still gnaws at me but it’s better. It feels better…I feel better.”

“What about the pull?” He asks softly.

I tug at his hand, urging him to come closer and he does. He climbs further into the bed and sits in front of me, his own legs folded under him like mine. Our hands are joined in between us as he keeps his head bent so he can focus on our hands.

“It’s there too. That and the emotions. I think I’ve felt some of your stronger emotions like at the club with Helmut.”

Nodding, Bucky takes a deep breath before flickering his eyes up to mine. His long lashes hide their full intensity from me but nonetheless, it’s there. He holds my half gaze for a moment and I feel a wave of warmth; adoration, comfort, safety…and something more ways over me. My infected hand, ever the cruel reminder of my situation, screams out in both joy and rage.

I think he can feel it too because he drops my other hand to hold just the sickly one. Once again he’s gentle in his motions as he rubs his thumb over the protruding veins and bones.

“Are you happy?” He asks without warning or context.

“Are you happy as a human?” He clarifies.

“Of course,” I say but it’s rather unconvincing. A week ago I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat because I was doing what I thought was my destiny. I am a Van Helsing, the last of the greatest line of Vampire Hunters. Slaying the creatures of the night is in my very DNA and I’m exceptionally good at it. I had been happy before I met him although bored but I was happy…I think.

Now I can’t say for certain. Now one of my hands is infected with venom and it’s slowly starting to unthaw the protections the doctors tried to use. The only way to cure me is to turn or essentially kill the one person the universe chose for me. Now the worst vampire on the American East Coast wants my head on a silver platter while his right hand man sits before me asking me if I’m happy. Now I don’t know what the fuck the word even means and I don’t know how to answer him in a way that’s believable.

“Tell me the truth; are you happy?”

I drop my head, I can't look at him anymore.

“No.”

“Would being free of the venom make you happy?”

“No.”

“Then what would?”

You.

While unspoken, the simple word fills both sides of the bond and wraps us in a cocoon of warmth.

You.

Him.

Me.

Us.

Bucky shakes his head like he’s shaking out the thought, “Your happiness will be found in your freedom.”

I hadn’t noticed that he’d grabbed my chin and was looking me in the eyes when he said that. I hadn’t felt the way of complacency that overcomes me as I nod along with his instructions.

You will remember that we are mates but you will feel no different about me.

You will remember that we are mates but you will go through with the curing of her hand.

You will remember that we are mates but you will not feel anything when I die as a result of the bond being severed.

Next thing I know I’m laying in my ball of blankets again and it’s been hours since I thought I saw Bucky. The cold of his touch still chills my skin but it’s nothing compared to the freezing of the connection between us.

Tears slid down my cheek but I can’t figure out why. I have no reason to cry. I have no reason to care that the connection feels like it’s dying. I have no reason to care about him.

He made sure of that.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

All Chained Up

All chained up Masterlist

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Tw: It gets a bit existential

Chapter 4: Nothing gives way to nothing

Your dreams were met with the black void again. It’s hollow and empty, so encompassing that it seeps through your skin, leaving a chill across your skin. It’s hard to move again, your limbs surrounded by what feels like molasses. Your mind feels so incredibly loud with its silence, and yet you feel like you are supposed to be this empty. Made to be nothing.

“It’s you-“ “You're back a-” “Why did you le-” The shadows speak, so many voices layered overtop one another that they press against your skull.

“Where am I?” Your voice is so loud here. Crystal clear and commanding despite your intent of a whisper. You flinch away from your own voice, unfamiliar with its power.

“Home.” All of the shadows unanimously agreed, nipping at your skin. You shouldn’t feel pain in a dream. And yet you feel regardless. The nothingness you were made to express was tarnished by the world that surrounds you until you’re no longer a creation that represents what it was meant to. And your creator turned their back on you, leaving you to rot in a world where you could not possibly flourish. These feelings fester and rot until you’re soft and weak. “She’ll be coming to get you soon” One voice whispers right next to your ear, and even then it sounds like a collage of voices pieced together. The words strike fear and yet you do not know why. Shouldn’t the hands of your maker be warm as they mould you back to the form you were intended? You feel as if you know this connection you yearn for with your creator is one you may never have. “We won’t let her take you away again” It puts its hands over your eyes despite there not being much to cover. One darkness simply gave way to another. The empty feeling falling into another until something changes. You feel the energy shift, a low hum filling your senses and buzzing at your limbs. The blood in your veins burns and your organs push against your bones in an effort to escape. Now you were as she intended. Now, you no longer feel like a person. Were you ever really to begin with?

You awake fully sat up, the sun hardly dousing the land with its light. Time watched, silent as ever. Silent as always, and yet your head was filled with chatter. Noise you could not shut out. Wind’s words played back through your head, how Time has given them orders to not speak with you. Caution was good in moderation of course, but that struck you as odd. His gaze was far off, looking far through you. You pop your sore joints and that light of recognition lights in his eyes.

“Rough night?” His voice was different. It’s still hard and commanding as it always had been, but where you were once met with stiffness, there was give. You found it in yourself to nod, not questioning why your nerves still stood on their ends. Why that harrowing emptiness that gave you comfort was stripped away. “Are you usually visited by bad dreams?” Now that, that struck you as odd. Time had given explicit orders to the others to only talk to you as needed (and even then they’ve broken that rule) and he went to great lengths to ignore you himself. But this genuine concern was a jarring shift of character. The shift of his words breaking you down, isolating you, to his words striving to stave off the darkness that infected your mind.

“More recently, I guess” He nods. You feel uncomfortable, despite the fact this concern should be comforting. Much the way you felt about- you cut that thought short. This would all be over soon. It has to be. You’ve fallen into the labyrinth of your mind and would soon find the exit. Or maybe your old life was the labyrinth. Both thoughts now felt sickeningly cruel. Eventually, that awkwardness is broken up by others waking up, Wild making breakfast and Legend’s begrudging return. You felt the urge to reach out, to apologise to the both of them. You hadn’t seen any man look as haunted as Wild did for the rest of that evening, and judging by the bags under his eyes, you guessed he did not sleep well either. And Legend seemed nice enough. Abrasive, sure, but he was the first to actively try and talk to you. Call it clingy, but you weren’t going to let him burn that bridge. So many things flew under your radar. Wind sat glued to your side, silent and still, much unlike the bright and unruly character he normally was. Legend passed you several looks over breakfast, trying to gauge your reaction to his outburst, trying to see if you were still so forgiving of him. Time’s face paint was slightly more vibrant than it usually was, the rich crimson and azure bright and bold against his skin.

As it turned out, both were similarly stubborn in not admitting anything was wrong. Wild was simply unwilling to talk much on the matter, saying that Legend gets heated sometimes, and assured you to ignore it. He made an effort to at least look unbothered, but no person talks with that much strain in their voice about something their unbothered but. Meanwhile, Legend was unwilling to even acknowledge that he spoke to you at all yesterday. So, all things totalled, You’ve broken Time both the person and the concept, pissed of Legend to the point he refuses your existence and possibly started a whole new conflict. And almost met god on a few occasions, but it hasn't happened yet. At least the forests were more forgiving. The trail was quiet, but filled with ambient noise. Birds whistled their song into the wind as it rustled the leaves to the left of you as water ran to your right. You fell in pace with Wild and Twilight, who’s conversation carried on despite you standing there- you felt a little sad that it was an achievement.

“You seem to be enjoyin’ yerself there, care to enlighten us?” Twilight looked over to you and you found yourself panicked. Mainly because you did not know these people well enough to know what dignified as a good response, and the actual response of ‘I’m just glad you didn’t stop talking when I was walking next to you’ was incredibly incriminating.

“I- uh It’s just been a while since I’ve been able to walk around y’know?” They’re both looking at you know, prompting you to continue. “Between work and school and- well everything, it’s been a minute since i’ve just enjoyed the world around me.” They both nod and you’re grateful for the silence that covers you.

“I get that” Wild concedes, nodding his head. “Before I started travelling I always worked too hard to ever really acknowledge the world until-“ His eyes darted to the trees, his hands caught one of the leaves from a bush and peels it apart with his nails. “One day, The world was the only company I had. And I got to see it for what it’s worth. He smiles at you with understanding, warm and unrestrained unlike how he had been earlier. The closeness of the moment is striking, like it’s the ripple of something already passed. Silence falls between the three of you again, but this time, it’s not nearly as harming. It’s comfortable in embracing the world as it is.