#flower or the gentle whisper of a breath in a silent room

[trollbreak]

Kitevh is self-taught on the piano and is great at it as long as she can remember the patterns

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Get Her Back 4/4 (Word count 7.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The knife still juts from the table.

She touches it often, fondles the handle like it's her lover.

Days pass, and König escapes her stare with raised shoulders and poorly disguised hurt in his eyes. She feels his eyes on her every single time she's not looking.

He breaks into her room every night, but she never wakes up to his presence. The only thing that tells her the man's been there are the fresh flowers on her table next to the knife.

He brings her flowers every morning, just like he promised, and she keeps the blade there to remind him that he's still in her heart. It's like a silent conversation, and it stabs her stomach full of pain.

On the fourth day, he returns her panties. They're covered in dried cum, and at first, it makes her feel disgusted. Then her heart flutters, a warm feeling settles deep inside her stomach when she imagines him jerking himself off to her underwear amidst his knives, with despair and longing coating the air.

For anyone else, it might be a chilling thing to wake up to: to open eyes to the sight of a brutal tactical knife, freshly picked forget-me-nots and some cum-stained lace. But for her, it's a loving attempt to remind her who she belongs to. It's also a sign that the man is trying to let her go and finally obey her wishes to be left alone.

And she doesn't want to be left alone.

He promised she would never be alone.

On the fifth day, there's no flowers, there's nothing. She starts her day with a horrible, awful bawl. Then she puts on a black dress. It makes her look odd, like she's in mourning, but it also gives her… power, somehow. Even if it's another cute kind of cotton babydoll dress, it makes her look more austere.

“König, wait.”

She chases him down this time: runs to his retreating form that stops the instant she calls his name. He’s tense when she walks the last steps to him and hugs him from behind. The familiar scent of tea tree and gasoline and sweat and guns bring a visceral memory of madness to her mind. It’s an ambrosia of crude virility, and she's missed him, God, that she's missed him.

It's also safety. Because no matter what anyone says, he is the only one who knows her, sees her, sees right into her core, her very soul.

He slowly places a hand on hers, the arms that embrace his narrow, treelike middle.

"Engel…"

The voice comes out tight and strained. He caresses her hand with hesitation and swallows.

"I'm confused.. I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come with me," she whispers in his back. He has no gear on, and she can feel his abs through the black shirt, the way his shoulder blades flare against her cheek with shallow breaths. "If you want…?"

"Ganz sicher."

She takes him by the hand and guides him to her room. People look at them with pity and dread, and she feels like they’re in high school where people were divided into groups of popular and unpopular.

She knows where she and König would’ve belonged. Where they belonged now…

And she just doesn't care anymore.

When the door to her room shuts behind him, she feels a little tug near her heart. She had nearly forgotten how big König looks inside her little room, the space she has tried to turn into a cozy home even though she doesn't view the base as her home like the soldiers do. It's just a place for her to reside in when she's working.

But he does not fit into a normal society like she does. The base must be the closest thing to a home for him. Not every elite soldier is a lunatic perhaps, but König certainly couldn't find any other job in the modern world that would cater to his needs without sending him behind bars.

But he was supposed to kill only in the field. Only somewhere far, far away.

Why did you do it?

Why…?!

That's what she meant to ask when they're behind closed doors, but something quite different comes out instead.

"Did you miss me…?"

She stands before him, holding her hands in front of her, looking probably quite silly clad in black.

"I've been in hell ever since I left, Engel."

Christ have mercy…

Normal men just didn't talk like that.

"Will you forgive me?" He looks her up and down, but the calm, proud posture, the way he holds his chin high behind that dark shroud tells her he's not used to begging. She has a feeling that this question is asked only because Soap suggested it would be a good idea to apologize for making her so upset.

"It's not me you should be–" She sighs. "Look… That man had a wife. König, I think he had a kid and everything."

His eyes are covered in a veil of disinterest only she can pierce. There's actually so much going on behind that odd, distanced stare. But what’s horrifying is that he clearly doesn’t agree with her on this matter.

"I kill people every week," he declares. "Just not in the break room."

His logic leaves her wordless for a moment. The officer was not an enemy, he was not part of some foreign military, his only crime was that he was in a hurry…

She has barely even opened her mouth to speak before he finally defends himself.

"How do you know his wife is not secretly happy with the news?"

The question is like a bucket of ice dipped in her head. She had prepared herself for almost anything but this. König only tilts his head and narrows his stare.

"Would you want to be wife to that kind of man?"

Her mouth opens on its own; her jaw would fall to the floor if it could do such a thing. His worldview unfolds before her in full, and it should disgust her: but all she feels is an odd thrill in her stomach from realizing this man is not only possessive; he's also fiercely traditional.

"He just spilled some coffee on me," she whispers in soft, tender horror. "He just happened to have a bad day."

"How many times a week did he have a bad day?"

The defense is solid, even if it's preposterous. The man was rude and disrespectful, yes. To everyone, every day, probably continued the abuse at home, too. But he didn't deserve to be killed for it. Still, König doesn't seem to find any fault in his way of thinking.

"I can tell when people are evil," he crosses his arms over his chest as a final note.

Evil…

Evil.

She's left blinking, then she finds her tongue again.

"You can't just… deal punishment like that," she huffs.

"Why not?"

Jesus Christ…

His arms are still over his chest, and he looks… so big, so powerful, like an omnipotent being.

Probably thinks he is.

"Will you go to jail?" She changes the subject because arguing with this kind of man seems futile. Downright hopeless.

"No," he says with perpetual calm. "Would you want to see me in jail?"

"...No."

He finally unravels his arms and takes a few steps toward her. That swaying lounge is intoxicating and seductive, even when he doesn't mean it as such. It's just the way he walks, but it makes her woozy.

"Engel. You are too… kind for this world."

More odd arguments are laid out before her, more confusion and love and pain. He raises a hand to touch her arm and make his point clear. The weight of him is heavy and adult, his military clothing is in blaring contrast to her tiny, childish dress.

"You don't understand it now, but perhaps someday you will."

The man looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her. She's a child in his eyes, but something in this lunacy tells her she's dealing with a child, too: a boy who no one ever loved.

"My little angel. Always wearing pretty dresses," he says more softly now.

"I'm not an angel."

"Yes you are," he rules without effort. "And you look good in everything. But you shouldn't wear black."

"Why not…?"

"Because you belong with flowers."

Her heart aches, her eyes prick with burning tears. He's self-aware, that's for sure. He knows what he has done to her, what he is doing to her. And he wishes to spare her from him.

"I thought you liked black," she peeps, her mind and will and defense breaking.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand brushes down her cheek, then cups her chin softly. That same hand must be ironclad when it grips his enemies and brings them to his blade.

"I like this dress," she tries to quarrel, voice shaking.

"And I know a knife that would go perfectly with it."

His eyes are warm. There's even a passing sadness in them. She's relatively sure that he's not talking about butterfly knives any longer – she's almost certain that König hasn't gifted his weapons to any other human being on this earth.

“How about we take off that pretty little dress now, hmm?”

The time for the compulsory explanations is over in his mind, and it’s time for sex. He knows that his exile has ended, that whatever liminal space they walked in for a few days wasn’t enough to rid herself of him. There’s no turning back anymore, and he looks at her with amused hunger when she obeys his suggestion which is, in truth, a command.

Her fingers do not shake anymore as she undresses for him, but a shiver goes through her guts: that stare is a look from beyond. He’s a madman, and falling more in love with her every day, even if the only way he knows how to love is by stabbing people with his cock or his knife.

“Lie down,” he gives her more orders when she stands before him with nothing on.

It’s futile, completely futile to pretend that she doesn’t want this. It’s almost like an act, the way she slowly and demurely obeys his command. In reality, she wants nothing more than to be devoured by him.

He takes his clothes off while she waits for him on the bed like an injured bird. He rips, then throws his gloves off like they have done something naughty, all the while his gaze is fixed on her. She has missed the sight of that faint hair on his abs, missed that broad chest, missed how his muscles bunch even when he gets out of a shirt that weighs practically nothing in his hands.

The long, veined cock flies out from his pants with a demanding bounce that makes her swallow. They form an odd pair on the floor: her little dress and his huge woodland camos. His eyes are surrounded in black paint under the eternal mask, but otherwise, he's the palest man she has ever seen.

Her breasts rise and fall with aroused breaths as he settles himself beside her, naked and blazing. His cock is pure fire when it gets trapped between them, and he's already drooling hot precum on her thigh.

He's gentle, kind of. Slides a hand over her shivering stomach, palms one breast, then takes a nipple between his fingertips and gives her a pinch.

“Did you miss me too?”

The hood makes him look like a hangman, and he’s infuriatingly patient now. She expected him to rail her like a sex toy right after the door was closed.

"Yes."

He releases her, and the callous descends with a gentle, deliberate caress to her waist.

"Then you're the first who ever did."

She just might be the first woman he's gentle with, too, and she cannot help but think if it's because of what she said just before he killed that poor man. If the last piece of the puzzle locked in place when he realized how much she admired him. If her confession also made him stake his claim in the loudest possible way, announcing everyone that he's her protector.

It's not her fault that the man's dead, but she should be ashamed: she's wet already when the murderer's fingers delve further down to meet her folds. He disappears somewhere in her wetness, and her thighs rise and drift apart to give him full access.

And it's always like this: she spreads legs for him with a helpless, longing stare, he takes in what belongs to him with dark, pleased hunger.

He finds her clit in no time, drags his thumb over it, and she gasps. Her breaths come quick now, her nipples are shot to the sky and her back is already arching when he delves down and slides one finger inside. It's long and lean, and her cunt grips him like they have been apart for four weeks instead of four days.

He sighs under the mask, just from her greedy response. She wants to touch him too, but doesn't dare to move when he's looking at her like that. He starts to finger her gently, first with one, then two digits while attending to the tight nub on top. And he's good with a knife, quick with his hands, so what did she expect?

But she’s also sad and mad. Because he definitely knows what he’s doing. And it makes her think…

"Have you had a lot of women..?"

Her question is a mouse's whisper. His fingers halt inside her; they spread her with delicious torture.

"A few," he says. "Back in Austria."

He buries his face in her neck and nuzzles his way to her ear. The bag of darkness is soft and hot, but nothing compared to his heated whisper.

"But they were nothing like you."

He punctuates the declaration by curling the fingers inside her. She bites her lip to stifle a filthy, needy moan. He even grinds his hips against her: that cock is like a heated spear against her soft thigh, and more cum oozes out to trickle down her leg.

"How many men have had you, Engel?"

He doesn't ask: how many men has she had. She may not be his plaything, but she is his possession. In his mind, she belongs to him and only him, no matter who has come before. But the murderous passion with which he waits for her answer makes her flustered, and she bolts her mouth tight in an indication that she will not disclose this information.

"Gut. Don't tell. I would kill them all."

Oh.

Oh…

"Would you like that…?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Yes you would."

“I don’t–I don't want you to–”

“Shh.”

He’s working those fingers smooth and quick, and she’s already leaking on his hand, probably on the bed, too… The room is filled with sighs and whimpers and sobs as he fucks her with slick, wet sounds. She's close the edge in mere minutes, but he won’t let her finish.

Instead, he pulls out just when she's about to tighten around him.

"Why-why did you stop?"

"Angel... Take me in your mouth," he rasps, breathless too despite trying to disguise it. She briefly wonders if this is some sort of a punishment. That perhaps she’s ordered to give him a blowjob just when she’s about to come – after all, she has dared to keep him waiting for days.

But that’s not the case, it seems, as she moves with heavy limbs to fulfill his wish.

"Nein… Other way around. I want to taste you."

The perverse suggestion in the break room turns into a reality as she realizes what he wants to do. Her heart is pounding when she crawls on top of him to meet that leaking cock. How exactly is that thing even going to fit inside her mouth?

A sudden shyness takes her as her thighs are forced into a wide-legged spread from straddling the broadest man on earth. She's exposed to the cold air only for a second before his breath hits her. The shortest shadow of a stubble on that usually clean-shaven chin meets her soaked cunt with hunger.

“Ah… Take it– in your mouth,” he moans orders to her folds, and her cunt clenches immediately, just from hearing that accent and that voice.

She moves to give him a shy lick, sweeps a tongue over that tip to clean him from all that precum. He goes tense under her and breathes heavily when she wraps her hand around him, wraps her mouth around the weeping slit.

He tastes of salt and sin, and the minute she tries to take more of him in, he groans with a dry throat. It's a hot, broken breath that travels straight inside her. It’s too much – the position is far too stimulating, it’s over the top wicked.

And then he starts to lick her. It messes up the blowjob that has barely even started. She knows his hood must be almost completely off, otherwise he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Take a bit more, Engel," he urges between the long slathers that already sound lewd. There's simply no way to take it fully in, he’s far too long for that. The last thing she wants to do is gag on him. But she does a good enough job, tries to concentrate on breathing through her nose as she goes as deep as she can.

"That's…more like it…"

It’s a relieved notion somewhere behind her before he continues with the agonizingly slow licks. Fat and flat-tongued, the work of a famished man. For someone who's so clumsy with social interaction, he’s infuriatingly good at giving pleasure to women. The tip of his tongue grazes her clit, and causes a muffled moan – her mouth is full of him but she just cannot help herself.

And arms of steel close around her middle the minute she whimpers on his cock. They pull her closer to his face – he wants to hear her make noise, then, and her will to compete arises. She wants to make him moan too. She ups the pace, flattens her tongue on him every time she retreats…

"Where did you learn to–nnh…"

She nearly laughs at his surprise, at their silly little competition. He's shocked, probably jealous too, of her past and the imagined cavalcade of men who may or may not have been inside her mouth before him. She swirls a tongue around the tip every now and then, wraps her lips tight around him, and goes even deeper.

"Verdammte Scheiße.. I'm not going to last long…"

Strong thighs around her power up, and he has stopped licking her altogether: he's just panting in her pussy and holding on to her hips while waiting for the upcoming wave.

"You know what to do, ja?" He pants that question like she doesn't know he's about to shoot a load on her tongue soon.

"Don't make a mess," he shares advice with a sly tone to his voice. "Unless you want to clean after…"

He gives a short laugh as if the joke is funny. As if that's a clever thing to say to a cleaning lady. It makes her grip him harder, and he's close, so close: he's not even moving anymore, everything's just completely rigid under her body and inside her mouth.

"I'm fucking–cumming…"

He spills with a long groan, moans against her cunt, cries inside her with pain. The seed is hot and heavy, it shoots right down her throat even in this position. She does the best she can to not make that mess, but it's hard work when a giant cock pulses in her mouth.

"You're perfect, angel," he sighs behind her, tries to feed more of himself inside her mouth by rolling his hips.

The praise makes her pump and suck him even more, get every last drop out, and a tremble goes through her lover. She has to take support from the bed until the earthquakes recede. His cock is a clean mess after, and she's a mess too: overworked, and shy, and victorious.

They're both left panting: she tries to catch some breath there between his thighs after everything, but she's not allowed to rest and recover. The grip around her middle pulls her back, and a breathless man trying to lick her like it's the end of the world is not only far too much, it's unbearable. She's already overly sensitive and needy from the four days of barren grief.

"It's too much…" She tries to tell him, but he won't listen. If anything, it only spurs him on.

"König, I can't," she wails softly while resting her head on his thigh.

"Yes you can."

A feverish tongue dips inside her as deep as it goes. It forces her legs apart, she spreads herself all over his face completely unwillingly. There's no mercy for her as he flicks a tongue over her clit, plunges a tongue inside her as deep as it goes, returns to the nub again – does it again and again and again like it's some secret code meant to break her.

"You like that, huh?" His rough voice is muffled by her cunt, he sounds both parched and wet.

"Hm? Talk to me," he demands an answer although it should be obvious that she's losing her mind from his treatment.

"Yes," she mewls while being spread so crudely wide for him. "I… I love it…"

"Hah. You sound like a little cat," he laughs, pleased, then gets to it again. She's so close now that she can feel the growing waves. Her thighs are not just shaking, they're trembling.

"So pretty and so wet," he comments between the licking and dipping, voice covered with smoke from all the lust. And he's hard again, too: right next to her face, and she could cry actual tears – what if he plans on fucking her too after this? It's too much, she can't even take this, she can't…

But she does.

Her back starts to arch just before the orgasm. She's not weeping yet, but every noise she makes sounds like she's crying her heart out.

"Slow down, slow–down, please…"

She's a one-woman choir of tight pleas. She tries to muffle them by burying her face somewhere in his thighs and musk. The tongue dips in and out like he's a machine and not a man, and the first wave hits unexpectedly, like a searing, white-hot blade.

"A–ah!"

The climax swallows her, she starts grinding against that face without meaning to. He only laughs and buries his nose and tongue deeper into her slickness. The arms around her hold her like iron bars, his breaths hit her along with his tongue like she's strapped to a torture device.

Her cunt is sloppy, and throbbing, and he is a torturer, licks her even when she's lying on top of him in ruin: a devastated, trembling heap of a woman who's lost everything.

"Stop–König, you need to stop…"

Her weak whispers do nothing. His tongue sweeps her from front to back until she's crying on top of him. Frail fingers try to claw his thighs but grasp nothingness.

When he finally relents, he does it with another laugh. Then he gives her a last lick: a total bully, snorts a chuckle when a tremble goes through her entire body from just that single, fat sweep.

"Mmm. That was good. Right?"

"M–mh…"

There are tears in her eyes, but not one comes out. Her pussy throbs and winks with the aftershocks, and his hand moves up and down her back like she's that little cat.

"You're mean," she sobs. Complains.

"Heh… you didn't like it?"

"I did," she sniffs, and his hand moves to caress her thigh.

"I know you did. I know you. Everything about you."

He sounds merciful at last, pats her leg softly.

"Come here. I'll take care of you."

When she turns and crawls back to him, his mask is fully in place. He receives her with open arms and speaks more softly than ever.

"I have to take care of you after. Isn't that so?"

"Yes…"

She holds onto him, because he's the only thing that's solid in her world at this point. His aftercare is the most tender thing she has ever known: her hair is being caressed gently, the tension in her neck and back is soothed with long, loving strokes. He buries his mask in her hair and inhales her after-sex scent like it's a whole offering of incense.

"Angel. You feel like… like it's my birthday."

His statement brings another round of tears to her eyes. Instinct tells her that birthdays might've been the only happy days of the year for this man.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He sounds worried when she's so quiet and timid again. Her heart settles slowly into a warm pool of love, she presses herself against him with fervor, and he squeezes her in turn like she's the most perfect birthday present ever.

"No."

I really needed that.

I need you…

"I will never let you go again," he promises. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I don't– I don't want you to go."

"Little one. I'm so glad I found you."

He takes her palm and uses it to brush away the hood from his lips. The violent edge is always taken away after sex, and the devouring is gentle, the passion is blunt. His kiss is soft; sweet.

"König…" She's raw and bare in his arms, her adoration reflects back to her from his blues. "Why did you pick me?"

"You're the one who picked me, Engel. I just answered your call."

He takes in the effect this truth has on her, then takes her breath away with another kiss. A small giggle erupts in the lazy afternoon as he threatens to crush her with a bear hug. Her hand steals its way further under the mask: she meets smooth skin and a collection of even smoother bumps.

"Why can't I see your face..?"

"It's not a pretty sight," he sighs. "Father liked to cut me when I was little."

The laziness leaves her body that very instant. The man is detached, distant: as if he's sharing something trivial, the city he grew up in or his favorite subject in school.

She doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror, but what he says next sends even more ice down her spine.

"Now I cut those who are evil."

Everything starts to make perfect sense.

Why he was bullied at school, why people fear him. Why disrespectful, cruel men deserve to be knifed and why women and wives are angels. Why he wears a mask.

It's not sound reasoning, but it is a strategy, perhaps. Survival… A defense mechanism.

And offense is the best defense…

She had been right: this man is incurable, only in ways she could never have guessed.

Afterwards, he shows her his knives.

His room is full of them: combat knives, throwing knives, bowie knives, daggers, bayonets, balisongs, two machetes, a kukri, knives she doesn't even have a name for… There's swords and sticks and a riot shield. There's only one bed, nothing more, not even a nightstand.

And the room is also full of guns.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, handguns; there's scopes, tripods, gloves, gas masks, a ghillie suit, pouches, plate carrier vests, magazines, grenades, even a launcher.

The room is filled with violence.

And she didn't know what she expected.

Some "Hot Gun Babes" wall calendar and a few pocket knives? That he would play by the rules and keep weapons and gear where they were stored instead of in his fucking room?

He gives her his third gift that pairs well with her black dress, or any dress, for that matter. Another knife, but not the kind he kills people with, nor the flimsy kind used for entertainment purposes.

She receives an automatic switchblade, simple but pretty. The double-edged blade looks almost feminine, the way it curves into a sharp, dainty tip. The handle is made of sturdy, polished wood; it's incredibly beautiful and so dark it's nearly black. The knife is only a threat when it's flicked open: all in all a piece that isn’t what it seems.

"Hier. Good little blade. Would take it wherever I go."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Engel."

She kisses him after his gift. She kisses the white scar on his jaw, lifts the mask a bit more, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't stop her, not even when she finds more keloid cuts and kisses them too.

And he's… simply a man.

There's a human under all that darkness.

It's not a pretty sight, perhaps, but for those scars, she couldn't love him more.

"You're not afraid of me," he sounds surprised when she takes in the violence done to his face with tenderness in her gaze.

"No."

He's speechless. The barricade covering his eyes is permanently broken, and she can see him, all of him.

She falls to her knees and opens his pants, gives the man another round of love. He looks at her with pain and pleasure; a pale, adoring god. Strokes her hair gently while she gets drunk on him like a succubus, wants him to spill that white on her face and all over her pretty black dress.

"Cum on my face, König."

She looks at him with angel eyes while saliva and drool make a rope from her mouth to his throbbing cock. But there is nothing left of the celestial, nothing more than a sweet, fallen angel, and a safe space just for her and him.

"Please…?"

Ruin me.

He hesitates a few seconds, then grabs his cock in an iron fist like it's heavy artillery.

"Whatever my angel wants, she shall have."

. . . . . .

He brings her flowers every morning and fucks her every night.

Sometimes he catches her when she's outside in the sun, reading a book or watching the clouds. He carries her off to the woods and takes her against a tree like they're the first man and woman on the earth after tasting the forbidden apple. They share a few hushed laughs and more than a few desperate kisses under the hood, then he brings her back to earth, straightens her dress like a gentleman before leaving to have a date with death.

He takes her out to eat sometimes, takes her to the shooting range. Calls her his little Wildkatze when she takes a liking to one of his shotguns. He takes her hand when they stroll through the grass and sings an old love song from his homeland. He has a beautiful voice, especially when he forgets he's in company. Or perhaps she's just special like that…

They share a secret language in the base. Whenever he sees her, he draws his knife and throws it in the air ("I miss you") or twirls it around ("The things I will do to you tonight…"). Sometimes, he just places a hand on the handle of the cruel blade. That stands for 'You're mine'.

It's the closest thing to I love you before either of them have spoken the actual words. Or then it's the closest thing to I love you he's capable of.

She gives him a small smile in return, puts a hand in her pocket and fondles the gift she carries everywhere she goes. He knows it's a nod to his secret messages. It stands for 'You're my everything'.

She keeps the switchblade with her even when she's wearing a dress after work. Red this time, the color of passion.

She wants to surprise him: König always comes to her before nightfall, but this time, she wants to go and visit him. She wants him to take her in the middle of black steel and acrid gunpowder while she's dressed in blood.

"Be a darling and fix me a cup of coffee, will you?"

She's stopped by Phillip Graves of all people. Another man who has never paid her any attention. Apparently, red cloth is the same thing for evil men as it is for the enraged animals in bullfighting shows.

She does stop, but she doesn't obey his wishes. She just stares him down like he's filth: another thing she thought she could never do.

I'm not your coffee girl.

"C'mon honey. I've had a bad day." The man only seems to feed off from her silent scorn: like it's some dark game they're playing now. "You could make it so much better."

For fuck's sake…

Here is a man who disrespects everything about her: her position as a cleaner, her value as a woman, her rank as a shy being who is too kind for this world. She's simply a doll who doesn't know how to kill, who doesn't know how to say no. This man however, won't take no for an answer.

"I'm not here to serve coffee," she says with pure ice.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And I'm off duty, too."

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

"You seem like an interesting woman."

He seems pleased with the fact that for some reason, she's still here, that he has her attention. Thinks he's winning her over with some yucky flirting.

"And wearing a red dress like that…" He tsks, as if it's a crime for a woman to wear red. "Red can drive a man crazy, darling."

She understands why she has been invisible to everyone except König up until this point.

Because deep down, she knows if she would carry herself in full, show herself to the world as the woman she truly is, she would instantly attract love, and power, and hunger, and lust.

"I'm going to go now, sir."

"Tell you what. You serve me that coffee and I'll let you go."

She catches sadism in that stare. And to think she had always found Graves to be somewhat… arrogant, perhaps, but not cruel. The man obviously has a Napoleon complex, but he was not supposed to be sadistic.

How wrong she has been.

She knows she could just get out of the situation by filling that mug the bastard can't fill himself because of some stupid need to have a powerplay moment with an innocent little girl who happens to wear red.

But she doesn't want to. König would have ripped this guy's head off by now.

"I'm off duty," she repeats.

Fuck these men who are always looking for a plaything.

Graves rises from the chair. She's both cold and sweaty by the time he has taken a step, two, three.

But men are a bit stupid sometimes.

They think dresses don't have pockets.

When he takes the fourth and last step, with joy-tinged cruelty in his eyes, she flicks the knife out and open, and simply stabs him in the supposed direction of the organ called heart.

It feels thrilling, pure power: to sink that knife there and catch a man – a soldier of all people – unawares.

So this is what it feels like…

The hurt in his stare doesn't necessarily come from pain, but from the realization that he has made a huge miscalculation.

He looks down at the small knife that will be the end of him, then at her, the woman he thought was just a simple, shy cleaner he could bully into submission.

"You fucking–bitch," he gasps. Weakly.

By the time she pulls the knife out and stabs him again, she's somewhere far away. It hits him in the stomach, and he still doesn't do anything about it, and that's the moment she finds pity, and mercy, and horror.

She turns and stumbles, then runs from the room, unsure if the thump on the floor behind her is real or imagined.

"You fucking whore…!"

The shout is real enough though, and she runs, runs, with a sharp little knife in her hand for what seems like an eternity. That flight is a prolonged medieval torture moment that ends in front of König's door.

Her titan is as calm as ever when he opens the door, and tilts his head when he sees she's breathing fast.

"I think I killed Phillip Graves," she informs with eyes wide.

He blinks, then immediately looks at her hand, the knife, the blood. She goes to him, lifts a hand to his shirt in a desperate attempt to find support. There's not even that much blood. She thought killing would be much messier.

König said it would be messy.

"I… He…"

Her hands won't even shake. All her senses are blown wide and sharp, she sees everything, hears everything, but her hands won't shake.

Is she a psychopath?

"I killed Phillip Graves," she repeats, looks at his chest, clutches at the knife, clutches at his shirt.

The door behind her closes, and König takes hold of her shoulders with warm, warm hands.

"Well done, Engel," he says with such joy, such unbound pride that it snaps her back into reality.

Her jaw starts to tremble, her teeth clatter, she raises her eyes to him…

"He… He wanted coffee, and to talk, and he liked my dress, and–"

"Did he touch you?"

He asks it like it's far more important than what she has just done. She has to shuffle through her memory, but she finds no recalling of Graves laying a single finger on her.

"No."

He was about to. Right?

He was. He threatened me–

"Don't shed tears for him," König says as he looks down at her with mesmerized awe and infatuation. "I can promise you he doesn't deserve them."

Then he hugs her, squeezes her and just holds her, and she's still holding on to the murder weapon.

What will everyone say? What will my friends say?

"My little angel is good with a knife," the titan laughs proudly somewhere high above her.

People have killed each other since the dawn of time.

These things happen.

I'm not the first murderer on this planet.

"My poor little… He was a bad man, Engel. I promise you that."

It's not a big deal. He was a killer too.

He could've died in the field…

"I'm going to jail," she whispers on his shirt. She wants to let go of the knife, but fears it might hurt him or her when it falls.

And she remembers she's not dealing with normal people.

"They will kill me for this," she says with distant realization.

"No they won't," he strokes her hair like she's the best pet he has ever had. "I will take the blame. It was my knife, ja?"

She pushes herself away to look at him, then nods slowly. Her jaw just won't stop trembling.

"Good girl," he pulls her against him again, so fondly that it forces out a whimper.

"Mh."

"Come here," he coos while already holding her so impossibly close. He's surprisingly good at this: at comforting her. Or then it simply feels uncommonly good to have someone sturdy to hang on to while her life and identity are falling apart.

"I'm not sure if he's dead," she whispers when the embrace lingers on. König breaks the hug immediately.

"You didn't confirm the kill?"

She must look like a shy cleaner again, because his resolve is stone cold and solid.

"Engel, I will go and finish it. Where is he?"

She tells, because he would find out anyway. He would start a manhunt and cause even more ruckus.

But when his hand reaches the doorknob, when he's already about to go and finish her crime on top of taking the full blame for it, he turns.

"Do I have your permission?"

Her jaw slowly stops trembling, and a soft sweetness spreads through her heart. The elite soldier, the mass murderer, asks for her permission.

She is more than just special…

"Yes," she whispers, and he gives her a curt nod before storming out the door.

And he's not living in the 21st century.

Instead, he walks in the world of gladiators, rages in a blood-drunk arena, lives in a time where killing was the norm. He solves problems with physical force: it's just that simple. There is no complex society, there are no rules other than the rules of the heart and the loins.

Anyone who disrespects her will get the blade, anyone who might take her away from him will make him do whatever is in his power to prevent it.

And he has the ultimate power: the power of violence.

He comes back surprisingly clean: only a tiny speckle of blood on his camos and some vivid-colored grime on his hands.

"Done."

She nods with solemn silence. She's done, too. Done with everything, because everything's gone. No matter how high the sun is, she will walk in darkness from now on.

"I believe you Engel. He swore he didn't touch you."

And God.

She might be special, but a dying enemy's, a man's word is more worth to him than hers. As if she would try to protect Graves from his wrath by lying.

And Graves wasn't even dead…

But he is now. Probably tortured too to get the truth out about not soiling her with his paws.

"Did anyone see you..?"

"No. But they will know it was me."

It's another gift to her. Another murder. And her purity, intact, in exchange for a compliment, a testimony of his character during a lazy coffee break. For a few kisses on his scars of abuse. For letting him fuck her like a beast.

Her gifts are burning tears, soft flesh and tight little cries…

His gifts are cold, black steel, hot, white cum and a stream of crimson blood.

"Thank you…"

"I would do anything for you." He bows his head, a little nod to inform her that he is hers to command. "Anything you want, just ask."

She's at home in hell, filled with guns and knives and a fallen god. She knows he will take her again tonight, just like he has done every night in the past weeks. In every position imaginable, grunting, howling, panting, laughing how sweet she is, asking if she likes what he is doing to her. She has always whispered yes through tears of hot joy.

Sometimes, they come together and their gazes lock, and it feels like drifting into a starless space with him. He strokes her hair and coats her with whispers of love before they fall asleep. They always curl up together in the cover of womblike darkness, with soft little smiles on their faces, safe from all evil.

"Can you keep me safe…?"

It's a sad little question, but she doesn't feel weak. She knows he is lost in her too: especially when she's wearing a dress the color of blood, especially when she looks at him like he's her God.

"Please keep me safe."

He comes to her carefully, answers her summons. She's pulled into a familiar embrace, and she doesn't even think about Graves anymore: she thinks about whether König will take her on the bed that smells of acid sweat or on the wall next to the gun rack.

"Always, Engel. I promise."

She holds the most powerful weapon in her tiny little hand. A dark, fallen titan who has risen from the depths of the earth to pledge himself to her, body and soul, while her innocent little dresses flutter in the wind and make everyone believe she's a victim. But she doesn't feel sorry.

Because it's just like he said.

They belong together, she and him.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

[azullumi]

“the type to…” ; anemo boys

details — he’s really just this type of guy.

characters — heizhou, kazuha, wanderer, venti, and xiao (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, some of them could be platonic of romantic, no type of relationship stated, not proof-read ; headcanons/scenario

words — 1740

note — decided to let go of a longtime friendship (^^)/

;; 🐚

KAZUHA, the type to wake up in the morning before you and instead of waking you up also, he would rather prefer watching you sleep, admiring each of your features and memorizing the lines on your face, burning the memory in his mind. with the sun already rising, sunlight had seeped into the room, gently laying on the floor and your face like spilled honey. his happiness and peace came in the form of you, in the morning as he watches you sleep before you stir and open your eyes, smiling at him as soon as you see him—“why did you not wake me up?” you would say to him and what could he tell you aside from “i love you”?

KAZUHA, the type to kiss you on your forehead as soon as he sees you rouse up from your sleep, spilling warmth from his lips as he greets you, “did you have a good sleep?” with the most gentle of smiles. he seeps affection into your skin, burying into your bones, leaving traces of him in the crevices of your mind. also the type to often get up before you so he could cook breakfast and bring it to you on your bed as soon as you wake up; “how did you sleep, love?”

KAZUHA, the type to be extremely clingy and affectionate; the type to wrap his arms around your waist and hug you from the behind, burying his face on the skin of your neck and letting out a satisfied sigh with his worries dissipating along with it. but double the clinginess when he’s drunk or upset, he’s affectionately drunk in a way that he clings to you like a koala is to a tree and wouldn’t want you leaving his side—immediately grabs you and pulls you back to him when you try to do so. when he’s upset, however, he tends to be silent and would rather just have you hug him and listen to the sound of your heartbeat which puts him at ease.

;; ⭐️

XIAO, the type who fears for the day where he will yearn for your touch but will never get to feel it again; afraid that he’ll love you forever and will never be able to have you in the same room as him. nothing had made him sadder knowing that one day, he will never see you again. wouldn’t it be weird to say that loving you puts him in such a feeling of grief? he wished he had known you sooner, he wish he was given the opportunity to be by your side earlier, he wished he could have loved you longer than he had known you; “it’s a pleasure to be seen by you.” a mumble, a whisper of confession before a reply came, “thank you for letting yourself be known.”

XIAO, the type to always want to spend time together, whether it’s just in a peaceful moment of tranquility when the two of you are cuddling each other or while you two are doing their own thing while near each other—it’s more like wanting to be by each other’s side more than passing time together. he indulges in the serenity of the silence whenever the moment arrives, it’s like a breath of fresh air, the spring wind that makes the flowers sway and lulls his heart into a gentle rhythm.

XIAO, the type to always hold your hand everywhere, anywhere, even when the two of you are walking, sitting beside or across each other, or whenever the two of you are together in general. the moment he notices the lack of your hand on his, he will take an immediate action to rid of that absence—seeping the warmth of his hand on yours, locking fingers, and giving it a small squeeze. oftentimes, he’ll draw circles on your skin with his thumb. it’s just a subconscious habit that he does whenever he’s way too focused on something. the softness of yours eases his mind and seemingly, all of his problems disappear. there was no solace and meaning in his life but today there was and right now, comfort was found in the lines of your palm and the tenderness of your hand.

;; 🔍

HEIZHOU, the type to make you laugh a lot, a connoisseur of bad jokes, puns, and terrible dad jokes that will never fail to pull a chuckle out of your throat. he has a lot of things to talk to you about, a lot of things to tell you and occupy your ears—he’ll often blurt out trivias that he have discovered, quotes that he have heard and read, and everything. he just tells you so many things, fascinating or anything, and it feels like he’s a walking book of facts and information.

HEIZHOU, the type to notice the smallest things about you. he’s a detective, a man with a sharp mind and keen observation, how could he not notice the way you style your hair a little bit different than usual or the way sadness ghosted over your smile whenever you think of a distant memory—or perhaps it was something along the lines of nostalgia and yearning. he’ll catch on the smallest details of you, etches it in the crevices of his mind and burned in his memory; “isn’t that your favorite color?” he asks, pointing at a flower standing alone in a small patch of grass, and you knit your eyebrows for a moment before turning to look at him, “how did you know?”, which only causes him to shrug, acting as if it was just a lucky guess when it was all because he sees your gaze lingering over a particular shade or noticing the way your features soften at the sight of that particular hue.

HEIZHOU, he always seems to look after you, always there when you’re about to trip and fall, always there to open the jar that is sealed, particularly shut, always there to cheer you up and put a smile on your face, as if he’s meant to be there, as if he’s fated to be by your side; he’s just always there. “aren’t you tired of me? you’re always taking care and looking after me,” curiosity fell from your lips as you murmured, worry lacing your voice. “never,” he whispered back, tenderly, repeating: “not if it’s you.”

;; 🎧

VENTI, the type to dance with you, spinning you around as he watches your hair lovingly swaying along with the wind, and he adores the way butterflies flit inside his stomach as he admires you. moments like this just reminds him of the first time he met you or to be exact, first ever saw you: happiness fluttered around you in a similar way a flower would dance with the wind, and he knew by then he wanted to be around you, that he had to be beside you—your heart is just so full of warmth, it is difficult not to be distracted by it.

VENTI, the type to take you out on dates during the night, treating it as some sort of adventure even though he has everything laid out from his mind—from the time, from the things he’s supposed to say, and to the path you’ll take that will bring you to a hidden spot with the most impressive and stupendous scenery. he’ll have everything prepared there, the blanket, the food, and of course, the wine to which makes you wonder when did he plan all of these although you never raised the question to him.

VENTI, the type to compliment you a lot. never will there be a day that he doesn’t fill your ears with praises—it’s a variety, not sticking to one, and always different each day. he’ll tell you the color you chose for your clothing suits you, he’ll praise your cooking skills even if you think it’s mediocre, he’ll flatter you and the style for your hair, he’ll tell you that he adores your smile every morning and he loves waking up to it, and everything. he doesn’t hesitate in saying such things, is not afraid to convey his affections to you—if only you could truly see yourself in his eyes, breathtakingly beautiful, so. simply, you were just the type of person people would write songs about; “how could you always be so lovely in every single day? even the flowers would envy you.”

;; 🎐

WANDERER, the type of man who you wish the world was kinder to, you would have wished the past would have been easy to him but what can you do? it had already happened, it left scars and wounds on his skin, and all you could do was kiss and murmur words on it, and hope that it would make him feel a little bit better. you could do nothing about his past but only be there for him throughout it all, hoping to create a future that he can look forward to even if it meant you not being there in it; “why are you like this?” he says, seemingly confused and afraid of the gentle unfamiliarity of tenderness and affection.

WANDERER, the type to not credit for anything. he gave you something that you’ve been longing to have? he just happened to got it and thought you might like it. what about the party or celebration that was arranged for you? he didn’t do much, he just sprinkled a little bit of his efforts even when he was the one who handled everything. the blanket that was placed on you when you fell asleep somewhere that isn’t your bed? you’d look stupid with a cold, he wouldn’t want you catching it.

WANDERER, the type to not show his feelings through words but rather with actions instead, and oftentimes with gifts. however, the same goes for him. he’s not used to such words, often responding to it in quite a mean manner by brushing it off and rolling his eyes but trust me and just observe his reaction carefully—he would turn away from you but despite that, you could still see the way his ears redden. he simply doesn’t know how to take it, only knowing how to either ignore it or somewhat agree with it, stating that it is only a must that you love him and that you should stay by his side for eternity that will come. he adores you, he really does and it’s way more than you might think, he’s just unable to convey it in a manner that you will understand so he does it in his own way in which is not hard for you to grasp the meaning behind it.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[lalacliffthorne]

💜 starshine pt. VI 💜

Rhys x Reader

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI

summary: when after more than a century, things finally begin falling into place.

notes: I can't believe how long this took - both writing this next part and the actual things happening *facepalms*. and these twoooo 😭💕. I can't. they make me feel so mushy and happy and all giddy and warm. and all of you, loving this so much, make me feel even more mushy and happy and giddy, so thank you so much for staying with me on this!! if everything goes to plan, this is actually the second to last chapter, and we are, finally, getting somewhere ;)

______________________________________________________________

With a sharp inhale, my eyes snapped open, and my breath staggered.

The sheets were clinging to my skin, damp with cold sweat, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs as blood rushed through my ears and my gaze darted over a high, dark ceiling and for a second, panic and a dull pain rose in my chest, my body frozen still.

Then I realised that a weight was resting over my stomach and a scent was flooding my senses, so achingly familiar, my muscles melted.

Quickly, I turned my head, and my lungs squeezed.

In the silvery light of the moon shining through the windows, I could see Rhys' dark shape stretched out on the mattress next to me, the dips and planes of his muscular back rising and falling slowly with his even breaths. His head was resting on the pillow next to me, his face turned my way, brows smoothed over and eyes closed, his dark hair unruly and tousled, swirls of darkness stretching over his broad shoulders and down the arm that was loosely resting over my waist, his skin radiating warmth through my thin nightgown.

My heart soared before free falling, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, fighting against the echoes of screams and laughter in my ears, the feeling of cruel darkness and bound magic and hands slipping away into nothingness.

Suddenly, the air felt too stiffled, too stale, too reminiscent of the nightmare that had been reality.

Hastily, I slid out from under Rhys' arm, pushing the covers to the side and slipping off the mattress, my feet quick on the cool floorboards as I darted over to the huge windows soundlessly, tearing at them until they were open and a soft, cool breeze brushed over my skin.

My heart squeezed tightly, and I breathed in, quick and deep, the scent of sweet petals and night leaving an ache growing in my chest as my gaze darted over the garden below that was bathed in starlight, flowers glowing and faeries floating over the water reflecting the galaxies above.

My fingers curled around the window handle before loosening, and something in my chest quivered when I let my forehead sink against the cool wooden frame and squeezed my eyes shut.

I could still feel the heavyness on my chest, the ache pulsing under my ribs as images flashed before my eyes, and something closed around my throat.

Sliding my hand off the window, I looked over my shoulder towards the bed, and the ache in my chest soared at the dark shape still motionless on the mattress, breathing evenly.

Fighting against the sudden pressure in my throat, I moved, quickly slipping past the bed and out of the room.

The house was silent as I hastened soundlessly down the stairs, my long sleek nightgown swishing around my ankles as I slipped past the table and opened one of the big windows leading out onto the terrace. The gentle night breeze whispered over my bare arms and shoulders, and I squeezed out into the night, the stone of the terrace cold under my feet as I moved down the steps before it was replaced by cool, soft grass.

Faeries were swishing through the glowing flowers, darting towards me and showering me in golden dust, tittering softly and curiously before whizzing away again.

Slowly, my steps calmed, and I closed my eyes, breathing in the fresh air, feeling flowers and high grass brush my hands, warmth slowly spreading through me that seemed to stem from the earth itself.

Next to the pond that reflected the galaxies twinkling over the mountains, I let myself plop down into the soft grass, stretching out and staring up into the sky. My palms pressed against the earth, and I closed my eyes, focusing on the soft hum of energy that slowly travelled through me, golden light lazily flooding through my veines until my chest squeezed and my breath shuddered.

My heart tipped over; I opened my eyes, and movement at the edge of my field of vision made me turn my head.

Something rose and pulsed gently under my ribs when I saw the dark figure standing on the terrace.

Even from a distance, I caught the moment violet eyes clocked me by the pond, bare shoulders sinking a little, swishes of darkness whispering into nothingness as Rhys' gaze pierced mine. Then he moved, beginning to slowly walk down the steps.

Resting my cheek on the grass, I watched as he came towards me, movements smooth and elegant, his tousled hair black like ink in the night, violet eyes reflecting the silver and purple above. His pants were sitting low on his hips, and something twisted in my stomach at the sight of shifting muscles disappearing into black fabric.

The silk of his pants swished against my skin when Rhys crouched down and let himself plop down onto the ground next to me. Then his shoulder brushed against mine and he stretched out on the grass, one of his hands sliding up to rest on his stomach. His body dwarfed mine even shoulder to shoulder, my feet barely level with his shins, and I stared at the side of his face as his gaze dragged slowly over the night sky above, something dipping and swerving, squeezing and fluttering in my chest as my eyes flickered over his nose and lips, the sharp line of his jaw and cheekbones, and suddenly, my breath hitched in my throat.

“What happened?”

Rhys' quiet voice, deep and a little raspy with sleep, tore me out of the pulsing feeling under my ribs, and when I blinked, he turned his head to look at me.

I tried to swallow against the flutter in my throat, the ache in my chest that staring at him had awakened. Rhys seemed to misinterpret my silence, one corner of his lips tipping up gently as his gaze slowly moved over my face.

“As far as I know, you don't usually wake up in the middle of the night to lay around on the cold ground.” There was a soft twinkle in his eyes, but it couldn't hide the barely there crease between his brows, and something dipped in my chest when my shoulder brushed his and I felt a clenching sensation in my chest that wasn´t mine.

I blinked again, and the soft ache under my ribs pulsed.

“I had a dream.”

Rhys' gaze moved over my face. Then his quiet voice vibrated through me, gentle and even.

“What kind of dream?”

Something closed around my throat like an iron fist, and I stared at him, feeling a weight settle on my chest and pressure rise in my throat and eyes.

“The mountain,”, I whispered.

Rhys blinked, and I could see the muscles in his shoulder shifting, growing still.

“It used to be worse.” I tried a lopsided smile, but it felt weak, and a little uneven. “But it still comes back, once in a while.”

Rhys stared at me. Then he mumbled softly: “What do you dream of?”

Something started skipping painfully under my ribs.

“I see the faeries.” My whispered words were barely audible as my gaze dragged over Rhys' face, trying to ingrain every angle into my memory as pressure began to rise in my throat. “Caught and chained, tortured and mutilated in the revel. And I can't help them. I'm caught in the crowd, and I try to move, but no matter how much I fight, it's like I'm watching from outside my own body. And their pain breaks me apart.” My voice was weak, the images rising in front of my eyes causing the ache in my chest to grow.

“And then I see you.” My whisper broke as the pressure in my throat became unbearable, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from Rhys' face, even as my vision blurred and my lips quivered.

“And she's torturing you, and I can't move. I can't get to you. And I try to tell you, scream at you that I'll get you out, but I can't speak.” My breath trembled as the ache in my chest spread, taking over every inch of my body until my voice broke and I felt something hot run over my cheek.

“And then I wake up, and I'm alone. Seeing you, finding you, was all a dream. And I can't feel you.” I inhaled quickly, hotly, my chin trembling. “You're gone.”

Through blurry eyes, I saw Rhys stare at me, still, frozen. Then a muscle in his cheek shifted, and he rolled onto his side; his warm, calloused hand slipped up my neck to cradle the side of my face, and Rhys leaned down to press his forehead against mine.

“I'm here.” His deep, husky voice travelled through me, vibrating with sorrow yet so steady and firm, my breath shuddered.

My eyes squeezed shut as the ache in my chest rose and overwhelmed me, and I twisted, wrapping my arms around Rhys' shoulders, clinging to him as I buried my face in the crook of his neck and felt hot tears roll over my cheeks, the ache in my chest pulsing.

“Look at you,”, Rhys mumbled hoarsely, his hands sliding over my waist as he slipped his arms around me, pulling me tightly into his chest. “Really thinking it'd be that easy to get rid of me.”

A wet laugh bubbled in my chest.

“Wouldn't it?”

“No.” Rhys' mumble was steady, if only a little rough when he dropped his nose into the crook of my neck, causing a gentle shiver to travel over my spine. “You know I'm too much of a selfish bastard for that.”

I inhaled shudderingly, feeling my lips rise weakly as I whispered into his skin: “No, you're not.”

“I am.” A calloused hand slid up over my back, the arm around my waist pulling me in tighter as Rhys curled around me and buried his nose at my shoulder, his low voice vibrating through me as he mumbled steadily: “Even if my soul was dragged from this world, I would still claw my way back to you.”

Something rose in my chest, wild and violent, and my eyes opened, a curtain of tears leaving the world blurry as Rhys' quiet voice washed through me.

“No one will ever keep me from you, take me away from you again. Wherever I go, it'll only be with you.”

My heart soared before giving out, and I dug my fingers into his broad shoulders, feeling my leg slide over his waist as his tall body curved around mine.

“Sounds impractical,”, I whispered thickly, my breath hitching and causing my voice to break a little.

Rhys' lips curved against my skin.

“We'll make it work.” His quiet words vibrated through me, steady and soft. “I'll just have to follow you like I always have.”

My chest tightened harsly as warmth pulsed through me, and I whispered, soft and weak: “What if I go somewhere you can't follow?”

Rhys slid his arms closer around me, burying his nose against my skin as he mumbled back hoarsely: “There's no place in this world, or beyond, that you could go where I wouldn't follow.” I could feel him swallow, then he added softly: “I'll always find a way to you.”

My heart tightened as my breath caught in my throat, and I clung tighter to him, feeling his body shielding mine as I curled into his chest and turned my head to bury my face in his neck, squeezing my eyes shut, my body shuddering with my exhale and the weight of tears pressing on my throat.

“Why?” The whispered words were trembling, thick, spilling past my lips before I could stop them, fueled by the ache rising under my ribs. But Rhys just swallowed, his deep voice soft in a hoarse mumble.

“You know why.”

My heart twisted and rose, higher and higher. My breath caught in my throat, and my lips quivered as I hastily burrowed my face in his neck and tried to breathe against the ache pulsing under my ribs.

The breeze whispered through the trees, faeries floating over the pond as the stars twinkled in the sky. Rhys held me until my lids were heavy, tears dried on my cheeks, my heart thrumming steadily against my ribs. Then he gathered me in his arms and moved to stand.

Something rose under my ribs, and when I pulled back just a little, my arms still slung around his neck, Rhys dropped his forehead against mine, his breath fanning over my skin as he turned.

My heart swelled in a flutter, and I clung to him, his arms holding me steady as Rhys started to walk back towards the house. I curled my arms around his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling warmth pulse through me, strong, steady, Rhys' nose brushing my cheek when he pressed his forehead against my temple, carrying me up the stairs.

☆

I woke with the gentle morning breeze brushing over my skin, the scent of daybreak dew and fresh air filling my lungs, and my body buried in a warm chest, with the heavy weight of arms slung around me tightly and a scent in my nose that, even in the haze of sleep, made something tumble under my ribs.

My breath hitched softly, and I opened my eyes. My gaze focused on sunkissed golden skin and dark twisting tattoos over strong collarbones, and a muscled arm cushioning my head.

My heart toppled, and something in my stomach dipped.

You know why.

Rhys' hoarse voice echoed through my head, and suddenly, the flutter in my chest grew until there was a soft ache pulsing under my ribs.

Feeling a weight on my throat, I turned, sliding out of Rhys' arms as carefully as possible. My heart was thrumming against my ribs when I slipped out of the room, and trying to fight against the chaotic whirlwind in my head and chest, I moved down the stairs.

Golden morning light filtered through the windows facing the front garden, painting patterns onto the carpet and the books filling the shelves. I dragged open the window doors leading out onto to the terrace, breathing in deeply as my gaze moved over the garden dipped in the first golden sunrays, fairies whizzing through the air, carrying dew drops, giggling and tittering, and my heart skipped softly against my ribs.

Filling the kettle and putting it onto the stove, I pulled a pot from the cabinet, and a cup. Then, my hands no longer busy, I slowly turned, leaning back against the counter as my fingers flew over the cold marble, up to the ends of my hair before settling for fiddling with the thin strap of my nightgown as I stared into the garden, my heart pounding in my chest.

You know why.

Something in my stomach tumbled.

I did.

I had for a while, had felt the thought looming, bright and powerful somewhere under the surface. The beginnings of a realization, a vague shape, like an unspoken thought, a distant knowledge that I refused to grasp.

Because acknowledging it, just thinking it out loud would mean something so big, so terrifying it made something squeeze in my chest.

An explanation as to why Rhys had kept coming back to me. For the way he stared at me, the twinkle in those violet eyes, for that rising feeling in my chest I couldn't place and that radiated from him, for the closeness, the touching, the blatant flirting and the things he said, casually, easily, so so sure.

It made something rise in my chest.

There was something, a reason, a realization, just under the surface. And it terrified me.

Because what if I was wrong?

What if what Rhys was supposedly feeling was just fleeting, or not at all what I made it out to be?

What if what I was seeing was what I wanted to see – and not what was really there?

Something closed tightly around my chest as the flutter in my chest rose, soared higher and higher.

It would mean a broken heart.

My breath shuddered, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Gods, I'd been an idiot. Not realising, maybe refusing to see how my soul reacted to the male with the stars in his eyes, how my whole being seemed to respond to him.

I had fallen. Maybe slowly over the span of a century, maybe with a crash the first time I'd met him and felt him behind those walls.

Something squeezed under my ribs. It twisted before rippling away soundlessly, and a trembling breath left me as I opened my eyes and stared out into the garden, wide-eyed and utterly terrified.

I loved him.

Maybe, it had always been there, lurking under the surface, in the way my breath seemed to hitch whenever I stared at him and he smiled.

I loved him. Was in love with him. So fiercely, so deeply, so all-consuming that it made my chest thrum, caused my heart to twist and soar, until the feeling filled my body. Slowly, creepingly, it had taken up every part of my soul and my being. Had made him a part of me, his pain, his anger, his sorrow, his happiness, all mine in a way nothing had ever been before. Had made him beginning and end and everything in between.

I loved Rhys.

“Shit,”, I whispered softly.

There was a low, deep chuckle behind me; and I jumped and whirled around.

Rhys crunched his brows against the light, purple eyes tired and twinkling, his voice, rough with sleep, vibrating through me when he mumbled with a smirk: “Ouch. Not usually the way I'm greeted.”

My fingers dug into the counter as I stared at him in shock, trying to breathe, my eyes wide and my heart pounding against my ribs. There was a pillow crease on his cheek, which I hadn´t thought physically possible, his hair was tousled and muscles were shifting under his bare skin as he moved past the table and rubbed his eyes.

Suddenly, heat was washing over me, and I tried to tear my gaze away, pull myself together. But my body refused to listen, stayed frozen in the spot as I stared at him wide-eyed, my breath hitching harshly, and Rhys slowed to a stop. His gaze flickered over my face, and a soft crease formed between his brows.

“Darling?”

Maybe my shields had never been any good, and he'd been able to sneak past them all this time. Or maybe, the feelings whirling in my chest, the chaos and panic in my mind, were simply too loud, too strong, bursting through me, echoing outwards at a volume that meant he didn't even need to be in my mind to hear them.

Either way, Rhys stilled. Became frozen in the spot as he stared at me. Then his eyes shifted.

Turned swirling and bright like the galaxies in the night sky as the crease between his brows melted away into nothingness and he exhaled like he'd been waiting for a century.

“All this time.” His soft voice was hoarse as his gaze dragged over my face, slightly feverish, drinking me in. “And you still didn't see.”

My heart dropped and I could feel my lips part – then something in my chest shifted, and soundlessly, a wall crumbled.

A barrier of the mind, built around the male a few feet away, slowly collapsing into itself.

My heart caught in my throat, and my eyes darted up and widened as something in my chest rose.

I could feel everything.

Emotions so strong, they took my breath. Twined together so firmly, they were barely discernable, desperation, adoration, want, need, twisting together into something hot and rising, growing into something all consuming.

I'd always felt Rhys, but never like this; had never felt his emotions, so deep and powerful and clear that they turned my doubts and fears to stardust, the ache in my chest blowing away into the sky, until my breath shuddered and my heart settled.

I inhaled softly, feeling my lips part as the emotions that weren't my own pulsed in my chest, steady, firm, unrestrained. Then I raised my head, and Rhys swallowed, his iris a night sky as his gaze dragged over mine, deep and feverish and swallowing me whole as he mumbled hoarsely: “There it is.”

A soft, breathy giggle bubbled in my throat as I stared at him, feeling pressure building in my throat and a flutter rising in my chest, growing with every second.

My fingers shook a little as I took a hesitant step forward, followed by another, and another, my eyes darting over Rhys' face, my heart swelling. He had grown completely still, like the smallest move could scare me away, like there wasn't something pounding against my ribs and swelling in my throat, causing tears to rise into my eyes as I lifted a hand and placed my palm on his chest.

The feeling of Rhys´ warm skin sent a shiver down my skin, just like the quick, racing beat of his heart as I stared up at him, feeling my bottom lip wobble a little even as I started to smile, slow and beaming. Then I opened myself and the whirlwind under my ribs.

Rhys' eyes widened.

A shuddering breath ran through him, and his hand flew up to cover mine, fingers curling around mine, holding on almost desperately, like he was afraid I'd pull away, break the thrum of emotion flooding through me into his body. Then a soft sound broke from his chest, and Rhys moved, forward and forward until my arm was trapped between us and the whole of his body pressed against mine, his free hand sliding up to cradle my face, and my heart caught in my throat when he dropped his head to press his forehead against mine.

The flutter in my chest rose, and I quickly squeezed my eyes shut and breathed out shakingly.

Rhys made a soft, hoarse sound deep in his throat, his hand slipping down the side of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he pressed closer, and my heart shuddered. I could feel his body towering over mine, the way the muscles in his biceps shifted when his fingers slid closer around my hand, his warm chest pressing against mine -

Heat twinged low in my stomach, and my fingers curled against his chest.

A gentle shudder ran over Rhys' warm skin, and my breath hitched when he dipped his head to the side, his nose brushing against mine.

My heart rose into my throat, and I swallowed, my hand uncurling slowly as I slid my palm down his chest. I could feel his muscles tensing under my touch as a shiver ran over his skin, his fingers twisting into my hair, and a tingle travelled down my spine when Rhys slowly nudged his nose against mine.

Something dropped very low in my stomach, heat rising up my body.

I swallowed, my free hand rising to cling to Rhys' side, and when I pulled my head back a little, just enough to look at him, his breath grazing my skin, my heart rose.

Rhys' eyes were glazed over with a heat that made something twist in my stomach. His iris was hazy and a few shades darker under heavy lids, a muscle in his jaw shifting and throat working, and his gaze was molten where it was glued to my lips.

My breath caught in my throat.

Even when Rhys had stared for too long before, something heated in his eyes, it had always been brimming under the surface, never quite so obvious.

Now, nothing was hidden. His breath was uneven, his lips parted and throat working, and his eyes, heavy lidded and dark, were swirling, feverish, wanting -

Rhys' fingers curled into my hair, and my body shuddered, something whirling and rising under my ribs as I dug my fingers into his skin and raised my chin without having control over it, Rhys' hot breath grazing over my skin when my nose nudged against his.

A deep sound rose in Rhys' chest, his eyes shifting into something even deeper and darker, and his hand slid into my hair when he dipped his head, his nose brushing against the side of mine, tantalizingly slow. Something clenched harshly in my stomach when I felt his hot breath grazing my lips, and a tingling shiver ran down my spine when I sank back down onto my heels and Rhys followed me, calloused hands pulling me closer and head dipping to -

"Hello?", a melodious, happy voice chirped from the terrace, and my heart jumped; my eyes flew open as I lightly pushed at Rhys' chest and whirled around, and Mor walked through the open window doors.

"Anyone he-", her gaze met mine, and she slowed to a stop, one corner of her lips quirking cheekily.

"Am I interrupting?"

My heart missed a beat, and I hastily looked back over my shoulder, only to find Rhys' eyes on me like maybe, they had never left. There was a twinkle slowly spreading through his iris, and my heart rose in a flutter, because something had changed, obviously, something in that thrum against my ribs, and yet -

I narrowed my eyes in a soft glower, and Rhys slowly started to smile, lazy and brilliant.

"What are you doing here, Morrigan?" His deep voice rumbled through me even with him a foot away, his twinkling eyes never leaving my face.

Mor crunched her brows, seemingly completely unbothered as she turned in a circle with a flourish.

"Well, you hadn't even told us this place existed until yesterday, and -", she looked over her shoulder, smiling brightly, "I was curious." Her twinkling amber eyes found mine, and her smile softened, though the light in her eyes seemed to brighten. "It's beautiful."

Something rose under my chest as my gaze flickered towards the garden without me being able to help it, my breath catching in my throat. "It is."

I could feel the weight of eyes on me, a tingle travelling over the side of my face, and I blinked, clearing my throat and grinning sheepishly at Mor. "Sorry, didn't really expect anyone -"

"Obviously." Mor's lips twitched into a smirk as her eyes moved from Rhys, lounging against the counter in only pyjama pants and staring at me, towards my long nightgown, and I winced and quickly crossed my bare arms in front of my chest, feeling heat rising in my cheeks as I crunched my nose.

"You want some tea?"

"You know, actually,", Mor turned fully towards me and raised her brows, "I also came here because I thought it could be fun if I showed you the city today?" Her lips twitched, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Have some one on one time, if Rhys isn't too bothered by that." She winked at me.

"Why would I be bothered?" Rhys' eyes stayed on my face, one corner of his lips curving upwards.

"Well, you did keep her from us for more than a century, without telling us about her even once; which, by the way, is ridiculous." Mor's lips curved. "It's almost like you were afraid we'd steal her away from you or something -"

"Can we get breakfast?", I quickly interrupted, because Rhys' eyes had started to twinkle in a way that made shivers dance down my spine and something twitch in my stomach.

Mor turned her gaze away from Rhys, her knowing smirk bleeding into a genuine, beaming smile when she widened her eyes.

"Obviously! I'll show you all the good places, and more; do you have your dress yet?"

I blinked, then I turned my head towards her and crunched my brows.

"What dress?"

Mor parted her lips. Then she sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes, turning towards her cousin with an exasperated look.

"Rhys, you prat; you haven't told her?"

Rhys stared at me, his violet eyes twinkling when he said, deep voice absentminded: "Was busy."

Mor huffed, her lips quirking. "I bet you were."

Rhys just lightly rolled his eyes, and I quickly mouthed prat?, causing him to glare softly at me.

Don´t you dare.

Feeling a slow, beaming smile take over my face, I widened my eyes and mouthed prat, and Rhys huffed, his lips curving until a wide grin made his cheeks crease.

Mor cleared her throat, and I quickly tore my eyes away from Rhys' face, feeling heat bleed into my cheeks when my gaze met Morrigan's, her eyes twinkling knowingly.

"Haven't told me what?", I said quickly, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly and fighting against the blush growing on my face.

Mor sighed, but her lips curved as she raised her brows. "Summer Solstice."

My heart rose in a flutter, and my gaze darted towards Rhys as my lips parted.

"You - you celebrate that here?"

"Well, not on a huge scale like Summer and Day,", Mor waved her hand dismissingly, "but Rhys has started throwing a party every year still, because, well -", she smirked, "any excuse for a party is a good one."

Rhys' lips curved softly as his eyes pierced mine, a twinkle in their violet depths that made my breath hitch.

"Anyway, he holds it at the River House -"

I blinked before raising my brows.

"Another house?" I felt my eyes widen slightly as my head whipped around and I stared at Mor before quickly looking back at Rhys in disbelief, but he just shrugged, his smirk feline.

"Anyway, when we started doing the celebration, we decided to hold it there because the garden is just beautiful this time of year, though,", Mor turned to look over her shoulder, her eyes almost wistful, "definitely not as beautiful as this one."

My breath hitched as my gaze followed hers, and something fluttered against my ribs.

"The longest day of the year."

Rhys' voice made my heart dip, quiet like only I was meant to hear, and I blinked before tearing my eyes away from the garden, something rising in my chest when I found his twinkling eyes on my face.

"I know." I felt my lips curve softly even as I suppressed the urge to swallow, my eyes moving over his face. "The fairies dance through it, all night long."

Rhys' gaze pierced mine, deep, twinkling, like maybe, he could see the memories of midsummer nights in a wild garden and a dress whirling around my ankles.

"Maybe they'll dance with us if you're there."

I stared at him, and my heart began to slowly flutter against my ribs, more wildly with every second as I started to smile slowly.

"Is that your way of asking if I'll come?"

Rhys stared at me, something swirling in his eyes when he mumbled, slow, deep, steady: "Will you come?"

My breath caught in my throat, and I blinked. Then I widened my eyes and whispered cheekily: "I don't think I have a dress."

Rhys' gaze heated. But before he could open his mouth, Mor chimed in, beaming happily.

"We can get you one! Today; I mean, it is in two days, but I'll take you to the best dressmaker of the city, you'll love it; and she'll have it done in time!"

I felt my lips part quickly, but before I could even make a sound, there was a soft huff; a familiar scent washed over me, and fingers slipped under my chin, closing my mouth again.

"Don't even think about it."

My heart jumped and eyes darted up, and Rhys' lips curved.

I huffed and twisted my neck to get a better look at him, feeling my brows crunch in protest, but Rhys just sent me a wink. "You know arguing is pointless. I´ll get you a dress one way or the other."

Glowering up at him even as something jumped high in my chest, I narrowed my eyes even further when he smirked and dipped his head to mumble: "Just say thank you."

His warm breath brushed over my nose, and my heart dipped.

Staring up at him, I scowled gently. Then I turned my head and sent Mor a brilliant, cheeky smile. "Thank you, Mor."

Rhys huffed, sending me a glare, and Mor smirked and winked.

"My pleasure." She raised her brows and clapped her hands. "Alright, let´s go! Though you,", her lips quirked, "might want to change first."

When I moved back down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed and tying off my braid, Mor was crouched in the middle of the garden, watching the faeries that seemed a little weary but curious when she beamed at them.

"You know she's going to put you through trying on dozens of dresses?"

My heart skipped, and my gaze darted towards where Rhys was leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of tea in his hand and one corner of his lips curving as his eyes raked over my face.

"So?" I felt my lips quirk.

Rhys' iris twinkled.

"A lot of it will be Night Court fashion." His gaze dragged slowly over my body, one corner of his lips curving into a slow, lazy smirk. "It usually means little fabric."

I stared at him as heat pooled low in my stomach, and suddenly, something started fluttering against my ribs violently.

Slowly, I began to walk backwards towards the terrace, sending him a growing, mischievous smile.

"If you want to see me scantily clad, you just have to ask."

Rhys' gaze darted up, his gaze narrowing in and growing dark and heated, and feeling my heart catch in my throat, I smiled beamingly and turned around with a breathed laugh, hopping out onto the terrace to meet Mor at the foot of the steps.

☆

Feeling a breeze brush some hair into my face, I breathed out softly, the warmth of sunlight dappled over my face making my lips curve without my doing.

"So..."

I blinked before opening my eyes and lowering my head, and Mor crunched her nose, looking at me curiously. "What's so special about Summer Solstice?"

We were sitting on the steps of a fountain, the water splashing and bubbling in our backs, a thin paper bag between us on the grey cobblestone, smelling of the buttery pastry I had bought in a shop in one of the countless alleys.

Mor had kept her promise, taking me for breakfast in a small café right at the Sidra. Then she had pulled me into the maze of alleys, streets and squares.

First, she'd taken me to the workshop of her favorite dressmaker, located in a beautiful townhouse in the Rainbow, the artist's district. It belonged to tall, slim High Fae who was clearly familiar with Morrigan, and who had, very happily, pulled all the stops when Mor had winked at her.

Mor had made me try different silhouettes, and I had wandered the aisles and aisles with fabrics, my breath catching at the colors and stitchings. We'd agreed after a while, and when we left the shop, there was a rough sketch and fabric sitting on the dressmaker's desk and my heart was beating against my throat.

Now, the afternoon sun was shining in the sky over the small park that stretched over a little hill surrounded by tall sandstone buildings, their roofs glittering in the light. Trees rose into the sky, offering shade, sunlight was dappled in swaying patterns onto the grass and cool stone of the fountain where we had decided to take a little break, and my feet were aching and my heart was full.

I needed a second to tear my eyes away from the sight of the city stretched out before the mountains. Then I blinked and crunched my brows, looking over at her.

"What do you mean?"

One corner of Mor's lips curved gently. "You just... you looked so surprised."

I felt my heart rise in a soft flutter against my ribs, and I hesitated for a second, then I turned my head and gently narrowed my eyes at her curiously.

"How long have you been... celebrating it like this?"

Mor furrowed her brows, shrugging softly as she plucked a piece off her pastry.

"Not long actually. I think Rhys decided to make it a new tradition not quite a century ago, fairly out of,", she blinked, her words slowing as her eyes suddenly began to twinkle softly, "thin air..."

I stared at her, a quick flutter beginning to build in my chest.

"What does it mean to you again?" Mor stared at me, her lips curving.

"It's..." I swallowed softly. "It's a celebration. Held by the fairies, every Summer Solstice. They gather and dance, from evening until deep into the night. All of them, sprites, pixies, nymphs, wraiths, all coming together, celebrating light and life and -" My breath hitched. "Magic."

Mor's warm eyes were glittering.

"You think he -" My voice broke off, my breath catching in my throat.

"Started celebrating it here because of you?" Mor's lips tipped upwards, and she blinked and raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling in the light. "That does sound awfully like him."

Feeling my heart pounding against my ribs, I stared at her, something suddenly tingling in my stomach.

Mor's smile widened a little. Then she blinked.

"You know, he never told us about you." She raised a brow, her iris sparkling. "Not once."

I huffed gently.

"I know." Shaking my head softly, I turned my head, crunching my brows gently as I blinked into the sunlight. "He told me about that, after I got mad because he turned up, winnowing in even though he was badly wounded and exhausted,", a breath left me, "idiot."

Mor giggled, and I felt my lips curve.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor´s gaze flicker over my face, warm and bright. Her throat worked. Then she whispered softly: "Thank you."

I blinked. Something in my chest rose and tightened as my gaze darted towards her, and Mor breathed out, her smile a little uneven when she stared back at me.

"I've known Rhys practically my whole life." She furrowed her brows gently, her eyes swimming with emotion. "He's always carried - a lot of weight on his shoulders, and it just got more when he became High Lord. He always took on everything, had to be strong, for everyone. He lets us know when things are heavy, but - he never fully lets us in." She huffed. "He doesn't want to burden us." Shaking her head gently, she hesitated before looking over at me, one corner of her lips rising gently.

"But then he started disappearing, just for a few hours, sometimes more, sometimes less. He never told us where he was going;", she raised her brows, "I always assumed he was just - taking a breather somewhere, taking some time by himself. But whenever he got back, he had that light in his eyes." Her iris started to twinkle as she stared at me.

"That was you." She blinked, her voice a little hoarse when she whispered: "You saved him. Because you saw something in him he lost the ability to see. And because when you showed him that, he believed you. Because he saw something in you too. That same thing that makes him stare at you like you put the stars into the sky." She swallowed gently, and her eyes flickered over my face. "It's like with you, he can just be."

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at her, something suddenly tight in my chest.

"He told you all of that?", I whispered.

Mor's lips quirked gently.

"Not everything. But enough." Her gaze flickered over my face. "He told us about you only after he came back from -" She broke off, her eyes welling with grief. Then she looked back up at me, her iris shimmering as she raised a corner of her lips.

"He was - a wreck, when he got here. But you - you kept him afloat. He was waiting for you. It felt like he was holding his breath. And then you turned up and..." She breathed a brilliant smile. "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Mor sniffled and beamed. "It's like he's come back to life, in a way he's never been before. Like something has - settled, fallen into place."

Something welled over in my chest, and I turned my gaze ahead, fighting to swallow against the pressure in my throat as I stared down the hill and over the roofs of the city, glittering in the sun, trees swaying gently in the breeze.

"Yeah,", I whispered.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mor's gaze move over my face, bright and warm. Then she turned back ahead as well, and together, we stared over the city.

"It's beautiful,", I mumbled softly.

Mor´s lips curved upwards, her voice a little hoarse when she mumbled back: "It's the Court of Dreams."

☆

The sun was disappearing beyond the mountains, painting the skies pink and violet, the first stars twinkling high above when I slipped through the gate and breathed in the scent of flowers and grass and warm evening air.

Mor had dropped me off at the winding street before winnowing away, pulling me into a hug so tight, my ribs cracked, but I had just squeezed her back, feeling the scent of her perfume rising into my nose and her hair tickling my skin.

Slowly making my way around the house, I inhaled deeply, feeling warmth spread through my chest when I saw fairies whizzing through the air over the pond, giggling and chasing each other.

"You took your time."

My heart rose against my ribs, and Rhys, lounging on the steps leading up to the terrace, watched me, his violet eyes reflecting the stars blinking in the sky when he lightly raised a brow. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me, leaving me here all by myself -"

A soft snorted laugh built in my chest, and I sent him a cheeky grin. "I'm sure you were perfectly fine entertaining yourself for once."

"I wasn't. I got so bored I actually went to do some work."

Giggling softly, I gently kicked his leg before plopping down next to him, breathing in deeply. His scent rose into my lungs, and my heart missed a beat.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys' twinkling iris flicker over my face. "Did Mor drag you from shop to shop until you fainted from exhaustion?"

I crunched my brows and looked over at him. "Why, do you think I look the part?"

Rhys' lips curved.

"Did you find a dress?" His gaze drank me in as a crease formed in his cheek, and I stared back, my breath catching and my heart thrumming against my ribs.

"Yeah." My voice was a little soft, a little breathless as I tried not to stare at the curve of Rhys' lips and the small dip in his cheek, his skin glowing in the sunset.

"And?" His voice trickled over me, slow, deep, matching the volume of mine as his gaze dragged over my face, heated, swirling.

I felt my lips tick up as I shrugged one shoulder gently, innocently. "What?"

Rhys stared at me, his arm brushing against my back, sending tingling shivers down my body, and slowly, one corner of his lips curved. "Where is it?"

I huffed softly. "Not yet made."

"Shame." Rhys' eyes were twinkling. "You could let me take a peak."

I widened my eyes and whispered with a bright, cheeky smile: "Where's the fun in that?"

Rhys slowly started to smile brilliantly, his eyes crinkling, and my breath caught in my throat.

For a second, we stared at each other, something trumming in my chest and twisting in my stomach, then Rhys blinked, his eyes never leaving mine as he mumbled: "I think I might have to take the couch tonight."

I could feel my brows crunch in confusion. "Why?"

A deep crease formed in Rhys' cheek, his iris twinkling as his gaze dragged over my face. "Because I'm not sure I would be able to control myself if I saw you in that flimsy nightgown again."

My heart dipped, and suddenly, something hot trickled down my spine.

"I could leave it off."

Rhys' iris hazed over, a rough sound breaking from his throat, and I hastily bit onto the inside of my cheek as a laugh bubbled in my chest, mixing with a rising, fluttering feeling.

"Beast,", Rhys mumbled, his husky voice leaving something twisting down in my stomach.

I shrugged, feeling my lips curve as I turned my gaze back towards the garden. "I mean, if you can't handle it -"

Rhys' gaze narrowed in on my face, became deep and twinkling, and something toppled in my chest as I nearly bit down onto my lip, wondering what on earth I had been thinking.

Swallowing it down, I looked over my shoulder, and Rhys stared at me, gaze molten and dark as slowly, a slight smirk made his lips curve, playful and mischievous.

"Is that a challenge, darling?"

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart swerved sharply.

I blinked, then I shrugged softly, smiling back cheekily. "I don't know, is it?"

Rhys breathed a deep chuckle and leaned forward, and I felt myself freeze when his warm breath brushed over my lips. Then he gently nudged his nose against the side of mine and mumbled, his lips almost brushing my cheek: "Careful." He pulled back just enough to stare at me, his violet iris reflecting the sky as they dragged over mine, twinkling. "I don't lose."

"First time for everything,", I whispered back breathily, feeling my heart rise into my throat, and Rhys slowly started to smile.

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @stayinglow-exploringworlds @tcris2020 @lizziesfirstwife @brandywineeeee @t0uch-starved-h0e @sharknutz @valencia-rou @twsssmlmaa @waytoomanyteenagefeels @luvmoo @starrybeesandlibraries @corvusmorte @marmorjorts @bubnix @wallacewillow0773638 @ailyr92 @azrielshadows1nger @secretlyhers @icey--stars @awritingtree @cult-of-enji-todoroki @oksloan3 @emotional-loner @azrielslefttoe @ladybirdbeetle7 @brujitafantomatico @jurdanpotter

[cherryjuiceblues]

Coming home from a date night and things starting to become hot and heavy between y/n and mbrry. They're still in the car and harry can see that y/n wants to say something but she's getting shy so he knows it's something naughty because they've been together for a while now. He makes her say it and she just begs him to be mean with her and give her a facial. Harry has to summon all the self control in him not to give it to her right there in the car. He doesn't say anything so y/n thinks he may be angry with her and she starts apologizing but harry just kisses her and it's really needy and he moans. Then, he tells her to go inside and wait for him naked in his room. Y/n obliges except she keeps her clothes on just to tease him and when he arrives in the room, she knows she's in for a treat.

✰ dom!harry sexual content. m receiving oral. facial. degradation. daddy kink. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 2.3k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

“That’s how many times now?”

Y/N ignores Harry from the comfort of the passenger seat, pretending to find something extraordinarily interesting in the darkness out of her window.

Harry reaches over and squeezes a palm over her knee. “Come on, darlin’, asked you a question. That’s how many times?”

It is entirely irrelevant. Why put an arbitrary number on such a futile turn of events? Y/N certainly isn't keeping count, but of course Harry is—another win under his very heavy belt of success.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, teeth pulling her bottom lip between them. She looks to Harry, his teasing expression somehow always soft around the edges. “Two, three?”

“More like five or six,” he smiles back, nudging his index finger under her chin in a silent gesture. We both know I’m right.

Five or six dishes that Harry has now convinced Y/N to try, despite her insisting she didn’t like them—without ever previously tasting them, of course—and five or six dishes that Y/N now subsequently thoroughly enjoys. So what? Who cares?

“Maybe,” she trails off, never sure how to play properly with words. Not that she yearns to learn. She doesn’t vocalise how much she loves their power imbalance but Harry knows.

“So… what do you say, baby?”

Y/N fidgets, “Sorry?” she tries.

“Look at me,” his palm pushes into the underneath of her jaw. “What do you say… when someone does something nice for you?”

“Th—thank you.”

He hums, swiping his thumb across her chin, “You’re welcome.”

It doesn’t take much for Y/N to get all fuzzy and soft and Harry can see that now—the way her eyes have rounded out and are darting across the plains of his face, her fingers twitching to be held, her breaths shallow and unconsumed.

So he leans forward to console her lonely mouth, palm slipping underneath hers with ease, squeezing her digits as they rest in her lap. Their noses bump and her eyelids twitch closed as Harry whispers, “Kiss me, baby.”

Y/N falls against his lips, whimper squeezing from her throat as their mouths mould together. It’s slow but it’s heavy—gentle but filthy—as Harry’s tongue eases inside, rolling against her own in a relieved reunion. He takes his other hand and smooths it against her cheek, urgently holding her to his face. They kiss and Y/N falls further and further under with each pass of his lips across hers. The smell of his aftershave tingling through her nerves, brain buzzing with each desperate inhale—every sense that he encompasses only makes her need him more.

When Harry pulls away, he watches her face. Watches the way her eyes stay closed and her pout softens. She looks like a moment in time—like the clocks have stilled with the closing of her eyelids.

He thumbs over her bottom lip, ducking down to kiss along the line of her throat, relishing in the tiny exhales and whines—the way her body jolts from the sensitivity of it all. She can smell his hair and feel the soft strands stroking along her skin.

“I think,” she starts, voice small—body rigid with nerves, “I need…reminding…of my manners.”

Harry’s heart pounds, a seed of pride flowering inside his chest. “Y’do, do you? Tell me how you want reminding, darlin’.”

“I want—I want…” Her fingers twist and tangle into the front of his suit.

Kisses trail up to her ear, “Come on. Be brave,” taking the lobe between his teeth.

Goosebumps dance along her arms, taunting her as she finally whispers, “Want you to come… on my—face.”

Harry surges to kiss her, deftly avoiding the clashing of noses, noises tumbling past eager lips as he takes her mouth again. “There we go,” the words muffled into flesh. The image behind his eyelids is one of pure depravity, low grumbles vibrating into Y/N’s mouth and down between her tightening thighs.

“Sweet girl wants to be degraded, hm?” he asks between sponges and smacks, faces brushing, breaths mingling. “Wants to be put in her place—dirtied—used? Like a little plaything?” 

Y/N nods desperately, “Please.”

“Seems like your manners are just fine.”

“No,” she shakes her head and their foreheads bump. “They’re bad.”

Harry lets out an exaggerated gasp, “You’re bad are you? My bad girl?” It sounds like a curse as he says it. A damnation—a promise of hell on Earth for the rest of eternity. “You don’t like that, sweetheart, I know you don’t. W’na be m’good girl.” 

“Yeah,” she says, quietly. 

“You want to be. But you’re not?”

“Let me be good.”

He pecks her. “You will be…you will be.”

She can’t sit still.

It’s just impossible. Aside from the waiting—the treacherous waiting—the understanding that she’s being a little bit bad makes her stomach churn with anticipation.

He’d sponged kisses along her neck, her jaw, her mouth—whispering—ordering her to undress and wait for him on his bed. It had been hard enough for Harry to not simply force her into the footwell of his car and fill her mouth.

And as Y/N waits, still fully clothed, her fingers coil around themselves nervously. He’s taking his time on purpose and she almost regrets asking to be bad.

She doesn’t do it… ever. It’s never a thought that occurs—to disobey Harry. But there’s a craving that needs satiating every now and then. One that can only be fulfilled by actions of anger and words of malice.

The door opens and Y/N watches as Harry’s dress shoes make a compelling appearance. Then her eyes dart up to his own—stormy at the realisation of her state of undress—or lack thereof.

“Stand up.” She does. Immediately. She can’t defy him to his face. “What did I ask of you, darling?”

“To undress.”

“Then why are you not naked?”

“Thought you’d like to do that bit—Sir,” she remembers.

“Well, I wouldn’t.” Normally, yes. Today, no. “This—” he sighs, fingertips reaching up to dance along the side of her neck—Y/N tenses up, waiting for them to wrap around her throat but they never do, “—is why you do as I say. Dumb girls can’t make decisions.”

Shame and arousal bubble and mix together in her chest. Insults have never had such an effect. They never will—not outside of this context. The heat lowers, swirling in Y/N’s abdomen, thick and heavy. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Mm,” he hums, circling her body. Like a vulture. Like he’s sizing her up, ready to eat. “Sorry. Sir. What a stupid lie. You’re not sorry, sweetheart. Not yet.”

He does undress her. But only because Y/N takes too long.

There’s no patience—not when Harry has her timid voice replaying over and over in his head—her sweet request to be defiled. To have his come on her cheeks, her lips, her tongue.

So when her shaky fingers lift up her top and the fabric gets caught; twisted in her limbs and chin jutting, Harry tuts. He tuts and he fixes her with gentle hands, removing the inconvenience and dropping it to the floor. She looks up at him with such a sweet gaze that he has to remove her skirt hastily, too sure that he might slip back into a softer demeanour if she keeps her melting eyes on him.

He pushes her naked body to the floor, fingers coming up to scratch at her scalp and pull cute, little hums from her mouth. “S’nice like this, isn’t it? Below me.”

“Yes, Sir,” she agrees, palms resting atop her thighs like a good girl.

Then he fucks her mouth. Slacks loosened just enough to rest under his ass and boxers shoved with them as his hand pats her cheek once, twice, and then slides himself along her tongue. He’s half-hard but not for long. Not when the thought of Y/N on her knees is enough to chub him up, let alone the actual sight. She’s always so eager, so keen, to make him feel good. It’s arousing like little else to Harry.

“That’s it—” he grunts, hands holding onto either side of her head—not pushing but stabilising—when her tongue stops laving and her lips suction as her head starts to bob, “—that’s a pretty fucking mouth.”

He thinks about teasing her a bit. Lord knows he’s done it before—every fucking time—but the desperation takes over, Y/N’s lacking technique irrelevant to Harry when her nose brushes his abdomen. How hard she is trying. How her throat contracts and choked noises threaten to echo out around them. He knows she can do it, it’s why he says, “Don’t fucking gag—keep your hands down—don’t gag.”

Y/N whines—Harry’s deep, gruff, strict tone of voice stoking the fire in her belly. Her underwear is uncomfortably wet—and cold—when she shuffles. Her fingernails dig into her thighs to stop her instincts. Harry’s own thighs tempt her, encourage her to reach out and ground herself. But his terse instruction overrules.

“Swallow around it—like tha’—there’s a good girl. Swallow, swallow.” She tries and he watches as she does—attempting to dismiss the gag, convincing it to accept the intrusion in her throat. Harry’s face stays remarkably calm. If it wasn’t for a jumping vein in his neck and the tightening of fingers on the top of her head, Y/N would be unable to interpret his emotions. 

“Just like that. See?” he tugs her forward slightly by her hair, grunting when she swallows and saliva drips down in front of her knees. “This is what a good girl does.” His thumb swipes along the jut of her bottom lip, meeting where it envelops his cock, and smears her spit down and around her chin. This has his teeth showing in a slow, sadistic smile—eyelashes fluttering too. “Drooling all over y’self, look at that. You love it, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” Y/N hums, nestling her mouth slightly in an attempt to take more in. She does love it. She feels dirty—and powerful despite possessing none.

“I take you to dinner and you choke on my cock. That’s an even trade, don’t you think, baby?” And she hums again, head twitching in a pathetic show of a nod. Y/N thinks she’d be happy without going for dinner. That choking on Harry’s cock is just as good for her as it is for him.

And when he moves his hips, she doesn’t think, she knows. As he rips thick, wet sounds from her protesting throat. Thrust after thrust, swallow after swallow. His encompassing palms consuming her skull, keeping her still as he uses her the way he likes. 

Harry becomes blurry above Y/N—a frosted image—as tears swim in her waterline. They fall over the edge whenever he fills her mouth. Pulling out to let her breathe just to block her airways again. His noises grow louder, and less reserved—losing control. Every muscle growing tight, every thwack of his balls against her chin and her throat around his tip making his stomach roll tighter, and tighter.

But just as he feels his orgasm teetering, he rips away from Y/N, fingers curling on top of her head once again. “You wanted to learn manners. So beg. Beg for it. Beg for my come.”

Y/N’s heaving, oxygen ripping through her as she tries to breathe and talk simultaneously. “Please—” her hands lift and fists form when she realises. “Please, ple—ase, pl—ease—” her lungs wail and her voice scratches. Tears stain her skin and all other words evade her. “Pl— Pl— Sir.” Panic overwhelms her and more tears fall—not forced but naturally forming—fat drops searing her cheeks.

“Shh, shh,” Harry whispers, tilting her head up with both hands. “You know the words, take a breath.”

She listens, nodding jerkily. Inhaling through her nose, “Please—” a heavy exhalation and another inhalation, “please come on my face, Sir.”

The pleading makes him smile again. “There’s a good girl, such—good—manners,” he praises, gripping himself once again and thudding against her closed lips. They fall open so easily. “Such a pretty, little thing. God.” His fingers curl tighter, wrist twisting as he builds himself back up quickly. It would be a dishonour not to with his beautiful girl waiting for him so patiently. His free hand slides to the back of her head, holding, securing her in place as his knuckles brush her tongue with every stroke.

“Fuck, fuck fu—ck,” veins exaggerated as his head falls back on his neck. His balls tighten and his hand hastens, chin falling forward again to rest on his chest as he stares down into Y/N’s eyes. She’s blinking up at him—her eyes are so delicate—but he urges her to close them, praises her when she does.

“That’s it, that’s—it, g’na come, baby. Gonna come,” breaths tighter, words whinier, grunts and groans tingling down Y/N’s spine. “You’re so fucking pretty, m’perfect—fucking—girl.” She whines, the breath from her nose hitting Harry—and her sounds carry him over the edge, white spurts painting her dewy face.

She whimpers at the first feel, warmth landing on the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, her lips, her chin. That warmth spreads throughout her face, down her neck and into her bones. Her bones tingle and her muscles mollify. Harry’s moans, that she can only hear, get quieter and quieter until he is only panting—admiring the state he’s left Y/N in. 

“Open your eyes,” he murmurs, thumb wiping just under her eye where he narrowly missed her lashes. Her pupils are blown, and a small, giddy smile graces her lips. “Now say ‘thank you, Daddy’.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she giggles a little, face buzzing as Harry wipes his release around and smears it onto the thick of her tongue.

“Good girl,” he smiles too. And then he leans down to kiss her, uncaring of the taste in her mouth, or the come that transfers to his chin. “My good girl.”

[sinkovia]

Yes, Lieutenant: IV

Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Yes, Lieutenant Masterlist

As you struggled to break free from the confines of unconsciousness, the world around you remained hazy and distant. The whispers of Ghost's words continued to echo in your mind, a lifeline pulling you back to reality.

It had been a month of hearing him sit by your side, talking to you, his voice a constant presence in your life, even in the darkest depths of your coma.

Slowly, like a ship emerging from a thick fog, you began to regain consciousness. Your senses gradually returned, and the first thing you noticed was the sound of Ghost's soft breathing nearby. Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw him, asleep with his head resting on the side of your hospital bed. His presence, familiar and comforting, washed over you like a warm embrace.

Summoning every ounce of your strength, you lifted your hand, trembling slightly, and placed it over his. It was a tender touch, a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering devotion throughout this ordeal.

Your touch, so gentle, stirred Ghost from his sleep. His eyes snapped open, and he blinked in disbelief as he saw you, conscious and looking back at him.

He stared at you, speechless, as if afraid that this moment was too fragile to be real. Slowly, his hand rose, cupping your cheek with a trembling touch as he scanned your face, as if reassuring himself that you were indeed awake, that you were going to be okay. His eyes glistened with emotions, and he let out a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words catching in his throat, heavy with remorse.

With a small, understanding smile, you gently placed your hand over his.

"Its okay Ghost, I heard everything" He let out a small exhale.

"Simon."

With a gentle, reassuring smile, you looked into Ghost's eyes, his emotions laid bare before you.

"Simon," you said softly, the name carrying a profound significance. It was more than just a name; it was an acknowledgment, a bridge between the two of you. As the word left your lips, you watched as Ghost closed his eyes, as if savoring the sound of your voice saying his name.

He had kept his true identity hidden, a mask worn in the world of covert operations, but in this vulnerable moment, he wanted nothing more than to be himself with you. You had that effect on him, the power to strip away the layers and reveal the man beneath the mask.

He opened his eyes, and they bore a mixture of gratitude, relief, and affection. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice laced with sincerity.

The Doctor walked into the room, a warm smile on his face, and a clipboard in his hand. He greeted you and simon, then began his examination.

"Good news," he said, his eyes scanning your chart. "Your shoulder is healing beautifully. In another week or so, it should be fully recovered. Your stitches have healed remarkably well, leaving only faint scars. Are you feeling any pain?"

You took a moment to assess yourself. "I'm a bit stiff, other than that, I feel okay."

He nodded approvingly. "That's to be expected. Just take it easy and don't overexert yourself."

A week passed by in a blur, with Simon visiting you every day, bringing flowers and fast food to combat the hospital's less-than-stellar cuisine. As the days went by, the anticipation of returning to the base grew stronger, especially with Simon at your side.

When the day finally arrived the welcome back was nothing short of heartwarming. 

As you walked through the doors of the base, a wave of relief washed over you. The familiar sights and sounds of the base felt like a warm embrace after the ordeal you had been through. Your team members were waiting for you, their expressions a mix of concern and relief.

"Welcome back, soldier!" Price's voice boomed across the room as he approached you, a rare smile gracing his usually stern features. "We're glad to see you're up and about."

You offered him a smile in return, grateful for his words of welcome. The rest of your team gathered around, offering words of encouragement and support.

"Yeah, we missed having you around," Gaz chimed in, a hint of relief evident in his voice as he lightly tapped your shoulder.

"We've been holding down the fort for you," Soap added with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

You felt a surge of gratitude wash over you as you looked at your teammates. Despite the dangers you faced, you knew you could always count on them to have your back.

"Thanks, everyone," you said, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. "It feels good to be back." The tension of the past few weeks melted away as you shared a moment of camaraderie with your team, grateful for their unwavering support.

As you walked through the corridors of the base, Simon walked alongside you, his presence comforting by your side. You felt a bit unsteady on your feet, the lingering effects of your injury still evident.

"Are you okay?" Simon asked, concern evident in his voice as he noticed you stumble slightly.

You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just still getting used to being on my feet again."

Simon nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he spoke again. "Listen, I was thinking... would you like to go to dinner tomorrow night? Just the two of us?"

His words caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest at the thought of spending more time with him.

You smiled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I'd like that. Dinner sounds great."

Simon returned your smile. "It's a date then. I'll pick you up tomorrow evening?"

You nodded, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "Sounds perfect. I'll see you then."

He returned your smile, a hint of something more in his eyes as he bid you goodnight before heading off down the hallway, leaving you with a fluttering feeling in your chest and a smile on your face.

As you finished getting ready for your dinner with Simon, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. When you heard a knock at the door, your heart skipped a beat.

You opened it to find Simon standing there, looking handsome and rugged without his balaclava for the first time. His presence filled the doorway, and you couldn't help but admire the strong lines of his face.

"You look gorgeous, love" he greeted you gruffly, his voice carrying a hint of warmth underneath the rough exterior.

A warmth crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, and you smiled gratefully as he handed you a bouquet of flowers. It was a thoughtful gesture that touched your heart, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of affection.

"Oh gosh Simon, these flowers are so beautiful!" 

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thought you might like them."

As you stepped out of your room and closed the door behind you, Simon offered you his arm, and you took it, your hand wrapped over his strong muscular bicep.

The night air was crisp and cool as you stepped out of the base, Simon's hand intertwined with yours. His touch sent a comforting warmth through you.

Your first stop was the movie theater, where the latest installment of your favorite franchise was playing. You had talked endlessly about it with Simon during late-night conversations in the rec room, and he remembered how much you were looking forward to seeing it. True to his thoughtful nature, he had secured tickets in advance, ensuring that you could enjoy the film together.

As you settled into your seats in the dimly lit theater, the anticipation bubbled inside you. Simon's hand remained firmly clasped in yours, a silent reassurance in the darkness. The movie began, and you were quickly swept away by the familiar characters and thrilling storyline.

Throughout the film, you were completely engrossed, the world around you fading as you became lost in the cinematic plot. Simon's presence beside you only heightened the experience, his occasional whispered comments drawing a smile to your lips.

As the credits rolled and the lights came up, you turned to Simon with a radiant smile, “Ugh It was so good I'm sad it's over, what did you think about it?”

Simon thought to himself for a moment thinking of what to say, half of the movie he spent staring at you, and the other half he didn't know what the fuck was going on.

“It was… good. Bit confusing.” You hummed and patted his hand, “Maybe we can watch the first two movies and hopefully you’ll understand it after.” Simon agreed as you both got up and made your way to the exit.

After the movie, you and Simon walked to a nearby restaurant, your excitement still evident as you ranted about the movie's ending. You wished he had seen the first two movies so he could fully appreciate the storyline, but he listened attentively nonetheless.

The restaurant exuded a cozy, intimate atmosphere, with soft lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Simon pulled out your chair with a gentlemanly grace, eliciting a smile from you as you settled into your seat.

As you indulged in the meal, conversation flowed effortlessly between you and Ghost, topics shifting seamlessly from lighthearted banter to deeper reflections, from your favorite movies to your most memorable missions. You found joy in the simple pleasure of being together, relishing each moment.

After dinner, as you made your way back to the base, the night air was cool against your skin. The streets were quieter now, and you and Simon walked hand in hand, the gentle rhythm of your footsteps echoing in the stillness.

As you arrived at your door, you turned to Simon, gratitude shining in your eyes as you thanked him for the wonderful evening. 

"Thank you for tonight, Simon, I had alot of fun with you. Hopefully we can do it again soon" you said with a smile, feeling the weight of the pleasant evening.

Simon's response was immediate and genuine, his eyes reflecting the sincerity of his words. "Of course love, anytime. I'll take you out as many times as you want, just to see you happy."

His words filled you with warmth, and you couldn't help but return his smile. There was a silent understanding between you, a connection that seemed to pull you closer. As your gazes locked, you both felt the magnetic pull.

Without hesitation, you leaned in, meeting his lips in a soft, tender kiss. Simon's hand gently cupped your cheek, his lips moving against yours with a gentle, reassuring touch. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of your previous encounter in the communal showers, but this softer, more affectionate side of Simon was one you much preferred.

Breaking apart, you both smiled, the air tinged with a sense of warmth. You savored the lingering closeness, a silent understanding passing between you that this was a new beginning for both of you. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Simon murmured through a wide grin, his voice warm with affection. "Goodnight sweetheart."

As Simon bid you farewell and turned to leave, your heart swelled with contentment, grateful for the journey that had brought you to this moment. With a sense of peace and fulfillment, you entered your room, reflecting on how far you had come since that fateful day in the communal showers, your heart full with the promise of tomorrow.

[niki-phoria]

Hey, I just wanted to say that you did the last request really nicely and it was so cute!

So if you have time, I want to do another request where enha is mad at their bf for any reason you can come up with (it can be petty or reasonable) and their bf apologizes in the sweetest ways (like cooking, gift giving, etc.)

- 🕊️

I WOULD GIVE UP HEAVEN IF I HAD TO

making up with enha after an argument !!

gn reader (no pronouns used)

HEESEUNG

“you could cut the tension with a knife.” you had always heard that saying, though it had never really registered as a real possibility until now. heeseung sits on the couch - only a few steps away from you - but it feels like oceans are separating you from each other. 

taking a deep breath, you let your shoulders relax as you prepare to swim across the ocean. to limit the insurmountable distance between you. to make things right.

“here,” you say, pushing a bowl of freshly made ramen across the table towards him. steam rises into the air and a small ring of condensation slowly begins to accumulate on the outside of the bowl. “i made you lunch.”

“thank you,” heeseung murmurs. he sets his phone down, turning to face you - his silent way of giving you all of his attention. 

“i’m sorry i snapped at you,” you continue, pulling your knees up to your chest. heeseung glances over at you, silently waiting for you to continue. “i was just… worried about you. i’m always worried about you. and i know i was wrong. i’m sorry.” 

“i’m sorry too,” heeseung says, reaching over to take your hand into his own. the feeling of his skin against your own calms your racing heartbeat. “i know why you worry. i promise i’ll try to do better.” 

JAY

you don’t know what to say. you’re not sure jay does either. an awkward silence hangs heavy in the air as you both quietly move throughout your kitchen - words just on the tip of your tongue but unwilling to be spoken into existence. 

nervously drumming your fingers against the side of the mug, you hesitantly slide the cup of hot tea towards jay. “here,” you murmur. your gaze remains trained on the steam slowly rising out of the top; your mind races as you try to think of what to say. 

jay accepts it with a grateful smile, wrapping his hand around the ceramic. the warmth feels good against his fingers. “i made you some tea to make up for last night,” you continue, finally building up the courage to look up at him. “and i bought some more honey. it’s in the cabinet - if you want it.” 

jay softly smiles in response. abandoning the mug on your kitchen counter, he slides out of his seat. his touch is gentle as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug. you softly smile as you lean against his chest, letting comfort overwhelm your senses as you listen to his steady heartbeat. 

“i love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your forehead. 

“i love you too.”

JAKE

it’s like you can feel the pressure mounding with each step you take. you anxiously twist the rose between your fingers as you stand in front of your apartment door, staring at the painted wood as if an answer will appear before your eyes. 

taking a deep breath, you let your shoulders slump in defeat as you quietly open the door. you can hear jake before you see him - his fingers clicking on the mechanical keys serving as an alarm to his location. slipping into the room, you make your way towards him until you’re standing beside his chair. 

“i brought you something.” your soft voice announces your presence as you set a flower on the desk beside him. yellow petals overlap with each other over and over again. jake looks up at you with wide, unblinking eyes. waiting. “it reminded me of you.” 

he softly smiles as he looks down at the rose. “thank you.” 

“i’m sorry,” you say, uncomfortably shifting on the balls of your feet from beside him. he can almost see your mind racing to think of the right words to say. your walk had given you enough clarity to calm down, but not a script to make it all go away. “about this morning.”

“i know.” jake softly smiles, gingerly setting the rose down once again. he reaches over, taking your hand into his own. “i am too.”

SUNGHOON

your side of the bed is empty - a fact that bothers sunghoon to no end. he frowns as he sleepily pushes himself to sit up, glaring at the space where your body was when you fell asleep the night before. your bedroom feels eerily silent without your whispered jokes in the morning or music blasting through your speakers while you make breakfast. 

the floor is cold against his bare feet as sunghoon slowly makes his way through your shared apartment, bitterly resenting himself for letting such a petty argument go so far. 

he freezes when he turns the corner, being met with the familiar sight of you wandering around in the kitchen. your unstyled hair is still disheveled from your sleep. sunghoon’s heartbeat picks up when he recognizes one of his t-shirts hanging off of your frame. 

sunghoon’s footsteps are nearly silent as he slips into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. he rests his head against the crook of your neck, smiling to himself when you relax into his arms. “morning, hoon.”

“good morning,” he hums, pressing fleeting kisses against your shoulder blades. 

“apology breakfast?” you offer, turning to face him. 

sunghoon softly smiles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek. “apology accepted.”

SUNOO

silence. all you can hear is silence. it lingers in your apartment - filling your bedroom. daring you to speak. begging you to try. suffocating. sunoo lies in your shared bed beside you, but it feels like he’s miles away. his body is as stiff as a board; his eyes trained on his phone. 

turning to lay on your side to face him, you silently begin to study sunoo’s features. his eyes are tired - more than you’ve ever wanted to see them. he’s still frowning slightly. every part of his body is tense.

“sunoo,” you whisper. regret heavily stains each of your words. the other man doesn’t react - still mindlessly scrolling through the various social media apps on his phone. 

biting back another exasperated sigh, you reach over to take his hand into your own. you rub your thumb against the grooves of his knuckles. “i’m sorry,” you murmur. “i didn’t mean to hurt you. i was tired, and i know that’s not an excuse, but i promise i didn’t mean anything i said. you mean everything to me - i hope you know that. i’m sorry. i love you.” sunoo sets his phone aside, turning to face you. he intertwines your fingers together before squeezing your hand in response - silent acceptance. i’m sorry too. i love you.

JUNGWON

“can we talk?”

your words nearly make jungwon’s heart leap into his throat, regardless of how expected they were. a swarm of nervous butterflies fill his stomach and crawl up to his chest, threatening to cut off any words he attempts to say before he can think of them. 

jungwon watches your gaze scan his expression when he finally turns to face you. tired eyes meet his own; a soft frown is etched into your features. “of course,” he nods.

“i’m sorry.” you take a short breath, nervously playing with your fingers. “i didn’t mean anything i said- and i know there’s no excuse for hurting you, but… i need you know that i’m so, so, sorry. and i love you. i hope you can forgive me.”

jungwon swallows his fear, blinking stray tears out of his eyes. it feels like an eternity passes before he hesitantly reaches over to take your hand into his own. “i’m sorry too.” 

“wonie…” you whisper. you bring a hand up to cup his cheek, brushing a stray tear away. jungwon’s face flushes when you pull him into a hug, letting him cling to your body like you’re his only lifeline. and maybe you are. “i don’t deserve you,” you murmur, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

jungwon nuzzles himself even closer against your chest so his ear rests just above your heartbeat. “then i don’t deserve you either.”

NIKI

a shiver runs down your spine as another gust of wind blows past you, dropping the temperature even more. it’s a lonely night - only a few street lights illuminating your path back to the dorm. “it’s freezing out here,” you mumble, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

“i told you to bring a jacket,” niki scolds, wrapping his hands around your own. he quietly sighs, slipping his heat pack into your hands and pulling you closer to his body as if his warmth will somehow transfer between you. “i still can’t believe you and jake-hyung ate the last packets of ramen.”

you chuckle, playfully shrugging him off of you. “i still can’t believe you dragged me to a convenience store in the middle of the night just to buy more.”

“well maybe if you hadn’t eaten the last packets-” he teases.  

“ki,” you cut him off, a half-hearted smile threatening to pull at the corners of your lips. your fingers curl around the collar of his t-shirt as you pull him closer. niki’s wide eyes meet your own for just a second before you lean in, pressing your lips against his. your touch is gone just as quickly as it was there, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

notes: thank you so much for requesting !! i'm glad you liked the last post too :)) i'm so sorry this took forever for me to write, i had no ideas and i'm not a big fan of angst lol i hope you like it and thank you for your continued support <3

if you enjoyed this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out more enha imagines or enha reactions <3

[rippersz]

𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕴𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖘

Medusa!Larissa Weems x Blind!Reader (wlw/fluffy/mythological)

"You and only you, can make the rest of my life peaceful," ~ Madeleine Smith

~~~~~~~~

A gentle ebb and flow threaded through the leaves and water. The small waves in the river went forward, the green strands of the grass went back, and so in tune they were when the other changed direction. Forward and back and back and forward. They paid no mind to the birds - those of which flitted from one nest to the other. Nor did the rabbits or deer, grazing and passing through, interrupt their little dance. Forward and back and back and forward. The fish swam with no place in mind and the wolves were silent in their daily musings - tasked to do with whatever it was that wolves were tasked to do on such a sweet day.

The snow of the previous season had been shed; soaked into the ground over the past two weeks while the sun stretched her arms over her head and yawned with a big hello. She carried Spring along with her and spread her over the ground, making love until evening so that the fruits of their desire fell into seeds. Figs, apples, berries, nuts, and foliage dotted the bushes, the nettle, and the trees. All slowly growing ripe in their waiting, blooming in large families to match the quick growth of the flowers. White flowers, pink flowers, red flowers, yellow flowers; lilacs and lavenders and daisies and on the far side of the traveled grounds, even roses.

It was picturesque. Undisturbed. Serene in a way that many places weren’t. The breeze was constant and fresh and the sun peeked from behind big fluffy clouds, announcing her presence with a soft whisper.

And so beautiful it was that she was perfectly content with leaning beside the stone wall of the cave’s entrance; eyes trained on nothing but the journal in her hands. It was worn and old, made from leather with a latch clasp that was slowly rusting, but it was thick and good - full of notes and ideas and places and numbers. 1546 years of being alive as she was, tallying each day until the bitterness overwhelmed the distinct pride of prolonged survival and the tallies became a thing of the past. After all, there was no need to count when the days weren’t numbered.

Sure, there was a bounty on her head, but that didn’t matter. Not in the glory of a new Spring. There was no room for bloodshed on such a beautiful afternoon - and so she was not worried about a bumbling blistering fool with a great ego and dull blade. And so she was not worried about a feral creature with no regard for predator and prey dynamics. And so she was not worried about a-

“AGH!”

-woman?

Her head snapped up, rousing small hisses from the slumbering children.

The woman, she quickly confirmed, had fallen into the river. On her hands and knees, she wavered in the current and let out little sounds- huffs and grunts and even a small curse of ‘Gods, honestly!’- while she scrunched up the fabric of her skirt in her hands and struggled to her feet. Her hair, scraggly and unclean, hung over her face, wet at the ends and dry at the top.

A part of her felt the need to offer assistance, but common sense told her to stay put - and only to watch. Eventually, as time would say, the strange woman managed to trip her way over to the river’s bank and press her hands into the mud and rock. Then she scrambled up, her sandaled feet working in earnest to help lug her body over the edge and finally- finally- leave her belly up in the grass, heaving great breaths of air. Up and down her chest fell while she faced the sky. Her skirt, patterned and brown, hung below her knees and stuck to her legs; and the shirt, white and flowing and clearly a bit too big for her frame, turned see-through with the water-lined hem that rested against her sides. Her feet were bare in her simple sandals and aside from a blue worn shoulder bag- one that strapped sideways along her front- there was nothing particularly distinct about the stranger. She was just a woman returning home. Or a woman searching for something. Or a woman on a mission to provide for her family.

But whichever she was, woman with a purpose or not, she was no friend. And so she made no move to leave her cave and instead, sat, and returned to her journal.

So the breeze passed.

And the clouds strolled.

The river went forward. And the grass went back.

And for a good long while, nothing happened.

Then there was a shuffling, and a noise of effort, and a soft simmer of hisses began to rise. Feeling the slow slipping of movement on top of her head, she looked up.

The woman had gotten to her feet, apparently done with her momentary bask in the sun, and began ringing out the water at the bottom of her skirt. The bag she had was on the ground, and everything in it was spread out on the grass. From her point by the cave, a good distance away, she could see a few bits of light clothing, a comb, a small stone knife (which needed a good sharpening), and two wrapped bits of woven leaves and twine. There was no scent of meat in the air, aside from the flesh of the fauna within the forest, so she figured the woman most likely carried berries and nuts for nutrition. Which was, judging by the contents on her person, certainly not enough in an effort to run away.

The woman looked up. Her body jumped - like a spooked young doe, and her own body tensed. Silently, she told her children to hush. Then she thought, wished,-

‘Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t turn your head. Don’t-’

Apparently deciding that there was nothing to worry about, the stranger kept her back turned to the cave and went back to wringing out her clothing. The hisses and movement had ceased, but the children were still vigilant - watching with perceptive sapphire eyes as the stranger then began to- oh!

She looked away, turning her head so quickly that the children jerked with her. One of the younglings instantly took the opportunity to slide along the shell of her ear and give a mean rumbling clicky-hiss. Absent-mindedly, she reached up to flick the child back into place; paying more attention to her own behavior than anything else.

The woman had reached to take off her shirt- to draw it above her midriff and throw it onto the grass. The river, mixed with the Springtime air, was a good place to stop and bathe, she supposed. It was her plan later anyway to go for a dip herself, if not to feel clean then to at least wash the little companions she carried with her. But the woman beat her to it. And in the silence as she averted her gaze, ignoring the blush of heat on her pale cheeks, the soft sounds of clothing hitting the ground some feet away filled the air. And when that was said and done, a few splashes and small shrieks - drawn from the chill of the river.

When it was quiet, and she was comfortable enough to sneak a look, she found the woman’s back turned to her still. Her hair was wet and slicked, sticking slightly to her neck as she turned this way and that and- oh. She had soap too. So that must have been in one of the two woven bundles.

‘Hm. Smart.’ But not entirely. It wasn’t good to stay long bathing out in the open. Hunters and gatherers and silly stupid mortals had a habit of coming around at the most inopportune times.

She knew that very well.

Though… since the woman was washing up near her cave… there was no harm in observing the scenery. No harm in taking interest in the sun. No, not at all. They would each have their privacy, and as long as the woman didn’t turn around, everything would be fine. And she could keep an eye out… for birds, of course. Not hunters. No no.

So that’s how it went.

The woman bathed, humming to herself, keeping her back to the cave and turning only to lather soap on another part of her body. Completely unaware of the forest creatures watching her. And one creature in particular made it her mission to watch the land, observing and peering; hearing the crackles of branches and chirping of baby birds, listening for footsteps or voices. But none came. And soon enough, the woman was rising from the river, putting on her sandals, and going to sit on the laid out skirt from earlier. She had no cloth to dry off… and so would use the sun.

‘Hm. Not so smart.’ A hiss or two from her children told her they agreed.

It was not right for a woman to be so vulnerable like that. And out in the open. If she weren’t there, the stranger could be hurt. Or worse - killed. But it was good then that she wasn’t alone, wasn’t it? That she had a guardian of sorts… who would kill her too if only she looked her way.

Did- had she fallen asleep?

Like that?

In the middle of the grass with her belongings spread around her and her body, soft and nude, bared to the sun?

‘Is she mad?’

Maybe she was. Or maybe she was just young. Maybe life hasn’t hurt her too severely just yet. And maybe Larissa was being harsh.

Hm.

Well.

It didn’t really matter either way. There was nothing else to do, and though the stranger wasn’t really ‘company’, she was still action. So there was no desire to chase her off and there was no desire to see her maimed - thus, Larissa sat. She tucked long pale legs beneath her, shifted the white chiton to fall on her shoulders just so, and kept her journal close at hand. Night was due to fall soon enough, as it always did in early Spring, so the tools for a fire were already prepared behind her - waiting to be utilized and set later. Hopefully the woman would be gone by then.

But she wasn’t.

At some point, she’d gotten up to change into different clothing; a dress hand-stitched from red dyed fabric. It was pretty, yes, but not very practical for running away.

‘But good clothing was probably the only thing she had.’

Which was most likely true, Larissa mused. Many young women, richer than most, took it upon themselves to run away. Their reason for doing so depended on who they were. The stranger in the red dress, who decided to lay on the grass and fall asleep again, was a woman of status but not to the point of being a royal. If that were the case, there’d be men on horses trailing close behind. Unless they hadn’t found her yet… and were using dogs to track her scent…

The children stirred, hissing with disdain and fear.

She watched the young woman with anxious eyes.

Such a naive thing could lead to her death, once and for all…. and how ironic would that be. A scorned woman with a passion for soft things… destroyed by a soft woman with a passion for a free life. Had they both wanted that at one point? Or was it still something they desired?

The children settled. She continued to watch the land.

But eventually, as Spring would have it, the peacefulness of the quiet had her lulling off to sleep as well. And she only awoke to the feeling of soft kitten licks at her cheekbones. The repeated lap at her skin had her groaning and flicking the offender away - only to have two more slide up and continue twice as hard.

“Ugh, what is it?” She groaned, scrunching her eyes together before pushing herself upright.

The licks turned to urgent hisses- and her darlings started writhing with anxiety- telling her to get up! And if possessed, she stood quickly and looked out into the sudden dark of night. The sun had disappeared. There was not a single light out there in the black. But there was movement. Breath.

The woman. She was still asleep. Dreaming about whatever it was that women liked her dream about.

Larissa frowned.

Well she couldn’t just leave her out there, could she? No! That was- that was… inhumane. Terrible. A fate worse than anything. And if she woke up to the screams of the stranger- if she woke up to her pain… she could risk killing everyone in sight. Literally.

A young king nipped at her ear.

She huffed. Well. It just wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t do at all.

And so she collected the fabric of her chiton in her clawed hands and marched forward to the sleeping beauty. The creatures were stiff with observation, keeping their reptilian eyes sharp and alert as she moved - quiet as a snake and dangerous as… well. Herself.

When she was finally standing over the stranger, she let the cloth fall from her hands. The woman, in comparison to her, was short. And vulnerable. And maybe she’d just take her to the edge of the nearest village… or something like that. Something far from her cave and her life. But as she finished slipping the woman’s belongings into her bag (which had since dried from her fall in the river), a whisper rumble of thunder from the clouds above had her sighing. Well. A Spring storm was usually a good sign of the incoming year, but to have one so early was… less than favorable. Her plans, too, were foiled. The children quite disliked the rain, and getting her own clothing wet was something she desperately wanted to avoid (the heavier material took much longer to dry than what the strange woman wore - so she’d have to resort to at least another change of clothes for a day. Which she seldomly tried to wear.)

‘Well. We can’t leave her out here. So as long as she keeps her back turned, we won’t have any trouble now will we?’

No, probably not. Hell for all she knew, the woman could sleep through the whole night and then she could put her back outside in the morning and she could tottle off on her way as though nothing ever happened. Or she could wake up in the middle of the night and take Larissa’s head. Yes. Or that could happen. Which would really be quite terrible. Most likely painless, but still terrible.

The thought of that had Larissa pausing. The woman’s sling bag fell limp in her hand.

Was she taking too big of a risk? Never before had she helped a stranger like that, but she was not unfamiliar with such kindness. It was hard to find in her years, but she’d witnessed the sweetest acts of tenderness amongst strangers. Usually between two women.

She frowned. Some of her children turned, peering over to look down at the sleeping stranger.

Her hair covered her eyes and her limbs were spread out like she was sleeping on the comfiest bit of cloud that ever existed. Like she had no cares at all. It was both endearing and confusing. How could a woman sleep so soundly in the wilderness? How could a woman sleep so soundly in the open? Did her lack of awareness make her an omen of danger? Or was she a passing soul Larissa could provide help for? Someone to make her feel like she was human again… Like she was capable of being good instead of being what she… was.

A flash of lightning in the distance, above the forest before her, told her it was time to hurry up. Spring held no qualms about trapping the world in a downpour, and she didn’t feel like trekking through mud before bed.

So making up her mind quickly, Larissa slung the stranger’s bag over her shoulder and bent down to pick her up. She tried to be mindful of her sharp fingers when sliding her hands beneath the woman’s back and thighs; though surprisingly, for all of her mortal weight, she was easy to carry. Strength, Larissa had figured early on into her ‘new life’, was one of the very few advantages she’d gained after her transformation. But never before had she picked up a human. And never would she do it again as she realized how difficult it was to keep from jostling them. She was just so… limp. Her head lolled a little bit and her arms ragdolled and she looked more like a young woman than an adult stranger. But nonetheless, Larissa carried her back to the cave. The children were silent, understanding somehow that they were not to wake the mortal with their clicks and hisses and little rattling sounds. As endearing as their mother found it, the human would not take too kindly to their existence - before she turned into nothing but a statue, of course.

‘Don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up don’t wake up,’ Larissa thought desperately to herself as she padded into the cave and placed the woman onto her bed. There was nowhere else for her to rest, and it wasn’t like Larissa was planning on getting much sleep in her company anyway, so onto the little nest of stolen blankets, wool, and pillows she went. Slipped so easily from Larissa’s pale arms - and then cared for even more when she went about gently turning her around onto her side, belly facing the cave wall, before pulling the mismatched bed coverings up to her shoulders.

The thunder and lightning from the world beyond was growing more intense by the second, striking a worried chord in her heart that had her quickly placing the woman’s bag beside her body and flitting around to get her home comfortable for the evening. The routine followed as it did every night. Gently unwind the twine that holds back the bramble, vine, and leaf-woven curtains to each side of the cave wall; being careful of the sap-gum that held everything in place. Then gently arrange the curtains, as thick and prickly as they were, to cover the entirety of the cave’s entrance. Once that is finished, move around in the dark for the corner in which the fires are conducted - then go about striking the rock and the wood and adding the sticks and gathering a flame and letting out a sigh of relief when the warm glow fills the grey emptiness of the space.

She had planned on going hunting that evening, before sundown, but the stranger stole all of her attention away; and searching for meat during a storm was a fruitless mission. They were both lucky then that Larissa had enough forethought to search for various nuts, grains, and fruits the day previous. They were stored away behind the fabric of her pillow… which was preoccupied by the woman’s sleeping head.

The world rumbled as Larissa propped herself up against the cave wall. There was never much to do besides ponder, write, sleep, and hunt… so she turned back to her journal, deciding to spend some time detailing the woman she came across. Her hand moved with sharp twirls and scritches, writing of how strange the mortal was; how innocent; how peaceful she looked sleeping in her bed, completely unaware of the monster that lurked behind her. Like a daisy in a pretty green field… soon to be trampled beneath the hungry paw of a bastard wolf; left without the gift of seeing so she couldn’t even anticipate her untimely death. It was rather sad. It was rather brutal. No woman deserved a fate such as that - for she was only running away and did not think she would be dragged into the cave of a beast.

As the embers of the flame died, the woman continued to sleep. There reached a point where Larissa thought she was dead. Despite being able to hear the warm thump of her heart, she still stood and loomed over the stranger - only to find that yes, she was still alive. Just resting.

‘Must have been quite a long journey if she’s been asleep for that long,’ she mused to herself, turning away to tend to the puttering glows of their fire.

Though as soon as the rain started, coming down in thick pats upon the mud outside of the cave, the huddle of blankets in her bed stirred, and her children stood - turning to glare at the sound. A soft swishing fell into the thunderstorm’s undercurrent as the woman moved her legs, kicked them out to stretch, groaned softly beneath her breath, and turned onto her back. She pawed at her hair, eyes still closed, and Larissa reached up to wrap her index finger and thumb around the snout of her eldest child.

‘Don’t speak,’ she quietly commanded the bunch, ‘I do not want to be the last thing she sees.’

But the crackling of the fire, paired with its warmth and light, had the woman releasing a confused hum as she shuffled onto her hands and pushed herself up to sit. Larissa watched, silent, while the stranger slowly came back to her senses and regained consciousness.

“Is there- what-” she spoke, soft voice trailing off into a myriad of inaudible questions.

The child in her grasp wriggled, having had enough of its mother’s scolding, eager to rejoin the others in their free scrutiny. She finally let it go, tapping its pale head with the tip of one finger, and then slid the journal from her lap and placed it onto the cave’s floor as quietly as she could. Spooking the woman was the last thing she wanted to do, but as she stood to her full height and gently pulled some of the loose fabric of her chiton closer to her body, the stranger jumped anyway - and instantly got to her feet.

Larissa’s heart stopped, tripping over itself as she jerked her head down.

“Wh-Who’s there?! What do you want with me?! I have a knife!!” The stranger’s voice, scared and loud, full of false bravery, was quieted by the rain and thunder.

‘You don’t have a knife. You don’t know where it is,’ was Larissa’s inner thoughts- right as the woman began murmuring to herself.

“Wait. Where is the knife…” and only when there was the dull sound of knees dropping onto fabric, did Larissa finally bring her blue eyes up.

The woman, in her absence of the knife… went looking for it. On her hands and knees… patting the ground… searching through the fabrics of the bed and slapping her soft palms against the stone of the cave’s floor… frantic and confused…

Larissa frowned.

“It’s in your bag.”

—

You jumped, letting out a harsh breath while your heart skipped up into your throat.

“Who goes there?! Who are you?!” Your voice was shrill, loud and scared as you forgot about the knife and went pushing yourself back up into your feet. “I-I know how to fight!” You yelled into the darkness, putting up your fists.

It was a lie of course- you had no idea how to fight- but that didn’t matter. As long as the person- woman?- thought you were tough enough to hold your own.

But when you huffed and puffed and bared your teeth, keeping your fists up, nothing happened. Complete silence filled the air, interrupted only by the rain and the flicker of a fire nearby. You could feel its warmth on you even in your panic - even as you stepped back and back and back until your shoulders hit something hard behind you. It was a wall; a curved imperfect wall that told you you weren’t in a cabin or home with extremely open windows, somewhere in the woods, but were instead in… in… well. You didn’t actually know. It’s not like you could see and just find out. Though despite that, you still looked around wildly - keeping your ears open for movement.

There was none.

You frowned.

“…How… are… you…?” It was a woman! The voice, spoken in front of you, across whatever space you were in, was smooth and deep. Accented. She sounded strange. Foreign. And also incredibly confused. Almost… astounded? Like she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“Don’t make me ask again,” you warned, reminding yourself that some women could be just as dangerous as men, “what do you want with me?”

“Blind…” came the soft response; so quick- it was in the air before you finished speaking; so quiet you had to strain to hear. “You’re… blind.”

Well. Yes. It was a rather defining feature; one that many noticed and took advantage of. One that people thought they could ‘work with’ and use to trick you - but you were clever. And strong. And personable in a way that many didn’t expect. The stranger across from you though… she was still just another potential danger. Still just a thing to be aware of. And so you cleared your throat and nodded, putting your hands at your sides and curling them into fists.

“Yes. I am. And what about it?” You sniffed, tilting your head up, trying to seem braver than you were.

No amount of cleverness, after all, could save a blind woman from a tricky death. If the river you had fallen into earlier was a cavern or a very deep pit, you would have been finished. Thank goodness you took advantage of it at the time.

“…Nothing. I apologize. I have- never met a blind person before,” the woman spoke, stilted and cautious. Still with an undercurrent of awe in her voice. It was peculiar, the way she was acting, but you shrugged it off. The apology was unexpected but not unwelcome. It had you squinting into the nothingness of your vision.

“Well. Now you have.” You nodded, suddenly feeling rather awkward.

—

Yes. She had. You were right.

Right and blind.

Blind. Unable to see.

The children froze, and she felt the way they looked at each other, unsure and confused. No doubt wondering ‘What issss happening?’ They were too familiar with mortal skin turning grey and hard at the smallest glimpse in their direction to understand what was happening. All they knew was their mother and solitude. And she, likewise, had no concept of how to deal with a stranger that did not want to- or simply couldn’t- kill her.

The milky color of the stranger’s eyes, although rare and odd, was beautiful. Like the wispy white of the clouds when they blanketed the moon at midnight. Light and dark at the same time… grey under a matter of circumstance. The cherry on top of the woman’s strange existence. Shocking to a new face but glorious to a trained eye. Her children observed the mortal with unending curiosity; casting violence aside as they slithered to their tallest heights and curled down, swaying their small pale heads. The situation was lost on them, but that didn’t matter. They’d understand eventually. Perhaps when the woman was gone the previous morning and she could muse over the mortal out loud to herself.

But until then,

“Are you hungry?” She wasn’t sure what else to ask.

—

You felt your stomach rumble- speaking to you as though the mention of eating had woken it up from its slumber.

“Um yes… you’re not going to poison me though, are you?”

There was a short gasp.

“Goodness, no. Why would I do that?”

She sounded so outraged- so shocked by your question- that you almost smiled. You couldn’t see her expression, but there was sincerity in her velvet voice. Like she was genuinely surprised, if not offended, that you’d ask her of all people that. It didn’t matter if you’d asked in slight jest or not; she didn’t seem to understand the consequences that came with literal blind trust.

“Some people like to take advantage,” you murmured, shrugging at the same time. Most women understood what you meant. People during that time, men in particular, saw the weak souls of the world and let their eyes light up with the chance to exert power. It was common. It was difficult. The woman opposite you, you were nearly certain, understood the sentiment as well.

“I–… yes. I realize that,” she stated, her voice growing firm. “But I’m not going to poison you. I’m not a m-” There was a soft hissing hush that filled the air, cutting into her words with a sharp strength you couldn’t ignore

What on Earth…

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” was the quick response. “I have nuts and berries I found not too long ago. Will that be enough?”

Your brow furrowed. What was she hiding?

“Um yes- yes that would be lovely… thank you.”

And with that, the stranger let out a hum and went walking around, shuffling along to grab a few things while you stood there on (what you assumed was) her bed. It was soft; pillowed with linens and fabrics and blankets that felt as though they’d come from all over the world when you shifted from one foot to the other. You frowned at the odd feeling and stepped off of the coverings- not wanting to flatten or dirty her sleeping area. It was kind of her to even put you there in the first place; though you wondered if she’d carried you herself or dragged you along. Not many women in your time, or the village where you were from, had the strength or initiative to pick up another woman and carry her anywhere, let alone their own bed. But if you were dragged along the grassy terrain outside, you surely would have felt the bumps and stops, no?

Either way, as soon as you stepped onto the hard ground of- well- wherever- you were at, you turned to the sound of movement and cleared your throat.

“And um… thank you for taking me here. Keeping me safe. You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway. So- I appreciate it.” You fidgeted; keeping your hands at your waist and picking at the soft skin around your nails.

The shuffling paused.

“…You’re welcome.” The stranger replied softly.

It was almost like she wasn’t sure what to say. Like she didn’t hear the words ‘thank you’ very often. Like maybe she didn’t come into contact with people very often. And perhaps she didn’t. How else could she have found you if she didn’t live away from civilization? It wasn’t unheard of; it was just not very common. But, as you always said, to each their own. There was no room for judgment, after all - the woman probably ran away in a similar fashion as you did. In the very beginnings of morning, before the sun even rose, with everything you could think to carry in a satchel slung across your shoulders, heading out into the world as though it wouldn’t prove to be as dangerous as the life you left had been. The only difference being that nothing could make you want to return to that - not even the scary sounds that came out of the forest at night. The woman, even if only for one evening, was a saving grace.

And still a stranger.

She puttered around some more, dragging soft things across the ground- leaf bowls you assumed- and poured water into clay cups.

“I never got your name, you know. So I can remember you.” It was a hesitant thing to say, but you figured that if you somehow made friends with the woman, you could come back to her one day if you ever needed the shelter. Or the company. The world was tough, after all; and not always did a woman succeed on her own.

That woman had, though.

That woman, who stopped her actions again and allowed the combined ambience of the rain and fire to melt into the space.

That woman, who inhaled sharply before exhaling into one spoken breath:

“Larissa.”

(Thank you for reading! Do let me know if you'd prefer the other layout/way of editing with the text dividers and character gifs. This Medusa thing may become a little series like Cannibal Larissa. Let me know what you think? Until next time, darlings - Rip x)

~~~~~~~~

(Tags [please know that Tumblr will not let me properly @ some accounts] : @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet )

[tokkiwrites]

✿ Write your name all over my lips. ⬞ ׄ

marc spector x f!reader

summary: you can't fall asleep, so as dawn cracks, Marc decides that sleep is overrated anyway.

tags: fluff!!, fingering f receiving, light choking, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, creampie, afab reader, lmk if i missed anything!

↪ㅤtokki's ۫ 𐑺 𝚜𝚞ׂ𝚐𝚊𝚛 ࣭ note ˑ ⌕ ࣭ ּ ➭ i am back!!! this is pretty short at around 1.43k words. its fluff followed by a bit of smut, just two idiots in love. not proofread!!! enjoy muah

Marc isn't one to indulge in many comforts, but being with you is one of the few luxuries he allows himself. Typically a restless sleeper, his nights transform when you're beside him. He slumbers deeply, his weight comforting as his arm naturally finds its place around your waist. Marc becomes an immovable force until the subtlest of movements from you prompts his eyes to flutter open, still heavy with sleep.

"Go to sleep, baby.." he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep, urging you to return to the warmth of the covers.

You pause for a moment, feeling the warmth of his breath against your neck. drunk on the comfort of his presenceㅡ its something you cherishes deeply, a rare solace in your otherwise chaotic life. You can't help but smile softly at his concern."I was just trying to get comfortable," you whisper back, voice barely audible in the quiet room. You shift slightly, finding a better position, and his grip on your waist tightens instinctively, pulling her closer. The corners of Marc's lips quirk up faintly at this, his eyes half closed again as his face presses against your shoulder. His facial stubble slightly scratches against your skin, planting little kisses that lay onto you like flowers. "It's five a.m, angel," he mumbles, his voice filled with sleep. "...you should be sleeping."

You sigh softly, fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm that's wrapped around you. "I know," you reply. "I just can't help it sometimes." Marc shifts slightly, his grip on your body shifting a bit lower, arm now settled around your hips. "Just relax," he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble, as he caresses your skin. "I'm right here."

You feel a wave of calm envelop you, his presence a soothing balm against your restless mind. With a soft sigh, you relax into his embrace, your body molding perfectly against his. The rhythm of his breathing, steady and reassuring, lulls you further into a state of peace. Marc's hand continues its gentle caress along your hip, his touch light yet grounding. He nuzzles closer, the scent of your hair filling his senses.

Marc takes a moment to fully wake, his lips planting soft kisses along the side of your neck before he lets out a low, sleepy hum. "I love you," he mumbles, a phrase rarely spoken but deeply felt.

His whispered confession reaches your ears, stirring a whirlwind of emotions in your heart. Even in the haze of drowsiness, his words carry weight, sinking deep into your consciousness. You draw closer to him, your fingers caressing his arm in a silent acknowledgment. Marc's kisses, like delicate rays of light, dance along your neck, each one a testament. As his lips graze your skin, a sense of tranquility washes over you, dissolving any lingering tension. "I love you," you whisper softly, the words an echo.

You can practically feel the low hum of resonating from Marc, his thumb tracing gentle circles along your hip as he presses another tender kiss to your shoulder. He draws you closer, his body still weighted with sleep but his mind gradually awakening, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. Another kiss graces your shoulder, then your ear, his lips writing a song beyond words. "I love you so much, baby" he whispers once more, his warm breath caressing your skin as his hand slips past the hem of your shorts. "Marc..." you giggle, his groggy sending soft vibrations down your whole body.

"What are you doing?" you ask softly as you feel his hand snake its way under your shirt, his palm slowly massaging your breasts, fingers flicking lightly at the already pebbled nipples. You squirm slightly, half-heartedly trying to push his hand away, but his persistence only makes you laugh. "It's too early for this," you protest, though your tone lacks any real conviction."Too early to show my love?" he teases, his fingers dancing over your skin. "I don't think so." He shifts closer, his body pressing against yours, so now you can better feel his hard-on resting onto your lower back.

The world outside might be waking up, but in this moment, it feels like it's just the two of you, lost in a bubble.

You can feel a familiar heat spread through your whole body as Marc finally pushes his hands past the hem of your pants and squeezes at your hip lightly, "No panties, baby?" he teases, aware of how wet you were right now, as his hot whispers drag along your neck and plummeting that feeling into your cunt. " 's hot-" you manage to stutter put, one low hum as his response. "hm." Marc traps your ear between his teeth before his other arm snakes from under you and over your chest, his rough palm now wrapped around your neck. you gasp and swallow back a moan. "need you so bad, baby..." he admits, the hand in your pants traveling lower to your belly then finally between your legs. When his fingers make contact with your folds, Marc lets out a soft laugh, " 's that why you couldn't sleep, angel?" he inquired " because i didn’t dick you down last night?" you whine, "Marc.." you softly call out as his grip on your throat tightness. "what? i don't fuck you one night and you become an insomniac?" his voice is now lower, rougher and his strokes between your legs quickened. "You're so wet 'n I barely touched you.. " he tuts. "Marc, please.."

"What's that?" Marc decides to play a little more, the fingers from your neck trailing up and between your parted lips, catching you off guard. "Didn't you learn not to talk with your mouth full, baby?" you whine yet again, shaking against his unwavering grasp, two of his fingers finally slipping inside of your velvety walls. "Fuck.." Marc mutters. "You sound so pretty when you get desperate for my cock.." he moves his fingers at a reasonable pace, the ones inside your mouth entangled with your tongue. "You're so pretty, angel.." all you can do is moan around his digits and shut your eyes as he whispers his sweet venom. he always knows what to do. "Can I fuck you, baby..?" he moans against your hair. "Please..." you moan back.

with that, he starts removing his briefs, as one hand pushes you on your back. "Like thisㅡ" he says, as he positions himself between your legs, "So I can see your beautiful face while I fuck you."

Marc leans down to capture your lips into another kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a spark within your core. The kiss deepens, filled with an intensity that speaks of desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. The world around you blurs as he pushes inside of you, and you hiss softly through the kiss. Marc starts to move slowly, moving his hips the same rhythm as your heart that pounding against your chest. "I can never get enough of you.." he growls through broken grunts as he moves into you, your walls clenching around him. "Marc, godㅡ" he leans down again, planting soft pecks across your collar bones and down to your breasts. "yeah? c'mon baby, tell me how good it feels."

"feels so good.." Your moans echo through his head like a melody, and you can feel Marc's grip onto your waist growing tighter. the familiar pool into your lower belly makes its presence known as your back arches against the matter, Marc's hand slipping under you as his lips write kisses from your chest to your bellybutton. "I'm so close, Marc -" Your little cries are enough to send him over the edge. "I love you so much, angel, shitㅡ" he closes his eyes, forehead resting agains you as his hips buckle and he starts releasing ropes of hot liquid inside of you, the feeling overwhelming and suffocating for you. you wait for him to calm down a bit before you bring your hands to his face and pull him up for another kiss. "Let's get cleaned up, ok?" You ask softly, and he chuckles. "I'm not done with you, baby. I need to have my breakfast."

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Dream

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: @foxyanon this is for you. Your request was absolutely amasing and I just hope I've done justice to it. 💖My warmest thanks to lovely @arcielee for beta reading, you are awsome and your comments literally made my day 😘

Warnings: angst, longing, some lowkey SMUT 18+ nothing explicit, use of she/her pronouns, happy ending 😉

Word Count: 2,6 K

Inspired by the The Apparition by Sleep Token

Why are you never real? Whenever you appear You leave me with that grace I am trembling with fear But I know that you will disappear Just as I awake Whisper in my ear Well, I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This scar will never fade

He awoke with a silent cry trembling on his lips, hands instinctively reaching to wipe tears from his wet cheeks, his breath panting as if he were drowning in his own sobs. He had dreamt of her. Again. 

The sensation lingered in his fingertips: the soft touch of her palm against his, the echo of her laughter wrapping around him like a warm summer breeze on a cool evening. He couldn’t recall her face anymore. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure she was real; just a fleeting memory or fantasy conjured by the ghosts of his past, taunting him anew.

And yet from the moment he had set his foot on Dunholm’s rocky ground, he dreamt of her almost nightly. The sweetness of their shared moments intertwined with the bitter ache of longing, all overshadowed by the burning flame of guilt for having failed her, that made him wake up with a cry, forehead covered in sweat and heart racing. 

Sihtric’s eyes wandered the small room, slowly adjusting to the darkness, disturbed only by the faint glow of the waning moon. With a deep sigh ripping through him, Sihtric swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself up. His bare feet brought him to the window. The rough uneven wooden floor was a constant reminder of the past times indelible from the deepest corners of his mind, of times long ago when his feet pounded the very same wooden floor, with each step carving the memory of these paths into his very being.

The dreams were too real, clinging to him with all the colours, smells and sounds, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. A taste of remorse and longing.

Sihtric lifted his hands, shielding his eyes with his palms and gently rubbing them, as though attempting to cleanse himself of the haunting impressions left by the dream. He had seen her so clearly, the colourful images spinning around in his head. 

Her hair loose and billowing in the wind, her merry laughter a bright messenger of joy as she skipped through the meadow, the gentle fingers of the rising sun caressing her glowing skin. 

She was the light in the darkness, the breeze of the fresh air in his lungs. Her laughter was a thread through the haze of his crippled existence. Just as the damp earth after a rainfall carries the scent of rebirth, her aroma was that of a promise of a new beginning – a gentle mix of sweet wild berries and midsummer flowers woven into her hair.

His body and mind ached for her, longing for their fingers to intertwine as he would willingly follow her wherever she led.

And then the kiss – his very first. Fingers trembling, heart pounding against his chest like a wild drum. She leaned against the sturdy trunk of the oak tree by the river, the tranquil sound of water splashing against the sandy bank filling the air. Pressing his palm against the rough bark, he sought to steady his racing heart, drawing strength from the solid presence of the majestic giant. The softness of her pale skin thrilled him as his other hand gently touched her cheek, tenderly guiding her gaze towards him.

“I… I want to kiss you,” he whispered softly, his breath catching in his throat, drowning in the depths of two sparkling eyes, pleading for his touch.

“What are you waiting for?” A sweet, lighthearted giggle echoed around him, and he released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. With closed eyes, his dry, chapped lips timidly brushed against her soft ones, like a fragile whisper dancing on the edge of a sigh, like two lonely travellers adrift in the vast expanse of a starlit night, seeking refuge and salvation. 

“Sihtric ...” his name rolled off her lips, mingling with a soft whimper as his both palms cupped her face, their breaths picking up.

Sihtric's fingertips traced down to his lips, pausing there. He stood motionless for a moment, leaning against the window frame, arms crossing over his chest and breath catching in the cool night air as he attempted to summon her face from the depths of his memory. Yet it remained elusive and all he found was shadows dancing in his mind's eye. A silent curse escaped his parted lips. He had long ago banished these memories, fortified them behind a wall of self assured certainty that there was nothing he could do, that it was for the best. 

The mocking grin of the moon looked down at him from the height of his throne in the nightly sky. It sent shivers down Sihtric’s spine. 

"I didn't abandon her, I was sent away," Sihtric whispered, the words barely audible over the night's gentle breeze. "Away... away... away..." echoed through the empty yard, his own voice a cruel taunt. "I inquired about her in the village after the fall of Dunholm, but no one knew anything.”

The sound of his fist connecting with the wooden wall shattered the serene silence of the night. The impact reverberating through the stillness like a thunderclap – hollow and darksome. 

Yes, he had searched for her. A solitary visit to the nearby village where he knew she hailed from, greeted by anxious faces hastily retreating into their ramshackle homes, peering cautiously through the safety of their shuttered windows. The presence of Danes had always brought fear and uncertainty to them.

He had inquired about her at the small, dusty inn, amidst discussions of purchasing horses and timber to aid Ragnar in repairing the damaged gates. The host, suspiciously eyeing them, poured ale and swiftly pocketed the silver Uhtred had tossed his way.

Sihtric wasn’t sure what he had feared more: finding her happily married, her eyes denying him recognition and filled with fear, or discovering her waiting for him, unable to offer her anything. Nevertheless, he asked, quickly finding satisfaction in the host's indifferent shrug, as he explained that many had left in recent years due to meagre harvests, and there were no women matching Sihtric’s description in the village.

It was that one moment as they mounted their horses, Sihtric thought he heard her voice, calling his name. He cast a wary glance around the deserted square, the only sound a mocking crow's cry echoing through the stillness. He shook his head, as if trying to dispel a vision, before leaving his past behind like a worn boot—ten long years ago.

And now he stood once more in this place—Lord of Dunholm, a title that sent a shiver down his spine with each utterance. The shadows began to shift, the night's veil slowly lifting to reveal the faint glimmer of the sun lingering behind the horizon.

“I... I crave you... it's something I can't conceal... I've never seen anyone so beautiful..." his breath grew ragged, the silkiness of her flawless skin beneath his fingertips stirring an excitement unknown to him.

"Oh God," she gasped, her body arching against the soft blanket of moss and grass he had carefully laid her upon, his clumsy fingers seeking their way to her core, hungry lips stealing the soft moan escaping her.

"Please, tell me to stop," he pleaded almost desperately, voice quivering, unsure, even scared of where this journey would lead them. Yet unable to release her, unable to tear his gaze from her. 

“Don’t… please, don’t stop,” a shaky moan from her parted lips forced a low groan from him, his fingers dipping in her hot tightness. “It feels so good, too good… Sihtric, please, I want to feel more of it. I have never felt anything like this before,” she whispered through panting breaths.

He had never touched anyone like this before; his limited knowledge gleaned from overhearing drunken chatter around firesides or hushed conversations in the kitchens as staying unnoticed had become almost second nature to him. 

His own breathing getting more and more uneven with each quivering whimper, each soft moan leaving her lips; he watched her body responding to his touch, her breasts heaving, gaze getting glazy and eyes rolling back into her head.

She seemed almost otherworldly to him—her eyes curious and trusting, unburdened by fear or suspicion, her smile so radiant it felt like the warmth of the first sun rays in spring melting the snow of his desolation.

What had he done to deserve the gods sending her his way? A vision on an early morning, peacefully gathering flowers in the solitary meadow by the river where he had brought the horses to graze for the first time. His resort, a ray of light, piercing the dark loneliness of his soul, keeping him from drowning in it. 

Each time he returned, fear gripped his heart, his eyes scanning the secluded meadow, his back against the lonely oak by the riverbank. What if she didn't come? But she always did, and his heart danced with joy, bathed in the soothing warmth of her genuine smile. 

It had been so long ago. He had been just a boy, falling in love for the first time in his life.

Sihtric rubbed his sleepy eyes. Not a day passed without him believing he had caught a glimpse of her—whether in the shadows of the long corridors, the dark corners of the spacious great hall, or even his own bedroom. He knew his mind played tricks on him, yet each time his eyes seemed to capture that fleeting silhouette; he couldn't resist leaping to his feet, reaching out only to grasp empty air.

Hastily dressing in his breeches and boots, he tugged on a linen shirt while descending the stairs, snatching his leather tunic on the way out. Urged by an inexplicable force, he allowed his feet to guide him to the stables where he mounted his unsaddled mare.

"Open the gates!" his voice boomed across the yard, jolting the drowsy guards into action. They hurried to obey their lord's command, their eyes wide with surprise as they watched Sihtric spur his horse into a gallop.

The old, majestic oak tree welcomed Sihtric with a soft rustle of its green leaves in the wind. Leaning his head against the mighty trunk, he pressed his palms against its weathered bark, seeking solace and reassurance in the tranquil serenity of its solid presence, just as he had done before.

“Oh Sihtric,” she moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders, as he slowly forced himself inside her. The feeling of her tight walls gradually parting, wrapping around him and letting him in so overwhelming, he was afraid he would pass out. 

Heart frantically beating against the cage of his chest, he froze, breath withheld, seeing tears pearling in the corners of her closed eyes. 

“Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?” 

A vehement shake of the head, her hips rising to meet him, was the only answer, and he leaned in, trembling lips brushing against her parted ones to kiss away the deep sigh drifting from them. 

“I love you, Sihtric!” 

“I love you too, and I always will,” he breathed, his hips starting to move, meeting hers with every slow thrust, breath quickening, like the rush of a rising tide. 

He had never put much stock in the tales his mother whispered under the veil of night, her gentle hands pulling their only blanket tighter around him, shielding him from the cold. Stories of beautiful angels, guiding lost souls back to the light—until he encountered one. An angel in disguise, wandering the earth and plucking flowers from the meadow.

She arched her back, enveloping him in the embrace of her fragile arms, and he buried his face in the curve of her neck, drinking in her sweet, intoxicating scent, his deep moans mingling with her soft whimpers.

He had meant every word of it. Without a shadow of doubt clouding his mind, he had made a promise—a promise destined to be shattered in the days that followed, as the Norns had already woven the threads of his fate, laughing over his youthful resolve.

Tears blurred his vision as he made his way back to Dunholm. He had waited until the first rays of the sun, knowing it was futile, knowing she wouldn’t come, as it was not the right day. There had been no goodbyes, no sweet kisses sealing the promise to return—just a lonely heart carved into the thick bark of the old oak tree, the silent witness to their happiness.

The sound of a dry branch cracking beneath feet jolted Sihtric, prompting him to turn his head.

“My lord, are you alright?” a slightly concerned voice inquired, and Sihtric's moist eyes met two sparkling, mismatched pools of brown and blue.

“I... I’m...” he stammered, his own uncertainty mirrored in the growing fear in those eyes as they darted down to his chest, fixating on the pendant of Thor's hammer hanging there.

Before he could utter another word, two gentle hands released the wild flowers they were holding, allowing them to scatter to the ground as the young girl spun on her heels and began to flee.

"Wait, please! I mean you no harm," Sihtric finally found his voice, but the girl paid no heed.

Sihtric remained rooted to the spot, unable to shake off the shock that held him captive, his gaze tracing the slender silhouette as it vanished from view. Eventually, he stirred, though the girl had already disappeared into the depths of the meadow and the forest beyond.

Driven by an inexplicable compulsion, he followed. Though he didn't want to frighten her, his feet seemed to move of their own accord, propelling him forward through the thorny underbrush. Long branches reached out like bony arms, clawing at his bare skin and leaving behind bloody scratches and bruises, yet he hardly noticed. Emerging from the forest, he beheld a crooked house nestled amidst a small garden.

Approaching cautiously, Sihtric scanned his surroundings, searching for signs of life. 

Engrossed in your work, you hadn't noticed anyone approaching. The weeds had begun to overtake your small carrot bed, a task long overdue for attention. A cough caught your attention, prompting you to straighten up and glance over, wondering who had ventured from the village to your secluded home.

You both just stood there, eyeing each other with disbelief and bewilderment. Sihtric shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, unable to tear his gaze away from you, unable to believe what he was seeing. 

Here you were—his ghost, his dream,  the most beautiful face he had ever seen, his most cherished memory locked away from his consciousness due to its unbearable pain.

Your fingers released the hoe, letting it slip from your grasp to fall to the ground at your feet. Covering your eyes with your hands, hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you staggered, struggling to maintain control over your wobbly knees.

In two long strides, Sihtric was beside you, his strong arms encircling your shoulders, providing support. Torn between the desire to push him away and to melt into his embrace, you remained rooted in place, sobs wracking your body as he enveloped you in his warm presence, like a comforting blanket.

"Gods, you are here. You have always been here," Sihtric whispered, his lips grazing your hair. "My love… I… I've never stopped loving you, and I never will. Will you ever believe that? Will you ever forgive me?"

"Mom, in the meadow where you always send me to pick flowers, I met a Dane today," a girl's voice rang out, as she appeared in the doorframe of the old house, freezing in her tracks as her eyes widened at the scene before her.

"She is mine. Isn't she?" Sihtric asked, tears starting to flow freely down his cheeks, yet he made no move to wipe them away. He didn't need your confirmation.

With a soft thud, he allowed himself to sink to the ground, his knees meeting the damp earth of the garden as he buried his face into your belly, arms enveloping your frame. The fearless warrior and the Lord of Dunholm cried, unashamed of his tears, while your fingers gently stroked his hair.

Comment or write to me if you want to be added to the tag list.

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama

@verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07

@mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey @ladyinred2248

[tiredofthehumanlife]

all of the above.😈

Warning: strange and peculiar behavior, whimpering pussy boy Luke, i never read nor watched Percy Jackson i have no lore, don’t treat real people like this it’s probably abusive, i hoped this pleases you anon I’m new to this side business ngl, hmu if you hate it and wanna burn me alive and I’m only speaking to anon no one else thanks guys, sexual? Content, bon appétit ig

Luke was a splendid boyfriend. He brings you the flowers he finds on his walks. Luke always has a plate for you already made for you by the time you wake up for breakfast. He spars with you, like a true gentlemen. Luke smiles at you the second he finds your eyes in a room. Luke was so caring and gentle to you. He just wanted to please you and make you smile. However, he messed up this morning. Acted entirely disrespectful. You know you deserve better, you know he can do better, so you may or may not have been upset at him the whole entire day. When Luke asked to spar with you, you said “oh so sorry I’m busy.” Luke’s smile dropped. He looked away from you to hide the already forming pout. When Luke looks back to you, he’s smiling again but you can see his passion behind it has dissapered.

Good.

It’s what Luke deserves after this morning. Then when he left to go on walk, Luke moved to give you his regular ‘see you after my walk in think you’re cool love you until my last breath exists my lungs and the earth takes back my body I think you’re cool talk to you later babe :)’ kiss on the cheek. You wiped it away with the back of your hand without looking up from your book. You heard him let out a sad ‘oh’ no louder than a very small cricket on his last breath singing to his long lost gay cricket lover. You didn’t mind him. You knew if you looked into Luke’s sad puppy eyes right now you’d lose all determination and cave. Luke seemed to know this too because he kept bumping your cheek with his nose. You groaned and pushed him away. You turned your back to him as you repositioned in your seat, continuing your book. You heard his feet slowly slink away in defeat.

Finally, when Luke returned from his walk with a handful of flowers he found, you didn’t wait for him by your usual tree. After Luke finally found you in the same spot he left you, nose stuck in your book. Luke ran over to you showcasing his bouquet to you. You didn’t look up from your book. Luke noticed but he assumed you were just finishing your sentence. When you turned your page and silently continued reading, he felt his stomach drop. He didn’t know what he did to upset you but he knew he wanted to make it up to you.

So after he whined and begged you to just look at him and tell him what he did, you caved. Not without a little just a tad punishment. After you finally told him what upset you he promised to make it up to you. He’d “do anything” in his words. So you had him entirely naked on his knees. Staring up at you. You kept all your clothes on, making the power imbalance entirely clear to him. You made him hold his hands behind his back. If he even so much as moved his pinkie you took a step back away from him. When he was good, you moved closer to him. Luke had pathetic apologies slipping off his tongue every second you weren’t touching him. Which was a lot considering he seemed to be a very bad boy tonight. His dick achingly ignored, pressing against his stomach.

“You’ll be good now, right baby?” Luke quickly nodded at your words. You tut as you noticed him looking away from you, exactly what you told him not to do. He noticed his mistake instantly and met your eyes again. You saw tears brimming in Luke’s water line. Pathetic. A sinful grin creeped up your face as you slowly tilted your head down to his. Luke let out a whimper as he felt your breath fall over his lips.

“Say you’re sorry.” You whisper, taunting him with your mouth just millimeters from his. Luke repeated his apology over and over again sounding more and more pitiful with each breath. When you leaned back he sobbed. Luke stared up at you with pleading eyes. You saw his tears had fallen down his cheeks, following the path of his scar. Luke looked so heartbroken and he was whispering out pleads between his sobs. You gently raised your hand to his cheek, wiping away his tears. Luke leaned into your hand and moaned at the feeling. You hummed. You ask him in a whisper if he’s learned his lesson.

“Yes, yes. Gods please, touch me, please.” He kisses your palm over and over hoping it will win you over more. You smile and pull your hand back. Luke groans and his shoulders sink. He knows better than to break your eye contact. You tilt your head and clasp your hands behind your back, mocking him. Luke whines and closes his eyes a brief second before snapping his eyes open again. Luke wanted to be good. You gave him a sympathetic look, mocking him even more. You decide to give him a little grace and lean back down towards his lips. He leans his face higher up just barely brushing his lips against yours. Luke begged the gods you’d move your head down just a little bit lower so he can feel you properly. He can’t reach you without breaking your rules. He’d have to use his hands or get off his knees to get to you. Luke cried more when you back away.

“I’m not touching you until after tomorrow’s breakfast and you prove to me you will be good.” With your terribly unfair punishment stated, you left. You walked to your cabin and slept wonderfully. Luke’s never felt more pathetic sobbing on his knees in the middle of his empty cabin. He went to bed after some time. The next morning he was on his best behavior, so you rewarded him very well after everyone was certainly busy. Luke never stole your bacon again. Unless he wanted the punishment.

[aanxiousangel]

𝘝𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 2 {𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘗 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳}

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - I do not allow MY work to be used or adapted in any way.

notes: it's my first somewhat-graphic smut. do i like it? no, but it's only because i feel awkward posting graphic wording- i'll get better <3 i take requests btw <3 and i hope you enjoy & thank you for all the love <3

triggers/tags: smut, relationship, face fucking, stressed!Keegan (i'm not sure what else to put :'))

𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘀: @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

You made the right decision. The best decision of your life. For the rest of the vacation, Keegan showered you with affection. Kisses, cuddles, even flowers. His arms were constantly wrapped around your waist, having you sit in his lap whether it be in public or at the renthouse. Every night, he ended up in your bed just to sleep in your arms. Every moment was savored.

The goodbyes were bittersweet even if everyone would eventually meet up because of work. Keegan kept his face buried in your neck until it was time to leave.

“I promise, I’ll come see you as soon as everything gets situated,” you whispered against his cheek.

Every passing second since the two of you parted ways was agony. Keegan was more than stressed. Training and keeping himself busy during work was an understatement. Though you two were deployed together, the relationship had to be kept under constant wraps. It meant keeping away from each other, acting like the usual pair you were.

Seeing you across from him during meetings, sneaking subtle glances only enhanced the desperation. 

One night, it all came crashing down. Keegan had been in the training room, wrapped fists slamming into a punching bag. Sweat drizzled down his face, further pissing him off. He let out a grunt with a final punch and wiped his face aggressively.

This is bullshit. He huffed as he pulled out his phone and your message thread. Rereading the sweet messages from you made him take a deep breath as he sent the message he’d been fighting off for the last month.

Meet me in the locker room. Now.

You jumped, the notification bell unexpected so late at night. Your eyes lit up as you dropped your phone back onto your bed and darted out silently. Gentle footsteps were the only thing that echoed in the dim halls as you made your way to the training gym.

Relief washed over you as the gym revealed itself to be empty. A soft echo of a running shower led you right to him. The closer you got, the clearer you could make out his grunts and groans. Mild adrenaline pumped through your veins as you moved to the showers.

“Fuck,” his voice was low and strained, his head leaned back against the tiles. “Fuck, Y/N-”

“Keegan?” Your voice slithered into his ears, making his eyes narrow in on you.

The way he stalked through the steam made goosebumps prick your skin, “Baby, I can’t take–”

The drop took him by surprise. He looked down at you, furrowing his brows in confusion. You brushed your lips against his tip before he could say another word. A weakened breath escaped him as you enveloped him in the warmth of your mouth. His jaw clenched as he grasped a handful of your hair, relentlessly fucking into your throat.

Your eyes twitched and burned with tears as he hit your gag reflex. Nails dug into his thighs as your eyes fought to look up at him. His head rolled from being tilted back to look at you, mouth open as he panted.

“Goddamn, don’t look–” Keegan sucked in a sharp inhale, “Don’t look at me like that, baby.”

What he saw was your hallucinating eyes, wet lashes, and pretty lips hungrily sucking him in.

Your choked noises were muffled by his cock cutting off your oxygen. His movements quickly grew sloppy as he finished in your throat, shuddering as he climaxed. You trembled and fell forward with a shaky gasp for oxygen. Panting and still craving more, you looked up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Keegan–”

“Up.” His command was firm with no room for denial.

His hands worked quickly, removing your entire outfit from your body. He threw the articles of clothing away from the showers. Keegan lifted your figure into his arm, pressing hot kisses to your throat with mumbled apologies.

“Baby, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he whispered desperately against you, hands massaging your thighs.

“Kee–” Your words were cut by a sharp yelp as the tiles shocked your skin with ice.

“I promise,” Keegan groaned, his tip brushing your folds as his hips bucked, “I promise I’ll give you mindblowin’ head soon, baby. I fuckin’ promise.”

Your back arched instinctively against him, crying out at the sudden intrusion. His cock felt different now that it was buried deep inside you versus your poor throat. The stretch was unlike anything you’ve ever toyed around with.

“S-slow! Keegan, wait–” You begged desperately as his thrusts were brutalizing your cunt.

“T-tryin’,” he growled against your shoulder, sinking his teeth into the soft muscle of your shoulder.

At least he was honest. Though, he couldn’t help himself. The way you took him in, the velvety feeling of your walls, threatening to milk him of everything he had. Hips bucked ruthlessly, his soaked skin slapping against yours just enough to sting. Keegan’s lips traveled all along your neck and shoulders, leaving whatever mark he could. The only reason he didn’t shove his tongue down your throat was because he needed to hear you.

“Mine,” Keegan grunted against your jaw.

That made your toes curl. His claim. Pure and sinful claims. When you moaned, he fisted another handful of hair, making you look at him. Sweat mixed with the steam’s condensation on his skin. His lips were swollen and parted as he heaved.

“You understand, baby? All fuckin’ mine,” Keegan observed your fucked-out expression as he made sure to puncture you deep and calculated.

“Y-yes, sir.” Your whimpers slipped out as you kept your heavy eyes on him.

“Sir?” His lips curled into a grin. “Attagirl.”

The way his voice caressed your senses drove you mad. It was breaking you down slowly. The combination of him observing exactly how to fuck you like a god and his voice never letting up with the noises. That was becoming your favorite thing. How insanely vocal he was.

“Want you,” Keegan hissed, coming close to his second climax of the night, “forever, baby.”

“Promise?” You gasped out, feeling the familiar knot in your lower stomach.

“Promise,” his hand moved to cup your face, leaning closer to you. “Fuckin’ swear on my life. I’m yours, baby.”

That did it. Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open. Keegan’s eyes widened as he heard the most angelic sound slip past your lips. You moaning his name. Your legs locked around him, stomach tightening as you climaxed around his cock that still chased after his next high.

Keegan shuddered, hips bucking against you. The sensitivity levels on your clit were higher than a video game. [ha, get it?] You cried desperately, begging him to cum.

“Don’t pull out,” your plea made his brain go fuzzy.

In that moment, you could’ve made him do anything you damn well pleased.

“D-dangerous fuckin’ game–” Keegan tried to argue but the control slipped. Oops?

His arms wrapped around your waist tightly, an animalistic sound escaping him as he finished inside of you. Deep inside of you. His movements stopped the moment he bottomed out. His body jerked, trembling as his cock kissed your cervix.

A euphoric exhaustion washed over him. It was a dizzying feeling. Keegan refused to release you from his grip–let alone pull out.

Silence lingered between the two of you for a few moments. Eventually, you picked up your head to look at him. Keegan’s head dropped against the wall behind him gently to look at you.

Your hands were gentle as you caressed his face, wiping away sweat from his face. It shocked him for a moment. The gentle touch. It was quite unlike you in the past. Lately, you were this softhearted girl when you used to be a dog that growled and snapped at anyone who grew much too close.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice was soft, revealing how much his brutal pace affected you.

“You’ve gone…soft.” Keegan mumbled.

“Tch,” you blushed as you looked away. “Your fault.”

“Good,” he smirked. “At least you like me.”

Keegan caught your wrists as you went to try and smack his shoulders. You fussed at him, telling him he needed a shower. Keegan continued teasing you until the end of your shower together. He really was the best choice.

[cherryjuicegf]

"What's that thing you keep saying to Yarpen everytime you meet?"

Jaskier's face, buried into the crook of her neck, surfaces for a moment to look at her questioningly. Yennefer does not grant him a glance back. Only, her hand continues to stroke at his hair absentmindedly as she stares out the window, at the setting autumn sun.

He knows at once, of course. There are few things that torture him in his life, but few as they are, they leave little room for mercy.

He sighs. "Well," he mutters, somehow unwillingly, "it happens to be my full name."

Yennefer's eyebrows raise in amusement, the corners of her lips slightly twitching. He thinks of kissing them, the way he has done and will do, soon, but perhaps not now, for he has settled warmly in her arms and the curious scrunch of her nose is far too endearing from down here.

"Hm. You're a funny little thing..." Her fingers scratch playfully at his head and he feels himself blushing. Then, finally, she looks at him. Daring. "I want to hear it."

His heart drops to his stomach, just a little, and he suspects she feels its absence under her hand because she keeps on staring, waiting. Her eyes glint with unspoken thirst, gentle like that of a little kid discovering a shell buried underground.

A shell, maybe, of an old self. One that he shies away from now, before her. He shakes his head.

"Ah, it's not important." What's gotten into her now to unearth this, of all things? "It's ugly anyway."

Yennefer rolls her eyes, fond, insistent.

"Come, now," she prompts and her voice is oh, so soft that his heart almost crumbles back to its place, just to feel the sound vibrate on her skin. A cunning smile. "Do I not have the right to know my husband's name? I may even use it."

At once, he laughs. Silent, surrenderring, certain there is no escape and it's so unfair and so, so sweet, the way she forces his own hand to dig inside his chest.

His face returns to its hiding place into her neck.

"Julian," he says, a bitter taste. "Julian Alfred Pankratz."

She hums, satisfied. Now that she's seen it, the relic, she averts her eyes.

"Why use it, then?"

Jaskier muffles a chuckle against her skin, trapped. He considers not answering. But it's not like she will not know anyway. And maybe he has been alone in knowing for too long.

The images of another life flash before his eyes and he winces in distress.

"Perhaps," he swallows, shrugs, "it sounds more imposing." Fraudulent attention, false power, enough to feign importance. Reeking more than royal. He smiles. "At least, I thought so when they called me that. A bit scarier."

He thinks, the name of a flower is not always heavy enough to rock the ears, and this is why he chose it for himself. Only, perhaps other ears are more welcoming to what is heavy to the tongue.

Then, again, it didn't make much of a difference, did it?

Yennefer sighs, brows slightly furrowed as though pensive, working it in her mind. It's almost a relief, the lack of impression it's left on her.

"Julian..." she whispers after a while, not so much calling him by his name as feeling it on her tongue, letting it flood her mouth. His whole body shivers in her arms. Soft, light, like a feather's caress, she feels it, dusts it like she would a rare finding settled between her hands. She squints her eyes, picks apart every sound. "Julian, Julian..."

A lump is suddenly choking his throat, and he can't help but smile, let out a breath that has been weighting on his chest.

"Strange," he breathes, laughs. "It sounds beautiful when you say it. It sounds..."

"Important?" Yennefer smiles faintly and meets his gaze. He smiles back, grateful. Nods. "That's good," she shakes her head, lowers her look just a bit as a thought clouds her eyes. "It's good... to hear your name uttered like it's something precious."

Jaskier parts his lips to say something but forgets it at once. He stays there, still, staring at her face and the way the evening paints her eyes in a deep haze, and makes her look even softer than he could ever have imagined her. Glowing, like a gleaming stone. That's what it is, then.

He grins and sits up to look at her properly, to take her in.

"That's right, Yennefer of Vengerberg," he whispers, slow like a prayer, tender like a poem, and brushes her hair back, finds her eyes.

Then, he holds her face gently in his hands, and she leans into the touch to lay her own name between them in return. And he kisses, at last, the smiling corners of her lips.

"Something precious indeed."

[tinytinyblogs]

Let me paint my feelings onto your dreams tonight.

Expressing emotions they couldn't voice while you were awake, trusting the night to carry them.

⚠Ot8, non-idol reaction, cocktail of emotion, and a lot more⚠

Stray kids masterlist here

Chan

The flickering light of the television cast long shadows across the room, dancing across your peaceful slumber on the worn couch. Chan, his heart heavy with the weight of another late night, tiptoed closer, his gaze softening as he watched your chest rise and fall in gentle rhythm. The sight, a testament to your unwavering love and patience, twisted his gut with a pang of guilt. This, another night sacrificed to the demanding altar of work, was yet another night he'd failed to be the boyfriend you deserved. He reached for the remote, silencing the droning TV with a soft click. The sudden quiet deepened the intimacy of the moment, drawing him closer to the haven you'd created on the worn cushions. Kneeling beside you, he whispered, "I'm home, honey," his voice a caress against the stillness. "I'm so sorry I kept you waiting. I must be the worst boyfriend ever." A sad chuckle escaped his lips, the sound echoing in the cavernous silence. He settled on the floor, his back against the couch, his gaze never leaving your sleeping form. You were a portrait of serenity, your features softened in slumber, your breathing a lullaby that soothed the storm within him. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken emotions. "Thank you for always loving me, for understanding me, even when I don't deserve it. I don't know what I'd do without you, without this sanctuary you create for me every day."

He knew he should wait until your eyes fluttered open, to confess these vulnerabilities in the warm light of day. Yet, the words, like caged birds, clamored for release, seeking solace in the quiet intimacy of your slumber. He needed you to hear, even in the realm of dreams, the depth of his love, the aching gratitude that bloomed within him like a fragile flower despite the thorns of circumstance. The gentle caress of his hand on your head, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine, disrupted your peaceful drift towards sleep. His voice, a low rumble laced with a tenderness you'd grown so accustomed to, echoed in the quiet room, a balm to the ache of his late return. "I have my day off tomorrow," he murmured, his breath stirring the strands of hair around your face. "I swear, I'll make it up to you. No need for waiting, no need for worry." A gentle kiss, like a whispered promise, landed on your forehead. It was a feather-light touch, yet it ignited a fire within you, a spark that danced in the depths of your soul. "Good night, love," he whispered, his lips brushing your skin, sending shivers dancing across your skin. And then, the words that made your heart skip a beat. "A little secret for you," he breathed, his voice a husky murmur. "Today, I fell for you again."

Minho

The night settled into a hushed stillness, a stark contrast to the symphony of whispers and gentle banter that usually flowed between you and Minho. Your voice, like a firefly's light, had extinguished, leaving him alone in the cool, quiet darkness. He shifted, his gaze tracing the soft rise and fall of your chest, a silent confirmation that you had succumbed to sleep's embrace. Peace, like a feather, settled upon him. He cherished these moments, the quiet intimacy where vulnerabilities were laid bare and whispered secrets found sanctuary in the space between your breaths. Yet, sleep remained elusive for him. The day, with its tangled threads of anxieties and triumphs, clung stubbornly to his thoughts. He chuckled, a soft rumble that barely disturbed the night air. The idea, though seemingly absurd, held a curious truth. He, who had always prided himself on his stoic demeanor, found himself drawn to your orbit like a moth to a flame. He reveled in your laughter, savored your silences, and found his heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of your name. A small smile tugged at his lips as he turned to face you, his hand brushing aside a stray strand of hair that veiled your peaceful countenance.

He traced the curve of your jawline, his touch feather-light, and marveled at the way your features softened in slumber. "You know what, my mom said I'm a simp for you," he whispered, the words tinged with a playful amusement. "Never thought she'd see me like that, but hey, what can I say?" His voice dipped even lower, a conspiratorial murmur in the quiet. "Maybe she's right," he conceded, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "You do have this way of tying my heartstrings in knots, making me sing off-key and blush like a teenage boy." He paused, a sigh escaping his lips. "I guess," he continued, his voice softer now, "I don't mind being your simp. As long as I get to keep you safe, make you smile, and witness the magic you weave into the world, then the title suits me just fine." With a final, lingering touch, he settled back against the pillows, a newfound peace washing over him. Sleep remained elusive, but it no longer held the sting of frustration. For in the quiet hush of the night, with you by his side, he had found a different kind of solace – a quiet contentment that whispered promises of a future where dreams, like fireflies, danced in the moonlight, guided by the gentle glow of his unspoken devotion.

Changbin

Changbin emerged from the shower, a halo of steam clinging to his damp hair. He ran a towel through his locks, the fabric rasping against the strands with a satisfying roughness. Water dripped from his fingertips, leaving tiny puddles on the tile. As he dried, a small smile played on his lips, a secret melody only he could hear. He reached for the doorknob, the metal cool against his palm. Pushing it open, he peeked into the bedroom. The sight that greeted him was a tableau of serenity – you, sprawled peacefully on the bed, lost in the world of dreams. He paused, his hand hovering in the air, the smile widening on his face. It was a scene he could never tire of, your slumber like a whispered promise of stolen moments and shared secrets. Walking softly, he approached the bed, his bare feet making the faintest whisper on the floor. He settled beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, the gentle rise and fall of your breath against his cheek. "Cute," he murmured, the endearment a secret shared with the night. His voice, husky from the shower, dipped into a low murmur, filling the silence with his own private monologue. He knew you wouldn't answer, but the words, like pent-up water finding its release, tumbled from his lips. "Today was a good day," he said, his voice laced with contentment.

"Every day with you is, really. But today… it hit different." He sighed, a deep rumble in his chest. "I never really thought about it before," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "but when I saw you in white gown… it hit me like a truck." His words, though spoken into the quiet night, were heavy with unspoken emotions, a glimpse into a world only he and you could see. The clock, a relentless metal heart, beat out the seconds in the hushed room. Each tick, a tiny hammer tapping against the silence, punctuated by the soft, rhythmic melody of your sleep. Even the slight, endearing snore that escaped your lips was music to Changbin's ears, a lullaby woven from the threads of your slumber. He let the towel fall carelessly to the floor, its abandoned form a testament to the singular focus of his gaze. Your sleeping figure, bathed in the moonlight that spilled through the window, was the only landscape he needed. "I must be the luckiest person in this world," he whispered, the words barely audible above the symphony of the night. "Knowing you'll be mine forever," he murmured, his voice a thread of silk woven into the tapestry of the night, "could you imagine how happy I am?"

Han

The heavy thud of the front door resonated through the silent air, a jarring contrast to the gentle rise and fall of your breath on the sofa. His eyes, weary beyond the fatigue of a strenuous workout, held the echoes of your fight, the sharp words still stinging on his tongue. He tiptoed in, each step measured and deliberate, afraid to shatter the fragile peace you seemed to have found in slumber. As he drew closer, a single tear, sparkling like a trapped diamond, glinted on your cheek. His heart clenched, a physical ache mirroring the emotional turmoil within. "Honey, I'm home," he whispered, his voice a soft caress against the silence. The fear of waking you battled with the urge to cradle you close, to chase away the remnants of the storm that had raged between you. He sank to his knees beside you, a silent sentinel guarding your dreams. His gaze traced the map of your face, etched with the residue of tears and unspoken hurt. He wanted to rewind time, erase the harsh words that had wounded you both, undo the tangled mess of their argument. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, more to himself than to you. The words tumbled out, a confession woven with guilt and regret. "We lost control, didn't we? Words like weapons, flung in the heat of the moment. I shouldn't have said what I did, those things about not loving you...they were lies, born from anger and frustration, but never from truth."

The living room held the echoes of their fight, but with each soft breath you took, they faded into the background. His eyes, weary from the emotional battle, found solace in the sight of you curled up on the sofa, an angel bathed in the soft amber light. A smile, both hesitant and hopeful, curved his lips. "I feel like I met the right person," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile peace. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd want you to be away from me." The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken apologies woven into their fabric. He knew they couldn't erase the sting of their argument, but they were bridges, tentative steps towards reconciliation. He spoke to you in the language of the night, words whispered to a sleeping heart. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear them, not yet. It was his own catharsis, an unburdening of the guilt that weighed on his soul. "I'll make it up tomorrow," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll show you how much I love you, every beat of my heart, every breath I take." He leaned closer, his hand hovering over your cheek, hesitant yet yearning for connection. And then, a feather-light kiss on your forehead, a silent prayer for forgiveness and a promise of a new dawn. "Good night, love," he whispered, his voice a lullaby in the stillness. "Thank you for always understanding me, for loving me even when I don't deserve it."

Hyunjin

As the soft glow of twilight seeped in, you found yourself nestled in Hyunjin's embrace, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His arms were strong, yet gentle, cocooning you in a warmth that seeped into your very core. His voice, like honeyed velvet, flowed over you, carrying a melody that danced with the twilight breeze. His words, whispered promises of love and laughter, mingled with the steady rhythm of his heart, a lullaby luring you towards the land of dreams. You felt yourself drifting, eyelids growing heavy, your answers to his endearments becoming softer, then fading altogether. A sigh escaped your lips, tinged with the contentment of his nearness. Hyunjin saw it, the telltale signs of slumber stealing over you. A smile, as gentle as the moonlight, curved his lips. He tightened his hold, just a fraction, ensuring you felt the unwavering presence of his love, a silent whisper against the canvas of your dreams. "We spent another day together," he murmured, his voice a sigh against your hair. "And it makes me happier than words can say." His hand traced idle circles on your back, a silent conversation between lovers, a language older than words. His silence deepened, broken only by the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock. A sudden realization bloomed in his heart, casting a fleeting shadow across his peaceful expression.

"Do you know what I just realized?" he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, afraid to break the fragile spell of your sleep. "How I always freak out when I see others wanting you as much as I do." He let out a soft chuckle, self-deprecating and honest. "It's silly, isn't it? My fear of losing you, it feels like a bottomless pit in my stomach." He paused, the silence pregnant with the truth of his confession. You stirred, a small, unconscious movement in search of greater comfort. His chuckle turned into a low, amused sigh. "And then you do that thing," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb your slumber. "You ignore them all, turn back to me with that breathtaking smile, and my heart just… beats like a hummingbird's wings." He fell silent again, content to simply hold you, to watch the moon paint your face in its soft silver light. His worries, for now, were tucked away, replaced by the profound peace of having you in his arms, of knowing that in this quiet haven of shared breaths and whispered fears, he was your home, and you, his refuge. "Having you by my side feels like the universe's way of saying I deserve all the happiness in the world." And so, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Hyunjin held you close, letting the lullaby of his love, sung in hushed tones and gentle touches, carry you deeper into the embrace of sleep. Your dreams, he hoped, would be filled with rainbows and sunshine, a reflection of the joy you brought to his every day.

Felix

The soft thud of bare feet padding on wood was music to your ears, even in slumber. Through the haze of a long day, you felt a familiar rhythm approaching, drawing you back to wakefulness. It was Felix, his eagerness radiating even before he came into view. You peeked a sleepy eye open, just in time to see him skid to a stop on the living room floor, his eyes immediately glinting with joy at the sight of you sprawled on the sofa. "A tiring day, huh?" his voice was a warm whisper, tinged with that familiar playful concern. He reached for the remote, the TV's glow fading into darkness, leaving only the moonlit stage of your shared living room. His gaze lingered on you, tracing the lines of your sleeping face, each soft breath a silent melody in the quiet room. "My friends were giving me an earful today," he chuckled, more to himself than to you, as if confiding in the soft air around you. "They said I'm a hopeless romantic, a fool, stuck waiting for someone who might never make the first move." He shook his head, a touch of self-deprecation in the gesture. "Said I need to tell you how much you mean to me, how I dream of having you as mine." His voice took on a more serious note, dipping even lower, almost afraid to break the spell of your sleep. "And I guess they're right. I can't imagine anyone else making the first move, stealing away the chance to show you my heart on a silver platter." A smile flickered across his lips, hesitant, yet hopeful.

"So maybe..." he trailed off, a question hanging in the air, a promise whispered to the night. Felix swallowed hard, his gaze holding fast to your peaceful slumber. Sunday loomed large in his mind, the art gallery visit taking on a whole new significance. "Asking you to be mine there…makes me a tangled mess of nerves," he admitted, the words tumbling out in a soft rush. His eyes traced the familiar contours of your face, etched with the day's weariness. He shifted slightly, his gaze landing on a collection of your belongings scattered on the coffee table – a well-loved book, a half-knitted scarf, a mug bearing a silly cartoon cat. He reached out, his touch feather-light as he tidied them, creating a constellation of your life against the worn wood. "You have no idea how much I've practiced," he chuckled, the sound barely a whisper. "Like a madman, rehearsing lines in the shower, pacing in the park, even babbling to my bewildered cactus." His smile held a touch of self-effacement, a vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings, even in your sleep. The weight of his unspoken question hung heavy in the air, a melody played on the strings of his love for you. In that quiet space, surrounded by the echoes of his whispered confession and the unspoken promise of Sunday, you drifted deeper into sleep, unaware of the storm of emotions brewing in the heart of the boy beside you.

Seungmin

The soft thud of the apartment door closing seemed impossibly loud in the hushed space. Seungmin tiptoed in, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the window. You, his beautiful angel, were sprawled across the living room couch, lost in the slumber that always seemed to paint your face with an extra layer of serenity. He moved with the stealth of a cat stalking its prey, his every step cushioned by a silent prayer not to disturb your peaceful dreams. Placing the plastic bag of convenience store goodies on the coffee table, he sank into a crouch beside you. In that stillness, your sleeping face became his masterpiece. Your features, usually animated by laughter or furrowed in concentration, were now softened by the gentle brush of sleep. He traced the delicate curve of your jawline with his gaze, his lips curving into a tender smile. "It's still feels like magic," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Even if I think about it a thousand times, even if I wake up tomorrow and it's all a dream…" His voice trailed off, replaced by a sigh that spoke volumes of his disbelief and unyielding joy. His eyes, pools of adoration reflected in the moonlight, drifted from your eyelashes to the small, contented curl of your lips. "That you're mine, and we just fit, you know? Like puzzle pieces carved from the same soul." Seungmin reached out, a hesitant hand pulling the soft throw blanket higher around your shoulders, ensuring you wouldn't feel the night's chill.

The gesture, small yet overflowing with tenderness, spoke of a love that thrived in the quiet moments, in the unspoken promises etched in whispered breaths and soft touches. "I even feel the love," he murmured, his voice barely a tremor against the silence. "The kind I used to wonder if it was just something in fairytales. You make me so happy, Y/N. With you by my side, every day feels like a miracle." His hand, calloused yet gentle, found its way to your head. His fingers brushed through your hair, a comforting rhythm that spoke volumes of unspoken affection. "Never thought I'd fall this hard," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "But then you walked in, and my heart turned into a kaleidoscope of emotions, all swirling around you." A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sound laced with a hint of disbelief. "Never thought I'd be capable of holding so much love for someone, but here we are." He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze tracing the gentle rise and fall of your chest, committing every detail of your sleeping form to memory. Then, with a final, lingering kiss on your forehead, he rose, the quiet guardian of your dreams, forever grateful for the magic that had brought you, his perfect puzzle piece, into his life. With eyes full of devotion, he murmured, "Love you, sweetheart, more than words can express."

Jeongin

Jeongin's thumbs danced across his phone screen, the glow illuminating his face in the quiet room. But the words on the display couldn't compete with the symphony playing out beside him. Your rhythmic breaths, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, were a lullaby he wouldn't trade for any ringtone. He glanced over, a smile curving his lips as he watched you sleep. Your phone, still clutched in your hand, buzzed with the remnants of your conversation, a conversation he hadn't been fully present for. A pang of guilt flickered through him, quickly smothered by the overwhelming tenderness he felt for you. He reached out, careful not to disturb your slumber, and gently pried the phone from your grasp. With a sigh, he placed it on the nightstand, his gaze returning to your peaceful face. In the stillness, his own insecurities began to whisper. "You know what," he murmured, his voice barely louder than a sigh, "sometimes I feel like I'm not a good enough boyfriend for you." The words hung heavy in the air, laced with self-doubt and a yearning to be better. "It's not like I don't want to," he continued, his voice a soft confession. "Even though you're mine, this incredible, beautiful puzzle piece that fits perfectly with me, I still feel this shyness, this awkwardness like I can't quite express what's in my heart." He shifted, his eyes never leaving your face, searching for some hidden sign of disappointment.

"I know I should tell you more often," he whispered, "how much you mean to me, how you light up my world with just your smile. I'm trying, sweetheart, I really am. Just give me time to find the words, to truly open up this clumsy, shy heart of mine to you, to us." He settled beside you, your warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your pajamas. He wasn't a grand gesture kind of guy, not yet. His love bloomed in the mundane, in the shared silences and the comfortable routine that was just beginning to define their 'us.' He worried, sometimes, that it wasn't enough. That his fumbling attempts, his shy pronouncements of 'I like you' whispered into the night, couldn't compete with the grand fireworks of established relationships. The silence returned, but it was no longer empty. It was filled with the unspoken promise of future confessions, of whispered declarations that would one day bloom into a vibrant tapestry of love. Even with his lips sealed, his message resonated in the quiet room. His hand, resting comfortingly on your cheek, spoke volumes. "Even if I don't say it enough," he breathed, his voice barely a tremor against your skin, "you have to know this, sweetheart. I love you. So much." And in that quiet act of vulnerability, Jeongin's shyness seemed to soften, a delicate seed waiting to blossom under the warmth of your understanding. The future stretched before them, a blank canvas ready to be painted with the vibrant colors of their love, a love he would learn to express, word by precious word, until it filled every corner of your shared world.

💬Forget resolutions, let's toast to new beginnings! Consider this a sprinkle of sweetness for your New Year's journey, wishing you joy and good vibes all year long.

©Tinytinyblogs

[14thcommander]

THEY GIVE ME TOOTHACHES JUST FROM KISSING ME | hange x reader

cw: self indulgent fluff, smut, hange is sappy

Hange is an attentive partner. 

You don’t have to tell them you had a bad day, or if you’re going through something – they know it, perhaps due to the way you barely touched your food. They just know. 

So, when you come home from work and find a new vase of fresh flowers on the dining table, you can’t help but smile – taking a deep breath, taking your jacket off and finally settling into your own home. 

The living room lights are dimmed, a light orange color bathing your apartment in a comforting aura. As you take your shoes off, you notice the pillows are carefully aligned on the sofa, which causes you to let out a chuckle as you picture Hange chaotically cleaning the apartment for your own happiness. 

Your heart warms – almost bursts – as your lover comes out of hiding, exiting your shared bedroom on the end of the hallway. They’re wearing comfortable clothes, and their hair is down, gently framing their face. 

“Honey!” They exclaim, excitedly coming towards you, sock covered feet sliding on the carpet. “You’re home.”

The last words sound softer, almost as if Hange is relieved to see you. Their warm hands find yours, squishing them together. 

“C’mon.” They say, a raspy voice sounding gentle and inviting. “Let’s relax a little bit.”

With a light pull on your hands, you follow your lover towards the bathroom. 

You’ve always known Hange is a great partner, however you didn’t expect them to go so over the top tonight. 

It wasn’t a special date, or an anniversary. You’ve just been upset with work, being a little overwhelmed by your worthless colleagues. It didn’t imply, however, Hange would have to do so much for you. 

Still, at the end of the day, Hange is nothing but a giver. 

Your partner lit the expensive candles they were saving for a future date, and put flower petals in the bathtub. The lights were, and the dancing flames were the only thing that allowed you to see your lover properly. In the next room, they put your favorite vinyl to play – the music notes echoed through the apartment, gently. 

“Hange.” You whisper against their lips, as you straddle their lap. Curious fingertips dance along your inner thighs, underneath warm soapy water. 

“Let me do the work, pretty.” they mumble against your lips, placing a kiss on them – then tracing it towards your jawline, and your neck. Their tongue explores your sensitive skin, as they place a love bite on the crook of your neck. “You just gotta relax for me, and let me take care of you. Think you can do that?”

You nod, as a smile blooms on your lips – now puffy from all the kissing and biting. Hange places their left thumb over your mouth, and you instantly open it, as your pussy gets wetter by the second.

“There you go, sweetheart.” They whisper, voice dripping with lust and passion. “You can relax now, it’s okay. I got you.”

Their words intoxicate your brain, like a powerful drug traveling through your veins – it makes you dizzy, as you start to slip into a submissive state. As you suck on their thumb, your lover lets their free hand gently caress your clit, so gently you almost don’t feel it. A chill travels down your spine, setting your body ablaze from the inside out. Hange’s dark brown eyes watch your reactions attentively, almost as if you’re one of their study objects – and, at the end of the day, perhaps you are.  

A couple of digits start to rub against your clit, in figure eight movements. You moan, tongue rolling against their thumb. You grind on their hand, silently asking for more friction, as you feel flames dancing on your skin. 

Your partner looks up at you, smiling wickedly. They look stunning underneath you, but still holding all the power over you. Dark eyes look at you intently, this time not behind thick glasses. Hange’s toned body looks like it was sculpted by the Gods, their slightly tanned skin glowing under the candlelights. Their tits fit perfectly in your hands, as you gently squish them, shortly before rolling your thumbs delicately on their nipples. Your actions earn a moan from Hange, and you smile to yourself, proudly. 

Their experienced fingers keep moving against your clit, faster this time – their touch is precise and confident, because they know your sweet spots like the back of their hand. Your hips move against their moving fingers, as your lover removes their hand from your needy mouth and places it lightly on your neck, not even gripping it – the ghost of a dominant act they like too much. 

Hange likes you like this: willingly submitting yourself to them, accepting whatever fate they give you – with an open heart and open legs. They like to decide things for you, to give your brain a rest, even if only for a few moments. Their fingertips dance beautifully against your sensitive bud, and you feel like there's some external force taking over your body, controlling your movements. 

“You’re so sweet, aren’t ya? So good for me.”

You whine, placing a hand on the back of Hange’s neck and lightly gripping their hair. 

“I know how much you like hearing how proud I am of you, sweetheart.” They whisper, a condescending tone in their voice. “Keep grinding against my hand baby. It’s okay, you don’t have to think anymore.”

You let go, completely. Moaning a mix between “faster” and “ohmygodplease”, you lose yourself in them. The bubble of warmth growing on your lower abdomen reaches its edge, threatening to explode at any time. 

“You’re close, princess?” Hange asks, however you feel like they already know the answer to that. “Go ahead, cum for me, I got you.”

The praise and kind words leaving your partner’s lips sends you over the edge, as your body convulses in pleasure on top of them. It feels like the Earth stutters on its axis, as you grind harder on their hand, feeling your body short-circuit with pleasure. You come down from your high, feeling your muscles burn and the water splash around as your body collapses on top of Hange’s. 

“That’s it… feel better now, sweetheart?” They ask, smiling up at you. 

“Yeah, so much better. Really, thank you for… everything. I love you.”

Zoe’s smile gets wider, more playful.

“I love you more.”

[cynosfunnyjokes]

morning sunlight

characters: tighnari and reader (collei mentioned)

relationship: tighnari x reader

genre: fluff. just fluff.

summary: soft mornings with tighnari were always the best

notes: wowwww sunny actually wrote fluff?? lost the 50/50 for blade so i wrote this to cheer myself up <3 no pronouns used for reader

word count: 664

soft mornings with tighnari were rare, but very much so welcomed.

due to his schedule with being a forest ranger, he was usually always busy- begrudgingly leaving early in the morning before you woke up and arriving home late in the night.

he couldn’t count how many times he had arrived home late to be greeted with the sight of you sleeping soundly on the couch; assumably having falling asleep while waiting for him.

he never failed to pick you up without complaint and carry you off to bed, keeping you close in his embrace before nodding off himself.

but there were days when collei insisted he took it off- convincing him with promises that she and the other rangers could handle it for the day.

and who was he to deny spending time with you?

the sun was rising, light peeking in through the windows and illuminating the room with soft warmth.

with a small yawn, your eyes peeked open, mind still hazy from sleep only to be greeted with the sight of your still-sleeping boyfriend.

tighnari was always so cute when he was asleep. and no matter how much he tried to protest, your opinion never changed. the way his ears twitched every so often and how his face always looked so calm- peaceful.

it was nice to see him so relaxed.

one of his hands held yours, fingers laced together loosely as his head rested on the soft pillow. he was curled on his side, facing your way.

staring at him in awe, you couldn’t stop yourself from bringing your hand up to his face, gently caressing his cheek. his skin was always so soft- it amazed you.

tighnari’s face twitched, his eyes slowly opening upon feeling your gentle touch on his face. a soft yawn left his lips as his ears twitched.

an adorable sight to behold.

seeing tighnari so sleepy in the morning was such a rare feat- but it was easily welcomed with open arms- to have such precious time with him?

you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

his own hand reached up to hold yours that was cupped his cheek, his thumb rubbing along your knuckles softly. “morning, dewdrop..”

archons, his morning voice was amazing.

with a soft smile, you rubbed your thumb gently against his cheek, “morning, nari.” you placed a soft kiss on his nose, drawing a small sigh from him.

suddenly, his arms curled around you, yanking you towards him as he buried his face into your hair. his body was warm- and he wasted no time as he tangled his legs with yours, tail curling around your waist with a small sigh.

you let out a surprised yelp, eyes growing wide as you were suddenly face to face with his chest- but you cuddled up to him regardless.

“you smell nice..” he murmured, nuzzling his nose into your hair, causing you to blush.

“nari..” you sighed, hands moving to gently grasp at his shirt, “shouldn’t we get up? it’s morning..”

“no.” tighnari gave a small noise of displeasure, arms tightening ever so slightly. “let’s stay like this a little longer.. i’ve missed you... please, flower?”

how could you deny him?

“of course.” you sighed, moving to press a soft kiss to his cheek before nuzzling back into his chest comfortably.

it didn’t take long before the room fell into a comfortable silence, both of you wrapped around each other- content and warm.

“i love you, nari..” you whispered, eyes growing heavy as sleep started to take over your mind once again.

“love you too, dewdrop..” his voice was laced with sleep, his eyes already closed as he rubbed his cheek against the top of your head.

his heartbeat was soft, filling your ears like music as you let out a soft sigh- it was so comfortable. his embraces were always ethereal.

the room was silent except for the sound of soft breathing as you fell asleep, comfortably nestled into each other’s arms.