#foolish fragility | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sttoru · 3 months ago

Text

sukuna never understood humans. they always say and do things that annoy him in a way. though after meeting you—his favorite little concubine—that annoyance has slowly started to turn into fondness, something he isn’t ready to accept or even acknowledge.

“come inside and quit your foolishness,” the king of curses groans, sighing for the nth time. his four arms are crossed over his chest and his expression is unreadable. he’s exasperated by your silly antics once more.

it’s raining—pouring—yet you’re outside in the courtyard. you’re smiling from ear to ear as you hop from puddle to puddle, enjoying the cold droplets that continuously fall and wet your skin. “oh, come on! it’s fun,” you giggle, urging sukuna to join you.

the pink-haired man only shakes his head and clenches his jaw. he doesn’t see the fun in being out there when it rains. he doesn’t understand why you’re so happy about getting dirty and wet. the kimono you’re wearing is one he specifically ordered for you and here you are, ruining it.

sukuna wants to get angry, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to raise his voice or show his disdain. the smile on your face and your happy giggles refrain him from doing or saying anything too hurtful.

if it were any of his other concubines, he’d probably have punished them the second he saw them being somewhere they shouldn’t.

but that doesn’t mean sukuna isn’t going to talk you out of it. or try to.

“y’ll get sick, brat. get back here i said,” sukuna calls out with a frown. he lets out a low groan of frustration when you simply continue to walk around happily in the rain. are you seriously not aware of how fragile humans are? being in this cold with little coverage is going to make you sick.

sukuna has had enough of your antics. he stomps forward, not caring about the rain that’s wetting his clothes. he just wants you to get inside and dry. he frowns and opens his mouth, ready to scold you.

however, as he closes the distance between you two, his voice got stuck in his throat. the sight that greets him makes his frown slowly disappear. his eyes wander over your face and body from up close, finally noticing just how beautiful you are while enjoying the stormy weather. the pure joy looks good on you.

you’re soaked, clothes and hair dripping wet, and yet you still manage to captivate him. the carefree smile on your face only adds to your charm. sukuna stops just an arm’s length from you, eyes narrowing.

you turn to face him properly and chuckle. “thank you for coming out to play with me,” you comment half-jokingly. you reach out to hold onto two of sukuna’s hands, tilting your head back to stare at him with those eyes.

those puppy eyes that will make even a ruthless monster like him calm down.

sukuna clears his throat and grumbles, “this is stupid.”

you laugh softly as you notice how he’s trying to hide the effect you have on him, though you know better than to address it directly. you wrap your arms around his waist, your bodies now pressed together. you tilt your head with a teasing grin, “reaaally? is it now?”

sukuna rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make a move to push you away. he can feel every curve of your frame pressing against his through your wet clothes and the sensation sure is tantalising.

his large hands move on their own. two settle on your waist while one other creeps up your back to come tangle into your hair, yanking slightly at the strands to make you tilt your head back.

sukuna leans down, his red eyes focused on your parted lips that are calling out to him. his mouth is on yours before he realises it, claiming you in a fierce kiss.

the rain continues to fall around you two, but neither of you seem to care. you’re too lost in the feeling of each other to pull away from the intimate kiss. your lips are moving in tandem, tongues brushing together.

you only pull away when you run out of air. you breathe heavily as you look up at sukuna, seeing the same yearning reflected in his piercing eyes. it makes your tummy tingle—makes you feel all giddy to know the power you have over such an unfeeling man.

sukuna doesn’t say a thing. the tension between you two is only emphasised by the rain. the continuous pitter patter of the droplets seems to only increase with time, making it harder to see, yet also intensifies the unspoken feelings. perhaps now he can understand what humans find so romantic about being in the rain with their someone.

but there’s this all-consuming thought that drives his mind towards a more dark place. looking at you with your kimono hugging every curve, the water drops dripping down your bare skin and your half-lidded eyes staring at him like he’s all you care about—it’s making the king of curses want to devour you whole. a carnal desire that threatens to take over every time he feels that foolish, sappy emotion which humans call love.

sukuna snaps out of his daze and a muscle in his jaw ticks. he grabs your wrist and cocks his head towards the doors leading inside. “alright, let’s get y’r ass inside,” he huffs and starts dragging you off with him, “i don’t want you complainin’ to me when you get sick, y’hear?”

you whine but now better than to struggle. you walk with him, heart still racing as you think of the intimate kiss you shared. you know you’re the only one who gets the privilege to kiss the king of curses, to be so close to him, to have him indulge your silly requests, to have him look at you with such insatiable desire.

it makes you even giddier thinking about it.

you look up at the back of sukuna’s head as he guides you inside of the palace, attempting to convince him to extend your little romantic outing, “can we do it agai—”

“no.”

well, it was worth a try.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #jjk fic #sukuna fic #jjk imagine #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk x female reader #sukuna x female reader

2K notes · View notes

suiana · 3 months ago

Text

(yandere! ex crush x gn! reader) (cw: gaslighting, self harm)

you don't really remember why you liked him. he was one of those popular kids who only hung out with other popular kids and disrupted class. he was one of those guys who was effortlessly attractive and had the admiration of other girls and guys. he was basically the perfect guy.

you... you were a bit of a nerd. not an outcast, but certainly not popular. you had your own fair share of friends but that was about it. you were just average.

but him.

he...

he was out of your league, that much was certain. you fell for him anyway despite knowing that. maybe it was your teenage brain being delusional, seeing things as signs when there weren't any. when exactly you fell? you think it was because the two of you got paired for a project together in the final year. yes, that was probably when you started to fall for him.

he was nice.

and you fell for that. how foolish.

sure, he gave you attention and spent time with you after class... yeah he might have told you how beautiful you were when you laughed.... hell, he even gave you something you've always wanted all because he wanted to see you smile... but you shouldn't have taken those the romantic way! of course not! it's not like you and him could ever be together. you were too different from each other.

"you thought i liked you?"

his voice.

it was full of disgust. as though he were looking at something utterly filthy. trash. something so simply unworthy of his gaze. yet, there seemed to be a hint of hesitation behind them. as though he were afraid.

"come on, just because i treated you decently for the project... you're a good friend but..."

then it was pity. like you falling for him was something worth pitying. it was like you were a charity case and his attention was his donation. still, his words were hesitant, shaky.

"honestly, i wouldn't have talked to someone like you if it weren't for the project. you really think you're in my league?"

he was rambling at this point, fiddling with his fingers and avoiding eye contact. still, it was very clear how he felt about you. in your eyes, at least. he didn't like you, at all.

everything came crashing down. your fragile teen heart, the infatuation and rose eyed lens watering away as he continues to hurl hurtful things at you. his words seep deep into your wounds, causing the pain to burn even more.

someone like you.

was that how he saw you? just... someone? like you? how little did he think of you to not even address you as your own person? was all that kindness just a facade? did he really... dislike you that much?

"i... forget it. let's just finish the project and never speak about this again."

the unsaid words only left you hurting more. what was he going to say? what did he want to say? you'll never know because you fucked things up by telling him how you felt.

you never talked to him after the project. never looked at him, never spoke about him, you avoided him like he was the plague. even when... did he try approaching you after that? you don't remember. you don't want to remember.

thankfully, he wasn't all that bad. he never told anyone of your confession and you soon graduated high school without any further drama. you wonder if it was out of pity or just disgust. the sheer disgust of being associated with someone like you. of being confessed to by someone like you.

you decided to forget about him after that day and focus on yourself. so what if some guy rejected you? at least you have yourself, that's something.

you went to college, graduated with honors, and got a job in something you loved. all was great and life was good.

until it wasn't.

you saw him again. this time, instead of the popular high school kid, he was your neighbor that just moved in.

"u-uh..."

he had bags under his eyes, skin that was cold to the touch, and an appearance that looked like he was going to pass out at any second. yet he was still as handsome as ever. something about that disheveled look... sure he wasn't that golden boy he was back then but you couldn't deny that he was still handsome. handsome but tired.

you shake your head, temporarily putting those thoughts to the side. first, how were you supposed to greet him? do you act like you know him? act like he wasn't there and just walk off?

"welcome to the apartment complex, you new here?"

he nodded and his eyes lit up.

ah damn it.

thus was the start to your rekindling with him yet again. your ex crush, now your next door neighbor and friend. apparently he ended up in computer science and was unemployed. something about the current job market or whatever he was mumbling about. he moved out of his parent's house to try and find a job in a new place which is why he's here.

you two start out slow. greeting each other in the morning if you come across one another. then it evolved to going to the grocery store together. things were good. and it felt... nice having him around again.

eventually, the two of you end up befriending each other once again. how sweet! old friends rekindling the flame, right? wrong.

"i love you."

it came so suddenly, but also not really. you should've seen the signs and distanced yourself. the blushing, the increased codependency, his entire clingy boyfriend persona even though you're not together... now things have turned out like this and there's absolutely no way you're getting back with him. not when he's your ex-crush.

"uh..."

before you can say anything, he starts apologizing like his feelings are wrong.

"sorry... 'm sorry..."

he was crying. crying. on his knees, face wet with desperation as he dares not to touch you. his fists were clenched tight, nails breaking the skin on his palms as rushed words fall from his lips.

"i know i don't deserve you but please! i can't live without you!"

he wishes he had never said those harmful words all those years again. that ruined everything between the two of you.

he had really fallen for you all those years back in high school. that much was obvious with how much time he spent with you and how you're the only person to this day to remain in his heart.

but he made the mistake of choosing popularity.

back then, he chose his fake friends that didn't want anything to do with losers over his one true love. they saw his affection for you and called him out on it, causing him to panic and leave you in the dust. but it's okay... he's changed! really! couldn't you tell from how you hung out with him lately? he spends all his time with you, gives you gifts, and does whatever you want him too! he really just wants to show his love! honest!

"i can... i can be better! please, don't leave me!"

meanwhile you were just awkwardly standing there, watching as he bawled his eyes out. well... what now? you're not gonna accept him. definitely not.

sure, he has been treating you nicely recently but didn't he treat you nicely back then too? and what happened when you fell for that huh?

"please... just one chance. i won't hurt you again."

he won't hurt you but he will hurt himself. that's just common sense obviously. if you don't want him it must mean there's something wrong with him, and he'll be more than happy to punish himself for that.

anything for you.

"dude i just- you're not really my type."

that's true. you've grown from your high school self and while it is nice to have him as a friend again, you can't see him as a future partner.

he's just not that guy. and that's not the only reason. he's getting too dependent and clingy to you and it's weird. really weird. if that was his definition of treating you better it wasn't a really good one.

you watch silently as he sniffles, rubbing at his eyes before making eye contact again.

"you don't want me?"

you nod.

"really?"

you nod again.

"i guess it's a sign to end it all then..."

wait what?

"no no no- dude you can't kill yourself just because i rejected you!"

"why not? there's nothing to live for if I can't be yours."

the only sounds heard are the sounds of your breathing and his sniffling. the two of you are engaged in a deep staring contest that he wins as you pull away.

damn it, you didn't want him to die. why'd he say that? now things are awkward-

"there's no meaning in my life if you reject me. I'm just a useless man."

you sigh and rub your forehead.

what are you supposed to do now, huh? he's obviously not in the right state of mind and he doesn't seem to want to move unless you accept his confession.

"you-"

"no one likes me..."

okay that's it.

"listen, I'll go on one date. if after that I don't want to date you, please just move on."

there. nothing will go wrong now. he'll be happy and you'll have him as a friend.

"ah..."

unfortunately for you, you've underestimated a man who's desperate to make up for lost time.and he won't stop until he's gotten what he wants.

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere concepts #yandere ex crush #yandere ex crush x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

2K notes · View notes

stevebabey · 2 months ago

Text

pre-steddie, post the events of s4, and some good ol' steve harrington gets some new glasses <3, 2k-ish

There was a time where Steve would've rather died than wear them.

Then he did nearly die—several times over, actually.

But if Steve had to sum up what he actually gained from the horrific annual monster-hunting bullshit—besides the scars and trauma, of course—he would say perspective.

It's a lot easier to see what matters on the other side of the end of the world. Or in Steve's case, it's actually harder to see. And he should've totally been wearing those prescription glasses his parents bought him back in the seventh grade.

Maybe then, instead of an occasionally foggy memory and migraines, he'd be a little better off.

But as things go, he hadn't worn them. No, instead, when he was a foolish 13-year-old, Steve had hidden the glasses. Pretended they got lost. Fibbed while knowing exactly where in the house he'd stashed them.

It had certainly earned him an earful of chastising, as well as an actual sore ear from how his mother had pinched it tightly. But, either way, in the end he'd got what he wanted.

Sure, it definitely made it harder on his grades. More often than not, if Steve didn't cop one of the seats closer to the front of class, he'd earn himself a headache from all his squinting. But it was worth it because at least he wouldn't look uncool. Popular kids never wore glasses.

And then... years later, a couple brushes with his fragile morality, old friends turned enemies and new friends, genuine friends earned... he gets perspective.

This is all to say, Robin finally convinces him to wear his glasses again.

Well, actually, the doctor had been the one to convince he needed to wear them, given all the other problems he'd gathered from his mounting concussions.

Robin had been the one to somewhat bully ("Lovingly!" She'd protest) him into actually wearing them. An uphill battle she had been determined to win, despite all Steve's abject objections.

She won. They'd gotten him new frames, made sure the prescription was up to date and that Steve didn't completely hate the way they looked.

But even though they didn't look anything like the smaller pair still tucked away in a shoebox beneath his bed, collecting dust, there's still a hesitance to wear them.

But... perspective.

It's what Steve keeps trying to hold onto as he scrunches his nose down at the glasses in the case in his hands. The lenses glint in the fluorescents of Family Video.

He huffs and picks them out, unfolding the arms gently. Looking a little stupid was better than getting another migraine at work, he decides.

He stores the case beneath the counter and sits back down at the computer, hands in his laps, the wire-rim glasses in his fingertips.

You put these on and you may as well just declare the 'You Suck' side a forever winner. Some part of him whispers meanly. Not as if you're much of a looker anymore. It's a sliver of that slimy ego lurking within him. Steve's mouth twists as he does his best to shove it away.

It's true, to some extent. That last run-in with the Upside Down had left its mark well and truly. Along his chin, rippling down toward and along his jaw, is a scar where the skin split and had to be patched back together. The discoloration of it makes it impossible to miss.

Robin says chicks dig scars. But even if she's right and not just saying it to banish the sad lilt in his voice, there's still some part of Steve that wants to cling to what once made him important. What made people look at him, pay attention to him.

The point is wearing the glasses isn't just about wearing the glasses.

But Steve also isn't trying to be all about appearances anymore — so if they made him look... worse, then so be it.

He slides them on and tilts his head up, focusing on the screen. The pixels on the computer sharpen and the blurriness of his surroundings saps away, smoothing out his field of vision. Steve blinks.

It's much different to how it was trying them on at the doctor's office. He's in familiar turf now and as he blinks again, looks around, Steve realises how many details he's been missing. Holy shit. Can Robin see this well? All the time?

He can read the things all the way across the room — can parse out the poster titles without having to squint in the slightest. Jesus Christ, should he even have been allowed to drive—

The bell on the door chimes and Steve turns instinctively.

"Oh! Steve, you're wearing them!"

It's Robin, dropped off by none other than Eddie, for the half-shift she shares with Steve on Thursday afternoons. Sure, she could bike from school, but it’s getting icier in the mornings and Steve likes to drop her off before his shift.

Eddie takes the other half. If that means he also meanders into Family Video to hang around for a half hour and talk to Steve? Well, Steve’s got no problem with that at all.

They’re friends. Hard not to be, given the circumstance of their springtime shared together. It's not exactly something Steve ever predicted happening, but considering his newfound perspective, he's taken it in stride as one of the pros of the whole situation.

Except with his newly corrected vision, two things change simultaneously.

Behind Robin, Eddie steps into the Family Video and Steve suddenly sees Eddie Munson with a reverent clarity.

Has Eddie always looked like... that?

With his glasses, Steve can see the true brown in his eyes and the brightness in them as they meet Steve’s own. He can see the sweeping lashes that kiss in the corner, the strong line of his nose.

The curve of Eddie’s bottom lip and the blister in the middle of it, chewed too frequently, pinker than his lips. He sees the faintest of freckles, hidden in his hairline, and—

— he sees the exact moment Eddie clocks the glasses.

Because Eddie stops, midway through the door, full-body stutters and then just halts. The door he'd pulled open swings and hits him in the back.

Right. There's a neon-bright sign from the universe that Steve does, in fact, look as stupid as he feared. Embarrassment wells up inside him, hot and itchy.

Steve whips the glasses off so fast they hit the counter and bounce over, onto the ground.

"Jeez!" Robin jumps, for which Steve can't blame her for considering both he and Eddie made two loud noises in the space of roughly two seconds. She looks over her shoulder to see Eddie's frozen figure and mutters, "Oh, I'm clocking in." Then disappears out the back.

Steve watches her go, already missing the clarity of his glasses but hell if he's putting them back on. Not after that god-awful reaction. They can get trod on by customers for all he cares.

God, okay, so maybe that's an overreaction (those things are expensive) but also, this was the first test in trying them out in public.

Look, Robin's obviously his best-friend but shit, he was hoping she wasn't straight up lying to him telling him they looked good.

How did this turn into 13-year-old Steve's exact nightmare?

Eddie only seems to realise he's still stuck in place when the chime of the door bell sounds once again, alerting Steve of his presence—as if he could ignore that reaction coming in.

Well, at least it was an honest reaction.

How much were contacts again?

Steve pushes back from the counter with a sigh, beginning to head round to retrieve the glasses from the floor. Except, the movement seems to kickstart Eddie and he scrambles forward so that when Steve straightens up, glasses in hand, Eddie's right before him.

Brown eyes wide. Expression... serious?

"You didn't tell me you wore glasses." Eddie says. He sounds almost breathless.

"Yeah, well, not anymore." Steve replies dryly, heading back around the counter.

Eddie tracks him as he goes, looking almost devastated at what he's hearing. He stumbles in closer, palms pressing against the counter, and leans forward as Steve retrieves the case.

"What do you mean? What do you mean not anymore?"

He sounds a little panicked now.

Steve levels him with a flat stare. "C'mon man, I know what a bad reaction looks like when I see one—"

But Eddie's shaking his head furiously, hands flying as he does everything to signal the word no. "Nope, no you do not. That— nuh uh. Will you put them on again? Please?"

"No way!"

"Steve, I promise you that was not a bad reaction. That was- was-" Eddie stammers for the right words before pivoting. "Can you just put them on again? Please put them on again?"

It's the genuineness in Eddie's tone that actually gets Steve to pause. He glances down at the glasses in his hand, hovering midway to the case, and then back up to Eddie.

Is this some elaborate way to make fun of him? No, Eddie wouldn't. But then what?

The pause is long enough for Eddie to spring into action and he slowly reaches out, heading for the glasses in Steve's hands. Eyeing him hesitantly, Steve reluctantly lets him take them from him, unfolding them with his ringed fingers.

Then, he holds them out and up. Through the lenses, he can see the detail of Eddie's face once more and he swallows. His fingertips brush Eddie's as he takes them and slides them back onto his face.

It takes another blink to get used to the change and in this time, Steve notices, Eddie has managed to turn a wonderful shade of pink.

Steve can see it in much better detail than usual as well, can track how it seems to crawl up his neck. He bets the tips of Eddie's ears are red too, hidden amongst his wild curls. He's blushing. He's blushing?

And he's smiling too, this maddening curl to his lips, as he drinks in Steve and his new glasses with a hungry gaze that darts all over his face.

Man, Steve thinks absently, using the moment of quiet to examine all those new details of Eddie's face, how long has Eddie been pretty?

Then Eddie huffs a disbelieving laugh and Steve's stomach drops.

It must show on his face because instantly Eddie's hands are up, waving away the thought in Steve's head. "No, no, no! Not bad! Just... Jesus Christ," He mutters the last part into his shoulder, his face turned away for a moment.

"I just actually didn't think it was, uh," He coughs. "Like, possible for you to get any hotter."

“What?” Steve says.

That's what that reaction was? Something fizzles inside him, suddenly feeling pleased as punch.

“What?” Eddie parrots.

The pink in his face has dipped closer to crimson and if it keeps going that way, Steve reckons he could roast marshmallows over it.

Steve shifts on his feet, reaching up and running a nervous hand through his hair. Sure, he said wanted attention but this is something new, something different. He's not sure if he likes it just yet.

Eddie watches the motion, wide eyes glued to his hand, and when he catches Steve's questioning gaze through his glasses, he does a full 180 turn away from the counter.

"Oh my god, I'm so gay," He mutters, in a breath that Steve probably wasn't supposed to hear.

Steve's eyebrows raise. It sounds like... and he could be wrong here, but it sounds like Eddie likes his new glasses. Very much so.

And that makes Steve feel... good. Really good. Top of his game, one tally in the You Rule side of the board, good.

Eddie turns back and fixes a smile that Steve is sure isn't supposed to look that crazy. Steve reaches up and nudges the glasses further up his nose with his knuckle idly.

"So," Steve says, the uncertainty in his voice not false. "You don't think they look... bad?"

"Nope," Eddie squeaks out.

His smile has gotten a little more deranged. Then, in one big breath he says, "Tell Robin she betrayed me and I'll see you later-bye!" and peels out of the Family Video, the door-chime announcing his departure.

Robin treads out from the back-room, her Family Video vest on now and she surveys the store as she walks. Upon finding only Steve, her brows wrinkle together.

"Where'd Eddie go?"

Steve shrugs. "Dunno. Left in a hurry. Told me to tell you that you betrayed him or somethin'." He makes quotation marks with his fingers.

Robin frowns harder at that, her puzzling face on. A moment later, it melds away into a deviousness that means Steve instantly knows he's missing out on some inside joke. Especially when Robin starts to cackle, laughing so much that she has to hide a snort in her palm.

"What?" Steve all but pouts. "What is it? Tell me."

Robin, still laughing, snags the returns trolley and begins to wander backward. "Trust me, Steve. You'll want to figure this one out on your own. Either way, I think you should wear your glasses around Eddie again. Preferably while I'm there to watch."

She wiggles her brows as she disappears around an aisle, still wandering backward. Steve hears the moment she bumps into a shelf and snickers at her responding ow!

He turns back to the computer and settles in the seat, nudging the glasses up his nose once more. Huh. So Eddie likes the glasses. Maybe they weren't so bad.

And if Steve got to see that blush again, in glorious good-vision detail? Then that wouldn't be so bad either.

#steve will figure it out soon <3 for now he's just 🥰 about being mooned over #heheheh #gay ppl in my phone ill be honest i have no clue what this is #written in the span of an afternoon in not my usual style at all #is it a fic? idk!#but u can have it <3 #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #pre steddie #stranger things #uhhhhhhhhh. yeah 🙂‍↕️

920 notes · View notes

whosashan · 3 months ago

Text

SELF-DOUBT

Pt. 2

PAIRING: Love and Deepspace men x reader (reader is implied to be the MC in Caleb's part)

SYNOPSIS: Doubt creeps in, unraveling the fragile thread between you, pulling you further from him before anything even takes shape. (relationship not established)

A/N: I wrote this with a glint of mischief—hope you enjoy it!

Xavier

You sat on a bench, swallowed by the vast silence of the night. Darkness draped over you like a heavy cloak, its quiet lull almost enough to pull you into slumber. Almost. But no matter how exhausted you were, sleep never came. The streets stretched empty before you, hollow and waiting, save for the restless whisper of leaves dancing in the wind.

Beside you sat a half-empty bottle of wine, an offering to quiet the storm in your mind. But instead of drowning your thoughts, it only seemed to amplify them, making every ache more vivid, every insecurity more unbearable.

You were burning—boiling in the realization of how effortlessly Xavier existed.

How carelessly he moved through life, how mistakes never seemed to chain him down. He would stumble, but he would never fall. And if he did, he would rise again, never sparing the past a second glance.

He was magnetic in ways he didn’t even try to be. People were drawn to him, lured by something unseen, something inexplicable. A presence so commanding, so sure. The kind of certainty you would never know.

And you—you were nothing like him.

Every small misstep clung to you like an unforgiving shadow, dragging you back, keeping you tethered to doubt. You were plain where he was extraordinary. Silent where he was effortlessly captivating. A mere bystander in the presence of someone who burned so brightly, he could outshine even the stars.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your palms against your temple, trying to steady yourself.

You were unfit for him.

He was a constellation—distant, celestial, unreachable. While you were the remnants of a flower long past its bloom, wilting under the weight of your own self-doubt. Once, perhaps, you had been something more. But now? Now you were just a shell of what you wished to be.

The thought alone made your head throb, your chest ache in that quiet, suffocating way that reminded you you were still alive.

How ridiculous—how utterly foolish—to believe you could ever be his equal. That you could be worthy of his attention, his time, his kindness. The very same kindness so many others already fought for, already deserved far more than you ever could.

Your gaze drifted upward, meeting the expanse of the sky. A tear slipped free, streaking down your flushed cheek. You let it fall. For once, you wished you could have something that was meant to be yours. Just one thing. Just this.

But fate had never been kind. And you had long since learned that some wishes were never meant to be answered.

Your phone buzzed, the brightness of the screen making you squint.

"You up?"

Xavier.

Probably wanting to watch a movie, play that new game he wouldn’t stop talking about. Something easy, something simple.

But doubt had already woven its way into your bones. You weren’t going to reply. You weren’t going to pretend.

And then, the phone rang.

You should have ignored it. You should have let it ring into oblivion. But maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the ache in your chest—whatever it was, you answered.

"So you're not asleep."

His voice was soft, wrapped in that familiar gentleness you had always admired. No matter what happened, no matter what he said, there was always that warmth beneath his words.

It was unbearable.

"You should stop contacting me." The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, sharp and cruel, colliding violently with the tenderness of his voice. "I don’t want to speak to you."

A lie. A desperate, pathetic lie.

Silence. You could almost picture his expression—the slight furrow in his brows, the way his lips would part just slightly in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" His voice, once steady, wavered with the weight of worry. "What happened?"

You hated it. Hated that he cared. Hated that he was giving you an out, a chance to explain. Hated that he was proving, yet again, that he was good, too good.

And you? You were selfish. Weak.

"Goodnight, Xavier."

You didn’t wait for his response. Didn’t let yourself hesitate. You hung up, turned off your phone, and let the silence settle in.

It was just you and the stars now.

You wondered if he was looking at them too. If he could feel the weight of your absence the way you felt the unbearable gravity of his presence.

For now, you convinced yourself you were doing him a favor. Letting him go. Giving him the freedom to chase something greater, something more.

Because that something could never be you.

Zayne

Zayne was the kind of man who belonged to the world. A man of purpose, of unwavering resolve—one who mended shattered lives and stitched together the fragile threads of existence. He was a savior, a beacon, the kind of person people clung to in their darkest moments, the reason they saw another sunrise.

And you hated how much you envied him.

Because you, too, had once longed to be someone like that—needed, irreplaceable. Someone whose absence would be felt, whose existence bore meaning beyond the mundane. But the truth was far less poetic. You were no savior, no guiding light. You were painfully, cruelly ordinary.

Drifting through life on autopilot, grasping at dreams that always seemed just beyond reach. And then there was him—Zayne, the ever-composed gentleman. The embodiment of grace under pressure. Always calm. Always certain. Always right. And perhaps, in some twisted way, that certainty made you resent him. Because deep down, a part of you whispered—maybe you could have been that, too. Maybe, in another life, you would have stood beside him as an equal.

But you weren’t his equal. You were a footnote in his story, an afterthought. And it was foolish—so terribly foolish—to believe you had ever belonged in his orbit. To think, even for a fleeting moment, that you were worthy of his time, his presence, his affection.

Yet a quiet, desperate part of you clung to the fragile hope that perhaps—just perhaps—he needed something ordinary to anchor his brilliance. That in the midst of his immaculate world, he might have craved something simple, something real. That maybe, against all logic, there had been a space for you beside him.

But hope was a dangerous thing. And you had long since learned to silence it.

The notification of a new message shattered the silence of your thoughts. You glanced at your phone, breath hitching as Zayne’s name appeared on the screen.

"You’ve been awfully quiet these past couple of days. Is something bothering you?"

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t type a response. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You had become quite skilled at keeping your distance. At building walls around the parts of yourself that longed for him in ways you couldn’t control. And now, as your feelings for him grew into something perilous, something unbearable, your instinct was to retreat. To destroy what little remained before it could destroy you.

You prayed he wouldn’t push. That he would let you slip away unnoticed. But deep down, you knew better. Because Zayne was kind. So painfully, frustratingly kind. And his kindness made you furious.

You didn’t want his concern. You didn’t want his pity.

And then—the phone rang.

You stared at it, heartbeat hammering in your ears. For a moment, you almost answered. Almost let yourself believe in the impossible.

But instead, you let it ring.

It was better this way. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you would keep telling yourself, over and over again, until the bitterness was all that remained.

Every time you stepped outside your apartment, a quiet dread curled around your ribs, squeezing tight. You feared crossing paths with him—not because you despised him, but because you feared what his presence would unravel within you. Would he say anything? Would he even care?

You followed a familiar path, the one your feet had traced countless times before. The setting sun stretched long, spindly shadows across the pavement, casting the world in hues of gold and sorrow. The evening breeze whispered against your skin, grounding you in the present, yet your mind was elsewhere—trapped in memories you had no strength to relive.

You sought solace in the scent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries, in the soft murmur of a café that had once been a haven. But even that, it seemed, was not yours to keep.

As you scanned the display, preparing to order, a voice—low, steady, unmistakable—cut through the air behind you.

"A slice of cheesecake for me, and—" a pause, deliberate and weighted, "_____ for the lady."

Your heart clenched. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t turn around—you couldn’t. But your fingers curled at your sides as if bracing for impact.

He remembered.

Even after everything, he still remembered.

Silence stretched between you like a fragile thread, taut with everything left unsaid. You should have walked away. You should have spoken, filled the empty space with something, anything. But hope—foolish, insidious hope—kept you rooted in place.

"Would you grant me a moment of honesty?" His voice, smooth and measured, held an undertone you couldn't quite place. A plea? A demand? Perhaps both.

You swallowed, your gaze fixed on the counter. "I'm not sure what you'd like to talk about."

"Come now," he said, his tone impossibly gentle, "do not insult my intelligence—or yours—by feigning ignorance. We are both aware of the distance you have so carefully placed between us. I only wish to understand why."

There it was. Direct, articulate, impossible to misinterpret.

Panic stirred in your chest, a quiet, insistent thing.

"Zayne, please—"

"Please what?" His voice softened, yet his words remained precise, deliberate. "Pretend I have not noticed your absence? Ignore the way you avert your gaze, as if the very sight of me has become a burden you can no longer bear? Is that truly what you wish of me?"

Your breath hitched.

"Sometimes," you whispered, "some things are best left unknown."

You turned before he could see the way your expression crumbled. Before he could see the way your hands trembled at your sides.

The café door chimed as you stepped outside. The reason you had come here in the first place—the pastry he had ordered for you—lay forgotten.

But he didn’t follow.

He didn’t reach for you.

And that, somehow, was the cruelest part of all.

Left standing in the empty hollow of your own choices, you wondered—was this truly the only way? Or had you simply chosen the path that hurt the most, just to prove to yourself that you still felt something at all?

Rafayel

It was all too easy to drown in self-doubt when standing beside Rafayel.

He moved through life with an effortless grace, as if uncertainty had never dared lay its hands on him. Confidence clung to his every step, an unshakable certainty in the way he spoke, the way he created, the way he existed. No matter the circumstance, he would find a way—because that’s just the kind of person he was.

And you? You were a spectator in his orbit, a mere shadow to his brilliance.

You hated how easily he captivated others, how rooms seemed to hush when he entered, drawn in by the cruel beauty he possessed—not just in his features, but in his very being. There was something infuriatingly magnetic about him, something that made people linger, hoping for even a fraction of his attention.

And you? You lingered too.

Not because of his art, though his talent was undeniable. Not because of the way the world adored him, though it was impossible to ignore. But because he was him—a force of nature, a storm and a masterpiece all at once.

You tried to keep up, you truly did. But no matter how quickly you ran, he was always ahead. Already reaching new heights, already standing atop mountains you hadn’t even begun to climb.

Rafayel was the ocean—vast, unknowable, and devastatingly beautiful. Deep with mysteries, with uncharted depths you would never be allowed to explore. You had always been afraid of drowning, but with him, you almost welcomed it.

How pathetic.

You resented how easily he had wrapped you around his finger, how effortlessly he kept you tethered without even noticing. You were there, always there, like a loyal dog at his heels, waiting for scraps of attention, pretending it was enough.

But it wasn’t. And deep down, you had always known it wouldn’t be. You wanted to be selfish, just this once.

Because one day, he would move on. He would walk into a world filled with greater things, greater people, and you would be left behind—forgotten, discarded, chained to memories he would not care to revisit.

You refused to let that happen. You refused to be another fleeting thing in his life, another season passing unnoticed. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do—you vanished before he could make the choice himself. You let yourself slip away, gradually, like the last breath of winter surrendering to spring.

Your phone buzzed. Unread messages. Missed calls. His name appearing again and again on the screen.

You read them. Or, at least, you skimmed the words before doubt crept in, wrapping itself around your throat like an invisible hand. You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let him see you like this, drowning in the weight of emotions you could never voice.

"Cutieee, did you forget about my art exhibit??? You were supposed to be there."

No, it was better this way. You would return to the life you had before him—a quiet, simple life, untouched by the chaos he had introduced into your world. A life of routine, of predictability. That was what you needed, wasn’t it?

Then why did it feel like suffocating?

You exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch. The room was messier than usual—evidence of his recent visit, his presence lingering in every overturned book, every misplaced sketch, every forgotten jacket draped over the chair.

You refused to clean it up. Not yet.

Not yet.

Your fingers hovered over your phone, mindlessly scrolling—until an advertisement flashed across the screen.

His new exhibit. His name in bold letters, his work displayed for the world to marvel at.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that would erase the ache in your chest. As if it would silence the part of you that still longed to be near him, even now.

But longing was dangerous. It was cruel, deceptive.

Your jaw tightened as you closed your phone, fingers moving with practiced finality. One tap. Then another.

Blocked.

You shut your eyes, swallowing down the lump in your throat, willing yourself to believe the lie you had been repeating for days.

It’s okay.

You’ll figure it out.

Even if it kills you.

Sylus

The night air curled around you like an old lover—cold, indifferent, familiar. It filled your lungs, sharp and biting, yet no matter how deeply you inhaled, it wasn’t enough. You were suffocating, drowning in something invisible, something that clung to your ribs like a parasite.

The glass of wine in your trembling hand felt like an anchor. Heavy, grounding. The very same wine Sylus had once recommended, his voice smooth as he described its velvety texture, its lingering finish. You had listened, hung onto every syllable, because that was what you did with him. You listened. You remembered. You cared. And you hoped he did, too.

Your reflection in the glass balcony doors was pitiful—ruined mascara streaking your face like ghostly remnants of hope, smudged lipstick from where you had worried at your lip too many times. You looked desperate. Because you were desperate. And wasn't that the most humiliating thing?

You were nothing more than a fool playing house in a mansion you were never meant to enter. A child trying to hold onto a storm and then crying when it slipped through their fingers.

Because it had slipped.

You had slipped.

Sylus had made you believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that you could be something—someone—to him. That you were different, special. That the way his gaze lingered meant something, that his rare smiles were meant for you alone.

What a lie. What a cruel, beautiful lie.

You tilted your head back and emptied your glass in one swallow. The burn was sharp, but it was nothing compared to the fire in your chest.

Foolish.Pathetic.Naïve.

You had let yourself believe you could matter to a man like Sylus.

Sylus, who was untouchable. Who could have anything and anyone. A man whose very presence commanded rooms, whose name carried weight heavier than entire empires. He was revered, feared, an unstoppable force of nature.

And you?

You were nothing.

A momentary amusement, an interlude between greater things.

The worst part?

He had never once given you a reason to think this way. Never lied to you. Never made empty promises.

No—this was all you. Your own mind, your own doubts, curling around you like a noose, squeezing, whispering, you are not enough, you were never enough, you will never be enough.

Your phone buzzed against the railing, the sudden vibration slicing through the quiet. You didn't need to look to know who it was.

Sylus.

Of course.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you let your eyes fall to the lock screen, to the photo you refused to delete—Sylus, asleep, his features unguarded, softened in a way you rarely got to see. It had been a stolen moment, a cruel mercy the universe had given you, because you had wanted to believe he was yours in that moment.

But he wasn’t.

And he never would be.

Your chest ached so deeply it felt like your ribs would crack under the pressure.

You should block his number. End it now before it consumes you whole.

But you couldn’t. Because you were weak. Because even now, when every voice in your head screamed at you to run, you wanted him to call again.

You wanted him to tell you you were wrong.

You wanted him to chase after you, to demand answers, to prove you wrong.

But he wouldn’t.

Because Sylus didn’t need you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the most painful part of it all.

With a heavy exhale, you turned off your phone, shutting out the only person who had ever made you feel alive.

For now, you would convince yourself this was the right choice.

That you were doing this to protect yourself.

That you weren’t just running away before he had the chance to leave first.

Caleb

Oh, how much you loved and hated that man.

Caleb, the golden child. The one who had always been effortlessly everything.

The one who turned heads when he entered a room—not just because of his sharp jaw or the way his stupidly soft hair always fell into his eyes, but because he was Caleb. Because he had that energy, that confidence, that natural magnetism that made people want to be close to him.

And you—well, you were just the one who had always been there.

The one who followed a step behind, the one who laughed at his ridiculous jokes even when they weren’t funny, the one who made sure he stayed grounded when his reckless nature got the best of him. His constant. His safe place.

But never his choice.

Never the one he reached for in the way you reached for him.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling of your dimly lit room, your fingers gripping your phone like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. The screen glowed softly, Caleb’s name lighting up in the dark.

Missed call.

Another missed call.

A message: "Pipsqueak, Where are you? You good?"

It was almost funny. Caleb always knew when something was wrong. Always had that frustrating intuition when it came to you.

And yet—he never really knew.

He didn’t know what it was like to stand beside someone so bright, so undeniable, and feel like you were flickering out. Like you were just background noise in a song that was never really yours.

You clenched your jaw, heart twisting painfully. It was suffocating—this love, this stupid, unwanted love that had lodged itself in your ribs, too deep to remove without destroying something vital.

God, how had it come to this?

When had your best friend become the thing that hurt you the most?

You weren’t even sure when the shift happened. Maybe it was the first time you realized how beautiful he looked under streetlights, his laughter warm enough to make your chest ache. Or maybe it was when you started noticing the way his lips curved just slightly before he smirked—like he already knew exactly what you were thinking. Maybe it was the nights he snuck to your room just to ramble about some nonsense, and you let yourself believe—for those fleeting moments—that you were the person he wanted to be with.

Maybe it had always been this way, and you were just too blind, too hopeful to acknowledge it.

But hope was a dangerous thing. And you were so tired of losing to it.

Your phone buzzed again. Another call.

You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers trembling.

You wanted to answer.

You wanted to hear his voice, let him pull you back in with that stupid, teasing warmth, let him fix this in the way only Caleb could—without even realizing what needed fixing.

But you couldn’t.

Because every second you spent with him, you fell a little deeper. And Caleb… Caleb never even noticed he was holding the rope that could either pull you up or let you drown.

Your throat burned as you stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the call.

And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself imagine what it would be like. If you answered. If you told him everything. If you laid your heart bare and let him see just how much of it he had taken without even trying.

Would he laugh? Would he be kind? Would he let you down gently, tell you that you were important to him, but not in the way you wanted?

Or worse—would he pity you?

The thought made something inside you shatter.

No.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t let yourself be that vulnerable.

So instead, you did what you had always done. You swallowed the ache, buried the yearning deep where he would never find it, and turned off your phone.

Maybe in another life, things would have been different.

Maybe in another life, Caleb would have looked at you the way you looked at him.

But in this one?

You were meant to love him in silence.

And he was never meant to hear it.

833 notes · View notes

shaiyasstuff · 2 months ago

Text

fate | rafayel | sequel

synopsis : Who are we to stand in the line of fate? That was what you used to think. content : fluff, rafayel x non-mc!reader, a happy ending since there were so many requests for part two

One bullet.

Clean. Fatal. Head.

Another bullet.

Missed—close, but enough to remind you you were still breathing.

You were back at the range. Again.

It had become your sanctuary. Or maybe your penance.

Five days.

That’s how long it’s been since Shaiya and Rafayel found you curled up on the beach, lost somewhere between sleep and surrender.

Five days since you’d let go of that last fragile thread of hope.

Because whatever you were waiting for—whatever foolish, aching part of you still believed—wasn’t coming.

It never was.

Because who were you to stand in the line of fate?

The echo of gunfire fades, swallowed by the cavernous stillness of the room. You lower the weapon slowly, slipping it back into its holster with practiced ease.

Footsteps behind you.

You don’t need to turn. You already know.

“I’m fine,” you say before she can open her mouth, forcing a smile as you dust off your hands. “You don’t have to check on me like I’m a child.”

Shaiya chuckles, light, warm. “I know. I just…”

She hesitates. “I was worried. You scared me.”

There it is again—that soft pang in your chest. The one that always came when she looked at you like you mattered. Like you were worth something.

Standing in front of you was the girl who unknowingly stood between you and the one thing you couldn’t stop wanting.

And still—you couldn’t hate her. Not when she was like this. Not when her kindness reached you in places nothing else could.

“Rafayel’s been asking about you,” she says casually, and your jaw clenches, just for a second.

You look away.

Of course he has.

But not to you.

He hadn’t shown up since that day—when he left without a word and slammed the door so hard it echoed for hours.

“Did he now,” you murmur, fiddling with your holster again like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Shaiya nods, watching you carefully. “Did something… happen between you two?” she asks gently.

You look at her. She’s calm. Thoughtful.

So perfect it almost hurts.

Would telling her change anything?

Would she understand?

Would it make you feel better, saying it out loud?

Probably not.

So you give her a shrug instead.

“No,” you lie, soft and bitter. “Nothing happened.”

The words burn on your tongue, but you swallow them down with the rest of the things you’ll never say.

She holds your gaze for a moment longer, like she knows there’s more but won’t press.

“I told him he should call you,” she says finally. “He kept brushing it off. Said something about how clueless you can be.”

You freeze.

The world stills for half a second.

That stupid flicker again—hope. Always rising from the ashes, uninvited. You hate it. You need it.

You offer a small smile. “Maybe I’ll talk to him.”

Shaiya grins. “Good. Because he’s driving me crazy. Get him off my back, will you?”

She waves and heads out, leaving you alone in the empty range.

Alone with the echo of her words.

Clueless.

You repeat it under your breath like a riddle.

“What did he mean?”

You don’t notice the shadow behind the wall. The quiet figure watching from just out of sight.

Rafayel.

—•

The moonlight spills like silver ink across your apartment floor as you sink into the couch, muscles heavy with exhaustion. You groan softly, letting your head fall back.

Your hand fishes your phone from your pocket.

11:48 p.m.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering over nothing.

And then, quietly, you wonder—

What is he doing right now?

Was he annoying Shaiya again, hovering too close in that boyish, oblivious way of his? Was he in his studio, fingers stained with paint, lost in a world he never let you see?

Or was he standing on the other side of your door?

You stand slowly, unsure what draws you forward, only that your feet are already moving. Already at the threshold.

“If he’s there, he’s there,” you mumble, hand on the doorknob. “That’s it.”

But then—

“What if he isn’t?”

And just like that, you pause.

What would you even say if he was?

You’ve never said anything before. Never dared to touch the truth of what you feel.

What makes tonight any different?

You shake your head, scoffing under your breath.

“You dumbass,” you whisper to yourself.

And still, you open the door.

Because even if fate had chosen someone else, even if you were never meant to be written into his story—

Some small, stubborn, reckless part of you wanted to defy it.

Just once.

You squint, eyes adjusting slowly to the pale light pooling in the hallway.

At first, it’s just a silhouette. Then—A familiar mop of tousled lilac hair.

And those eyes—those ridiculous, impossible eyes—somewhere between the ocean before a storm and the sky just before sunrise.

Rafayel.

A boyish grin tugs at his lips when your gaze locks with his.

And you freeze.

He’s here.

He’s really here.

Your heart stutters in your chest, wild and disoriented, as your body stays rooted in place, too overwhelmed to decide what to feel.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, his voice rushed, anxious, as if afraid you’ll shut the door before he can say more.

You blink at him, stunned. Words scatter like leaves in the wind. What is he doing here? After everything, after five days of silence and slammed doors and missed meaning—why now?

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor. “I didn’t know,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work through his own confusion.

“How you felt. I mean, I always brushed it off because I thought…”

He trails off, the pause longer than it needs to be, and then—

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

A breath.

“…That way.”

And finally, finally, his eyes meet yours.

The world tilts.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

“Huh?”

That’s all your mouth manages.

Not “what are you saying,” or “why now,” or “you idiot, I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Just that soft, bewildered sound. Like the universe just broke its rules in front of you, and you’re still waiting for the punchline.

He shifts on his feet, lips twitching nervously. “I’m not good at this,” he mutters, half to himself. “But I had to come. Because you opened the door. And I hoped—I really hoped you would.”

And suddenly, you’re not sure if you’re breathing at all.

He grabs your shoulders—not roughly, but with a kind of urgency that makes the world sharpen around the edges. His touch grounds you, and suddenly, you’re sure—

The universe is finally, impossibly, on your side.

“I like you, Y/N. No—wait, I love you,” he says, voice cracking with emotion. “Loved you. All this time.”

His eyes are wide, vulnerable, brimming with something wild and scared. And real.

“I’m sorry I confused you. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize. I’m sorry I hurt you,” he keeps going, the words tumbling out in a rush, like he’s afraid if he stops, this moment might vanish, or worse—you might walk away.

You’re still frozen, heart thundering in your ears, head spinning. But then something snaps inside you—not painfully, just enough to pull you back to the now.

You reach up and place your hands gently on his arms, still gripping your shoulders.

His head jerks up at the touch, eyes locking onto yours—still afraid. Still unsure.

And you smile.

That’s when his worry deepens into panic. Because now there are tears spilling down your cheeks—silent, steady, unstoppable.

“W-Woah, hey—!” he stammers, hands flying up to your face in alarm, wiping at the wetness with shaking fingers. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry—what did I do—?”

You blink, dazed, lifting your own hands to your cheeks. The tears keep falling, and you don’t even remember when they started. You hadn’t planned to cry. You hadn’t planned for any of this.

And then your knees give out beneath you. Not from sorrow this time, but from the sheer weight of relief.

You sink to the floor, breath shuddering as Rafayel catches you, arms instantly wrapping around you like a net made of everything you’ve ever wanted but never dared to ask for.

Your fingers curl into his shirt. Your forehead presses to his chest.

“Is this real?” you choke, voice raw and trembling.

He holds you tighter, as if to prove it, his voice a whisper against your hair.

“It is. I promise you—it is.”

“I thought—”

The sob ripped out of you before you could stop it, raw and trembling, every word soaked in the ache you’d buried for so long.

“I thought you would never see me that way. That it was always going to be Shaiya.”

Your voice cracked at her name, your whole chest twisting with the confession. You looked up at him, face streaked with tears, the question you’d never dared ask burning in your throat.

“You told me that story… the one about your scales—” you choked, the memory of it splintering inside you. “That your heart was bound to hers…”

Rafayel’s eyes widened, devastated.

He shook his head, urgently, as if trying to erase every word you’d just said, every hurt it carried.

“No,” he whispered, hands flying to your cheeks, cradling your face like it was the most fragile, sacred thing in the world.

His thumbs brushed your tears away, and this time he leaned closer, eyes burning into yours with something fierce and unwavering.

“None of that mattered the moment I met you.”

The words landed like lightning in your chest.

“I didn’t know what it was at first,” he went on, voice thick with emotion, “But you—you made me feel like I’d been sleepwalking through every lifetime until this one.”

You stared at him, breath caught, and for the first time in forever, you felt it.

Not just hope.

Certainty.

“Screw fate,” he breathes, voice rough with conviction. “Screw all that.”

His arms tighten around you as he pulls you flush against his chest, like he’s trying to shield you from everything—even the stars.

“You’re the most important to me,” he murmurs fiercely, burying his face into your hair, breath warm against your scalp. “Not some fate-written bullshit. You.”

You tremble in his hold, sobs quieting just enough to feel the way his heart is racing beneath your cheek—fast and real, like it’s beating just for you.

“Stop crying,” he whispers, softer now, voice breaking around the edges. “Shh… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay.”

And this time, when you close your eyes against his shoulder, it’s not in grief.

It’s in the slow, overwhelming realization that maybe—just maybe—this time, love chose you back.

Your head shot up again, breath catching, panic flaring in your chest as your fingers clutched his arm—tight, desperate, enough to make him flinch.

“Shai—”

“She knows,” Rafayel cuts in gently, before you can say another word. “She knew. The whole time.”

You go still. The wind outside could’ve stopped and you wouldn’t have noticed.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Just stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, eyes searching yours, full of guilt and something deeper. “I know how it must’ve looked. How I was always with her. But—” he swallows, his voice catching, “it wasn’t because I loved her.”

He licks his lips, and his hands cradle your face again, his thumbs resting beneath your eyes as if he’s afraid you’ll start crying all over again.

“She was the only one I could go to,” he confesses, voice just above a whisper. “The only one I trusted… to tell how I felt about you.”

It hits you like a wave—sharp, cold, and then warm, like everything you’d been aching for was finally surfacing.

Every moment you thought he was choosing her—

He was only ever trying to understand what you meant to him.

And somehow, she knew before even you did.

“I’m stupid,” he mutters, a sheepish look flickering across his face. “I say things without thinking. I know.”

There’s an apology in his voice, unpolished and honest, as if he’s laying himself bare for the first time.

And despite everything—despite the ache, the confusion, the tears—

a soft, breathy laugh escapes your lips.

It catches you off guard.

Because all at once, the memories rush in—

the way he hovered when you were quiet for too long,

how he always brought your favorite snacks back from missions without asking,

how he’d search the crowd until his eyes found yours, even when Shaiya was right beside him.

The way he always noticed when something was off, even when you said you were fine.

He’d been showing you his heart, clumsily, messily, loudly, and yet—

You convinced yourself it wasn’t real.

You convinced yourself that fate had no room for a love like this.

And maybe… maybe you were wrong.

Rafayel blinked at you, startled by your sudden laughter.

“Did I say something funny?” he asks cautiously, lips curving just slightly, hopeful.

You shake your head, smile trembling through your tears. “No. Just… me. I was so sure none of it meant anything.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“It meant everything,” he whispers.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, breathless, hopeful, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world.

You smile—soft, radiant, a little shaky—and nod.

A wave of relief washes over his face so quickly it nearly makes you laugh again. He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath for years.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent, “how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

And then—he moves.

No hesitation.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, hands cupping your face as his lips find yours.

The kiss isn’t tentative. It isn’t shy or delicate or fleeting.

It’s real.

All the longing you buried in silence, all the moments he loved you without saying a word, all the ache and confusion and heartbreak—

It all crashes together in that single, breath-stealing moment.

It’s not rough, but it’s not gentle either.

It’s everything you both couldn’t say, finally spoken in the language of skin and breath and trembling mouths.

And when he pulls back, just barely, just enough to rest his forehead against yours again, you’re both breathless and smiling and finally, finally seen.

“Still think fate’s unbeatable?” he whispers.

You hit his chest as he chuckles, but you don’t retort.

Because for the first time in a long, long while—you don’t.

masterlist

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lnds x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lnds #l&ds x reader #rafayel angst #l&ds rafayel #rafayel x y/n #rafayel fluff #rafayel x mc #rafayel x you #love and deep space rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x non mc

762 notes · View notes

kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

Text

Worlds Apart | C.Seungcheol

Popular!Seungcheol x Scholar!Reader Trope: Angsty Lovers | Second Chances (kinda) | Push-and-Pull Romance Warnings: Heavy Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Intense Feelings | Mentions of Self-Worth Issues | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE Synopsis: You tried to walk away. You told yourself it was for the best. That Seungcheol’s world was too bright, too untouchable for someone like you. But when he kneels before you, hands trembling, eyes filled with a love you don’t think you deserve—you start to wonder if you’ve been running from the wrong thing all along. Word count: 4.2k Reading Time: 15-ish mins Author’s note: This is a heavy, emotion-driven piece that explores love, self-worth, and the struggle of letting yourself be loved. Hope you enjoy the angst- (I cried while typing- Got no idea WHY i am writing so much angst- It scares me haha) Have an amazing day/night y'll!!

You were fine being invisible. It was safer that way. No attention, no judgment, no cruel words whispered behind your back.

A quiet existence, a solitary path, a refuge from the harsh realities of a world that didn’t seem to have a place for you. You learned to blend into the background, to become a shadow, a whisper, a footnote in the grand narrative of the university.

And then Seungcheol noticed you.

He didn’t just see you; he saw you. He dragged you into the light, not with a forceful hand, but with a gentle persistence that chipped away at the walls you had so carefully built. He sat next to you in the bustling cafeteria, his presence a shield against the judging eyes, his laughter a melody that drowned out the whispers.

He fought for you, not in grand, dramatic gestures, but in subtle, unwavering ways—a quiet defense against the casual cruelty of his peers, a silent promise that you weren’t alone. He walked you home after your late-night shifts, filling the silence with laughter and stories, making you feel like you weren’t just a scholarship student working two jobs to survive in a private university full of people who would never know what it meant to struggle. He saw the fire in your eyes, the resilience in your spirit, the quiet strength that you kept hidden from the world.

He made you feel like you belonged. Like you were seen, valued, cherished. He made you feel like you were worthy.

But people like you? You don’t get happy endings. The world doesn't allow it. The universe doesn't permit it. You were a realist, after all. You understood the rules of the game.

Because someone—one of his rich, entitled friends—hurts you. Maybe it’s words, sharp and cutting, designed to wound. Maybe it’s something worse, a subtle act of sabotage, a calculated humiliation. Either way, it’s enough to break you, to shatter the fragile hope that Seungcheol had ignited within you.

It happened after the game. The roar of the crowd, the blinding lights, the electric energy of victory—it was a world you had only ever observed from the periphery, a spectacle you watched from the shadows. Seungcheol, the star, the hero, the center of everyone's attention, had led the team to another championship win. The arena was a sea of adoring faces, chanting his name, their voices a symphony of praise.

You stayed at the very back, a shadow in the corner, a silent observer. You were the stagehand, the unseen hand that ensured the show went on, the unsung hero who worked tirelessly behind the scenes. You were only here because you were in charge of managing the after-party setup, a duty assigned to you as part of your scholarship work, a constant reminder of your place in this world. You were just the nobody scholarship student working behind the scenes, running around with a clipboard while the real students—the ones who actually belonged here—partied like they ruled the world.

Seungcheol caught your eyes right before he was hoisted onto shoulders. For a fleeting moment, a foolish, reckless hope sparked in your chest, a dangerous flicker of belief. That maybe, just maybe, he would see you, would choose you, would break through the sea of adoring faces and come to you first. That maybe, just maybe, you were something more than a fleeting interest, a passing fancy.

But then a voice shattered that fragile illusion, a voice laced with venom and disdain, a cruel reminder of your place.

“You really thought he’d run to you?”

You turned, your heart sinking, your breath catching in your throat. A group of students stood there, their designer clothes and arrogant expressions a stark contrast to your worn uniform, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and contempt. Seungcheol’s friends, the ones who always looked at you like you were an unwelcome guest, a stain on their perfect world.

One of them, a girl named Mina, with perfect hair and cruel eyes, stepped forward, her voice dripping with false pity, her words laced with venom.

“God, you really are delusional. You think he actually cares about you? You’re just a novelty, a distraction.”

You opened your mouth, but another voice cut in, sharp and dismissive, a cruel echo of your deepest fears.

“You’re embarrassing him.”

That one hit different, because this time, it was one of the guys from the basketball team, Jaehyun, one of Seungcheol’s closest friends, someone you had thought might understand.

“Hanging around like a lost puppy, acting like you actually have a chance with him,” he scoffed, arms crossed, his eyes filled with disdain. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you look like? Pathetic.”

You felt your stomach drop, the air thick with humiliation, the weight of their judgment crushing you.

“I—”

“Do you know what people say about you?” Mina interrupted, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with malice, her voice laced with poison. “That you’re his little charity case. His pet project. Something to amuse him.”

Laughter rippled through the group, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed in the vast arena, a chorus of disdain.

“Poor Seungcheol,” someone else mocked, a tall, lanky guy named Junho. “Always looking out for the underprivileged. Such a saint. So noble.”

You couldn’t breathe. The whispers, the glances, the subtle rejections—you had endured them all. But hearing it from his closest friends, from the people he shared his life with, was a different kind of pain. It was a betrayal, a confirmation of your deepest fears, a stark reminder that you didn’t belong.

“You should just disappear already,” Mina sighed, her voice laced with false concern, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Save yourself the humiliation. Do him a favor. Just go away.”

That was the moment something inside you snapped, a fragile thread breaking under the weight of years of insecurity and self-doubt. You shouldn’t have let it get this far. You shouldn’t have let yourself believe, even for a second, that you and Seungcheol were anything more than a fleeting moment, a mistake waiting to happen.

So when you finally found him in the crowd, his eyes searching for you, a flicker of concern in their depths, you turned away. You walked past him like he was a ghost, a phantom, a figment of your imagination, a dream you had foolishly dared to believe in.

And when he grabbed your wrist, his touch warm and insistent, when he looked at you with nothing but pure concern, you ripped your hand free and whispered, your voice barely audible, a broken echo of your shattered hope,

“I just want to be invisible again.”

And the way his face shattered right in front of you, the way his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own, almost made you stay. Almost. But people like you? You don’t get happy endings.

So you left, disappearing into the shadows, and you didn’t look back, your heart a heavy weight in your chest.

You disappeared after that night.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

A ghost in the machine.

Winter break feels endless. Cold. Empty. A barren landscape devoid of warmth.

Seungcheol spends weeks staring at his phone, waiting for your name to pop up, a desperate vigil.

It never does.

The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence.

His friends try to cheer him up, but he’s not the same.

The laughter, the confidence—it’s all forced now, a hollow echo of his former self.

The joy has been leached from his eyes.

The basketball court doesn’t feel the same.

The thrill of the game, the camaraderie of the team—it’s all muted, a pale imitation of what it once was.

Nothing feels the same without you.

Every time he sees something you would’ve liked—a worn paperback, a cheap cup of coffee, a little trinket from a street vendor—his chest aches, a sharp, stabbing pain.

It’s a constant reminder of what he’s lost.

And at night, when it’s quiet, he hears your voice, a haunting melody in the silence.

"We don’t belong together, Seungcheol."

But he still refuses to believe that.

He clings to the hope that you’ll come back, that you’ll see that you belong with him.

The moment classes start again, you avoid him.

A master of evasion.

You’re a ghost, a whisper in the wind.

You change routes, take the long way around campus just so you won’t run into him.

A desperate attempt to erase yourself from his life.

He notices.

Of course, he notices.

He sees the way you duck your head, the way you pretend he doesn’t exist—

It destroys him.

A slow, agonizing erosion of his spirit.

Every time he gets close, you slip away, a phantom in the crowd.

Every time he calls your name, you pretend you don’t hear, a cruel denial of his existence.

The team notices.

His friends notice.

"Dude, what the hell happened over break?" they ask, their voices filled with concern.

But Seungcheol doesn’t talk about it.

He just clenches his jaw and keeps chasing after the girl who doesn’t want to be found.

A relentless pursuit fueled by love and desperation.

One night, you’re walking home, the streetlights casting long shadows.

And he finally catches you.

His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches for your wrist.

Not hard, not forceful—just enough to make you stop running.

A gentle but firm hold.

"Stop."

His voice is raw, broken, filled with a pain he can no longer contain.

You freeze, your back to him, shoulders tense.

You don’t turn around.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

"Look at me."

His voice cracks—pleading, desperate.

"Please, just look at me. Give me a reason."

You swallow hard, trying to regain control.

But you don’t move, your feet rooted to the spot.

And that’s when he breaks.

"I spent the entire break waiting for you."

His voice shakes, trembling with emotion.

"Do you know how fucking empty everything felt without you? It was like the world had lost its color."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry.

Trying to block out his words.

"You left, and I—"

He exhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

"I haven’t been okay since. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. All I can think about is you."

Silence hangs in the air.

Thick with unspoken emotions.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"You weren’t supposed to wait for me, Cheol."

Your voice is filled with a sadness that mirrors his own.

That’s when he turns you around, his hands trembling slightly.

When he cups your face with both hands.

Forcing you to see just how wrecked he is.

To witness the depth of his pain.

"You think I had a choice?"

His eyes are filled with tears.

His voice is full of pain.

Full of love.

"I’ll always wait for you."

It’s a promise.

A vow.

A declaration of his unwavering devotion.

Your breath is shaky, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

His hands are warm against your skin.

His grip is so gentle, so careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

Like he’s holding onto something precious.

And you should.

You should pull away.

You should tell him it’s over.

That he needs to move on.

That you’re not worth his pain.

But when you look into his eyes—

God, his eyes.

You see everything you’ve ever wanted.

Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

And it terrifies you.

"Cheol…"

Your voice wavers, barely holding on.

A fragile whisper.

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

A tender caress.

"Don’t do this."

His voice is a plea.

A desperate attempt to hold onto you.

"We don’t belong together," you whisper.

Even though it hurts like hell to say it.

Even though every fiber of your being screams in protest.

His jaw clenches.

His eyes darken with a mixture of anger and pain.

But he doesn’t move.

His gaze unwavering.

"Why do you keep saying that? Why are you so determined to push me away?"

You force yourself to stay strong, to ignore the way your heart is screaming for him, to suppress the longing that threatens to consume you.

"Because it’s the truth."

A lie that tastes like ashes in your mouth. LIE.

You try to step back, to create some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. He doesn’t tighten his hold—he just refuses to let go, his grip gentle but unyielding.

"Bullshit." His voice is rough, desperate, filled with a raw emotion that mirrors your own. "You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me what I feel."

You exhale sharply, trying to regain your composure, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"You don’t understand, Cheol—"

"Then make me understand!" His voice cracks, frustration mixing with heartbreak, a desperate plea for clarity. "I’ve been chasing after you, waiting for you, and you won’t even tell me why you’re running! Just tell me what I did wrong."

Your throat tightens, the words caught in a knot of pain and fear, the truth too heavy to bear.

"Because I don’t belong in your world!" you finally snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Because people like me—people who have to fight just to exist—don’t get to have things like this! We’re not meant for happy endings."

Seungcheol stares at you, his expression unreadable, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with something you can’t bear to face—a reflection of your own pain.

Then—he lets go.

Your breath stutters, your heart skips a beat. He steps back, creating a space between you, a chasm that threatens to swallow you whole.

For a second, you think—this is it. He’s giving up. He’s finally realized that you’re not worth the effort.

But then—he kneels.

Right there, in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk, in the cold night air, he kneels in front of you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, a gesture of humility and devotion.

And when he looks up at you, his eyes filled with a love that transcends words, you’re ruined.

Your carefully constructed walls crumble around you.

"I would leave everything for you." His voice is quiet, but it hits like a sledgehammer to your chest, a declaration of his unwavering commitment.

"Because you are the only one who has ever seen the real me. The me that I keep hidden from everyone else."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out, your voice lost in a sea of emotion.

"Where my money didn’t matter. Where my status didn’t matter." His eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "All that mattered was us. Just you and me."

His hands find yours again, gently, carefully, his touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions.

"Tell me that wasn’t real." His voice is a whisper, a desperate plea for reassurance.

Silence.

"Tell me you didn’t feel it too." His eyes search yours, seeking confirmation, seeking a glimmer of hope.

Your throat closes up, the words caught in a knot of longing and fear.

Because you did.

Of course, you did.

You felt it with every fiber of your being.

And Seungcheol sees it.

Sees the way you tremble, the way your fingers clutch his, the way your eyes betray your carefully constructed facade.

He has you.

Now all you have to do—is stop fighting.

Your pulse is hammering, a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

This is too much. Too intense. Too real.

Seungcheol, kneeling in front of you, holding your hands like you’re his entire world, his eyes filled with a love that both terrifies and exhilarates you.

His words replay in your mind, over and over—I would leave everything for you.

You can’t breathe.

You rip your hands away, breaking the connection, creating a space between you.

"You’re a fool, Seungcheol." Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

His brows knit together, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but he doesn’t move, his gaze unwavering.

"You don’t know what you’re saying," you whisper, your voice shaking, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

"You have everything. A future, a reputation, a life people would kill for. Why would you throw that away for me? I have nothing to offer you."

He stares at you, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrors your own, his expression a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Like you’re breaking his heart right in front of him.

"Because none of it matters without you." His voice is firm, unwavering, a declaration of his love.

No.

No, no, no.

Your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You take a step back, trying to create some distance, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze.

Then another.

You have to go.

You have to leave before you crumble, before you succumb to the longing that threatens to consume you.

Your body screams run, but the moment you turn away—

He moves.

And then—his arms are around you. Warm. Solid. Unyielding. And just like that—

You shatter.

A choked sob escapes your lips, and suddenly, you can’t stop. The dam breaks, and years of pent-up emotion flood out. Your hands clutch his jacket, holding on for dear life.

You hate him for not letting you go.

You hate him for holding you together when all you wanted was to fall apart alone.

"Why—why are you doing this?" you gasp against his chest, your whole body trembling, your voice choked with tears.

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing to your hair—a silent promise of comfort and support.

"Because I love you, idiot."

His voice is thick with emotion, a raw declaration of his feelings.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat.

"And I’m not letting you go."

His words are a vow, a commitment, a refusal to give up on you.

Tears pour down your face, a torrent of emotion. Your knees go weak, but Seungcheol just holds you closer, keeps you steady—a human anchor in the storm of your emotions.

For the first time in forever—

You let yourself break.

You allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let go of the walls you've built around your heart. And for the first time in forever—

You're not alone.

You have someone to share your pain, someone to hold you through the darkness.

You cry until you have nothing left, until the tears run dry and your sobs subside into soft whimpers. Your sobs start sharp, gut-wrenching, a release of years of bottled-up pain. Your body shakes in his arms, fingers clenching into his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And maybe he is.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just holds you. Arms tight, steady, unshaken—like he’s anchoring you to this world, a constant presence in your life.

And you let him.

For the first time in your life, you let yourself be held. You surrender to his embrace, finding solace in his strength.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time doesn’t exist in this moment—only the two of you, wrapped in a shared space of vulnerability and connection.

Your breathing slows, chest still hitching with the remnants of your breakdown, the storm gradually subsiding. Your face is buried against him, and his heartbeat is the only sound you hear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

A steady rhythm. Strong. Safe. A comforting reminder of his presence.

When you finally shift, pulling back slightly, he still doesn’t let go. His grip remains firm, a silent reassurance.

Instead, he exhales softly—warm breath against your hair—and then tilts his head down, his eyes filled with tenderness.

And then—a kiss.

Soft. Gentle. Right on your forehead. A gesture of comfort and affection.

Your breath stutters. Your heart flutters.

Then—your nose.

You blink up at him, eyes still red, still glassy, but now filled with a glimmer of hope.

He’s watching you like you’re something fragile. Something precious. Something to be cherished.

Then—your cheeks.

One.

Then the other.

Then—your closed eyelids.

Like he’s kissing away the tears that remain, erasing the traces of your pain.

You don’t move.

Can’t.

You're lost in the moment, captivated by his tenderness.

His fingers slide against yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles—before he leans down and presses a kiss there too, a gesture of reverence.

And then—finally.

Your lips.

A whisper of a touch at first. Like he’s asking for permission, seeking your consent.

Then—

You press back.

And everything shatters.

The kiss deepens. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking the skin, a gentle caress. You tilt your head, open up to him, let him pull you in, surrendering to the moment.

And then it’s not soft anymore.

It’s raw.

Hungry.

Desperate.

A release of pent-up longing.

Because this isn’t just a kiss—

This is a confession.

This is Seungcheol showing you everything he can’t say in words, a language of touch and emotion.

And this time—

You don’t push him away.

You embrace his love, allowing yourself to be loved.

When you finally pull apart, breathing hard, lips swollen, a tangible reminder of your connection, Seungcheol still doesn’t let you go.

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm—like he’s scared you might slip away again. Like he never wants to lose you. A silent promise of his unwavering devotion.

And then—

He smiles.

Not the cocky, teasing smirk he flashes on the court, a mask he wears for the world.

Not the polite, practiced grin he gives to the rich kids at school, a facade he presents to his peers.

No.

This one is soft.

Real.

Just for you.

"I am yours," he murmurs, voice low, steady, filled with a certainty that resonates deep within you.

"Since the day I saw you working at the café with your hair up and that adorable white and blue dress."

You suck in a breath, your heart swelling with emotion. Your eyes flicker up to meet his—deep brown, burning, full of something you can’t quite believe is meant for you, a love that seems too good to be true.

"You—"

Your voice catches, your words failing you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, a tender caress. "You don’t have to believe me yet." His lips twitch, a hint of his playful side returning. "But I’ll prove it to you, baby. Every damn day if I have to."

And for the first time… you think maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to let him. To trust him. To believe in his love.

You don’t pull away. You stay in his arms, finding comfort and solace in his embrace.

And Seungcheol? He notices.

A slow grin tugs at his lips, a little smug, a little too self-satisfied, a hint of his playful arrogance.

"You know, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make you shiver, a seductive whisper. "If I’d known all it took to get you in my arms was making you cry, I would’ve done it sooner."

You gasp and smack his chest, a playful rebuke. "Cheol!"

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, a warm and comforting sound. "Too soon?"

Your glare is weak at best, your lips twitching despite your efforts to remain stern. "You think?"

But Seungcheol just tilts his head, still smiling, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "At least I made you forget about crying, huh?"

You huff, but he catches it—the way your lips twitch, the way your eyes aren’t as clouded anymore, the glimmer of a smile that threatens to break through.

So he leans in, just a little, lips brushing your ear, his voice a low and intimate whisper.

"And for the record, you looked hot as hell in that dress, but you look even prettier like this."

Your breath stutters, your cheeks flush. "Like what?"

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his embrace a comforting haven.

"In my arms."

His voice is filled with tenderness and love, a promise of safety and belonging.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before—

Flick.

His head jerks back slightly as your finger snaps against his forehead, a playful act of defiance.

"Ow—hey!" He pouts, rubbing the spot like you actually hurt him, his expression comical.

You just smirk, a genuine smile gracing your lips for the first time in what feels like forever.

"You are such a flirt."

His grin starts creeping back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You love it."

You tilt your head, pretending to think, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Mmm… maybe."

Then—

You lean in just a little, just enough to make his breath hitch, a playful challenge.

"But you’re my flirt."

Your voice is soft, intimate, a declaration of your feelings.

Seungcheol? Absolutely wrecked.

His ears go pink, a blush creeping up his neck. His smile falters for a split second, his usual composure momentarily shattered.

Then—

He groans, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by your words.

"Baby, you can’t just say stuff like that!"

You laugh—light, breathless. And it hits you.

You haven’t laughed like this in a long time.

And Seungcheol? He’s looking at you like he knows. Like he’s the reason why.

Like he’s gonna make sure you never stop being happy after all of the troubles you went through alone.

871 notes · View notes

deepspacenova · 2 months ago

Text

a soul cast in shadow

small moments with you that make Sylus realize that maybe the distance between his life with you in Philos and his life with you now aren't as far apart as they seem.

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 2000 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | light angst. banter. hurt/comfort. modern day. references to Sylus' myth.

NOTE: A small and self-indulgent little thing inspired by this ask. It's also Sylus Month™ and I'm finding that dragon!sylus is plaguing my mind a little more than usual.

Sylus had long since accepted his new reality. The absence of horns and tail, the vulnerability of his missing scales and wings, the dullness of human nails in the places his claws should’ve grown. Gone were the days of flight and fire and fight, towering over civilization and reveling in raw power in his truest form.

In their place stood the burden of fitting the jagged contours of a dragon’s heart and torn soul into a fragile layer of human flesh.

He’d gotten used to it over time, of course. The phantom traces of those limbs were like smoke after a fire, diluted by air and time until he could inhale with almost no trace of his past self tainting his breath.

And while he was now indistinguishable from mortals on the surface, could now walk among the sheep in their own clothing, there were a few moments when he couldn’t help but let the past waft through his senses — the clattering sound of bullet shells that reminded him of counting gold, the bitter scent of fear that tempted the predator inside to chase, the feeling of phantom heat curling in his lungs when emotions flared.

And then there was the sight of you.

The one who’d once been his treasure and his heart all at once.

With you the past was a wildfire, a smoke so all-consuming and dense in his lungs that it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything but the past.

On the way your eyes used to melt around him like sunshine, the way your hands used to gently lay flowers on his horns, the way your lips stamped kisses into his scales. It was bigger than him, this feeling. So tangible, that the thought of you not feeling it across lifetimes never even crossed his mind.

Maybe he’d been a fool to believe that what you had could transcend time. That what you shared could ever be forgotten.

But as he ducked his head into your bedroom and took it in for the first time, that foolishness seemed to dissipate before him.

There was a bookshelf by your bed, acting as more of a display stand for well-worn fantasy novels than book storage. Each cover was beautifully bound, embossed with horned beasts, wings spread in majestic flight.

Artwork adorned the wall around your desk, displaying dragons of all kinds — fire-breathing beasts, silhouettes flying serenely in the moonlight, oversized reptilian bodies curled protectively around sleeping maidens.

Small figurines of dragons crafted in ceramic, glass, and metal were scattered across surfaces like small sentinels guarding your domain.

You were surrounded by dragons.

“What are you staring at?” you asked, your voice cutting through his thoughts.

His eyes darted over to you, watching as you tucked your boots into your closet and hung your bag over your desk chair. Loose strands of hair framed your face, damp with the rain drops you got caught in a few minutes ago.

“Your obsession, kitten.” He gestured to a figurine of an onyx-scaled dragon by your door. “Don't you think it's a bit... pervasive?”

You grinned, making your over to him and adjusting it. “I'm not obsessed, I'm fascinated. Dragons are powerful and majestic and protective of what’s theirs. What’s not to like?”

Sylus’ exhale sounded more unsteady to his ears than he was comfortable with. He shook his head in response. “It’s just that most people would stop at a book or two. A statue. You, however…” He glanced around, eyebrows raised, “This is something else entirely.”

Tilting your head, you look up at him with a teasing glint in your eye. “Well that’s rich coming from a man who collects jewels and weapons and displays them in literally any free space he has.”

Sylus chooses to ignore that, cocking a brow in a wordless question instead.

You ran a hand along the spine of the onyx-scaled dragon between you. Sylus ignored the phantom shiver down his own spine as you continued, “It’s just… always been like this for me. I drew them all the time when I lived with Gran. I even had dreams about dragons. I couldn’t remember anything when I woke up, but it felt so… real when I was asleep.”

His mind raced with the impossibility of this. Of how, even without knowing, you’d still found a way to remember something about the connection you had with him. Still managed to find the piece of him he gave to you.

You’d surrounded yourself with a synthetic imitation of those memories and yet, you were entirely unaware that you were standing before the only dragon that you’d ever truly owned.

It was after a long mission that Sylus found himself tending to your wounds.

He knew it had been a good call to invite himself along when you’d mentioned it was on the outskirts of the N109 zone, no matter how many times you’d protested otherwise. Your missions were becoming more frequent, he’d noticed. The Wanderers more aggressive. Tonight had been no exception.

And while his wounds and scrapes had mostly healed themselves, yours were still bleeding by the time you both made it back to the safety of your flat.

Uninterested in craning his neck while he tended to you — or in verbally sparring with your protests — he closed his fingers over each side of your waist, lifted you onto the corner of the bathroom counter, and turned you to face the wall, opening the gash on the back of your shoulder to his view.

“Sit still,” he muttered, dabbing a wet cloth over the torn skin.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, hissing at the scrape of contact.

“You’re still bleeding, sweetie,” he shot back, unimpressed but unsurprised. “That’s the opposite of fine.”

You grumbled something under your breath but let him work. He couldn’t help but study the way your muscles flexed under your skin, a tapestry of tendons and sinew that weaved together to move you through the world delicately, gracefully.

A complete contrast to the way Sylus moved through the world. He plowed through it, direct and forceful, conquering anything that didn’t move out of his way in time.

You were flesh and bone, more fragile than most, yet full of fire. Sylus was a creature of violence, fierce and unyielding. And yet here, with you, he was something pliant, something… softer.

With you he felt a need to shield, to hold close, to be the one to move you out of the way. And with every pass of his fingers, he realized he would conquer the world itself if it meant preserving you from harm.

It wasn’t until he reached into your cabinet for the bandages that he saw it. An inked dragon flying across the middle of your back, tucked under the sheet of your hair and normally hidden beneath your clothes.

His hand, which had paused mid-air, tightened around the bandages he held as he took it in.

Its wings were extended, its tail coiling down the knobs of your spine. The details were intricate, painstakingly precise, as if the artist had been given detailed instructions on the way you wanted to memorialize this particular beast.

But it was the shape, the tilt of the horns and the familiar pattern of the scales that zapped a bolt of something through him. Something sharp and aching. Something like… homesickness.

Noticing his lack of movement, you craned your neck and teased, “Everything okay back there?”

Sylus forced his limbs to move again. Though he swore he could feel blood surging through his veins slightly quicker than it had a moment ago, within one blink, his expression returned to its usual casual stoicism.

“Just admiring the view, kitten,” he drawled. He leaned in, so close that his nose nearly brushed against yours, your breath warm against his lips. The slight lowering of your lids told him he’d succeeded — you’d forgotten his brief hesitation.

“Now, sit still,” he murmured, nudging your chin with his finger until you faced the wall again. “And don’t make me say it a third time.”

The sight of the tattoo had struck him harder than he expected, a visceral reminder of the past you had shared. You had no memory of it, of him, but some part of your soul had clung to the essence of that lifetime. This tattoo was proof.

As he resumed tending to your wound, you remained still, breathing even despite the sting of antiseptic in the air. All the while the dragon on your skin seemed to watch him, its eyes eerily alive in the dim light.

“Nice ink,” he said casually, finally breaking the silence.

You smiled faintly. “He’s beautiful isn’t he? I got it done a few years ago. Remember those dreams? This dragon was always there like I’d… seen him before? Figured if he wasn’t going to stop haunting me, I might as well keep him close.”

Sylus swallowed down the words forming in his mouth and made his focus narrow to the simple ministrations of tending to you. Wiping away the last of the antiseptic. Gently pinching the torn flesh together, securing it with a butterfly bandage. Placing a bigger bandage over your shoulder blade. Savoring your breath hitching when his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your side.

He could say nothing—what would be the point? It wasn’t his place to force memories upon you that you no longer held. Telling you the truth would only confuse you, or worse, push you away. And after all this time, after everything, losing you again was not something he was willing to risk.

So he simply said, “It suits you.”

You huffed a surprised laugh. “It does?”

He’d already come close once when he’d first found you again. Before he realized that not only did you not remember him, you didn’t remember yourself.

“Hm.” A small twitch of his lips. “You’ve got a lot in common. Stubborn. Dangerous. A tendency to leave a trail of destruction in your wake…”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “If anything, I clean up your destruction.”

He’d searched for you across lifetimes, certain that when he found you, you would look at him and know. That something in your mind would stir, that your heart would recognize his, that the piece of his soul within yours would call out to you.

But when your eyes first met his in this lifetime, there had been no flicker of recognition, no echo of the bond that had once tethered you together. You didn’t look at him like his sorceress, not even like his archnemesis. You’d glowered at him, angry and disgusted, like every other human that had ever set eyes upon him.

You turned to face him when you no longer felt his touch on your shoulder, giving him an unguarded, eye-level view of the happiness that conjured your smile. “So if I’m the dragon.” You nudged his knee with yours. “What does that make you?”

It had been a cruelty he hadn’t been prepared for. To find you again, only to realize you had been wiped clean of everything you once were. The memories, the love, the weight of all that you had been to each other — gone.

But after all this time, after finding you only to realize the past was his burden to remember, he knew some things were better left unspoken.

Some part of you had brought the dragon back, only in your mind, on the surface of your skin. And if that was all he could have, he won’t risk losing it.

“Maybe we’re both dragons,” he mused, hiking your shirtsleeve back over your shoulder. Tucking away your source of pain. Tucking away his. “Maybe we’re meant to be stubborn and dangerous together.” He wrapped an arm around you, laying his palm over the resting place of the ink-born dragon. “And the things we thought we destroyed just cleared the way for a kingdom of our own.”

527 notes · View notes

heirloomgem · 7 months ago

Text

Serendipity Series

Summary: (AU) In every lifetime, Sung Jinwoo will make sure to leave a mark on your soul. To always accompany you as your devoted husband to his lovely and cute wife, no matter what...

Watching from a distance, Sung Jinwoo slowly savoured the taste of the wine in his glass, his fingers clenching the fragile stem. He restrained his anger as he witnessed your betrothed humiliate you and revoke your engagement for his mistress. Painting you as a villain to everyone as that foolish of a man flaunts his infidelity called 'love'.

Sung Jinwoo couldn't help but sneer at them and find fate laughable.

He has always been determined to have you as his wife, no matter what. However, fate has a twisted sense of humour. It seems, that in order, for him to have you, you must first endure humiliation and a broken engagement.

If fate is going to play its hand, then don't blame him if he turns the situation to his advantage and claims you as his own. And as for those who have wronged you, they will face the consequences of his wrath.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning/Genre: Romance, AU, drama, broken engagement, Yandere (Sorry for the miss grammar)

Chapter 1 - Stupidity

In a banquet hosted by the royal family in the palace, your betrothed, the crown prince hugs his first love protectively in his arms and condemns you without hesitation in front of all the nobles in the kingdom.

A smug smirk on his lips as he looked down on you while you, on the other hand, glared up at him.

The anger that has built over the years was on the verge of breaking as your supposed fiance embarrassed not only you but your family with the breakdown of your engagement.

Your name is Eliana Anderson. You are the eldest child of the Anderson household and the prestigious and precious daughter of the Primes Minister Anderson of your kingdom.

Ever since you came of age, you have been betrothed to the crown prince by the king without your father's approval.

You're the only daughter in your family and your father has always doted on you so of course the matters of your betrothal have been a sensitive and meticulous topic to your father. Not wanting to give his precious daughter to some boorish, unruly bastards.

And so receiving a marriage decree from the king, accompanied by a threat to your family, made your father furious beyond belief that you and your mother worried he might faint from anger.

Your father protested with all his might to deny this engagement, knowing how corrupt the current royal family is and how uncontrolled and malicious the current crown prince is but to no avail; the king ignored him.

In the end, you didn't have a choice but to follow, not wanting your family to end up in a difficult situation by opposing the king.

The crown prince does share the same sentiment on not wanting this engagement; however, that didn't stop him from showing his disgust at you. In fact, he seemed to revel in the opportunity to humiliate you whenever the chance arose.

The torment he has shown you since the first day of your engagement has never ceased, and continues even to this day.

And now he's hellbent on not only humiliating you but also destroying and smearing your family's reputation through the mud.

Letting out a breath, you calmed yourself, knowing that acting hysterical wouldn't benefit you nor save your family from the predicament this prince has thrown at you.

However, the urge to slap this idiot prince was so dangerously tempting that you had to close your eyes, and instead, a cold smile appeared on your lips and looked at your 'fiance'.

"If I may ask Your Highness, what crime have I committed that warrants you painting me as a malicious villain in front of everyone?" You coldly asked, your smile darkening as your hand clenched tighter on the fan you were holding.

Suddenly, a coquettish voice interrupted, "Lady Eliana, please stop lying and admit to your sins. Please don't make this harder than it is."

It was the woman whom your fiance had 'fallen' for. A woman who has brown shoulder-length hair, dopey downturned eyes and dressed in a white gown that accentuated her slim figure.

She has that pure, innocent beauty that always seems to attract men who want to unconsciously protect her.

It was the crown prince's 'first love', Amy Wilson, the illegitimate daughter of Baron Wilson, who was currently nestled in your fiance's arms.

Cowering and trembling as tears gathered in her eyes, looking like a small doe in front of everyone as she tried to confront you, earning her sympathy and pitying looks especially the crown prince and his stupid group of cronies.

You, however, were given a dark and condemning look from them.

You couldn't help but spit in disgust in your heart as you coldly looked at her.

She's a woman completely opposite of you, who has sharp and cold eyes, and whenever you look at the crown prince, a lingering disgust shows in your eyes.

Your once slender and petite frame is now tall and lean, the result of the training you have suddenly undergone to learn self-defence as you were pushed as the crown princess.

Truly a complete opposite from your past self. No more the naivety and joy in your once soft features.

Hearing her words, you sneered.

"As far as I know Lady Tr- Lady Wilson, I have only given you fair warnings on your behaviour and to maintain your distance as Your Highness is my betrothed. As for the accusations of harming you, unfortunately, I do not know of them nor have I done them."

You said as you gave them a cold smile behind your fan, patting yourself for catching yourself from calling that woman 'trash'.

That right, you have labelled that woman 'Trash' the moment she seduced the crown prince and tried to harm you.

Why, you ask?

It's not because you love that rotten bastard but because, in your eyes, the crown prince is a rotten garbage. And since there is a rotten garbage, it only makes sense that it has to be thrown in the trash and that trash is none other than Amy Wilson.

Hiding behind the crown prince's arms, that trash gave you a sly look.

You couldn't help but feel a disgusting chill run down your spine as an unsettling feeling settled in your stomach.

As far as you know, your actions thus far have been appropriate as a crown princess. Neither have you crossed the line of letting your feelings interfere nor have you remained ignorant of the situation to let it escalate.

You didn't hurt this woman in any form, only giving her a fair warning and if you did, you have your servants to witness it. As for the 'evidence' they have presented earlier, if experts, the kings and higher people in ranks were to investigate it, they would know it was nothing but fraud.

It's nothing but false evidence made by both the crown prince and his stupid group of cronies who were supposedly the next heirs to some of the most influential families in your kingdom and yet have been seduced so easily under such a contemptuous woman.

Regardless, they were nothing but brats who only rode their family's coattails and were nothing but a nuisance, using their power to abuse those who were weak and under them.

Thinking so, you curse them again in your heart and tried to calm your nerves as cold sweat still continues to run down your back.

"We have given and presented undisputable evidence, Eliana. Stop your nonsense and admit to it." The crown prince spoke with impatience in his voice, shaking his head as if he were speaking to a child.

Your eyebrow twitched hearing him calling you by your name so directly with such audacity.

If it were any other situation, you would have refuted him without reserve however since you were in such a situation, you can't do so recklessly or else your entire family would be dragged further than it already is.

Suddenly, the crown prince caught your eyes and gave a malicious smirk before declaring.

"Since your actions show just how much of an unreasonable and vile you are. How could I accept you as the crown princess and be the future mother of the kingdom! Hence, as of today, Eliana Anderson, you are stripped of your title as the crown princess and from now on Lady Amy Wilson will be the crown princess. Guards! Arrest her and throw her into prison for the crime of harming the crown princess."

You stared, speechless, at the crown prince at such absurdity.

That is when the unsettling feeling you have since you entered this ball completely grasps your whole being as if a slap hit you on the face. A whisper in the back of your mind becomes louder and louder as you feel something within you is on the verge of breaking.

You have always known that the crown prince was a good-for-nothing bastard. A spoiled bastard who only does whatever he pleases but it wasn't to the point of complete idiocy especially when it comes to you as your betrothal was one of the stepping stones on why he became the crown prince however it seems you have overestimated him.

Feeling your arms being restrained by the knights, you struggled. Your control over your emotions slowly slips as your frustrations and anger show.

You tried to regulate your breathing as you looked at the bastard before you, smiling mockingly as you gradually cracked under him.

He turns his head to look at your father who is now being restrained by the knights also when he tried to charge in your defence. A sickening smile on his lips as he taunted your father.

"Ah, Duke Anderson, unfortunately, you'll have to step down from your position as well since the evidence of your embezzlement and illegal actions have been presented to the king. The king has also decided that Marquis Henlyn will be replacing you as the Prime Minister."

Hearing this you curse the crown prince at such an abrupt accusation.

Your father with embezzlement?! Illegal actions?! being replace?!

Such stupidity!

Your father has been nothing but upright and loyal to the kingdom and its people. If it wasn't for him, this kingdom would have long fallen because of its corrupt royal family!

And now he's being falsely accused!? And on top of it, your father is being replaced by Marquis Henlyn who has been rumoured to have smuggled weapons and slavery between your kingdom and the other countries!

Just what kind of parasite is in that bastard's head to have allowed this especially the king!

You gritted your teeth as you yelled, "Your Highness, do you even realize what you're doing?! If you allow this, not only you and the imperial family will be implicated but the kingdom and its people as well! You say my father has done illegal doings and yet haven't you heard that Marquis Henlyn has smuggled not only weapons but has done illegal trading of slavery of our people! My father has been nothing but loyal and honest! Evidence?! It is nothing but a farce! "

Surely even this prince knows how impossible it was to replace your father as his hard work is more evident than this so-called ' evidence'.

Your father's power and authority are the sole reason he's the current crown prince. Removing you and your father would be a foolish move even the king knows this thus the reason he has given that marriage decree without your family's permission and yet why this?!

However, it seems not only have you overestimated the prince but that of the king as well as the prince laughed at you and leaned down as he whispered.

"Do you really think my father cares about your family now that your father has crossed his line? Not only has your father obstructed the royal family again and again, but this time, my father has had enough and since I have gained your father's authority and power, I no longer have any need of your family and my father wholeheartedly agreed to it."

Realization dawned on you as your eyes widened at the truth. A small yet audible sound of snapping resounded in you.

Suddenly a loud heartbroken cry erupted in your throat as you struggled fiercely, no longer caring for anything or your appearance.

Annoyed by your resistance, one of the knights kicks the back of your knees, resulting in you slamming your kneecap onto the floor.

Pain shot through your body. Your eyes reddened and tears welled up, not only from the pain but your control over your bottled emotions have now dissipated.

Gone! Everything you have worked hard for is now gone!

You shook your head and bit your lips until it bleed.

No, this can't be happening!

Even if you hated the crown prince, your position as the crown princess was the only thing that you couldn't let go of.

After all, because of the marriage decree these unscrupulous, unreasonable people have shoved down your throat, you have no choice but to let go of him. Someone so important in your life was exchanged for something you didn't want.

Feeling your cheeks wet, you realize that your tears have finally fallen.

Regret fills you to the point of suffocation as your mind unconsciously remembers the young boy you adored the moment you met him.

How you wish to have held his hand longer...

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay. A relative of mine has passed away and it has been stressful and with work thrown in. It had been chaotic instead which made it harder for me to write and edit.

Though I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of the Serendipity Series! If it's not too much, please comment on your thoughts. Thank you!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

#solo leveling #sung jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #AU #Romance #Angst #annulment #divider by saradika #sung jinwoo x reader

2K notes · View notes

satrs · 1 month ago

Text

Kiss Me, Curse Me!

SYNOPSIS; You thought you were the summoner. Turns out, you’re the sacrifice.

FEAT; trueform!sukuna and dragonform!sylus x fem!reader

TAGS; MDNI! 2.9k. unprotected. porn without plot. monster fucking. Threesome, Size k!nk. dirty talk. petnames. both of them have two cocks. overstim. praise mainly from sylus. lotsss of degredation from sukuna. oral fixation. Power play(?). Softdom!Sylus and meandom!sukuna. breeding. knotting. creampie. double(triple) penetration. anal. nasty stuff. cum cum cum. everywhere. implied marathon sex. dacryphilia(?).

✎A/N; I feel so DIRTY oh ma gahhhwd!!! This must be the flithiest shit I've ever wrote man. And it feels so good!!!!! Sososo excited to post this hihi. Thanks again to @bluukive for this idea ahhhh hope y'all like it and have a wonderful day/night ^^

Demons are real. It’s true.

And dragons too.

You know this because you’re here now– trapped between two towering figures whose mere presence makes the air bend, their shadows swallowing the light.

This was supposed to be a joke.

A silly little manifestation ritual you found buried in the dark corners of the internet. Some scribbled runes, a whispered name, a drop of blood under the full moon.

You didn’t expect anything to happen as you sat on your bed, waiting.

You didn’t expect them to happen.

One of them smells like fire and you can feel the rumble of his breath down your spine, slow and controlled like he’s keeping something ancient locked inside.

The notorious dragon, Sylus, is the name given to him, and his voice is low and reverent. His fierce gaze bores through you, dark rubies soaking in your anxious form, a quick twitch tugging at his lips– and between his legs.

And the other?

He reeks of blood. His claws are already firm on your hips, grin splitting wider than it should. His four arms twitch with something between amusement and hunger, whilst the weak robe does a poor job of covering his sinful figure, a conspicuous bulge evident through the white cloth, digging into your back.

The infamous king of curses– Sukuna.

“W-what, are you?–” you break off with a sharp breath, chest heaving, “Are you going to kill me?”

Sukuna's resounding laugh is anything but comforting, only further forcing reality onto you. You can barely breathe sandwiched between the two, your hand forcing the sheets beneath you in a fist, and you realize–

You're fucked. Capital F.

“Foolish woman,” the pink-haired murmurs, lips grazing your ear. “If we wanted you dead, we would've cut you to pieces already, no?”

"T-then, what do you want from me?", you ask with wobbling lips, heart rapidly beating in your chest as your quivering voice reaches their ears.

Sylus growls in front of you, a warning, or a possessive sound– you can’t tell. His hands slide up your front, cupping your tits through the thin shirt like they’re something fragile, something sacred. His thumbs brush your nipples and you can't help but slip out a tiny little whimper.

“Don't play dumb, sweetie.” Sylus ushers, voice deep and steady, one massive hand sneaking around your neck until his breath comes hot onto your quivering lips. One of his crimson eyes begins to glow in a dangerous flame, invading your personal space. “You know exactly why you summoned us.” His voice is a deep whisper against your lips. "Your deepest and darkest desires", the white-haired continues before dipping his head to take a big whiff of your scent, placing a lingering kiss on your plumb lips right after, "I see it all."

You should end this madness. Gods, you should.

But when the demon's claws tighten around your waist just enough to sting, and when Sylus presses his chest to yours, his scales prickling lightly where they emerge from his skin– you can't help but let go of any doubt or fear and just let go.

And when neither of them moves away, you realize what exactly the cunning dragon means.

This wasn't a decision on a whim. You planned this– researched for hours upon hours through the darkest corners of the internet for the mysterious dragon and the feared King Of Curses. You did this on a night you've felt lonely, empty, and heated. Purposely.

You summoned them so they claim you.

But you just didn't expect it to work. And you surely didn't expect them to share your interest.

All rushing thoughts flee from your mind once Sukuna’s claws sink deeper into your hips, dragging your ass flush against his hefty, pulsating cock. The sound he makes is more beast than man, a low, guttural snarl vibrating down your spine.

“Fuck,” he hisses, leaning down, his breath hot on your neck. “Can even smell how fucking wet ya are." A shiver runs down your spine, your hips twitching back into his, a dark, prominent imprint of your juices covering your panties.

You try to speak, to deny it, to plead for something– anything, but right then the demon's mouth closes around the side of your throat, warm tongue dragging up the curve of your neck before sharp fangs tease at your pulse, a strangled sound ripping from your throat.

“Don’t you lie, woman”, he murmurs against your skin, his voice low, like smoke caught in velvet. “You reek of desire. It's painfully obvious that ya want your poor, empty pussy filled.”

His claws flex. “And you're shy now?” He laughs, dark and amused. “Just listen to her clenchin' around nothin'."

Sylus straightens up at that, predatory gaze fixated onto your clothed pussy, perked ears catching onto the desperate clenches of your cunny, a smirk creeping up his face, fangs bare. "Adorable. Let's give her what she wants, yeah?”

You gasp when Sukuna's claws rip the panties from your body, thick and heavy cock now poking out from the crumbling robe. His cock sits right between your thighs and–

wait, are there two?

Burning body tensing up as you feel two massive crowns sliding through your glistening folds and you shriek once one catches onto your clit as the other teases your entrance.

And Sylus doesn’t help.

His hands are already back on your chest, greedily kneading your flesh, rolling your nipples between his fingers with such aching gentleness it makes you whimper and squirm.

“Easy,” Sylus whispers, kissing just below your jaw, addressing his words to the demon behind you. “No need to rush.” His crimson eyes shoot a sharp glare at the pink-haired from the crook of your neck as a warning.

But Sukuna only scoffs, dragging his claws lightly down your thigh, just enough to make your skin ripple, pushing them further apart. “Easy? She doesn't want 'easy'. Am I right, brat?”

Your weak nod amuses them, their deep chuckles flooding your senses.

It’s quick, your mortal eyes are unable to track the motion, but your body feels it. The sudden stretch, the pressure of something massive forcing its way past your trembling resistance. Your mouth falls open in a soundless cry as two thick, throbbing cocks push deep inside, splitting you open in one sharp, devastating stroke.

Sukuna snarls behind you, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your bones. Fangs flash near your ear, and his grip on your waist tightens as two of his four arms brace your hips open. The other two wrench your wrists back, forcing your spine into a nasty arch that had your breasts pressed up toward Sylus’s chest, offering you up like a sacrifice.

Sylus' dark, lovestruck crimson eyes coo at you, one gentle hand smoothing over your cheek as if to soothe the sting Sukuna leaves behind.

“Feels good, sweetie?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. His other hand slips between your thighs, fingers circling your puffed clit, and your entire body arches like a bow. “Yes? No? Maybe so?”

"Y-yessss!– 's good! S-so good!"

“Of-fucking-course,”

The king spits, his voice dark and wicked, “Taking every. fucking. Inch. like the cockhungry slut you are.”

Each word is followed by a snap of his hips, knocking the breath from your lungs. He doesn't give you time to adjust– doesn’t want to. His pace is relentless like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

And frankly, he is.

Your body trembles under Sukuna’s merciless rhythm, every thrust deep and punishing, but it’s Sylus who draws your attention back to the front, fingers still teasing at your clit with maddening skill, his hand firm on your jaw to pull you into a dizzy kiss, swallowing each tiny sound of yours right up.

You blink up at him through heavy lashes, lips parted around gasping moans. Grip still fierce on your jaw, he forces your head down, bending your body to face his freed cocks– yes, plural.

“C'mon, pretty” he murmurs. “Show me what you've got. Make me feel good too, yeah?”

And you comply, teary eyes staring up at his hungry ones as you stretch your lips around his red and angry head, one weak hand grasping his other cock with desperate jerks.

Sylus let out a low, hungry purr, his scales glinting faintly with a deep crimson sheen. He's cradling your jaw in one clawed hand, his thumb brushing away the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you try to take the thick head into your throat, veins scraping along your esophagus.

“Good job, sweetheart”, he murmured, gently guiding your head as you gagged around him. “Careeeeful now. Not too fast.”

Sukuna laughed, the sound jagged. “Fuckin' pathetic. Too fucked out to even do the job right. Need some help, airhead? I'll help ya, aight."

His two strong hands grasp at your torso, lifting you just barely in a tight hold for both of your hands to wrap around the dragon's cocks while your tongue swirled around the fat cockheads alternately.

"Now that's more like it, wouldn't you agree?" Sylus ignores the snickering demon with a scoff, breath halting in his lungs as you slide your tongue and nail experimentally along his slits, happily lapping up spurts of pre gushing out of them.

Sukuna's cocks were thick, ridged, and mean, curved just right to grind against every sensitive place inside your greedy cunt. He knew it too– used it like a weapon. Vicious thrusts, with each one punching a strangled scream from your lungs and driving Sylus’s cock deeper down your throat, the stretch maddening.

Behind you, a wet tongue suddenly draaaags along your puckering hole, and you don't even realize that another mouth appeared on the demon's stomach, because with one teasing prod at your asshole, you spray his two cocks with your cum, thighs shacking with a resounding cry.

And the bastard dares to laugh at you, placing one forceful smack to your ass. “Awww, cumming already?” he purred, claws digging to the back of your neck once you tear your mouth from the dragon's dick to spare a glance at the demon behind you, forcing your lips to kiss the crown of Sylus's thick head again. "Eyes to the front, ma'."

Sylus’s hand curves protectively around the back of your head as you choke around his girth, your hands occupied on the other, your spit dripping down onto the other length serving as lube.

“Good fuckin' girl,” he whispered. “Juuuuuust like that.”

His other hand slid down your belly, groaning at the massive bulge forming in the pit of your stomach, calloused fingers brushing where Sukuna was splitting you open. You jolted as he circled your clit again, with more force this time.

Sukuna groaned in satisfaction as you clenched around him– hard, sucking him in further.

“Thight fuckin',– f-fuckkkk” he cuts himself off with a broken moan, his tips now bullying your cervix. “B-brat.”

You couldn’t respond, not with your mouth stuffed full and your body trembling, but your choked whimper made both of them rumble with dark delight.

"C'mon, give our princess some credit. No need to be all grumpy." Sukuna sneers at the dragon's remark, and he would love to just slice him to pieces right now, but fuck– you're really doing a number on him with that feisty pussy of yours.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, those suffocating clenches around his double girth and your sweet hiccups around Sylus's cocks send blood rushing straight to his groin.

He leaned harder into you, his chest brushing your back, breath hot against your shoulder with his fangs breaking your skin with a possessive bite as he snarled. “Yer' right, she deserves an award for that rich pussy. Gonna make her cum over and over again."

Truly, a man of his word.

Between his unrelenting thrusts and Sylus’s teasing fingers, your body tipped over the edge again with a scream muffled around the dragon’s cock. You spasmed, helpless, muscles clenching so hard Sukuna cursed and threw his head back with a guttural roar.

But he doesn’t stop– doesn't even slow.

“Sweet thing,” Sylus murmurs, brushing your hair back with claws gentler than they had any right to be. “You’re glowing, darlin'. So beautiful like this.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, mouth raw and sore, but Sylus just wipes them away and praises you more, coaxing you to relax your throat, letting you feel every inch, every vein of his as you bobbed and gagged and took to no end, delicate fingers beginning to shake around the monstrous girth.

Suddenly, the fullness leaves you entirely as you hear Sukuna panting, then slap your ass hard enough to make you jolt against Sylus, earning a satisfied hum from the dragon.

“H-hahhh– on your back,” he commanded.

You're certain you're not walking out of this in one piece.

You collapse onto Sylus's lap as Sukuna flips you effortlessly. The gentle dragon caught you, pulling you up to straddle his thighs as he leaned back. His cocks slide back between your wobbling legs, thick and flushed in a dark red, and he nuzzles your temple.

“My turn now. Promise I won't be as harsh, sweetie.” He kisses your ear and you faintly notice the small chuckle following right after.

A blunt lie.

You whimper as Sukuna positions in front of you, laughing as he grabs your thighs and forces you down onto Sylus’s cocks, one entering through your quivering cunt while the other pushes past your tight puckering behind, slowly this time.

The menacing grin spread across the demon's face accompanied by the stretch made you sob, silent cries dying on your tongue as Sylus catches you in a heated kiss, whispering soft praises against your lips while Sukuna watches in envy, hungry eyes soaking in the stretch of both your holes.

“Look at that,” Sukuna growled, holding your hips in place. “What an insatiable pussy ya' got on ya'. Two cocks weren’t enough for that desperate little cunny, hmmm?"

You barely had time to gasp before Sukuna was pushing in– again–his cock sliding into your already stretched, soaked hole alongside Sylus’s, while the other rests heavily on your stomach, twitching with each weak squelch of your abused hole.

You can't do anything but scream– throat dry and hoarse.

Your body doesn't know what to do, torn between the two of them, the brutal drive of Sukuna’s cock and the slow but bewildering grind of Sylus’s cocks in both of your holes.

Pain and pleasure blur, and all you can do is sob and take, the astonishing fullness of it all flooding your senses.

“Ya feel that?” Sukuna hisses, teeth scraping your ear. “Mine. Gonna fuck a baby into ya."

Your eyes roll to the very back of your skull.

Sukuna’s claws dig into your hips, his upper hands grabbing your tits, pulling you back onto his cock harder, deeper. Sylus pushes deeper, slow and heavy, grinding against your walls as his knot starts to swell.

You're gone.

Body shaking, mouth open in a soundless cry. You feel them both stretching you, rubbing against each other inside you, cocks sliding and pushing deeper and deeper until–

“Nuh uhhhh” Sylus teases, cupping your jaw as his hips roll upward, slow and deep, knot threatening to push past your holes. “You're mine, right?”

They break you in sync. Make you sob their names, until you physically can't anymore, make you cum until you're nothing but a mess of hiccups and mewls, just broken sounds and clawed grasps at their bodies.

The demon growls, finally leaning in to tear your head from Sylus's grasp, much to his dismay to secure you in a nasty kiss, clash of tongue and teeth.

“Like hell. She's mine, Gonna treasure this perfect pussy forever."

Sylus doesn't back down, teeth already on your neck, followed by his soothing tongue. “We're gonna let her decide for herself”, one of his hands reach down your tummy, selfishly pushing down on your filled tummy making him growl before he reaches for Sukuna's cock resting on top of your stomach, aligning the tip to your clit in teasing slides, "She's our big girl, no?"

But you can't respond nor think straight as the three cocks hit your spot just right as you gush around them, glistening pussy spurting shiny essence onto them.

Your climax ripped through you like violent lightning, body clenching around them so hard Sylus groaned and snapped his hips forward, knot catching.

Sukuna loses it.

He slams in one final time, heavy balls clenching, spilling thick white semen inside your already overflowing pussy until it spills out while painting your tummy pussy with ropes after ropes, cum soaking your thighs and dripping onto the dragon's thighs below.

You're stuffed. Plugged. Held open by Sylus’s knot, Sukuna still throbbing inside.

Sylus follows seconds later, cock twitching as he groans your name against your throat, warmth spilling into the depths of your cavity, his swelling knots now locking you firmly into place as he buries his cum deep into you.

You collapse against the dragon with trembling legs, poor cunt, and ass stuffed to the brim, mind so fucked-out you barely register Sukuna pulling back with a chuckle, admiring the mess leaking down your thighs.

“Beautiful,” he says, for once, almost softly, sharp nails collecting the pearly white juices to rub tight circles onto your buttony clit, riding out your high. “Fuckin' perfect.”

Sylus wraps his arms around you, wings curling in as he pulls you flush against his chest.

“Rest now, darling,” he murmurs, voice like thunder rumbling in your bones. “We still got plenty of time to make you ours.”

Demons are real. Dragons too. And now they’ve claimed you.

Body, soul, and every trembling breath in between.

The ritual worked, but no one said it would ever end.

#◛⑅·˚ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ #love and deepspace smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #sylus smut #sylus x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #lads smut #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna #l&ds sylus #jjk sukuna #dividers by @anitalenia

656 notes · View notes

snail-day · 1 month ago

Text

Hush Now, Sweet Lamb

Sum: When the spankings won't stop unruly darling lambs, perhaps a lobotomy will.

Yandere! Geto x Reader

WC: 3.9k

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Lobotomy, Body Horror, Non-consensual medical procedure, Gore, Non-con/dub-con, Drool, Vore/Cannibalism (idk he licks the needle), Mental Regression, Death, Unreliable Narrator, ANGST, No happy ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. MDNI

a/n: Hugggeee shout out to @pink-cakes-and-treats for hearing me ramble about this for like what seems like months. Thank you for being my buddy and yapping with me about horrific ideas <3

“I love you.” The words managed to scrape from your throat as if broken glass, torn from the depths of you, raw and trembling, drowned beneath sobs that had started as fragile whispers - please don’t do this. Please. But pleading never worked with him. Not anymore. Not now that he believed in something greater than mercy.

I love you.

Three little words, simple on the surface. But words like that, they grow claws in the wrong hands. Those are words that dig deep. They change shape. Once, they meant comfort. Now, they meant surrender.

A slow blink of your eyes, vision awash with salt and candlelight, and tried to look at him clearly.

Geto Suguru.

The man who stood before you cradled your face like a lover - not the monster delivering your demise. Those violet eyes, once soft and bright with life, were now eclipsed by the sermon room’s dim, flickering glow, like stained glass in a cathedral set aflame. Somewhere within those depths, buried beneath devotion and delirium, was a love that hadn’t died. Instead, the love had festered.

You wanted to close your eyes. But even the darkness behind your lids pulsed with memories of him. The boy next door with pink, sun-kissed cheeks and chubby fingers that always curled around yours. The boy who kissed your scraped knees after washing them clumsily with water that was always too cold. Who made a whole ceremony out of applying Doraemon band-aids, pressing the softest kiss on top of the bandage, despite your complaints about cooties.

He used to say, “I’ll protect you.” You had, foolish and small at the time, believed him.

You remembered your mother’s fingers ruffling his inky, silken hair, laughter spilling from her lips like sunshine on a summer's day - He’s so strong, isn’t he? Like a little guardian angel.

But angels don’t whisper in tongues only curses understand.

Angels don’t weave bindings made of curses around the people they claim to love.

Angels don’t press needles into soft, trembling skin and call it mercy.

The curses - grotesque, sinewy things born from nightmares and grief - curdled in the air around you like sour smoke. They slithered closer, tighter, their slick, obsidian tendrils humming with quiet, predatory malice as they coiled around your limbs, your throat, your wrists. They weren’t angry. No. They purred. Like obedient beasts, eager to serve. And their master, well, he wanted you still as a sacrificial lamb. Fitting for his little nickname for you. His little lamb.

Suguru - who had always moved with the effortless grace of a man both adored and feared - looked almost divine in the candlelight. A priest cloaked in ritual and reverence, lit from below like a god born of scripture and shadows. Or perhaps a martyr - beaten holy by his own devotion. His shadow stretched across the altar like a veil of ink, falling over you where you lay: trembling, meek, and bare as birth, reduced to little more than breath and bone.

Not a woman. Not even a body.

Just a vessel. Just a lamb. Who had become soft. Submissive. Shorn of will. A beloved offering, cradled in ritual, smothered in grace. Something holy only to him. You tried to run in your mind as he stepped closer, tried to fold yourself into some memory where he was still safe to love.

You remembered the summer festivals, when fireworks lit the sky and he bought you watermelon-flavored ice you could barely finish. You remembered sitting on his porch, legs kicking in sync, cicadas screaming so loud it almost drowned out the silence between your hearts. You remembered the way he used to almost hold your hand. Always almost. Until he didn’t.

You remembered that day at the train station - he was leaving for that strange religious school. His shoulders had grown broader. His smile softened. “I love you. Stay safe,” you had said, like you knew something was already being lost.

He stared at you through the closing doors, lips parted in surprise. And then his hand rose, maybe to hide a blush. Maybe to keep from reaching out.

You blocked him after that. His messages grew too much. The words were too insistent. Desperate of sorts. You didn’t know why. You only knew your body was warning you, whispering in every nerve: This love will consume you.

And now - here you are. On the altar. Bound and beautiful in his eyes. A sacrament. He still reaches for you with that same tenderness from your childhood; the same hands that once held juice boxes and glow sticks now steadied a needle. The metal glinted as he lifted it gently, reverently. Not like a tool. Like a gift.

Like he was about to free you from something as a chilling smile curled upon his lips. Soft. Adoring in more ways than one. That left an unshakable unease rippling through your skin.

“Don’t cry,” Suguru whispered, brushing a tear from your cheek with the roughened pad of his thumb. “You’ll feel so much better soon. I promise. Then you won’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Your gaze flickered to the ceiling. Candles flickered like stars. The kind you used to wish on together.

It's funny how you used to think monsters lived under the bed. But the real ones? They grow up beside you. They kiss your wounds. They fall in love with you. When they finally snap, they smile as they make you forget everything you ever were.

You didn’t scream, just a shallow gasp. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because screaming no longer belonged to you. Nothing did. Not your voice, not your body, not your memories. Not even your pain.

It all belonged to him now.

The first prick of the needle behind your eye slid in with a sickening certainty - too precise to be mercy, too gentle to be anything but intimate. You felt it bloom inside your skull like a flower made of splinters. It slipped past flesh like it was always meant to find you there. As if your body had been made for this moment. As if your skull had been carved to cradle his madness.

And in that stillness, something warm trickled down your temple.

He wiped it gently with his thumb, kissed the damp skin with trembling lips. “Shhh, my sweet little lamb,” he whispered, low and soft, as if you were a child crying over a scraped knee. “I know. I know it’s frightening. But I promise you - it’s all for your own good.”

His voice trembled not with guilt but with awe. Like he couldn’t believe he was finally holding you like this. Like he was performing communion - your blood, his wine. Your silence, his scripture. You wanted to move. To recoil. To bite. But your limbs were tangled in a lattice of cursed tendrils, slithering just beneath your skin now - stroking you, soothing you, restraining you. They purred when he touched you. They loved you because he did.

You blinked. Or tried to. The world fuzzed, then snapped. The light was far too bright. Or maybe it was inside your head now, blooming behind your eyes like rot disguised as sunrise. He hummed under his breath, some soft, low hymn that no god ever asked for. And you thought or at least did your best:

This is the boy I loved. The one who carried your schoolbag when it rained. Who tucked tissue in his sleeve just in case your nose ran in the cold. The boy who picked you flowers with dirty hands and whispered, One day, I’ll marry you.

You remembered the shape of his laugh. The way his cheeks would puff when he was sulking. How he used to stand too close, hoping you’d notice. You remembered the way his hands used to shake the first time they touched yours.

They weren’t shaking now.

His hands were steady as death as he adjusted the needle, guiding it deeper with the devotion of a priest performing holy rites. You felt it slip - inside.

Your vision shuttered. The pain was distant now. But the wrongness, that had the luxury of staying and growing in the pits of your stomach.

“You were too soft for this world,” Suguru murmured, pressing his cheek to yours. “Too delicate. That’s why I had to take you. The world would’ve broken you. Used you up. But I kept you safe. I preserved you.” He smelled like incense and iron. Like sweat and sanctity. You could feel his smile against your skin, stretched wide, trembling with overwhelming joy.

“And now… now you’ll finally be perfect. Pure. Still. A lamb in the arms of her shepherd.” Your lips parted, but no words came. Your tongue felt thick. Like it didn’t remember language. Something fizzled - snapped. You twitched again. He caught your jaw in his hand and steadied you, looking into your eyes like he was watching the stars flicker out one by one.

“I used to wonder,” he said softly, “why you kept trying to run. Even after I gave you the twins. Even after I gave you a purpose. A family.”

He tilted your head back. A trickle of blood slipped down your nose. He didn’t wipe it away this time. He watched it.

“You were just scared, weren’t you?” he whispered, nearly too soft compared to the ringing of bells in your ears. “Still clinging to the old world. But that world is gone, my love. I burned it down - for you.”

You remembered the smell of it. The fire. The smoke. The wet, coppery heat of your mother’s blood soaking into the hem of your pajamas.

You remembered him cradling your body as your knees buckled, stroking your back as you retched. Whispering into your ear like a lullaby, “Don’t cry, little lamb. They were wicked. They would’ve turned you against me.”

And then he had carried you through the carnage like a bride.

He took you into the cult’s sanctum and gave you a bed, a brush for your hair, and two scared children who clung to you like reeds in a storm. Girls whose names you didn’t even know until they started calling you mama.

He carved a home from your prison - a gilded cage lined with velvet and rot. Kissed you goodnight like a good husband would.

He called you blessed. In front of his followers, he praised your existence like a miracle, declaring it a divine mercy that a non-sorcerer like you still drew breath within his arms.

As if your survival was a gift. As if your captivity was sacred.

Every time you fled, every time you clawed your way toward freedom, gasping for air outside the pretty cage he built - he found you. Forgave you after he had the luxury of breaking you.

With the kind of love that tasted like blood in your mouth. The kind that turned screams into moans as he dragged you to the dirt, pinning you down on cold, splintered floors in whatever half-lit corner you thought might hide you.

With chains that bit deep into your wrists as he forced your legs apart, lapping at you like a beast in heat - obsessive, starving, single-minded - until your cries melted into gutted whimpers, soaked in shame and submission.

With arms that clamped around you as he rutted into your limp, trembling body, whispering filth like worship against your throat. He liked to hold you close while he took you. Said that’s what good husbands do. Said it made him feel close to your soul.

“I could’ve punished you,” he whispered now, nose brushing yours, dragging you from your thoughts. “I could’ve let them tear you apart. But I didn’t. I saved you. And now, I’m saving you again.”

The needle pushed deeper. A strange warmth bloomed through your skull - thick, slow, unnatural. Then cold. Then silence.

Something vital inside you didn't have the grace of death, instead, the fight in you burned out. It gave up as you tried to gasp outwards. Your chest rose, then failed. Your throat strained, but no sound came, just a trembling echo of what used to be a voice.

The motion hitched halfway through your lungs and collapsed in on itself like wet fabric. Your throat made a sound, but it didn’t belong to you. Not anymore. It dragged out garbled and raw, something caught between a sob and a death rattle. Like your body had already started mourning itself.

“There now,” Suguru sighed, almost dreamily. He sounded like a man slipping into silk sheets, not someone pressing steel into brain tissue. “It’s working.” You felt his breath against your cheek, humid and reverent, as though your suffering was a sacred thing to be exhaled over. His fingers moved through your hair with that same obscene gentleness he used on the twins when they cried. Like he believed he was comforting you. Like this wasn’t desecration.

“You won’t need memories where we’re going,” he whispered, fingers sticky with whatever he’d pulled out of you. “You won’t need thoughts. Or fear. Or doubt.”

You blinked, at least, you think you did. Your eyes were open. Or partly. But the light fractured, soft, too gold, too much. The world stuttered and blurred around him like a fever dream unraveling into a nightmare.

His voice curved into a smile. “You’ll only need me.”

You weren’t sure when it happened. When your eyes dulled. When your breath fell into someone else's rhythm. When the needle slid out, smooth and glistening, red and glinting like something freshly birthed.

You didn’t feel it. But you heard it. A soft, wet pop - like something precious giving way inside your skull. A balloon rupturing in thick fluid. He hushed you as your body spasmed, more out of instinct than resistance.

“Don’t move, little lamb,” he murmured. “Don’t scramble what’s left.”

You couldn’t have moved if you tried. Your limbs had forgotten themselves. Your muscles were pudding beneath your skin, twitching without coordination. Your mouth hung open uselessly.

That was when the drool began. Thick, ropy strings of it, tinged pink and metallic, sliding down your chin in slow, shameful drips. It clung to your lips like it didn’t want to leave. Slid over your teeth. Fell in beads to your collarbone.

You tasted it as the saliva filled your mouth - thick and warm, crawling slow over your tongue like something alive. Copper. Meat. Rot. And something else. Something wrong. Something slick and electric, like licking the edge of a live wire soaked in acid. Your mouth tasted like what you used to be. Like memory liquefied. Like identity spoiled into nectar.

And Suguru… watched. Watched like he was witnessing a miracle unravel. Like your unraveling was the miracle. His gaze devoured you, eyes wide, glassy, rapt. Worshipping the mess of you. The way your lips hung open. How your drool pooled like syrup along your chin. The way your body, even now, still gave. His fingers trailed adoringly along your jaw, collecting the viscous spill of drool-blood-spit that clung there like a sacrament. He brought it to his mouth.

There was no hesitation as he licked the obscene liquid from his knuckles slowly - slowly - as though savoring something rare and precious. Letting the fluid coat his tongue. Letting your essence melt into the heat of his mouth like the candy he used to feed you.

He swirled it across the roof of his mouth like wine, eyes fluttering closed, lashes trembling. Releasing a soft, breathless sound close to ecstasy from his lips as his gaze flicked to the needle. The needle was still warm and glistening, still wet with the remnants of your mind. With a reverence that bordered on religious delirium, he leaned in and dragged his tongue along its length, slow, unhurried, adoring.

Suguru licked it clean the way one might lick honey from a spoon. Red. Silver. Viscera-smudged. He moaned, quiet, breathless. A sound that would be beautiful, if he wasn't such an insane bastard. Oh, how he moaned, like the taste of you, your thoughts and ruin, was from one of his holy sermons. As if your suffering was something sweet.

He lifted the object of demise like it was precious. Sacred. Like it belonged in a reliquary, not his hand. But Suguru never did worship like the others did. No, he needed to taste divinity. To consume it. To consume the fight you're leaving behind.

So he brought it to his lips.

Opened his mouth.

And lowered his head.

His throat welcomed the steel like it was communion. The glinting metal disappeared inch by inch, his lips stretching, jaw relaxing as he swallowed it down. Past tongue. Past teeth. Down, down, until the hilt kissed his lips, and his throat bobbed around it. Pretty, violet eyes that rolled back, lashes fluttering, a soft groan slipping from deep in his chest.

It wasn’t pain.

It was rapture.

He held it there for a moment - the instrument of your undoing lodged in his throat like a holy relic, his breath trembling around it. Then he pulled it back out - slow, glistening, wet. No longer coated with your blood, but his saliva.

Suguru looked back at you with something like ecstasy, and everything inside you screamed to recoil. But your body didn’t move. Couldn’t. You could only watch him watching you. His teeth, once pearly white, were now stained a soft pink as he spoke.

“I’ll always love that little fight in you,” he said, crouching beside your slack, drooling face. His thumb dragged your lip down slightly, just to watch it bounce back up uselessly. He smiled. “But in my new world…”

His voice lowered, thick with affection.

“…pets like you don’t need to fight.”

He cupped your face between his palms, cradling it like a fragile fruit, kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips - smeared in drool and blood, the flavor of your mind still on his tongue.

And then he kissed you deeper.

Your jaw didn’t move. Your lips didn’t purse. It didn’t matter. He kissed you like you were kissing him back. Like your silence was consent. When he pulled away, strings of spit - your spit - clung between your mouths like a web. He licked them away. Didn’t waste a drop of the sweetest nectar known to man.

-----

The air was warm today.

Cherry blossoms fluttered like slow snowfall across the temple courtyard, sticking to your hair, your lashes, the white fabric of your dress. The wind teased them loose from the trees, scattering them like blessings. You didn’t move when they landed on you. Didn’t blink when one brushed across your cheek and stayed there.

You just sat on the stone steps, knees tucked to your chest, head tilted toward the sun. A trickle of drool slid from the corner of your mouth, glistening in the light like nectar.

And you were smiling.

Suguru stood just behind you for a while, watching. Breathing. Listening to the soft rustle of petals and the small, wet click of your throat when you swallowed.

You looked so content. So quiet.

So loved.

He approached slowly, letting his sandals scuff against the stone so you’d hear him. Not that it mattered. You no longer startled when he moved. You no longer stiffened under his gaze.

When he knelt beside you, your head turned - just slightly, slow as honey dripping from a spoon. Your eyes fluttered toward him, soft and unfocused.

And then you smiled again.

That was the worst part. The best part. The part that made something in his chest crumple and swell at once.

You smiled like you loved him.

“Hello, my sweet little lamb,” he murmured, brushing a blossom from your hair. You didn’t react, but you leaned ever so slightly into his palm as it cradled your cheek. The skin beneath his hand was warm. Damp with sweat. Or maybe just the sun.

Your lips parted. “Sun…” you said, voice slow and syrup-thick, your tongue barely moving. “...pretty.”

It nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Yes,” Suguru whispered. “So very pretty. Almost as much as you.”

He sat beside you and wrapped his arm around your waist. You didn’t lean in. You just… folded. Like your body recognized the weight and allowed it, welcomed it out of some primal muscle memory. Like an animal curling into its pen. He pressed a kiss to your temple. The scar was healing. Still red. Still swollen. Still a reminder.

Of what he’d done. What he’d chosen.

Sometimes, he dreamed of the needle. Of how your body twitched when it pierced the soft tissue behind your eye. Of how the drool began, slow at first, then steady. Of how your voice choked itself trying to say his name one last time.

And sometimes, in the rare moments when guilt crept in - when he remembered the way you screamed and kicked and begged him not to - he would look at you now.

Look at this.

The sun glowing on your skin. The way you tilted your face toward the warmth. The way your hand twitched faintly, as if reaching for him. The way you smiled when he touched you.

And the guilt would go quiet.

How could it be wrong, when you were so peaceful now? When you smiled at him like he was everything?

He whispered into your hair, “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

You blinked slowly. Your head lolled toward him. Another strand of drool slipped down your chin, caught on your collarbone. A blossom landed there. You didn’t notice.

“Pretty…” you murmured again, eyes glassy. “Suguru…”

His heart hammered once, twice. Pounding against his chest. The sound of his name - spoken like a lullaby. Like a sacred word. Not with fear. Not with rage. Just soft devotion. He swallowed thickly. His hands trembled as he pulled you closer. Pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much it aches. I’d do it all again, you know that?”

You stared past him.

“I had to,” he said, his voice cracking, guilt peeking through like weeds beneath stone. “You would’ve left me. You did. Again and again. I couldn’t let you. You understand that now, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. But your hand - slow, clumsy - found the edge of his sleeve. Your fingers curled around the fabric and stayed there.

His breath hitched. That touch, that tiny act of agency, undid him. It didn’t matter that you no longer understood who you were, who he was. That you barely spoke, barely moved without prompting.

What mattered was this: you reached for him.

“You love me now,” he whispered, and it sounded like confession. “Even if you don’t know it. Even if you can’t say it. I made it true.”

A breeze passed. More petals fell. Your dress fluttered gently against his leg, and your head dropped against his shoulder.

Suguru held you tighter. As the twins ran around the garden barefoot and full of giggles, collecting flowers for their mama's flower crown. A mama that will no longer run away. You smiled as you watched, and Suguru believed - truly, deeply - that you were happy with this makeshift family.

"I love you," He whispered, pressing another lingering kiss to your temple. Three little words that made his heart swell for his little lamb.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere #jjk geto #dead dove do not eat #yandere geto suguru #yandere geto x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere suguru x reader #yandere jjk #yandere geto #yandere suguru #yandere suguru geto

467 notes · View notes

vevobly · 3 months ago

Note

What about YJ adult or teen hcs for them with a partner who wears their heart on their sleeve, like just can't lie to save their life and also has the worst poker face in all history. I think itd be interesting to see who takes advantage of and who nurtures someone so emotionally transparent all the time

Yellowjackets With Heart On Their Sleeve Reader! [Peri-crash] (1)

A/N: I have a drafted work in progress headcanon post that's very similar to this, so I made this take place during peri-crash because that work took place pre-crash. Also to avoid confusion, Laura Lee's and Jackie's, can either be interpreted as it taking place before their deaths or their deaths never happening at all.

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie absolutely loves that you're open with your emotions—until it makes her uncomfortable. She enjoys being adored by you, but when you expect the same openness from her? She struggles bad. Whenever things get too serious with you guys, she'll deflect. Oh, you're telling her this really big heartfelt confession? Yep, she's gonna start joking or rolling her eyes at you. But you notice the way she looks at you when she thinks you're not watching, how her fingers linger a little too long when she fixes your hair. She's used to controlling how people see her but with you? She feels exposed, vulnerable and a little foolish.

In the wilderness, it's hard for her to keep her usual composure. So, she ends up envying how you don't try to hide your emotions. Sometimes, it even ends up with her lashing out at you for it. Feeling frustrated that you can be vulnerable when she feels like she can't be. But despite all of that, you're the only warmth she can find comfort with. She holds your hand when no one's looking, squeezing it a little too tight when things get bad. She'll never admit it or how much she needs it from you. But she'll melt into a literal puddle whenever you reassure her that it's okay to be scared, that she doesn't have to be perfect out there.

With the crash comes Jackie being very clingy to your affection more than she realizes. She hates being cold, hates being hungry, and hates feeling helpless. But at least your love for her is a constant. Something familiar in this world that's suddenly unrecognizable. When she wakes up shivering in the middle of the night, she reaches for you. She doesn't say anything, just merely tucks herself against your side and lets you hold her like she's something fragile. You don't complain, you never do. Why? Because this is the least you can do for her, be her anchor. So many things are changing, but this? This is something you hope never changes.

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna isn't sure she deserves the way you love her. You're so open, so willing to let people see exactly how you feel and that terrifies her. You'll tell her that you love her, and she'll just hesitate before saying it back like the words might choke her. But she does love you. So much it makes her stomach hurt. Ever since the crash happened, she's been really clingy to you. Watching you almost always since then, being close or just near you. It feels like if she ever turns her back on you for a second, you'd disappear and never come back to her. And she wouldn't know what to do with herself if that happened.

She doesn't always know how to reciprocate, but her actions will speak for her to you. Small yet such meaningful things, you know? She'll share food with you, press against you for warmth, and hold onto your shirt when she sleeps. The first time she lets herself break down in front of you, she is embarrassed. But you just hold her, and for the first time in a long time, she feels safe. You're the only thing keeping her grounded in all of this. And she will be damned if something terrible ever happened to you here. Things change out here, but this? You and her? She hopes it doesn't.

After the crash, your love for her is a big comfort. But it's also a huge liability. She needs you, but she doesn't know how to need people without resenting them for it (*cough cough* Jackie—). There are nights when she will just hold onto you like she's afraid you'll disappear, her breath shaky against your collarbone. And there are mornings when she will barely look at you while pretending those nights never happened at all. You make her go weak in the knees but she can't let you know. She can't let you see her like that. Or else, you might think she's weak and leave her.

Taissa Turner:

Taissa has always been drawn to strength, determination, resilience, and the kind of control she prides herself on. So your emotional openness should make her see you as weak. But it doesn't. It makes her ache instead. She tells herself she doesn't need your affection. But then the crash happens, and suddenly, needing you isn't a choice. It's an instinct. Tai respects your emotional openness but she does not always know how to handle it. She's so used to pushing forward, keeping her emotions controlled, and not being vulnerable that it catches her off guard when you somehow manage to get through her and let out parts of her she locks away.

She gets really protective, watching over you like a hawk whenever things get dangerous. If someone ever tries to take advantage of your kindness, she'll be the first to step in on that. And although she becomes hyper focused on survival, during the very few quiet moments you guys get to have together with each other, she lets herself have you. She grips your hand when she thinks no one is looking, her fingers cold and a bit shaky. When she wakes up with dirt under her nails and blood on her skin, when she doesn't remember what she did in the night—she turns to you. Your voice is the only thing that manages to snap her back to reality.

It's great that you are the way you are because when Tai feels like breaking apart under everything that's going on, you just manage to swoop in time and reassure her that everything will be fine. It's because of you that she can somehow still keep pushing through after everything that's happened so far. She knows she leans on you more than she realizes but refuses to acknowledge it. Now at night, when it's just the two of you, she's able to be soft. She'll whisper these quiet reassurances, hold you close, press her forehead against yours, and breathe you in like you're the only thing keeping her tethered. You're her only light in this place of darkness.

Van Palmer:

No doubt, Van loves how open you are with your emotions. She even teases you about it at times. It's honestly one of her favorite things about you. When you tell her you love her? She'll just grin and say "I know" before pulling you in for a kiss. And when the crash happens, your honesty with your emotions helps her cope. She jokes around to keep everyone's spirits high, but when things get bad, she'll turn to you. Just knowing you'll tell her the truth instead of sugarcoating it or saying a lie in return.

She makes it her mission to keep you laughing even in the worst moments. She needs to see you smile because your smile reminds her that there's still something worth holding onto despite everything being seemingly grim right now. If you ever break down? She'll be right there with you to pull you into her arms and to tell you "it's okay, babe. I've got you." while you're at it. She loves you so much. And while her jokes can keep everyone's spirits up, there's something tight in her chest when everyone is laughing and she just looks at you. She's terrified of a lot of things. But she's more terrified this place is going to break you before it breaks her someday.

When the wolf attack happens, when she wakes up bandaged and barely breathing? She sees the look on you and hates it. Hates how scared you are. Hates that she did this to you. "Hey," She'll rasp, voice wrecked and yet she's smiling. "Still pretty, right?" She means it as a joke, but at the same time, it's a real question. You just look at her, and Van hates it. Hates how you aren't laughing. Hates how you aren't even in the slightest bit smiling at all. But then you shake your head and just proceed to fuss over her. "I could get used to this," She'll chuckle, and you'll just narrow your eyes at her before kissing her. She's fine.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Natalie isn't used to being loved the way you love her. She's used to people usually leaving or worse, hurting her just because they can. When you first tell her you love her, she flinches, and then she waits. As if your words are just a joke, a prank that you'll soon admit to and take back. But you don't. And Nat can't decide whether that's a good thing or a bad thing for her. Because with the way you are, there's no room left for her to doubt that your words aren't true. She wants to believe otherwise, but she knows you and how you are. When you say something, you really do mean it sincerely.

When the crash happens, she pretends to be annoyed when you tell her just how much she means to you. But if anyone looked closely, they would see the way her expression softens. The way she grips your hand a little tighter. In the wilderness, you're one of the only things keeping her from completely shutting down. Your ability to love her so openly reminds her that maybe, just maybe, there's still some good left in this world despite everything she's been through before and after the crash. She worries about you being too open, too trusting at times. She doesn't want you to get hurt, and if she has to be the one to protect you, so be it.

One night, you whisper "I love you" into her hair and she doesn't say anything. But the way she exhales slowly, just before she starts pressing herself closer to you that night says enough. She might never put it into words, but her actions tell you more than enough. She loves you too. And she'll be damned if she let the wilderness or whatever the hell it is do something to you. Nat lets you trace the scars on her arms, lets you kiss the bruises on her ribs, but she never asks for it. Because asking means wanting, and wanting means losing. And Nat? Nat would rather die than let herself lose you at all.

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie watches you like she sees something in you that no one else does (it's eerie and very romantic at the same time). Something important. Something sacred. Before the crash, her love was gentle. Soft touches, dreamy smiles, and forehead kisses that lingered. But after the crash? After that, her love practically becomes worship. She tells you the wilderness wants you. That your love isn't just love. It's a gift. A sign. And you're scared, but when she looks at you like that, it's hard to remember why. This is still Lottie, your girlfriend. Despite everything, you still love her more than anything.

For Lottie, she finds your emotional openness as something beautiful. I mean, she's always been sensitive to her emotions, and yours? It just shines so brightly that she's drawn to you like a moth to a flame. She constantly reassures you that your emotions are valid. That you should feel deeply because the world is hard enough without bad people trying to snuff out your light. She finds you being the way you are as something that makes you special. Your love for her is a source of comfort. Not just for her, but for the others too. While you being open emotionally could be a weakness to most people, it's a strength to her and the wilderness.

She makes sure you know how much she cherishes you. Constantly holding you close, whispering soft praises, and running her fingers through your hair to soothe you whenever things get bad out in the wilderness. She might have changed a bit (that's an understatement) after the crash, but she's still her. She's still your Lottie after everything. If anyone tries to hurt you, she will step in one way or another. The wilderness is cruel, but she will not let it take away the warmth that you bring to her. It can take and take whatever it wants, it just can't take you no matter what. And if it does, Lottie wouldn't know what to do with herself if it ever happened.

Laura Lee:

Laura Lee admires your emotional honesty. She sees it as a strength, proof that you have a good heart. And encourages you to express your feelings always, reassuring you that there is completely nothing wrong with being vulnerable the way you are to many others. "God gave us emotions for a reason" She told you once with this soft and gentle smile. After the crash happens, your presence is the only source of comfort for her amongst other things. She prays for the both of you, holding your hand tightly whenever she starts to whisper for protection and guidance out there in the wilderness.

Laura Lee loves you with an earnestness that makes your chest hurt. She believes in you the way she believes in God, fully and without hesitation. Your love is something pure, something untouched by whatever darkness is creeping into the lives of everyone with you guys in the wilderness. "This place can't take what's in your heart." She holds your hands between her, leaning down to kiss your knuckles softly before pressing her forehead against yours. She often reminds you that your love is good, that even in the wilderness, it's important to hold onto kindness. And that no matter what happens, you guys will have each other always and forever.

You're scared. She's scared. Everyone is scared. But despite all of it, at least you guys have each other. Whenever you feel like breaking down because of everything that's happening, she's there for you always. Running smooth circles on your back as she reassures you as best as she can that everything will be fine and that you guys along with everyone else will be found and then brought back home sooner or later. You can't tell whether you believe her or not, but it's nice to be comforted and to hold onto someone's words during these times when it seems like nothing will be better. In the wilderness, she's your shield. Your guiding light.

Misty Quigley:

Misty adores how expressive you are. She's never had someone openly love her the way you, and it makes her feel special. She clings to every bit of affection you give her, smiling so wide when you say you love her. Just practically vibrating with happiness when you hold her hand. But after the crash, her attachment to you becomes even stronger. She'll do anything to keep you safe, whether you want it or not, it's not really a problem. This girl doesn't plan on losing you now or ever. If anyone tries to hurt you or take advantage of your kindness, Misty will take care of it. She won't let anything happen to the one person who makes her feel truly loved.

Misty loves you in a way that's too much—too intense, too desperate, too Misty. Before the crash, she always tried so hard to be what you wanted. To be the kind of person you chose instead of tolerated. And with the crash happening after, she doesn't even have to try. She saves lives. She's needed. And you need her. She does everything for you. Gets you extra food, gives you the warmest blankets, and makes sure you're safe. When you jokingly call her your hero one time, she beams. She doesn't care if you mean it or not. She just needs to hear it from you. Not Jackie, not Shauna, not Tai, or anyone else. Just you.

Misty constantly reassures you that you're important almost to an annoying degree. She's always telling you that you're the best thing to have ever happened in her whole life. And if that means keeping you by her side forever... well, she'll make sure that happens. Whether you want it or not. She will make it happen. She'll make sure that no matter what happens out there in the wilderness that the two of you will make it out alive together and not without the other. Misty won't let herself be found and rescued unless you're there with her. Because nothing would be complete without you there.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor x you #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x you #taissa turner x reader #taissa turner x you #van palmer x reader #van palmer x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #laura lee x reader #laura lee x you #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x you #misty quigley x reader #misty quigley x you

731 notes · View notes

drunk-person · 9 months ago

Text

Healing Kisses

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After an injury on a normal day of training, Aemond Targaryen has difficulty understanding what it feels like to be cared for by his sweet wife, mainly because he is not used to receiving healing kisses.

WARNING: +18. Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and and a little bit of hot, Aemond trying to understand feelings, a bit of blood, basically a lot of softness, no description for the reader.

Word cont: 2.600 k

Author's note: Ok, I was minding my own business and this story just slipped my mind and ended up on my phone. I hope you guys like our guy trying to understand what love is hahaha 💕💕💕.

It had been about two months since Lady Y/n had gotten married, to Prince Aemond Targaryen. From the first day she saw him, she found him a disturbing man, with his silver hair, the black eye patch over one eye, the marked jaw that looked like it could cut the tips of her fragile fingers. He always seemed to be watching everything going on around him with trained eyes that she swore could see right through her.

Y/n's mother had prepared her her entire life for marriage, but not for a marriage with Aemond. Nothing was as she expected, since her husband seemed to have his own way of doing things, always silent and taciturn, just muttering from time to time, and most of the time she couldn't even decipher what he was saying, she didn't even know if he was speaking the same language as her at times.

The most unexpected thing of all, considering how reserved he normally behaved, was the fact that he liked to touch her when they were together in the martial chambers. Y/n felt her skin boiling every night with every touch he directed at her, sometimes harder, sometimes softer, but always firmly squeezing her waist, hips and breasts. Always doing things to her that Lady Y/n had not thought possible until marriage, and that just the mere thought of it made her blush and feel her skin heat up. The way he lay against her back after having poured himself inside her to the last drop and kept squeezing her breasts in a languid and soft way made her shiver.

But Y/n wasn't satisfied. She couldn't accept the fact that her Husband had such passionate touches for her at night, but didn't let her get close to him during the day, either physically or emotionally. Y/n respected him in that regard, aiming for nothing more than to be a good and obedient wife, but she wouldn't give up so easily. And with this in mind, she began to try to include herself in Aemond's daily activities and personal tastes.

Reading about the history of his ancestors, observing his favorite foods, sewing his clothes personally and even reading an old book she found in the library written by a maester who promised to teach Valyrian to even the most obtuse person. Which only made her feel even more foolish since she didn't understand a thing.

One of the best parts of trying to include herself in her husband's daily routine was watching his daily training, she usually did it in the morning after breakfast and even after a whole month watching him fight she still hadn't gotten used to the fact that he was so good, the sword seemed like an extension of his own arm and she had to restrain herself from sighing a few times while admiring him.

Until one particularly boring afternoon she decided to go down to the courtyard, since the library was very stuffy and she heard a maid saying that Aemond was fighting with Sir Criston Cole. As soon as she arrived, she leaned on the windowsill along with some other ladies, smiling as she watched her husband a little below, but the smile died on her lips a few minutes later when Aemond didn't dodge fast enough and Cole's blade wounded him in the left shoulder, drawing blood and staining the knight's sword.

Y/n's eyes widened when she saw her husband's blood and she felt her stomach churn. Aemond put his hand to his wounded shoulder and frowned, then returned to the fight furiously, disarming Cole, who apologized to the prince, but said that it wouldn't have happened if he had kept his guard up and focused.

Aemond just put away his own sword and walked with long strides into the Keep. Y/n could barely see what was in front of her, she just walked towards her husband with her eyes burning with concern.

-Husband! - She tried to reach him, but Aemond was walking too fast towards his own chambers. - Husband, please wait! Your arm is injured, you need to go see a maester!

Aemond entered the chambers, leaving the door open as he passed, as his wife followed closely behind.

-It was just a scratch, wife. - Aemond stated as she looked at him with tears in her eyes. - I'm going to be fine, it doesn't even hurt.

-Husband, if you're not going to let the maester look at this wound, at least let me take care of you! - She begged in a very worried voice, approaching him.

And with a snort, valuing his peace of mind, Aemond removed his doublet and undershirt, which had bloodstains at the site of the wound.

-By the gods, husband! - Y/n's eyes widened when she saw his shoulder. - How can you tell me this is just a scratch?

-Sit down here! - She pushed him down onto the chair with a very stern voice, and Aemond frowned - she had never used such a tone with him, always gentle and submissive to his wishes. - Don't move, I'll get hot water and an herbal ointment.

A little while later she returned with a basin full of water and a tray filled with things that a maid had brought. And Aemond watched with a very serious frown as she leaned over him with a clean, damp cloth, cleaning the coagulated blood with a very concentrated look on her face.

He barely realized that she had spoken to him, completely lost in what was happening.

- Husband? - She called him a little closer, stopping to clean the wound.

- Mmmm? - Aemond looked at her slightly confused when he finally realized that she was talking to him.

-I asked him if by chance it hurts. - She smiled, now using her usual sweet and gentle voice and Aemond didn't know why his belly warmed, but not with the excitement that had become so common in the last two months whenever he was near his wife, but with an unknown feeling.

- No. - He shook his head slowly as he answered. - I don't feel anything.

Nothing but a tingling where her warm and soft hand rested.

- Are you sure, husband? - Her look was doubtful as she frowned, Aemond just nodded and she continued her work. As soon as she finished cleaning the area, she left a few soft kisses on the wound and Aemond felt that a rope had pulled him through his navel at that moment.

-W-What are you doing? - He ended up stuttering unintentionally as he formed the sentence, feeling the skin where his wife was touching him warm as if she had touched him with a hot coal.

-Healing kisses. - She murmured simply against his heated and slightly reddened skin. - To help you heal faster.

Aemond frowned with his eyes slightly pressed together, enjoying that unfamiliar sensation in a strange way.

-And do they work? - He asked as if he suddenly had no control over his own tongue and felt very stupid for it as soon as he spoke.

-I believe so. - She smiled at him, leaving one last kiss at the end of the open wound, and Aemond felt less stupid for some reason after that.

-I'm going to apply the herbal ointment, okay? - She walked to the table, picking up one of the clay pots with a greenish, pasty mixture inside. - The maester said it should burn.

With a delicacy that Aemond had never felt in his entire life, she deposited the ointment on the open wound and gradually spread it with her fingertips, showing a look of implacable concentration on her face as if this were something of extreme importance.

Aemond hated wandering hands on him, hated receiving treatment from the maesters with their rough and hard touches, but with his wife it was different, the touches were so sweet and gentle that they were making him drowsy. And when she left more kisses after finishing applying the green ointment he thought that his mind had left his body and gone to another dimension.

-Mmmm.

-I hurt you? - She sounded very worried as she brought her right hand to the side of his face.

-Not at all. - He practically sighed, laying his head against her hand, and Y/n felt her heart warm when she had that reaction of familiarity from him.

-You need to take a bath, husband. - She stroked his cheek with her thumb, enjoying the moment where she was allowed to, smiling sweetly at him. - And after that I move on to another herb that the maester sent.

Aemond agreed, just nodding positively, feeling his whole body as if it were pleasantly numb as he walked towards the bathtub full of warm water on the other side of the rooms. And making him feel even lighter Y/n untied the front of his pants, blushing slightly as she helped him get completely undressed.

With a sideways smile at seeing his wife's reaction to his nudity, Aemond entered the bathtub, murmuring in satisfaction with the temperature of the water.

Y/n, her face still warm, knelt at the foot of the bathtub and gently massaged his uninjured shoulder, leaving sweet kisses there.

-This shoulder is not hurt. - Aemond spoke to her in a soft voice for the first time, making her smile against his damp skin.

-It must be at least sore from the effort. - She murmured very close to his neck, making him smile even though she couldn't see it.

-Join me, wife. - He turned his head back, watching her with a calm gaze.

And with a shy and very happy smile, Y/n removed her own clothes under the watchful eye of Aemond, who sighed when she was completely naked and embarrassed in front of him. The prince always found it sweet how she had not yet lost her shyness when being naked in front of him in these two months of marriage.

Y/n entered the bathtub and before she could sit on the other end of the bathtub he pulled her to sit on his thighs, leaving his wife very close to him, making her sigh.

-Are you sure it doesn't hurt at all, husband? - She gently ran her fingertips over the injured area.

-Mmmm. - He shook his head. - But I could use more kisses.

And with butterflies in her stomach Y/n did so, leaving sweet and moist kisses around her husband's shoulder who just laid his head back in contentment.

-You know if I had an injury like that I would be in a lot of pain. - She looked at him from under her eyelashes. - You are so strong husband.

Aemond had never felt so imposing in his entire life as when he heard his wife saying in that sweet and soft voice how strong he was, while looking at him from under her eyelashes sitting naked on his cock.

-I haven’t felt so much pain since I lost my eye. - Aemond didn't know where that had come from, he felt so relaxed at that moment that the words just flowed through his tongue with ease in a strange way. - It seems that I have become a little insensitive to slight pain.

Y/n gently ran her hand over his face where the eye patch was still firmly in place even during the bath. And after taking a deep breath fearing rejection after a day with so many advances she asked.

-Can I see husband?

Aemond automatically looked away, staring at his wife's breasts while his hands firmly locked on her waist.

-You don't want to see that, wife. - He muttered through his teeth. - It's not pleasant to look at.

-I think everything about you is pleasing to the eye, husband. - She tried to encourage him by stroking the scarred cheek below the eye patch, but still feeling afraid that he would push her away from him. - I would appreciate it very much if you let me see all of you.

And even fearful of his wife's reaction, taken by that strange and unfamiliar feeling in the midst of that moment of softness, Aemond removed the eye patch and dropped it on the floor next to the bathtub without looking her in the eyes.

Aemond's stomach turned as much as it had flown for the first time on Vhagar when he felt his wife's soft lips placing a gentle kiss against the deformed skin where his eye had once been.

-Gavy. (Gevie -Beautiful) - Her voice sounded like a very poor attempt at High Valyrian and Aemond's eyebrows arched.

-Where did you learn that?

-I read it in a book in the library. - She lowered her eyes in embarrassment. - Was the pronunciation bad?

-It was perfect. - He murmured with his eyes closed, lost in those sensations as he felt her sweet kisses against his face.

And with redoubled affection Y/n washed the herbs from Aemond's body and with a smile noticed that the redness had divided quite a bit, as well as the bleeding.

-After the bath I need to apply another ointment to you according to the maester, husband. - She smiled completely happy with her husband's moment of confidence. - To help it heal, he said.

-Mmm. - Aemond would let her do anything about him, as long as he could feel the softness of his wife's touch and her care and concern directed at him.

And with a sigh he trailed kisses down her soft neck, drawing low sighs and gasps from those gentle lips.

-I want you to be the one to take care of me from now on, wife. - He continued kissing her, and with a smile of pure contentment Y/n nodded positively to her husband.

-It is a pleasure for me to take care of you, husband. - She sighed at him in joy, making Aemond's heart accelerate in a strange way that made him want to vomit. He didn't understand what it was, it wasn't desire, something he was very familiar with as he desired his wife constantly, yes he was hard against her wet intimacy, but there was more.

There was something strange consuming him inside without explanation and he felt that even if he took her at that moment he wouldn't be close enough to her. And as he slid into her warm and receptive intimacy, he could feel his wife's arms hugging him tightly and pulling him closer and closer to her while she left kisses on his shoulders and face, making him lose himself inside her, feeling more and more of that sensation as strong as the pleasure of spilling his own seed inside his wife.

And letting himself be carried away by that moment, Aemond kissed her sweetly on the lips, almost a soft caress, while he felt her entangle her hands in his hair, caressing it in a way so gentle that it didn't seem intended for sex, but rather for something more delicate that the prince couldn't say the name.

-Skoros issi ao naejot issa? (What are you doing to me?) - He muttered between sighs, and Y/n had no idea what he had said, but chose to think it was something good.

All those unknown emotions, feelings and sensations were too much for Aemond, tearing from him an unparalleled pleasure that he had never felt in his entire life, and he poured himself deep inside his wife while hugging her tightly to his chest with a poignant need to feel her as close to him as possible.

And when Y/n came in his arms soon after, looking into his eyes without a hint of repulsion for his missing eye, but rather kissing him again while admiring him with pure devotion, Aemond knew. His wife's healing kisses might not help his wounded skin heal any faster, nor would they even bring back the eye that had been ripped out, but perhaps little by little they could help him heal much deeper wounds.

2K notes · View notes