#he was suffocating on himself he needed a slap back to reality | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keehomania · 1 month

Text

under the moon (달 아래) — kim namjoon (김남준)

this is part two, part one can be found here

✧.* 18+

the moment you bolted from the palace, the weight of what had just transpired pressed heavily on your chest, propelling your legs to move faster. your breath came in ragged gasps as you dashed through the corridors and out into the open, the grandiose walls of the palace growing smaller in the distance. each step you took felt like a desperate plea to escape the nightmare that was now your reality. the announcement that king taejo intended to make you his wife had echoed in your mind like a cruel taunt, and you could hardly breathe under the suffocating thought.

as the grand gates of the palace loomed ahead, your legs burned with exhaustion, but you couldn't stop. you wouldn't stop. not until you reached hansol. not until you found safety. the only thing that mattered was putting as much distance between you and the throne room as possible. the cool night air stung your lungs, the world around you a blur of shadow and dim lantern light as you sprinted through the palace grounds.

news of the marriage swept through the palace like wildfire, sparking outrage, disbelief, and determination in equal measure among the princes. hansol was the first to react, eyes wide with shock as he blurted out, “is it true? this can’t be happening.” his voice wavered with a mix of denial and fear, the thought of you being taken away by the king unbearable to him.

baekhyun, his eyes distraught and panicked, whined, “there must be a mistake! something has to be done!” his usual playful demeanor was nowhere to be found, replaced by genuine concern. daniel furrowed his brows, his expression darkening with anger. “we need to act,” he muttered, his voice low but resolute. “we can’t just stand by and let this happen.”

across the room, chaehee let out a scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. “this is none of our concern,” he sneered, dismissing the growing tension among his brothers. his words were like a slap to the face, cold and unfeeling. but before anyone could react, hansol snapped, “shut up, chaehee,” the force of his words stunned everyone into silence. even chaehee himself was left speechless, his eyes narrowing as he regarded his brother with newfound wariness.

hansol, breathing heavily, looked around at his brothers, his eyes burning with determination. “we’re going to save her,” he declared, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “no matter what it takes.” the room was still, the air thick with the weight of his words. one by one, the other princes nodded, their resolve hardening. they had made their decision. they would not let the king have his way. not this time.

your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, frantic rhythm that matched the urgency in your every movement. you couldn’t let this happen. you couldn’t let king taejo take you, bind you to him in a way that would forever benefit him, yet imprison you. as you ran, a silent prayer formed on your lips, begging for someone—anyone—to stop this.

suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats filled the air, the thunderous rhythm sending a jolt of terror down your spine. you glanced over your shoulder, fear gripping you tightly as you saw the figure approaching rapidly on horseback. for a moment, you feared it was one of the king’s guards sent to drag you back to your fate. but as the rider came closer, the familiar face of namjoon materialized out of the darkness, his expression hard as steel. “get on,” he commanded, his voice sharp with urgency.

you stumbled to a halt, your breath catching as you stared up at him, wide-eyed. the shock of seeing him, of all people, froze you in place. “i’m not marrying the king,” you stammered, panic threading through your voice. namjoon scoffed, his gaze flicking back toward the palace, where the looming threat of pursuit seemed imminent. “i know,” he replied, the words clipped. “now get on, unless you want to marry him.”

his words cut through your fear, snapping you out of your hesitation. you knew he was right; you couldn’t stay here, couldn’t risk being caught. with trembling hands, you reached out and grasped his arm, letting him pull you up onto the horse behind him. as soon as you were settled, namjoon spurred the horse forward, the animal lunging into a full gallop that sent the world around you racing by in a blur.

the wind whipped against your face, tears springing to your eyes as you clung to namjoon’s waist. the forest loomed ahead, dark and foreboding, but it was a welcome sight—anything was better than the palace, than the nightmare waiting for you there.

but your relief was short-lived. the distant sound of more horses pounding the earth reached your ears, and when you turned to look, your heart leaped into your throat. hansol, baekhyun, daniel, and younghyun were chasing after you, their horses closing the distance with every passing second. you could see the determination etched on their faces, the desperation in their eyes. namjoon noticed them too, and with a sharp command, he urged his horse to go faster, the beast pushing itself to its limits. but hansol was relentless, his horse surging ahead until he was neck and neck with namjoon.

“give her to me!” hansol shouted over the roar of the wind, his voice laced with both authority and concern. namjoon’s eyes narrowed, his grip on the reins tightening. “what makes you think i’ll do that?” he shot back, his voice cold.

hansol’s gaze burned with intensity as he locked eyes with namjoon. “because she doesn’t belong to you,” he replied, the words heavy with meaning. the silence that followed was thick, the tension between them palpable. you could feel the weight of their standoff, the unspoken challenge that hung in the air. but before anything more could be said, the sound of more horses filled the night, and you turned to see the king’s guards closing in, led by jisoo.

your heart sank at the sight of the soldiers, their faces set with grim determination. jisoo rode at the front, a wooden contraption strapped to the back of his horse—a box. you knew what it was for, and dread curled in your stomach. “come with us,” jisoo called out, his tone authoritative. “king’s orders.”

namjoon’s jaw clenched, his entire body tensing as he prepared to fight. “she’s not going anywhere,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. but you saw the reality of the situation, the hopelessness of it all. the thought of all the princes getting in trouble, of them suffering because of you, was too much to bear. you couldn’t let that happen. with a heavy sigh, you made a decision.

“i’ll be okay,” you said quietly, the words catching in your throat as you slid off namjoon’s horse. “no,” namjoon protested, his hand reaching out to stop you. “don’t do this.”

you forced a small smile, though your heart ached. “i’ll be fine,” you repeated, trying to sound convincing. “it’s better this way.”

hansol’s eyes flashed with anger, his hand twitching as if he wanted to pull you back onto the horse. “you don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice strained. you shook your head, your resolve firm. “i do,” you replied softly, stepping away from them. “i won’t let any of you get hurt because of me.”

the disappointment and worry in their eyes were like daggers to your heart, but you knew this was the only way. you couldn’t risk their safety—not for anything. with slow, reluctant steps, you approached the box, the guards flanking you on either side. you glanced back one last time, meeting namjoon’s gaze, then hansol’s. the pain in their eyes mirrored your own.

as the guards lifted you into the box, jisoo’s voice cut through the air, a solemn promise in his tone. “she’ll be fine,” he assured them. “i’ll make sure of it.” the box door closed behind you, the finality of it echoing in your heart as the darkness enveloped you. the sound of the guards’ horses moving away signaled the end of your brief escape, the end of your hope. and as the box jostled and bumped on its journey back to the palace, you could only pray that somehow, someway, this nightmare would end.

the palace seemed like a different world as you were ushered inside. your mind swirled in disbelief and fear, struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. the court ladies, their faces masked with practiced neutrality, led you to a room adorned with ornate silks and lacquered wood. you felt as though you were moving through a nightmare, each step heavier than the last.

they seated you on a cushioned stool, their hands moving with a mechanical efficiency as they began to undo the fastenings of your dress. “please, just sit still,” one of them said, her tone more of an order than a request. “what are you doing?” you whispered, voice trembling with a mixture of dread and defiance. “i don’t want this, i don’t want any of this.”

the ladies exchanged glances before one of them spoke, her voice cold and detached. “we must examine your body for any scars. nobody with scars can marry the king.” panic surged through you, and you tried to push their hands away. “stop it! i said no!”

but your protests were ignored. they grew more insistent, their hands rougher as they forced your garments off, layer by layer, until you were left bare and shivering. You whimpered, helpless under their unyielding grip, your dignity stripped away along with your clothing. their eyes swept over you, clinical and impersonal, as if you were nothing more than an object to be inspected. tears slipped down your cheeks, hot and bitter, as the humiliation tore through you. you were powerless to stop them, and it felt as though a part of you had been torn away, never to be returned.

after what felt like an eternity, they finally seemed satisfied that your skin was unmarked. the realization that your body had passed their cruel inspection brought no relief, only a deepening sense of despair. they dressed you next, their hands just as brisk and efficient as before, ignoring the tears that streamed down your face. you were adorned in the traditional wedding attire—a vibrant, intricately woven hanbok, its bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness you felt inside. the fabric was heavy, suffocating, as they tied the last ribbons in place. they pulled your hair back, weaving it into an elaborate style that felt too tight, too restricting.

you were barely able to see through the veil of your own tears, but they paid no mind. to them, you were just another duty, another task to be completed. they adjusted the final touches on your face, the paint smearing as it mixed with your tears, but they ignored it, pretending not to notice your distress. finally, they stepped back, their work complete, and motioned for you to leave. your legs felt like lead as you rose from the stool, the weight of the garments and the situation bearing down on you. as you moved down the corridor, the air around you thickened with a suffocating sense of inevitability.

the hall stretched out before you, long and oppressive, each step forward bringing you closer to a fate you did not want to accept. you felt so young, too young to be forced into something like this. your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a desperate plea to escape. as you reached the midpoint of the hall, you saw a familiar figure emerge from the shadows. namjoon. your breath caught in your throat, a spark of hope flickering within you, only to be quickly doused by the reality of your situation.

“don’t do this,” he said, his voice low and urgent. his eyes bore into yours, filled with a desperation that mirrored your own. you shook your head, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. “i have to,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you fought to maintain your composure. “i don’t have a choice.”

before namjoon could respond, the king appeared beside him, his presence commanding and suffocating. “are you ready?” king taejo asked, his voice steady and authoritative, as though this was just another routine matter to be settled. you met the king’s gaze, the weight of your impending fate pressing down on you from all sides. you nodded, your voice barely audible as you responded, “yes, your majesty.”

but even as the words left your lips, something within you snapped. desperation took hold, a final surge of defiance rising from the depths of your being. you turned abruptly to the small table beside you, your eyes locking onto the delicate vase that rested there. without a second thought, you seized the vase and smashed it against the edge of the table, the shattering sound echoing through the hall like the cry of your breaking spirit. the shards of porcelain scattered across the floor, but your hand reached down with a singular purpose.

the sharp edge of the broken vase gleamed in your hand as you brought it up to your wrist. time seemed to slow as you pressed it into your skin, the pain slicing through your thoughts like lightning. blood welled up, red and stark against the white porcelain and your pale skin.

“stop!” hansol’s voice rang out from behind you, filled with horror, but it was too late. your vision blurred as the blood flowed, your body swaying as the strength drained from you. you heard namjoon call your name, his voice distant and desperate, but everything was fading fast. the world around you dimmed, the sounds of the palace growing faint as you slipped into darkness. the last thing you felt was the coldness of the floor as your body collapsed, and then, nothing.

you woke to a hazy, throbbing sensation in your head, the disorienting jumble of noise and light mixing together. as your consciousness slowly sharpened, you became aware of a heavy, comforting presence beside you. you turned your head, your vision still blurry, and saw hansol sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes red and swollen, his expression a mix of sorrow and relief. the room was lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the walls. you could feel the warmth of the bed beneath you, the soft texture of the sheets brushing against your skin. your wrist, bandaged tightly, throbbed with a dull ache—a stark reminder of your desperate act.

hansol’s face, though tear-streaked and weary, was the first thing you clearly saw as your vision cleared. he looked at you with a blank, almost defeated expression, as though the events of the past hours had drained all the life from him. his eyes were full of unshed tears, and his gaze, though filled with concern, was tinged with an almost resigned sadness. you attempted to lift your head, but a wave of dizziness made you settle back into the pillows. weakly, you asked, “is the marriage stopped?”

hansol's eyes filled with fresh tears at your question. without saying a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a fervent desperation that spoke volumes. his hold was firm, as though he was afraid you might disappear again. the warmth of his body against yours was a balm to your wounded spirit. he nodded into your hair, his voice muffled but earnest. “yes, it’s stopped. never do that again,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

you could only manage a soft sob against his shoulder, your tears mingling with his. you hugged him back, the raw comfort of the embrace a balm for the deep despair that had taken root in your heart. jis words—desperate, pained—were a stark reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. “i thought i’d never see you again,” he murmured, his voice heavy with relief and sorrow. “please, never do that again.”

you whispered a shaky promise, your voice barely audible. “i won’t. i promise.” hansol’s hold on you tightened briefly before he pulled back slightly, wiping away the tears from his cheeks. he looked at you with a solemn expression and said, “you’ll be working as a court lady in the palace. that’s your punishment.”

you nodded weakly, accepting the judgment. the prospect of working as a court lady felt like a small price to pay compared to the chaos you had narrowly escaped. you weren’t sure what the future held, but it seemed like a less bitter pill to swallow than the marriage you had so desperately sought to avoid. as you stepped out of the palace’s maiden room, you caught sight of namjoon standing nearby, his figure silhouetted against the corridor’s light. the sight of him sent a jolt of mixed emotions through you. he looked as though he had been waiting for you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

you remained silent as he approached, your gaze dropping to the floor. namjoon’s face was stern, but there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes as he reached out and took your bandaged wrist in his hand. the touch was gentle, but his grip was firm, as though he was trying to steady himself in the face of his own emotions.

“how could you be so stupid?” he asked, his voice a blend of exasperation and genuine worry. the words were harsh, but there was an underlying tenderness that belied his stern tone. you looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper. “i wasn’t going to marry against my will.”

namjoon’s brow furrowed as he looked at the scarred skin beneath the bandages. “you’ve scarred your body for no good reason,” he said, a trace of frustration seeping through. you managed a faint, weary smile. “the scar looks better on you than on me.”

for a brief moment, namjoon’s stern expression softened. he offered you a weak, almost apologetic smile before patting your head gently. the gesture was unexpectedly comforting, a rare show of affection amidst the chaos. without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you with the faint warmth of his touch lingering on your head. as you watched him disappear down the corridor, you felt a profound sense of exhaustion, but also a flicker of hope.

in the heart of the palace, where the corridors were as grand as they were intimidating, you began your new role as a court lady. your days were filled with endless tasks, each one a reminder of your fall from the privileged world you once knew. lady jeon, your assigned mentor, was a woman of formidable presence and a reputation for cruelty. her sharp eyes missed nothing, and her standards were unyielding.

from the moment you stepped into her care, you felt her scrutiny. the first task she set before you was an assortment of menial duties—dusting ornate vases, arranging fresh flowers, and meticulously organizing the shelves of her chamber. every mistake was met with her disapproving gaze and a cruel punishment: stacking books on your head. the tomes were heavy and cumbersome, their pages rustling as they were added one after another. if you faltered or misplaced an item, you were forced to balance an ever-increasing stack, adding to the strain and frustration.

one day, lady jeon’s sharp eyes widened in surprise as you began crafting a bar of soap. her initial skepticism was evident as you mixed lye with fat and various herbs. she watched with a mixture of fascination and suspicion as you worked. you explained the process in detail, your hands skillfully moving to blend the ingredients. “this is soap,” you said, holding up the resulting mixture for her inspection. “it’s used for cleaning and has healing properties.”

her gaze was critical. “soap? what makes you think this will be of any use in the palace? and why should i believe you know what you’re doing?” you tried to ignore her tone and continued, though each mistake led to a new round of book-stacking. the heavy volumes pressed against your neck and shoulders as you wobbled under their weight, but you persevered. each error only drove you to refine your craft further, driven by the desire to prove yourself.

your routine, however, took a sudden turn when you heard frantic cries coming from crown prince taehyung’s quarters. without thinking, you ran toward the commotion. as you burst into the room, your eyes widened in horror at the sight of taehyung’s blotched skin. the rumors about his illness were true—he was afflicted with a severe rash, and he was about to immerse himself in a tub of cold water.

“stop!” you shouted, rushing to him and trying to pry the jug from his hands. “don’t use cold water. it’ll make the itching worse!”

taehyung’s eyes widened with shock and anger. “how dare you come in here? you’re not supposed to know about this!” he snapped, pushing you away. you landed on the floor, but you quickly scrambled to your feet. ignoring the pain, you called out, “please, don’t use cold water. It will aggravate the rash. warm water with peppermint leaves will soothe it.”

as you spoke, you noticed taehyung’s hesitance. he watched you with a mix of skepticism and curiosity as you instructed another court lady to fetch a bucket of warm water and peppermint leaves. you worked swiftly, applying the warm solution to his inflamed skin, explaining as you went, “peppermint has soothing properties. it’ll help reduce the itching and inflammation.”

before you could finish, lady keon stormed into the room, her face a mask of horror. “what are you doing?” she demanded, her voice sharp with authority. “how dare you touch the crown prince!” taehyung opened his mouth to protest, but lady jeon was quick to intervene. she grabbed your arm and dragged you out of the room, her grip unyielding. “you’ve overstepped your bounds,” she snapped. “your punishment will be severe.”

back in her chamber, you were once again subjected to the cruel task of balancing books on your head. the punishment was even harsher this time, as lady jeon observed with a harsh, unyielding gaze. as you struggled to maintain your balance, she sat across from you, eating a simple meal of plain rice porridge. she finally broke the silence. “how did you know that peppermint would help?”

you looked up, your voice barely above a whisper. “my grandfather had the same issue. i learned what helped him.”

lady jeon’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she was silent. she continued to eat, her movements methodical and slow. “lady jeon, why is it that you only eat rice poridge?” you asked, noting her grim expression. her expression remained stoic as she locked eyes with you, “i'm dying,” two words, simple enough to be spoken so lightly, yet enough to make your stomach dropped.

you coughed, trying to make sense of the overwhelming silence as you mustered up your next question. “why do you hate me so much?” you asked weakly, the heavy books pressing against your frail wrists.

the question seemed to strike a chord. lady jeon slammed her spoon down onto the table, the clatter echoing in the room. “because,” she said, her voice harsh and tinged with bitterness, “you remind me of myself.” her gaze hardened, and she continued, “you’re too damn nice and too trusting. it’s a weakness in this world, and i hate seeing it in you.”

the revelation stunned you. the cruelty you faced, the harshness of her punishments—it all made a grim sort of sense now. lady jeon’s cruelty was not just a reflection of her own frustrations but a defense against her own vulnerabilities. as the minutes passed and the evening wore on, you were left alone with your thoughts, the sting of her words and the weight of your punishment settling heavily on you. the palace had become a battleground of emotions and expectations, and you were left to navigate its treacherous terrain.

the silence of the palace courtyard was abruptly shattered by screams that pierced through the tranquil atmosphere. the sudden, jarring sounds echoed through the stone corridors, causing you to jump in surprise. your heart raced as you exchanged a worried glance with lady jeon, her stern demeanor momentarily softening.

you both hurried outside, your footsteps quick and light on the cold marble. as you reached the courtyard, the scene that unfolded before you was both shocking and horrifying. chaeyeon, one of the palace aides, was being whipped mercilessly by princess seulgi. the sound of the whip cracking against her back was almost unbearable, and chaeyeon's cries of pain cut through the air like a knife.

“what’s happening?” you asked in a voice trembling with fear and disbelief. seulgi, her expression cold and unyielding, barely glanced at you as she continued her punishment. “she was caught stealing from the Fourth Prince,” seulgi responded dismissively, holding up a small, ornate hairpin. the metal glinted menacingly in the sunlight, and your heart sank as you recognized it.

the hairpin was one you had asked chaeyeon to return discreetly. it had belonged to Namjoon, dropped in the bath during a moment of chaos. realization hit you like a wave, and you felt a surge of guilt and desperation.

“stop it,” you practically snapped, rushing toward them. “please, stop this. chaeyeon was just following my instructions to return the hairpin. it was my fault, not hers.” chaeyeon’s eyes were wide with fear and gratitude as she looked at you. “please, don’t,” she begged, her voice barely audible over the whipping. “it’s not her fault. i did it.”

ignoring the pleas, you turned back to seulgi, your voice firm despite the lump in your throat. “it was my mistake. if anyone should be punished, it should be me. please, whip me instead.” seulgi’s gaze narrowed as she considered your offer, a flicker of interest lighting up her cold eyes. with a sneer, she let chaeyeon go, the whip still crackling in her hand. “very well,” she said, her tone dripping with malice. “since you’re so eager to take her place.”

before you could react, seulgi was already tying your hands to the same wooden pole. the rough ropes dug into your skin as she secured them, and your heart pounded in your chest. the anticipation of the impending pain was almost as torturous as the pain itself. seulgi’s eyes were cold and calculating as she prepared to strike.

to the side, you noticed the tense figures of baekhyun, daniel, and hansol. their faces were etched with concern and distress. baekhyun’s eyes were wide with alarm, and he took a step forward, but jisoo restrained him with a firm grip. hansol’s face was a mask of grim determination, his fists clenched at his sides. “seulgi, stop this,” hansol’s voice rang out, strained and desperate. “this isn’t right.”

seulgi’s lips curled into a scornful smile as she raised her hand to crack the whip once more. “why should i listen to you? she chose this herself.” as the whip began its descent, you braced yourself for the searing pain. the crack of the whip was deafening, and the sting of the leather against your back was a sharp, biting sensation. the pain was immediate and intense, but before the next strike could land, a hand shot out and stopped seulgi’s arm mid-air.

seulgi looked up, her eyes narrowing with surprise and irritation. standing before her was namjoon, his face a mask of unyielding authority. “that’s enough,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. he stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate respect and silence. seulgi’s eyes widened in shock as namjoon approached you. without a word, he untied the ropes binding your hands, his touch surprisingly gentle against the raw skin. “what are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice tinged with irritation. “this is not your concern.”

namjoon’s gaze was fixed on you, his expression a complex mixture of anger and protectiveness. “she’s mine,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “no one else can lay a finger on her.”

hansol’s face contorted in a grimace, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and frustration. the tension in the air was palpable, a mixture of fear, anger, and helplessness. seulgi’s scowl deepened as she took a step back, her demeanor one of begrudging acceptance. you felt a mix of emotions as namjoon’s gaze softened slightly, though the intensity of the moment was far from over. you stood there, your back stinging from the whip’s lash, feeling a strange sense of relief mingled with lingering dread.

baekhyun’s quarters were a curious blend of regal opulence and childlike whimsy, filled with an assortment of traditional toys that seemed almost out of place among the luxurious furnishings. as you followed him inside, your eyes were immediately drawn to the colorful collection scattered about. wooden spinning tops painted with vibrant designs, intricately carved wooden animals, and delicate paper kites, their strings neatly coiled, lay spread across a large, intricately woven rug.

he picked up a small, intricately crafted wooden horse, its legs jointed to allow for movement. with a soft, nostalgic smile, he began to demonstrate how it could gallop across the floor. “this one was made by a craftsman from the western region,” he said proudly, his eyes lighting up with fondness. “it’s one of my favorites.”

you watched with interest as he moved from toy to toy, each piece revealing a glimpse of his more youthful side. he showed you a set of spinning tops, their colors creating a mesmerizing blur as he spun them on the floor. “and this,” he said, holding up a wooden top with a painted dragon, “is a game my family used to play during festivals.”

as he enthusiastically displayed his collection, you couldn’t help but ask, “why are you so intent on showing me these?”

baekhyun’s smile faltered, and his brow furrowed as he set down the toys. he looked at you with a mixture of vulnerability and sadness. “no girl has ever treated me like you,” he admitted, his voice tinged with a sadness that was almost palpable.

you laughed softly, touched by the sincerity in his voice. before you could respond further, jisoo entered the room, his expression serious and formal. the atmosphere shifted instantly, and you quickly stood, bowing in respect as jisoo approached. his gaze swept over both of you, and he cleared his throat. “i have an announcement,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of official duty.

baekhyun’s face brightened momentarily, but his smile faltered when he heard jisoo’s next words. “his majesty has decreed that you are to be married.”

the words seemed to hit Baekhyun like a physical blow. “married?” he protested, his voice cracking with disbelief. “but why? to whom? i—” jisoo cut him off with a firm nod. “it’s the king’s orders. the decision is final.” with that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

the impact of the news was immediate and overwhelming. baekhyun stood there, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the announcement had physically crushed him. his face was a mask of anguish and confusion. you moved closer, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “it’s going to be alright,” you said softly, though you were unsure of how to truly comfort him. “whoever the girl is, she’ll be lucky to have you.”

baekhyun’s eyes met yours, a mixture of pain and desperation evident in his gaze. “i can’t love her,” he said quietly, the words heavy with resignation. “i don’t even know who she is. how can i just accept this?”

you sighed, feeling the depth of his distress. “you have to pull through,” you said gently. “you’re a kind person, and you’ll find a way to make it work. besides, i’m sure the girl will see the good in you.”

his eyes searched yours, a flicker of hope mingled with sadness. “why won’t you marry me instead?” he asked suddenly, his voice filled with a mix of hope and despair. the question caught you off guard. “i don’t want to be a second wife,” you said softly, though you could sense his disappointment even before he voiced it.

baekhyun’s face fell, and he shook his head slowly. “you’re a mean liar,” he said with a forced smile. “you wouldn’t even be my first wife.”

before he could say more, you reached out and pulled him into a hug. the gesture surprised him, and he stiffened for a moment before sinking into the embrace. his heart ached with a profound sense of loss as he felt your warmth and sincerity envelop him. the hug was a silent comfort, a brief respite from the turmoil that had overtaken his life. You held him close, your own heart aching for the sadness he felt. the tears you had both tried to hold back now fell freely, mingling with the unspoken words and emotions that filled the space between you.

the grand hall was awash with opulence, filled with the clinking of fine china and the murmur of polite conversation as the royal family and their guests gathered to celebrate baekhyun’s wedding. you moved among the crowd with practiced grace, balancing a tray of tea cups as you served the guests. the air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers and the rich aroma of the tea.

baekhyun sat at the head table, his expression a mix of strained formality and discomfort. next to him, his new wife, kim taeyeon, attempted to mask her anxiety behind a delicate smile. jiyoung approached baekhyun with a sickly warm smile. “how do you feel about the wedding, baekhyun?” she asked, her voice filled with maternal concern.

baekhyun’s scowl was immediate and pronounced. “i don’t like it,” he replied bluntly, his eyes darting around as though searching for an escape. his honesty seemed to catch taeyeon off guard, and she frowned, her eyes darting to her husband with a mix of confusion and hurt. king taejo, seated at the center of the head table, patted baekhyun on the shoulder with an air of paternal authority. “you’ll get used to it,” he said reassuringly, though his words lacked the comfort baekhyun likely needed.

princess seulgi, her expression somewhat aloof, leaned towards taeyeon. “you’re a lucky woman,” she remarked, her tone carrying a hint of condescension. taeyeon forced a smile in response, though her eyes betrayed her unease. as you moved to serve tea to namjoon, you locked eyes with him across the room. his gaze was steady, but something in his posture struck you as unusual. as you approached, you noticed a shiver wracking his frame. you tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that was beginning to grow within you.

when you poured tea into his cup, a chilling sight met your eyes. namjoon’s lips were stained with a dark, crimson blood that was beginning to drip down his chin. panic surged through you, and you let out a sharp scream, the sound piercing through the otherwise composed atmosphere of the hall.

the commotion erupted suddenly. at the same moment, king taejo’s body slumped forward, his face hitting the table with a sickening thud. the room erupted into chaos. the guests scrambled, their screams blending into a cacophony of horror. the princes rushed to their father, their faces contorted in anguish as they tried to revive him. namjoon’s condition deteriorated rapidly, and Jisoo rushed to his side, barking orders for medical assistance. his face was pale, and he looked grave as he examined the king. the royal guards were quick to intervene, ushering the panicked crowd away from the scene.

jisoo’s voice cut through the chaos, cold and unyielding. “the king’s pulse is weak,” he announced, his tone flat as he looked up at the assembled crowd. “it appears he was poisoned.” the room fell into stunned silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. your heart raced, and you turned to fetch your medicine, hoping to find a remedy or at least offer some aid. but before you could take a step, jisoo’s hand shot out to stop you. his expression was a mix of authority and cold detachment.

“stop right there,” he said firmly. “you’re under arrest for the attempted murders of king taejo and kim namjoon.”

your blood ran cold as the words hit you. “what? no, that’s impossible!” you protested, your voice trembling with disbelief. “i didn’t do anything!”

guards surged forward, their expressions stern and unyielding. they seized you roughly, dragging you away from the scene. you struggled against their grip, your pleas for justice echoing through the hall. “i swear, i didn’t do this! i was just serving tea!” the guards paid no heed to your protests, and you were forced into the cold, oppressive darkness of an underground chamber. the walls were damp and echoing with the sounds of dripping water. the chamber was stark and barren, a heavy iron door clanging shut behind you with a deafening noise.

you sank to the floor, the weight of the accusations pressing down on you. tears streamed down your face as you grappled with the enormity of the situation. the betrayal, the confusion, and the fear all swirled together, leaving you feeling lost and helpless in the unforgiving darkness.

in the room of the royal palace, the atmosphere was charged with tension and desperation. hansol and daniel, their faces etched with worry and frustration, were pacing the floor in the king’s chamber. king taejo lay propped up in his bed, his pallid face a stark contrast to the rich, regal fabrics draped around him. his condition was grave, and the room was filled with the faint, oppressive scent of illness.

“your majesty,” hansol began, his voice trembling slightly as he approached the bed, “we have reason to believe that nabi is innocent. the evidence against her is false.” king taejo's eyes, heavy with the weight of impending death, flickered with a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. “there was poison found in her room,” he replied, his voice raspy and weak. “it’s clear she was involved.”

“but we have witnesses,” daniel interjected urgently, stepping forward. “we’ve spoken to several people who can attest to her innocence.” the king's gaze remained unyielding, a cold resolve in his eyes. “it does not change the fact that poison was found, nor does it alter my decision. she will be hanged.”

the finality of his statement struck hansol and daniel like a physical blow. hansol’s face turned ashen, and he clenched his fists in frustration. “you can’t do this!” he protested. “we have to find out the truth!” daniel’s eyes were pleading, but the king’s resolve remained unshaken. “it is done,” king taejo said, turning his head away dismissively.

in your cell, the heavy silence was only broken by the occasional drip of water from the stone walls. you were bruised from the guards’ rough handling, your limbs aching from the beatings. the cold, unforgiving darkness of the cell seemed to press in on you from all sides, making your isolation feel even more profound. suddenly, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. your heart leaped with a mix of hope and apprehension. the door creaked open, and namjoon stepped into the dimly lit cell. his eyes were filled with a fierce determination as he approached.

“i didn’t do it,” you said weakly, looking up at him with a pleading expression. “i swear, i didn’t.” namjoon’s expression softened slightly, though his face remained stern. “i know,” he said quietly. “i’ll find out who really did this. you have my word.” with that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the cell. you watched him go, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst your despair. namjoon’s resolve was a small beacon of light in your otherwise dark world.

that night, namjoon kept watch from the shadows, his gaze fixed on the maiden’s quarters. his keen eyes caught sight of a cloaked figure slipping stealthily from the building. without hesitation, he moved to intercept, drawing his sword with a practiced, fluid motion. “stop right there,” he commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative. the figure paused, slowly turning to reveal a face shrouded in darkness. namjoon’s sword remained at the ready as he advanced, his eyes narrowing.

just then, another cloaked figure emerged from the shadows across from them. namjoon’s suspicion deepened. “both of you, show yourselves,” he ordered. “give it up now, and i might let you live.”

the first figure revealed herself as jiyoung, her face set in a smug expression. the second figure, emerging from the cloak’s folds, was seulgi. her smile was equally self-satisfied, and together, their presence was a shocking revelation.

in the king’s chamber, the atmosphere was somber. lady jeon entered with a tray of tea, her movements deliberate and controlled. king taejo’s eyes, now dimming with the weight of his impending death, regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and resignation. “are you happy to see me die?” the king asked, his voice barely a whisper.

lady jeon’s gaze was unwavering. “i could never hate you,” she replied, her tone soft yet tinged with a hint of bitterness. “i loved you once.”

the king’s eyes widened slightly. “you’re speaking of the past. it was many years ago.” lady jeon nodded. “i miscarried, and you married jiyoung instead. it was a heartbreak i could never overcome.”

the king’s face grew somber. “what is it you want from me now?”

lady jeon’s eyes hardened with a resolute fire. “i have one wish before you go. i was the one who put poison in the tea. i want to be hanged for my crime, and I want nabi to be spared.”

king taejo’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “you’re lying. there’s no evidence of your guilt.”

lady jeon’s voice was firm, though she kept a calm exterior. “it’s true. the poison was in the tea i served to you and the fourth prince.” she then produced a vial, its contents a dark, ominous liquid. “i ask to be hanged and for nabi to be released.”

the king’s gaze flickered between lady jeon and the vial. “very well,” he said, though his voice carried an air of finality. “call the guards.”

she smiled bitterly. “i’ll see you very soon, your majesty.”

as the heavy iron door of your cell creaked open, you were met with a wave of harsh light and the stoic faces of the palace guards. your heart pounded in your chest, a cacophony of confusion and hope swirling within you. the guards, their expressions unreadable, began leading you out of the cold, dark confines of the cell. “why am I being released?” you asked, your voice hoarse from disuse and grief.

one of the guards, his tone devoid of emotion, replied, “the culprit has been found. you are no longer needed here.”

a knot of unease formed in your stomach. “who is it?” you pressed, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. as if in answer, lady jeon appeared, her hands bound and a serene smile playing on her lips. your breath caught in your throat, and an intense wave of anger and despair surged through you. without thinking, you lunged toward her, but the guards intervened, restraining you with practiced ease.

“let me go!” you cried, struggling against their hold. “i need to speak with her!” the guards hesitated, exchanging glances before reluctantly allowing you a brief moment. you seized the opportunity, guiding lady jeon to the secluded cave where you and chaeyeon had hidden after the bath incident. your hands trembled as you tried to move the rocks obstructing the entrance, but they remained stubbornly in place.

“please, we can escape together,” you pleaded, your voice cracking under the strain of your emotions. “we can get out of here.” lady jeon’s gaze was filled with a mix of sadness and resignation as she pulled you into a tender embrace. her arms were warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh reality that awaited both of you.

“don’t trust anyone in the palace,” she murmured into your hair. “they are all deceitful and dangerous.” tears streamed down your face, and you clung to her, your sobs wracking your body. “please, don’t go,” you begged, your voice barely audible through the torrent of grief. “please, just stay with me.”

lady jeon’s fingers brushed your hair gently as she whispered, “i’d be dead soon anyway. it’s better this way.” she placed a soft kiss on your forehead, her touch lingering for a final, bittersweet moment. with a final, sorrowful glance, lady jeon turned and walked away. you watched her retreating figure until she disappeared from view. your heart felt like it was being torn apart as you made your way back to the palace, each step a painful reminder of the loss you were enduring.

as you stumbled through the corridors, your voice rose in a hoarse, broken plea. “your majesty, please spare lady jeon,” you cried out repeatedly, but the halls were empty, your words echoing only to meet deaf ears. when you finally reached the palace grounds, you collapsed onto the ground, your body wracked with sobs. the weight of your grief and the realization of lady jeon’s fate pressed heavily upon you. the once vibrant grounds seemed to darken around you, reflecting your internal turmoil.

hansol and jisoo emerged from one side, their expressions etched with concern and helplessness. hansol’s eyes were filled with a profound sadness, unable to offer more than a silent witness to your suffering. jisoo’s face was grim, his usual composure overshadowed by the gravity of the situation. suddenly, a familiar presence approached. namjoon, his face a mask of determination and concern, appeared at your side. without a word, he scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. you struggled against him for a moment, but his hold was firm yet gentle.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he cradled you against his shoulder. “it’ll be alright. i’m here.” his words, though not a complete balm for your anguish, provided a small measure of comfort. you buried your face in his shoulder, allowing your tears to flow freely as he carried you through the palace grounds. his presence was a beacon of solace amid the storm of emotions that had overwhelmed you.

as he walked, his strides steady and purposeful, you clung to him, your sobs slowly subsiding into quiet, exhausted breaths. namjoon’s steady murmurs of reassurance continued, a soft lullaby against the backdrop of your grief. “it’s gonna be okay,” he repeated, each word infused with a tenderness that cut through the darkness of your despair. “i promise.” you looked up at him through tear-streaked eyes, feeling a fragile thread of hope amid the overwhelming sorrow. as he carried you through the palace and away from the tragic scene, you clung to the promise that perhaps, in time, the pain would ease.

the palace was a flurry of activity and hushed whispers as the news of king taejo’s death spread like wildfire through the kingdom. the once vibrant corridors and grand halls now felt heavy with an air of somber anticipation. everywhere you went, the gravity of the king's demise seemed to press down, casting a veil of melancholy over the palace and its inhabitants.

the funeral ceremonies had been conducted with solemnity, and now, a new chapter was beginning. taehyung, the crown prince, was being crowned as the next king. the ceremony was an elaborate affair, filled with the grandeur expected of such a significant event. the air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmur of prayers, as the high priests performed rites to ensure a smooth transition of power. taehyung stood tall, his expression a mix of resolve and trepidation, as the crown was placed upon his head. the weight of the kingdom’s future now rested upon his shoulders.

in the aftermath of the coronation, tensions were high. chaehee, the third prince, was barely able to contain his fury. he stormed through the halls, his anger manifesting in shattered dishes and overturned furniture. the sound of breaking porcelain and clattering metal echoed through the palace, a stark contrast to the ceremonial calm that had just enveloped the kingdom.

jiyoung, now dealing with the new political landscape, attempted to calm him. “chaehee, control yourself!” she demanded, her voice sharp and commanding. “your outbursts won’t change anything. we’ll get rid of taehyung soon enough.”

chaehee’s rage was palpable as he glared at her. “it’s not right,” he spat. “he’s unworthy, and you know it. he’s a puppet, and we’re the ones who’ll be strung along while he plays king.”

meanwhile, newly crowned king taehyung addressed the court with a somber determination. his voice, though steady, held an undercurrent of urgency. “in light of the recent events and the dire need for rain,” he announced, “we will perform the rain ritual. our people are suffering from a severe drought, and we must do all we can to bring relief.”

the ritual was an old tradition, one that involved a ceremonial process of selecting a prince to lead a procession through the town, praying for rain. the princes’ names were written on sticks, which would be drawn by jisoo, the king’s advisor. the chosen prince would then ride through the streets, offering prayers and sacrifices to appease the heavens.

as the princes gathered, baekhyun, his face pale and his hands trembling, voiced his fear. “what happens if no rain comes after the ritual?” he asked, his voice cracking with anxiety. jisoo, his expression cold and detached, replied, “the chosen one will be sacrificed. it is believed that the heavens will only answer our prayers if the price is paid.”

baekhyun’s eyes widened in terror, and he desperately pleaded, “please, take my name out. i don’t want to be the one chosen.” laughter erupted among the courtiers and some of the princes, their mockery ringing harshly in the tense atmosphere. jisoo, unmoved by baekhyun’s pleas, reached into the urn and pulled out a stick. his face remained impassive as he revealed the name written on it.

chaehee’s expression darkened with malicious glee. “namjoon?” he scoffed. “with that scar of his, he’d only scare the rain away. he’s hardly fit to be a messenger for the gods.” namjoon’s shoulders sagged, and a shadow of sadness crossed his face. he stood silently, his gaze fixed on the floor, his heart visibly heavy with the burden of his impending fate.

you were in lady jeon’s former chamber, packing her belongings into boxes. the task was a grim one, and your tears fell freely as you moved her personal effects. the weight of the day’s events pressed heavily on you, adding a layer of sorrow to the already somber task. the door creaked open, and namjoon stepped in, his face drawn and weary. you looked up, wiping your tears hastily. “is everything alright?” you asked, your voice soft and concerned.

namjoon’s gaze was troubled as he spoke. “the rain ritual, i’ve been chosen to participate,” he said, his tone heavy with resignation. “i’m worried that my scar will be a problem. i need it covered up.”

your heart ached for him. “i’ll help you,” you said, though the task ahead seemed daunting. you led him to a small vanity where you began the meticulous process of applying makeup to hide the scar on his face. with gentle hands, you applied the foundation, carefully blending it to cover the disfigurement. every touch was tender, your focus entirely on the task. namjoon’s discomfort was palpable as he flinched slightly under your touch, but he remained still, his eyes reflecting a mixture of shame and hope.

“it isn’t that bad,” you reassured him, your voice soothing. “it’s just a scar. you’re still the same person.” namjoon’s eyes met yours in the mirror, and a small, grateful smile tugged at his lips. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice tinged with emotion. “it means a lot to me.”

once the makeup was applied, you handed him the mirror. he examined his reflection closely, a look of tentative relief crossing his features. “it looks much better,” he said, his tone lighter. “thank you for this.”

as the rain ritual began, the air was thick with anticipation and desperation. the town was crowded with people, their faces upturned as they watched the procession. taehyung, with his newly crowned dignity, led the ceremonial march. the atmosphere was electric with hope and despair, the people’s prayers mingling with the rhythmic clamor of drums and the chants of supplicants.

namjoon, dressed in ceremonial robes and mounted on a horse, rode through the streets, his presence commanding a mixture of reverence and awe. the crowd watched in silence, their eyes fixed on him as he offered his prayers. after what felt like an eternity, the first droplets of rain began to fall. the sky, previously clouded and gray, opened up, and the rain poured down in a life-giving deluge. the crowd erupted into cheers and tears of joy, their relief overwhelming.

chaehee, standing on the sidelines, was fuming with rage. his face was a mask of fury as he watched the scene unfold, his anger directed at namjoon and the entire ritual. the sight of the rain, a sign of the gods’ favor, only seemed to fuel his ire further. you found yourself overwhelmed by the turn of events. as you moved through the halls, the weight of everything that had happened pressed down on you. your emotions were a tangled mess of relief, sadness, and exhaustion.

hansol’s approach was unexpected, his expression a mix of concern and something else that you couldn’t quite place. as he drew near, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. he stopped in front of you, his eyes searching yours with a gravity that made your heart race.

“was it you who covered namjoon’s scar?” he asked, his voice low and edged with a hint of something you couldn’t immediately identify. you nodded, feeling a sudden chill run through you. “yes, it was me.” his reaction was immediate, his face falling into a look of disappointment that was almost palpable. “why are you so upset?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly. the question hung in the air between you, a contrast to the celebratory mood that still lingered in the palace.

hansol was silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor as if grappling with his thoughts. finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a hesitant resolve. “i wanted to ask you something,” he said, his tone unsteady. “i want to marry you.”

the words struck you like a bolt of lightning, leaving you momentarily disoriented. the request was so unexpected that it took a few moments for your mind to process it. you stared at hansol, and in that moment, a wave of disturbing visions surged through your mind.

you saw the historical echoes of a tyrant king, the fourth king gwangjong, whose ambition had led him to murder his brothers to secure his throne. the visions were vivid and horrifying, with gwangjong’s face morphing into namjoon’s, a sinister reflection of a dark fate. the realization came crashing down on you like a torrent, and you found yourself whispering, “stay away from prince namjoon. he will kill you,” over and over, as if it were a mantra that could ward off the impending doom.

tears welled up in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as you repeated the warning in a trance-like state. hansol’s confusion grew evident, his hands reaching out to shake your shoulders gently. “what are you talking about?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

you barely registered his words, your mind lost in a haze of fear and foreboding. “stay away if you want to live,” you managed to say, your voice breaking with emotion. the urgency in your tone left no room for debate. “stay away.” with those final, desperate words, you turned and fled from the room, your heart pounding in your chest. the fear and shock were overwhelming, and you knew you had to find a way to prevent the terrible future you had glimpsed from coming to pass.

the atmosphere in the royal palace had shifted in the days following taehyung’s coronation. the once uneasy marriage between baekhyun and taeyeon had started to show signs of improvement. baekhyun, who had been so resistant to the idea of marriage, seemed to be finding solace in small, unanticipated joys.

he decided to share his collection of traditional toys with taeyeon. he led her to a quiet corner of the palace where a small table was set up with an assortment of handcrafted toys: intricately carved wooden tops, delicate paper kites, and colorful spinning tops. the toys were beautifully made, each one a testament to the craftsmanship of their creators.

“look at this one,” baekhyun said, holding up a wooden top with a flourish. “it’s called a ‘cheongchun.’ you spin it and see how long it can keep going.” taeyeon’s eyes lit up with genuine interest as she took the top from him. she gave it a spin, and it twirled gracefully on the table. “it’s wonderful,” she said, her smile wide. “i’ve never seen anything like it.”

baekhyun’s expression softened as he watched her. “i used to play with these all the time as a child,” he said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “they remind me of simpler times.” taeyeon laughed softly, her previous unease dissipating. “it’s nice to see you enjoying something so simple.”

as the two of them continued to explore the toys, an unexpected sense of camaraderie began to form between them. it was clear that taeyeon’s genuine interest and baekhyun’s willingness to share a piece of his past were forging a new connection, one that seemed to ease the tension that had once been suffocating.

meanwhile, you had been assigned to attend to taehyung’s needs, and today that meant holding towels while he took a bath. you stood near the edge of the opulent bathing room, the scent of fragrant oils and warm steam filling the air. taehyung, relaxed and unworried, was immersed in the large, ornate bath, the water shimmering with golden hues from the light filtering in through the intricately designed windows.

the serene moment was abruptly shattered when a group of guards burst into the room, followed closely by chaehee, who was flanked by a grim-faced entourage. your heart skipped a beat as you caught sight of namjoon storming in behind them. his face was pale, his eyes wide with alarm.

“run!” namjoon shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. “taehyung, get out of the water!” but it was already too late.

as you turned to the bath, your breath caught in your throat. taehyung was struggling, his face contorted in pain. he gasped for breath, his body convulsing violently. blood bubbled from his mouth, and the water around him began to turn a disturbing shade of red. it was clear that something was terribly wrong. panic surged through you as you rushed forward, your hands trembling as you reached for taehyung. “your majesty! what’s happening?” you cried out, but your voice was swallowed by the chaos unfolding before you.

the guards rushed forward, but it was too late. taehyung’s struggles grew weaker, his body sinking lower into the water. the horrifying truth was becoming clear: someone had poisoned the bathwater. mercury, a deadly toxin, had been mixed into the water, causing taehyung’s horrific reaction. namjoon’s face was a mask of shock and helplessness. he looked at him with a mixture of horror and regret. “no, this can’t be happening,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the commotion.

chaehee stood to the side, his expression cold and detached as he watched the scene unfold. there was a grim satisfaction in his eyes, a chilling contrast to the devastation surrounding him. as taehyung’s body grew still, the room fell into a stunned silence. the atmosphere was suffused with grief and disbelief as the truth settled over the assembled witnesses. taehyung was dead, and the source of the poison remained unknown, though the look on chaehee’s face spoke volumes.

“announce the new king,” chaehee said quietly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm.

in the midst of the chaos, jisoo appeared, his face drawn with the weight of the moment. “by the decree of king taehyung’s death,” he announced, “prince chaehee will be crowned the next king.”

your mind reeled with the enormity of the events, the fear and sorrow threatening to overwhelm you. the scene was surreal, the opulence of the bathhouse now tainted with tragedy. as the reality of taehyung’s death sank in, you felt a sense of loss and helplessness. you watched as the remaining princes, including namjoon, struggled to come to terms with the sudden shift in power. the transition of kingship was sudden and brutal, leaving a palpable sense of instability in its wake.

the atmosphere in the palace had shifted from tense anticipation to outright horror as chaehee’s latest decree echoed through the halls. the proclamation came as a shock to everyone: the byun household, led by baekhyun, had been accused of deceit and failure to pay taxes over the years, a grave offense punishable by death. the news spread quickly from daniel to you, namjoon, hansol, and the other servants, each one feeling the weight of the announcement.

you were rushing through the corridors, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to make sense of the unfolding chaos. the palace was in turmoil, the once calm and orderly environment now a frenzied landscape of confusion and fear. you ran, desperate to see if you could somehow intervene or offer comfort, but the weight of the news felt like a leaden shroud around you.

you and the others arrived just in time to witness the grim scene unfolding in the courtyard. baekhyun and taeyeon were surrounded by a ring of guards, their faces pale and etched with despair. chaehee stood at the center of it all, his expression cold and detached as he prepared to carry out his decree.

taeyeon’s eyes were wide with terror as chaehee raised his bow. without hesitation, he released the arrow. it flew through the air with a deadly precision, striking taeyeon’s heart. she gasped, her body crumpling to the ground with a final, shuddering breath. the sight was horrific: her eyes wide open in shock as she lay motionless on the cobblestones. the impact of her sudden death was crushing, her life extinguished in an instant.

baekhyun, now completely distraught, fell to his knees beside her, his sobs wracking his body. the anguish on his face was palpable, his sorrow raw and unrestrained. “taeyeon!” he cried out, his voice breaking with each word. “taeyeon, no!”

the scene was a cacophony of grief and terror. you stood frozen in spot, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight. the cold finality of chaehee’s actions was overwhelming. as if to add to the cruelty, chaehee drew another arrow, aiming it at baekhyun. the arrow struck him in the arm, and he cried out in pain, clutching at the wound as he continued to weep for his fallen wife.

daniel tried to rush forward, his face a mask of desperation. “baekhyun! no!” he shouted, but the guards held him back. namjoon, his face contorted with a mix of rage and sorrow, pushed past the guards, determined to reach his brother.

the chaos continued to swirl around you as baekhyun, weakened and in excruciating pain, was struck once more, this time in the stomach. namjoon reached his brother just as he fell to the ground, his breaths coming in shallow, agonized gasps. namjoon’s eyes were filled with tears as he knelt beside him, who reached out a trembling hand toward him. “i’m sorry,” baekhyun whispered, his voice barely audible over his gasps. “i’m so sorry for everything.”

namjoon’s face was a picture of heart-wrenching grief as he shook his head. “don’t talk like that,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “you’re going to be okay. you’ll get through this.”

baekhyun’s hand found namjoon’s, gripping it with a strength that belied his fading life. “no,” he said weakly. “i don’t want to live like this. i'd rather you finish it. please.”

namjoon’s tears flowed freely as he raised his sword, the weapon heavy in his trembling hands. daniel’s pleas fell on deaf ears as he tried to reach his brother, but the guards prevented him from doing so. namjoon’s face was a mask of anguish as he swung the sword, the blade slicing through baekhyun’s wound. baekhyun cried out one last time, his body collapsing onto the lifeless form of his wife. he reached out for her hand, his own trembling and weak.

with a final, desperate effort, baekhyun clung to taeyeon’s hand, his fingers stretching out as if trying to hold onto the last remnants of his life. the scene was heart-wrenching: the two of them, now forever entwined in death, their lives tragically cut short by the brutal decree of a new ruler.

chaehee, having witnessed the brutal execution, turned away from the grisly scene. his eyes fell upon hansol, who had been watching from the shadows, his expression a mix of shock and regret. chaehee approached him, his tone deceptively calm despite the chaos that had just transpired. “well,” chaehee said, his voice cold but tinged with a hint of approval, “this was your best idea, i will admit.”

hansol’s eyes were filled with a mix of sorrow and anger. “thank you,” he replied quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “your majesty.”

chaehee gave him a curt nod. “you’ve earned my trust,” he said, his gaze icy. “remember that.”

with that, he retreated back into the palace, leaving hansol alone in the courtyard. the scene before him was a tableau of destruction and grief, the once vibrant and bustling palace now a place of death and mourning. as the last echoes of baekhyun’s cries faded away, hansol stood in the midst of the carnage, his heart heavy with the weight of the events that had unfolded. the courtyard, now eerily silent, was a reminder of the ruthlessness that had taken hold of the palace. the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the bodies of baekhyun and taeyeon, their lives extinguished by the cruel machinations of betrayal.

the courtyard was suffused with a chilling silence, the aftermath of the brutal executions leaving an air heavy with despair and loss. namjoon’s once steady composure had shattered, replaced by a raw, unrestrained panic. his face was a mask of anguish, his eyes wide and unseeing as he staggered through the wreckage of the palace grounds.

as he moved, his steps were erratic, a desperate rhythm that seemed to echo the frantic beats of his heart. the weight of baekhyun’s death was too much to bear, each step carrying the burden of unfulfilled promises and shattered dreams. his cries were guttural, an expression of the profound grief that consumed him. his usually strong demeanor was now reduced to a quivering, lost soul.

you watched from the sidelines, your own heart breaking as you recalled every moment with baekhyun—the memory of his playful taunts, his innocent laughter, the times you fought with him over trivial matters, and the confession of love that had been so unexpected yet sincere. the vivid recollections were overwhelming, a cruel reminder of the vibrant life that had been so abruptly extinguished.

tears streamed down your face as you followed namjoon, each step feeling like an agonizing journey through a landscape of sorrow. the images of baekhyun, so full of life, seemed to blend with the sight of his lifeless body lying in the courtyard. the contrast was jarring, the vibrant memories now mingling with the stark reality of his death. you wished to take it all back, to give everything for just another minute of him showing you his toys, or fighting with you, or even confessing.

eventually, your legs gave out beneath you. you collapsed to the ground, the weight of your emotions too much to bear. without thinking, you threw your arms around namjoon, pulling him into a desperate embrace. the contact was a small comfort, a fleeting moment of shared grief amidst the overwhelming chaos. namjoon’s body shook with his sobs, his head resting heavily against your shoulder.

hansol, who had been silently battling his own guilt, stumbled over to where you and namjoon were huddled. his tears flowed freely, mingling with his sweat and grime. he had seen the destruction he had helped bring about, and the burden of his actions was too much to bear. he reached out, his hands trembling as he touched namjoon’s shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

daniel emerged from the shadows, his face a portrait of numbness and pain. his steps were mechanical, his eyes focused on his brother’s lifeless form. younghyun and yeosang joined them, their expressions mirroring the profound grief that enveloped the courtyard. they stood together, united in their sorrow, their hearts heavy with the weight of the day’s events.

the group formed a somber circle around you and namjoon, each person grappling with their own grief. the only sound was the occasional sob, the soft rustling of the wind, and the distant murmur of the palace’s remaining inhabitants. the atmosphere was suffused with a deep, aching silence, punctuated only by the sounds of your and namjoon’s grief.

amidst the chaos, namjoon’s voice emerged, hoarse and trembling. “sing,” he pleaded, his words barely more than a whisper. “please, sing.”

you were momentarily dazed and confused, the request seeming almost surreal amidst the overwhelming sadness. but as your eyes fell on baekhyun’s lifeless body, the weight of the moment became unbearable. you choked on a sob, the finality of the sight threatening to drown you in sorrow.

with a deep breath, you closed your eyes and began to sing. the melody that emerged was one of deep sorrow and aching beauty, a song that seemed to resonate with the collective pain of everyone present. it was a hauntingly beautiful tune, one that spoke of loss and longing, a melody that had been passed down through generations, its origins lost to time. the song wove through the air, carrying with it the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled promises. it was a melody that spoke to the soul, a haunting lullaby that touched on the deepest corners of grief. as you sang, your voice quivered, each note a testament to the heartache that pervaded the courtyard.

namjoon clung to you, his tears mixing with yours as he listened to the song. hansol, daniel, younghyun, and yeosang all wept openly, their cries blending with the sorrowful notes of your melody. the scene was a powerful tableau of collective mourning, each person united in their grief, their pain momentarily alleviated by the soothing balm of your song.

the melody seemed to linger in the air, wrapping around the gathered mourners like a comforting embrace. it was a song that would be remembered, a testament to the love and loss that had marked this tragic day. “tonight, i'll send you the firefly from that day, to your window, i hope you have sweet dreams,” as the final notes faded into the evening air, the silence that followed was heavy but filled with a sense of bittersweet closure. you knew that baekhyun, wherever he was, would be listening. maybe, by his window. maybe, in his sweet dreams.

the sky above the river stream had deepened into a twilight blue, the last vestiges of daylight casting a gentle glow over the water. the river, once a place of daily tasks and fleeting moments, had become a sanctuary, a quiet refuge from the storm of recent events. the soothing murmur of the stream filled the space between you and namjoon, creating a serene backdrop to the intimate moment unfolding between you.

you and namjoon had wandered here together, the path illuminated by the soft, shimmering light of the setting sun. the air was cool and crisp, a welcome change from the stifling heat of the palace. as you approached the river’s edge, you could feel the tension of the past days easing, replaced by a tender calm that settled between you. namjoon stood close, his hand occasionally brushing against yours as you walked. his presence was comforting, a steady anchor amidst the tension that had surrounded both of you. when you reached the spot where you had first served him lunch, the memories of that day seemed to merge with the present, creating a poignant sense of continuity.

the river flowed gently, its surface catching the last golden rays of the sun, creating a dance of light and shadow that played across the water. the tranquility of the scene seemed to soothe the remnants of distress in your heart, and you found yourself gazing at namjoon, a soft smile on your lips.

his eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. the turmoil of recent days, the losses, the betrayals—all seemed to vanish in the face of this simple, serene moment. he stepped closer, his gaze steady and affectionate. “what is it about this place?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. “why do you love the river so much?”

namjoon’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting the gentle light of the stream. “it’s quiet here,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “everything slows down. there’s no noise, no demands—just the sound of the water and the peace it brings.”

you nodded, understanding his sentiment. the river had always been a haven, a place where one could escape the clamor of palace life and find solace in nature’s embrace. “i wish we could run away,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “find a place where we could be free from all of this.” namjoon’s eyes darkened with determination. “we will,” he assured you, his tone firm yet gentle. “just wait until i’m given the throne. once i’m in a position of power, we’ll leave together. find our own place, somewhere peaceful.”

his words were a promise, a beacon of hope that illuminated the uncertainty of the future. the idea of escaping the constraints of the palace and starting anew with namjoon filled you with a sense of hope and anticipation. it was a dream that seemed within reach, a future that you could look forward to with him by your side. as the evening sky deepened, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your face. rhe touch was tender, his fingers warm against your skin. his gaze was filled with a mixture of love and longing, and before you could fully process the moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

the kiss was soft and sweet, a gentle exploration that conveyed all the emotions neither of you could put into words. it was a kiss filled with promise and affection, a tender connection that spoke of the future you both hoped to build together. the world around you seemed to blur as you lost yourself in the sensation, your heart racing with a mixture of joy and relief.

when he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours with a depth of feeling that made your heart ache with happiness. “i love you,” he said softly, his voice a caress against the stillness of the evening. the evening drew on, the sky slowly darkening into night. as you sat by the river, the two of you shared a quiet, tender moment that was both a balm for your weary souls and a promise of brighter days to come.

the night had settled into an oppressive silence, a heaviness that seemed to weigh down every corner of the palace. chaehee lay in his bed, drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around him like a shroud. his eyes were wide open, staring into the darkness as if willing it to offer him some reprieve. the voices—baekhyun’s and taehyung’s—haunted him with their pleading, their cries for help echoing through his mind with a cruel, relentless intensity.

he tossed and turned, the hallucinations of baekhyun and taehyung becoming more vivid with each passing hour. their faces, twisted in anguish, appeared at the edge of his vision, their voices growing louder, more insistent. “let us out!” they begged, their words a constant, desperate refrain. “help us! save us!”

chaehee’s breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding erratically as the guilt and fear overwhelmed him. he could see their ghostly forms moving around him, their eyes wide with a mixture of terror and accusation. his room seemed to close in on him, the shadows lengthening and darkening, becoming oppressive barriers he could not escape.

he screamed, a raw, guttural sound that seemed to tear from his very soul. his scream echoed through the empty corridors, a reflection of his inner turmoil. his screams were a desperate attempt to break free from the suffocating grip of his own mind, but they only served to amplify his sense of isolation. the more he fought to silence the voices, the louder they seemed to grow, until they were a cacophony of despair that reverberated through his entire being.

as the night wore on, chaehee’s mind became a battleground of fear and remorse. he knew that his actions had sealed his fate, that the lives lost were a direct consequence of his ruthless ambitions. the visions and voices seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of the price he had paid for power.

in your own room, the night was less tumultuous but no less fraught with anxiety. the visions of namjoon’s future, the one you had glimpsed with such dread, played on a loop in your mind. the knowledge that he might become the next king, his victory won at the cost of his brothers’ lives, was a heavy burden to bear. you wrestled with your fear and uncertainty, wondering if you could trust him or if he was doomed to repeat the same path of bloodshed and betrayal. the possibility of changing his destiny seemed both daunting and necessary.

as you lay in bed, lost in these thoughts, you heard a soft rustling. your heart skipped a beat as you realized someone was in your room. namjoon’s silhouette emerged from the darkness, his presence both a comfort and a cause for anxiety. his eyes, usually so confident, were shadowed with an intensity that spoke of his own inner conflict.

he approached you quietly, his movements deliberate and gentle. “i wanted to see you,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that seemed to cut through the darkness. you blinked, trying to clear the haze of sleep and confusion. “why?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

namjoon climbed into your bed, his body warm against yours. he kissed you softly, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his gaze. the kiss deepened, his hands moving to cradle your face as he explored the contours of your lips. you blushed, feeling a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. “your highness, this isn’t right,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly as his hands roamed down your body. his touch was both electrifying and disorienting, a physical affirmation of the emotions you had been grappling with.

his hands found their way to the sash of your robe, deftly untying it and revealing your naked body to the cool night air. you gasped as he cupped your breasts, his thumbs tracing circles around your erect nipples. the sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying, and you felt your body respond despite your mind’s reservations. namjoon’s hand slid down further, his fingers teasing the wetness between your legs. “you want this as much as i do,” he whispered, his voice filled with a primal hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

his mouth returned to yours, his tongue delving deep as he ground his hips against yours. you could feel the hardness of his desire pressing against you, and it was a feeling that both thrilled and intimidated you. his kisses grew more insistent, his hands more demanding. your resolve crumbled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. the world outside your chamber was forgotten as you gave in to the passion that had been simmering between you for so long.

his fingers worked their magic, bringing you closer to the edge of pleasure. your breaths grew ragged, and you found yourself whispering his name. he chuckled darkly, the sound a heady mix of arrogance and satisfaction. “say it louder,” he urged, his voice thick with lust. “say it like you mean it, like you want me to claim you completely.” you moaned, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he claimed you with a fierce kiss. your body arched off the bed, and you clutched at his shoulders as the first waves of pleasure crashed over you.

namjoon’s touch grew rougher, his kisses more possessive. he pulled away, his eyes blazing with desire. “i meant when i said you were mine, nobody else's,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper that sent a thrill of fear through your body. your eyes widened, but instead of pulling away, you found yourself nodding, your body eager for the release he offered. he positioned himself over you, his large cock nudging against your wet entrance. without a word, he pushed inside you, filling you completely. the sensation was overwhelming, and you cried out, the sound echoing through the silent room.

his thrusts were deep and powerful, each one pushing you closer to the precipice of ecstasy. the pain and pleasure melded together, creating a symphony of sensations that had you gripping the bed sheets. your body responded to his rough handling, your hips rising to meet his every thrust. the room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the harsh pants of your shared passion.

his grip on your hips tightened, his movements becoming more erratic as he approached his own climax. “let go for me, my lady,” he grunted, his teeth grazing your earlobe. the dirty talk sent a jolt of excitement through you, and you felt yourself tighten around him, your orgasm building rapidly.

the tension grew, a coil in your belly that threatened to snap at any moment. and then it did, sending you spiraling over the edge with a scream that was muffled by his mouth. namjoon’s own release followed quickly, his warmth filling you completely. he collapsed on top of you, his body heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion.

the silence that followed was tense, filled with the thundering of your hearts and the harshness of your breathing. the reality of what had just transpired settled over you like a shroud, and you felt a sense of foreboding that seemed to pervade the very air around you. you knew that this moment of passion would have consequences, consequences that could change the course of your lives forever. but for now, all you could do was lie there, wrapped in the arms of the man you loved, and hope that somehow, you could find a way out.

hansol stood silently behind the door, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened to the muffled sounds of your whispers and namjoon’s low voice. every word that reached his ears felt like a dagger twisting in his gut, a bitter confirmation of the betrayal he never imagined he would face. you were the woman he wanted, the woman he loved, and now namjoon was taking you from him. the realization sent a wave of anger and despair crashing over him, leaving him reeling.

his face twisted into a grimace, the bitterness in his heart hardening into resolve. he wasn’t going to lose you to namjoon, not to someone he viewed as a brother but who was now his rival in the cruelest of ways. hansol knew he had to act, to do something to stop this from happening. he needed to ensure that namjoon wouldn’t take you away, that you wouldn’t be lost to him.

with his mind set, hansol turned on his heel and made his way down the shadowed corridors of the palace, his footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. he reached chaehee’s chambers, where the once-powerful king lay weak and frail, his body ravaged by the consequences of his own actions. the room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across the walls.

hansol hesitated for a moment at the door, but the memory of what he had just heard pushed him forward. he entered quietly, his expression unreadable as he approached the bed where chaehee lay, his breath shallow and labored. “your majesty,” hansol began, his voice a low murmur, careful not to disturb the frail king too much. “i’ve come with news that you need to hear.”

chaehee’s eyes, glazed with pain and fatigue, flickered toward hansol. there was a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. finally, chaehee gave a faint nod, indicating for him to continue. “it’s about namjoon,” hansol said, his voice steady but laced with underlying tension. “he plans to marry nabi and take her away.”

for a moment, chaehee’s expression remained blank, as if the words didn’t quite register. then, slowly, a flicker of something—anger, perhaps—ignited in his dull eyes. his lips twitched, and he managed to whisper through the dryness of his throat, “that won’t happen.”

hansol’s brow furrowed in concern as he watched chaehee struggle to form the words. “your majesty, what is wrong? you don’t look well.” but chaehee didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out with a trembling hand and gestured weakly toward a nearby table. hansol followed the gesture and noticed a piece of paper and a quill, both items seemingly insignificant but now imbued with a sense of urgency. with great effort, chaehee pulled himself up just enough to take hold of the quill, his movements shaky and deliberate.

hansol watched in growing alarm as chaehee, his breathing labored, began to write on the piece of paper. the scratching of the quill against the parchment seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, a sound that seemed almost foreboding in its finality. hansol stepped closer, wanting to offer help, but something held him back—an instinct that told him this moment was too important to interrupt.

chaehee’s hand moved slowly, his writing growing more erratic as he struggled against his failing strength. his face was a mask of concentration, the last reserves of his willpower being channeled into this one act. hansol’s concern deepened as he noticed the king’s eyes growing more distant, as if he were slipping away even as he wrote.

and then, as if on cue, chaehee’s body gave out. the quill slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the table as his hand went limp. his body collapsed against the pillows, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. hansol rushed to his side, panic flaring in his chest as he reached out to support the king. “your majesty!” his voice was urgent, his hand shaking as he tried to rouse chaehee. but the king’s eyes were closed, his face pale and slick with sweat. the hallucinations that had plagued him, that had driven him to the edge, seemed to have claimed him at last.

hansol’s heart raced as he realized chaehee’s condition was far worse than he had imagined. but then, his eyes fell on the piece of paper, still resting on the table where chaehee had been writing. the ink was smudged in places, evidence of chaehee’s trembling hand, but the words were clear enough to read.

hansol’s breath caught in his throat as he read the contents of the note. It was a decree, hastily written but legally binding. the words declared namjoon as the next king, a title that would come with immense power and responsibility. but it was the second part of the note that made hansol’s blood run cold. chaehee had written that namjoon was to be married off to the khitan, a fate that would take him far from the palace, far from you.

hansol’s mind raced as he processed the implications. chaehee, even in his weakened state, had seen the threat that namjoon posed and had taken steps to neutralize it. but as hansol stood there, holding the fragile piece of parchment, a dark sense of satisfaction crept over him. namjoon would be taken care of—sent away, out of the picture. and you…you would be free from him, free to be with hansol as he had always wanted.

the air was heavy with tension as namjoon stood in the lit chamber, his heart pounding in his chest. the words hansol had just spoken reverberated in his mind, each syllable slicing through him like a blade. he felt as though the walls were closing in around him, the weight of his impending coronation and the marriage decree crushing his spirit. this was supposed to be the culmination of everything he had worked for, everything he had endured. but now, the path to the throne was stained with betrayal.

hansol’s expression was cold, calculated, as he watched namjoon grapple with the reality of what he had just been told. the two men stood facing each other, their silhouettes stark against the flickering candlelight, a silent battle of wills playing out between them.

“this isn’t what i want,” namjoon finally said, his voice strained but steady. “i have no desire to marry a girl from khitan. this was never part of my plan.” hansol’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “these are the king’s last wishes, mamjoon. if you want to be crowned, you’ll have to honor them. there’s no way around it.”

namjoon’s jaw tightened as he clenched his fists at his sides. the weight of the crown he had sought for so long now felt like a shackle around his neck, dragging him into a fate he wanted no part of. “i already have someone i wish to marry,” he said, his voice low but firm, as though speaking the words aloud would somehow make them more real. hansol raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “oh? and who might that be?” his tone was laced with false curiosity, a venomous edge lurking beneath the surface.

namjoon met his gaze without flinching. “nabi. i want to marry nabi.”

there was a beat of silence, the air between them crackling with tension. hansol’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. instead, it was a twisted smirk, a reflection of the bitterness that had taken root in his heart. “you mean to say,” hansol began, his voice dripping with condescension, “that you’ve set your sights on the same woman i intended to marry?”

namjoon’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his features. “what are you talking about?” hansol chuckled darkly, the sound filled with a bitter satisfaction. he took a step closer, closing the distance between them. “she was mine first, namjoon. did you know that? before you came along and swept her off her feet, she was going to marry me. she was the one who held my heart.”

namjoon’s heart clenched, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. he had known there were others who cared for you, who admired you from afar. but hansol? the man he had considered a friend, a brother? he had never imagined that hansol had harbored feelings for you, let alone that he had planned to marry you.

“is that true?” namjoon asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched hansol’s face for any sign of deceit. hansol’s expression was unwavering, his eyes hard as steel. “it’s the truth,” he said simply, as if stating a fact that should have been obvious. “but then you came along, and everything changed. she forgot all about me, all about what we had. you took her from me.”

namjoon felt a cold knot of guilt form in the pit of his stomach. he had always known that his rise to power would come at a cost, that there would be sacrifices along the way. but this? he had never wanted to hurt hansol, never wanted to come between him and someone he cared about. the realization that he had unknowingly done just that twisted his insides in knots. he looked away, unable to meet hansol’s gaze. “i can't believe it,” namjoon said quietly, his voice thick with regret. “she liked you first.”

“it wouldn’t have mattered,” hansol interrupted, his voice sharp. “because she chose you. and now, you’re going to marry someone else.” namjoon’s breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling from the weight of hansol’s words. the betrayal, the anger, the hurt—it was all too much to bear. but what choice did he have? the crown, the throne, it was all within his grasp, and yet it felt like it was slipping away from him. the price of power was steep, and he was starting to realize just how much he would have to pay.

his face went stoic, the emotions that had been swirling inside him now buried deep beneath a mask of cold resolve. if this was what needed to be done to secure his future, then so be it. he would marry the girl from khitan. he would honor the late king’s wishes. and he would become the next king, no matter what it cost him. “fine,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion as he forced himself to meet hansol’s gaze. “proceed with the wedding.”

hansol’s eyes narrowed, the smirk on his lips returning. “as you wish, your majesty,” he said with a mock bow, his words laced with bitterness. but even as he spoke, a flicker of something else—something darker—passed over his face. satisfaction, perhaps, or the satisfaction of knowing that he had dealt a blow to namjoon that would leave another lasting scar.

the corridors of the palace felt colder, more oppressive, as you moved through them with a heaviness in your chest. it had been days since the intimate confrontation with namjoon, and his words still echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of the love shared between you. you had known this moment would come, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity brought with it.

when you entered the chamber, you found namjoon waiting for you. he stood by the window, his back to you, his broad shoulders tense beneath his royal robes. the light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the floor, and the air was thick with unspoken words. for a moment, you hesitated, unsure if you should approach. but before you could make a decision, namjoon turned to face you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—were filled with a mixture of hurt and anger that made your heart lurch in your chest.

“is it true?” he asked, his voice low and strained, as though it pained him to speak. “is it true that you wanted to marry hansol?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. the truth was, you hadn’t expected him to find out. you hadn’t even been sure of your own feelings until it was too late. but now, with namjoon standing before you, the reality of the situation was impossible to avoid. “yes,” you whispered, the confession slipping out like a broken promise. “it’s true.”

namjoon’s expression hardened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. he took a step closer, his voice rising with barely restrained anger. “how could you do this to me? how could you hurt me like this?”

“i didn’t mean to—” you started, but namjoon cut you off, his voice trembling with emotion. “didn’t mean to? do you have any idea what you’ve done?” his eyes bore into yours, searching for answers you couldn’t give. “i thought you loved me. i thought we had a future together.”

your heart shattered at the accusation in his voice. you had loved him—still loved him, even now—but the tangled web of emotions and loyalties had twisted everything into a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape. “i did love you,” you admitted, tears welling in your eyes. “i still do. but i was confused. hansol, he—”

“i don’t want to hear it,” namjoon snapped, turning away from you as though the sight of you was too painful to bear. “i don’t ever want to see you again.”

the finality in his words was like a knife to your heart. you reached out, desperate to touch him, to hold onto something of what you once had, but namjoon stepped back, his expression cold and distant. “please, namjoon,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “don’t do this. we can—”

“it’s over,” he said sharply, cutting you off once more. “whatever we had, it’s over.” you stood there, frozen in place as namjoon walked out of the room, leaving you alone with the crushing weight of your own mistakes. the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you collapsed onto the floor, your sobs echoing through the empty chamber.

days turned into weeks, and the pain of namjoon’s rejection lingered, festering like an open wound. despite your efforts to reach him, to explain, namjoon ignored you at every turn. he avoided your gaze, refused to acknowledge your presence, and any time you tried to speak with him, he would simply turn and walk away, leaving you feeling more alone than ever. then came the day of the wedding.

you stood in the crowd, watching with a hollow feeling in your chest as namjoon exchanged vows with the girl from khitan. she was beautiful, regal, everything a queen should be. but as you looked at her, all you could feel was a deep, aching sorrow, knowing that it should have been you standing beside namjoon, promising to be his for the rest of your life. you tried to force a smile, to show support, but the tears in your eyes betrayed your true feelings. and even as namjoon took his new bride’s hand and led her into the palace, he never once looked in your direction. you felt as though you were drowning, suffocating beneath the weight of your own heartache. but you swallowed it down, determined to find a way to move on, to survive the pain that threatened to consume you.

it wasn’t until a few weeks later that the first wave of nausea hit. you had been going about your duties, trying to distract yourself from the constant ache in your chest, when the world suddenly spun, and you had to clutch the edge of a table to keep from collapsing. the nausea was overwhelming, and before you knew it, you were rushing to the nearest chamber pot, heaving up everything you had eaten that morning.

at first, you dismissed it as nothing more than stress, a reaction to the emotional turmoil you had been enduring. but as the days went on, and the nausea continued, a new, terrifying realization began to take root in your mind. you were pregnant.

panic seized you, and for a long moment, you couldn’t breathe. the implications of this—of carrying namjoon’s child—were too overwhelming to process. you had no idea what to do, who to turn to. but then, one name came to mind, the only person you could trust with this secret.

your hands trembled as you sought him out, your heart pounding in your chest as you found him in one of the palace corridors. he turned to you with a smile, but the moment he saw the look on your face, his expression shifted to one of concern. “what’s wrong?” daniel asked, his voice gentle as he reached out to touch your arm.

you looked up at him, your eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. “i think i’m pregnant.”

for a moment, daniel was silent, his expression unreadable as he processed the news. but then, to your surprise, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms strong and comforting around you. “it’s gonna be okay,” he murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. “i’m here. i’ll help you through this.”

you clung to him, burying your face in his shoulder as the weight of your situation threatened to overwhelm you. his presence was like a lifeline, anchoring you in a storm of emotions you didn’t know how to navigate. “but what am i going to do?” you whispered, your voice trembling with fear. “should i tell namjoon?”

daniel hesitated, then slowly shook his head. “no. he just got married. if you tell him now, it’ll only make things worse. people will think you’re a wench, something awful could happen.” the truth in his words stung, but you knew he was right. if word got out that you were carrying namjoon’s child, it would be a scandal of epic proportions, one that could ruin not just your life, but namjoon’s as well.

“then what should i do?” you asked, desperation creeping into your voice. daniel looked at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve. “you’ll have to marry someone else,” he said quietly. “pretend the baby is theirs.”

the very thought of it made your heart ache. the idea of marrying someone else, of lying about the child growing inside you, was almost too much to bear. but what choice did you have? there was no other way to protect yourself, to protect namjoon. “who?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “who could i marry?”

daniel’s gaze was steady, but you could see the pain in his eyes as he spoke the next words. “marry me.”

your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening in surprise. of all the people you had considered, daniel had never been one of them. he was your friend, your confidant, but you had never thought of him in that way. and yet, as you looked into his eyes, you saw the depth of his feelings for you, feelings he had kept hidden for so long. “daniel,” you began, but he shook his head, silencing you with a gentle smile.

“it’s okay,” he said softly. “i’ve cared about you for a long time. if this is the only way i can be with you, then I’m willing to do it.”

tears welled in your eyes as you stared at him, overwhelmed by his selflessness, by the depth of his love for you. and in that moment, you knew there was no one else you could trust more. you threw your arms around him, holding him tight as the tears finally spilled over. “thank you,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. “thank you so much.”

he held you close, his arms strong and comforting around you. so good did it feel for him, to finally embrace the woman everybody seemed to love. he knew you didn't love him but, in your embrace, it didn't seem to matter. it didn't seem to hurt as much as he thought it would. he could accept everything—your child, namjoon's anger, hansol's resentment. he could take it all, if it meant he could take you.

the palace was quiet in the late afternoon light, the golden rays filtering through the tall windows and casting soft shadows on the polished floors. it was a peace that was deceptive, a calm that masked the turbulent emotions brewing just beneath the surface. namjoon sat at his desk, staring down at a map of the kingdom, but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts he couldn’t escape. the lines on the map blurred as his mind wandered, his focus slipping away as a dull ache settled in his chest.

it had been weeks since he had last seen you, weeks that felt like an eternity. he had tried to push you from his mind, to drown himself in the duties of the court, but nothing could erase the memory of your confession, of the way you had looked at him with tears in your eyes as you admitted the truth. the pain of that moment was still fresh, a wound that refused to heal, and no matter how much he tried to bury it, it continued to gnaw at him, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

the door to his chambers creaked open, and namjoon barely registered the sound. he was too lost in his thoughts, too consumed by the weight of his own heartbreak. but when he heard the familiar voice of hansol, he slowly lifted his gaze, his expression guarded. “your highness,” hansol greeted, stepping into the room with a grim expression. he closed the door behind him, his movements slow and deliberate as if he were bracing himself for something unpleasant. “i have news.”

namjoon’s heart sank at the tone in hansol’s voice. there was a heaviness to it that made his chest tighten with unease, but he forced himself to remain composed, to keep his emotions in check. “what is it?” he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside him. hansol hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away from namjoon as if he were unsure how to proceed. but then he straightened, his expression hardening as he delivered the news.

“nabi and daniel are getting married.” the words struck namjoon like a fatal blow, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp exhale. his grip on the edge of the desk tightened, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to maintain his composure. he had known this was coming. he had known the moment he had walked away from you that this would be the inevitable outcome. but hearing it spoken aloud, hearing the finality in hansol’s voice, made it all too real.

he felt something break inside him, a part of himself that had been holding on to hope, now shattered into a thousand pieces. but he couldn’t show it. he couldn’t let hansol see how much this news was destroying him from the inside out. “i don’t want any further updates,” namjoon said, his voice cold and distant, a mask of indifference that he had perfected over the years. he couldn’t bear to hear any more, couldn’t bear to know the details of your life with daniel. it was too much, too painful to even think about.

hansol didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say next. namjoon’s eyes flickered up to meet his, and he saw the hesitation, the reluctance in hansol’s gaze. “there’s more,” hansol said slowly, his voice tinged with something that made namjoon’s heart begin to race. “she’s pregnant.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, and for a moment, Namjoon felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath him. his mind went blank, the world around him fading into nothingness as the realization hit him like a tidal wave. pregnant.

it was a simple word, but it carried with it a weight that namjoon wasn’t sure he could bear. his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to process what hansol had just told him. pregnant. you were pregnant. with his brother’s child. but even as the thought crossed his mind, namjoon felt a deep, instinctual denial rise within him. he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the child wasn’t daniel’s. it was his. he had always known, deep down, that you carried his child. but that knowledge brought no comfort, only a profound sense of despair.

he forced himself to remain silent, his expression giving nothing away even as his world crumbled around him. he had to hold it together, had to keep up the facade of indifference, no matter how much it tore him apart inside. “is there anything else?” he asked, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. hansol’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if searching namjoon’s face for any sign of a reaction, but he found none. after a moment, he shook his head. “no, your highness. that’s all.”

namjoon nodded curtly, signaling that the conversation was over. hansol hesitated for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say something more, but when namjoon remained silent, he gave a small bow and left the room, closing the door behind him. the moment hansol was gone, namjoon let out a shaky breath, his composure finally crumbling as the full weight of what he had just heard settled over him. he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep the tears at bay. But it was no use. the pain was too much, the heartbreak too overwhelming.

he stood there, staring blankly at the map on his desk, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. he couldn’t stop thinking about you, about the child you carried. his child. and yet, he had no claim to either of you. he had lost you, lost everything, and now he was left with nothing but the hollow ache in his chest. despite his resolve to move on, to forget, namjoon couldn’t help but think of the days you had spent by the stream, waiting for him. he knew you had sent him letters, countless letters that remained unopened, sitting in a drawer in his chambers. he couldn’t bring himself to read them, couldn’t bring himself to face the reality of what he had lost. but every time he thought of you waiting for him by the stream, hope in your eyes, it tore him apart all over again. and then, there was the birth of your child.

namjoon heard the news through the palace gossip, the whispers of servants and courtiers that reached his ears despite his attempts to shut it all out. you had given birth to a baby girl, a beautiful little girl who, by all accounts, looked just like him. the thought of it made his heart ache in a way that was almost unbearable. he could picture her in his mind, a tiny, innocent child with his features, a child who would never know him as her father. it was a pain that cut deeper than anything he had ever known, a wound that would never heal.

and yet, despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to see you. he couldn’t bring himself to open the letters, to go to the stream where you had waited for him, to acknowledge the life that was now a part of this world. it was easier to pretend that none of it existed, easier to bury the pain deep inside where no one could see it. but that didn’t stop the nights from being long and sleepless, didn’t stop the dreams that haunted him, the dreams of a life that could have been. a life where he was with you, where you were by his side, and where your daughter knew him as her father. a life that had been ripped away from him the moment he had let you go.

you held your newborn daughter in your arms, your heart full of a bittersweet love. she was perfect, with her tiny fingers and soft, downy hair, and when you looked into her eyes, you saw namjoon’s reflection staring back at you. it was a reminder of the love that had once burned so brightly between you, a love that had now faded into nothingness. but despite the pain, despite the heartache that lingered in your chest, you found solace in the presence of your daughter, in the way daniel held her with such care, his love for her as strong as if she were his own. he had taken on the role of her father without hesitation, without question, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

yet, every time you looked at your daughter, every time you saw the way she smiled up at you with namjoon’s eyes, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. what your life could have been like if things had been different. but you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the present, on the life you had now. it wasn’t the one you had dreamed of, but it was a life you could live with.

the days had become a blur of pain and exhaustion, your body growing weaker with each passing moment. the fever had set in shortly after the birth, your strength sapped as your body struggled to recover. you had given so much, poured everything you had into bringing namjoon’s child into the world, but now there was nothing left. the room around you seemed to swim in and out of focus, the walls closing in as the sickness took hold.

daniel stayed by your side, his presence a constant source of comfort even as the reality of your situation weighed heavily on him. he was the only one who truly understood, the only one who saw just how close to the edge you were. he watched you with a heart full of sorrow, his eyes tracing the pallor of your skin, the tremor in your hands. you were slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

as the last of the daylight faded from the sky, daniel stood at the foot of your bed, his gaze fixed on you as you lay there, so fragile and pale. he had promised to watch over you, to stay with you through whatever came, but the sight of you like this—so close to death—was almost more than he could bear. his heart ached with a pain he couldn’t put into words, a pain that only grew with each shallow breath you took. he turned away, unable to watch you suffer any longer, and as he did, the tears he had been holding back slipped from his eyes. how cruel was fate, to give him everything he had ever wanted—if only for a fleeting moment—only to snatch it away? he had loved you with every part of himself, had dreamed of a life where you and the child you had brought into the world would be his to cherish. but now, that dream was fading, slipping through his fingers like sand.

you knew the end was close, felt it in the way your body had begun to fail you, in the heaviness that weighed down your limbs, in the way each breath came a little harder than the last. the fever had taken its toll, and you were too weak to fight it any longer. you knew it would all soon be over, that the life you had known, the love you had shared, was slipping away. but there was one thing left to do.

with what little strength you had left, you forced yourself to sit up, your vision swimming as you did. every movement was agony, every breath a struggle, but you pushed through it, knowing that this would be your final act. your hands shook as you reached for the quill and parchment that sat on the table beside your bed, the ink blotting as you dipped the quill and began to write. it was a simple letter, the words coming slowly, each one a battle to put down on the page. but you wrote with a determination born of love, knowing that this was the last chance you would have to say what needed to be said. the words blurred in front of you as tears filled your eyes, but you pressed on, your hand trembling as you scrawled your final message.

when you were done, you could barely breathe, your chest tight with the effort it had taken to finish the letter. you called out weakly, your voice barely more than a whisper, and a guard appeared at the door, his face softening with sympathy as he took in the sight of you. you handed him the letter, your fingers trembling as you did. “please,” you whispered, your voice so weak it was almost inaudible. “make sure it’s delivered.”

the guard nodded, his expression full of pity as he took the letter from you. “of course, my lady,” he said softly, his voice tinged with sorrow. he knew, just as you did, that this would be the last letter you ever wrote.

with that final task complete, you felt a strange sense of peace settle over you. the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders, the pain and the fear ebbing away, leaving only a profound sense of exhaustion. you knew the end was near, but you weren’t afraid. not anymore.

you managed to push yourself up from the bed, your body trembling with the effort, and made your way slowly to the door. daniel was sitting on the steps outside, his head in his hands, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. when he heard your footsteps, he looked up, his eyes widening in shock as he saw you standing there, so frail and weak, but still fighting. he rose to his feet as you approached, his heart breaking at the sight of you. he could see it in your eyes, the knowledge that the end was near, that there was nothing left to fight for. and yet, you had come to him, had found the strength to leave your bed, to be with him one last time.

you sank down beside him on the steps, your body sagging with exhaustion, and rested your head on his shoulder. he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close, his heart aching with a pain that was almost unbearable. he could feel how cold you were, how weak your breathing had become, and it took everything in him not to break down right then and there.

“are you really leaving me like this?” daniel asked, his voice choked with emotion as he leaned his head against the top of yours. he knew the answer, could see it in your eyes, but he needed to hear it, needed you to say it out loud, even if it would tear him apart. you couldn’t respond, your throat too tight with emotion, the tears that slipped from your eyes too painful to bear. you could only cry, the tears staining his fingers as he held you close, his heart breaking with every sob that wracked your frail body.

“will you forget me?” daniel’s voice broke as he asked the question, the words tinged with a desperation that cut you to the core. “when you’re gone, will you forget me?” you shook your head weakly, your voice barely more than a whisper as you answered, “i could never forget you. not even in my dreams, not even in death.”

the words were almost too much for him to bear, and he choked back a sob as he pressed his face into your hair, his tears soaking the strands. he had always known this day would come, had always known that the time he had with you would be fleeting, but that didn’t make it any easier. it didn’t make the pain any less. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your apology. “i’m so sorry. it’s too much. i can’t stay.”

your eyes were growing heavy, the world around you beginning to fade as the exhaustion took hold. you could feel the darkness creeping in, the edges of your vision blurring as you struggled to stay awake, to stay with him just a little longer. daniel felt the change in you, felt the way your body was growing limp against him, and he knew that the end was near. he had known it was coming, had seen it in your eyes, but now that it was here, now that he was about to lose you, the pain was almost too much to bear.

with trembling hands, he began to sing, his voice soft and broken as he sang the same song you had sung to him when baekhyun had died. it was a lullaby, a song of love and loss, of comfort in the face of unbearable pain. and as the words left his lips, he could feel you slipping away, your body growing heavier, your breathing more shallow. he had sent the firefly from that day, to your window, hoping you'd have sweet dreams. a final tear slipped from your eyes, trailing down your cheek as you let out one last breath. the world went black, the pain and the fear fading away as you sank into the darkness, your head resting on daniel’s lap as the life left your body.

daniel’s voice faltered as he felt you go, his heart breaking as he realized that you were gone. he cradled your lifeless body in his arms, the tears streaming down his face as he pressed his lips to your hair, his voice breaking as he whispered your name. but there was no response, no warmth left in your body, no breath left in your lungs. you were gone, and all that was left was the hollow ache of loss, the unbearable weight of grief that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

hansol walked the halls of the palace with a heaviness in his steps, each one dragging more than the last. his heart weighed down with a sorrow that he couldn't begin to express. his normally sharp and composed demeanor was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a broken expression that seemed to drain the color from his face. every breath felt like a struggle as he made his way to namjoon’s chambers, the words he would soon have to say churning in his gut like poison.

when he reached the door, he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering above the wooden surface. he wasn’t sure how to begin, how to tell namjoon the news that would shatter his world. but there was no delaying it, no way to soften the blow. the truth had to be told. with a trembling hand, hansol pushed the door open and stepped inside. namjoon was sitting at his desk, his attention focused on some documents, the soft glow of candlelight casting long shadows across the room. the moment namjoon saw hansol’s face, he knew something was wrong.

“what is it now, hansol?” he asked, his voice edged with irritation, though there was an undercurrent of concern that he couldn't hide. he set down his quill, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of hansol’s distraught expression.

hansol didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walked slowly toward namjoon, his legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. when he was only a few paces away, he dropped to his knees, the sound of his knees hitting the floor echoing through the chamber. namjoon’s irritation evaporated in an instant, replaced by alarm. “hansol?” his voice was softer now, a hint of fear creeping in as he leaned forward, trying to see his face. “what’s the matter? what happened?”

it was then that hansol broke down, the tears he had been holding back finally spilling over as he knelt there, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. he couldn’t bring himself to speak, couldn’t bring himself to look up at namjoon as the weight of his grief overwhelmed him.

“hansol, speak to me,” namjoon’s voice rose in panic as he stood, moving toward his friend. “what’s going on? why are you crying?” hansol forced himself to look up, his tear-streaked face contorted with agony. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. he took a shuddering breath, trying to gather the strength to say what needed to be said.

“nabi’s gone,” he finally whispered, his voice broken. “she’s dead, namjoon.”

namjoon froze, the words not registering at first. he stared down at hansol, his mind reeling as he tried to comprehend what he had just heard. “what?” namjoon’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide with disbelief. “that’s not possible. you’re lying.”

hansol shook his head, his tears falling freely now. “i’m not lying, namjoon. she’s gone. she died after giving birth. she was too weak, she couldn’t—she didn’t make it.”

namjoon’s world shattered in that moment. everything he had been living for, everything he had pushed aside, everything he had convinced himself he could endure—it all crumbled into dust. his chest tightened as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him gasping, struggling to breathe. “why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was raw, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and anger. “why didn’t anyone tell me?”

hansol’s gaze fell to the floor, his voice filled with guilt. “she tried, namjoon. she wrote to you, every day—so many letters, but you never opened them.”

namjoon’s breath caught in his throat as he slowly turned his gaze to the stack of unopened letters on his desk. his heart raced, and his hands trembled as he reached out, touching the letters as if they were some fragile thing that might shatter beneath his fingers. he picked up the top letter, his name written in your familiar handwriting, and his vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes. his hands shook as he held the letter, knowing that inside were words you had written, words you had meant for him—words he had never read.

he didn’t even bother to open it. the realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he dropped the letter, pushing away from the desk as if it had burned him. panic gripped him, and without another word, he ran from the room, his mind racing. he didn’t stop as he tore through the halls of the palace, the walls blurring around him as he sprinted toward daniel’s house. his heart pounded in his chest, every beat echoing in his ears as he burst through the door, his voice hoarse with desperation.

“where is she?” namjoon called out, his eyes wild with panic as he looked around the empty room. “where is she? this isn’t funny! nabi, where are you?”

daniel appeared in the doorway, his face etched with sorrow as he watched namjoon’s frantic search. he knew this moment would come, knew that namjoon would finally learn the truth. but that didn’t make it any easier to see the man he once called his brother unravel before his eyes. “you’re too late,” daniel said softly, his voice heavy with grief. “she’s gone, namjoon. there’s nothing left.”

“no,” namjoon’s voice was a tortured cry as he turned on his brother, his fists clenched at his sides. “she can’t be gone. she’s here—i know she’s here. where is she?” daniel’s heart broke at the sight of his desperation, but he knew there was no other way to show him the truth. with a deep breath, he stepped aside, revealing the small urn on the table, filled with your ashes.

namjoon’s world came crashing down around him. the room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in as he stared at the vase, the reality of your death hitting him with the force of a tidal wave. he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the overwhelming grief that tore through him.

“no,” namjoon’s voice cracked as he staggered forward, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. he collapsed to his knees before the table, his hands trembling as he reached out, cradling the vase in his arms. “please, no.” he hugged the vase to his chest, his tears falling freely as he rocked back and forth, his heart shattering into a million pieces. he called out your name, his voice broken and desperate, as if somehow, by saying it enough times, he could bring you back.

but there was no response. there was only silence, the cold, empty silence that followed death, and namjoon felt as if the very life had been drained from him. he had lost you—he had lost everything. as he wept, the sound of small footsteps echoed through the room. a little girl, no more than a few months old, toddled into the living room, her eyes wide with curiosity. she looked up at namjoon, her innocent face a mirror of his own, and in that moment, he knew. she looked just like him.

“where’s mommy?” the little girl asked, her voice soft and full of innocence as she stared up at namjoon with wide eyes. his breath caught in his throat, the sight of the child twisting the knife of grief even deeper. he couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to explain that you were gone, that you would never come back. all he could do was stare at her, his heart breaking all over again.

“she’s sick,” namjoon finally choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper as he looked at the little girl, tears streaming down his face. the little girl didn’t understand. she didn’t know what death was, didn’t know what it meant for someone to be gone forever. all she knew was that her mother wasn’t there, and she wanted to find her.

namjoon couldn’t bear it. the grief, the guilt, the regret—it all became too much. he stood up shakily, still clutching the vase of ashes, and stumbled toward the door. he couldn’t stay there, couldn’t face the reality of what had happened. daniel watched him go, his own heart breaking at the sight of namjoon’s devastation. he knew there was nothing he could do to ease the pain, nothing he could say to make it better. all he could do was watch as namjoon was escorted back to the palace by his own guards, his body wracked with sobs that wouldn’t stop.

namjoon couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop the tears from falling as he was led away. the weight of your death, the knowledge that he had lost you forever, was more than he could bear. he had lost you, lost the woman he loved, and all he had left was a daughter who would never know her father. and as he walked through the gates of the palace, the walls closing in around him, namjoon knew that he would never be the same. the grief would stay with him, haunting him for the rest of his days, a reminder of what he had lost, of the love he had let slip through his fingers.

the palace walls seemed to close in on namjoon as he sat at his desk, the unopened letters scattered around him like the remnants of a shattered life. the room, once a sanctuary of order and purpose, now felt like a prison, every shadow a reminder of his failures, every flickering candle a ghost of the past. the urn of your ashes rested beside him, a constant, suffocating reminder of the life he had lost—the life he had thrown away.

his trembling hands reached for the first letter, the paper crinkling slightly as he unfolded it. he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as he stared down at your familiar handwriting, the words blurring as tears filled his eyes. he had ignored these letters for so long, had turned his back on you when you needed him most, and now, it was too late. the weight of his guilt pressed down on him, making it almost impossible to read, but he forced himself to go on.

“my dearest namjoon,” the letter began, and his breath caught in his throat, a sob choking its way up as he read the words. he could read every word in your voice, as if you were still there, reading them to him. “i went to the stream again today, hoping that maybe this time, you would come. but you didn’t. you never do.”

each word cut through him like a knife, the pain of it almost unbearable. he could picture you there, waiting for him by the stream, your heart breaking a little more each day as he failed to show. the image of you standing there alone, waiting for a man who would never come, tore at his soul. his chest tightened, the sobs bubbling up from deep within, uncontrollable, unstoppable.

“i don’t know why i keep going,” the letter continued, the ink slightly smudged as if you had cried while writing it. “i suppose i keep hoping that one day, you’ll remember me, that you’ll remember what we had and come back to me. but i’m starting to lose hope, namjoon. i’m starting to think that maybe you’ve already forgotten me.”

namjoon’s heart broke anew with each word, his tears falling onto the paper, blurring the ink further. he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand the thought that you had believed he had forgotten you, when in truth, you had never left his mind. he had tried to push you away, tried to convince himself that he didn’t need you, that he was better off without you—but it had all been a lie. and now, it was too late to tell you the truth. he picked up the next letter, his hands shaking so badly that he nearly dropped it. his sobs grew louder as he read, your words searing into his mind, leaving scars that would never heal.

“today was the hardest day yet,” you had written, the sadness in your words palpable. “i waited for hours by the stream, but you never came. i don’t know why i keep torturing myself like this, why i keep hoping for something that will never happen. but i can’t help it, your majesty. i can’t help but love you.”

the sobs wracked his body, his chest heaving with the force of his grief. he had done this to you—he had made you wait, made you suffer, and for what? for a throne that felt meaningless now, for power that had brought him nothing but pain. he had been a fool, blinded by ambition, and now, he was paying the price. letter after letter, he read about your heartbreak, your loneliness, your unending love for him despite everything. with each word, the guilt crushed him further, the tears flowing freely down his face, soaking the pages. he couldn’t stop reading, couldn’t stop the agony that tore through him as he realized just how deeply he had hurt you.

finally, he reached the last letter, the one dated for today. his hands shook violently as he unfolded it, his breath hitching in his throat. he didn’t want to read it—he couldn’t bear to—but he had to. It was the last thing you had ever written to him, and he owed you that much.

“if you are reading this, i am dead.”

the words hit him like a sledgehammer, and he let out a strangled cry, his vision going black at the edges as the reality of your death crashed over him. his hands clutched the paper so tightly that it crumpled beneath his fingers, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words you had left behind.

“is that what it takes to get you to read my letters? i was weak, i was the opposite of you. you were strong enough to walk away, to claim the throne. was it everything you've ever wanted? was it not enough, claiming my heart? i worry that i left you with hatred, instead of love.”

namjoon shook his head, the sobs ripping through him with a force that made his entire body shake. he hadn’t walked away because he was strong—he had walked away because he was a coward. he had been too afraid to face his feelings, too afraid to admit that he couldn’t live without you. and now, he would never get the chance to tell you that.

“i still love you. how could i ever forget you? hansol knows it, my husband knows it—everybody knows it, except you.”

the guilt was suffocating, the weight of his own blindness crushing him beneath it. you had loved him, despite everything, despite the pain he had caused you, and he had been too blind to see it. he had been so focused on his own ambitions, his own desires, that he had lost the one thing that truly mattered.

“i've learned that the opposite of loving isn't hating, but leaving. why do i wait by the stream, when i know you won't be there? why do I curse the stars for this fate, when it's the moon we are under? why do i love you, when it's you who has left me?”

namjoon could barely see the words through his tears, the paper blurring as his sobs grew louder, more desperate. he had left you—he had left you all alone to bear the burden of his absence, and now, he would have to live with that knowledge for the rest of his life. the realization cut deeper than any blade, the pain of it almost unbearable.

“and now, i have to leave you. i have to leave you with the burden of having loved me.”

the sobs that tore through him were unlike anything he had ever experienced before, a raw, primal pain that echoed through the empty room. he cried your name, over and over, as if somehow, by saying it enough times, he could bring you back. but there was no response, no comfort to be found in the cold, empty air. the world around him fell away, leaving only the agony of your loss, the regret that would haunt him for the rest of his days. he had lost you—lost the one person who had ever truly loved him—and now, he was left with nothing but the ashes of what could have been.

he clutched the letter to his chest, his sobs filling the room as he rocked back and forth, the grief consuming him, tearing him apart piece by piece. he had lost you, and now, he would have to live with that pain, that regret, for the rest of his life. and as he cried, as he mourned the life he had thrown away, the only comfort he could find was the knowledge that, no matter what, you would always be nearby, under the moon.

you woke up with a start, your heart pounding against your ribcage as if trying to escape. the familiar sound of chatter and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead brought you back to reality—or what you thought was reality. you were back at work, standing behind the counter of your cosmetics shop in the bustling mall. the air was filled with the scent of lavender and rosewater, the carefully curated aroma of your traditionally made products. your hands moved automatically, arranging the small glass jars and wooden containers, but your mind was elsewhere, still trapped in the vivid memories of a life that felt too real to be a dream.

it was all too clear in your mind—the palace, the sweeping hanboks, the chilling touch of power and betrayal. you could still feel the weight of the crown on namjoon’s head, the sadness in daniel’s eyes, the coldness of the floor as you lay dying in his arms. the memories were so vivid, so heartbreakingly real, that it was hard to believe they weren’t your reality. you looked around the shop, expecting to see the grandeur of the royal palace, the opulence of a bygone era. but all you saw were customers milling about, people asking questions about the products, children tugging at their parents’ sleeves. there was no daniel, no namjoon, just the mundane, everyday life you had always known—or thought you had known.

“excuse me, do you know who the fourth king was?” a woman’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. she stood across the counter, examining a jar of cream with a polite curiosity, her eyes waiting expectantly for your answer.

you blinked, her question echoing in your mind as the memories surged forward, relentless. the name that came to your lips was not just a fact from history but a name that carried the weight of love, betrayal, and loss. your eyes widened, filling with unshed tears as the name slipped out, barely above a whisper. “gwangjong, kim namjoon.” the woman’s brows furrowed in concern, her voice softening. “are you okay?” but you couldn’t answer, couldn’t stay there any longer.

the walls of the mall felt like they were closing in on you, the faces around you blurring into one indistinguishable mass. you mumbled an apology, your voice trembling as you excused yourself, the jar of cream left abandoned on the counter. you stumbled out from behind the counter, your feet carrying you down the endless rows of displays, each step growing heavier as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

was it all a dream? a cruel trick played by your subconscious? or was it something more, something you couldn’t quite grasp? you ran a hand through your hair, your fingers trembling as they brushed against your scalp. you could still feel the coldness of namjoon’s touch, the warmth of his embrace, the pain that had clawed at your heart as you left him behind. the world around you spun, the bustling mall fading into the background as your mind struggled to reconcile the two realities. and then you saw it.

the sign loomed above you, its letters bold and unyielding: “songak art display.” your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at the sign, disbelief washing over you in waves. your feet moved on their own, carrying you inside as if drawn by an invisible force, by something deep within you that needed answers, that needed closure. the gallery was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the mall outside. the walls were lined with paintings, each one a window into a world long gone, yet eerily familiar. your eyes roamed over the art, your heart thudding painfully in your chest as you searched for something—anything—that could explain what was happening to you. and then you found it.

a painting, large and imposing, hung in the center of the room, its colors dark and foreboding. the scene was one you knew all too well, one that had haunted your dreams and your waking hours alike. the execution of baekhyun, captured in painful detail. his eyes, wide with fear and regret, his hands bound, his body broken. the crowd surrounding him, their faces twisted in a mixture of sorrow and anger. you remembered it all—remembered the blood, the tears, the sound of the blade as it descended, cutting through the air with a finality that still echoed in your soul.

you stumbled back, your hand flying to your mouth as a sob tore its way out of your throat. it wasn’t just a painting—it was a memory, a fragment of a life that you had lived, that you had lost. you turned, your eyes scanning the gallery in a frantic search for something familiar, for something that could anchor you in this madness. and there they were.

king taejo and queen jiyoung, their regal figures immortalized in paint, their expressions as stern and unwavering as you remembered. you could almost hear their voices, the weight of their authority pressing down on you, demanding loyalty, demanding sacrifice. your legs gave out, and you sank to your knees in front of the paintings, the tears streaming down your face as you sobbed, apologizing to nobody and nothing, the grief and guilt tearing through you like a storm. and then you saw him.

his face, so familiar, so heartbreakingly familiar, stared back at you from the canvas. kim namjoon, the fourth king, gwangjong. the man who had sacrificed everything for his brothers, who had grown up as a wolf and learned to be human. the man who had claimed your heart, only to break it. the plaque beneath the painting confirmed it, the words blurring through your tears as you read them. “kim namjoon, fourth king gwangjong. sacrificed everything for his brothers. grew up as a wolf, learned to be human. purge.”

you stared into his painted eyes, your heart breaking all over again as you whispered his name, the apology spilling from your lips as if he could hear you, as if he could somehow forgive you. “i'm so sorry,” you managed through your tears. “i'm so sorry for leaving you.” the world around you disappeared, leaving only you and the man you had loved, the man you had lost. the sobs wracked your body, your tears soaking the floor as you clung to the memory of him, to the memory of what you had shared, what you had lost. and then, a gentle tap on your shoulder brought you back to the present, pulling you out of the past that had consumed you.

you turned, your vision still blurred with tears, to see a man standing before you, his expression concerned, his hand outstretched with a tissue. for a moment, you didn’t recognize him, didn’t see past the veil of your grief. your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at him, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

you didn't recognize him. perhaps, not at first. not until you saw the scar. right across his eye.

✧.*

a/n: stop i lowkey cried LOL i didn't use the aired ending of scarlet heart tho bc i'm not a sociopath?

34 notes · View notes

thdorkmagnet · 11 months

Text

Hello all! Got something a bit different for you today. Since I've been gone, I've fallen deep into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fandom (you can thank Mutant Mayhem for that) and I've created a fanfiction for a truly lovely comic from @indieyuugure known as Indie's Turtles. The actual comic itself isn't out just yet but they've been posting stuff for it and I just knew I needed to make something for it!

This fanfiction takes place during the Space Arc (link here) and deals with Donnie's trauma after the events of the previous arc the Save Donnie Arc (Links here, here, and here). Basically, Bishop kidnapped Donnie and experimented on him and the bros had to swoop in and rescue him. I also touch on some this comic (linkie here too) at one point.

Also please go easy on me if anyone is out of character this is my first time writing any version of the turtles ever! Haha, hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or any of its variants. Indie's Turtles/ Indie TMNT belong to @indieyuugure.

The door to the ship's bathroom slid open, Donnie stumbling into the room a moment after, his breathing heavy and labored, a hand clenched tightly to his chest. He froze for a second, realizing too late that the bathroom was smaller than he remembered, already feeling suffocated inside. But he was snapped back to reality as the door slid shut behind him, the noise causing him to jump. Using this new wave of panic, Donnie willed himself forward, muttering the command to the ship's AI to activate the door lock.

He practically fell against the sink, leaning all his weight on it as his knees shook terribly. His hands just dangled there, hot sticky blood dripping onto white marble, Donnie squeezing tighter in some vain effort to stop the bleeding but there was too much of it- there was so much blood- he needed to wash it off. Get it off, get it off, get it off. In order to do that he needed to turn on the sink. Steeling himself, Donnie released his grip, only for a new wave of blood to slide down his hand, pooling in the sink. Donnie shuddered, keeping his right hand turned down so he didn’t have to see. In a single fluid motion he turned the handle, hot water instantly bursting from the pipes. Without a second of hesitation he stuck both hands into the falling stream, wincing as the gash in his hand throbbed. As the majority of the blood washed away down the drain, Donnie felt his breathing start to steady, his mind returning to him. Okay, okay, this wasn’t so bad. He was… he was doing good. He just needed to clean the wound up, slap a bandaid on and it would be over. There was no need to panic. He was safe.

But as he flipped his hand over to examine the gash, a new wave of terror clenched his heart. The entirety of his middle finger had been split open, endless waves of blood spurting from the cut and Donnie was pretty sure he could see the bone. A wave of nausea hit Donnie all at once and he gagged, pressing his good hand over his mouth to try and keep it down. Hot water soon poured into the gash, a muffled hiss escaping Donnie’s lips at the pain. Pain, pain. It hurt so bad. Make it stop hurting. Donnie’s breathing became raw and raspy, struggling to pull enough air into his lungs. He was dying. The pain was unbearable as the pressure of the water cut into the wound. He could feel the blood flowing from his body, leaving a horrible, hollow feeling behind. The water was too hot, every drop felt like needles being jabbed into his skin, over and over again. Get them out, get them out.

He tried to remember the breathing technique dad had taught him but he couldn’t find it in the cacophony of thoughts screaming in his head. Stop, stop. Pain. No more. Brothers. Need my brothers. Donnie let out a wail, thankful the sound was muffled by his hand. It was too much. The blood was everywhere. He was dying.

“Oh relax turtle, you aren’t dying.”

Donnie whimpered and squirmed as the needle was jabbed into his arm just below the elbow. It hit a vein, he could feel it. He felt the blood being drained out of him. It burned. He squirmed, trying to break free, trying to escape but he couldn’t. He was trapped. He was helpless. Where were his brothers?!

“STAY STILL! Unless you want it to hurt more.” The threat made his blood run cold. Even though it burned. He hated this. He hated this place. This was agony.

Finally, the needle was ripped from his arm and Donnie hissed, squeezing his eyes shut to hide the forming tears. The man didn’t even bother to clean or cover the puncture wound, a stream of warm blood dripping down Donnie’s arm, echoing the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“All that fuss over one little needle. You are making this so much more difficult than it needs to be.” Good. If Donnie was going to go through this he wanted to make it as painful for this monster as possible. He was about to make a witty retort but before he could the man spoke again, his voice cold and cynical. “You might as well get used to it, y'know. We’ll be at this for a while.”

Donnie didn’t even have time to scream before he felt the stab of another needle and the whole painful process started over again.

Donnie was trembling head to toe now, his body drenched in sweat as the flashback ended. Or paused really, since he was currently reliving the nightmare in real time. Tears dripped down his face as he sobbed brokenly. He shoved both arms entirely under the running faucet scrubbing at them with his good hand and his bad, dripping blood all over him. Everything itched. Everything hurt. He was coming undone. The sobs wracked his whole body, his tears mixing with the blood and water, a flood of pink filling the sink before swirling down the drain in a hypnotizing dance. Donnie felt his attention pulling away from the wound and onto the drain, watching it with a kind of mindless fascination.

He felt light-headed, like his brain had detached from his body floating freely above, an observer in his own skin. He could hear his thoughts roaring in his head, feel the knots in his stomach and the tears on his cheeks, the throbs of pain in his hand, but it was like he wasn’t there. He was separated, disconnected. The logical part of his brain told him he was losing too much blood. He needed to stop the bleeding. But that part was so far away. He couldn’t hear it through the fog. He fell to his knees. He wanted to lay down. He wanted to lay there and drift away. Maybe he would find a new self to inhabit. One that wasn’t so broken. One that didn’t hurt like he was hurting. He could just drift away and…

Footsteps. Footsteps down the hall. Someone was coming. Something about that grounded Donnie, pulling him back into himself. His head still spun but he was there again, in his own body. He tried to stand, using the sink for support, feeling his knees wobble but somehow keeping his balance. Who was it? Who was coming? His brothers? Fugitoid? Were they coming to check on him? How long had he been gone? They couldn’t see him like this. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to be touched. If they found him here they would make him go to the medbay and the thought of that alone made him nauseas all over again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t go in there, no matter what.

Thinking fast he turned on the showerhead, water bursting from the nozzle and soaking the floor. Steam flooded the room, fogging Donnie’s glasses, rendering him blind. But at the very least it was no longer obvious he had been crying. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around his hand, trying to stop the bleeding or at least try and hide it. Which seemed pointless since there was blood everywhere now.

There was a soft knock on the door and Donnie jumped. Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire. Or maybe that was just the heat from the shower and faucet finally getting to him.

“Hey, Don, you in there?” Leo. It was Leo on the other side of the door and he suddenly felt compelled to run into his arms and hide there until the pain ended. He might have done so if his legs weren’t shaking so much.

“Y-Yeah,” Donnie stuttered, hoping he sounded normal and not… well, the opposite.

“How long you been in there?” Leo asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

He had been expecting that question. It was a normal occurrence for him ever since he had started to shower longer than he should, since Mikey had found him in the middle of his multiple-hour showering sessions, scratching at his arms until they had been rubbed raw. Since then his family and friends had tried to limit the amount of time he was allowed to spend in the bathroom. “J-Just now,” he replied, trying to pull the towel tighter. It was starting to bleed through.

“Didn’t you get one earlier today?” Did he? Don couldn’t think straight, couldn’t make sense of the confusing mess of his mind, the fog still present and persistent.

“I, uh, spilled something on me. Needed to wash it off.” It was a weak lie but it was the best Donnie could do right now.

There was a pause as Leo seemed to hesitate. “...Are you doing okay?”

Donnie felt his chest clench. Had Leo seen through him? Did he know he was lying? What had tipped him off? “N-No, I’m fine, everything’s fine.” Why wouldn’t he just go away? Donnie’s resolve wasn’t very strong right now and he knew with enough pushing Leo could get the truth out of him. Maybe even get him out of the bathroom. He wasn't sure if he wanted that or not.

Another pause before a tired sigh. “Don, there’s blood leading from your lab to here.” Donnie flinched, wondering how he had overlooked something so simple. Wasn’t he supposed to be smarter than that? Leo seemed to be waiting for a response but Donnie didn’t know what to say, his tongue suddenly feeling like lead in his mouth, his thoughts too jumbled and the pain too great for him to form any kind of excuse. Finally, Leo continued, his tone gentle and coaxing. “Look, I know you probably want to be alone right now but, uh, I just want to make sure you're okay. It was… a lot of blood and I know you don’t… handle that well.”

Donnie swallowed, his eyes flooding with tears yet again, the urge to run to his brother growing stronger by the second.

Leo’s voice was soft. Calculated. “I won't push you. I just want to help."

“P-Promise you won’t say anything,” Donnie finally managed to get out.

“I won’t, I promise,” Leo’s voice replied, hopeful, relieved.

“And don’t m-make me go to the medbay. I don’t… I can’t.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Leo sounded a bit confused by that request but still agreed in a heartbeat. That was enough for Don, sucking in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he muttered the unlock command, the door sliding open in an instant. Leo shuffled inside, eyes wide, clearly taken aback by the state of the small bathroom. Then his eyes fell on his brother and Donnie felt the sudden urge to hide. He knew it must be quite a sight to see, Donnie and the bathroom covered in blood, hot steam billowing out of the small room in droves, cheeks damp with fresh tears and a bloody towel haphazardly wrapped around his right hand. But somehow Leo kept his promise, clenching his jaw tightly, forcing his face to stay neutral. Still Donnie squirmed in place, wondering what he was supposed to do or say now that Leo was here. An explanation would probably be nice.

“I-I was tinkering with some of Fugitoid’s tech and the- the metal piece slipped and well…” Donnie felt his skin crawl and he shuddered, the sentence dying on his tongue. He looked away, no longer feeling strong enough to face his brother, feeling hollow and exposed. What was Leo going to say, what was he going to do? If the roles were reversed Donnie would be lecturing by now. A few tears pricked at his eyes. He didn’t want his brother to see him this way, so useless and scared and broken.

But all Leo did was crouch down in front of his brother, slowly holding a hand out to him, waiting patiently for Donnie to react. It took him a few seconds to process what Leo wanted, a silent request to check Donnie’s finger. Don hesitated but finally worked up the courage to give him his hand, placing it flat against his brother's palm. Slowly Leo unfolded the towel, expression focused but calm. As cold air hit the open wound, Donnie hissed through his teeth. Leo’s eyes widened, worry etched into his features as he stared at the gash, some blood already starting to leak out again.

It felt like a lifetime before Leo moved again, finally nodding to himself, a decision made before he met Donnie’s eyes. “It needs stitches.”

Donnie felt a tremble jump up his spine, pulling his hand away and to his shell, shaking his head violently. No. No needles. He couldn’t. He struggled to articulate this though, instead merely whimpering pathetically. “I know, Dee, I know,” Leo said softly, shooting his brother an apologetic smile. “But there’s no other way. It’s gotta be done.” Donnie knew he was right but it still terrified him. “Let’s go back to my room, okay. I'm sure you don't wanna do it on the bathroom floor."

Donnie nodded numbly, allowing his brother to take command like he always did, gently pulling him to his feet. Leo grabbed another towel and wrapped it around the gash, tying a knot to try and hold it better in place. He then instructed Donnie to put pressure on the wound, guiding his shaking hands as Donnie failed to follow along with what Leo was saying. He felt really dizzy and tired all of a sudden, the pain and panic still tugging at his heart and head but almost… muted now. He was disconnecting again, he realized. Only this time he had Leo to ground him.

Leo turned off the faucet and showerhead before wrapping an arm around brother's shell, keeping him steady as he swayed unevenly on his feet. Donnie hadn't even noticed. Leo's other hand was cupped over Donnie's, helping to add a bit more pressure. It felt nice.

"What about the mess?" Donnie sluggishly asked, feeling a pang of guilt for reasons he didn't really understand.

"Later. Right now we gotta get you patched up."

Donnie grunted in agreement, finding himself leaning into his brother, allowing Leo to guide him to his room. He felt Leo shift, readjusting his grip so he could better support Donnie’s weight.

He needed this, Donnie realized. This comforting grip from his brother, this safety. He hadn’t realized just how much he had come to rely on the others since Bishop. Some days it felt like their support was the only thing keeping him stable. It made him feel a bit… helpless. In the past the others had always relied on him, he was the brains, the inventor, the medic, the one they went to when they didn’t know what to do. Now though. Now he relied on them. An equal exchange maybe. Donnie didn’t know anymore and he was too tired to care. Right now he just wanted to be there in the protective grip of his older brother and believe everything was okay.

Maybe that was enough for now.

…

Leo had experience with pain.

As the oldest and the leader, Leo was used to taking the hits the others couldn't. He did his best to cover their weaknesses, to endure the brunt of the attack so that his family didn’t have to. He thought he could take it, he had a high pain tolerance only rivaled by Raph, and most of his injuries healed pretty quickly anyways. At the time, he thought he was being heroic, but looking back it had been nothing more than naive stupidity.

It was only when he got his first real taste of pain Leo learned he wasn't as invincible or as strong as he thought he was. It had felt like dying. The agony, the fear, the helplessness, they were thoughts and feelings he had never known before. No loss had ever felt like this, nothing had ever come so close to breaking him before. Sometimes late at night, he wondered if he actually had broken and just pretended not to notice. Those nights he usually never got to sleep.

When Leo finally woke, body still alive with pain but no longer alone, surrounded by his family and friends, he had thought the worst was over. But once again it was either optimism or innocence blinding him to the truth.

He hadn’t escaped from the fight, it had just changed form.

The weeks and months that followed were the hardest of his entire life, a never-ending struggle against his own mind and body, nightmares and flashbacks haunted him like ghosts, and the few bits of Leo left felt so utterly empty, like there was nothing of him left at all. Every day was a fight that left him drained and exhausted, pushing his limits and tearing at the fabric of his sanity, always one step away from unraveling the empty self Leo had become.

Somehow though, Leo had kept going, kept pushing, kept trying. He still didn't entirely know why, maybe it was his dad in him, maybe he was just too stubborn to roll over and die, or maybe it was the leader refusing to abandon his team, but something in him kept him going. Kept him fighting. He fought for his family, for his friends, for his city, for himself.

And slowly, ever so slowly, things got better. Easier. Day by day, step by step, Leo got better. There were still hard days when he fell apart all over again but he was strong enough to overcome them now. He wouldn't say he was healed, not completely, but he was more whole, more himself.

Which is why it felt like sick irony that the moment Leo started to feel more whole it was Donnie who fell apart. His time as Bishop's experiment had been brief but it had left him in the same broken state Leo knew all too well. The circumstances were different but the scars they left were the same. And if Leo had thought it was painful experiencing it firsthand, it was pure agony watching the same thing happen to his brother, to Donnie.

The others had noticed the changes in him, too, but not on the same level as Leo. No Leo was painfully aware of every hitch in his brother's breath, every involuntary flinch at the wrong word or sound, every shudder when he thought no one was looking. He knew them because at one time they had been his.

Leo did his best to be what Donnie needed him to be. A pillar of strength in a sea of darkness and fear. He remembered his family's support during his lowest and how much it had done for him. Leo wanted, needed, to be that for Donnie. And as the group made the jump from New York to space, Leo started seeing a more positive response from his brother. The fear still lingered but it was drowned out by the thrill of discovery, Donnie captivated by the new technology he saw, enthralled by the new places and species they encountered, an eagerness to learn and understand that was so fundamentally Donnie it made Leo's chest hurt. He had missed this side of his brother. More than he knew. And maybe that was why he foolishly, stupidly, started to believe that things were better. That Donnie was fine.

Leo really had to stop pretending he knew anything.

Seeing the blood staining Donnie’s workbench had been a wake-up call, a cold splash of reality that turned his veins to ice. His body moved before his mind could, running down the metallic halls of the ship using the trail of blood to guide him. He reprimanded himself, cursed himself, for ever believing Donnie was okay. Not when he knew the effort it took to heal, to make any kind of progress. It was an exhausting struggle, a push and pull against hope and despair that never seemed to reach a victor. Even if things had improved Donnie’s scars were too new, too fresh, that anything could send him spiraling. Leo still remembered the first month in the farmhouse when Mikey had fumbled and shattered a cup. The family was more careful around glass after that.

Leo hadn't started breathing again until he heard Don's voice through the bathroom door. It surprised him that his brother had chosen to take shelter there, since small spaces tended to be another trigger of Donnie’s. He must have been desperate. It had taken some gentle persuasion to get inside, giving Leo momentary relief as he feared Donnie might completely shut him out in this state. However, all thoughts froze the moment he saw his younger brother.

It felt like looking into a twisted mirror, distorted but still the same, reflecting his past self back at him. Donnie’s body was covered in blood, cheeks red and puffy from crying, his breathing shallow and quick. It had clearly been a bad attack, one of the worst Leo had ever witnessed and his heart ached for his brother. He struggled to keep his face neutral, trying to remember the promise he had made, clenching his jaw and biting down so hard on his tongue he tasted blood. Donnie seemed to shrink under his gaze, trying to offer a weak explanation that quickly broke off as his eyes grew listless and empty, clearly pulled back into a painful memory. Leo could guess which one.

There was something achingly familiar in Donnie’s broken look, he could see him struggle to hold back the torrent of emotions pulling him down and Leo feared if he did nothing his brother might drown in it. No, Leo thought, steeling himself. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to hold Donnie up until he could swim on his own again, the way Don and the others had done for him. So he had shoved it all down, all the emotions threatening to strangle him, and forced himself to focus on his brother. He had decided to come at it logically, turning his attention to the most pressing concern right then which was most definitely the gash in his brother’s hand. The panic attack seemed to have mostly subsided, even if it had left Donnie shook, but even with a towel pressed to it, he had clearly still been bleeding. And he had lost too much blood already.

He hated how his brother seemed to recoil at the first mention of stitches. The way Donnie pulled his hand away and shook his head reminded Leo of when they were kids and their dad had tried to coax Donnie into eating something on his plate he disliked. Donnie had always been the picky eater of the family. Leo felt himself trying to match his dad’s tone in those moments, soft, apologetic, but with no room for argument. It surprised him a little when Donnie wordlessly agreed, expecting some kind of fight on the matter.

But as he practically carried his brother to his room, it occurred to him that Don just didn’t have the energy to argue. For some reason, that made Leo’s stomach twist into knots. Donnie had felt so limp against him, his movements sluggish and unfocused, the exact opposite of the brother he knew and loved. He wanted that brother back so, so badly.

As they settled on Leo’s bed, however, small bits of Donnie started to return, reprimanding Leo for forgetting to disinfect the wound before starting, even if he kept his eyes on the far wall instead of his brother. He had begun a long-winded rant about the dangers of infection and Leo had just let him talk, knowing it was more to distract himself than to actually educate. He still noticeably flinched every time Leo pressed the needle into his skin but both turtles pretended not to notice.

Eventually, the speech had trailed off and Donnie went uncharacteristically quiet. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, the only sound was the tapping of Donnie’s foot against the ground, anxiously bouncing as he fought to hold back the panic. Leo glanced up every so often to see how his brother was holding up, everytime greeted by the same wide eyed look staring off into the distance instead of at him. Donnie had pressed a hand against his mouth, possibly to cover the frantic breathing Leo could just barely make out. He tried to work faster but stitches were a bit outside his area of expertise. He had tried to point this out to Don but his brother was adamant that it needed to be him. Leo couldn’t help but feel flattered by that, even if a part of him knew it was just Donnie being cautious. Mikey and Raph were likely to freak and that only raised his chances of visiting the dreaded medbay. That meant Leo had to take the extra time to do it right. He couldn’t risk it reopening and causing a fiasco. Or worse, send Donnie spiraling all over again.

So instead, he did his best to distract, asking Donnie a question he hoped would get him talking again. "So, Don, what were you working on? Anything interesting?"

Donnie flinched before going still, even the tapping stopped, drawing Leo’s attention upwards. Leo saw his brother’s eyes glaze over and nearly panicked, worried he had said the wrong thing. But before he could try and change the subject Donnie responded softly, "I was trying to upgrade my staff."

Leo held in a sigh, returning his focus back on the stitches. Good. At least Donnie was talking. “Oh. What kinda upgrades?” Leo had done some minor tweaks with his katanas in the past but knowing Don his plans were probably excessively excessive.

“Well for starters I’m going to reinforce the base using titanium to help strengthen it in combat. From there I have some ideas for additional weapon enhancements.”

“With like, what? Missiles? Rockets? Lasers?” Leo teased.

“Yes,” Donnie said simply and the grin vanished from Leo’s lips. Okay, yep, that was definitely excessive. And unnecessary. They were ninjas, they were supposed to be silent killers, it was gonna be kinda hard to do that if they were blowing up anything that got close to them.

But not wanting to offend his brother, he instead asked, “Isn’t that more replacing than upgrading?”

“Perhaps to some.” There was no emotion in Donnie’s tone, his eyes growing distant and vacant. Though his foot had started tapping again, the only indication of his distress.

Leo swallowed down the lump in his throat, lowering his gaze again as he finished off his current stitch and started the next one. He felt Donnie tense and gave him a weak apology. “Sorry, almost done.”

“It’s fine.” Nothing about Donnie’s tone was fine but Leo didn’t want to comment on it and neither did his brother.

“So when do I get to see this cool futuristic staff?” Leo asked, trying to put as much enthusiasm in his voice as he could.

Donnie let out a tired sigh. “Too early to say. It’s still very much a work in progress. I haven’t even finished the frame.”

“Well whenever it’s done, I’m sure it’ll be awesome. Like everything you make,” Leo complimented.

Donnie grunted in agreement before going quiet again. Luckily, Leo was close to finishing so he decided to let the silence settle, focusing intensely as he added the last few stitches. Once he was done, he tied a small knot at the end to keep it from unraveling before severing the thread and putting it and the needle back in the small case sitting next to him.

“There done,” Leo said in relief, observing his handiwork. It was far from perfect, the stitches crooked and poorly spaced, no doubt Fugitoid could have done it better, but the wound was sealed and that’s what mattered. At the very least he didn’t have to worry about Donnie further injuring himself.

After a moment, Donnie inspected his finger as well, something akin to fear flashing across his eyes before he looked away. Leo wasted no time in sliding a black fingerless glove over the wound. “I-It looks good.” Donnie’s voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat to try and hide the slip up. “Decent work for your first time.” His fingers seemed to subconsciously pick at the glove as he nervously spoke.

“I’m sure Fugitoid could have done it better. Or you for that matter," Leo replied.

Donnie swallowed before giving him a weak smile. “Regardless, it was a good job. You did a good job."

Leo paused, waiting to see if Donnie had more to say. There certainly seemed to be more, something heavy and unspoken hovering between them. But Leo didn't push, instead returning the compliment with a grateful nod. "Glad the genius approves," he joked. "Although it's probably going to scar, there wasn't much I could do about-"

"Why aren't you asking me about what happened?!" Donnie blurted out and Leo went silent, waiting patiently for his brother to finish. "Go ahead, I know you wanna know right! Or maybe you wanna lecture me! Tell me how broken I am! How I'm being careless! How I nearly died because I was too stubborn to ask for help!" There was anger in his tone, raw and vile and hateful, and while Leo was the target, he knew he wasn't the source. He wanted to believe it was Bishop who had invoked Donnie's wrath but he knew better.

This kind of anger could only ever be self-inflicted.

Donnie buried his face in his hands, unknowingly sliding his glasses up to his forehead, hiding the frustrated tears threatening to spill over. "I just don't understand what you're waiting for! You already saw everything, I know you're worried about me!" Donnie barked out a soulless chuckle. "I'm worried about me! If Mikey or Raph were here they would have already dragged it out of me! So why aren't you?!"

Leo nearly laughed at the irony. He remembered having those exact thoughts when Raph had comforted him. Leo had woken from a particularly violent nightmare, panting and bathed in sweat. He had given up on the hopes of sleep thanks to the throbs of pain from his newly acquired wounds, instead sneaking downstairs to play video games. He didn't even bother picking one out, just playing what was already in the N64. His thoughts began to wander as he played through a few levels of Street Smash, muscle memory kicking in as he powered through enemy after enemy. Leo's thoughts, however, were stuck in a losing battle as he relived that night again and again and again. He was lost so deep in the memory he didn't even notice Raph until he was standing over his shoulder, questioning why Leo was up at 3 in the morning.

Leo tried to dodge the question, anxiously waiting for Raph to call him out, to begin pestering him for answers he was too tired and too broken to give, to turn the game off and force him back into bed. Instead, he plopped down next to him and started to play too. Of all the responses Leo had been anticipating this was not it. Here Raph was pleasantly chatting about Street Smash as if the brother sitting next to him wasn't sleep-deprived and traumatized. It was jarring but not unpleasant, the first real sense of normalcy since he woke up.

It didn't take much for Leo to open up after that, the silence that settled between them the final push he needed to get him talking. It was reluctant at first but soon he couldn't stop the words as they poured out of him, burning like fire on his tongue. And Raph just listened, watching him with gentle, worried eyes. That split open a dam in Leo's heart, tears rolling down his cheeks in waves. Raph pulled him into a hug and Leo just cried for all he lost. He felt like a little lost kid as he buried his head in Raph's plastron, sobbing brokenly.

It felt like a lifetime before the tears finally stopped, leaving Leo too exhausted to move or think or feel. He expected Raph to let go but he just continued to hold him there, rubbing soft circles into Leo’s shell. A calmness settled over him, strange and foreign but not unpleasant. He leaned into the feeling, letting it settle in his bones.

Raph asked if Leo wanted to go to bed but he shook his head, worried that the nightmares would chase this warm feeling away, leaving him lost to coldness and fear. Raph finally pulled out of the hug but only so he could snuggle against Leo, picking up his controller and restarting the level. The two stayed up the rest of the night playing video games and Raph never once spoke about what happened, content to just sit there in silence with his brother.

Things got a little easier after that, leaving Leo a little stronger to face what was to come. Leo didn't know where he would be now if Raph hadn't been there that night to listen, to support him, to pull him out of the brink of despair and help him find his footing again.

Now it was his turn to be that for Donnie.

Leo considered his words carefully, asking himself what Donnie most needed to hear right now. "Did you want to talk about what happened?"

Donnie seemed taken aback by this reply, shifting awkwardly on Leo's bed. "Not particularly," he mumbled.

"Then we won't," Leo replied simply. Donnie's eyes narrowed suspiciously, doubt written across his features. Clearly Donnie wasn't taking him at his word. He looked like he expected the whole thing to be a trick, like any second Leo might suddenly start prying into things he'd rather keep to himself. It was distinctly familiar, a look Donnie had flashed him a hundred times and he very nearly laughed in relief.

"What, I'm being serious! Yeah I'm worried about you but I'm not gonna force you to talk about stuff. I'm here to support you, Don, in whatever way you need."

Donnie’s expression softened but the skepticism didn't quite go away. "So we can just sit here? In silence?"

"If that's what you need."

"And there are no ulterior motives?" Donnie moved in so their faces were inches apart. "Like, perhaps, getting me to talk about what happened with… Bishop." Leo didn't miss the subtle shudder at the mention of Donnie's captor.

Leo kept his face neutral, matching his brother's suspicious look with one of sympathy. "You just came down from a panic attack, pushing you is the last thing I'm going to do."

Donnie hesitated, Leo practically seeing the gears turn in his brother's head, before finally giving a curt nod, collapsing back onto the bed with a noticeable sigh. "Thank you," he mumbled, pulling off his glasses so he could massage his eyes with his one good hand. Leo studied his brother closely. All the emotion had washed from Donnie’s face leaving only exhaustion in its place. Leo could see the eyebags, thick and heavy, an exact match for his own back in the day. Who knows how long it had been since Donnie had a good night's sleep.

"I'm sorry you had to see me that way," Donnie finally said. Even his tone was just tired.

"Dee, you've seen me fall apart plenty of times," Leo reminded him.

"Yes but for you it was more justified."

That gave Leo pause, unsure how to even process that statement. What was that even supposed to mean? That Donnie's wasn't justified? That he deserved it! What kind of nonsense was that?! Leo just couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could Donnie, his genius of a brother, not only say something so obviously false but actually believe it! It was baffling! "I- What- How is that-" Leo sucked in a breath, gathering his thoughts, not sure where to even start to dissect Donnie’s logic. "Okay, back up. Explain to me how exactly what happened to me was 'justified' compared to you."

"You almost died." Donnie said it like it was obvious. Like it was a fact.

"You weren't exactly living it up when we found you, Don," Leo reminded him.

Donnie sat up in a flash. "True but I wasn't at risk of dying. Bishop made it quite clear he intended to keep me alive. You, on the other hand, nearly lost your life! You were in a coma for three weeks! You have scars that permanently altered your body! In comparison, I should be doing so much better!"

"And you went through something just as awful, Don!" Leo argued, putting both hands on his brother's shoulders. "Don't turn what happened into a contest of measuring scars, you went through a crappy situation and now you're trying to heal from it, end of story."

Donnie growled in frustration. "But I still should be doing better! What happened is already done! I know that! But the second something goes wrong it's like I'm back there and I can't convince myself I'm not and every little thing sets me off and I just don't know what i'm doing anymore! Nothing makes sense! I don't know how to fix it!" Donnie pressed both fists into the side of his head, the pressure enough Leo feared he would leave bruises. If Donnie had hair he was sure his brother would have ripped it up by the roots already. Instead he just pressed tighter in some vain effort to physically squeeze the thoughts from his head.

Leo gave his brother a sad smile before gripping him by the wrists, pulling his hands away from his skull. Donnie gave him a look of tearful bewilderment but it seemed to refocus him a little. Another flashback, no doubt. "I know, Don. I know it's hard. Believe me I do. But this isn't something you can just fix. It takes time and it takes energy, sometimes more than you feel like you can give. It's like… y'know the metaphor about climbing over the mountain?"

Donnie's nonexistent eyebrows pinched together, giving Leo a puzzled look. "Vaguely," came the skeptic reply.

"Well it's kinda like that, only the hardest part isn't getting to the peak, it's getting knocked back down and still having enough strength to climb back up."

Donnie gave him a long, hard stare. "Your metaphor has several holes in it," he deadpanned.

Leo's face lit up in a blush. "Hey, I'm trying here," he groaned pathetically. "This stuff isn't exactly easy to talk about."

Donnie lowered his gaze, staring at his gloved hand distantly. "Still, I do get what you're trying to say. For me, it's just… not that simple." His eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Everyone is… counting on me! They can't afford to wait for me to get better! I don't have time to fall apart!" A few tears dripped onto his opened palm and he clenched it into a fist and looked away.

Leo gently reached out and cupped Donnie's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles the way Raph had to Leo’s shell that night. "I know it's hard for you. You've always been the type to give and give until there's nothing left to give. But you can't do that now, Donnie. Not with this. You gotta put yourself first this time."

"But Leo I can't just stop-"

"I'm not asking you to stop. I'm asking you to slow down and give yourself the time when you need it. Can you at least do that? For me?"

Donnies breath hitched, coughing as he tried to suppress the sob. He wiped away a few stray tears, nodding silently. "Yeah," he choked out.

Leo felt the tension in his body start to fade. That’s all he wanted to hear. To know that Donnie would listen. That he wouldn’t push himself until he broke. That he wouldn’t give more than he had to spare. That was enough for now. Leo could help with everything else. He would be there. He'd make sure of it. "Good," he whispered. "And it gets easier, for the record. You just gotta take it one day at a time."

Donnie sighed, sliding his glasses back on. "I sincerely hope so. I have a lot of projects to finish and I hate the idea of stalling them every time things get bad."

"But you will, right?" Leo shot him a scolding glare.

Donnie just rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I already said I would. What do you need me to cross my heart, pinkie swear, maybe give it to you in writing?"

Leo couldn't help but smile. This was the brother he was missing. He had changed, grown more skittish, but he was still fundamentally Donnie. In the same way Leo was still Leo. No amount of pain could take that away from them.

"No, that's good enough," Leo said with a shake of his head. "And hey, if you ever need help with all this, just know I'm here for you. Whenever you need it."

Donnie seemed to contemplate this for a moment, slowly opening his mouth to speak. Leo kept his face even but felt hope flutter in his chest all the same. Maybe today was the day his brother would finally talk about Bishop, finally find some relief from the pain building and bubbling inside him. But Donnie seemed to think better of it, mouth snapping shut as he gave a half-hearted nod. "Thanks, I'll … keep that in mind."

Leo masked his disappointment behind an understanding smile. He wasn't ready yet. That was okay. They could take this as slow as Donnie needed. Baby steps.

Instead he moved to slide off the bed, only for warm arms to envelop him from behind. Leo froze and held his breath, worried Donnie might take back the hug and pretend it never happened. But he didn't. Instead, Don clung tighter, pulling Leo as close as they could go until they were pressed shell to shell. Leo slowly turned to try and read his brother's facial expression but Donnie had already buried his head in his shoulder and out of sight. Leo could hear and feel Donnie’s breath shudder as if fighting back tears.

"Please stay." The request was so soft Leo barely heard it. It made his heart shatter and melt at the same time. Despite being taller, Donnie looked so small pressed up against him, and Leo swallowed back the lump in his throat. How long had it been since his younger brother had clung to him like this? Not since he was thrown through that window, Leo realized. The day Donnie's perception of his older brother had changed forever, the day Leo had proven to be fallible. Yet another thing lost to the Shredder's brutality.

Leo gave Don's arms a squeeze. "I will," he reassured softly. "Can I give you a hug?"

Donnie nodded, releasing his grip long enough for Leo to turn towards him before latching on again, pressing himself firmly, almost possessively, against his brother’s shell. The mountains had given way to ocean, the waters stormy and violent, the depths eagerly waiting to swallow them whole. Waves of despair crashed against them, threatening to pull them under, while the icy wind whispered their demise.

Donnie sobbed once and clung to his lifeline with all he was worth and Leo hugged back just as tightly, promising he wouldn't let them drown.

Soon Leo would have to let go. He couldn't leave blood splattered all over the ship, not unless he wanted the others to have a meltdown. But right now, he just wanted to hold his little brother. To know that he was here, that he was safe. He needed that reassurance just as much as Donnie did. There was still a long road ahead for both of them. But in this moment, they were okay. Everything was okay.

And maybe that was enough for now.

Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun with this little side project! It was supposed to be done in a day but then I got stuck on Leo's part and ended up spending a month on it haha! This story was mostly an excuse for my headcannons about Donnie post-kidnapping. That being his germaphobia getting increasingly worse, taking extra long showers, and scratching at his arms without thinking. He also hates the medbay on the ship since it makes him have flashbacks to Bishop. During the writing process I actually remembered Indie's post about Donnie's trauma and was surprised I was right on the nose with a lot of it haha. I also briefly hinted on the fact that Donnie feels inferior to Fugitoid but didn't want to dive too deep since I know Indie will do it much better than I can here. There was a lot of speculation going on for stuff but I'm happy with how it turned out! Still can't wait for the actual comic though haha!

#my writing #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #indie's tmnt #indie's turtles #donatello hamato #leonardo hamato #cw: blood #cw: panic attack

106 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 2 years

Text

Oooo! Silent Hill! I'll see what I can do, yeah ^^ James compares you to Mary, but that doesn't entirely mean you're female for those who were worried. Also, my prompts were used! I think I got his character pretty well considering Silent Hill 2's story.

Note: I feel REALLY good about this one!!!

Spoilers for Silent Hill 2

Yandere! James Sunderland (DBD) Prompts 8 + 38

"I could look into those eyes forever...."

"My life has been so barren without you...."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Delusional behavior, Unhealthy forms of grieving, Implied forced advances, Choking/Suffocation, James can't get over his dead wife, Guilt, Forced relationship, Self-doubt.

His mind is still spinning. One moment, he was running from his conjured tormentor through the fogged streets of Silent Hill. The next?

The fog darkened to the point he couldn't see... soon waking up in a realm completely new to him. A dimension so much worse than Silent Hill itself.... Part of him wonders if he was finally sent to hell.

But hell wouldn't have someone like you beside him.

Or maybe it would... with what you do to him he wouldn't be surprised if this was the world torturing him. You remind him so much of Mary... to the point he feels this is his form of suffering. His mind was twisted as is, this realm only made it worse.

You made him feel sparks in his heart. A feeling he's wanted to suffocate soon after Mary died. He isn't deserving of it.

Ignoring such desires only made him endure more torture. Each time he looks at you, he sees traits of her. Such feelings only crack his psyche even more.

You don't see his red flags. You never had time to look for them. As far as you were concerned, you needed to treat him like a fellow survivor.

You had no idea simply helping him would cause him to sink deeper....

Even if James wished to ignore his desires, he can't. Sitting next to you by that fire only makes him fall harder. Those eyes of yours... he wants them on him.

He wants you to only look at him. He wants to worship you. He wants to use you to forget his sins.

He wants you to forgive him for anything he might do to you....

He's a broken man unable to be mended. As a result, he clings to you. Maybe he sees you too much as Mary.

Isn't he pathetic? Unable to get over the death of his wife whom he killed himself?

He's driven mad from his grief. There is no curing him. For that... he's sorry.

He's sorry if he hurts you.

"My life has been so barren without you...."

His breath is heavy. He can barely hold himself back. It's as though, as he presses you against the long dead tree, he's in a trance.

Which is scarier with his hands wrapped around your neck.

It's as though he doesn't see you...

He sees Mary.

All he can think about is Mary...

Mary...

Mary...!

To silence his thoughts, he drowns himself in you. Your scent, your voice, your eyes....

You make him feel amazing, yet pained.

You yourself are his new tormentor...

All he wants is to love you...!

"I could look into those eyes forever...."

He mutters those words like a promise before kissing you harshly. He wants to drown his guilt in you. But why stop there? He wants drown himself in you.

He wants you to suffocate him with your touch until he can't breathe.

"James...!" You croak, his grip on your throat tightening.

The sound of his name tumbling from your lips fuels his desires. He wants to forget all about it... he doesn't want to think of Mary.

Make him forget about Mary!

Assault his senses, fill him up with your love! He's a desperate broken man. He needs you... he wants you...!

Yet he's just crazy... delusional.

Completely oblivious to the fact he's killing you.

"The hell are you doing!?" A survivor screams at him.

He's yanked off your gasping body, already yearning again for the sweet taste only your lips can bring. Begrudgingly he's brought back to reality, slapped hard by the survivor that saved you.

He hears them scream psycho.

He can't deny them.

His eyes flick over to you, breathing heavily and staring at him in fear. He wants you to forgive him for hurting you....

That'll never happen, he tells himself.

You never deserved anyone anyway.

He sits defeated on the ground, the other survivor consoling you. He was never good at consoling anyone, either.

You don't deserve him.

No one does.

Once again, he's unhappy and left with no comfort.

Once again, he blames Mary for all of it... even if his late wife did nothing wrong.

He's a monster and should be treated as such.

#yandere dead by daylight #yandere dbd #yandere silent hill #yandere james sunderland

89 notes · View notes

uptoolateart · 11 months

Text

Finding a Way - Chapter 2

Jurassic Park / Camp Cretaceous AU

‘Adrien –’ His name had never sounded so sweet. ‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.’

He didn’t move. He could hardly breathe. Marinette sounded so serious. ‘W-what is it?’ Was this the end of their friendship? Was she going to tell him to leave her alone for good?

‘I –’

Whatever she was about to tell him, it was cut off when the boat gave a jerk, lurching sideways and flinging her hard against the railing.

‘Marinette!’ His cry was swallowed by earth-shattering bang! Like a crack of thunder, only the sky was mostly clear, even if dark, and there wasn’t a single raindrop.

His heart raced, thumping loud in his ears. Two questions fought for priority.

What’s going on?

Is she okay?

He slammed into the flotation devices. Thank god they were soft, the rubber cushioning the blow. On his knees, he crawled, reaching for something, anything he could hold onto. His fingers brushed metal, and he grasped a metal ring wound loosely with thick rope attached to a lifeboat. He gripped the ring tight, just as the boat dipped again, this time nose first.

The back of the boat was up in the air, with Marinette hanging from the railing, her legs dangling down the deck. Fear filled her face, as bloodless as his own.

Another wave sent them flying up into the air, making his head spin. With no time to recover, the boat was tipping the other way, slamming him into the wooden deck this time. But there was hardly time to process the pain. Water smacked his head, smashing his face into the inflatable boat so he was suffocating in the rubber.

His chest tightened with panic – the last thing he needed, speeding up the breathlessness.

A voice spoke in his mind – Plagg’s. ‘Are you seriously going to be killed by a lifeboat? Come on, you’re not just Adrien Agreste, you’re Cat Noir! GET UP!’

Adrenaline surging, he peeled himself away from the rubber, his mouth open and gasping like a fish out of water, his chest heaving in air.

The boat was still dipping and diving. The ocean had seemed so placid, before. The way these waves had just come out of nowhere, without even a storm…there was only one explanation.

His eyes found Marinette. ‘Earthquake!’ he shouted, his throat on fire. That was what that smell of sulphur had been.

Screams found their way to his ears, from the other side of the boat. Their classmates, caught in the same disaster.

Where was Plagg? Fighting his own way in the kitchen? If only he could just transform, maybe use an aqua power-up. Who even cared if he gave himself away in front of Marinette. If only he could –

His heart clenched, his eyes frozen open and his brain refusing to process what he’d just seen. When the water slapped him in the face again, reality sank in.

Marinette had just been tossed overboard, into the angry ocean.

Keep reading at Ao3

#jurassic park au #camp cretaceous au #crack treated seriously #adrinette #adrienette #ml fic #ml fanfic #miraculous fanworks #miraculous ladybug #mlb #ml fandom #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

12 notes · View notes

faresong · 10 months

Text

with a personal headcanon that Kai has unfinished irezumi, and that it is inevitable for Kazumi to find out about Kai's past in the ytts simulations... here is a small part of a much larger fic!

"I'll take care of him.” Kazumi snaps. “You make sure that—thing doesn't return before then."

Q-taro hesitates by the door, but nods firmly. "Got it. You be careful too now… Just holler if y'need anything."

His throat feels too dry to speak, nor could he begin to trust himself to level his tone at the moment. He simply nods and returns all attention to Kai, weakly curled inward and staining the cot with his bloodied clothes. Although it seemed he was no longer actively bleeding, that brought little relief with how much had pooled beneath him on the sand. Even now, his chest rises only with pained, ragged breaths; pushing himself to survive.

Kazumi hastily removes his ruined uniform to assess the damage—his breath hitches at the sight of a deep burn embedded in Kai’s lower stomach, but he quickly realizes that sight to be an old wound. The flares have begun to sink into the skin, still raw but no longer as vibrant as they must have been when first inflicted. Two old scars cut across his chest, neither having been reopened, yet a fresh one blooms blood against his collarbone where the assault missed his neck. It’d been smeared by the collar of his uniform, but was otherwise no cause for immediate concern; he needed to check where Kai had been struck on his back.

Lifting a knife to cut the excess, Kazumi's own hands begin to quiver despite himself. He takes immense caution in slicing through the rest of the tattered sleeve, allowing the remains of the uniform to drape over the side of the cot so he may now focus on Kai himself. His arms are covered in streaks of blood far worse in appearance alone. Despite being uneasy to leave it be, the bullet impacts on his shoulder weren’t from this incident, so he mustn’t linger. Kazumi sets down a spare comforter against the wall to help prop Kai against; ever careful, he lifts him enough to observe the extent of the wound.

Yet Kazumi's heart stops.

The silence pierces them. Suffocating. Taunting—this is what Kazumi sought out so fervently. Now he can scarcely move. An open wound cuts between his shoulder blades, with blood pouring across his back, but nothing can conceal the daunting irezumi beneath. A koi curls around as if fighting against the crimson's relentless downward current. Smudges of blood destroy the lilies tracing its path, all trailing to the small of his back where the burn wound continued. Nothing untouched by the detail, by the blood, and—

Kazumi drops him. Unable to keep his strength in these trembling hands, he’s then met with a hushed whimper of pain—with it, the wanton reality coldly slaps him:

Kai is hurt.

Beyond the chill in his soul, Kazumi instead burns with guilt. The only impression in the silence remains Kai’s heavy, uncertain breathing and the echo of his unconscious plea. However shakily, he again brings Kai upright and tentatively raises the wet cloth to the blood streaming down his back. Cleansing the wound, yes, but slowly unveiling the tattoo with it. His heartbeat erratically pounds in his ears.

Kazumi methodically wrings and soaks the cloth. His mind won’t pause. It races, all at once unable to process anything worthwhile. Nothing coherent exists between the fear thrumming in his chest, the insistent whisper of betrayal building in his heart:

Kai is a yakuza.

In something as simple as spatial awareness, it's as if anyone nearby steps in a web the moment they arrive; he always was eerily aware of the situation at hand. It was a rarity to see him break composure in any meaningful sense, always a step detached, quick to reevaluate any situation he was given. Utilizing a strategic mind to arrange for weapons against these assailants within the first two weeks of observation was further unsettling; instructing to stab not cut, to disable these machines as one would a human, or otherwise disarm them. Each word was nothing short of calculated. Insistent upon efficiency, perhaps disguised in his phrasing to do as little harm as is necessary. To then witness him fight and do well on assembling these scattered hints of advice over their weeks together was terrifying, yet—

Kai is his friend.

#it's my first time writing from his pov as well which is. a nice change of pace x']#//#speak

6 notes · View notes

taeyongfmd · 2 years

Text

@fmdduri

there’s an emptiness that always comes with crowds. he’s just better at fighting it when he’s happier or far enough under the influence not to notice, he supposes. neither good spirits nor blackout drunkenness have been granted to him this evening, so he lingers along the edges of the party and watches the clock.

he hadn’t wanted to come at all; polaris has a flight out to los angeles in only a few hours and a performance on the grammy stage in about twenty-four hours. it’s not that he’s unused to performing on no sleep, but he’d rather be holed up in an la hotel room than at this afterparty.

when even the outskirts of the gathering get to be too much, he steps out into the cold chill of the outside air and he gleans a sudden understanding of why people keep a pack of cigarettes in their pocket — it gives them an excuse to be slapped back into sense by the seoul winter air when a room gets to be too suffocating.

his feet skid to a stop upon the realization his idea hadn’t been unique. once his eyes adjust to the dimmer lights illuminating the perimeter of the venue, he recognizes the company he’s inadvertently stumbled upon. he hesitates. formalities and pretending in the face of a colleague hardly appeals to him, but if he’s only got too choices, perhaps one is better than a hundred.

he takes a step forward, hand shoved in his pants pockets. “mind if i join you?”

ash pushes himself forward until he’s even with duri and is taken by surprise that he doesn’t seem to quite radiate that golden glow the same tonight. when he thinks of duri, he thinks of someone who exists in a reality entirely separate from his own; one where being some clean cut, ever-smiling role model fits as comfortably as an old sweater instead of a collar spiked inward, cutting off air and bruising skin.

he’s not sure what to say, or if he’s reading too much into duri’s posture altogether, but he’s committed his presence now if duri agrees, so it’d be rude to leave him be. “you need some fresh air too?”

#* | threads.#famedbaseawards #* | fmdduri.

4 notes · View notes

depressedhatakekakashi · 1 year

Text

It’s moving. Tenzo isn’t sure what is in the giant box that Yua-san is holding out to him, but it’s moving and he’s concerned.

“Open it,” she insisted, pushing the box into his hands in a move that is all too familiar to his senpai. “Quickly. Before it suffocates.”

“Suffocates!?” Panic takes over in an instant and before he knows what he’s doing Tenzo rips the top off of the box and unleashes its hidden horrors onto the world. It’s only when the lid is off and discarded to the side that he realizes what he has done, and the regret is instant. “Uh.”

“Oh, please,” Yua rolls her eyes. “Did my son tell you to be cautious? He’s always over exaggerating things.”

In the background he can hear Kakashi yelling, but he can only make out two words behind the closed kitchen door. ‘Spider’ and ‘terrifying’.

It does nothing to sooth his anxieties.

“He’s being dramatic,” yua insists, waving away her son’s complaints with that closed eyes smile that she always gave Tenzo when she was trying to comfort him. “I promise it’s not that bad. I learned.”

It was only slightly comforting this time. Kakashi’s suffering meant that Tenzo wouldn’t have to face the same terrors, but he was still cautious.

Afraid of what was waiting for him inside of that moving box.

“Snow!” His ears perked up at the cry. Tenzo had always loved Grass type pokemon so he knew every single one of them, even the one’s who had dual typings.

Especially the one’s that he was unable to get due to their location in the world and his inability to travel to every single region in the blink of an eye.

“You didn’t…” he narrowed his eyes, refusing to believe what he had heard.

“Look,” she shoved the box against him, grinning in a way that he was certain would send even her best friend Mifune running for the hills. “It’s perfect for you, i swear.”

Finally he caved and peered into the box. Bright blue eyes stared up at him and within seconds two giant blue hands were reaching out to him.

“Snow!” It cried, begging him to lift it out of the box. Unable to deny it such a simple request, Tenzo reached in and carefully placed his hands under its arms.

As soon as he lifted it into the air it cried out happily, the icy wind of its breath sweeping over Tenzo so that his hair stood up on end.

“Oh,” Yua snorted. “I- that’s quite the new hair style.”

He wasn’t at all interested in finding a mirror to see what she meant. The fact that there was no hair brushing against the back of his neck told him all he needed to know.

All he needed to do was paint his hair white and he’d actually look like Kakashi’s brother.

“I-“ he stared at the pokemon in his hands, a smile breaking across his face as reality slowly settled in. Beside him his Venasaur leaned up and sniffed the tiny pokemon cautiously. “Really?”

“I would be a terrible mother if I gave you anything less.” Yua insisted, her words being immediately followed by the sound of the kitchen door swinging open. Turning his head, Tenzo held his present up a little higher when he saw Kakashi standing there staring at the two of them.

“Ah, i see,” Kakashi sighed. “Tenzo really is your favorite.”

Frowning at her son’s words, Yua made her way past Tenzo and only stopped when she was standing directly in front of Kakashi. “What makes you say that?” She asked, her back turned to Tenzo but the annoyance radiating off of her in such string waves that he couldn’t possibly miss it.

“He,” Kakashi jabbed a finger towards Tenzo. “Gets a snover. I,” he directed his finger towards himself, an action which was immidiatly rewarded with a sharp slap from his mother. “Get an electric spider.”

“Joltik.” She corrected him

“Electric spider.” there was an emphasis put on the word ‘spider’ that neither of them could miss. It was no secret to anyone who knew Kakashi that he hated spiders and not even the overwhelming cuteness of being an electric type would make him adore anything with more than six legs on it.

“Your father told me you like electric pokemon,” Yua defended herself. “He didn’t tell me to avoid spiders.”

Directing his gaze toward Tenzo, Kakashi shrugged his shoulder’s in a lazy gesture.

“Some mother,” he teased, wincing when Yua flicked him in the nose. “Admit it, Tenzo’s your favorite son.”

There was more arguing and teasing, but Tenzo didn’t hear any if it. Every word that followed Kakashi’s accusation fell into the background as Tenzo’s mind focused on that one, sweet word.

Son.

He glanced down at the Pokemon still sitting in his arms, it’s tiny legs hovering in the air as it stared up at him.

Hatake Tenzo

It sounded ridiculous in his mind, but Tenzo couldn’t help but smile at the thought that he had a family.

A home.

A mother who loved him, even if he wasn’t her biologically son.

“Thank you,” his whispered appreciation fell onto deaf ears, but Tenzo didn’t care. He’d thank Yua properly later. When they’d all calmed down and sat for breakfast.

When he was surrounded by the three people who had somehow become his family after a lifetime of feeling alone and isolated.

“And hello,” he spoke to the creature in his hands this time, smiling when it reached out toward him. “We’re going to be best friends, isn’t that right?”

“Snover!”

#Pokemon Au #Oc: Hatake Yua #Tenzo #Hatake Kakashi

1 note · View note

akirakurusuimagines · 3 years

Note

had the idea of reader getting marin karin'd and it not wearing off after leaving the metaverse so our dear boy helps her out by gently overstimulating her in front of a mirror 👉👈

I'm sorry for how long it's been taking to get this out! Hopefully the others won't take as long. Please enjoy! (minors DNI)

It only takes one mistake for everything to fall apart.

Akira believed they were sufficiently prepared to waltz right into Mementos and explore the depths that opened after the public’s response to their latest and greatest heist. He disregarded Morgana’s incessant warning that he was running low on ailment-curing items and revival items, reminding the cat that he was already planning on putting him and Makoto on the front lines this time so there was nothing to worry about.

So really, this mess was his fault. As leader, he knows he shoulders the responsibility of anything and everything that happens, even if his teammates don’t blame him.

It began to storm back in the real world as they reached the end of the current depths⁠; a painstakingly slow thirteen floors⁠ to comb through in search of treasure and experience. Everyone was nearing their physical and mental limits for the day, but at the sight of a rare challenger on their way back, they let their youthful recklessness seep through. One more, they all thought, one more to end the trip on a high note.

The high note they sought after quickly⁠ and almost comically⁠ became shrill.

The battle turned for the worst: unable to find a weakness, you and Mona were left with minimal SP, Queen had suffered an ill-timed critical attack and was knocked out cold, and Joker himself was running on fumes. Mind scattered in desperation, Joker attempted to regain some footing by attacking the particularly strong enemy with Marin Karin, hoping to charm it.

He didn’t expect that the enemy would end up reflecting it back at him.

Nor that you would take the brunt of the attack by jumping in front of him last-minute.

Joker and Mona finished the battle through sheer dumb luck, and all of the thieves expected things to return to normal. Queen stood up on shaky legs and thanked Panther for medicine, but when they turned to look at you, their hearts dropped.

Your face was flushed and eyes glassy, no different than how you were in battle. The unspoken rules of Mementos was broken⁠—somehow you didn’t come to once the fight finished.

Joker took to your side immediately, helping you up but freezing at the garbled moan that slipped past your lips the moment his hands landed on you. The others looked on with concern and fear, not understanding why this was happening, but it was obvious to everyone that they needed to leave immediately. He apologized to them and announced that he’ll be taking you home to make sure you’re safe and resting while the others research the strange divergence.

His arm wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping you steady as you mindlessly clung to him, and ushered you out of Mementos and towards the trains.

Akira felt like he was suffocating. If this is how he was feeling, he could only start to imagine what you’re suffering through right now.

He kept you hidden from view as best as he could, squished in the corner between the door, the seats, and him. Akira put you in a spare face mask he had and slid his glasses over your nose, hoping to protect your identity in case any snooping individual lingered on you two a little too long.

“Hold on just a little longer for me, okay? We’re almost there.”

He watched your knees buckle and your thighs clench together at his words and felt his mouth run dry. Akira willed himself to stay calm, to steady his heartbeat, but it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do when you were in a state like this. Especially considering he harbored feelings for you.

“Please,” you begged. He almost didn’t hear it with how quietly you murmured it. “Akira, I… I need…”

Fuck, you were going to be the death of him.

“Yeah?” he leaned in closer, hoping to catch the rest of what you’re saying.

Your hand grabbed his thigh, tugging his leg closer to you and causing him to stumble forward, balancing with his forearm next to your head. He stared at you with wide eyes as you shifted his leg with no resistance between your thighs and sat on it, slowly and carefully grinding against it.

Akira’s head whipped around, making sure no one was watching as you shamelessly used his leg to relieve some of the pressure that Marin Karin’s charm had on you. He nearly stopped breathing when you whined right next to his ear, a sound too soft for anyone else to notice as the train screeched to another halt.

Your stop was next, but there was no way he was making it out of this without a boner. He looked back at you and swallowed hard, only able to see the way your eyes were screwed shut and eyebrows knitted with frustration and concentration, pressing yourself a little harder against the meat of his thigh.

“Need more, ‘s too hot,” you blabbered softly, hands gripping the lapel of his blazer. “want you, want you so bad⁠—”

“We⁠—we’re almost home,” Akira choked out, each passing moment more difficult than the last. He wanted to pinch himself, wondering if this was actually some wild porno dream he was having back in Leblanc, but the way you felt rutting against his thigh like this was far too real for him to deny this was reality.

“Akiraaaa...”

He nearly lost himself when he saw your teary-eyed expression, suddenly grateful for the crowded train dissuading him from bending you over the train seats and giving into temptation. Akira wanted to know every part of you: every touch that makes you keen, every kiss that makes your head spin, every position that makes you cream.

Akira almost praised the gods aloud when the announcer comments on your stop, pulling himself off of you despite your whines and taking your hand in his, squeezing it tightly as he nearly runs out of the train the second the doors behind you open.

It was quite the ordeal dragging you back home. Every moment he stopped, your hands would wander, gripping his shirt or his belt loops, sliding your hand underneath to feel the warmth of his skin. You pressed closer and closer against him, your inhibitions far-gone, leaving only your charmed mind.

He grabbed your wrist firmly when you reached for his crotch at the door to your house, sucking in a large breath and hoping you’d be able to contain yourself enough for him to open the door with your keys and lead you inside.

Akira pushed open the door and dragged you inside, kicking it closed and locking it quickly. He couldn’t help the whole-body sigh that passed through him with the relief of privacy.

You, however, took it as your cue to tackle him to the ground and relieve yourself.

“Shit, wait, hold on⁠—” Akira staggered back, gripping your hip and arm and barley catching himself. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t want to try to get… uh… get off on your own?”

“No no no no no⁠—!” you shook your head adamantly despite your slurred voice, the sheer panic in your voice and face surprising him. “Want you, only you, please.”

Akira pressed his lips together in a tight line and hoisted you up in his arms, silently thanking the rough training he’s been enduring with Ryuji. The way your eyes lit up as he carried you to your bedroom made his heart palpitate, the rational side of him quickly losing to the promise of passion.

He really was weak to you.

He grunted as his legs hit the bed, falling down with you on his lap. Akira barely had time to speak before your lips were all over him, kissing all over his face and jaw as you roughly grinded against him. He choked down his moans and tangled a hand in your hair, hoping to slow you down with a sharp tug to your scalp.

Akira felt you seize up the moment he did, nails digging into his shoulders despite the layers of clothing, pressing your hips harder against his, and with a loud cry, he felt dampness against his crotch. It took a moment to process that you came untouched, just from him having you in his lap and tugging your hair.

“Did you just…?” his hand wandered towards your pants, slipping inside your underwear and feeling the sticky substance coat his fingers as he reached your thighs. He pulled them out, observing the strands between his fingers and licking them clean with a low groan. “That’s so hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

Akira palmed your crotch and felt you shudder as you rolled your hips against his again. “But… it isn’t enough, right?”

“Nnno…”

He looked around the room briefly and caught his own eyes in the floor-length mirror in your room.

“Stand up for me and strip, sweetheart,” Akira instructed with a gentle slap to your thigh.

He loved the way you scrambled off of him, shedding your clothes and looking at him with the same hazy doe-eyes that made him spend countless private hours fantasizing about. You looked at him with so much lust, being so obedient for him in hopes of getting another orgasm.

He shrugged off his blazer and tossed it aside, shifting closer to the mirror until it stood in front of him. “Turn around and sit back on my lap.”

Akira steadied you with gentle hands on your hips as you sat on his lap and pressed your sticky thighs together to feel some kind of friction against the torturous heat. He pried them open, spreading your legs to straddle him and spreading you open for the mirror.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he gently chided, “keep these pretty thighs open for me, okay?”

Akira refused to touch you until you nodded.

“Perfect,” he whispered, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you’re absolutely perfect.” Akira guided his hands up from your thighs to your chest, brushing against your nipples and continuing his path up until he reached your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and tilted your face up, forcing you to look at the shameful display you created with him. “I want you to look at yourself as I touch you,” Akira explained, “I want you to see everything.”

You nodded dumbly, anything to get his hands back to pleasuring you. “Please,” you continued to repeat with breathless whines, “I want more, I want you in me.” You pushed your ass harder against his hard cock, hoping he would take the bait. You wanted to be fucked silly and at this point you really didn’t care how you got there.

Akira sucked in a sharp breath and shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and stilling for a few seconds as you continued to grind yourself on his dick. “Later, okay?” his voice wavered and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his own word with how enthusiastic you seemed about riding him.

He let go of your face and skimmed your inner thighs, catching the cum from your first orgasm on his fingers and finally touching you properly. You keened, head falling back as he slowly pressed two fingers into your hole. “Yes⁠!” you groaned, spreading your thighs a little further and bucking your hips into his hand, “More, please, oh god it feels so good⁠— hnn!”

Akira’s hand steadied your head, once again pushing you to look at yourself as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. “Come on, baby. Don’t stop watching,” he purred as he scissored his fingers inside of you. “Oh, you liked that?”

You grasped his hair and his wrist, incoherent noises fumbling from your lips as Akira brought you to another orgasm within minutes. Marin Karin had quite the effect on you: keeping your stamina high and your libido higher, giving you more orgasms than you’ve had in your life, emptying your head and leaving nothing but pleasant buzzing.

He stared at you in the mirror, catching your unfocused gaze as your eyes shifted from his face to his hand and back again. “You’re doing so good,” Akira mumbled strings of words he barely paid attention to as you squirmed in his hold. He added another finger, stretching you out further and curling his fingers inside of you. He felt your legs shake and watched your jaw go slack as pleasure only continued to build.

“Again?” he asked, groaning at how you clench around his fingers, barely giving him room to move them. Even still, you continue to thrust your hips into his hands⁠, unsatisfied. “I’ll give you as many orgasms as you need,” Akira promised, kissing your cheek and resting his temple against yours, “I won’t stop until you’re begging.”

734 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Note

how do you think the boys would respond to you flirting with one of their friends or family?

(Childe and Zhongli)

(Kaeya and Diluc)

Warnings: Yandere themes, slut shaming, unhealthy relationships.

(short answer: Don’t if you value your mental wellbeing)

Childe:

Childe is the type to have this unnerving, toothy grin when he’s genuinely pissed. He will not stop smiling while the rage and indignation boil to a breaking point inside him. You’ll know from one glance that it’s different than his other smiles. There’s something animalistic about it, like the only thing human about him is his physical appearance. His Delusion may or may not start flaring up as well. The slight slight electricity crackling in the air will have the hair on the back of your neck standing.

He’s the type to think he’s handling the situation splendidly, when in reality, everyone in the vicinity is actively maintaining a distance from the raw bloodlust oozing from his pores. Childe is known as a wild card among the Fatui Harbingers — which says a lot considering they’re literal Harbingers — so it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Childe might outright try and fight Zhongli but manages to hold himself together. It’s not even that he’s mad at them per se, he just needs to relieve this frustration in the best way he knows how: a good fight.

You’re going to get talked down to in the most infuriating way towards the end of your charade. He’ll come up, wrapping a tight arm around your shoulders, almost suffocating you with his smothering presence. Childe will shove himself into the conversation, completely uncaring of the weirded-out look you’re shooting him. Whatever you were talking about will reach a premature conclusion as he insists on whisking you away, stating that he has important business to discuss with you. All the while that blood-curdling smile never leaves his lips.

He considers this a personal insult. Hasn’t he done so much for you? Shown you unlimited kindness? Childe will be pouring the guilt on thick, bringing up each and everything he’s done for you, regardless of whether or not you ever asked him to do it. That doesn’t matter to him. What matters is that he went above and beyond to secure you, and here you are, flirting with someone else like some harlot. He’ll tsk and say you’re lucky he’s so forgiving, otherwise, you would’ve been bleeding out in a pile of blood ages ago.

“You think I’m acting strange, hm? Take a good look at yourself. Is this not the exact behavior you were inviting? Flaunting yourself like you were a piece of meat... it’s only natural I’d come to devour you, isn’t it? Aha, I jest, I jest.”

Diluc:

Diluc wouldn’t believe it at first. He sets you on this pedestal of innocence — a being who could do no harm — believing others unworthy of even being in your presence. Yet here you are. In his bar, drinking a drink he paid for, flirting with his good-for-nothing-brother who is loving the attention. It won’t register in his head the second he sees it, but when it does, it slaps down on him. Hard.

Similar to Childe, he gets indignant over the fact you’re behaving so poorly after all he’s done for you. The difference is that you likely have no idea he’s been behind your recent anonymous gifts and unexpected favors. Diluc feels entitled to your affections after all he’s pulled behind the scenes. So this will get him riled up to the point that everyone in the vicinity knows something is amiss, the dark scowl on his face acting as a large warning that danger is impending.

His approach will lack any subtly. He’ll creep up behind you, his sinister aura almost tangible, informing Kaeya in a low voice that the knights need him for something. It’s not a well thought out lie, he’s not in a proper enough state of mind to think everything through. His willpower is too busy going to keeping his claymore out of his twitching hands. With any luck, Kaeya will get the hint, and head off before he endangers himself further.

Diluc gives you a bone-chilling look. He’s normally soft-spoken and reserved with you (or at least in comparison to how he is with others), so it’ll give you mild whiplash. His normal expression returns soon enough, but you won’t be forgetting that glower anytime soon. It’ll haunt your nightmares. That night when you’re walking home, you’ll have this gut instinct that you’re being watched. It’s a shame he had to speed up his plans for you. But hey, as far as he sees it, you brought this upon yourself.

“... I won’t ask for your forgiveness. Know that this is for your own good.”

Kaeya:

This man does not visibly react one iota. He’s in complete control of his mannerisms and outward appearance, his collected face never betraying his inner thoughts. Kaeya will talk to you casually as ever, as if you weren’t actively trying to rile him up by flirting with his dear brother. He’ll stand in the corner of the tavern, nursing his drink, and eyeing you with a coy smile. At one point, you see him mouth the words, “Go on.”

He thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. Look at you go, doing your damndest to upset him, giving it your all! Aww, how precious is that. You’re putting on a little show just for him. Could anyone else have driven you to this point of desperation? No, only he could, a fact he takes great pleasure in. This is the fruits of his labor. You’re growing more relentless in your plight to free yourself from him, that much is obvious. Little do you know that the more you struggle, the more trapped you’ll become.

It’s not that he isn’t upset. On some level, he’s irritated, but it stops about there. Kaeya doesn’t take what you’re doing seriously. Or, to be more precise, he doesn’t take you seriously. This further goes to show that you need someone like him to keep you in order. Otherwise, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into? He’s self-aware enough to know he’s said trouble, but there are people worse than him out there, what if they got their grimy hands on you? He can’t be having that.

You’ll apologize to him about this charade later, he’ll make sure of it. That’s how he soothes the blow to his pride while watching the unfolding events. His mind will wander to how in just a few short hours, you’ll be begging him for forgiveness, whimpering oh so sweetly that you didn’t mean to upset him. That you’ll be good and obedient from now on. Until then, he’ll just stand there with his drink, brainstorming all sorts of fun ideas.

“Now, now, you gave me quite the show there. I never knew you had such a mischievous streak hidden away. Since you had your fun, it’d be unfair if I didn’t get to have mine, wouldn't it?”

Zhongli:

Zhongli will maintain a poker face throughout your antics. Naturally, he isn’t pleased, but he doesn’t see the point in blowing up in public about it for a few reasons. One, that would be the exact reaction Childe would be looking for. Two, it doesn’t fit his image and simply isn’t his style. He’s one of the oldest known beings alive, he has no shortage of patience, he’ll bide his time until he can deal with this in private.

He’ll have a condescending discussion with you later about the events that occurred. Zhongli’s formal speech and reserved body language never change, yet you swear you saw a hint of a glow from his eyes. Through his flowery words you get the impression he’s clearly talking down to you. It kind of comes off as disappointment in your actions, like he expects better coming from you.

You’ll be in for quite the winding lecture. Zhongli speaks about how you must be vigilant in preserving your image in public, how it reflects poorly on you to be so... open. People might get the wrong idea, you know? He’s trying to look out for you here. This is all for you, he’ll say, he didn’t need to have this difficult conversation. It’s due to his concern that he took the time to do so.

Everything remains considerably civil until the end. He leaves you with this ominous message that he’ll take matters into his own hands should you continue to act like this. When you press him to know what that means, he doesn’t elaborate, staying uncharacteristically silent. You get the sense that you probably don’t want to know what he meant by that.

“[First]... this way of acting is unbecoming of you. Had I been a callous man, I would’ve left you to do as you please, but I care for you too much to stand idly by. Come, sit. Let us get down to the root of the problem here.”

882 notes · View notes

sashi-ya · 3 years

Note

Okay I feel like after reading your lactation kink with Corazon I feel like Law had a secret mommy kink and wants to do stuff with it…so can I request a nsfw situation with Law who tries to hide his mommy kink but it comes out?

Such a spicy idea omg 😈😈😈 But, besides the spicy part, I think Law might need this type of treatment sometimes. He usually looks so strong and serious, but I know he is a sweet child inside, so this type of kinks would suit him a lot. I hope you like it ♥ thank u for your request!! ~

NSFW ~ Sub! Trafalgar D. Water Law x F! Reader ~ Can I Call You Mommy?. Pt.1

TW: Mommy kink. Sub Law. Dom reader. Nipple play. Face sitting. Punishment. Rimming. Impact play (soft). Choking (soft). Ass masturbation. Oral sex. Vaginal Sex.

WC: 2K

Tag list: @undercoverweeeb @mistyroselove

There is a second part, you can read it here

The night is cold, your body pressed against your tattooed boyfriend. His inked fingers running through your hair, you are completely covered by the sheets. He yawns and nuzzles on the crown of your head. “I love the smell of that new shampoo” he says. “Thank you, Law” you tell him, hugging him really tight. “I love your perfume too” you say while sniffing his skin’s scent with your nose pressed against his naked chest.

He flinches a little, Law is extremely ticklish. You laugh, because you know it, and you want him to laugh (he doesn’t like it, though). “Stop it!! I hate tickles!!” he protests. “Haha!! I won’t stop!!” you laugh while your fingers graze all of his skin.

“I’m gonna punish you!” he states. Normally, Law is the dominant one, your daddy. He usually “punishes” you when you disobey his dominant orders in bed, but tonight you want to play a joke on him. For once you are gonna act like the dominant to see his reaction.

“Oh, you are gonna punish me?” you say and straddle your hips over him. You pin his wrists above his head and look him straight to his grey eyes. “W-what?” he gasps, scared and blushed. “I’m the one who’s gonna punish you, little bitch” you tell him, laughing, expecting him to frown and shout at you. But he doesn’t. He looks at you, speechless.

You decide to keep with the joke, trying to hold your laugh. “What happened, huh? Are you scared of me?” you tell him, bending over and approaching your face until your nose is pressed against his. “You… uhm… stop” he says, but his speech doesn’t sound convincing at all.

You think about stopping and laughing at him, but … Somehow, somehow this is turning you on? “Stop? Why are you asking your dom to stop? You don’t like to be treated like this?” you ask him, squeezing his wrists. He whines softly, and you can’t help but think that perhaps this is actually turning him on.

“What happened? Has the cat got your tongue?” you tell him, with a demanding tone. Law is sweating, he tries to hide his accelerated breathing, and the growing bulge on his groin.

And because he is not the only one aroused here, you decide to keep playing. No more as a joke, but as a reality. You quickly take your hands from his wrists to his cheek. Your thumb grazes his tender lips, opening them until your finger gets inside his mouth. “Suck it” you order him, expecting a sudden negative reaction. But he does as you tell.

Once the thumb gets completely sucked, you gently rub his face. Your fingers travel from the commissure of his lips towards his neck. You squeeze, gently but firmly. Law gasps and squirms under your hips, as if he was trying to rub himself against you.

“You like this, don’t you?” you tell him with a side smirk. He swallows under your palm. You are squeezing his carotids, he tries to gasp for air, his tanned cheeks become even more blushed. “Answer me!” you command. “Y-yes, I do… mommy” he says. He opens his eyes even bigger than before, scared. Law quickly pushes you off him and stands up. He runs towards the bathroom and closes the door.

You are sitting over the bed, completely unable to understand what has just happened. “Did he just call me mommy?” you think, and your core reacts to it. You walk towards the bathroom, knocking on the door. “Babe? Is everything ok? we were just playing, it’s ok. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, let’s just forget about it. I’m sorry” you tell him, worried. There is no answer for a few seconds, but then…

“Mommy?” he says from behind the door. You are not really sure if Trafalgar Law said that, but you decide to play along. “Uhm… yes?” you say, shyly. “C-can you come in?” he asks. “Yes…” you tell him and open the door.

Law is sitting on the bathroom floor, legs crossed, looking up at you. He actually looks so cute like this, you are always the one that feels little in front of him, but tonight it’s not the case at all.

Law extends his arms up, so you crunch in front of him. You pass your arms around his rib cage and help him stand up. “What are you doing sitting on the cold floor? You are gonna freeze in here. Let’s go to bed” you kindly say. He nods, and it amazes you how much of an obedient sub he can be.

“Can I call you mommy?” he asks, blushing. “Of course you can… why don’t you sit on the bed for mommy now?” you tell him. He immediately does so, awaiting your next orders.

You walk towards him, brushing your hand over his cheek. “You are so cute. You know that baby? you say. He smiles so sweet, so docile. Law passes his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him and places his cheek on your lower stomach. “I love you, mommy” he says. Your fingers tangled around his black hair, “I love you too, baby”. Somehow this is way easier than you thought it would be and you love it.

“Can I have some boobies?” he asks, not so shy now. Law has always loved to worship your nipples, and you kind of understand where all of this comes from… “Sure. Let me sit and you can have them” you tell him, sitting on the bed and helping him lay over your thighs.

Law, as he usually does, sucks the hell out of your nipples. Yet, this time, he is not over you, but comfortable laying on his back with your breasts in his mouth. You whine as he sucks and nibbles your sensitive skin. You can see how he gets incredibly hard, his grey joggings with wet patches from how aroused he is. “God, he is so into this, why didn’t he tell me about it before” you think, but quickly a big bite on your nipple pulls you out from your train of thoughts. “Law!! Don’t bite that hard!” you scold him. He smiles, devilishly, with your flesh trapped by his mouth. And you soon realize he is actually looking for a punishment… and he is gonna get it.

“Stand up, you’ve been a bad boy” you command. He stands up, pouting, looking at the ground. “Damn, how the fuck does he manage to be so hot even acting like this?” you think. “Why did you bite mommy?” you ask. “I’m sorry, mommy” he says. The way that word sounds with his voice, hits you right on your core.

“Kneel down, you are gonna learn not to hurt mommy” you tell him, and he does so. You stand up, walking towards him. You lift his chin with your index finger. “Stick your tongue out” you order. Law diligently opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. “Let’s see what you can do with that mouth” you tell him.

Your shorts are off. Only pink lace panties remain. Your core is now pressed over Law’s face. He licks your sex over your panties, making them even wetter. But he wants to taste you completely, so his inked fingers try to move the cloth that covers your entrance.

“Did I tell you to take my panties off?” you ask. He stops and looks at you with puppy eyes. “You are so disobedient, baby” you tell him, and your hand softly slaps his cheek a few times. “I’m sorry mommy” he says. “But I guess you are right” you accept and take your underwear off. Next, he knows, he is back at being suffocated by your groin. You pull his hair, moving his head so it could bury into your sex more and more. He whines, he moans. He enjoys your flavour, the way you are dominating him. And because his tongue does wonders, and all of this turns you so much on, you come all over his face. He thankfully receives your arousal juices, enjoying your taste.

But this is not over, and even if you didn’t know you like this so much, you want to keep going. “Very good, little boy. Now stand up, Mommy is gonna have more fun with you tonight. I want you to take off those pants and lay on all fours on the bed” you order. Law’s eye widens. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you wouldn’t like, baby” you calm him.

“Ok, mommy” he says and frees his huge erection from the grey cotton pants. “I see you are so wet, baby” you tell him, and help him take his boxers off. You kiss his hips and let him go to bed. He is scared, you notice that, but at the same time precum drips from his member. Aroused, and scared. Aroused and needy.

There he lies on all fours for you. Both of you know exactly how the anatomy works, where are the most sensitive parts. You approach him from behind, kissing and biting his glute. Your tongue travels to his rear entrance. He gasps and squirms at the very wet touch. But he wants this, he is begging for this, even if he does not speak.

You rim him, up, down, and around. Wetting his entrance with passion. Your hand snakes from behind and milk his hard member while your tongue plays at his back, penetrating his entrance with it. He moans loudly, moans you never heard escape his mouth. Heavenly melody to your ears.

Your lover, is on the verge of cumming as he tells you “Mommy, I’m… I’m comming”. “Are you? oh no… Did I give you permission?” you ask, maliciously, stroking his member even faster. “N-no… mommy I can’t…” he whines. He is a mess and he is about to burst.

You suddenly stop. His aching member twitching on your palm, your finger menacing to penetrate his rear entrance. “Mommy…” he cries. “Sh baby, let me make you cum differently for the first time” you say. He already knows what your plan is, and surprisingly he moves his hips towards your hand. “You want this, huh?” you tell him and stick your index right inside him. He grunts, and you notice his legs turn weaker. In and out you penetrate him, until it feels so dilated you should add more fingers. And so you do. He accompanies your movements with his hips, he wants to take it deep. And he does. He finally reaches climax, no hands to his dick. Sticky climax product dripping from his member to the bed.

“Good boy!” you tell him, kissing his tattooed back as he gets back to his normal breathing. “Next time, I'll use a strap on with you, little boy” you whisper into his ear, making him squirm. He loved it; he wants more…

When he gets ready for the next round, you command him to fuck you. You lie on your back, legs spread open. “Come fuck mommy, babe” you tell him. And he does not hesitate. Those strong hips thrusting in and out of you, deep, so deep. He might be a perfect sub, but he fucks you like an animal, and you can’t help but let him destroy your insides violently.

“Do you like this mommy?” he says in between panting. “Yes, babe. Don’t you dare stop fucking mommy, or you will be punished one more time” you tell him, making you fuck you rougher, harder, faster. Until both of you burst into a big orgasm. Probably everybody around the New World heard you, but how could you hold back?...

“Mommy, I love you” he says, nuzzling into your breasts. You hug him tight, caressing his back in circular motions. “Mommy loves you too, baby” you tell him. Soon exhaustion wins the fight, and both of you drift into a restful sleep…

393 notes · View notes

postalenha · 3 years

Text

11. special

not really knowing what to wear, you decided to put on a beige sundress that goes below your knee, wishing that jay wouldn't bring you in a wall climbing type of place.

checking your reflection in the mirror, you fix a strand of hair that's sticking out and iron the dress with your hand, "perfect."

you smiled before hearing one to two honks of car. you decided to leave your apartment. outside, you see jay in his car, waving at you. you went straight to him saying, “good afternoon.”

he unbuckled his seatbelt and went out of his car, opening the car door to greet you, “good afternoon, lovely.” you smile before going inside.

his car smells like fresh flowers, which helps you calm down and not worry throughout the ride. once you've had enough courage to speak, you ask him “may i ask where we’re headed to?”

"i'm taking you to my favorite restaurant." he answered, "don't worry, i won't disappoint you."

you softly chuckle, "i'm looking forward to it."

the drive was smooth and quiet. you think if this was even a good idea because you remember telling yourself to never meet him again, let alone involve him in your life.

but you decided to give him a chance. it's not like you would lose anything. you would just hang out, that's all.

he stopped his car in front of a fancy building. he got out of his car and opened the door for you. he then offered his arm where you can cling your hand into. giving his car keys to the valet guy and you went straight inside.

immediately after a staff member had a glance of jay, she knew right away where to lead us. the two of you are now sitting at a table for two before the waitress hands you your menu.

you look over at jay, trying to get a recommendation from him while he's preoccupied, searching at his menu.

the waitress laughs a little before she pokes jay and points at you, jay widens his eyes. "oh no worries, i'll order for us." he smiled, "but you can order what you want too."

shaking your head no you tell him, "it's okay. you can order for us." he took that as a green light, so he ordered everything in the menu that he wanted you to have a taste of.

you weren't really listening to what he's saying, all you feel right now is admiration. you admired how well he can handle himself. he seems to know what he's doing, and looks like he's an expert with these types of situations.

waiting for the food to arrive, "i hope i lived upto your expectations." jay scratches the back of his nape, "i didn't tell you where we're going to keep the thrill."

you laughed at what he just said, "you made me anxious the whole ride just for you to experience some thrill?" you questioned him, he just smiled at you.

"the cold sweats were worth it. this place is magnificent." you commented, looking around and analyzing the place.

"it's elegant, very. yet cozy." you added, the structural design of the place was finely furnished. there are aerial plants hanging but the sight doesn't really make you suffocate, instead, they help make the surrounding more earthy.

"i know, that's why it's my favorite." he happily said, "and i'm glad you're liking it so far."

not long after, your food arrived. you couldn't tell if jay was very hungry or he just genuinely wanted you to try the food. seeing the number of plates on your table right now, it's enough to feed a whole six person family.

overwhelmed, you don't know where to start so you just stared at the food as they stare right back at you. jay sees your reaction and actually thinks it was cute.

while you're busy getting lost in your own thoughts, he started cutting the steak for you. it just went unnoticed until he switched your plate to his.

"why did you steal mine?" you asked him with full confusion painted on your face, he smirks. pointing at the plate in front of you, "they are the same thing. the only difference is; i already cut that for you."

after cutting his steak, he handed you a small cup with some kind of sauce inside. "try that with the flat bread like this." he showed you how to do it, and you just followed him, "then eat."

you both eat in usion before you hum in surprise, jay smiles for the nth time seeing you nod your head in approval. "that was actually good!" you said.

"it is. it makes a good appetizer." he told you, you both moved on and continued eating the main course. “i’m glad you agreed to see me.” he said.

you look at him, “i’m also glad you brought me to such a good place.” you said a while before taking a bite into your steak. tasting the savor of the meat as you chew it.

silence was the sound of the afternoon as you both ate in peace. he sometimes offers to help you with things like pouring your glass of wine, wiping the sauce from your lips but other than that, you both really didn’t interact that much.

jay had been thinking of what he should say, but he couldn't seem to find the right words or construct a good sentence to initiate a conversation. he only smiles at you whenever your eyes meet his.

but when dessert came, you grew tired of the silence that had been hurting your ears. so you decided to ask him, “how are your butterflies?” it’s funny to ask how his butterflies are.

because if he would ask you the same question, you would answer that yours are in your stomach as you speak. “they’re doing good.” he said, “i’m actually planning if i should free them or not.”

“why?” you ask him, jay looked at you. seeing your face, he knew that you actually cared because it is painted right all over your face. “i just think that i’m holding them back from the freedom that they deserve.”

“but what if their freedom is you?” you blurt out. “i mean- what if they feel like they have all the freedom in the world as long as you’re there by their side?” you panic while you blabber out the words without processing them in your head first.

“sorry, i wasn’t making sense.” you’re talking about butterflies for god’s sake. why would his butterflies even feel that way about him- well they can, but not certain.

jay thinks that it was fascinating that you said that. “no, you are making sense.” he reassured. he never once thought of how his butterflies would feel if he let go of them, he was busy thinking about what they feel in his perspective and never theirs.

instantly after you’re finished eating, you go out and wait for the valet driver to get the car. “we can sit there while we wait.” he pointed at the bench, you shake your head. “it’s fine, we can wait here.” you said, “unless you want to sit.”

he shook his head too and was also about to say something, “jongseong!” a woman shouts as she approaches you. you’re confused, there is no jongseong here. unless your name wasn’t y/n after all.

the woman stops in front of jay, “i didn’t expect to see you here!” she greets him with a hug. he’s jongseong?

you just stood there, quiet. even distanced yourself to give them some space. of course, just the right distance to hear what they’re talking about. “i most certainly didn't expect to see you either.” he said, the woman laughed and slaps his shoulder.

“we’re going to a pub, do you want to come?” she invited him. that is when jay- or jongseong- or whoever the hell he says he is; looks your way so you avoid his eyes, but on your peripheral vision you can see him walk to you.

feeling an arm on you shoulder, you look at his hand while you hear him say, “sorry. i’m with someone.” he said. you expected the girl to go with what he said but she just smiles. “come on! there would be a lot of people.”

she inserts herself in the middle of you two and clings her arm into yours, “she can find more friends there too!” you look away because you don’t know how to respond to her invitation, you barely even know her.

but that was hypocritical for you to say, because it wasn’t that much of a problem when you and jay spent the night at the pub. you were about to agree when something drawn on her arm caught your attention.

it’s the butterfly jay had drew on your arm when you two met at the bar, the same one. the only difference is that yours is already faded while hers is new and visible. you slowly remove her hand that was clinging on your arm.

“sorry, i’m really tired. i’ll be heading home, but jay can come if he wants to.” you told them. the girl lost her verbal ability and just looked at jay, “i’m going wherever she goes.. so, i’ll see you around.” he said.

the valet driver came right on time, jay was about to open the door for you but you opened it for yourself and just went inside his car not saying anything. jay doesn't really know what the big deal is, he certainly doesn’t get why you’re suddenly mad when you were so smiley earlier.

the car ride was silent too, it was awkward but you think that it’s better this way. but jay didn’t. he wanted the talkative y/n he met at the pub, you’re the same girl but why are you acting so cold all of a sudden?

once his car was parked in front of your apartment, you got out of his car and said “thank you.” and rushed inside. not letting him say any word. you throw yourself onto your bed, screaming.

you thought you were special. turns out jay’s just good at making individuals feel like they are, when in reality you are just like everyone else. a person who seeks the love they think they deserve and need.

PREV, MASTERLIST, NEXT,

TAGLIST, open @yourlocalhotgf @neptuniees @ddeonuism @witheeseung @sunghoonify @one800127 @jaemimpulsive @rikibae @ncityy04 @ryu-naa @curryramyeon @hyuckworld @enhacolor @xoxojayd3n @mishtidoie @jungw8ns @n1k1tty @primorange @sprngfeverr @youreverydayzebra @bayoleta @nikisjpg @jaycenzo @heeslut @she-is-dreaming @kyleeanne

152 notes · View notes

mermaid-reyes · 3 years

Text

Harringrove, 1k, utter nonsense

it's 3am and I just wrote this mess and it's rough as hell but I needed to get it out of my head, ya know?

The thing about Billy fucking Hargrove is— Actually there are innumerable things, too many fucking things, about fucking Hargrove.

The thing about Steve Harrington is, he’s not. Fucking Hargrove, that is. And apparently that’s a problem now, according to his libido or some shit.

Steve flings himself backwards in his sun lounger, bunches a towel over his face, and very stoically refrains from screaming himself hoarse. He despairs; what has become of his life?

Somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny voice (which sounds very much like Nancy, and god, isn’t that just a kick in the balls) is telling him that he should be relieved, he should be thrilled, that the biggest problem he’s dealing with right now is inconvenient feelings— god, fuck, no, inconvenient urges pertaining to Billy fucking Hargrove.

Nine months ago Steve was tearing through a cold, slimy, vile tunnel, deep underneath this small sleepy town, terrified out of his mind that he and every single person he cared about were two seconds away from dying horrible, gruesome deaths.

Now it’s July and it’s hotter than the surface of the sun and Billy Hargrove is meandering around in the smallest, reddest uniform shorts known to man and Steve is wishing for the sweet embrace of death.

He would welcome it, with open arms and calm heart, if it meant he no longer spent hour upon torturous hour in the general vicinity of a hot, hot douchebag on a power trip with a whistle.

Steve groans from the very depths of his soul and tastes sunscreen and warm cotton, the thick weave of the towel pressing into his mouth, covering his nose, making it hard to breathe. The cacophony of the community swimming pool is muffled and it’s so dark behind his eyelids and Steve feels safe here, in this dim, hot cocoon, as if he’s slipping away from reality. He could just stay here, forever, and he’d never again have to deal with flesh-eating monsters or inter-dimensional gateways or big dumb blondes with tan lines and sharp grins.

The towel is ripped away from his face at the exact same moment an ear-splitting skreeeet sounds right above him and Steve startles so hard he rolls right off the sun lounger.

He lies sprawled on the ground, the rough concrete of the pool deck burning his back and shoulders, clutching at his heart as it damn near breaks his ribs and squinting up into the blinding blue sky.

A shadow looms over him and then there he is, silhouetted against the high summer sun, curls falling forward around his face, the bridge of his nose a delicate pink, and his plush lips screwed up in a truly monumental scowl.

“Hey, asshole,” Hargrove barks at him. “No suffocating on my watch. If you stop breathing I’m sure as fuck not giving you mouth-to-mouth.”

Steve just stays down, staring and gaping and wheezing, nothing but static and mouth-to-mouth buzzing around his head.

Hargrove, apparently dissatisfied with Steve’s utter lack of response, bares his teeth and hurls the towel back into Steve’s face. Which seems counterproductive to the non-suffocation order, honestly, but before Steve can gather the wit to point this out Hargrove is stalking off around the pool and slamming through a door marked ‘employees only’.

Fuck it, Steve decides, the concrete is as good a place as any to despair the current state of his existence and he feels too pathetic to move right now anyway. He is fully prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon slowly liquefying onto the gross pool deck.

But it would seem his kids have other ideas.

They rush at him in a gaggle of raised voices and slapping flip flops, Mike gesticulating wildly, water droplets spraying off the ends of Dustin’s hair as he swings his head around. El is standing at the back of their little huddle, expression slightly bewildered and a thick stripe of neon green zinc across her nose and cheeks. Max is hanging back next to her, one arm tucked under the other and grimacing half-apologetically at Steve.

Steve pushes himself up and blows his hair out of his face and throws both hands up, achingly aware that he cuts the exact same figure as a tired soccer mom and completely incapable of stopping himself. He doesn’t know what or how or why these kids bring out something downright maternal in him, and it’s truly hysterical that the fact he is somehow some kind of a mom to these brats doesn’t even make a top ten spot on his list of Why My Life Is So Fucked Up.

“Guys, guys, guys,” Steve shouts over them. “I’m fine, okay, calm the fuck down.”

“What the hell is that guy’s problem?!” Mike huffs. “Why’s he such a dick all the time?” He pauses and then tacks on, “sorry, Max.”

Max just shrugs like she can’t argue. Because really, she can’t.

“One day I’m gonna haul off and punch that guy in the dick,” Mike goes on. “Then we’ll see how tough he is.”

Mike’s standing with his skinny feet planted, his hands balled up into fists at his sides, glaring at the building Hargrove disappeared into. Steve can’t help but notice that Mike’s only ever this puffed up when Hargrove is out of earshot, and eyeshot, and there’s at least one solid brick wall between them.

Steve snorts and bends to pick up the towel still on the ground, scrubbing his hand through Mike’s wet hair as he goes, and Mike slaps him away, looking hilariously affronted.

“While I appreciate your concern, guys, this is seriously not a big deal.”

“He could have killed you, Steve,” Lucas says, pinching his fingers together up in front of his face like he does when he’s trying to really emphasize a point.

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Hargrove wouldn’t try to kill me.”

The kids just look at him. Steve points a finger, like ‘stop’, before Will is even finished opening his mouth, because, well—

“Hargrove wouldn’t try to kill me in public. At his own place of employment.”

Steve turns and flops back down onto his chair. “Probably,” he mutters.

#i don't know what this is but god i had FUN writing it #harringrove #harringrove fanfic #steve harrington x billy hargrove #stranger things

69 notes · View notes

unprofessional-bard · 4 years

Text

Don't Push It, Pt. 2

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

First Part (2/2)

Based on this request.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (the reader is 26 and Joel is 53), angst, sexual tension, then smut: oral sex (m&f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, biting, choking, dom/sub vibes bc the reader is A Brat, rough & unprotected vaginal sex.

Summary: It's been going on for years. They both know better than to act on their feelings, but patience starts running thin when a few boundaries are crossed.

Word Count: 7.275 hehehe

Author's Note: This turned out to be a pure self indulgent smut but oh well. I have no shame and no excuses for this.

Like before, this fic changes POV's a lot:

• ----R and below: The reader's POV.

• ----J and below: Joel's POV.

• ----B and below: Both POV's.

The fic starts off with the reader's POV.

Enjoy!

"Jesse..." You called for him, voice breaking and tears around the corners of your eyes. He was chatting with two other people, but immediately diverted his attention to you once he saw your expression.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He turned to you. You were pouting and chewing on your lower lip, refusing to speak, so he held your shoulders as he looked into your eyes: "What happened?"

You blinked away the urge to cry, trying to find comfort in the fact that he hadn't witnessed your interaction with Joel. When you shut you eyes, though, Jesse's right hand went to cup your cheek: "Come on- Hey, it's okay-"

"I'm gonna go home," You finally whined.

"Okay, let's go then," Jesse instinctively looked over to the door, but you softly grabbed his wrist.

"No, you stay..." You looked away, nausea forming at the pit of your stomach: "I wanna be alone."

"You sure?" You unintentionally leaned forward, lightly tripping on your own feet.

"Yeah, thanks," You finally let the tears go and a pair rolled down your cheeks. You don't remember being this embarrassed, ever; normally you wouldn't cry, but the alcohol fucked with you too.

"Aw, (Y/N)..." He quickly pulled you into a hug, pressing your head into his chest. "You're so not getting away with this. We'll talk about it tomorrow okay?" You just nodded and forced yourself to stop crying or, rather, stop yourself from making a noise. After he pulled away, you let Jesse wipe away the tears glistening your cheeks: "Would a kiss make you feel better-? On the cheek, of course."

You chuckled at his panic and nodded with watery eyes, then he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your wet cheek - a kiss you wished you'd gotten from Joel, it was a comforting gesture which made you want to cry more. Instead, before you let anyone notice what was going on, you walked out with rushed steps. The sudden contact with the warm summer air made you realise how suffocating it had gotten in there, the calm and quiet of the town easing your stress on minimal levels.

You furiously wiped away your tears as you stormed to your house, trying not to trip on your feet as you did.

How could I be so stupid? You thought and sniffed. Of course he was gonna reject me.

The feeling of nausea and embarrassment started to take over your thoughts, so you found yourself leaning against a streetlight, groaning: "Fuck..."

"Shouldn't walk back alone," A deep voice spoke from behind you. "Especially when you're drunk, as you are."

You turned around, fixing your posture as best as you could before realising it was Joel. Your worried expression turned into a tired and angry one when you saw him: "What're you doing here?"

"Lookin' out for you," He replied, stopping before you, keeping a healthy distance so he wouldn't invade your personal space. "Your boyfriend clearly ain't."

"The hell are you talking about?" You groaned in a hostile manner. "I don't need you to look after me..." You gulped and turned around, walking towards your house, which was around the corner: "I don't need you."

"Like hell you don't, y'can barely stand up," Joel growled.

His words angered you because how dare he mock me? Humiliation and ridicule riled you up, therefore you turned around and shoved him away once he was close enough: "Fuck off!"

"Keep your voice down." Joel spoke calmly.

You found yourself obeying almost immediately, the exhaustion mixed with embarrassment made your voice crack when you spoke: "Go away, Joel."

Your anger was superior at that moment, but you still -god fucking dammit- wanted him.

Frustrated, you were absolutely irritated by this man whom you wanted; you wanted to kiss him, wanted him to touch you, grab the undersides of your thighs and press you against the wall as he bit your collarbone... You managed to throw that away- if there was anything to throw away in the first place. Hours ago, when he 'helped' you with your stretches- he also showed up to the dance, even though he had said he wouldn't. He clearly liked you, but didn't he want you?

Why didn't he want you?

"Stop bein' stubborn and let me walk you home-"

"I'm not being stubborn, I just don't want you to... to..."

"To what?" He took a few steps in your direction, slowly. In truth, you didn't want him to see you in your current state. You were a mess, not your usual self and it made you want to get swallowed by the ground. "What, (Y/N)?" His voice softened and quietened as he used the side of his pointing finger to gently push your chin up so he could look into your eyes. "Say it."

Your eyes- glowing, beautiful eyes stared into his own. For a moment, you almost leaned into the small touch, but instead you pushed his hand away reluctantly: "Fine. Once I'm inside, you leave."

Joel agreed and watched you lead the way to your house. You ran a hand through your hair and huffed, slowly starting to lose your nerve in the meantime.

He was right with almost everything he said and had to say: You were struggling to stand up, had a killer headache with the urge to empty the contents of your stomach. The bathroom floor seemed like the ideal place to pass out on, the cold tiles would help you with the hot night air of Jackson-

You found yourself on your doorstep, reaching for the key to your house in the pocket of your skirt. Deep in thought and not all too displeased by his existence behind you, you almost forgot Joel was there. Trying to mask the sounds of your failed attempts at fitting the key into the hole, you spoke: "I'm here, safe n' sound. You can leave now."

Instead of replying, he walked up and lightly pressed himself against you when he took your key holding hand in his, gently squeezed it and helped you push it into the hole. Your breath hitched at the touch, heat gathering at your cheeks as he slowly twisted the key for you (you had lost function when you realised just how close he was). His chest easily covered your back, his scent somewhat invaded your senses and made you lean back before he opened the door. Your gaze lowered to the floor once he pushed it open and realised you had to reach the bathroom as soon as possible.

----B

Snapping back to reality, you marched to the bathroom in a few quick steps, Joel following suit. He closed the door behind him and once he reached to the bathroom door, just in time, he saw you drop to your knees in front of the toilet. Instinct taking over, he immediately walked behind you and collected your hair from in front of your face, then gently pulled them into a ponytail in one hand.

Fuck.

The nausea suddenly disappeared and got replaced, once more, with need when you realised what he had done. Your heavy breathing started to slow down as you two stood like that for a torturous minute.

"You okay?" Joel hesitantly asked, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. You silently nodded, trembling hands gripping the toilet seat harder, then finally pushed yourself up and Joel stepped back, keeping a hand hovering by your waist in case you fell.

Without saying anything, you washed your hands and splashed some water on your face, rubbing it as a means to sober yourself. Once you were done, you spread your arms to the sides and placed them on the edges of the sink, leaning down. You felt too awkward to look him in the eye, so, while burning a hole into the sink with your stare, you asked: "What are you doing here, Joel?" He was caught off guard. Before he had a chance to reply, you added: "What- I mean, you're getting off to seeing me all... miserable and- and humiliated? Is that it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He crossed his arms.

"You've mocked me quite enough, sir," You hissed, faking a different accent and pushed yourself off the sink. Joel took a step back outside to the hall when you walked towards him. "First you reject me, then call me drunk and then-"

"Please, look me in the eye and tell me you aren't drunk right now."

"Well, I'm not," You dropped your hands in defeat and let them slap against the sides of your thighs. "Not enough to not see what I want."

Joel's heart started racing at your words. He gave you an indecisive look, along with shock, lust and a side of shame: "I..."

"Why don't you want me?" You whispered, leaning against the wall behind you. Your expression simply laid between fatigued and trying-not-to-cry. Joel, on the other hand, was shocked. He had no idea about what he should say or do, so he gave himself a moment to recollect.

"Aren't you- I dunno, datin' someone?" He tried.

"What do you think?" You asked, as if you couldn't have been more obvious.

"Wouldn't you..." He tried again. "Shouldn't you be with someone your age?"

"Should?" You repeated, frowning, but you weren't angry.

"You didn't seem to have a problem with kissin' Jesse in there," He took a step towards you. "You should-"

"What the fuck do you know about what I should or shouldn't do?" You groaned. "Are you jealous? Is that it?"

"Oh, for god's sake," He turned his head away in frustration before looking back at you. His expression and voice softened: "You're so young, (Y/N)..."

"So? I know what I want." You stated and crossed your arms. You're so young and beautiful with your 30s ahead of you and you shouldn't waste your time on someone old like me. He was standing an arm away from you when you spoke again: "I know what you want, too. If only you'd stop making excuses."

"Why don't we let this go, hm? What do you want from me?" He lowered his voice, now deep and husky.

You stared into his eyes for awhile, then fixed your posture and straightened up, still leaning against the wall. Determined, you spoke: "You either leave me alone- walk out of that door and I'll be out of your hair forever."

Joel hated the idea as soon as he heard it, so he impatiently grunted: "Or?"

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a solid second, then went back up to his eyes. "Stay. And kiss me."

There it was. The moment of truth.

Joel knew you wouldn't be so insistent if you didn't know he wanted you as much as you did him. He also knew that you had him where you wanted and that you'd also keep your promise about staying out of his hair- he didn't want you to, though. He'd hate himself if he broke your heart and even more so if he walked out of that door. So, with one last hesitation, his self control slowly disappearing, he asked: "Where does Jesse stand in all this?"

Yes, your mind screamed. He's going to stay.

"He's just a friend. He kissed me on my cheek, I don't understand why you're-"

"Cheek?" He asked abruptly, brows raising and eyes widening in unison. In his defense, from the angle he was sitting, plus the whiskey he'd been drinking, he was pretty sure Jesse had kissed you on the lips. The way he'd grabbed your cheek and the look of worry after you left hadn't helped either.

You chuckled: "Just admit you were jealous."

He didn't say a word, instead he just stared into your puffy eyes for a moment too long, then closed the space between your bodies. Before he knew it, he grabbed you by the hips and, finally, pressed his lips onto yours.

It was a little embarrassing, just how quick you were to gasp and moan into his mouth. He then pulled back, placed a hand on the side of your neck gently and pushed your head up with his thumb on your chin, wrecking you with one move. He looked into your eyes, then growled: "You've been drivin' me up the wall, y'know that? This morning, then at the dance..." He sighed, looked down and when he looked back up, he said: "I won't be gentle."

Was it that obvious that you wanted to be totally ruined by him?

You never looked anywhere else other than his eyes, too afraid that if you did, he'd disappear. So when he spoke, the words sending a thrill down your spine, you whispered back: "No one's asking you to."

If your legs were keeping you up to some level, they sure as shit weren't going to do that anymore because of the roughness of the kiss. It had a side of gentleness and professionalism to it too- had he kissed or made out with someone recently? Or even for once ever since he arrived in Jackson? He must've had, he was just so attractive and must've pulled someone into his web like he did with you. It wasn't his fault, really, but he contributed.

His tongue parted your lips and you let him explore your mouth, whining and moaning as quietly as possible. God, you thought, this must be heaven. The way he easily dominated you and made you weak in the knees probably made someone as confident as you look really pathetic, but you couldn't care less. He made you a dripping mess and him only, the rest wasn't important.

While his left hand was on your waist, the hand resting on the side of your throat wasn't squeezing but you wouldn't mind if he added a little pressure. The heavy breathing, your occasional whimpers and the promise of a rough treatment made your pussy ache with excitement - you could tell, by the hardness against your core and inner thigh, he was about the same.

For someone who practically sealed a deal to fuck you until you couldn't walk for the entirety of next week, he was still holding back. As much as it warmed your heart, it was your cunt that demanded attention at that moment: You decided to bite on his bottom lip; he pulled back with a groan, surprised and his hand flexed around your neck. Bingo.

The space between your faces wasn't even a span away, but he took his time to stare at you as you grabbed his right hand and moved it onto your throat slowly. Joel's breathing faltered at the sight: You, lips swollen, eyes a little puffy and your hand on his larger one around your throat with the most devilish smile across your pretty face. If it was even possible, Joel dived back into your lips with more roughness.

You started tugging at his belt as he devoured you, pressing his whole body against yours, making you overheat and feel dizzy. The sounds you were making seemed to turn him on more, his aggressiveness and movement speed increased whenever he felt your throat twitch under his palm.

To your disappointment, he let his hands go to aid you with his belt, but his lips stayed on yours. As soon as his belt hit the floor, however, he took his shirt off. He didn't even bother with opening the buttons and threw it over his head, tossing it to the floor. You gulped at how well built his body was, a few scars here and there and a decent amount of chest hair that followed a trail down his jeans.

Before you could faint at the sight, he immediately went back to kissing you; this time he moved to your cheek briefly and settled on your neck. A gasp left your lips involuntarily when he hit jackpot, sucking a hickey on your soft spot.

"Joel!" You hissed, or moaned, didn't matter- you pulled on his hair and stopped him. "No marks."

"Why not?"

Fuckingshitfuckfuckingdammit-

His tone was so seductive, so inviting that you couldn't fight him. The only reason you didn't want marks was simply because it was summer and you couldn't wear the layers of clothes and neckwear you wore in winter - it sure as shit was going to get questioned a lot and rumours spread around Jackson quicker than wildfire.

He didn't wait for your response of course and sunk his teeth into the crook of your neck, making you let out a rather pornographic moan. His naked body was on fire under your fingers, nails embedded themselves into his upper back when he sucked and licked on the spot he bit.

You wanted to scream out, tell him to bite you again, mark you everywhere and claim you as his, but as expected, you were too overwhelmed to utter a single word.

Joel then grabbed your thighs and pushed you up when you jumped. He trapped you between his hot body and cool wall, both sensations sent your body into a frenetic struggle, his soft lips nipping at your collarbones and large hands groping the backs of your thighs. You let go of him in order to remove your t-shirt with urgency, revealing your bra to him. He was quick to attack the tops of your breasts, sucking and biting there too. The bites weren't rough like he was trying to tear into your flesh, but there was just enough pressure to paint the skin purple.

You loved every fucking second.

"Fuck," You sighed, running your hands through his gray locks as he pulled your nipple out of the cup of the bra. "Oh..." The wetness of his tongue against your nipple made your brain short-circuit. "Oh, Joel-"

He grunted when you said his name, his cock pressing against your heat: "Yeah? You like this?"

"Fuck, so good-" You choked out when he spoke, nails digging at his shoulder and the back of his neck, making you squirm in his grip. After a moment, your other nipple was seen to the same treatment. You couldn't wait to see the rounds of teeth marks and bruises on yourself when you woke up in the morning.

Before he could do anything further, you tapped his shoulder and removed yourself from his hold, stepping on the ground with unstable legs- you immediately dropped onto your knees. The sight made Joel produce a sound between a grunt and a moan, his hand going to rest along the side of your face. He wanted to tell you that you didn't have to, but the way you eagerly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants kept him quiet.

You pulled his pants down, only to reveal his rather big erection straining against his boxers. The scene made you sigh, then look up when you grabbed him through his underwear; he leaned forward, pushing your back against the wall once more. He then pulled your hair oh so slowly into a ponytail and gathered it in one hand, then tugged your head back: "Don't tease me, girl."

If it weren't for your urgency to put him in your mouth, you would continue to tease him; his voice was dangerously low, threatening even, you wanted to see the outcome, but not today. You never broke eye contact when you smirked and pulled his boxers down, but you had to when his cock stood tall and proud inches away from your face.

You stared, eyes widening and mouth falling open (and quite possibly drooling at how big he was), Joel tsked at your expression: "Look at you, so eager for me."

You simply nodded, before licking the tip of his cock experimentally. He was, unsurprisingly, warm. His right hand clenched around your hair as he leaned the other against the wall. After running your tongue over his slit you finally took him in your mouth. A rough grunt vibrated in his chest and he threw his head back when you looked up, making you moan around him.

It was a struggle to fit all of him in your mouth, you saw it coming, but you forced your throat to relax so he could finally fuck it without further ado. After pulling back for a moment and taking a deep breath while working your hand on his length to cover for the loss of your mouth, you took him back in.

He hit the back of your throat, making you gag and instinctively pull back, but the hand on the back of your head stopped you and you moaned.

"Fuck-" Joel groaned and placed his other hand through your hair. He was slowly giving himself to the pleasure. You grabbed the sides of his thighs and braced yourself, letting him know that he can do whatever he wanted to. Thus, he started thrusting his hips with a slow but harsh pace. You did your best to relax your throat more and went as far as to brush your fingertips against his balls.

"Shit, (Y/N)," He hissed and picked up pace, the roughness easing up a bit. "That mouth- Gonna fuckin' ruin me-"

It was satisfying to know how much power you held over Joel Miller, but it was only a matter of time that he found out just how much power he held over you.

He pushed your head against the wall, anchoring you in place and gave you a moment to breathe, before searching your eyes for permission to absolutely ruin, or rather, destroy you - you just wanted him to fuck your mouth until you couldn't take it anymore (you were also sure that, even if it got to the point, you'd still beg for his cock down your throat).

He firmly pressed his hands to the back of your head to keep your head from hitting the wall and began thrusting his hips again. You had nowhere to run, he literally had you trapped and it turned you on so much.

His pace became rougher overtime and he began making you gag with each hit to the back of your throat. The noises were bringing him closer to climax and you were more than ready to have him spill his seed down your throat, but he seemed to have another idea.

A growl, gruttal, erupted from his throat and he pulled back at the same time. You panted, a thin line of saliva connected his cock to your lips and tears were gathered at the corners of your eyes, not to mention your throbbing pussy.

He groaned and held your chin in his palm, looking down at you while he breathed heavily. "So pretty down on your knees for me..."

You moaned when he leaned down to kiss you, not even thinking about the usual ew you just had my dick in your mouth I'm not gonna kiss you.

You sighed - What a man.

He was no boy, oh no. Joel was a man: Older, more experienced and was about to prove how he wasn't after just his own pleasure, that he also knew how to please his partner. He was also going to show how much your pleasure mattered to him and how much it turned him on to see you lose yourself in the euphoria.

He pulled his boxers up but stepped out of his pants which were pooled around his ankles, leaving his shoes with the bunch, then helped you up as he tasted himself on your tongue. He lifted you up again, making you wrap your legs around his waist while he carried you over to the table in your room. He carefully placed you on the hard, wooden surface and proceeded to take off your bra; you kissed his neck lightly as he did, which made him sigh into your hair. You then sucked a hickey right above his collarbone, which made him, quite literally, rip your bra off. You snickered at his reaction, taken aback by how harshly he threw your bra across the room. The gesture seemed to have awoken something primal within him: "What? You want another bite, sugar?"

You nodded, pushing your legs apart instinctively, your skirt doing a sinful job at covering you. He looked down to where you were inviting him, then looked back at you. Smirking, he lowered himself onto his knees: "I'm afraid I'll have to tend to the rest of your body another time, sweetheart."

You blinked and stared at him as he gently put your legs over his shoulders: "Another time?"

"Wouldn't you wanna... do this again?" He asked a little hesitantly.

"I..." Your dumbfounded expression stretched to an excited one, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'd love nothing more."

Joel smiled back, then turned his head to place a kiss on the inside of your right thigh after grunting: "Good."

You gasped at how good the scratch of his beard felt against the sensitive skin of your thigh. His kisses were wet and accompanied by occasional sucks here and there, until he bit down at the soft flesh.

"Joel- Ah, fuck," You tugged at his hair, but this time without the intentions of stopping him from marking you. You absolutely adored the way he knew exactly what he was doing and it was perfect.

He then followed the same path on your left thigh: Kisses, sucks and a bite on the exact same spot. You bucked your hips forward with a desperate, pathetic moan.

"What's that? You want somethin'?" Joel looked up into your eyes, slowly sneaking his hands up to entwine them with yours. "Speak up, darlin'."

The pet names were an ache both in your heart and pussy, so you spoke up, barely: "I need you Joel..."

The words made him stand up, your legs still over his broad shoulders. He leaned down, made your legs drop onto the crooks of his arms. He held them as he leaned further down until your noses almost touched, your legs and arms wrapping around his body: "Yeah? Tell me what you need baby."

"I need you to-" You stumbled on your words for a moment because, as much as you wanted to experience how it was like to have your pussy eaten by Joel Miller, you also needed his cock inside you - ASAP. "Fuck, Joel, I need your- your mouth-"

He interrupted you with a deep kiss, then pulled back and sat down on his knees once more, pulling your legs over his shoulders. You didn't stop a long and loud whine from leaving your throat when he pushed your panties aside and licked all the way from the source of your juices up to your clit. His hands had a hard grip around your hips, hopefully hard enough to leave marks.

"Joel..." You threw your head back lazily as he lapped at your juices. You put one hand on the back of his head while the other supported you to stand straight on the desk, your legs squeezing around his head lightly. It was the breaking point for you when he pushed your legs apart and pulled back, his beard glistening.

"Be a good girl and keep them pretty legs open for me."

Your jaw hit the ground, hard, and you felt your soul leaving your body right before he dived back into your folds. A silent scream hung on the edge of your mouth when he sucked your clit, the sticky noises making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You had a particularly hard time keeping your legs open, so when they closed around his head again, Joel swatted your inner thigh, making you jump up with a gasp.

He looked into your eyes, pulled back and spoke once more: "What did I just say?" You immediately opened up for him, spreading your thighs as far as you could, almost at a 150° angle. That didn't seem to be enough for him, however, so he grabbed your ankles and pulled you towards him until you were sitting at the edge of the desk: "Don't push it, girl. Repeat it."

"Okay!" You cried out when he bit down on your sensitive skin, harder than before, adding another mark right next to the first one. "I'll keep them open, I'll-"

He experimentally licked at your clit and with all the power and strength you could gather, you kept them open. After a moment, he pulled back, gently kissed the place he bit and said: "Good girl."

You couldn't do this anymore, you were so fucking devestated. It was so incredulous, too overwhelming, that you dropped yourself on your back and cried out. Half of Jackson must've heard that, if not your neighbour next door.

He started to kiss your thighs again, and between the kisses he spoke: "Look at you... So wet for me, so good for me." He sucked another hickey -you'd lost count at this point- closer to your pussy and growled. "You gettin' off to this, hm? Some old man eating your pretty little pussy up?"

He wasn't just some man, though. He was Joel Miller. It was Joel fucking Miller between your thighs, talking dirty to you, setting your cheeks, neck and the rest of your body on fire: "Yes, oh god yes-!"

Joel smirked when he realised he was finally getting to you, but hissed when he shifted and his painfully hard cock protested against his thighs. It was time to speed things up a little, even though he was really enjoying having you squirming under his tongue.

He calculated his next move for a moment, then slowly, pressed a finger inside you. However, he ended up retreating the digit when your legs snapped shut around his shoulders at the feel, and you realised the mistake you made a moment too late. You immediately stood up where you sat and he got up with you, clicking his tongue disapprovingly: "Alright, if you're not gonna be good and listen to me..."

He suddenly pulled you off the desk, carried you bridal style and climbed onto the bed with you in his arms. It all happened so fast you couldn't even process how you were suddenly sitting on the bed between Joel's legs. He settled down and leaned his back against the headboard, then pulled you flush into his chest: "Open up."

You did as he asked and as soon as you parted your legs, he planted his feet next to the insides of your calves, so that you couldn't close them. Your head dropped against his right shoulder and he was quick to pepper your neck with kisses again. His right hand sneaked down to your panties while his other hand kneaded your breast. You whined, eyes closed: "Joel..."

"That feel good, baby?" He whispered against the shell of your ear, then lightly nibbled on it.

"Yes, yes-" You spoke, feverish, then interrupted yourself with a moan once he inserted a finger inside you. You tried to move, but he immediately wrapped his hand around your throat and inserted a second finger.

"Oh no," He snickered, placing a mocking kiss on your cheek. "You don't get to have whatever you want, not after that show you pulled off." You wanted to respond, but his erection digging at your lower back and the fast come hither motions inside you making your legs tremble gave you a hard time multitasking. "You don't get to be all cute to me- then go kiss other boys. Oh, no you don't..."

You were overheating, malfunctioning and feeling dizzy, the familiar white hot pleasure tingling around the corner. You couldn't move- you could only sink your nails into the sides of his thighs as he fucked you with his thick fingers - two buried, pumping deep inside you and five of them around your throat did indescribable things to you.

"Where'd all that confidence go, huh?" He chuckled after he suddenly pulled out and you cried out, not speaking but physically begging to have him inside you. "You pissed me off a lot, you know- Fuck, n' I'm still givin' you what you ask for. You see what you do to me, sweetie?"

You nodded, a phantom of the word yes left your lips, then suddenly you pushed yourself impossibly closer to him when he re-entered with three fingers, stretching you so fucking good: "Oh Joel, please~"

He listened to you say his name over and over like a silent prayer as his fingers produced incredible pleasure and noises from between your legs. Each thrust of his fingers equaled a high-pitched gasp- he kept at it for another moment, bringing you closer and closer to your climax, then pulled out and unexpectedly squeezed the hand around your throat: "You think you deserve this, huh? After everything you did- Think you earned it?"

"N-No," You replied hesitantly, thrusting your hips forward as you did, which earned you a smack across your oversensitive thigh. "Fuck-!"

"Tsk," He shifted his hand upwards, turning your jaw more to the left so he could pepper your jaw with ghostly kisses. "I'm spoilin' you... Don't even know your place-"

"No, I do-" You switched tactics and tried begging verbally, but it earned you another smack, this time right on your pussy, which made you jump.

He cooed, rubbing your clit: "Who does this belong to, then?"

"You- To you," You gulped, breath hitching at the sensation, your bare shoulders tensing against his chest.

He smacked your pussy again, then asked: "Couldn't hear you, darlin'." As soon as you moaned another series of yous, he kissed your neck affectionately, then whispered: "Atta girl."

He took his time while he coaxed your orgasm out of you. A soft yet effective press of the pads of his fingers against your nerves and, with a series of profanities spilling from your mouth with moans, you came undone- saw the stars when he helped you through your orgasm and overstimulated you afterwards.

Boneless was one word to describe your state, melted was another. You were practically both, you couldn't even lift a finger when he removed himself from behind you and laid you down on the bed. The both of you were covered in sweat and panting, you almost missed the adoration in Joel's eyes when he brushed some hair away from your face. Your legs were still trembling, hickeys were showing their colours on your skin and he couldn't help but place the most gentle kiss on your lips, then replaced his mouth with his sticky fingers. He stood on his knees between your legs and extended his arm to your face: "Suck." You obeyed immediately, taking at first two, then three fingers into your mouth. You sucked and licked them, making Joel hiss: "We're not done yet."

"Good," You sighed, leaving his fingers with a wet sound and smirking at him wickedly. You wanted him to unload on you, punish you for misbehaving.

"You're a naughty girl, ain't ya?" He growled, snickering down at you as he removed your panties and threw them... somewhere. You nodded, regaining your energy, that bratty smile driving him crazy. "Get up. On all fours."

"And... What if I don't?" You smiled innocently at him, dragging your foot up the insides of his thighs. Clearly, your confidence started sprouting again and that needed to be taken care of. He stared into your eyes all the while, then hissed when your foot pressed against his clothed crotch.

Without saying another word, he suddenly grabbed your ankles, yanked you towards him and turned you around in a single second, making you yelp. He pressed his body on yours, putting his forearms next to your head and leaned in to your ear: "Oh, that's not how it works, princess." He placed a kiss behind your ear and pulled you up by your hips, pressing on the back of your neck so you stayed down while he raised your ass up, arching your back. Your skirt, once more, sinfully and barely covered your ass and Joel moaned at the sight, then yanked his underwear down, a hand ghosting over your ass: "I'm gonna make sure," He grunted as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, then traced it up and down, coating it with your juices. "That you forget your name after we're done." He started to push in, slowly as he didn't want to cause you any discomfort. "But you'll still remember who you belong to."

"Ah~" You moaned, grabbing his hips as he pushed in. The promise of having your insides rearranged sounded too good to be true, but there you were, Joel's cock inside you and making you lose your mind. He stopped when he finally had his cock completely buried in you. "You're so- So, oh- So big-"

"Hm? Does it feel good?" His voice strained as he did his best to wait for you to adjust.

"So good, Joel- Feels so fucking good," You were practically crying at that point, without tears that was. You noticed how his behaviour changed when you responded to him, when you behaved like his good girl.

"Yeah?" He began moving very slowly, eyes closed, struggling to keep his posture. "Good-" He groaned, then removed your hands from his thighs and brought them together behind your back. He took your wrists in one hand, pressed them against your waist and started fucking you. His hips snapped against your ass and the backs of your thighs, the noises that came out as a result were absolutely amazing.

His thrusts were precise: For someone who had a hard time controlling himself, he had incredible control over his body while he fucked you into the mattress, setting fire to your insides once more.

It wasn't long before he brought you to the edge again, bringing down a few smacks down your ass here and there, making you gasp and push your hips down on his cock. However, the start of your unravelling was triggered when he grabbed a fistful of your hair. He didn't yank on it, but he held your head off the pillows and made you cry out: "Fuck!"

"You like this, sweetheart?" He growled when you clenched around him. "So tight- Goddamn-"

You wish you could say you were embarrassed when you let out another high-pitched moan- a sound you didn't know you were capable of making. Suddenly he turned you around and pushed you on your back, grabbed your thighs, hooked them over his own, then sunk into you again. He didn't move, though, which made you look up with a devastated expression, only to find him snickering at you: "Look at you..."

You sighed, pushing yourself up and down, telling him to start moving, but a hand around your throat had you paralysed on spot: "So pretty with my cock in your tight little cunt." You moaned and gripped his biceps which looked delicious under the moonlight: "You want me to fuck you, huh baby?"

"Yes, yes Joel-" You nodded furiously, thighs trembling around his waist. He started rocking into you again, making you look into his eyes as he did.

"You wanna know what it feels like when a man makes you cum?" He gritted his teeth and picked up pace, going deeper.

"Yes!" Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, your juices leaking out of your pussy. "Please fuck me Joel-!"

You couldn't tell if it was a moan or a shout that came out of Joel's mouth (as well as yours), but it clearly had magical effects as you felt a second wave of orgasm wash over you. His hand around your throat joined the other on your hips, with a bruising grip that you already came to love.

He suddenly pulled out and a second later, had his seed spilling on your abdomen. He clearly waited for you to finish first, which made your heart do a few flips. He slowly lowered himself on top of you as he panted, a hand resting on the side of your head, caressing it gently. Your hand instinctively went through his hair and held him there, too shocked to actually say anything, legs trembling occasionally.

"Shit..." He finally sighed and dragged his head off your chest and looked into your eyes. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

It took you second to process what he asked. You blinked and nodded, eyes glowing and beaming at him: "I'm okay- No, you didn't hurt me, I'm fine. I really..."

"What?" He offered a small smile and moved his hand onto your cheek, noticing how you were suddenly shying away. "You liked it?"

You nodded once more, smile turning mischievous: "I did." You then slowly pushed on his chest: "Very much..." His heart started beating faster the second his back met the mattress and you straddled his hips. The short amount of time it took your insides to start coiling with desire again excited you. Joel was about the same- A simple motion such as getting on top of him, rubbing your wetness on his skin almost immediately had his softening member fully hard again. "We're not done yet, are we?"

There wasn't any indication that you were taking over as far as Joel could tell, but after what you both did, you were full of surprises in his eyes: "No, we're not sweetheart." You flashed your teeth at him before taking him in hand and pumping him a few times, feeling him grow larger in your palm. He growled and grabbed your hips, then slammed you down on his cock, making you moan loudly: "Oh, we're not done, alright."

You put your hands on his chest to get some sort of support, but didn't move, expecting him to start thrusting up into you. He didn't, though, so you gave him a quizzical look. Before you could ask what was wrong, his hands slowly began moving down your thighs.

"Go on," He groaned. "Show me what you got."

Your brain, once again, short-circuited but Joel made sure to snap you back to reality- literally. He snapped his hips up and the force made you let out a short squeal, immediately putting you to work.

The moment you started rocking your hips back and forth, the grip he had on your thighs tightened. You purposefully put your arms closer together so that your breasts pressed against one another, and the noises you made with your skirt still around your waist - the sight made him throw his head back on the pillows and had a moan escaping his throat. You started moving faster, which made him hold your waist with one hand and smack your ass with the other, making you jump forwards.

"Such a good girl," He praised. "Fucking yourself on my cock like this-"

The dirty talk shot right through to your clit and your movements faltered, your thighs squeezing around his hips. Something feral and raw poked its head out from its hiding spot, hidden amongst your fantasies, so you picked up pace but not without grabbing his wrists and slamming them above his head, keeping them there as you rode him.

Joel was, once again, surprised at the sudden move, but he allowed you to chase your pleasure for a while. He closed his eyes and focused entirely on the motion of your hips and the tightness of your cunt.

It felt so good.

To finally have you for himself- it still came with a side of guilt, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. You wanted this, you needed him and you told him, this wasn't some stupid dream or his late night thoughts: This was quite real.

Not for too long, though. He was almost lost in the pleasure when he noticed your hand going down to your clit.

Your cries came to an abrupt halt when he suddenly wriggled his hands out of your grasp and had one wrapped around your throat, the other holding the hand on your clit behind your back. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly: "So eager to cum, are you? To fuck me over, huh?"

"Yes," You moaned, even though you weren't sure what he truly meant by fucking him over. "Only you- Only for you-"

The words made Joel's hips thrust up, touching a new spot deep within you, then set a brutal pace. You could only hold onto his forearm below your throat as he fucked you and stimulated that spot.

"Who does this belong to?" He asked, pressing a thumb right onto your clit, bringing you to the very edge.

"You, Joel," Your now free hand pressed on his thumb to move it, but he was quick to swat your hand away.

"Who do you belong to?" He growled and lowered you closer to him.

"You- I belong to you," You whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Please, l-let me cum..."

"Such a good girl, ain't you?" He kissed your cheek and picked up the brutal pace as if he hadn't stopped in the first place. You couldn't take it anymore, so you let go.

No one had made you come like Joel Miller did, thrice in the same night.

With a final gruttal groan, he thrusted his cock deep inside you and spilled his seed, the exhaustion and the feeling knocking you on your face on his chest. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, thrusted a few more times and went incredibly still, save for the panting.

"That was... so fucking good..." You breathed and made Joel's chest tremble with a brief laugh.

"Oh sugar," He placed an affectionate kiss on your forehead. "You're gonna be the death of me."

781 notes · View notes