#his absence is so palpable it makes my heart ache

[nebulousbren]

Yesterday I had to say goodbye to my darling boy, Kody. He was with me for 15 1/2 years and the best, most precious of boys. He passed at home in my arms, surrounded by family at 18 years old. I miss him so much, there will never be another like him.

[kentobb]

The Bet (Part Seven)

Characters: College! Sukuna x Female Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: *Sigh* Pure Angst, Jealousy, Alcohol, Mentions of Drunk people?, Foul Language, Suggestive, Smut (Theres not but theres a suggestive part so…might as well categorized it like that), etc.

Author’s Note: I know I said that I will see you guys in a few days. But I was in my break in the airplane and wrote this piece of art. 🩷 Next chapter in a few days. But let me know what you think is going to happened next :)

Part 01

Days passed, and everything seemed to spiral further into despair for Sukuna. He had tried calling you countless times, but each attempt was met with the same automated message: "Sorry, the person you're calling is not available. Please leave a message after the beep."

"Hey, it's me again…please, call me back. Let’s talk.” Sukuna's voice broke as he left yet another voicemail, the pain evident in his words. But there was no response. His text messages, too, were left on "delivered," never receiving a reply.

He clutched the heart locket you had returned to him in such pain, now worn around his own neck, a constant reminder of the love he had lost. Each day without you felt like an eternity, and the absence of your presence in his life was a gaping void that consumed him.

What hurt the most was that you hadn’t been attending class for the past week. He looked for you everywhere—your usual seat in the lecture hall, the library corner where you loved to study—but you were nowhere to be found. The halls felt emptier without you, and summer break loomed just around the corner, only amplifying his sense of urgency and despair.

His brothers had tried their best to comfort him. They sat with him, talked to him, tried to distract him with jokes and stories. But it was useless. Sukuna's mind was consumed with thoughts of you, replaying every moment you had shared, every word he wished he could take back.

Yuuji walked into Sukuna's room one evening, finding him sitting on his bed, staring at his phone. "Hey, any luck?" Yuuji asked, though he already knew the answer.

Sukuna shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "No. She’s not answering. I don't know what to do.”

Yuuji sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You just have to give her time, Sukuna. She needs to process everything.”

"But what if she never forgives me? What if I've lost her forever?" Sukuna's voice was barely a whisper, his fear palpable.

Choso joined them, leaning against the doorframe. "You haven't lost her yet. Just keep trying, keep showing her that you care. She'll come around."

Sukuna nodded, though his heart felt heavy. "I hope you're right."

Days turned into nights, each one blending into the next in a blur of unanswered calls and unspoken words. Sukuna spent his time going through the motions, attending practice, going to class, but his mind was always elsewhere. He found himself constantly touching the locket around his neck, seeking solace in its presence.

Summer break was only a weekend away, and the impending separation from the campus only added to his anxiety. He feared that the distance would only widen the gap between them, making it even harder to reach you.

One evening, as he sat alone in his room, Sukuna decided to leave one more message. "Hey, it's me. I just wanted to say I'm sorry again. I miss you so much. Please, call me back when you can. I love you."

He hung up, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. He lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence of his room echoing his loneliness.

His brothers found him there, a picture of heartbreak. They exchanged worried glances, unsure of how to help him. Yuuji sat beside him, while Choso leaned against the wall, both trying to offer their silent support.

"We're here for you, Sukuna," Yuuji said softly. "No matter what happens."

Sukuna nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "Thanks," he whispered, though he couldn't shake the overwhelming sadness that clung to him.

As the days crept closer to summer break, the weight of your absence grew heavier. Sukuna knew he had to find a way to make things right, but he felt lost, unsure of how to bridge the chasm that had formed between you.

He held onto the hope that you would eventually hear his messages, read his texts, and remember the love you had shared. Until then, he would keep trying, keep waiting, and keep believing that somehow, you could find the way back to each other.

One evening, just as he was about to send yet another unanswered message, there was a knock on his door. Sukuna hesitated, his heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear. When he opened the door, he found Gojo standing there, looking uncertain and hesitant.

"Sukuna," Gojo began, his voice wavering slightly. "Can I come in?”

For a moment, Sukuna stood still, his emotions swirling. He didn't know if he was mad at Gojo for telling Mei Mei, or if he was mad at the situation itself. But then he saw the genuine worry and regret in Gojo's eyes, and he managed a soft, weary smile. "Yeah, come in."

Gojo stepped inside, his usual confident demeanor replaced with a rare vulnerability. He sat down, fidgeting nervously. "Look, I just... I wanted to say I'm sorry. I messed up. I shouldn't have said anything to Mei Mei. I didn't think—"

Sukuna held up a hand, stopping him. "Don’t. It’s okay.”

Gojo's eyes widened in surprise. "You're not mad at me?"

Sukuna shook his head. "No, I'm not mad at you. I’m just... tired. Tired of everything. It was my fault too…”

Gojo's shoulders sagged with relief, but the guilt still lingered in his eyes. "I really am sorry, Sukuna. I never wanted to hurt you. You're my best friend."

Sukuna nodded, feeling a tightness in his chest. "I know, Gojo. I know. It's just been really hard."

There was a heavy silence between them, filled with unspoken words and shared pain. Finally, Gojo cleared his throat. "Look, I know this might not be the best time, but I think you need a break. Mahito's throwing a summer break party, and I think you should come."

Sukuna frowned, shaking his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. I don't feel like partying."

Gojo leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "Just think about it, okay? You need a distraction, something to take your mind off things, even if it's just for a little while."

Sukuna sighed, running a hand through his hair. The thought of going to a party felt overwhelming, but he couldn't deny that he needed to escape his own thoughts, if only for a few hours. "I don't know, Gojo..."

"Please," Gojo insisted, his voice softening. "Just give it a try. You don't have to stay long. Just come and see if it helps. You can't keep torturing yourself like this."

Sukuna hesitated, but the look in Gojo's eyes, filled with genuine concern and friendship, swayed him. He nodded slowly. "Just for a little while."

A smile broke out on Gojo's face, a mix of relief and hope. "That's all I ask. Thanks, bro."

As they prepared to leave for the party, Sukuna felt a small flicker of something he hadn't felt in days—a glimmer of hope. He knew that it wouldn't solve everything, but maybe, just maybe, it would help him start to heal.

Sukuna arrived at Mahito’s party, the pulsating music and thrumming energy immediately overwhelming his senses. The house was packed with people, bodies dancing against each other, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol. He made his way to one of the sofas where his teammates were lounging, drinking and laughing. Yuuji and Choso were already there, engaged in animated conversation.

Sukuna plopped down on the sofa, grabbing a drink from the table in front of him. As he took a sip, he noticed several of his teammates with their girlfriends, their laughter and affectionate touches reminding him painfully of what he had lost. He felt a pang of hurt, wishing you were there with him, remembering how it felt to have you by his side.

As the night wore on and the drinks flowed, Sukuna found his gaze wandering toward the door. He watched idly as new arrivals trickled in, but then his heart nearly stopped when he saw who walked in.

First, there was a girl with fiery orange hair, wearing a stylish outfit that accentuated her bold personality—Nobara. She exuded confidence, her eyes scanning the room with an assertive gaze. Beside her was a tall, brooding figure with dark, messy hair—Megumi. His demeanor was quiet and reserved, yet there was a certain intensity in his eyes.

But it was the third person who made Sukuna’s breath catch in his throat. It was you.

His eyes widened, and his heart pounded in his chest. What are you doing here? This… this isn’t the place for you. Why would you be here?

You wore a stunning red dress that hugged your curves, the short hemline showing off your legs, and the neckline revealing just enough to make his mouth go dry. Your makeup was flawless, enhancing your natural beauty, and your hair was styled elegantly. You carried a small red purse, completing the look.

Sukuna could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen you like this. You looked scared, nervous at your surroundings.

As you walked in, people turned to look at you, some even whistling appreciatively. Sukuna felt a surge of jealousy and protectiveness. He didn’t like the way others were looking at you, the way they seemed to undress you with their eyes.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, your attention focused on Nobara and Megumi as they led you toward the mini bar. Sukuna shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours.

Nobara, with her usual flair, seemed to be showing you the ropes, gesturing animatedly as she explained the different drinks. Sukuna’s mind raced. He knew you had never drunk alcohol in your life. This was all new to you, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were out of place, that you didn’t belong in this chaotic environment.

As he watched you, he felt a mix of emotions—jealousy, worry, longing. He wanted to protect you, to pull you away from the prying eyes and the potentially harmful influences. But he also knew he had no right to do so, not after what had happened.

Sukuna's eyes followed your every move, noting the way you hesitated before accepting a drink from Nobara, your expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. He wanted to rush over, to tell you that you didn’t have to do this, but he stayed rooted to his seat, torn between his desire to see you and his fear of making things worse.

His teammates continued their banter, oblivious to his inner turmoil. Gojo, noticing his distracted state, leaned over and followed his gaze. “Isn’t that…?” Gojo trailed off, his eyes widening in realization.

“Yeah,” Sukuna replied, his voice tight. “It’s her.”

Gojo glanced back at Sukuna, his expression concerned. “What are you going to do?”

Sukuna didn’t answer immediately. He watched as you took a tentative sip of your drink, your face scrunching up at the unfamiliar taste. Nobara laughed, patting your on the back, while Megumi watched with an amused smirk.

Summoning his courage, Sukuna stood up and began to walk towards you. Nobara, sensing his approach, quickly stepped in front of you, blocking his path.

“She doesn’t want to speak to you,” Nobara said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his voice steady. “Who are you?”

Nobara glared at him, her stance protective. “She’s not your girlfriend anymore, Sukuna.”

Ignoring Nobara's words, Sukuna took another step closer, his determination unwavering. Just then, Megumi stepped in, his presence imposing. “You heard her. Back off,” Megumi said, trying to intimidate Sukuna.

Sukuna glanced at Megumi, a small, defiant smirk forming on his lips. “Nice hair, douchebag. Does it come with instructions?”

Megumi's eyes flashed with annoyance, but before he could retort, you spoke up, your voice cutting through the tension. “It’s okay.”

Nobara and Megumi exchanged worried glances, but reluctantly stepped aside, giving Sukuna the space to approach you. You looked at him, your eyes filled with a mix of emotions—anger, hurt, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

Sukuna took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “I know you don’t want to talk to me.”

You glanced back at Nobara and Megumi, who gave you encouraging nods before moving a little farther away, giving you some privacy while still keeping a watchful eye.

“Oh wow” you said finally, your voice steady but guarded. “Did you figure that by yourself?”

The tension between you was palpable, and Sukuna struggled to keep his emotions in check. He couldn't believe you were here, dressed so beautifully, yet so different from the girl he had known. It was as if you had transformed overnight, and it hurt to see you this way—so distant and angry.

"Why are you here?" Sukuna asked, his voice edged with frustration. "This isn’t your scene."

You met his gaze defiantly, your eyes flashing with determination. "Isn’t that obvious? I came here to have fun.”

His eyes widened in disbelief. "To have fun? This isn't like you. You don’t need to change yourself to fit in here."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You don’t know me. You’re just some dude who got into my pants for what? A hundred bucks? Turns out I don’t know you either.”

As you turned to walk away, Sukuna instinctively reached out and grabbed your hand, trying to hold you back. "You do know me. And I know you. And I know that this… isn’t you.”

You yanked your arm away, your eyes cold and unyielding. “Fuck you, Sukuna.”

He looked at you angrily, his grip tightening for a moment before he let you go. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Go ahead and have your fun."

“Oh I will, just watch closely.” You turned your back on him, joining Nobara and Megumi, who had been watching the exchange with wary eyes. The party around you started to intensify, the music growing louder, the crowd more energetic. A popular song blasted through the speakers, and everyone began to dance.

Sukuna stood back, watching as you moved to the rhythm with Nobara. He saw you taking shot after shot, your laughter ringing out as you lost yourself in the moment. It was clear you were trying to drown out the pain, but it only made Sukuna more anxious. He didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, too focused on keeping an eye on you.

His anger simmered as he watched you, feeling helpless. This wasn’t you, he thought. This wasn’t the girl he fell in love with. You were trying to become someone else, someone he knew you wasn’t.

The party continued, and a group of boys from the soccer team entered, their presence adding to the already chaotic atmosphere. Among them was Ino, the team captain. Sukuna recognized him immediately—Ino was known for his charm and confidence, a guy who could have any girl he wanted.

Ino’s eyes landed on you, and Sukuna saw him asking around about you. His jaw clenched as he overheard bits of their conversation.

"Who’s she?" Ino asked one of his teammates, nodding in your direction. "I’ve never seen her before."

"Not sure," the teammate replied. "But damn, she’s hot. Definitely new."

Sukuna’s grip tightened on his drink, the plastic cup crumpling in his hand. He wanted to march over there, to tell Ino to back off, but he knew it would only make things worse.

Ino watched you make your way to the bar, probably asking for more shots for yourself and Nobara. His interest piqued, he took his own shot, quickly following you. Meanwhile, Sukuna stood at a distance, trying to control the storm of jealousy and anger brewing inside him. He kept his eyes fixed on you and Ino, his fists clenched tightly.

As Ino reached the bar, he slid up next to you with a charming smile. "Hey there," he said smoothly. "I don't think I've seen you around before. What's your name?"

You turned to him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and alcohol. "This is my first party," you replied with a giggle.

Ino raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Your first party, huh? Well, you’re definitely making an impression."

You laughed, leaning in a bit closer. “Well, I hope so.” You said, your thoughts filled with alcohol.

Ino grinned, enjoying the attention. "Well, you’ve got the right idea. I’m Ino, by the way."

You smiled, eyes darting to where Sukuna stood, watching him intently. You saw the anger simmering in his gaze, and a mischievous glint appeared in your eyes. You wanted to provoke him, to make him react. You leaned in closer to Ino, whispering something in his ear that made him blush.

Sukuna saw this and felt his control slipping. He couldn't just stand there and watch you flirt with some guy. His jealousy and anger reached a boiling point, and he marched over to the bar, his eyes locked on you.

"Hey, what do you think you’re doing?" Sukuna demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Ino turned to face him, a smirk playing on his lips. "Just having a conversation. Is that a problem, bro?"

You looked at Sukuna, your expression challenging. "We're just talking, Sukuna. Or do you have a problem with that?"

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. "Yeah, I do have a problem. I don't like seeing my girl flirt with some random guy."

Ino raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "Whoa, whoa. I didn’t know she was your girl. She didn’t mention anything about having a boyfriend."

You crossed your arms, leaning against the bar. "That's because I don’t. We’re not together anymore, remember? I would bet a hundred bucks that you do remember that.”

Sukuna took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “We may not be together right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stand by and watch this."

Ino chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension. "Looks like you’ve got some competition, Sukuna. Maybe you should step up your game."

Sukuna’s eyes flashed with anger. "Back off, Ino. This isn’t a game."

Ino shrugged, clearly unbothered. "Whatever you say, man. But from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s having a good time without you, am I right princess?”

Sukuna's anger boiled over as he squared off with Ino. "Back off now, or I swear, I'll punch you," Sukuna threatened, his voice low and menacing.

Ino smirked, clearly unfazed. "You think you can intimidate me? Bring it on, man."

Their argument escalated, voices rising above the din of the party. You rolled your eyes at their macho display and decided to walk away, leaving the two boys to their petty fight. You made your way back to Nobara, who was already at the bar, affected by the alcohol as well.

Sukuna saw you leave, realizing what you successfully did, his anger boiling, he quickly turned away from Ino. Who cursed under his breath as Sukuna left him talking to himself, feeling the sting of being ignored.

At the bar, you started taking shots one after another, trying to drown your feelings in alcohol. The music thumped through your body, the lights blurring together as you downed another shot. Your head felt light, limbs heavy, and your vision wavered. You felt a strange mixture of euphoria and disorientation, the world spinning around you in a dizzying dance.

Everything felt distant, like you were floating. You laughed more freely, but there was a desperation to it, a need to escape the pain that lingered in your heart. You leaned on the bar for support, your mind foggy and your thoughts jumbled. You didn’t realize just how drunk you were, caught up in the haze of alcohol.

Sukuna watched you from across the room, his concern growing with every shot you took. He knew you were pushing yourself too far, and he couldn't stand by any longer. He made his way over to you, his heart pounding with worry.

"It's time to leave," Sukuna said firmly, his grip on your arm gentle but unyielding.

You tried to pull away from his grip, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. "No, I’m having fun. Let me go.”

Sukuna tightened his grip slightly, ensuring you couldn’t slip away. "You're drunk. You need to go home."

You stumbled, your balance unsteady. "I’m fine, let me go!" You slurred, your eyes struggling to focus on him.

Sukuna looked around for help and spotted Choso nearby. "Choso! I need your help," he called out.

Choso quickly made his way over, his concern evident. "What’s up?"

"Help me get Nobara. She’s drunk too," Sukuna said, nodding toward Nobara, who was barely standing.

Choso nodded and went to help Nobara, who leaned heavily on him, giggling uncontrollably. Sukuna kept a firm hold on you, guiding you carefully through the crowd. He searched for Yuuji, needing his help to manage the situation, but Yuuji was nowhere to be found.

Sukuna and Choso managed to get you and Nobara to his car. He gently placed you in the passenger seat, where you immediately fell asleep, head lolling against the window. Choso helped Nobara into the backseat, where she too quickly succumbed to sleep.

"Where the hell is Yuuji?" Sukuna muttered, frustration evident in his voice.

"Let’s look for him quickly," Choso suggested, scanning the crowd.

They headed back into the party, looking for any sign of Yuuji. Sukuna opened one of the doors, and his eyes widened at the sight of Yuuji and Megumi making out passionately. Neither of them noticed Sukuna, too wrapped up in each other.

Sukuna backed out quietly, closing the door behind him. He returned to Choso, shaking his head. "I couldn’t find him," he lied, unwilling to expose his brother's private moment.

Choso sighed. "Alright, let’s get them back to the dorm. I’ll text Yuuji and let him know."

They returned to the car, and Choso pulled out his phone, quickly typing a message to Yuuji: "We’re heading back to the dorm. Everyone’s safe. See you later."

Sukuna started the car and began the drive back to the dorms, the weight of the night pressing heavily on him. He glanced at your sleeping form beside him, his heart aching with regret and worry. He hoped that once you sobered up, you could talk properly, and he could begin to mend the rift between you.

Choso stayed silent during the ride, sensing Sukuna’s turmoil. The streets were quiet, the night air cool and soothing. When they finally reached the dorms, Sukuna parked and carefully carried you inside of his dorm, with Choso doing the same for Nobara.

Choso gently laid Nobara down on the sofa, tucking a blanket around her to keep her warm. He glanced over at Sukuna, who was carefully carrying you to his bed. Sukuna placed you down gently, pulling the blanket over you and brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Choso looked back at Nobara, shaking his head slightly. “Yuuji still isn’t answering,” he said, a hint of worry in his voice.

Sukuna smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “He was kind of busy,” he said teasingly.

Choso frowned in confusion but then shrugged it off, too tired to ask for clarification. He put a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the coffee table for Nobara for when she woke up. “She’s going to need this in the morning,” he muttered.

Sukuna nodded, grateful for his brother’s thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Choso.”

With a sigh, Sukuna made his way back to his room, pausing at the doorway. He saw you sitting up in his bed, looking around the room with bleary eyes. You were clearly still drunk, your movements unsteady.

“Go back to sleep,” Sukuna said softly, his voice filled with concern.

You didn’t listen, your gaze finally landing on him. “Kuna,” you whispered, using the nickname you had given him. The sound of it melted his heart, bringing back a flood of memories.

You stood up, wobbling slightly, and walked toward him. Despite your drunken state, he could see the pain in your eyes, the hurt you were trying to drown out with alcohol. You reached him and began pushing him angrily, your fists hitting his chest.

Sukuna stood still, letting you vent your anger. He didn’t move an inch, your punches not having any effect, but knowing you needed to get it out. You were stronger than you looked, but not enough to physically hurt him. But he deserved anything you threw at him.

“You hurt me,” you cried, your voice breaking. “You broke my heart.” You punched again, “You used me!”

“I know,” he whispered, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

You continued to hit him, your punches growing weaker as you started to sob. Sukuna finally reached out, pulling you into a tight embrace. You struggled at first, but then collapsed against him, your sobs shaking your small frame.

“I’m so sorry,” Sukuna repeated, holding you close. “I never meant to hurt you.”

You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. Your eyes were filled with so much pain, it broke his heart all over again. And then, without warning, you kissed him. Your lips were desperate and passionate, and Sukuna couldn’t help but kiss you back.

For a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, locked in a kiss that was both familiar and new. But then he felt your hands toying with the belt of his pants, and he knew what you were trying to do. He gently grabbed your wrists, stopping you.

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling back slightly and feeling the alcohol on your lips. “You’re drunk. You’re not conscious.”

You began to cry again, burying your face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.

He guided you back to the bed, laying you down gently. You clung to him, your tears soaking his shirt. Sukuna climbed in beside you, pulling you close. He began to caress your hair, his touch soothing.

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just sleep.”

You rested your head on his chest, your breathing slowly evening out as you drifted off to sleep in your drunken state. Sukuna continued to stroke your hair, his heart aching. He had missed this—holding you, comforting you, being close to you.

As you slept, Sukuna thought about everything that had happened. The bet, the breakup, the pain he had caused you. He knew he had a long road ahead if he wanted to earn your trust back, but he was determined to do it. He loves you, and he would do whatever it took to make things right.

But he just hopes that when you wake up tomorrow, you still miss him.

Comments, notes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[minhosbitterriver]

𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( stray kids )

❛ In which the members of Stray Kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This request was absolutely devastating to write, thank you! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has passed away, each member is a single father still in love with you, mentions of grief, some of the kids fall under the LGBTQ+ community.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

Chan's office was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the desk lamps, casting a warm yet somber light across the room. The gentle hum of the night time silence was broken only by the rhythmic, soothing breaths of his three-year-old daughter, who lay peacefully on the worn leather couch. Her tiny face, so serene in slumber, was a haunting mirror of your beautiful features, stirring a profound ache in Chan's heart.

As he watched her, tears began to silently trace their way down his cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his sorrow and longing. He could still hear your final, trembling words: "Love her twice as much in my absence." The memory was a dagger, twisting with the relentless guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. The sight of his daughter's innocent face, so reminiscent of you, only deepened his anguish.

Today had been especially trying. Chan had promised his little girl a joyous outing to the park, a precious respite from his hectic work schedule. But the day took an unexpected turn when Changbin called in a panic, frantically searching for the nearly completed recording of their latest song. What Chan had hoped would be a swift resolution morphed into hours of desperate searching, only to end in the devastating realization that they would have to begin the recording anew.

All the while, his daughter’s patience wore thin. She had no toys, no distractions, just the suffocating boredom of waiting. Her disappointment was palpable, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Chan felt like he was failing her, failing in the promise he had made to you. Driven by the need to make amends, he gently woke his daughter. Her initial crankiness gave way to curiosity as he apologized for breaking his promise and proposed a sleepover at home. Movies, games, a fort, and endless cuddles — her eyes sparkled at the thought, and her frown dissolved into giggles.

At home, they transformed the living room into a magical fortress of pillows and blankets, a sanctuary just for them. They watched animated tales, played games, and reveled in the simple joy of being together. Wrapped in the cozy embrace of their fort, she eventually succumbed to sleep once more, nestled against him. Her hair, a tousled mess, and a small trail of drool on his shirt were endearing reminders of her tender age and boundless trust in him.

Chan held her close, his heart swelling with love and a bittersweet yearning. She was the living embodiment of his heart, and as he gazed at her, he whispered a vow into the stillness of the night. He promised to love her with all his might, carrying the weight of both his love and the part of you that would forever reside in their lives. In that quiet moment, amidst the echoes of his promises, he felt a fragile sense of peace, knowing that as long as he held her, he was keeping your memory alive.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

Minho lay in the dim, soft glow of his bedroom, shadows whispering across the walls as the twins slept peacefully beside him. Their tiny forms had claimed your side of the bed, filling the void where your presence once brought warmth and comfort. The night he returned home with the babies, he had attempted to sleep alone, but the emptiness was unbearable. He tossed and turned, haunted by the silence, until one of the babies began to cry, inevitably waking the other. In his desperation to soothe them, he gathered every pillow he could find, crafting a makeshift crib in his bed. Their delicate features softened in the calm of his presence, and they finally drifted off to sleep.

As Minho gazed at their angelic faces, hands entwined even in slumber, his heart ached with the weight of your absence. How could he begin to process this loss? You had spent almost ten months nurturing these little miracles, only to be taken away before you could revel in the beauty of their existence. Ten months of creating life, and you would never witness the serene way they held hands in their sleep. Ten months of dreams and hopes, and you would miss their first birthdays, graduations, weddings. It was unbearably cruel, and Minho’s soul was tormented by the thought.

You wouldn’t even be here to laugh about the pregnancy mix-up that had both of you convinced it would be a boy and a girl, only to welcome two beautiful baby girls into the world. His friends had offered to stay and help, but he had declined, needing the solitude to grapple with his grief. Now, in the stillness of the night, he questioned if he had made the right choice.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as the full weight of his new reality settled over him. He was to raise these precious little princesses on his own, and the responsibility felt crushing. Yet, as he watched their peaceful slumber, he knew he had to summon every ounce of strength for them. They were his world now, the living, breathing remnants of your love. He vowed to cherish them, to love them fiercely, and to guide them through life with unwavering dedication, for they were all he had left of you, and he was all they had.

In the hushed silence, he whispered promises into the night, pledging to be the best father he could be. He would ensure they knew how deeply you loved them, even if you couldn’t be there to tell them yourself. And as he held them close, feeling the rise and fall of their tiny chests, a fragile peace washed over him. He knew that in every laugh, every tear, and every milestone, you would be there in spirit, guiding him, loving them, always.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the park as Changbin and his 13-year-old son sat on a weathered wooden bench, savoring their ice cream. The park buzzed with the laughter of children, their joy mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Parents lounged on the grass, basking in the last light of day, while Changbin watched his son’s face light up with a blush as he received a message.

Changbin couldn’t resist teasing him. "Who’s got you smiling like that?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

His son’s cheeks reddened further, and he looked away, trying to hide his smile. "Just a girl from school," he mumbled, glancing at his phone. "She texted to congratulate me on today’s soccer game."

Changbin’s interest was piqued. "A girl, huh? Do you like her?" he inquired gently, but his son just rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After a while, his son broke the comfortable silence with a question that took Changbin by surprise. "Dad, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Changbin's heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and nostalgia. He took a deep breath, the memory washing over him like a tender wave. "Well," he began softly, "it was before you were born. Your mom and I had only been dating for a few months. One evening, we decided to take a ride on my motorcycle to grab some food. On the way back, she spotted a bookstore and got all excited. She tapped my shoulder and pointed it out, her eyes sparkling like a child's. I couldn't say no to that."

He smiled, lost in the memory. "We stopped, and I handed her my card, telling her to get whatever she wanted. She promised she’d come out empty-handed, but I knew better." He chuckled, remembering your sheepish yet triumphant expression as you emerged with a bag hidden behind your back. "She ended up buying two books and couldn’t stop talking about them, her excitement contagious. When I told her I was glad she found something, she did this little dance of joy before climbing back onto the bike. She had to hold the bag since her backpack was already stuffed with our food, but she was too happy to care."

Changbin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That’s when I knew she was the one. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was her pure joy in the little things, her passion for life. I wish you could have known her. She loved you so much, even before you were born."

His son’s eyes mirrored his own longing and admiration. "I wish I’d known her too," he said softly. "My goal in life is to find my soulmate, like you found Mom. I want to love someone as much as you loved her."

Changbin’s heart ached with pride and sorrow. "You deserve to have someone by your side for a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "Who knows, maybe this girl from school is your one."

His son groaned, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Changbin, causing his ice cream to topple onto the ground. Changbin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the park. His own ice cream slipped from his grasp, joining his son’s on the pavement, and they both burst into laughter, the joy of the moment a soothing balm to their hearts.

In that golden hour, surrounded by the simple pleasures of ice cream and shared memories, Changbin felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the heartache and loss, he and his son would continue to find love and joy in the little things, just as you had taught him. And in those moments of laughter and connection, he felt your presence with them, a silent guardian watching over their journey, smiling at their shared happiness.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the familiar surroundings. The air was thick with memories, each piece of furniture and every stroke of paint a testament to the love and labor he had shared with you. His heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia as he looked around, his mind filled with the echoes of laughter and the whispers of cherished moments.

He remembered the countless hours spent building the furniture, the frustration and triumph mingling as he struggled with stubborn screws, while you sat nearby, reading the instructions with a patience that never failed to calm him. The nursery walls, painted in a tapestry of happy themes, bore the marks of your combined artistic talents, creating a sanctuary for the new life you both awaited with eager anticipation.

The night he returned home with the baby, your absence a gaping void beside him, was etched into his soul. He had sat in the rocking chair, the one he had bought especially for you, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms, paralyzed by the fear of being alone. Many nights, he had dozed off in that chair, too afraid to leave its comforting embrace, haunted by the silence that your departure had left behind.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day he found your child drawing on the walls, their tiny hands busy creating a colorful mural over your delicate paintings. It had pained him to see your work altered, but the sight of their concentrated little face, so much like yours, had softened his heart. He had chosen to let them be creative, to express themselves freely, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of you.

He thought of the time his six-year-old had cried in his arms, their tiny body trembling with confusion and hurt because they didn't fit in with the boys or the girls. Hyunjin had held them close, whispering reassurances, his heart breaking at the familiar pain. It had been a long journey, but he had worked tirelessly to make their home a sanctuary of love and acceptance.

The memories came in a flood, each one a cherished gem: the summer in middle school when they returned home with bags of new clothes and put on a fashion show, proudly displaying their androgynous style; the pride parade, where he meticulously placed sticky rainbow gems on their face, their giddy excitement lighting up the day; and finally, the day they graduated and moved out, leaving behind an empty room filled with the ghosts of the past.

Tears rolled down Hyunjin’s face as he sat in the rocking chair, now old and creaky, thinking of all the moments he had cherished yet wished he could have shared with you. The weight of the memories pressed down on him, a heavy, inescapable burden.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He hastily wiped his tears and saw it was a FaceTime call from his child. He answered, and their beaming face filled the screen, the excitement in their eyes mirrored by the twinkling fairy lights in their new apartment's bedroom.

“Hey, Dad! Look at my new room!” they exclaimed, panning the camera around to show off their new space, their voice bubbling with pride and joy.

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with pride and love. “It looks amazing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miss you,” they confessed, their eyes shining with unshed tears. “Can we spend the first night together, through the phone?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, trying to mask his lingering sadness. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of moving out?”

They laughed, a sound that was pure and unfiltered joy. “Maybe, but I know you’re in my old room crying already.”

He laughed too, the heaviness lifting just a bit. “You got me there.”

They didn’t hang up, staying connected through the screen as the night deepened. Hyunjin lay back in the rocking chair, his child propped up in their new bed, both finding solace in the familiar presence of each other. As they talked and laughed, Hyunjin realized that though you weren’t physically there, your spirit lived on in these moments, in the love that continued to bind them together. And for now, that was enough.

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

Jisung found his seven-year-old child hidden within the treehouse that the three of you had built together. This small wooden sanctuary, once filled with laughter and joy, now bore the heavy weight of sorrow. They were still in their funeral attire, the black clothes contrasting sharply against the soft glow of the setting sun. The murmurs of the guests lingering in the backyard became a distant, indistinct hum as Jisung climbed into the treehouse, his heart burdened with grief and a simmering anger at the universe for taking you away so cruelly.

His son's youthful face was etched with a grief that seemed too profound for such a young soul. Jisung felt a surge of helplessness as he reached out, pulling his child close, wrapping him in an embrace meant to shield him from the cruel world outside. “I miss Mom,” came the soft, heart-wrenching whisper, each word a dagger to Jisung’s already shattered heart.

“I miss Mom too,” Jisung murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. They sat together in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like an insurmountable force.

It had been nearly a year since you had fallen ill, the sickness so severe that the doctors had given you only a few months at most. Yet, you had defied their grim prognosis, your spirit burning brightly despite the frailty of your body. Jisung remembered the countless nights spent by your side, swallowing his fears and anger as you spoke of your impending death with a calm acceptance that had always made him furious. To him, it felt as though you had given up, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t wanted to waste what little time you had left fighting an unwinnable battle. Perhaps if he had truly listened, if he had embraced those fleeting moments instead of railing against them, he might have cherished your final days more deeply.

His son, too young to fully grasp the concept of death, struggled with the finality of it all. He understood that you would never return, yet accepting it was a different matter entirely. Jisung’s heart broke anew each time he saw the confusion and sorrow in his child’s eyes, a mirror of his own torment.

Holding his son tighter, Jisung wished he could find the right words to ease the pain, to make sense of a world that had suddenly lost its light. But words failed him, crumbled under the weight of their shared grief. Instead, he let the silence speak, hoping the strength of his embrace could convey the love and comfort his words could not.

The treehouse, once a symbol of their shared joy, now held their sorrow. The walls, which had echoed with laughter and dreams, now seemed to absorb their pain, standing as silent witnesses to their loss. But within this small, sacred space, surrounded by the memories of happier times, Jisung hoped they could begin to heal. He would be there for his son, a steadfast presence in the storm of their grief, guiding him through the darkness with a love that, while tested, remained unbroken.

As the last light of day faded, Jisung held his son close, both finding a semblance of solace in each other’s presence. In the quiet, grief-stricken aftermath, they began to forge a new bond, one tempered by loss but strengthened by their enduring love. And in that silent communion, Jisung found a glimmer of hope that they would eventually find their way through the darkness together.

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

In a home where the relentless energy of three young girls and their single father painted every day with hues of joyous chaos, peace was a fleeting visitor. The air thrummed with the symphony of exuberant laughter, the vibrant discord of simultaneous chatter, and the relentless rhythm of youthful exuberance. Yongbok would never trade this tempestuous world for anything, yet a hollow ache lingered for the presence of the one who had been the steady heartbeat of their lives.

Your sudden departure had cast a profound shadow over their once lively abode, transforming it into a quieter realm where your laughter’s echoes were replaced by an oppressive silence. As time wove its delicate fabric over the jagged edges of grief, the house gradually adjusted to a new cadence, yet the weight of your absence hung heavy in every corner.

Despite this, Yongbok discovered fragments of you embedded within the fabric of their daily lives. He saw your essence in the selfless nurturing of his eldest daughter, who had seamlessly stepped into the role of co-caregiver. Her quiet acts of love and responsibility were a poignant echo of the devotion you had always shown, a continuation of your spirit in her every gesture.

In the middle child’s vibrant monologues about obscure topics, Yongbok glimpsed your enduring influence. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge mirrored the intellectual curiosity you had nurtured, each passionate explanation a living testament to your legacy.

The youngest, with her mischievous gleam and boundless spirit, kept Yongbok perpetually on his toes. Her playful antics and joyful mischief were a vivid reminder of the vivacity you had infused into their home, a living echo of the light you had brought into their lives.

In the quiet moments, Yongbok could still feel your presence. The post-it notes left in his lunch bag by his eldest daughter, each inscribed with a simple message of love, were imbued with your warmth. The tender strokes of his middle daughter’s fingers through his hair during their movie nights were a silent connection to you. And in the gentle inquiries of his youngest, her head peeking around the door to ensure he was alright, he felt the deep compassion you had instilled in her.

Though you were absent from the milestones and daily rhythms, your essence lived on through them. In the small, tender acts of affection and love, you continued to be a cherished part of their lives, an enduring presence in their hearts.

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

Seungmin had been absent through the vast expanse of your pregnancy, the relentless demands of touring keeping him away. He returned just in time to witness the birth, only to be swallowed by the crushing weight of your absence. The pain of missing those precious moments with you, of not being there to share in the miracle of your last days, was a wound that never healed. This haunting regret followed him, a constant reminder of a future lost.

The day you passed, Seungmin left Stray Kids, unable to bear the weight of the stage without you by his side. He couldn’t find solace in the bright lights or the rhythms of his music. Instead, he focused on his two sons—an older one, now sixteen, and a younger one, now twelve. The older boy, once a vibrant spirit, had retreated into the shadows of his room, his once lively demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. The baseball games that had once bound them together now lay abandoned, and Seungmin, despite the storm within, knew he had to reach out.

Determined to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, Seungmin planned a day just for the two of them. He left the youngest with his closest friend, Jeongin, and took his older son out. The car ride was a quiet procession of unspoken thoughts, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily between them. When they finally arrived at their destination, Seungmin braced himself, ready to face the tender fracture of their relationship.

It took patience, but eventually, the silence broke. The older boy revealed his feelings for a boy at school, emotions that he struggled to understand. Seungmin was taken aback, but he remained calm, his heart aching with a blend of surprise and concern. As his son’s tears fell freely, Seungmin pulled him into a tender embrace, his own heart aching with a mixture of empathy and love. He whispered reassurances into his son’s hair, promising acceptance and protection, vowing to stand by him no matter what.

The boy, still tearful but comforted, then showed Seungmin a small journal. Inside was a song he had penned, a poignant melody woven with the threads of his conflicted feelings for the boy at school. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a reflection of his son’s delicate soul and burgeoning talent. Seungmin’s heart swelled with pride and love as he listened, recognizing the echoes of his own musical spirit in his child’s creation.

As the day drew to a close, Seungmin received a snapshot from Jeongin—his youngest child, covered in dirt and beaming with the joy of a day spent playing baseball. The image was a burst of pure happiness, a vivid reminder that even amidst the sorrow, moments of light and joy persisted.

As the sun set, Seungmin felt a renewed connection with his older son, a fragile yet precious bond rekindled through their shared experiences and heartfelt conversation. Though the regret of not being there for you lingered, he found solace in the fact that he was striving to be the father you would have been proud of. In the quiet moments of the evening, he hoped, with all his heart, that wherever you were, you watched over them and felt a deep pride in the man he was becoming—a father striving to honor your memory through the love and strength he gave to your family.

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN.

Jeongin’s youngest daughter was a restless spirit, her stubborn yet carefree nature a constant reminder of the love she once shared with you. Each burst of laughter, every defiant flicker of joy, was a living echo of your vibrant presence. In contrast, his oldest son was a mirror of Jeongin’s own meticulous nature, his life meticulously ordered, each ambition carefully planned.

Lately, Jeongin’s heart had been heavy with worry. His daughter, brimming with reckless exuberance, frequently dashed off to meet a boy Jeongin knew was unworthy. The thought of her entangled with someone without a future gnawed at him, leaving him adrift in a sea of concern. As he lay awake at night, the silence seemed to taunt him, and he often found himself wondering how you would have navigated these troubled waters if you had still been there to guide them.

One night, as the moonlight spilled softly through the window, Jeongin was wrenched from sleep by the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs. His heart raced as he followed the cries to his daughter’s room. He paused at the door, the murmur of his son’s voice cutting through the silence. The room, once a sanctuary of dreams, was now a cocoon of whispered regrets and stifled tears. His daughter’s voice wavered with the weight of her shame, confessing her feelings of foolishness for having trusted the boy. His son, with a soothing calmness that mirrored your gentle strength, reassured her that she wasn’t foolish, merely swept up in the exhilarating tide of young love. He told her she deserved better than a boy with no future, his words a soft balm to her wounded spirit.

Jeongin’s heart ached with a mixture of pride and sorrow as he heard his son’s comforting tones, the echoes of your nurturing spirit resonating in his voice. After a few moments, he gathered the courage to step into the room. His eyes were tender with understanding as he took in the scene: his daughter’s tear-streaked face, her hands buried in her lap. Her cries grew louder as she saw him, her embarrassment palpable as she shielded her face with her hands.

Jeongin knelt before her, his expression a blend of love and compassion. Gently, he reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face to hold them in his own. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise of unwavering support.

“You told me so, I know,” she choked out, her voice a trembling whisper.

“I would never say that, my love,” Jeongin murmured, his voice rich with tenderness. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. His gaze met his son’s, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I know it hurts,” Jeongin whispered into her hair, his voice a soothing melody against her ear, “but this isn’t the end.” His embrace was a warm cocoon, a sanctuary of love amidst the storm of her emotions. The night unfolded in a delicate tapestry of comfort and hope, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together, even in the quiet absence of your guiding presence.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @bowsnbang @nothinginterestingtoshowhere

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

[planet-marz1]

Is It Over Now?

Summary: Still reeling from Joel's revelation, you find solace in someone new. Pairing: Joel x F!Reader Word Count: ~7.1k

Tags/Warnings:18+MDNI no use of y/n, jackson!joel, established relationship, angst, somewhat? happy ending, infidelity, joel just kinda sucks honestly,alcohol consumption, implied smut (not with joel), lots of joel tears, pet names (sweetheart), jealousy, insecurities, self doubt, reader is in her healing era, reader slaps a bitch (it's deserved, I swear)

A/N: Hi! This is the second, and final part of this series, though I have a few more drabbles & oneshots planned to write and post. This is dedicated to my love @kajashe 💗 and thank you to my beloved @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this for me! and yet another thank you to all of my friends who listened to me ramble on about this for the past several days in discord 💜

beautiful dividers by @/saradika

follow my fic updates blog @planetmarz1-notifs

| part i | series masterlist | main masterlist |

The passing weeks were a blur of emotional turmoil and quiet introspection. The once-familiar routines of life felt like a distant memory, replaced by a persistent ache that accompanied every moment of solitude. Your days were marked by the slow process of healing, a journey undertaken one painful step at a time.

Joel had respected your request for space, retreating to the refuge of his brother Tommy's home. The absence of his presence in your shared space only served as a constant reminder of the void that had opened up in your life. Jackson carried on with its daily rhythm, oblivious to the personal upheaval that had unfolded within its walls.

Nights were the hardest. The quiet darkness seemed to amplify the echoes of the past, and sleep became an elusive visitor. The couch where you had waited for Joel that fateful night became a throne of solitude, the cushions bearing silent witness to the nights spent wrestling with the fragments of a broken heart.

In moments of vulnerability, you allowed yourself to revisit the memories of the life you had built together. Photographs adorned the walls, frozen moments in time that now carried the weight of bittersweet nostalgia. The laughter, the shared dreams, and the quiet moments of connection—all now tainted by the knowledge of his betrayal.

The settlement's whispers reached your ears—a mix of sympathy, curiosity, and the well-intentioned attempts of friends trying to fill the void left by Joel's absence. Their concern was palpable, but the wounds were still fresh, the healing a slow and arduous process.

Alone in the quiet living room, the remnants of your shattered relationship lingered like ghosts in the air. The moon cast a cold glow through the window, illuminating the space where the truth had been laid bare. The weight of Joel's confession hung heavy in the room, and you were left grappling with a mix of emotions that threatened to consume you.

You sat on the couch, staring into the darkness outside, your mind racing to make sense of the betrayal. Every corner of the room seemed to echo with the whispers of the life you thought you knew, now tainted by the harsh reality of Joel's infidelity.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of the settlement outside. You replayed the moments leading up to this revelation, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that could have prepared you for the storm that had now engulfed your relationship.

The ache in your chest deepened, and you could feel the hot prickle of tears threatening to spill over. Anguish, betrayal, and confusion mingled in a tumultuous storm within you. You wanted answers, an explanation that could somehow make sense of the wreckage now surrounding you.

The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, marking the passage of time in a world that suddenly felt unfamiliar. As you sat there in the quiet, you wondered how the foundation of your life had crumbled so swiftly, like sand slipping through your fingers.

Outside, the settlement continued its slumber, blissfully unaware of the personal cataclysm unfolding within your home. You needed time to process the truth, to navigate the emotional minefield that now lay before you.

The door creaked open, and Joel stepped back into the room, his eyes filled with regret. The air tensed as he hesitated, unsure of his place in this shattered reality. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of the words.

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. The distance between you felt insurmountable, a vast chasm that had opened up in the wake of his betrayal. "I need time to figure this out," you said, your voice steady despite the tempest of emotions within you.

Joel nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the consequences he had brought upon himself. As he left the room again, the door closing softly behind him, you were left alone with the wreckage of a love that had weathered countless storms, only to be undone by the tempest within.

So here you are now, at the Tipsy Bison, with its low hum of conversations and the comforting clink of glasses, served as a temporary escape from the turmoil within. The dimly lit bar offered a semblance of solace, a place to drown the sorrows that had become constant companions.

You sat alone at the bar, nursing a drink, the amber liquid reflecting the flickering candlelight. The weight of recent events lingered, a heavy burden you sought to momentarily cast aside. The soft music in the background provided a melancholic soundtrack to the evening.

As you stared into the depths of your drink, Noah took the seat next to you—a familiar face in the crowd, someone you'd seen around the settlement but never really paid much attention to. His attempts at small talk were met with your usual indifference. In the past, your loyalty to Joel had been unwavering, and the idea of entertaining advances from others never crossed your mind.

Tonight, however, the rules had shifted. The wounds of heartbreak were still raw, and the empty space beside you echoed the absence of a familiar presence. Noah persisted, undeterred by your initial disinterest.

"Rough night?" he asked, a half-smile playing on his lips.

You looked at him, a mixture of exhaustion and pain in your eyes. "You could say that."

Noah nodded, understanding glinting in his eyes. "Sometimes a drink is the only company we've got."

A subtle smile played on your lips as you reciprocated his banter. "Seems like you're here for more than just the drinks."

He chuckled, a warmth in his voice. "Well, it's not every night I get to share the bar with someone as intriguing as you, sweetheart"

The dance of flirtation continued, the bar becoming a stage where you and Noah played out a scene of shared laughter and camaraderie. The soft music provided a backdrop to the banter, a temporary escape from the weight that had settled on your shoulders.

Noah leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "You know, I've seen you around, but we've never really talked. What brings you here tonight?"

You sighed, a moment of vulnerability slipping through. "Just trying to forget for a little while, I guess."

He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Sometimes, a little distraction is all we need."

As the night wore on, the boundaries between reality and the fleeting connection blurred. Noah became a temporary ally in a battle against the memories that threatened to engulf you. In the shadows of the Tipsy Bison, you allowed yourself a momentary escape, a reprieve from the heartache that still clung to the edges of your world.

The hours passed in a haze of shared stories and laughter. Noah proved to be an unexpected source of comfort, his presence a balm to the wounds that had yet to fully heal. The Tipsy Bison became a refuge, a sanctuary where, for a brief moment, the weight of heartbreak was lifted.

As the night progressed, Noah's conversation turned more earnest, his gaze holding a sincerity that resonated with you. "You know," he said, his voice softened by the dim ambiance of the bar, "Sometimes it helps to talk about what's going on. You don't have to carry it all alone."

The vulnerability in his words echoed the vulnerability you had been avoiding. The temptation to open up, to share the burden, tugged at the edges of your restraint. "It's just been a tough time," you admitted, a hint of gratitude in your voice.

Noah nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "I get that. Life has a way of throwing curveballs when we least expect it."

The moment stretched, the connection between you deepening. The bar, once a backdrop for distraction, now felt like a space where two people navigating the complexities of life found common ground.

As the night neared its end, Noah leaned in, his voice a whisper. "I'm not an expert in fixing things, but if you ever need someone to listen, I'm here."

His sincerity resonated, and you nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Noah. It means more than you know."

The Tipsy Bison, with its flickering lights and the hum of conversations, witnessed a different side of you that night—a side that embraced vulnerability and sought solace in unexpected places. As you parted ways, the weight on your shoulders felt a bit lighter, and the bar's exit became a threshold to a world where healing, though uncertain, seemed a little more attainable.

The night air felt cool as you and Noah stepped out of the bar, the soft glow from the neon sign casting a gentle halo around you. The settlement slept in the quiet darkness, oblivious to the shared moments of connection that had unfolded within the bar's walls.

The walk back to your house was a journey through silent streets, the hushed conversations between you and Noah punctuated by the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. The weight of the evening's revelations lingered, but in Noah's company, it felt less burdensome.

As you approached the front door, you turned to him, a newfound warmth in your eyes. "Do you want to come in? Maybe have another drink?" The invitation hung in the air, a testament to the unexpected bond that had formed between you.

Noah's response was a gentle smile "I'd like that," he said, his voice carrying a sense of genuine camaraderie.

The door opened with a soft creak, and the familiar comfort of your home greeted you both. The living room, once a witness to heartache, now seemed to hold the promise of shared moments and tentative healing.

You settled on the couch, the echoes of the night's laughter still lingering. The air felt charged with the unspoken, a connection that transcended the confines of mere friendship. As you poured another round of drinks, the silence between you felt comfortable, a space where words were unnecessary.

Noah's eyes met yours, and in that shared gaze, there was an understanding that words could not fully capture. The vulnerability of the evening had laid bare the complexities of your heart, and Noah, in his quiet way, seemed to offer a respite from the storm.

As the night unfolded, the connection deepened. Laughter, shared stories, and the gentle ebb and flow of conversation filled the room. In that unexpected companionship, you found solace—a reminder that, even in the aftermath of heartbreak, there were still moments of connection waiting to be discovered.

The time you two had spent together at the bar had been a catalyst for change, and now, in the quietude of your home, you allowed the night to unfold, unsure of where it might lead but grateful for the warmth that had found its way into the cracks of a wounded heart.

The ambiance in the room shifted subtly, the air thickening with a newfound energy that danced between you and Noah. The shared laughter and easy conversation took on a softer note, and the space on the couch seemed to shrink, drawing you both closer.

You caught Noah's gaze lingering, his eyes holding a warmth that went beyond mere camaraderie. The flickering candlelight cast a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes. A charged silence settled between you, one that spoke volumes without the need for words.

As you sipped your drinks, the magnetic pull of the moment intensified. The shared vulnerability of the evening had forged a connection that transcended the ordinary, and in the quietude of the living room, the boundaries between friendship and something more blurred.

Noah's fingers traced absentminded patterns on the rim of his glass, and his gaze met yours with a subtle intensity. The unspoken tension hung in the air, a delicate dance that neither of you seemed eager to disrupt.

The air seemed to hum with anticipation as you leaned in, drawn by an invisible force that defied explanation. The room held its breath, and in that suspended moment, your lips brushed against each other in a gentle, tentative kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as the kiss deepened, the warmth of Noah's touch sending a current of electricity through you. The weight of heartbreak momentarily lifted, replaced by the promise of something new, something uncharted.

You don’t care about anything else but losing yourself in the feeling of being loved even if just for tonight. As the passion between you continues to escalate with each passing second, all thoughts of tomorrow fade away into oblivion leaving only this one perfect moment stretching out endlessly before the two of you like an eternal embrace.

The air in your home was filled with a mix of holiday scents — the piney aroma of the Christmas tree, the faint whiff of cinnamon from the candles scattered around the room. It was Christmas Eve, and the settlement was adorned with festive lights and decorations.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of the deep green dress you had chosen for the occasion. Despite the outward festivities, a quiet melancholy clung to you, a reminder of the heartbreak that still lingered beneath the surface.

As you finished getting ready, the soft knock on the door signaled Noah's arrival. His presence, a comforting constant in the weeks that followed that unexpected encounter, had become a source of solace. Tonight, however, the prospect of a Christmas party loomed, and the idea of celebrating seemed to clash with the healing wounds of your past.

Noah entered, a warm smile on his face as he took in your appearance. "You look stunning," he remarked, his eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and concern.

You managed a small smile in return, the weight of your unspoken thoughts evident in your eyes. "Thanks, Noah. I'm just not sure I'm in the festive mood, you know?"

He approached and gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "I understand. But Maria insisted, and maybe being around people, even for a little while, might help."

Reluctantly, you nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. Maria had been a steadfast presence in your life, offering support and encouragement as you navigated the aftermath of heartbreak. Tonight's Christmas party was her attempt to bring a glimmer of joy into your world.

Together, you and Noah made your way through the decorated streets toward the town center. The settlement buzzed with festive energy — laughter, music, and the scent of holiday treats wafting through the air. As you approached the venue, the warm glow of lights spilled from the windows, casting a welcoming glow.

The Christmas Eve party in town was in full swing, with the warm glow of lights and the spirited energy of the season enveloping the settlement. As you navigated the festive atmosphere with Noah at your side, the subtle shift in your mood was palpable. The healing process was slow, but the comfort of friends and the shared moments of celebration were working their magic.

As you entered the bustling venue, your eyes caught a familiar figure across the room — Joel. Time seemed to freeze for a moment, the shock of seeing him after weeks of absence coursing through your veins. His presence cast a shadow over the festive scene, and the room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with unspoken history.

Noah sensed your tension, his grip on your hand tightening in a silent reassurance. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched across his face.

You nodded, attempting to mask the surprise that rippled beneath the surface. "Yeah, I just… I didn't expect to see him here."

Noah glanced toward Joel, his expression thoughtful. "Do you want to leave? We can go somewhere quieter."

You considered the offer, but something in you resisted the impulse to retreat. "No, let's stay. I need to face this."

Together, you and Noah approached the gathering. As Joel noticed your presence, his eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and a hint of remorse flickering in his gaze. The air crackled with the unspoken tension of past wounds and unanswered questions.

Maria, ever perceptive, approached, greeting you with an exuberant hug, her eyes filled with warmth and understanding. Her warm smile faltered as she sensed the dynamics at play. "I didn't know he would be here. I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you."

You offered a tight smile, the weight of the situation settling around you. "It's okay, Maria. I can handle it."

The party unfolded with the spirited energy of the season — people dancing, laughter filling the air, and the exchange of heartfelt wishes. As you moved through the festivities, Noah's hand found yours, a subtle reassurance in the midst of the crowd.

The night progressed, and despite your initial hesitations, a subtle shift occurred. The music, the laughter, and the shared moments with friends began to chip away at the walls around your heart. The healing process was ongoing, and in the company of those who cared, the weight of heartbreak felt a little lighter.

A moment of stillness settled over the room. In that quiet pause, your eyes met Joel's once more. The unspoken history, the shattered pieces of a relationship, and the complexity of emotions were etched in that shared gaze. Noah's hand found yours again, a grounding force amidst the emotional storm.

As you navigated the remainder of the Christmas party, the unspoken tension with Joel remained, but in the company of friends and the warmth of the season, you found solace. The dance of emotions continued, and as the night unfolded, you carried with you a newfound resilience, a testament to the strength found in facing the unexpected and the hope that lingers in the aftermath of heartbreak.

Amidst the swirl of holiday festivities, your eyes inadvertently caught a glimpse of Veronica across the room. Her presence, unexpected yet inevitable in a close-knit settlement, stirred a complex mix of emotions within you. As she engaged in conversation with others, a subtle ache of self-doubt crept into your thoughts.

What did she have that made Joel cheat on me with her?

The question lingered, not born out of jealousy, but rather a yearning for understanding. The doubts festered like quiet shadows in the corners of your mind, threatening to overshadow the celebratory atmosphere.

Noah sensed the shift in your demeanor, his grip on your hand tightening as a silent gesture of support. "You okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

You forced a small smile, attempting to dispel the doubts that threatened to cloud the festive evening. "Yeah, just unexpected seeing her here, you know?"

Noah nodded in understanding, his gaze a reassuring anchor in the sea of emotions. "You're stronger than you think. Remember that."

As you continued to navigate the party, the glimpses of Veronica sparked moments of introspection. The dance of doubt and self-reflection unfolded, but amidst it all, a deeper truth emerged — the strength to confront insecurities and the resilience to rise above the echoes of past heartbreak.

Joel remained on the periphery, a figure in the background of the unfolding drama. The unspoken tension with Veronica echoed the complexities of relationships, and in the midst of the holiday cheer, you found a quiet resolve to focus on the present and the connections that mattered most.

As the party continued, a lingering curiosity pulled you toward Veronica. The desire for closure and understanding overshadowed the self-doubt that had surfaced. The pulsating beat of the Christmas music seemed to align with the tension in the air as you approached Veronica. The crowd hushed in the wake of your confrontation, and even the festive decorations couldn't quite drown out the charged atmosphere.

This is it, you thought, your fists clenched by your sides. Time to confront the source of this mess. "Veronica," you said, your voice edged with a simmering anger. "We need to talk."

She turned, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, look who decided to show up. Didn't think I'd see you here."

Hold it together, you reminded yourself, swallowing the initial surge of rage. She's not worth it. Ignoring the jab, you pressed on. "Cut the crap. What happened between you and Joel?"

Veronica chuckled, a snarky glint in her eyes. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure he's got his version of the story."

Like I haven't already tried, you thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. But I want to hear it from her.Your patience wore thin, and a flash of anger ignited. "I'm asking you. What did you think you were doing?"

Veronica rolled her eyes, an unapologetic tone lacing her words. "Oh, please. Don't act clueless in all of this. Joel and I, we had our reasons."

Reasons? The word echoed in your mind, a bitter taste settling on your tongue. The retort stung, and you shot back,"What reasons could there possibly be to betray someone like that?"

Keep her on the defensive, you urged yourself. Make her face the consequences of her actions.

Veronica's smirk persisted, her snarky demeanor unyielding. "Maybe you should ask Joel what he was missing at home."

No. Don't let her deflect the blame. The anger surged again, a tempest threatening to consume reason.

The words hung in the air, a venomous revelation that fueled the anger within. The crowd around you seemed to blur as the confrontation intensified, each word exchanged an arrow that pierced through the facade of festive cheer. 

Everyone knew, you mused bitterly. The whole damn town knew you and Joel were together.

As the exchange reached its peak, the energy between you and Veronica crackled with unresolved emotions. The pulsating beat of the music in the background seemed to align with the tension in the air, the crowd still hushed in the wake of your confrontation. Each word exchanged felt like a seismic tremor, shaking the foundations of the festive atmosphere.

"You're unbelievable," you seethed, the anger boiling over. "I hope you're proud of yourself." Stay strong, you reminded yourself, fighting against the torrent of emotions. You've got this.

Veronica shrugged, a nonchalant expression masking any hint of remorse. "I did what I wanted. Life's too short for regrets."

Regrets, the word echoed in your mind. Is she really that callous? Keep it together, you urged yourself, clenching your fists by your sides. Don't let her see how much she's getting to you.

Noah, sensing the escalating tension, remained by your side, a silent pillar of support. The confrontation with Veronica had become a battleground of emotions, a clash between hurt and defiance.

This is it. The moment of truth.

In a flash, the weight of anger, frustration, and betrayal coalesced into a surge of raw emotion. Without a second thought, your hand connected with Veronica's cheek in a resounding slap. The crowd, which had been observing in a stunned silence, erupted into gasps and whispers.

Veronica stumbled back, her hand on her cheek, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and indignation. The slap reverberated through the room, a cathartic release of the pent-up emotions that had been building since the revelation.

"You deserved that," you declared, your voice steady, though your heart pounded with the intensity of the moment.

As Noah guided you away from the charged atmosphere, the weight of the confrontation lingered. The Christmas party resumed its festive cheer, but the encounter with Veronica had become a defining chapter, a moment where you asserted your strength and reclaimed a sense of control in the aftermath of betrayal.

The brisk night air greeted you as you and Noah stepped out of the lively Christmas party. The settlement was adorned with a soft blanket of snow, and the crunch of each footstep echoed in the quiet winter night. The atmosphere outside was a stark contrast to the charged energy that had filled the party just moments before.

Noah kept a reassuring arm around you as you navigated the snowy path toward your house. The silence between you was a comforting one, a respite from the emotional turbulence of the evening. The distant sounds of laughter from the party gradually faded into the serene stillness of the snowy landscape.

The glow of the settlement's lights reflected off the pristine snow, casting a soft illumination on the familiar path. The events of the night lingered in the air, and as you reached your doorstep, you turned to Noah with a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion.

"Thanks for being there," you said, your voice carrying the weight of the emotions that had unfolded.

Noah nodded, his expression filled with understanding. "Anytime. You handled that with a lot of strength."

You managed a small smile, appreciating his support. "I just want to move forward, you know? Leave all this behind."

The snowflakes continued to fall, adding a sense of serenity to the moment. As you opened the door to your home, the warmth inside offered a stark contrast to the chilly night. The familiar surroundings provided a sense of solace, a haven away from the echoes of the confrontation.

The air in the room felt heavy with unspoken tension as you confronted Joel about his infidelity. The harsh reality of betrayal lingered, casting a shadow over the relationship you had thought was secure.

"Why, Joel?" you demanded, your voice a mix of pain and anger. "Who was it? Who did you cheat on me with?"

Joel hesitated, his eyes avoiding yours for a moment before meeting your gaze with a mixture of regret and guilt. "It was Veronica," he confessed, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air.

Veronica's name echoed in your mind, a face from the town, someone you had known, someone whose presence had been intertwined with your life in the settlement. The shock of the revelation was like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the room seemed to spin.

"Veronica?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. The name felt like a betrayal in itself, a person who had shared the same space as you, someone you had considered a part of the community.

Joel's expression shifted, a mix of remorse and desperation. "I messed up, It wasn't about her. It was about me, about the mistakes I made."

The words did little to ease the pain, and the room became a battleground of conflicting emotions. Anguish, betrayal, and disbelief swirled within you, a storm of feelings that threatened to overwhelm.

As you absorbed the revelation, the weight of the truth settled. Veronica, a name that had been a mere background detail in the tapestry of your life, now held a significance that cut deep. The confrontation with Joel had peeled back the layers of the facade, revealing a reality you had never anticipated.

In the midst of the emotional maelstrom, you took a step back, needing distance to process the harsh truth. The room, once a sanctuary, felt foreign and unwelcoming. The echoes of the revelation hung in the air, and as Joel sought words of apology, you grappled with the shattered pieces of a relationship that had crumbled in the wake of betrayal.

The weight of that night lingered in your thoughts. Veronica's presence, once a casual detail in the fabric of your life, had become a symbol of a painful chapter in your past. The journey of healing continued, marked by the scars of the confrontation and the resolve to move forward, one step at a time.

The soft murmur of pages turning and the hushed whispers of readers created a peaceful ambiance in the small settlement's library. As the librarian, you were engrossed in arranging the shelves when the door creaked open. A tall, rugged man entered, a hint of unfamiliarity etched into the lines of his face.

Joel, a newcomer to the community, you’d seen him around town with a young girl practically attached at his hip. He cast an assessing glance around the room before approaching the counter where you stood. His eyes, weathered and guarded, met yours as he cleared his throat, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I'm lookin' for books about space."

You looked up from your task, offering a warm smile. "Space, huh? Planning a journey to the stars?" you teased, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Joel's lips twitched into a small smile, a rare expression on his usually stoic face. "Not exactly. Got a kid back home who's mighty interested in space. Wants to know everything there is."

Interest sparked in your eyes as you couldn't help but inquire, "Your daughter, then?"

He hesitated, a subtle shift in his gaze, but he didn't correct you. "Yeah, somethin' like that."

Your smile widened. "Well, you've come to the right place. We've got a stellar collection—pun intended."

Joel nodded, a silent acknowledgment of your attempt at humor. "Good to know."

As you led him through the aisles, the conversation flowed easily. He shared stories of Ellie, a girl he watched over, protected, and cared for deeply. The love in his words painted a vivid picture, and when you mentioned how wonderful it was that he and his "daughter" shared such interests, he didn't correct you.

"So, what's her favorite subject?" you asked, your tone playfully nudging towards the unspoken connection.

He chuckled, a soft warmth in his eyes. "Space, definitely. She's got a million questions about stars, planets, you name it."

You grinned, leaning slightly closer. "Well, Joel, it seems you've got a budding astronomer on your hands. Lucky for you, I'm an expert in celestial matters."

Joel's expression remained stoic, but there was a subtle glint of amusement in his eyes. "Is that so?"

You nodded, your gaze meeting his with a hint of mischief. "Absolutely. But my expertise doesn't come cheap. I'll need payment in the form of a good conversation and maybe a coffee sometime."

Joel's chuckle deepened, and a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Coffee, huh? You got yourself a deal."

As Joel left the library with a stack of books, you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth. The door closed behind him, leaving you with the subtle hum of excitement and the gentle echo of playful banter that seemed to linger in the air. The library, once a quiet haven of solitude, now held the promise of a story unfolding—one with celestial wonders and perhaps a touch of romance.

in the quiet moments of reflection, your mind often wandered to the time when you and Joel first met. The memory used to bring a warm smile to your face—the genuine laughter, the shared dreams, the promise of a future entwined with his. But now, each recollection was tainted by the bitter sting of betrayal, and the nostalgia had become a source of pain.

As you sat alone in the dimly lit room, the flickering shadows seemed to mimic the turbulence within your heart. The memory of your first meeting played in your mind like a melancholy film—a reminder of the love that had once been untarnished. The weight of what had transpired since then pressed down on you, leaving a bitter aftertaste to a memory that had once been so sweet.

The soft hum of a distant song, a melody you both used to share, brought a wave of conflicting emotions. Your mind wandered back to that day—the laughter, the stolen glances, the electric feeling of a connection that transcended words. It was a time when you looked into his eyes and felt like you had found something extraordinary.

But now, those memories were haunted by the echoes of his infidelity, and the rose-tinted glasses you once wore shattered, revealing the painful truth beneath. The laughter had become an echo, the glances a cruel reminder, and the connection a frayed thread threatening to unravel.

In the midst of the emotional turmoil, you found yourself thinking, almost wistfully, about what life would have been like if you'd never met Joel. The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, a testament to the depth of the wounds inflicted.

You replayed the scenes of your shared history—the highs and the lows, the joy and the heartbreak. The almost-wish lingered in the recesses of your mind, a testament to the profound impact of betrayal on the once cherished memories.

Joel has shown up at your door, trying to extend a tentative olive branch, an attempt to breach the chasm that had widened between you. His words were carefully chosen, an apology that carried the weight of remorse. He expressed a longing for resolution, a desire to face the consequences of his actions and rebuild what had been lost. “Can I come in?” he says hesitantly, trying to gauge your emotional state.

Reluctantly you nod, and step aside, allowing him into the house.

The weight of Joel's confession hung in the air. The room steeped in a heavy silence, and charged with the weight of unresolved emotions as you and Joel sat facing each other. The revelation of his infidelity with Veronica had unearthed a raw vulnerability. It had left your relationship hanging in the balance.You needed answers that transcended the initial betrayal. You both needed to confront the difficult question of where to go from here.

"Why, Joel?" you questioned, your voice steady but edged with a yearning for understanding. "I get that you were lost, but why did you keep cheating with her after the first time? Why not just admit it to me after it happened once?"

Joel's gaze met yours, his eyes carrying the weight of guilt. He took a moment before responding, as if grappling with his own internal turmoil.

"I didn't know how to face it," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "The shame, the guilt—it overwhelmed me. And every time it happened again, the weight of that guilt just grew. I was trapped in a cycle, and I couldn't find a way out."

Your brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and disbelief settling within you. "So, instead of admitting your mistake and trying to make amends, you kept it a secret and continued to betray our relationship?"

Joel nodded, the admission heavy on his conscience. "I thought if I could just stop, if I could find a way to break free from that cycle, I could spare you the pain of knowing. But each time, I failed. It became a vicious cycle I couldn't escape."

The room seemed to close in as the gravity of his words sank in. The cycle of betrayal, a web of lies and shame, had perpetuated itself, leaving both of you ensnared in the consequences.

"But why?" you pressed, your voice a mixture of frustration and sadness. "Why not face the consequences and be honest with me? We could have worked through it together, Joel."

His eyes reflected the internal struggle, a war between the truth and the self-imposed isolation he had subjected himself to. "I was scared. Scared of losing you, scared of facing disappointment. It was a selfish choice, and I see that now."

The admission hung in the air, a painful acknowledgment of the choices that had led to the fracture of trust. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a battlefield of emotions.

"So, you kept hurting me to protect yourself," you whispered, the weight of the realization settling on your shoulders.

Joel's gaze remained fixed on the floor, his silence confirming the painful truth. The unraveling of the secrets and the depths of his struggles became a sobering reality, and as you navigated the aftermath of betrayal, the room seemed to echo with the weight of unspoken regrets and the yearning for a path forward.

The room felt like a suffocating space, each revelation adding weight to the heavy air. Joel's admission of infidelity hung between you, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. After a moment of tense silence, you found the strength to voice the truth that had been echoing in your heart.

After a moment, you gathered the courage to voice the question that lingered in the room like an unspoken specter. "What now, Joel? What does this mean for us?"

Joel looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of desperation and remorse. "I messed up. I know I can't change the past, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. If you're willing to give me another chance, I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the memories of a time when love flowed effortlessly between you resurfaced. There had been a time when you looked into his eyes and couldn’t imagine a future, a universe, where you didn’t stare into them for eternity. The love you had for him was one like no other, the strongest you’d ever felt for someone, for something.

But now, those eyes hold the weight of betrayal, and the road ahead seems uncertain. You took a deep breath, searching for the right words to navigate the delicate conversation.

The sincerity in his voice tugged at the frayed edges of your heart, but the wounds were fresh, and the scars of betrayal ran deep. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting your response.

"I can't, Joel," you said, your voice steady but laced with a profound sadness. "This- 

 It's too much. I can't see a way forward for us."

Joel's eyes pleaded with a mix of regret and desperation, but the gulf between you seemed insurmountable. "I messed up, I know I did, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right."

The sincerity in his voice clashed with the shattered trust, and you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "No, Joel. It's not just about saying sorry or making things right. It's not just about the mistake," you began, your voice measured but carrying the depth of your emotions. 

"It's about the trust we had, and that trust has been shattered. This is a betrayal that cuts deep, and I don't think we can come back from it."

His face fell, the weight of realization settling in. "We've been through so much together. Please, don't end us because of one mistake."

The room seemed to close in as you grappled with the heartbreaking decision. "It's not just one mistake, Joel. It's a pattern of choices that shattered the foundation of trust we had. I can't continue a relationship where I constantly question if I'll be cheated on again.”

Joel's eyes glistened with unshed tears, and his voice wavered with a mix of remorse and desperation. "I'll change, I'll do anything to make this right. Just give me a chance."

But the echoes of his pleas couldn't drown out the resolute decision forming in your heart. "I'm sorry, Joel. It's best for both of us to move on. This is too much of a betrayal, and I need to prioritize my own well-being."

As you spoke those words, a heavy silence descended upon the room, punctuating the end of a chapter in your lives. The pain of parting, though agonizing, seemed to carry a semblance of closure. The room, once a space of shared dreams and memories, now bore witness to the painful conclusion of a relationship that had weathered too many storms.

He nodded, a somber acknowledgment of the consequences of his actions. "I know. I never meant to hurt you like this. If I could take it back, I would."

The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of a relationship on the precipice of its demise. Joel's desperate plea for forgiveness echoed in the silence, but the wounds were too fresh, and the trust too shattered to rebuild easily. You took a deep breath, a heaviness settling in your chest.

"Joel," you began, your voice steady but tinged with the pain of realization, "I appreciate your willingness to make amends, but the truth is, I can't see a way forward for us."

His eyes, once a source of comfort and love, now mirrored the anguish of a relationship slipping away. "I messed up, and I understand if you can't forgive me. But please, don't end us like this."

The sincerity in his voice tugged at the frayed edges of your heart, but you knew you couldn’t continue a relationship with him. You met his gaze, a mix of sadness and resolve in your eyes. "Joel, we had something special, something I cherished more than anything. But what we had is broken now. I can't ignore the betrayal, and I can't keep holding onto a past that's been tainted."

He reached for your hand, a desperate attempt to bridge the growing distance between you. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes, anything. I just can't imagine a future without you."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be transported back to a time when the future seemed boundless, and his gaze was a promise of forever. There was a time when you looked into his eyes and couldn't imagine a future where he wasn't a central part of it. But now, the love that had once felt unbreakable had shattered, leaving a void you weren't sure could be filled.

"I need to let go, Joel," you said, the weight of those words lingering in the room. "For my own sake, and for yours. We both need a chance to heal and find our own paths forward."

He nodded, a defeated acknowledgment of the reality you both faced. "I never thought we'd come to this," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

As the words settled, the room seemed to hold its breath. The love that had once been the anchor of your world now existed as a bittersweet memory. Joel, his gaze lowered, nodded with a heavy understanding.

"I won't forget what we had," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I'll always love you."

And with that, you uttered the finality that had been hanging between you. "Goodbye, Joel."

The door closed behind him, marking the end of a chapter that had once been a love story. The room, once a sanctuary for shared dreams, now bore witness to the closing of a door that could no longer be left ajar. In the aftermath of goodbye, the echoes of a love that once lingered, a poignant reminder of the fragility of connection and the resilience required to forge a new path forward.

tag list: @pertinentpostmortem @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @bastardmandennis @catchallfangirl @chaotic-mystery @beskarandblasters @amanitacowboy @littlegrungegirlaf @pamasaur @pedrodascal @sweetercalypso @ilovepedro @cool-iguana @pascalpvnk @alwaysmicado @lovers-liability @futuraa-free @morgaussy @pedritoferg @spookykoolkat @wethairjoel @chronically-ghosted @buckyispunk @pattwtf @morning-star-joy @elvinaa @tinycozycomfort @magpiepills @pr0ximamidnight @joelscurls @janaispunk @5oh5 @farmerlarrry @maximoff-forevermore @atinylittlepain @joeldjarin @spookyxsam @honey-dip-24 @hiroikegawa @mcira @mrsmando @hyzer34 @limerence4u @sin-djarin @reddedmiller @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa

[msmorningstaarr]

Martell Week: "The Night We Met"

Memories of Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand

In honour of @martellweek, here we go!

DAY 3: Favourite moment

"Oberyn wanted vengeance for Elia. Now the three of you want vengeance for him. I have four daughters, I remind you. Your sisters. My Elia is fourteen, almost a woman. Obella is twelve, on the brink of maidenhood. They worship you, as Dorea and Loreza worship them. If you should die, must El and Obella seek vengeance for you, then Dorea and Loree for them? Is that how it goes, round and round forever? I ask again, where does it end? I saw your father die. Here is his killer. Can I take a skull to bed with me, to give me comfort in the night? Will it make me laugh, write me songs, care for me when I am old and sick?"

-- AFFC

Relationships: past!Ellaria Sand x Oberyn Martell; Ellaria Sand x Loreza Sand

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: coping with grief, angst, fluff, falling instantly in love, mentions to elia’s death

ao3 | masterlist

Oberyn, as the essence of vengeance give us a clear portrait of what so many characters (i.e Arya Stark, Lady Stoneheart) can turn their lives into once injustice reaches its door. Such a wholehearted moment where Ellaria mourns and only clings herself onto what is left for her of her love: memories and her daughters. Thinking about this, I wrote it inspired by the song "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron. Please, indulge yourselves.

Hellholt settled amongst the harsh dornish desert and sultry dunes of sand, quite near a river, though. The castle had its architecture projected to be more fresh, blow a breeze inside of it and thus, manage for the ones living there survive the scalding heat of the country. However, even with ancestral technology the castle had its days where the sun would invade everything and make its overwhelming presence, burning and melting all the things it could reach. Tonight would be one of these nights. Either way, Loreza cuddled and crawled towards her mother for a sorrowful embrace through quiet sobs from mother and daughter.

Little by little, the eight daughters of Oberyn were coping with his unfortunate death. Ellaria, his paramour, felt at a loss for words or actions. He was her one, true love. A strong and pure bond of a lifetime… and she lost him right in front of his eyes. Ever since the day Oberyn had his head crushed by the Mountain, the scene repeated itself in her mind and the exasperated sound yearned to leave her throat again and again and again, but nothing left her lips, not even a slight sigh. In an attempt to seek her own solace, she isolated herself in her own safe space: home. 

The air inside Hellholt felt heavy, mirroring the weight on Ellaria’s heart. The loss of Oberyn, a man whose fiery spirit once echoed through the halls of the castle, left an indelible void. The mourning period stretched on, and each day seemed to blur into the next. Loreza found solace in the memories her mother told her, in the moments shared with Oberyn, but the pain of his absence was a constant ache. The girl of only seven years of age had so little time with her father and was already well aware at such young age about the horrors of grief. 

Ellaria moved through the castle like a shadow, her laughter and energy diminished, if not vanished at all. The absence of her paramour presence was palpable. In the evenings, when the desert sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the sand, Hellholt became a fortress of memories and sorrow.

Ellaria, once a vibrant force within the castle, now moved with a quiet grace. She retreated to the chambers they once shared, surrounded by the remnants of Oberyn's essence—his books, his trinkets, and the lingering scent of his favourite perfumes. She found comfort in the familiar, even as the world outside seemed to lose its colour.

Loreza clung to Ellaria as a source of stability. The two shared a profound understanding of grief, and their silent embraces spoke volumes. As the night settled over Hellholt, Loreza's tears merged with the sorrowful whispers of the desert wind outside.

In the dimly lit chambers, Ellaria calmly embraced her daughter as she gently involved her small arms around her mother. Ellaria traced the contours of her face, as if trying to find traces of Oberyn in her features. Memories of their passionate moments flooded her mind, both a balm and a torment.

“Mother,” Loreza muttered.

“Yes, sweetling.” Ellaria replied.

“Tell me about the day you met papa again.” Loreza asked, drawing invisible patterns with her fingers over her mother’s belly.

Ellaria beamed, gently caressing her daughter's black curls. “Of course.” A sad smile rose on her face.

It was a bright night in Sunspear when I accompanied my father on a journey to pay our condolences to House Martell in honour of your aunt, late Princess Elia. Your father missed her dearly and his eyes were never seen so lost. Her body was brought back to Dorne a long time after her assassination and your uncle, Prince Doran, invited the lords of Dorne for her funeral, once she was a beloved princess as I told you once. I never met her in person, but I know she was perfect for all that your lord father has told me of her. I was grieving too. My mother had died not so long ago after the princess’ death. But on the night I met your father, his eyes lingered on mine and stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Oberyn was rather impulsive as a man, but that night he was quiet as the grass that hides a serpent. And then, I decided to be bald. That night, heat consumed me as much as consumed us tonight and I could not find any sleep, so I walked towards his chambers in the middle of the night and knocked on his door. His eyes sparkled with a puzzled and amused expression for my action, but he remained silent. We just looked into each other’s eyes. Then I just spoke.

“I know how it feels to lose a loved one.”

Loreza listened to everything and changed her expression at any nuance of her mother’s story. Her tears had drowned as her mother spoke so softly about her father and even allowed herself to smile whenever it came to remember the memory of her maidenhood.

Then, your father replied. “Come in, my lady.” And I entered his private quarters for the first time, but quickly remembered to correct him.

“I am no lady. I am a bastard.” And I said it proudly, as I always taught you and your sisters. He smiled at me for the first time and poured me a glass of wine.

“Bastards are born from passion.” Your father told me. “I have four of them with me. The second one reminds me of Elia the most.” 

“Your fame is well known throughout the Seven Kingdoms, my Prince.” I replied, gazing at his brown eyes. 

“You may call me Oberyn.” Your father calmly said. But after this, he went back sad again and I just sat by his side and held his hand while he stared at the floor. I was so instantly drowned into his beauty I paid no mind to speak anything, I just wanted to be near my Oberyn.

Suddenly, he looked into my eyes and questioned me. “Who did you lose?” I believe he thought I made that up to get near him. His peek examined me with profound depth.

And I promptly responded to him. “My mother, not so long ago.” 

His fingers entangled on mine and I felt a rush, my eyes burned and my heart beat in exhilaration, a feeling you will feel once you reach your maidenhood, sweet girl. I was already in love. “Then I pay you my condolences.” That is just what he said.

“Grief is a relentless companion, one that we must navigate through the storm. Losing someone we love changes us, shapes us into beings capable of enduring the harshest of winds.” The wine in my hand tasted bittersweet, a reflection of the shared sorrows that had brought us together. “But the sun one day will shine on us again, Prince Oberyn.”

For a moment, the weight of grief seemed to lift as I sat there, hand in hand with my Prince of Dorne. The vulnerability he displayed, the raw honesty in his eyes, created a connection that transcended titles and societal norms. And there, he was no longer a prince and I was no longer a bastard. It was only him and I. We were two souls seeking solace in the midst of heartache.

“Thank you.” Your father told me earnestly and a shadow casted over his eyes, following for a soft tear falling from his eyes. It was the first and last time I saw your father cry and I did what felt most logical… I kissed his cheek exactly where his tear fell apart. I remember it all like a vivid dream, right in front of my face. Oberyn instantly kissed my lips with no shame or any feeling a grown person should feel, but only tenderness and comfort. Ever since, Oberyn pleaded for me to stay with him and Sunspear and never let me go. Not so long after, your sister Elia was born. And then Dorea, Obella and lastly you, Loreza. 

Loreza’s eyes fluttered with a comforting expression, leaving a soft tear fall from her eyes. 

I grew up thinking I could never love someone nor be loved with such devotion and there he was, loving me since our first kiss. I felt that love, my little snake. For I loved him right then too. And I hope that you and your sisters experience this type of love too. That is why I yearn for peace. I wish no mourn for any of you… just pure love.

With this, Loreza tried to merge her body into Ellaria, wiping her tears on her mother’s nightgown. “I miss him, mama.” 

“I know, sweetling. I miss him too.” Ellaria said, quietly sobbing. “But now it is past time for you to sleep, love. I already told you a bedtime story, so close your eyes and get some rest.”

Loreza nodded and tried to reach her pillow close to Ellaria, but before she would close her eyes, the little girl turned to her mother and spoke. “Do you think I will dream of papa tonight?” 

Ellaria sighed and caressed her daughter's brown curls, with a broken smile. “That is all I could hope for.”

[bubblegumbabycow]

The Phoenix

Six of Crows x Reader

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: the usual crows stuff, mentions of war, mentions of panic/anxiety attacks, let me know if I have missed anything.

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2

I feel way too exposed out here on the busy streets of Ketterdam, trailing the biggest, smartest, most dangerous gang leader of all time. 

It feels wrong, having the sunlight on me where there would normally be shadows with the bright light shining in my eyes, obscuring my vision. My skin rises into goose flesh underneath the thin, cream coloured, cotton shirt I had carelessly thrown on this morning. I want nothing more than to follow him through the shadows, but Kaz Brekker keeps a watchful eye on me, forbidding me from slipping into the darkness like I so desperately want to. 

Click, click, click

The harsh, rhythmical clicking of his cane on the cobblestones cuts through the hustle and bustle of the many people gushing past us. I watch his precise movements as he weaves through the sea of people. How he carefully angles his body to avoid contact with another human being, shying away from skin to skin contact. There is murder in his eyes. His signature, “touch me and you die,” scowl roving over the crowd milling around us.

Click, click, click.

The deafening clamor of all the sounds overwhelms me, crowding in mercilessly from every direction. I am jostled by throngs of people, they graze my ankles, scrape my legs, plow into my shoulders with an undeniable force. My heart races in my ears, thumping erratically against my chest. I am choking, my chest suffocating and my throat closing up, as if all the oxygen in my lungs has vanished into the crowd around me.

Click, click, click.

I feel their piercing stares fiercely tracking me through the dense crowd, with ravenous hunger in their eyes, seeking their next prey to pounce upon. Their viciousness almost palpable, sending chills down my spine. Every hair on the back of my neck bristling, anticipating their malevolent intentions. All I could think about was escaping, fleeing from their wrathful glares. My heart pounding with fear, my senses on high-alert mode, I can’t bear to stay a second longer. I have to get out of here. I can’t breathe. I can’t hear. I can’t think. I have to get out.

Click, click, click.

Darkness. Shadows. Where are they? The sun's glaring rays are blinding me, everything is so bright, without a hint of darkness to be seen. My frantic eyes scan tirelessly, but to no avail. The absence of shadows makes me feel dizzy, my head spinning, as if in a trance. The sun's scorching heat pierces through the chilling mist. Burning rays. Boiling hot. Searing across my skin. 

Click, click, click.

I scour my surroundings for any glimpse of shelter - a corner, alley, or alcove, anything but this hot, exposed, sunny space. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My heart beats wildly in my chest. Fear, the primal beast, grips me tightly, obliterating my logic and clouding my vision with its insatiable hunger. It creeps into my every fiber, tightening with each passing moment, threatening to consume me whole.

Click, click, click.

With each weary step, stumbling blindly through a hazy world, my heart pounds in my chest. The edges of my vision blur, my body aching with exhaustion. But suddenly, like an angel descending from the heavens, strong, calloused hands grip me tightly, their warmth seeping into my shaking frame. As I am swept off my feet, I finally descend, at long last, into comfortable darkness.

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

I was 8 again, frolicking in the fields. The wind wiped my hair, the sun warm on our skin. I squealed as he tackled me to the the ground. Giggling in a tangled pile of limbs. We tumbled down the hill, racing each other back up. The light shone brightly. He pulled me down, anchoring me with his weight.

Then I was 7. Wrapped up in blankets as my temperature soared high above normal. His hand gripped mine. My anchor. My shining light. But what happens when the boat is swept up by the current. What happens when there is no light to guide it home.

5. I was crouched in the shadows, barely able to contain my giggles. Suddenly, he leaned into the barrel and bellowed, 

"BOO!" 

My entire body jumped at the sound, but before I could even catch my breath, fear took over. It sank its sharp claws into my skin, threatening to consume me whole.

As the flames illuminated my surroundings in a hellish orange hue, I could feel the heat on my face. The smell of smoke filled my nostrils, suffocating me with its acrid stench. Ash clouded my vision, making it impossible to see anything.

I rub my eyes, trying to clear the ash away. 

I blink furiously. I am no longer 5. The smell of gunpowder assaults my senses, gun shots ring out. Cries and wails cut through the air like knives. Bodies litter the ground. Indistinct faces call out for help. Then I see him. My gut twists, tears pouring out of my burning eyes. This knife penetrates my skin, sinking deep into my heart and twists. The words I cannot hear form on his lips as the life drains from his eyes. I try to scream, but no sound passes my lips. My body thrashes against the invisible bonds stoping me from running to his bloody, mangled body.  I cry out his name, but the sound seems to vanish into the chaos around me. 

Everything around me fades away, yet my heart is still heavy with sorrow. I'm lost in a vast sea of darkness, unable to feel anything but the crushing weight of my grief. The only thing that had kept me going was the thought of him, my anchor in this world. But now he is gone, and I am drifting further away from everything I have ever known. The future stretches out endlessly before me, empty and bleak. I long for the light that once shone in my life, but it has been snuffed out. All I can do is drift, lost and helpless, in this dark and silent world.

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

My eyes snap open, body jolting upright with a surge of adrenaline. A frigid sweat instantly drenches me, chilling me to the bone. I gasp for air, my lungs heaving in spasms as my heart hammers against my chest in a wild rhythm. My entire being throbs with an intense ache, every inch of my body pulsing with pain. 

I grit my teeth, clenching my fists in an effort to control my pounding heart. My head pounds in a dizzying swirl, each beat reverberating throughout my being. I struggle to keep my composure, willing myself not to succumb to the nausea churning in my gut.

“Well hello there sleeping beauty.”

******************** let me know what you think!!❤️❤️

[chknbzkt]

Oh gosh I just read your comic where Sun falls(also unrelated but I love the way you draw them all), poor Moon(and probably Monty when he finds out) seeing that, will Sun be okay? Or is he...Well...Dead?

Oooo gentle yoink right in the heartstrings hereee we goooo

It was a Really high fall, and poor Sun landed right on his head where all his memory bits are

It’s bad. Those kids weren’t exaggerating, they’re screaming in horror at the mechanical equivalent to watching someone crack their head open like an egg after falling from the third story

And to say the damage was mostly irreparable would be underselling things a wee bit

It’s a Ship of Theseus situation, his engineers and idk, robot neurologists?? do what they can, but the majority of Sun’s memories and personality were destroyed alongside his old head. When they’re done he looks brand spanking new, but at what cost?

Moon and Monty are heartbroken. Monty has put a ton of dedication into his relationship with both of them, but it hits Moon harder because they’ve been there from the very start. When the first thing Sun asked upon seeing Moon for the first time in 2 months was “Heeello! My name is Sundrop! What’s yours?” it killed him. It ached, the sudden feeling of hollow loneliness. And the knowledge that they’d have to explain this to Monty.

Now this all seems depressing as shit, but this story carries themes revolving around togetherness and mutuality in the face of the worst circumstances.

Sun may be a blank slate for the most part, but he’s not naive or anything. Much more, I said a majority of his memories went kaput. Sunny has always been a social butterfly (it’s in his programming for goodness sake of course he would be), and despite how new everything feels everything in this daycare has this subtle but palpable sense of familiarity and nostalgia.

Which is to say nothing of the odd habits and compulsions to do things for reasons he doesn’t understand immediately. Things he can’t explain, but they feel right. Like ignoring his directive to tidy up balls of paper left by the kids because Moon likes batting them around and cleaning up after. Or pinning back the blankets draped over the back entrance to their room because Monty uses it and, bless his heart, keeps getting his scutes hung in them like a dumbass

It’s intriguing. Moreso whenever he gets the warm and fuzzies on the odd occasions he catches his shy and strangely avoidant moon-themed twin outside of working hours.

Not the warm and fuzzies he gets when his charges for the day flood through the daycare doors. A more personal and deep-rooted warm and fuzzies. A biting feeling that he knows this person, but he only met them briefly a few days ago.

And don’t get me started on the nifty gator that sneaks in during the wee hours of the night. He can’t make heads or tails of what they’re saying but he Knows there’s connections and he wants to know What.

I may never get around to drawing it, who knows we’ll se about story snippets here and there, but Sun essentially refamiliarizes himself with Moon and rebuilds the bond he shared with his sibling (he wants to know them SO BAD but they want space to process all the MEMORIES BETWEEN THEM THEYVE LOST AGSJSGSJSG), and on the other hand he falls in love with Monty all over again, this time instead of Monty vying for his attention, it goes the other way

Sun eventually learning the full scope of what caused all this. Him being drained, but also… relieved. But all throughout his journey to rediscover what was lost… finally relearning what made Moon so important to him and vice versa. Finally relearning why they both feel in love with this stupid gator and his stupid dumb lopsided smile and his stupid dumb glasses-

Him sitting them down and asking, begging to let him know them again. Because he feels so disjointed and off and he knows it’s because of them and he wants to fill the holes their absence has left. He wants to love them all over again.

You have rekindled many thoughts about this comic I made in a single night during a single discord livestream oh noooooo 😭💖

[mlwritersguild]

Purr-suasion, by @empressofall

Based on a prompt submitted by @deinde-prandium: Adrinette P&P? Chloe as Emma? Go wild, as long as it’s an AU based on one of Jane Austen’s works.

AO3; Jane Austen AU, Background Feligami, Background DJWifi

Summary:

Marinette and Adrien reunite 10 years after Marinette suddenly broke off their secret engagement. At least, it had been sudden from Adrien’s point of view.

----

Their debt had been purchased and the sale to their new owners had been made. The Dupain-Cheng family still ran the patisserie on Rue Caulaincourt, but it no longer had their name above the door. 

Those were just the first in a series of events that led Marinette to where she was standing now, across from him and him across from her. 

In all honesty, it should have been obvious where this was heading. The purchase had been made years ago, but Gabriel Agreste, the old curmudgeon, had died and there had been no one to cause issues after that. The inheritance had fallen to some nephew in London and they had heard neither hide nor hair of him until a month ago. A month ago the letter had come with a last name that Marinette hadn’t thought to connect. They’d set up dinner, did their best to impress their employers, but the evening had turned sour as seating placements dictated that she was looking directly into the eyes of Adrien Agreste. 

“We hadn’t even realized you left Paris.” Tom Dupain seemed a little sheepish in making that statement. 

“I didn’t realize my father had bought your establishment.” The words seemed a little too biting, and he quickly added, “I’m happy that we are able to catch up after so many years.”

Adrien wasn’t a cruel person. Marinette knew him well enough to say that. Absence hadn’t made the heart grow fonder in this case, and the bitterness that drifted her way from his side was palpable. 

Adrien’s cousin, Mr. Felix Graham de Vanilly, and his wife, Kagami, silently observed the mess that was unfolding and did nothing to help. 

“You must tell us about your time at sea,” Sabine Cheng said. “The most famous Captain in the French navy. You must have some good stories.”

“Perhaps my cousin can share how he earned such a ridiculous nickname as the Dread Chat Noir,” Felix said with the barest hint of amusement. 

Adrien didn’t look up from his plate. “Only that I bring bad luck to my enemies.”

Marinette didn’t know if she liked it better when he was ignoring her or when he wouldn’t look away. 

“Why join the navy in the first place?” Sabine asked. 

Adrien stopped completely. He set his utensils down and hastily picked up his napkin to cover a cough. His eyes looked up and over to her above the edge of the cloth with a question and Marinette gave no answer. She had never told her parents of the past. It wasn’t likely she would come out with the truth now. 

No one argued when Adrien didn’t give an answer. He simply went back to eating. 

Kagami gave an awkward smile as she looked around the table. “The salmon has such a lovely citrus flavor.”

.*.*.*.

Marinette was the one opening the bakery the next morning. She had started doing it a few days a week, giving her parents the opportunity to sleep in while she baked and served their first customers. In the time that she had grown older, so had they. Her father complained of his back aching more often and her mother had grown dark circles under her eyes. 

Some might complain that Marinette was seven and twenty and unmarried, but she was doing a lot more good at home than she would in her own household. 

Marinette was in the middle of putting fresh loaves of bread on the display when the door opened and the bell above it jingled. She looked up to see a familiar head of blonde hair. Adrien lingered in the doorway as though he were waiting for her permission to enter. She wanted to tell him that he was letting the cold in, but didn’t want him to take her words as hostile. 

After a moment, he walked up to the counter and before he could even tell her what he wanted, Marinette was pulling the passion fruit macaron from the shelf and putting it in its only little bag. She grabbed a croissant from the display and added it to the order. Adrien seemed surprised when she presented them to him.

“You remember,” he said. 

Marinette pretended she wasn’t thinking of every time she shared this breakfast with him. And every time she had thought about them sharing it in the last six years. 

Adrien picked up the bags from where she had placed them. She held out her hand to him. “That’ll be a franc, please.”

He stared at her dumbfounded. 

“Your cousin owns this establishment. Not you,” Marinette said. “I might be inclined to give him and his wife free products, but you’re still a paying customer.”

The fact was, Adrien had never had to pay before. He dug into his pockets even still and pulled out the money. 

“You seem to be doing well for yourselves,” Adrien said, looking around the room. Gabriel Agreste had paid for renovations when he’d purchased their debt and their business. “And you seem well. As well.”

Was he angry? Is that why he was being so awkward?

Marinette was agonizing over what to say next. She wasn’t prepared for this conversation this early in the morning. Adrien had every right to be upset with her. His version of what happened was different than her own, some of the truth had been concealed, and it made Marinette the rightful object of his ire. 

“Things have been…” Marinette paused to take a deep breath as she tried to think of what word to use, “fine.”

Adrien’s lips pulled into a tight line as he nodded. 

Marinette tried to think of something else to say. “Do you…have your land legs back?”

Surprisingly, Adrien laughed at this.

“I’ve been back from sea for almost a month,” he said. “Sometimes I still feel the ground shifting beneath my feet.”

He started drumming his fingers on top of the counter. 

“The— uh— The sailors under my command were the ones who started calling me Chat Noir.” Adrien had a soft smile on his face when he spoke. 

“Because you bring bad luck on your enemies?”

“And myself.”

Marinette bit her lip. She was about to open her mouth. Maybe an apology would come out. 

“I dropped a cannonball on my foot one time,” Adrien said. 

It took Marinette a moment to realize that he was being serious and she burst out laughing. She was drawn back into her memories, how they used to try and make each other laugh every day. Picturing Adrien holding her in his arms as he cracked another ridiculous joke was an image still sharp enough in her mind to cut deep. His nose had brushed up against hers. Her eyelashes tickled his cheek. 

“But I did face an enemy or two in battle,” Adrien continued. He shrugged. “Apparently, I did alright.” 

Marinette sucked in a deep breath and asked the question she had been trying to hold back. “And how long are you staying?” 

“I’m not sure yet.” 

Nothing was sure. Not anymore. 

Perhaps there had been a time when Marinette could ask him to promise to stay in Paris longer, or leave his post behind entirely. She had forfeited that right when she had gone back on her word. Adrien wasn’t the kind of person to do something like that, and he certainly wouldn’t tolerate that from anyone else. Not even her. 

At one point in her life, Marinette had been so sure that she was going to keep her proimise to marry him. The day she had been called to his home by his father, that certainty crumbled. 

Adrien sniffled and readjusted his grip on his bags of baked goods. “I will be here for a while. There’s some more people I want to see.” 

More people. Could Marinette let herself believe that she was on his list?

“Perhaps I can see you again?” Marinette asked, the smallest bit of hope dripping into her voice. 

Adrien smiled at her. “I’ll see you again, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” 

Her heart sunk as he addressed her by her last name. 

.*.*.*.

When Marinette did cross paths with Adrien again she hadn’t been expecting it. Someone— and she wouldn’t name names— had decided to bring him along on a trip to the botanical gardens. 

Alya Cesaire had organized the outing. She had brought along Nino Lahiffe as well and Mr. Felix Graham de Vanilly and his wife Kagami tagged along as well. Nino and Alya walked arm in arm and Marinette xpected an announcement of their engagement any day now. 

With the roster of the present company, Marinette had been left to walk in the back with Adrien. Couples weren’t always open with their single friends and Marinette often wondered if people got married just so they didn’t feel excluded. Fellow singles of the opposing sex had to keep distance from each other, which made commiserating difficult.

Not that she could have commiserated with Adrien. The fault behind why they walked with a few feet between them instead of arm in arm was her own. 

Marinette tried to occupy herself by enjoying the flowers. They were in full bloom, the warm days of summer coming as a blessing after the cold of late spring. She took walks like this often and tried to use the time to find peace with herself. It was the first moment that Adrien was with her, not just in memory. 

She’d thought of him often. Regret and hope had all mixed together in the same messed up bowl of feelings. With regret, she had listened to his father and “cut him loose.” With hope, she dreamed of him coming back to her. 

Their encounters so far had been nothing like her fantasies and neither was this one. 

Adrien remained silent. He was either listening to their friends' conversations or thinking about something. Either way, the look on his face was intense. It shifted, and he was nodding along to something with a small smile.

“Marinette, what do you think?”

She hadn’t been prepared for Alya’s question. “Hm?”

“What do you think?” Alya related. “About Adrien turning to a life of piracy.”

Adrien was looking at her as if he was actually curious to hear her answer. 

“Would he make a good pirate?” she asked, quickly trying to avoid his eyes.

“Chat Noir is a better pirate name than a naval captain,” Nino said. He scoffed. “He could certainly use the money from stealing chests of gold.”

Alya’s brows furrowed. “What for? Don’t you have some large, grand inheritance from your father?”

“He did ,” Felix said, grumbling under his breath. 

“What?” Alya and Marinette spoke almost simultaneously. 

“Did?” Alya asked. “As in not anymore?”

They had all stopped walking, all eyes turned to Adrien. He turned sheepish under their gazes and his shoulders scrunched up to his ears. What was he trying to hide and why were Marinette and Alya the only ones who didn’t know? For what reason had Gabriel Agreste not left his son with something? Felix had been the one to inherit his business empire, but Adrien had nothing at all.

Anger bubbled up inside Marinette’s chest. Disinheritance had been what she had been trying to protect him from when she’d broken off their engagement. Gabriel had threatened to leave his only son with nothing if they had married and he had done it anyway. 

Forget anger, Marinette felt overcome by panic. She tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. Her friends seemed to have noticed. 

“Will you excuse me, please?” Marinette asked. By the end of her sentence, she was already walking away from them. She took herself off of the path and started trampling through the trees and over their roots. 

Adrien was calling to her over the sound of leaves and branches snapping underneath her feet. Marinette didn’t want him following her. She tried to keep her pace fast enough that he couldn’t catch her but his long legs easily matched her strides. 

He was able to maneuver around her with ease and stop her with his hands on her shoulders. The worry on his face was clear as day as he examined her and his grip was iron. She wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Marinette tried to keep her lip from trembling. She didn’t know what to say to him, how to let out the secret that no one else knew. Gabriel Agreste was dead. She had never told her parents and not even Alya. 

“Did you—“ Marinette felt the words get stuck in her throat. She shut her eyes, cursing under her breath as she tried again. “Did your father really take away your inheritance?”

Adrien blinked slowly as he tried to process. “That’s what you’re—“ he stuttered. “No. No, I refused it.”

“What?” Marinette asked. Her feelings were running away from her. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she sniffled. “You did?”

Adrien hasilty used his hands to wipe away her tears. He was nervous to touch her. She could feel it. 

“Marinette, I know,” Adrien said. “I found out that he told you to walk away.”

There was the slightest hint of anger in his green eyes, as if a distant memory were playing out behind them. Marinette could remember feeling the same way in the days after Gabriel Agreste had summoned her to his home. She had kicked herself for making her decision and then settled with it for a while, only to go back to beating herself up later. 

“I was too late,” Adrien continued. “By then, I was in the middle of my commission. And when they gave me leave to see him before… I wanted nothing more than to come back and clear the air with you.”

“Clear the air…” Marinette repeated. 

He still held her, so gently. 

“I wish you had told me,” Adrien said. “I would have abandoned everything then and there if it meant I could keep all of you. More than just the memories.” 

“I didn’t want to make you give up your family.”

“Damn that. You’re my family.” Adrien didn’t sound harsh at all. Marinette could only recognize the passion that she had loved with her whole being. “You, Marinette. You. You. I want you.”

He leaned in, as if to kiss her, and stopped short. There were still inches to close between them that seemed like miles. 

Adrien pulled away, searching her face again. “I only– That is, I want to ask. If perhaps you still feel the same?” 

Marinette wanted to scream that yes, of course. Of course, she still felt the same. How long had it been since her longing consumed her until it took over her life? Adrien had been in everything since he left, in every loaf of bread she baked, in the evening sky she looked up at on her roof. She saw him when she woke in the morning and when she went to bed at night. 

How could her feelings have changed over these past years when he had been ingrained in her so deeply?

“If you no longer feel the same as you did, I swear to you, I will walk away without another word.” 

Marinette grabbed his hand to hold him there. “Stay,” she said. “And tell me again.” 

Adrien’s whole body flooded with relief. He relaxed, no longer carrying the tense posture of a shoulder. His head drifted down to rest on her shoulder, arms reaching around to pull her in tight. Marinette’s fingers threaded through his hair, keeping him as close to her as possible. 

“I still love you,” Adrien mumbled. 

“What was that?” Marinette asked.

Adiren looked up at her with a frown. “I–”

Marinette quickly pecked his lips. He silenced. She only let him sit in his shock for a second, and much sweeter and gentler, Marinette leaned in and kissed him again. It lasted longer, but she would need much more to make up for all the pain that still lingered in her heart. 

Adrien was quick to caress her cheek, his other hand on the small of her back. When he finally pulled away, he looked as though he let go of anything but his happiness. “Say that I have you again.”

“I am yours.” 

.*.*.*.

Marinette didn’t know if she liked the new sign hanging above the bakery. She had worked on it for hours, but wasn’t sure if it was perfect. Adrien told her a few times over that he loved the blue colors, reminding him of rolling waves on the seas. 

The Agreste name had been taken down, and Dupain-Cheng put back up. Returning ownership of the shop to them had been an unexpected wedding present but a welcome one. Sabine and Tom started talking a few full days off with their daughter and son-in-law taking charge.

Marinette placed a hand on Adrien’s shoulder as she passed by him taking orders from customers. Today was a busy day, but it was hard to be stressed when she was spending it with him. 

“You’ve got to take a break, my love,” Adrien told her after the customers were gone. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Perhaps we can afford to take an hour for lunch,” Marinette said. “If you insist.”

“I do. Put the sign on the door,” he said, turning her around to face him. “An hour to have you all to myself.”

Adrien, once again, drew her in for a kiss. 

[breedaboyd]

Ohh maybe 15 with Klaber for good measure too. Bonus points if you include Stephan bc i miss our Voller Boy shenanigans 😔

Prompt: "Hands and knees. Right now."

Pairing: Eli Klaber × Stephan Wolff (FTM!OC).

Word Count: 699.

CW: Biting, dom/sub, marking.

A/N: My boys! It's been so long! (Set before the events of the movie.)

In the dimly lit corridor, tension hangs heavy in the air. Raised, bickering voices fill the space as Klaber and Cyrus stand nose to nose, their heated argument spiralling out of control. Tempers have flared before, but tonight, it threatens to escalate into something more dangerous. 

Stephan emerges from his room just in time to step in. Without a second thought, he strides forward, stepping between Klaber and Cyrus, his presence a wall of authority.

"Enough!" Stephan's voice commands attention, a stern reminder that his word is final. He grabs Klaber's arm, his grip firm, and tugs him away from the brewing confrontation. He pushes open the door to their hotel room, pushing the blonde inside. "In here. Now." Klaber's anger still smoulders but the weight of Stephan's command is enough to make him obey. They step into their room, the door closing behind them with a soft thud.

Without a word, Stephan turns to face Klaber, his expression a mix of disappointment and concern. "Hands and knees." Stephan orders, his voice unwavering. "Right now." Klaber's shoulders sag as he complies, sinking to his knees before Stephan, his gaze fixed on the floor. It's a position of submission that they've explored before, a way for Klaber to find release from the anger that often simmers just beneath the surface. Stephan's voice is quiet but firm. "You need to stop fighting with Herr Langstrom, Klaber." Klaber's jaw tightens.

"He had it coming. He never knows when to back off." He bites back and Stephan's eyes narrow, his disapproval evident.

"That doesn't excuse your behaviour." He says, folding his arms over his chest. Klaber's frustration boils over, his temper flaring despite the consequences.

"You're always defending him! It's like you can't see his faults just because—" Before he can finish the sentence, Stephan's hand grips his chin, forcing Klaber to meet his gaze. The anger in Stephan's icy-blue eyes is palpable, his grip unyielding.

"You don't get to speak to me that way, mutt." Stephan growls, his voice dipping to a threatening timbre. Klaber's defiance falters, his heart racing as he realises the gravity of his words. He swallows hard, his chest heaving with a mixture of anger and regret.

"I-I didn't mean—" With a suddenness that sends a jolt of surprise through Klaber's body, Stephan's hand is in his hair, gripping it firmly. Klaber's breath hitches as his head is jerked back, his scalp tingling with the sensation of Stephan's touch.

Before he can react, Stephan's lips are on his neck, a combination of bite and kiss that leaves a trail of sensation along the tender flesh. Klaber's eyes flutter shut, his heart racing as a series of dark, painful-looking bruises bloom in the wake of Stephan's actions. The initial shock gives way to a mixture of pleasure and pain, the dichotomy of sensations a heady combination. Klaber's fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he fights to control the array of emotions coursing through him.

Stephan's grip on his hair tightens, his teeth grazing Klaber's skin again, making him shudder violently. The mixture of pain and pleasure leaves Klaber shifting in place, his body growing restless as his breathlessness deepens. A moan escapes Klaber's lips, the sound both a protest and an invitation. His body is aflame, aching for more, even as his mind struggles to process the complex emotions that this punishment has stirred within him. Stephan's actions have stirred a hunger he can't deny, a need that rushes through his veins, hot and fast.

As Stephan releases his hold on Klaber's hair, the absence of his touch leaves a void that the blonde's body craves to fill. His fingers find their way to the dark marks on his neck, his touch reverent and hesitant. They ache under his fingertips with a throbbing wish for more. Stephan's voice is a low murmur as he stands to his full height, the air between them thick with unspoken promises.

"I hope you've learned your lesson, mutt." He snarls, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Klaber nods, his voice a soft tremor.

"J-Ja, Herr Doktor..."

[pasteljeon]

core pride (m)

❥ summary: ot7 where you’re rich and lonely so you adopt 7 hybrids. chaos ensues.

❥ genre: hybrid au, wolf!namjoon, tuxedo cat!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, tiger!taehyung, calico cat!jimin, bunny!jungkook, honey bear!jin

❥ warnings: brief description of assault/violence, panty sniffing, sub jimin, sub jungkook, ur once again the meat in the jikook sammich, bathtub sex, lotta angst, some fluff

❥ length: 6.6k

❥ notes: tis my first ever attempt at a hybrid au. please be kind :( let me know what you think <3

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Winter, Year 20XX

The car beeps quietly, the sound piercing the stillness of the night as you glance up, watching as the powdered flakes flutter silently onto your coat. They sparkle in the muted glow of the streetlamp, soaking your hair and tickling your eyelashes.

Snow crunches beneath your boots, your steps freshly printed upon a new layer as you make your way to the door.

It is pointless to try and enter without perforating the peace. There are no lights on, but that is only because they do not need the artificial shine to recognize your silhouette. The sound of the tires pulling into the driveway, the slow beat of your heart, the steady rising and falling of your chest, the smell of damp clothing, the sweet touch of your shampoo and something indescribably you. They know it is you.

“Noona!” The faint, rapid thumping fades as his strong arms wrap around you, ignoring your muffled protests and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another pair of arms circle your waist, a shiver whispering through your body at the feel of soft lips against the top of your ear.

“Hello, boys,” you sigh, the weariness weighing heavily on your limbs as you sink into their embrace. “You’re getting yourselves wet …”

“We missed you,” the one behind you disregards your weak attempt at chastising them, tail curling around your arm as he scatters featherlight kisses onto your jaw.

Jungkook says nothing, hands fumbling with the belt of your thick coat. He helps you shrug it off, hanging it on the side to dry.

One hand in each, they lead you to the master bathroom, carefully guiding you in the absence of light. As you pass the living room, you notice another body peeking from the corner.

Slitted eyes linger in the pressing darkness, raking over you once, and disappearing on your next blink.

The candles flicker, the lavender scent soothing and casting a warm yellowed glow to the room and you stop to touch Jungkook’s cheek. He exhales shakily, nuzzling your hand. One ear droops, covering the left side of his face, as if to hide his insecurity.

Jimin walks forward respectfully, twisting the knob to adjust the temperature until it is deemed appropriate and waits, perched on the porcelain, for the tub to fill, before dropping a rose bath bomb into it.

“Oh, bunny,” you murmur, watching sadly as he sniffles. Jungkook scrubs his eyes furiously, almost angry at his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

His body sags, arms clutching your waist tightly as he kisses you back hard, tasting salt and copper.

“Sorry,” he whispers, forehead pressed against yours. He dips his head to suckle the bite on your lower lip, running his tongue over it lovingly.

“Take off your shirt,” you say in response. He obeys, lifting his arms as his shirt comes off, fluttering to the ground. He arches at the feel of your hands running down his front. The deep ridges of his stomach are thrown in sharp relief in the shadowed light. This is what he has been working on, you realize, as your fingers dig into the defined v-lines that dip into his sweats. Jungkook whines at the pressure, body jerking as he staggers onto you. His skin is hot, and a shudder ripples down his spine when your palm meets his pectoral to steady him.

“Get in the tub, baby,” you say. Jungkook moves as if underwater, lethargic in the heat that knots his stomach. He kicks his sweats off, nothing underneath, and sinks into the hot water with a lewd groan.

“Kitten.”

Jimin rises at the sound of your voice, shirt gone in the next instant as he sinks to his knees before you. His gaze is reverent, tender, his touch gentle but firm as he strips you slowly. Covering every inch of bare skin revealed with his lips as he unbuttons your blouse, unclips your bra and unzips your skirt. His nose presses against your panties, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicks out to scent your core. The sight is obscene, so dirty it is enough to make you blush, if you were new to Jimin’s obsession with your taste.

“Smell so good,” he pants, suckling your clit through the soaked fabric. The bulge in his boxers is mouth-watering, and you can already feel the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. His tail twines your ankle, and you stifle a moan at his feverish licks.

“In the tub, love,” you say softly, tugging at his black locks. Jimin mews and nods, shoving his briefs off before settling in the water next to Jungkook. They watch with hungry gazes as you step out of your panties and sink into the bath leisurely.

They wait, unmoving and hardly breathing, as you close your eyes, body loosening as the heat soaks into your sore muscles.

When the ache lessens, you stand, the water line edging just below your breasts, them greedily consuming the sight of the droplets sliding down your shoulder blades and perked nipples as you make your way to him.

Jungkook watches with half-lidded eyes, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out already despite the minimal stimulation thus far. Your bunny, so easily tamed and pleased, with a sex drive so intense you could scarcely surface for a moment’s rest.

“Nnng,” he gasps when you flatten your palms to his pecs, raking your nails over his nubs. His chest pushes out to seek your punishing touch despite his furrowed eyebrows and cherry-bitten lips as if unable to decide if the stimulus was welcomed or not.

His cock, still impossibly hard, nudges your entrance from below the water. Jungkook has the audacity to blush when he feels it. “I—I’m—mmf,” his apology is swallowed by your kiss, his eyes rolling back as he keens into your mouth.

An arm snakes around to cup your right breast, thumbing your nipple. “Ahh,” Jimin hisses, biting back a needy whimper when you grip his cock.

He presses himself against you, the heat of him bleeding into your back. “My pain slut,” you coo as you release Jungkook. The bunny hybrid slumps back, lips slick with drool as he grinds desperately against you, gaze unfocused.

Your collective sounds echo delightfully in the wide expanse of the room, water splashing over the edges of the tub as the movement of their hips push waves swelling over the surface. They cannot resist the innate urge to brand evidence of their devotion onto your skin, the marks blooming and scattering like the wind over your thighs, stomach, and neck. Between two hard, hot bodies, they grip you with strong arms and you throw your head back, a faltering gasp caught in your throat as Jungkook ducks his head, dark locks plastered to his forehead, to sear a new constellation on your collarbones. Jimin’s sharp teeth are coaxing another violet flower to bloom across your jugular.

Your legs tremble when you finish, exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. The two seem to exchange silent conversation, and Jimin sets you down gingerly before allowing Jungkook to scoop you up. He steps out of the bath, the water a quarter of its initial level.

You open your mouth to protest, but Jimin kisses the pad of your finger. “It’s okay, noona, I’ve got it.”

Jungkook carefully helps you into the shower, the tiles cool against your burning skin. You lean heavily against him, smiling as he rubs your nose with his affectionately. Reaching for the shampoo, he works up a gentle lather, massaging your scalp soothingly. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes briefly before stretching for the soap, running it over his abdomen.

The frosted glass opens quietly as Jimin steps inside, having finished draining the water. Jungkook rinses your hair, and you turn to Jimin to drizzle some on his while the younger scrubs at his curls. A faint thumping sound can be heard again when you rub Jungkook’s ears. He flushes hotly at your soft giggle.

By the time you are all finally clean and properly bathed, you are feeling slightly more refreshed and awake.

“Thank you. My good boys,” you whisper, kissing the crown of their heads. You smooth over their fringes, smiling fondly down at them. They are sharing the same room tonight, too tired to fight over who would warm your bed. Jimin purrs sleepily, and Jungkook merely blinks up at you tiredly, doe eyes soft and sweet.

“Sweet dreams.”

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.

.

“Hey. Sorry I’m so late.” He stirs at the sound of your voice, hushed and melodic, eyes remaining closed even as his ear flicks. The mattress sinks slightly under the added weight.

“They were really worried,” he rumbles, raspy from the drag of sleep. “I know.” You stroke his hair, and he chuffs happily, melting. It has been three months already, and yet you have made little progress with some, while others still suffer from severe anxiety whenever you were away for too long. With your chosen field of study, that adjustment was difficult. Today has likely been one of the worst. You know because you are almost six hours late, and there is a stratum of palpable tension that lines the atmosphere of the house, one only slightly weakened by the physical announcement of your return.

“Tell us next time,” Taehyung murmurs, tail winding around your bicep. “Please. They were almost beside themselves. It took hours to calm them down. I worry about you.”

“I will. I’m sorry.” He accepts your chaste kiss as an apology, fatigued as he is. He is already drifting off, hugging the pillow close to him as you shut the door quietly behind you.

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.

.

Namjoon is on the balcony when you find him. Like his counterpart, he is almost immune to the cold, with only a shirt and shorts. He is gazing at the stars, or what little of it is visible through the smog of the city. His ear twitches when you enter, but he makes no other indication he is aware of your presence.

You draw your shawl closer to your body, moving to stand a few feet apart, knowing he is still wary of you. It has not been easy, this tentative truce. The two of you are still fostering trust. Such a fragile concept, you think. So gruelling a task to establish, yet so easily destroyed.

“I was wondering if I needed to tell the others to pack again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you answer, smile crooked. You know he is trying. It is a joke, if you ever heard him utter one.

He finally looks at you. “Okay,” is all he says. His dimples crease, so you know to read between the lines to hear he really means; good.

“Good night, Namjoon.”

“Good night, owner.”

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.

.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Seokjin offers you a small smile, the one that makes his cheeks plump up like a loaf of bread.

“Thank you.” He lays back down, still watching you cautiously, as if to ready himself in case you struck. Your heart twinges a little, but there is not much you can do tonight. Tomorrow is a new day. You will try all over again tomorrow.

“We really like it here,” the hybrid blurts suddenly. He coughs, embarrassed, as his honeyed skin reddens. You laugh, the ache softening just a bit.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

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.

“Don’t. I don’t care. I was just checking if it was burglar or some shit,” the older of the two grumbles without even turning to you. He is a lump in the dark, curled up in the middle of his bed.

Hoseok simply rolls over.

You take a breath. Tomorrow. You will start all over again tomorrow.

Tonight, you just want to sleep.

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.

.

“Good morning, noona!”

You smile as the two bound over to kiss either side of your cheek. The mixture of maple syrup, butter and batter must have woken them up, and if they are up, it is likely the other boys are just moments short from trickling in.

“Sleep well?” You place two plates on the table, clearing your laptop and files to the coffee table. One is heaping with pancakes, the other is reasonably stacked.

Jungkook finishes one in a single gulp, and beams. “It’s really good!” You squeeze his hand in gratitude before returning to the stove to finish making the rest just as the boys begin filtering in.

Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi take their individual seats at the table patiently with their phones in hand.

“Hi, beautiful.” Taehyung slides an arm around your waist, brushing your locks back as he smiles, kissing you softly.

Namjoon trails in, shuffling toward the fridge as he yawns. “Ah—” He fumbles with the tall glass and you watch in slow motion as it falls and shatters on the tiled flooring of your kitchen.

“Are you okay?” You exclaim, switching off the stove immediately and rushing over. Taehyung stops you from picking up the pieces, grabbing the sweeper as you gesture at the hybrid to step to the side with you.

Namjoon is frowning down at his hand, and upon spotting the cut, Seokjin, miles ahead of you, moves to pull the first aid kit in one of your cupboards instantly. The wound is already spewing a fair amount of blood, and you would have been more concerned had he been a man with solely human DNA.

“This will sting a bit,” you warn, but Namjoon does not even flinch as you gingerly wipe the gash with white alcohol soaked in a cotton ball. You wrap a bandage around it firmly, and tell him not to press on it before it fully heals. He mumbles a thank-you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Yoongi standing.

“Wait, Yoongi!” You call, hiding the hurt that flashes across your face when you see him roll his eyes. 

“What?”

“I have something for you. Please, eat, and I’ll show you.”

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.

.

Yoongi trails after you reluctantly as you lead him into the right wing of the mansion. It is scarcely used, furniture mostly curtained off with a thin layer of dust coating the surface of the covers. When they had first moved in, you explained it was because the place was big enough without the extra space. There was nothing interesting within, just more hallways and empty rooms.

It was not entirely true.

“My father always preferred the right wing. There’s more sun here, better views. I spent most of my childhood here,” you begin. Yoongi’s mouth tightens, but he does not protest. It is the first you have spoken about yourself beyond the niceties of your job and how your fortune came to be. He listens attentively, even as his tail swishes agitatedly.

“After they passed, I couldn’t see the place the same. I couldn’t live there anymore. The memories haunted me, I suppose,” you continue. “But out of it all, there is one thing I regretted closing off. I think you might be able to find better use for it.”

There is no door, just an impressive awning that leads into what appears to be a ballroom. Each step muted on the polished floors. You keep this room clean, he realizes with a jolt.

Yoongi skids to a stop, heart fluttering at his throat when his gaze falls upon the clothed bulk in the middle. He could recognize that form anywhere, and his face twists when you pull back the silk fabric. The impact frees a stray piece of hair, the lock falling over his eyes. He makes no move to push it back, face paling in horror and anguish.

“Yoongi? Yoongi? Hey, are you okay?” He refocuses to find your worried expression staring at him, your hand shaking his shoulder gently.

Immediately, he jerks his arm out of your hold, baring his teeth as he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want that shit.” He hurls a venomous look your way, the fur on his tail fluffing out in alarm as he bristles.

“I’m … I’m sorry, I thought—” You are taken aback, hand falling limply to your side as you recoil.

“You thought wrong. You’re better off burning that shit,” Yoongi spits. The anger radiates off him, his ears flattening as he turns on his heel and stalks out.

Snapping out of your stunned daze, you hurry behind him, struggling to catch up, but he has always been lithe and quick on his feet. Yoongi storms through the living room toward his room, startling the boys still loitering in the area when he slams the door loudly. Hoseok gets up immediately and races after him.

They all swivel their attention to you when you arrive moments later, and your expression drops when you realize Yoongi has already disappeared.

“Bogum said he used to play the piano,” you say after a beat, voice small as you stare at your feet. You should be used to the rejection by now, but it still hurts, still makes your heart throb, the disappointment and continual failure swells in your chest like a tumor.

“I have the next three weeks off for the holidays. Let me know if there’s somewhere you’d like to go or something you’d like to buy,” you say flatly, avoiding Jungkook and Jimin’s mirrored concern as you trudge toward your own room.

“___—” You only shake your head, lips pursed. Shame crawls up your spine as you roughly wipe away the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m fine, Tae. I’m just tired. Please wake me at five so I can make dinner.”

Taehyung freezes, hand pausing where it is reaching for you, frown deepening as his heart clinches painfully when he scents the tint of salt in the air.

You shut the door quietly behind you right as your knees give out, collapsing into a heap against the wood. It has been months now, and if anything, your relationship with Yoongi is deteriorating. At some point you think he was starting to tolerate your presence. Hoseok still refuses to so much as acknowledge your existence.

You are just so tired. But Taehyung had begged you, the day you decided to take them in, he had begged you not to give up on them. That they all had personal baggage, trauma enough to drown anyone else. He had asked you to be their lifeline, and you are starting to wonder if you are in over your head after all.

.

.

.

“I wish you would give her a chance. She’s serious about us, you know.” Yoongi snorts, pulling the covers further over his head. “Go away, Taehyung.”

“She’s the one. I know it.”

“She’s just going to toss us on the streets when she’s had her fun. That’s all they do, these rich, bored humans,” Yoongi mutters. He picks at a frayed strand of the quilt he has been meticulously unravelling.

He hears the tiger hybrid sigh, and Yoongi stretches out, resting his head on his arm as he closes his eyes. “Just … please try. She’s a good person. All she’s ever done is try to help us.”

Yoongi grunts, rolling over.

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.

.

You flinch, nearly cutting off your finger, when Yoongi takes a seat next to you after a week of tensed silence. Life had carried on as usual, with the three that seem to genuinely like you, the two that accept you, and the two that abhor you. You wanted to take them skiing at the alps up north, but Hoseok had dug his heels in and practically growled at you when you tried to suggest it. The youngest had looked so crestfallen you pulled him aside and hugged him, promising you’d take him next year instead, with or without his hyung. You would have gone without him this year, except all your friends had left the country for the holidays and you didn’t want to risk asking a stranger.

“You can’t woo me with gifts,” Yoongi coughs. He is looking away, chin propped on a hand.

“I … wasn’t trying to,” you say slowly, returning to your chopping. You pour the vegetables into a bowl, setting it to the side before you move to the stove, drizzling oil onto the pan.

Yoongi turns to watch you, for the first time a little uncertain as to the way you seem to shy away, avoiding his gaze. You seem almost resigned.

“I’m … sorry.” He cringes at the words. They sound too forced, too cold. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just … I haven’t played in a long time now.”

You make a noncommittal sound, and Yoongi’s nose twitches at the delicious smell of kimchi stir fry.

“I’d like to maybe … give it another shot. Or something,” he mumbles, rubbing the inside of his wrist absently. It’s one of his anxious ticks.

Your heart leaps, your movements stuttering in surprise. Are you allowed to be hopeful? You want to be.

So you say, “Okay.” And set a bowl before him with a small smile. His lips quirk, head inclining in gratitude.

.

.

.

It is a bit jarring, the way Yoongi lets you sit next to him on the bench. He does not move away, even as his body stiffens.

He’s … trying. He thinks you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble as they are placed on the keys, the way his tail sways restlessly. His ears are flattened to his head, the mere act of sitting at the piano taking a toll. You don’t need hybrid senses to know he is struggling to keep face.

“Hey. Don’t force yourself,” you say softly, Yoongi’s hand jerking when you hesitate in reaching for him. “I … I’m fine. It’s time, anyway.”

Then, he takes a breath, loosens his shoulders and presses down on the keys.

.

.

.

It gets a little better. Yoongi takes the days as they come. He rediscovers his love for the instrument, the first he’s ever played. His first love, if he has ever experienced such a concept.

With it come the memories of loss and grief. He cries for a long time the night after his first performance with you. It was cathartic, almost. Like he could be reborn from the ashes of his sorrow, like the awning hole inside of him could begin to heal, finally. And in some ways, it does.

He finds your company reasonable. Comforting, if he had the balls to admit it to himself. You rarely speak when he plays, just listening, and sometimes he catches you with glistening eyes that you hastily scrub away. His pieces are often melancholic. They were angry at first, full of rage and pain, until that too, was swept by the currents of the storm. He was always so exhausted after each session.

Now he has begun composing something new. You would stand, thanking him in that sweet voice of yours, sometimes quivering and other times a mere whisper. You never pitied him, he knew, but your sadness told him it was time to let go of the past.

He ignores Hoseok’s disapproving gaze every time, opting to pat the space next to him. “This one is a duet. Play with me.”

You look so bewildered he stifles a chuckle. “But I don’t know how to play.”

“I’ll teach you. Come.” You do, and he urges you to relax as he guides your fingers over the correct keys for the first line.

He hasn’t played for the other boys yet. For whatever reason, this feels sacred to just the two of you. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep it this way, just for a little while longer.

.

.

.

“It’s Christmas in three days. Would you guys like to celebrate?”

They look so excited. Even Hoseok glances up from his laptop to consider your proposal. In the background, Seokjin sneezes loudly. You throw his room a sympathetic frown. The eldest hybrid had fallen sick from the snowball fight from two days ago with the maknaes. You’d left his room after feeding him some congee and checking his temperature.

“Great! I’m going to the market for some supplies then. I’m going to pick up some medicine for Jin as well. We can all go pick gifts once he’s better. Would anyone like to come along?” You ask distractedly as you search for your car keys.

Yoongi growls in exasperation when Taehyung nudges him expectantly. Jungkook and Jimin both beam so eagerly the pianist grits his teeth and drawls with great reluctance, “I’ll go.” Namjoon doesn’t protest, only shrugs as if to say do what you want.

You stop in the middle of buttoning your coat in pure shock. He’s been surprising you a lot lately. “Uh … okay, let’s go.”

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.

.

Yoongi stares up at the sky, streaks of fuchsia fading rapidly as the evening set in with chilly winds. His ears prick uncomfortably beneath the beanie he sports, unused to the compression. He’s waiting outside the pharmacy, leaning against the brick walls, bags weighing on each arm as people pass, laughing and chatting, without a second glance. Hybrids aren’t gawked at, but those without an owner at their side were held with suspicion and likely a dial to the hybrid protection services (read: hybrid prison). It is illegal to be wandering the streets alone.

Yoongi turns when he hears your familiar footfalls exit the store. Wordlessly, he takes the small brown bag you’re holding. He starts walking toward your next destination before you can object.

“Wait, Yoongi—ah,” you dig for your phone, the ringer making him cringe. He does, moving to the side with an audible sigh. You give him an apologetic look before answering it.

“Oh—hi, Bogum! Yes—yes. Ah, about that—I have a draft written up and I was wondering if you could take a look at it sometime soon. Mmm, I know, but it’s important it’s done as quickly as possible, I need it for when I’m gone,” you’re facing the other way, talking animatedly with the cell resting against your ear as you dig for a pen in your purse. His breath stutters, stomach dropping instantly.

“What is he talking about? What do you mean, when you’re gone?” He says sharply, and you glance up to see him right in front of you, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

“What?” You ask, putting a hand over the receiver. Yoongi sneers. “I always knew it was too good to be true. I’m done.” He drops the various bags onto the snow, and you shrink back in confusion and fear when he leans in to whisper, “Go fuck yourself. I’ll make sure you never see any of us ever again.”

“Don’t bother coming back. We’ll be long gone by then,” Yoongi tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. He relishes in the way your expression contorts in horror. He’s much, much faster than you, and he knows this market by heart. It’s not far from your house and he can easily beat you by foot.

“Yoongi!” You cry out, but you know it’s useless. Tears blur your vision as you blubber a quiet I have to go, I’ll call you later to Bogum who calls your name worriedly on the other line before pocketing your phone. You kneel, trying to gather all the bags at once. One is crushed at the bottom and you open it gingerly to find a smashed fruit cake oozing out of its packaging. You can still make out a crooked Merry Christmas Eve! scrawled lopsidedly at the edges.

You won’t make it in time. Muffling a sob, you sink to the ground, ignoring the way the snow seeps into your leggings. You really are pathetic.

.

.

.

“Please! Stop!” You pause, head cocking as you shut your trunk. Were you officially going crazy? Peachy, you scoff inwardly. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“P-please, let me go!” A scream tears across the parking lot. You glance around wildly, and no, you are not crazy because people duck their heads at the sound, whispering to one another as they scurry toward their vehicles. Yoongi is likely already home, and you know he’s smart, careful and capable of caring for himself.

So you grab your phone and a can of pepper spray and head toward the sound. You can’t be like them. You have to be human.

And you think your knees will give out, the pure heartbreak you feel when you round the corner of the street to find a young snake hybrid curled in a fetal position on the ground, three much older, scrawny men circling him, jeering and kicking.

He can easily overpower them, you realize, but he doesn’t want to. If he does, it’s only another reason for HPS to lock him away for good. He would rather suffer this moment than be chained forever. It’s enough to make your lip curl in distaste, fury building at the sheer injustice.

“Hey! Leave him alone,” you shout, marching up to them. The men stop, one squinting at you briefly before bursting into loud guffaws.

“You? What is a little lady like you going to do?” He crows. The last word is caught in his throat as you punch him in the stomach.

“I said, back off!” The other two look at each other, flabbergasted, and the man screams at them to do something as he’s on the floor, clutching his belly in pain. They charge at you, but you only roll your eyes at the added layer of sexism on the list of hell ridden crimes they are already guilty for. You’ve taken many, many lessons as a child, including mixed martial arts.

It can’t even be called a fight. They’re rolled onto the curb in the next heartbeat. You kneel next to the wounded hybrid, who tries to get up. He wobbles, and you coax him into leaning into you for support.

“Thank you, miss,” he croaks. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” You wipe the blood on his lower lip gingerly. “Where’s your owner?”

“He went to get the car,” he answers softly. You give him a knowing look. He glances away guiltily.

“Yuto? Yuto!” Distinctly, the two of you turn at the sound of a new voice. Headlights sear your eyes for just a moment before someone hurtles out of the driver’s seat. “Holy shit, what happened?” The man cries, clutching at the injured hybrid. Yuto (?) winces, allowing the newcomer to sling an arm over his shoulder.

“I got jumped,” he whispers. “She saved me.” The man looks halfway into tears, reaching over to take your hand. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

You accept his gratitude with an awkward smile, patting his hand gently. “You shouldn’t leave him alone on the streets, especially at night.”

“It’s not his fault,” Yuto protests immediately. “I insisted.”

His owner shakes his head furiously. “She’s right. That was stupid of me.” He turns to you again, eyes shining. “Thank you so much. Truly.”

“Not at … all.” Huh? The world suddenly tilts, and you look down at your hands. There’s something dark dripping on your jacket, staining the fabric and you swipe at it lethargically, bringing it close. Oh. It’s blood.

The pain sharpens, and you gasp aloud at the fire spreading through your veins. Your knees do give out this time, and you can finally make out the sounds of a hiss, a piercing scream and someone calling for you before your body drops to the ground with a muted thud.

The last thing you are thinking is how you’d inevitably failed them after all.

.

.

.

Yoongi shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, the next gust nearly pushing his beanie off his head altogether, and he finds himself wondering if you were cold.

He violently shakes the thought away before opening the door. He sits down to unlace his boots, when Namjoon comes barrelling toward him. The other boys follow in suit; even Seokjin is padding around swaddled in a blanket. He scents the rising panic and anxiety in the house and he straightens instantly, alert.

“Yoongi, where the hell have you been?” Their leader bursts out. Yoongi has never seen the wolf hybrid so frazzled before.

“At the market?” He doesn’t know what kind of answer Namjoon was expecting, but it certainly was not the truth because his face twists in anger.

“Listen, Joon, she’s planning to leave us—” Yoongi goes on, and Jimin steps forward to slap him. The crack of the impact has his head jerking to the side, the sting setting in quickly.

“What. The. Fuck.” He says lowly.

“No. Where the fuck were you?” The typically soft-spoken and sweet hybrid screams. Yoongi stares in shock, flinching at the sound. Hybrid senses were heightened enough to hear the tiniest whispers, and his ears ring at the blow.

“If you mean ___, she’s probably on her way back,” Yoongi answers slowly. “That’s why I left, I found out that—”

“She’s in the hospital, Yoongi.” It’s Taehyung. His voice is hoarse, and he’s standing in a shadowed corner. His tail drags the ground as he moves, bangs hiding his expression.

“What?” The words taste like ash.

“She was stabbed while helping another hybrid,” Jimin seethes. He clutches his wrist, hand throbbing but he can barely feel it. Only registers the adrenaline and fear rushing through him.

“We’re waiting for Luna to come pick us up. She’s ___’s friend.” Jungkook sounds so small, so fragile when he speaks.

Yoongi’s legs buckle and he collapses, unblinking as he gawks at the floor. What did he do?

.

.

.

“There you are. Take it easy, now.” You groan, eyeballs burning as you pry them open with difficulty. It takes great effort to move your arms, and you stop when you feel a sharp tugging into your inner elbow.

“Fucking IVs,” you croak, and Luna’s smile focuses as she leans down to steady you. “How long was I out for?”

“A few days. It’s Christmas. A miracle, some believers might say.” She presses one of the buttons at the side of your bed, and a nurse appears shortly after.

“Your vitals are good. Doctor will be in momentarily,” the worker says, checking the equipment and making a few markings to your clipboard.

“You scared the shit out of them. You scared the shit out of me,” Luna informs you. Taking a glance around, your room is crowded with vases upon vases of your favourite flowers and several handmade art pieces you know are from Jungkook and Taehyung.

You lean back with a sigh. Your abdomen aches, and you know the scar this time isn’t going to fade.

The doctor walks in before you can reply. He gives you a full diagnosis of your condition and declares visits can start as early as tomorrow morning. Luna leaves with him, kissing your cheek and warning you not to overextend. You can only nod, sinking back into your pillow.

.

.

.

When you open your eyes again, the clock at the side notifies you it is just past ten.

And sitting by your side is Yoongi, face buried in his hands.

“Oh, Yoongi,” you breathe. He’s visibly shaking, ears flat and tail unmoving.

“I should’ve never left you alone. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” he rasps. He chokes on the words, rubbing his eyes furiously. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He pushes the chair away and gets on his knees, ignoring the strangled sound that escapes your throat. His forehead touches the ground and he doesn’t care that the floor is probably gross and full of viruses and bleach and disinfectant and a million other things. “I’m—so—sorry.”

“Yoongi,” your voice breaks.

“No, no,” he looks up, blinking away the tears as he fixes his gaze on you. “Don’t—don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

“Come here, silly kitty,” you whisper. His lower lip trembles and he lets out a sob. It’s loud and ugly and he scrambles to climb onto the bed, carefully weaving through the various cords and he curls up next to your injured side and he stuffs his face in your shoulder and he cries and cries and cries.

He cries until he’s empty and he falls asleep like that, eyes swollen and red, snot running down your hospital sheet, tail twined over your wrist, engulfed in your warmth.

.

.

.

“My original owner was an old man.” You can barely make out the words, so soft and unsure. He’s speaking into his pudding. Lunch came and went, and you roused him gently, knowing he likely hadn’t properly eaten since the incident.

Hospital food is hardly luxury but it’s food and the poor hybrid had already begun to look malnourished, complexion pale and cheeks sunken in. It was the stress and guilt that ate away at his ability to function.

“I was abandoned on the highway. The runt of the litter, I suppose. I didn’t come from one of those fancy breeding places. I was a bastard child. He found me, digging in his trash.” You stroke his hair, and he finishes the pudding in one bite, setting it down before snuggling back into you.

“He took me in. He was kind, and taught me how to play the piano. He was a retired pianist, and his wife had died the year prior. His son had been in the military. Died the first year out. He taught me to love the piano, to love music. Gave me a light and purpose when I had none. He gave me to the shelter when he passed. I had a lot of pent up anger. I ran away a lot. Didn’t know how to deal with the grief, I guess. He was all I knew. So I started picking fights to work through it, and Bogum would always be the one to drag me back to the shelter. Nursed me back to health every time. He never punished me, and I think the disappointment was what really broke me. I was ready to die. I picked a fight I knew I would never recover from. Hoseok was the one that saved me then.” Yoongi’s wet lashes tickle your jaw.

“Hoseok was also a different man then. He smiled a lot, laughed a lot. He was like sunshine personified. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to him. He taught me to control my anger. Through him, I met the rest. Jimin taught me to understand it. Namjoon taught me to release it through alternative channels. Like composing. I wrote a lot of songs there. Things were good for a while. Then they came.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who—”

“Sorry, but visiting hours are ending.” Yoongi lifts his head to find your nurse smiling at the two of you apologetically. She checks your vitals once more before exiting to give you privacy.

Yoongi untangles himself from you reluctantly, nuzzling your cheek.

“Come back tomorrow, mmkay?” You squeeze his hand.

He nods, unable to meet your gaze even as his own cheeks flush lightly.

“Promise?”

Yoongi shakily takes your hand and kisses your ring finger. This time he does look at you, eyes ringed with gold as he says, “Promise.”

[syneilesis]

[fic] In this Floating World

In this Floating World

Ikemen Vampire | Vlad x Main Character/Reader, Arthur Conan Doyle x Main Character/Reader, Osamu Dazai x Main Character/Reader | M | 1k ao3 link

Because they fall we love them – the cherry blossoms. In this floating world does anything endure? —Ariwara no Narihira

Three men, through love and despair.

A/N:

This is based on the Take Me after Twilight story event, which is happening right now.

For reference, here are their courtesan names: Shirayuki = Vlad Asagiri = Arthur Shiyo = Dazai

i. shirayuki

the days blur into each other, the nights clear as full moon

You once told him that the ocean sunrise was beautiful – the sky aglow with burning embers, reflecting on shimmering water. The world narrowing down into that single moment, the only beating existence that the heart would echo, mirror-sound feeding off each other. 

“Like heaven on earth,” you had said.

It made Shirayuki yearn for the ocean more, and he imagined watching the sunrise, waves lapping at his bare feet, sand soft and reassuring underneath. He imagined what it would be like to make love to you in that sunrise, your pliant moans against his heated skin and your half-mast eyes pinned by his as he buried himself deeper inside you, taking and taking and taking everything you could give him and everything you couldn’t.

These days, every room was filled thick with your palpable absence, and the nights were the only times he sought respite, laying with his clients, their wanton cries eventually morphing into your cries, reverberating against the ornately decorated walls. He fucked them with his eyes closed, because it was easier that way – to fool himself into believing it was you he was tangled with, your textured warmth.

In the end, he, too, was lonely without you.

“I’ll see you soon, Shirayuki,” his client whispered, index finger sliding down his cheek and landing on his lower lip. Shirayuki smiled blandly.

In a couple of hours, the sun would ascend over the resplendent Yoshiwara, illuminating its vividly colorful streets, and in that twilit period of emptiness, Shirayuki would sleep, dreaming of the ocean, and of you and him, reunited.

ii. asagiri

penance like a burning ache in my bones

Scrubbing his skin until it was red and raw gave him no solace.

There was a wound festering inside him, bleeding ichor and bile that overflowed until the bitter tang of it clung into the walls of his mouth. No matter how much and how hard he cleaned his entire body the dirty feeling remained like a persistent, miserable lover.

When you came along – all sincere eyes and earnest lips, too pure for this stained and corrupt world – Asagiri thought it prudent to protect you from the brothel owner. Filthy as he was, at the very least he should protect someone untainted like you from the dark cages of Yoshiwara, yes? That way, there’s at least one thing he could do right. To him, freedom was a dream that stayed as a dream, whereas you could still escape.

But then you held his hands – your soft, small hands – and with those sincere eyes and those earnest lips you told him that you loved him. Him! Of all the men in the world – it’s Asagiri, the foul and depraved. Asagiri.

He didn’t know what to do with that. Sometimes, he couldn’t look at you because you radiated so much light he feared you would blind him. Your exuberant optimism, your remarkable empathy, your endless kindness – all bright like an assault to the senses that sometimes he’d even forget the rancid taste in his mouth. You made him forget the wretched things.

And when he forgot, he’d think of other things, equally wretched. For example: what it would be like to kiss you. To pry open those earnest lips and coax a lovely sigh from them. He would pull you into his room and guide you with his hand – you’d be so beautiful splayed over his bed. He would be gentle with his touch, of course, because you deserved it, you deserved all the good things in the world. And then he’d enter you, slow and patient, because the last thing he’d wanted was to hurt you.

“Asagiri,” you said, eyes glassy. “I love you.”

In a few days you would be released from your debt, freedom once again, away from the wicked designs of the owner. There’d be no need to return to Yoshiwara; it was better that way. You’d find happiness elsewhere.

Asagiri swallowed. It tasted sour. 

The wound bled more and more.

iii. shiyo

o, death, my dear old friend

Spring meant new beginnings – from the winter-white bleakness and into the first blush of cherry blossoms, the sign of changing seasons. Faces gaining more color, like paintings coming to life. There was a lightness to everyone’s movement, a renewed vigor bouncing in between the way people greeted each other in the busy streets.

Shiyo watched them with little envy, arms perched on the window with his cheek pressed against a closed fist. The conversations below drifted up to his ears, snatches of words and phrases here and there, and he could almost follow their exchanges without having to lean downward.

But he had no interest in the lives of others, who seemed so joyful under the brightly lit walls of Yoshiwara. He had interest in only one thing:

You arrived like spring with your bellchime voice and your starlight eyes. You arrived like spring dancing into the gaggle of a medley chorus. You arrived like spring and bloomed him, unfurling his sickly heart like flowerbud petals, your smile like the first blue, blue sky of the year. You were hope and you were salvation, the only relief to his ill-racked soul.

The only relief to everything, really.

And like spring you gave way to summer, and then to autumn, and, finally, to winter, when all traces of you disappeared as though you weren’t there in the first place, his memories the only testament to your existence.

You told him that you’d wait for him, no matter how long, the love you had for each other fueling your conviction. In his weakest moments, body curled into itself as an aftermath of another episode, Shiyo would fantasize about you. How you’d arch up underneath him, your sighs hot against his ear. How you’d feel soft and luxurious around him, moaning his name over and over, like a prayer from a devoted believer. How you’d crest and fall together like sinners in a pure world.

It should strengthen him, his love for you. But as much as he wanted to endure, his body knew its limits, and it was only a matter of time. Despite all that had happened, Shiyo did not have any regrets.

Spring meant new beginnings, but new beginnings implied the occurrence of a previous death. And eventually this new beginning would also meet its own death, like cherry blossoms blooming and falling.

[belpheroo]

Title: Pangs Pairing: Lucifer x F!MC Rating: 🍋 Summary: MC returns to Devildom for her second year. Following an “interesting” mishap with some fire newt syrup, MC checks in on the eldest brother who seemed unaffected by it. Notes: Basically just an… expanding of that scene. IT IS SOFT, EVERYTHING IS SOFT. Spoilers for lesson 21-22.

Her absence in the House of Lamentation had burned a hole of loss into each brother’s heart, but they were able to more freely express their sadness and their longing for her presence. As the eldest, Lucifer had to maintain decorum… he had to be stalwart and steady, unaffected and cool to soothe their hearts. Despite their bickering and their quips, Lucifer knew that when such pain came upon his younger brothers, they looked to him instinctively for comfort.

Lucifer would remind them of their D.D.D., of visits, of how she would one day come back, surely. He even resorted to teasing or dismissiveness to spike them on into annoyance with him or laughter. If even for a moment, it made them forget their loss.

Alone though? Alone, Lucifer would find himself staring in a daze, unable to focus upon his work in the late hours of the evening. His eyes would settle upon the edge of his desk, where a mug of hot coffee or soothing tea would have once appeared at some point in the night. He missed waking up to find a blanket had been settled over his shoulders, a snack or even once a morning tray with breakfast laid out on his desk...he missed waking up to her hand soothing through his hair, pretending to still be asleep even as his pulse sped up and his heart stuttered with a sharp pang.

In those quiet moments, when the witching hour was high and the House was filled with the silence of early morning, he remembered the sound of their voices together as they spoke of nothing, soft and low. They had always whispered, though they had no fear of waking anyone. It had been so natural, that intimacy… and Lucifer felt heartsick at the loss of it.

Diavolo had even become more troublesome, his palpable sympathy making Lucifer’s pride sting. He didn’t want sympathy, he wanted her back. But these were things he would never say, which was why only a few short months later when she fell through the air back into their lives with Solomon close behind, he felt the world go back into focus.

But of course, now there was that damned syrup.

---

It was easy enough for Lucifer to mask the effects of the soup, centuries of control and experience having perfected his outer defenses until the walls around his heart and his feelings were easily raised. She had made her way diligently around the House, relieving the brothers of their affliction with a simple order and now was set upon finding him.

Unlike the others, Lucifer could easily navigate their pact bond, feeling her intent and her searching and a vague notion of himself as the object of her search inside her emotions. Even from a distance he need only focus and seek out the invisible tether of their bond, the pact mark on his left wrist glowing faintly as he did so.

The only issue was, there was no privacy in this act. As soon as the mark on his own wrist glowed faintly red, hers would too, letting her know he was calling for her. He sent a “message” of his own along, letting his own intent that she should come to his office fall through the bond and feeling her emotions excite and change.

It wasn’t long before she showed up at his door, the very sight of her aggravating his condition and making heat threaten to flush across his face. Had she always been so enticing? She wore a lovely white dress, red and pink flowers adorning it. The only thing keeping the fabric in place was where the straps tied in a bow at the nape of her neck… one small pull and it would be so easily gone. Lucifer checked himself before his mind began to fully wander around the idea of what, if anything, she was wearing beneath it.

“The crisis is contained.” she declared with a grin, sauntering into the room with ease and familiarity. She closed the door behind her, the sudden privacy making his stomach flutter just slightly.

Lucifer got up from where he lounged in one of the plush red chairs, setting aside a book he hadn’t been even reading as he met her halfway. She clasped her hands behind her back, inclining her head expectantly. Lucifer knew what she was silently asking, but instead he smiled slyly.

“Now that you are here, we should complete your student processing… I’ll need to check you for dangerous items.”

She sputtered a laugh, looking down at her attire with a look that said loudly what she then vocalized, “Where would I hide them?”

“From what I recall, humans can be very crafty.”

“Then by all means.” she said, lifting her arms up, smiling and smiling. A foolish girl as always, taunting and tempting a man such as him. Lucifer had to steady himself before he reached out, starting at her wrists as he let his gloved fingertips slide down the length of her arms… tracing down from her shoulders to the top of her ribs before flattening his palms against her body to run down. The deep ache within him only grew more intense, but within his chest a dark creature rumbled with pleasure. Lucifer made sure none of this showed through his face, keeping his expression neutral and business like, even when he ran his hands down over the sides of her thighs and her arms faltered just slightly.

“You’re acting strangely, Lucifer.”

He hummed, his only reply as he pressed against the small of her back just briefly, nearly running down over her backside, but stopping just short before he let his hands fall to his side. She leaned forward just slightly, as if following the touch.

“Everything seems in order.” he said, “I just need you to sign these registration forms.”

She followed him obediently to his desk, which she leaned over, clearly not oblivious to how it revealed her neckline and the smooth round tops of her breasts as she pushed her arms together slightly and up.

“You got a pen?”

He produced one and absentmindedly she reached out, missing the pen and instead finding the one bare trace of skin above his glove but below his shirt sleeve. In a moment, all that control, all that restraint, snapped like a dry branch. Lucifer felt his body surge with heat, a groan escaping his throat as he jerked away from her touch.

“Be more careful… “

And just like that he could see the devious cogs of her brain starting to move as that bright smile turned into a smirk.

“So you are affected by the syrup.”

Lucifer sighed, “Of course, but I’m not as easily swayed as my brothers. I can resist the… the--”

“Urges?” she finished, turning away from the desk and stepping into his space, so close his overly sensitive skin could feel the heat of her radiating out towards him. Lucifer wasn’t sure when he let out a breath, only that it fell from his lips in a soft puff of air as he found himself unable to look away from her eyes, turned up to him, bright and adoring. She pursed her lips, soft and plush and pink… he wondered how many of his brothers had kissed those lips today, had embraced her or held her hand? 

Unbidden, he cupped her cheek, thumb drawing down over her bottom lip gently. She ran her tongue out, licking him through his glove. Lucifer moved his hand to hold her by the neck, firm but gentle as he tipped her chin up.

“... give me an order… master.” he spoke lowly, voice a pitched growl.

“Kiss me, please, just ki—”

Her words were silenced in a gasp as Lucifer bit her lip, sucking gently before settling his own mouth, hot and needy over her own. All that waiting, the loneliness and the aching longing to see her again vanished in the kisses. His mouth trailed from hers, pressing open and hot to her jaw as he whispered, “... ever since you left the Devildom…”

Lucifer set his teeth on her neck, sucking hard until she let out a ragged moan.

“...not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you.” he said in-between his touches, laying his tongue flat over the red-purple mark he’d left behind. She clung to him, arms around his neck. There was a clatter of books, the wisp sounds of paper falling off the desk as Lucifer cleared the contents and set her upon it.

“I even considered going to the human world…” Lucifer murmured over her collarbone, kissing the tops of her breasts. She had pushed his jacket off his shoulders, fingers fumbling over buttons until she impatiently ripped them free, popping them off with a self-satisfied grin as her hands ran up and over his bare chest. Lucifer made a sound low in his throat, shoving the hem of her dress up around her waist and suddenly jerking her forward to the edge of the desk until he could feel the core of her against him.

“...to find you…” he groaned as she rolled against him, feeling the hardness of him straining in his pants. Her fingers sought out his belt as he spoke, “...to bring you back here.”

“Lucifer.” she moaned, pulling him free and holding him, hot and heavy in her hand. She barely managed a few strokes before he was batting her hand away, taking himself in his own hand and his other steading on her hip as he pressed up against her center, not yet taking but so close. So unbearably close.

“But never once did I imagine… you’d come back to me on your own.”

And with that Lucifer let himself sink into her, drawn in by her and held in welcome inviting heat. She kissed him this time, taking control as her legs locked around his waist and she thrusted her hips forward with a slow roll. Lucifer still didn’t move, locking his arms around her to keep her still, to let him enjoy the overwhelming closeness. He was vaguely aware that their bond marks were glowing, skin thrumming and humming with deep contentment… his and hers.

“... I love you. Truly and deeply.”

This was a time where she would make some joke, some light-hearted quip at his expense to earn his ire and spur him on… but she was so uncharacteristically quiet. Lucifer drew back slightly, enough to see her face and trace a loose strand of hair back over her ear. Her eyes were half-lidded, expression soft and dazed until she finally smiled… that sweet, precious smile just for him.

Her words were quiet, elevating the intimacy of the moment somehow in a way that made Lucifer feel his heart might simply stop, overwhelmed with such violent, intoxicating emotion.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him briefly and letting out a small gasp as Lucifer moved in a few small shallow thrusts, “I love you.” she breathed and then desperately, pleadingly panted out the words, “D-don’t stop.”

“As you wish, master.” Lucifer said, intent upon making this reunion one she’d never forget. They fit so easily together, like falling into an old memory. She helped slide the rest of his shirt off and Lucifer finally indulged that urge to tug free the tie around her neck and peel that dress down beneath her breasts. 

“Lovely... every inch of you.” he said, words coming so easily between a rough groan as she ran her nails across his back. She giggled into his kiss, smiling against his lips. Each movement was so slow, so indulgent, except for when he’d sharply thrust forward, earning a string of pleased sounds from her with the sudden harshness.  Lucifer could feel her tightening, coiling up ever closer, but even as she whimpered and squirmed and tried to force his pace faster, he kept the same steady rhythm. It was so much more pleasing to watch her rise toward her release, the skin of her neck and chest flushed pink as her arms tired and she lay back unto the cool surface of his desk, her fingertips finding her center.

Lucifer took the opportunity to rip off one of his gloves with his teeth, sliding his bare palm over her stomach and up her chest until he pressed it flat against her breastbone, holding her in place. She brought her other hand over his, holding tight as he braced her down and gave into her, wholly and completely.

She came apart so easily between her own touch and his, grasping unto his forearm for some steady port as waves of heat shuddered from her core and down her spine. Lucifer could feel the force of it clutching around him, pulling him and holding him in until he could only just barely ride out his own orgasm, feeling all at once the sort of heavenly lightness that brought him perhaps as close to the celestial realm as he’d ever been.

She was an endless well fo tenderness once she had composed herself, sitting up and eagerly touching and caressing every inch of skin she could reach, kisses peppered over his face and his lips as she made a point of keeping him from pulling out.

“Stay, it feels nice.” she said, wiggling her hips enough to make him jolt slightly from overstimulation. Lucifer clucked his tongue chidingly, but did not stop her.

“... you ruined my shirt.” he said, an observation more than a complaint as he noted a discarded button upon the desk.

“Mmmhm and you can punish me all night long.”

“That sounds more like a reward than a punishment.”

“Depends on how loud you make me scream.” she cooed, nuzzling against his neck with a self-satisfied smile. Lucifer could only chuckle to himself, at a loss as usual for how to win against such a creature. But for now, she was here and here to stay... there would be plenty of time to think on it.

[shysneeze]

changing seasons (george weasley x fem!reader)

changing seasons 

description: adult relationships are complicated and painful, a fact George and the reader now far too well 

warnings: angst, a fleeting allusion to smut, brief passing mentions of food. 

a/n: excuse any typos, i wrote this as 3am and wasnt wearing glasses.

...

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) always comes when George least expects it, a knock on his door that turns a normal day into a fond memory. Even ruffled from international portkey travel, tumbling into the apartment to collapse tiredly on the couch, messy and unorganised, her arrival sends a smile straight to his cheeks every time.

Today she appears in the shop, grinning at him from the door and waving dramatically at him. He’s barely out from behind the till before she’s launching herself into his arms with a squeal.

“George!” She exclaims. “I’ve missed you!”

He takes a second to respond, dazed again as he usually is by her sudden appearances. He waits until he’s placing her down on the ground again to answer with a smile.

“I’ve missed you too, (Y/N).” He chuckles. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“The shop or the country?”

“Both.” He snorts.

“Well, as MACUSA recognises my top notch auror qualities, they’ve rewarded me a holiday and i figured the best place to spend it would be with my favourite red head”

she blinks up at him with a smile, one that has his grin growing wider, a talent she’s perfected after years of practice. She was his bestfriend through Hogwarts, before she moved to America for her dream job. Her visits though, can makke it feel normal, as though she never left in the first place.

“Don’t let Fred hear you say that.” He jokes. “You’ll bruise his ego.”

“You appear to be running the shop on your own today.” She observes. “Plus he could do with his ego being taken down a few.”

“He’s out on a lunch date with Angelina.” George informs. “He’ll be back soon for you to bully.”

“The excitement is killing me already.”

Grinning at her, he can’t help the urge to pull her into a second hug, wrapping his arms around her tightly as he always does when she comes back from the states, making up for all the hugs they’ve missed .

“Listen, the afternoon rush is about to start...” He admits once pulling away. “You can wait upstairs if you like.”

“That sounds great.”

“You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” He assures. “Most of its Fred’s.”

She nods, giving him one final smile and making her way up the stairs as has become her tradition after arrival. Right on cue, George calls her name softly and she turns back to him again to catch the warmth in his eyes.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be here, Georgie.”

...

She’s lying on his sofa wearing one of his shirts when he retires from work for the day. Head flung back against one of the arm rests, she holds a book above her, precariously hung from her finger tips as she reads.

He can feel the warmth flooding his chest at the sight and he’s quick to kick his shoes off to join her, flopping down on to the cushion at the other end of the sofa and stretching his legs until they tangle with her own.

“How was your shift?”

“Grueling.” He confesses with a chuckle. “Did you steal all the biscuits?”

“Only the ones I like.”

She seems to finish the chapter she’s on before shutting the book, sliding it onto the coffee table. She gifts him a soft look, sitting up to our stretch her hands in an attempt to express her desire for a hug, one he’s seen so often he doesn’t even need to decipher it.

As is their usual routine, he mimics her action until a grin stretches at her lips and she’s clambering forward and landing haphazardly on his chest, her head beneath his chin and her arms wrapped around his torso.

Her visits might be sporadic and often brief, but to George they’re everything. It’s a relationship not many have tried to understand, the way she appears on his doorstep and in an hours time ends up on his arms, all without the label of being his girlfriend.

They wouldn’t trade it though, not the conversation, the cuddles or the kisses, for a anything else the world could give them.

“Thank you for always being here for me whenever i get back.” She whispers into the quiet apartment. “You’re the best.”

George is almost too distracted by the rise and fall of her chest felt on his, on the way her gentle breaths fill the silent apartment and how she fits him perfectly, as if they were made for this exact situation. Then, kissing her head gently he replies.

“Anything.” He exhales. “Anything for you, (Y/N).”

The next thing she wants to say is always too far, though it’s absence lingers in the air, palpable almost. No matter how much it’s true though, she can’t bring herself to say it, the thought of doing so cracking her heart into pieces, because it wouldn’t be fair.

Telling George she loves him would cross a line that would only make their unspoken arrangement more complicated, but it’s sits their on her tongue threatening to burst out with every touch, every squeeze of her hips, of his finger tips on the nape of her neck as he pulls her closer and the feel of their lips pressed together.

...

He’s perfected the act of pretending not to notice that she’s pulling away to leave again, of acting as though he can’t hear the American twang in her voice sometimes, a reminder that in a true reality, she live miles across the world. 

They spent their time wrapped in their own cocoon, hidden from the world of those who don’t understand that a week of love is enough to make up for a year of silence, of frost covered gardens and wilted wild flowers.

He tells himself over and over that it’s enough, but as the days go on, the unspoken words are louder than the others. Affectionate conversations spoken into hushed silences in his bedroom begin to fill with holes where the truth should lie. The truth that in a few short days she’ll have to leave.

It comes just over a week after her arrival, and in her usual fashion, she slips from the covers in the early morning, grimacing as her top toes footsteps are annunciated by creaky floorboards just as she’s trying to sneak away.

She fixes him one last glance as she stands in the door way ready to leave, an aching longing in his bones just to crawl back into bed again, to live the rest of her life with him here in this apartment.

However, an adult life of work calls for her in the states, and has her reluctantly turning her back on George, sleeping soundly, oblivious to her departure as she creeps down the hall.

She’s flinging her shoes on when Fred appears from the other rend of the narrow corridor leading the the front door, arms folded across his chest with a frown. She stills from her ministrations, gulping at the angry look he’s giving her.

“You’re away again.”

It’s not a question, but a painful truth to which she can only nod and drop her eyes guiltily. Fred sighs loudly, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I’m sorry.” She exhales. “I don’t like leaving.”

“Why do you?”

“I have work, Freddie.” She sighs. “You know how hard i worked for this job and I can’t lose it-“

“But you’re quite happy to lose him.”

She flinches, biting her lip to avoid tears. Fred’s always disapproved, ever since she announced her job plans all those years back at Hogwarts. He could see the thought of losing her breaking his brother’s hearts, but he could also see it just as obviously on her own face every time their eyes met.

“That’s what’s going to happen though.” He continues. “He’s going to get fed up of the week long visits and shitty letters.”

“It’s a demanding job-“

“it’s a great job, (Y/N).” He assured sadly. “We’re both very proud of you for it and you had to give up so much to get it, but you were supposed to give up George... it would be less painful for both of you to give him up.”

“I can’t give him up.” She informs guiltily. “It’s selfish and hurts to leave but i can’t give him up.”

“You have to.” Fred informs. “You don’t see how he gets jittery every time an owl taps the window incase it’s you, or how, after you’re gone, it takes days for him to deal with the fact you’ve left again.”

She doesn’t realise she’s crying until he’s crossing the space between them pull her into his chest. He then a soothing hand down her back despite his anger and exhales a sigh as she begins to cry.

“I love him, Fred.”

“I know.”

“I’ve never loved anything as much as i love him.” She elaborates, though muffled my Fred’s shirt. “Leaving him hurts every time, but it would hurt more to say goodbye for good.”

“You need to make a decision.” Fred explains, pulling back to fix her a more sympathetic look. “If you love him as much as you say you do, you have to leave and stop coming back.”

Her breath catches with a chocked gasp, she blinks up at him, expelling fat tears that roll down her cheeks and his the wooden floor.

“You can’t keep stringing him out the way you are.” He says. “Because the more you leave the worse it gets.”

 It makes sense, it makes so much sense it hurts. She’s been clinging to him like the last frost of winter on newly forming buds. She’s holding him back selfishly from the chance of love with another, love with someone less complicated. She needs to let him go, she’s known it for so long but as she goes to explain it to Fred, it catches on her throat and a fresh set of tears fall from her eyes.

“Tell him I’m sorry.” She pleads. “Tell him that i love him.”

“Okay.” Fred nods. “I will.”

“Thank you...” She whispers shakily.

“I know.” He assures.

She nods, turning in a sort of daze to sort her shoes. She’s doesn’t offer Fred another hug, knowing it will only drag out the pain. Instead she opens the door of their flat and pauses in the doorway.

“Bye, Fred.” She says finally. “I-“

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt him.” Fred reassures. “Life got complicated after Hogwarts.”

“That’s one way of saying it.” She sniffles.

“He loves you too.”

She can only nod again, taking a deep breath as she steps from the apartment. Fred watched her go, heart pounding from what he’s just done, the inevitable the couple has been putting off until now.

He’s shutting the door when he hears footsteps behind him, turning to George, store triedly with a knowing look in his eyes.

“She’s gone.”

“I don’t think she’s coming back.” Fred admits. “I’m sorry, George.”

George shakes his head, shoving his hands into his pockets and holding his shoulders high to come across as unbothered as his brother comes toward him.

“She said she’s sorry.” Fred continues. “And that she loves you.”

Clapping a hand in his brother’s shoulder, Fred passed by him to put the kettle on for a warm drink. George stands crestfallen in the hallway staring at the shut door she’s just left.

She comes like spring, happy colours and bright days, but she leaves like summer, a threatened departure that goes on for ever until suddenly the dark is creeping in earlier and the bitter cold settles deep in his bones.

He’ll miss her like the heat of the sun on a cold autumn evening, he always does, but where there was always the anticipation of spring to come, there is only the dread of long cold nights alone.

[samstree]

splash of the waves, and the sand castle crumbles (2)

(geraskier, prince!jaskier, fairytale elements, angst with a happy ending, insecurities, jaskier whump, chest pain, 4.8k)

Geralt discovers that being with a prince comes at a price. Jaskier deals with some bad news.

previous: [1], read on AO3

A big thanks to my amazing beta @wanderlust-t!! 💖💖

Geralt will always come second in Jaskier’s heart.

As he sinks into the soft mattress and gathers the prince into his arms, the realization becomes ever so clear.

His fingers find those faint freckles on Jaskier’s back, the ones he can already trace by heart without looking. The press of Jaskier’s body nuzzles into his. The clamminess from their earlier passion makes the closeness a little uncomfortable, but Geralt can’t seem to find the strength to pull away.

Instead, he moves closer to Jaskier to observe him carefully.

The prince has this look on his face that Geralt never liked, one that suggests he’s lost somewhere far away, so Geralt brushes a strand of stray hair away to guide those blue eyes back to the presence.

“What are you worrying about?”

“Huh?” The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle when he snaps out of the trance. “Nothing, um—court happenings. Valdo has received news on the investigation in Cintra.”

“About the assassination?”

“Dead end, again.” Jaskier chews his lips. “No concrete proof that it was ordered by Calanthe, nothing except for some whispers you stumbled upon in a tavern. Valdo is looking elsewhere now.”

Geralt tilts his head in sympathy, hating the idea of the prince living with one more potential threat lurking in the dark. “How can I help?” he asks.

“You stopped them. I reckon that’s plenty.” Jaskier leans in, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I won’t bore you with grim details, my dear. But perhaps…distract me? If you truly want to help.”

So Geralt presses his lips everywhere he can reach. One on the crown of Jaskier’s head, another at his hairline, and then on those already kiss-swollen lips, so enticing in the candlelight.

The prince responds eagerly, his deft fingers roaming across Geralt’s chest and provoking him with the softest touch, soothing and aggravating the ache deep within him. A surprised giggle escapes Jaskier’s lips as he catches Geralt’s hand trailing down under the cover.

“Really? Again?” the prince threads their fingers together and pulls Geralt’s hand away, subtly interrupting his not-so-subtle attempt. “The way you screamed my name earlier, my dear, I thought you would pass out from the sheer intensity of it. Witcher stamina or not, you can’t possibly still want more.”

“I don’t… scream.”

The defense is so weak that Jaskier’s grin breaks out in amusement. He continues to kiss Geralt’s knuckles with the utmost care, but the ache in his stomach still simmers.

Geralt groans with frustration.

“What is it?” Jaskier, ever so perceptive, notices his turmoil. The bliss on his face soon turns into concern and Geralt regrets ever letting on his emotions. “Talk to me, darling. It’s okay.”

“I—” Geralt realizes how silly it would sound, but Jaskier is waiting for an answer. “Tonight is the first time I’ve seen you since Ellander. Since the striga.”

“Since you accepted my hand in marriage.” Jaskier places an open-mouthed kiss on the scar on Geralt’s neck. “Darling, I wish I could have stayed with you at the temple. You know I do, but there was—”

“The coup at the border. I understand.” Geralt chastises himself for even bringing it up. He remembers how tired Jaskier looked after riding day and night to reach Temeria, how attentive he was when it came to nursing his injuries. “Uh—forget I said anything. You had to go, Jask. It’s fine.”

He also remembers when the urgent message came four days after they were betrothed and the sinking feeling in his stomach to watch Jaskier leave—albeit reluctantly. At the time, the prince kissed him so fiercely, his touch lingering on the signet ring he left on Geralt’s finger. Jaskier repeated his promise so many times, to return to him as soon as possible.

Geralt remembers the disappointment when he didn’t.

“It’s not fine.” Jaskier looks almost sad. “It’s never fine to leave you when you are hurt. It’s never fine to break my promise to you. Geralt, don’t you know you are my whole world? It’s my job to take care of you. Of course, you have every right to be angry with me.”

Except you also have to take care of the whole world.

Literally.

The world will always take precedence over a mere witcher.

“I missed you, that’s all.” Strangely, the admission lifts a weight off his chest. “I’m not angry with you for wanting to keep your people safe.”

“You aren’t?”

“I just—” Geralt’s stomach churns at the uncertain look on Jaskier’s face. “I just want to be with you, all of you. For more than four days at a time.”

“You have me.” Jaskier scrambles onto his elbow, not quite letting go of Geralt’s hand. “I’m here, all of me.”

“For tonight.”

“And tomorrow, and every day after.” He presses another kiss to the ring. “You’ll see, starting tomorrow morning. No more coups. I’ll stay with you when the tailors come over. Knowing how much you hate choosing designs and having people fuss all over you, it’d be cruel if I didn’t. It’s important that my husband looks dashing on his wedding day.”

“Hmm.”

The word husband is all it takes. Geralt finds himself drawn to Jaskier’s blinding smile, like a moth to a flame.

It should scare him, the thought of binding himself to someone. A witcher is not meant to stay at one place, with one person. And yet, Jaskier promised him the freedom to return to the path anytime as well as a seat at the Aedirnian court as the prince’s husband.

Because that’s the kind of person Jaskier is. When he’s in, he’s all in. In both his political life and with Geralt, Jaskier is ever so consistent. When he’s with Geralt, it’s like he’s only existing for the man in front of him, only in the here and now, as if his sun rises and falls with the tiniest sign of happiness on Geralt’s face. And yet, when he’s away…

It’s the world and the people the crown prince has sworn to protect.

It’ll always be the world before him.

Always second.

Geralt rubs the pad of his thumb on the signet ring, the proof of Jaskier’s devotion. The weight on his ring finger has become so comforting in Jaskier’s absence.

Maybe it’s enough. He has witnessed how Jaskier gives an ocean of love eagerly and unreservedly, to his work and his music. If Jaskier’s heart is willing to spare him anything like he’s someone worth loving, worth keeping, it’s enough.

Geralt drifts off with the prince soft and pliant, draped all over him.

And he wakes up to a cold bed, the familiar scent of citrus soap still faint on the sheets. Resting on the pillow, where tousled brown hair should be is a note scribbled in haste.

My darling witcher,

I must ride out before dawn as a riot has broken out near the settlement. It seems that men’s prejudice has not only made them seethe with hatred, but ruined our time together as well.

Forgive me for my absence, and for not having the courage to wake you before I leave.

Remember that I love you. I love you.

I love you,

J.

Geralt’s grip tightens around the paper before letting go of it with resignation.

Perhaps he has made peace with being second in Jaskier’s heart. He just wishes the proof is not so solid in ink.

*

Geralt stops in his tracks when he sees Valdo Marx standing outside the kitchen, his blonde curls shining even in the low candlelight. There’s a tankard of wine casually held in his palm.

“Well, isn’t this the White Wolf himself?” The lord flicks a strand of hair out of his face, checking the witcher up and down. “What brings you here so late at night?”

“Could ask you the same,” Geralt doesn’t want to converse with the man for too long. Every time he speaks with Marx, the lord always hides an edge in his words that makes the witcher uneasy. “And Geralt is fine, as I said last time.”

“Of course, how can I forget the name of the man who captured our Prince Julian’s heart. For so many years, he thought of marriage as a mere joke. A songbird is not to be caged, he said, or he will be forever songless. Julian was ever so dramatic on this matter. But that’s before you swooped in and suddenly he’s reduced to a lovestruck fool. It’s always Geralt this, Geralt that, even before the ball.” Valdo leans against the doorframe, squinting and scrutinizing.

“You are in a chatty mood, my lord,” the witcher dismisses the salty comment and walks toward the door. “Excuse me for not having the time. I’m only here to fetch Jaskier some food.”

“No need.” Valdo puts a hand on Geralt’s elbow to stop him from entering the kitchen. The smell of alcohol is strong around him. “I’ve ordered the maid to prepare something to be brought up. I know Julian must have slept through dinner. How is he now?”

Geralt hums. The too-familiar tone with which Valdo speaks of Jaskier has always put him off, as well as the hand that’s currently resting on his arm. Even though the urge to shake the man off is palpable, Geralt is determined to remain civil to the most important member of Jaskier’s council.

“His heart acted up earlier. It’s fine now. But he’s still resting.”

“From the fatigue, I imagine.” Valdo releases Geralt’s arm, his face falling. “The riot was a real pain in the neck. The people living near Dol Blathanna have been displeased since the settlement started, but one that lasts a fortnight is a first. Julian barely slept a wink. He was dead on his feet by the end of it.”

And now he’s just woken up, waiting for Geralt to return.

“I should go if you have everything sorted—”

“Do you know how dangerous it got at one point? How out of control the situation was?” Valdo’s piercing eyes meet Geralt’s, his tone demanding. “How come you, the deadliest witcher and Julian’s betrothed, were not at his side protecting him?”

“Jaskier never wanted me involved. I assume the Butcher won’t be good for his looks.”

“You would be more stupid than I thought I you believed that bullshit,” Valdo curses loudly. “He wanted to propose after meeting you twice, even though his whole council was against the idea. And you think he’s ashamed of you? No, he’s leaving you out of everything to protect you.”

Geralt frowns, but the lord continues.

“He cares so much about your stand, your neutrality or whatever moral code your kind holds on for dear life. He believes accepting his hand has already compromised your beliefs—as if marrying a prince is such a chore—so he won’t ask your loyalty to Aedirn. He won’t ask you to fight for him.”

The bitterness in Valdo’s voice is nothing compared to the bile that rises up in Geralt’s throat.

“If I was with him…”

“He’d be safer. The guards can’t always stand between him and danger, as your first meeting has already proved.”

The lord’s jaw tightens before downing the content of his cup. The silence hangs in the quiet night.

As much as Geralt dislikes Valdo’s snarky remarks and jabs, he cannot bring himself to hate the man. His devotion to Jaskier is unmatched even amongst his closest advisors, let alone the fact that they were childhood friends.

Even when no one supported Jaskier, Valdo was there. And for that, Geralt will forever be grateful. Even though a witcher never answers to nobles, perhaps an explanation is owed to Valdo Marx.

“I am loyal to Jaskier if that’s your concern.” Geralt says in earnest. “He has my sword, even though I’m no knight.”

Valdo crosses his arms, the tankard still in his hand and tipping sideways. A drop of red liquid hits the floor.

“Good. If you have to marry our prince, you might as well take your duty of serving him more seriously. Although only the gods know why he chose you over so many more deserving.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at the bitterness in that statement.

“Like a court advisor? A politician of the highest rank?” he stares down at the other man. “A long-time friend, maybe?”

No surprise flashes across the other man’s eyes, but being a lord his whole life means anything can be hidden under the calm surface.

He does let out a tight laugh, the wine loosening his tongue. “The whole continent will know before Julian.” He shakes his head, mumbling something incoherent. “Did you know he started to sing because of me? I took lute lessons one summer in Cidaris. I was eight and Julian was two years younger, and what do you know! He was better than me within six months. Ha! With talent like that, it’s a shame princes aren’t allowed to be bards.”

Geralt feels equally proud and jealous to hear the childhood tale. Jaskier has not talked about his relationship with Valdo much, apart from the fact that both of them were extremely competitive growing up. Although it is not difficult to imagine if a six-year-old Jaskier was as infuriatingly persistent as he is now.

“Are you to flaunt how well you know him again?” Geralt almost scowls. “How you know him better than anyone because you’ve known him for two decades longer?”

“I should remind you, witcher, that I’m also friends with people more powerful beyond your imagination. Mages who can dispose of a witcher with the snap of a finger.” Valdo straightens his back as if it’ll make him more imposing. “Julian may never listen to me on the matter of his marriage, but if you ever harm a hair—”

“What’s left of me will only be found in the deepest dungeon of Aedirn, I know.” Geralt holds his gaze steadily. These threats would be laughable if not so tiring. “No need to repeat yourself so many times, my lord.”

The promise hangs in the air. Just when Valdo Marx opens his mouth again, they are interrupted by soft footsteps padding from the other end of the hallway.

“Geralt? What’s taking so—Oh, Valdo.” Jaskier blinks while turning the corner, his sleep-rumpled hair sticking to all directions. His nightshirt is all wrinkled and unbuttoned halfway down, revealing thick chest hair. A soft woolen robe is draped around the prince’s shoulders. “Why are you still here? It’s so late, just go home already.”

And Valdo Marx, wordsmith and seasoned politician, is spluttering.

“I—Julian.” The other lord bows, way too formally, and clears his throat. His eyes are darting all over the place, avoiding the unkept picture of the prince. His already flushed face is turning a bright red. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. That is…um, why I stayed.”

“I’m fine, just tired.” Jaskier rubs at his heart in the guise of adjusting the shirt. “Now will you go? You did so well, as always. You deserve some rest.” Despite the weariness in Jaskier’s eyes, a hearty smile lights up his face, and Geralt hears Valdo’s breaths catch.

“If you say so, Julian.” The lord nods before taking his leave, throwing another stern look over his shoulder at the witcher, only to avert them when Jaskier drops all pretense and burrows into Geralt’s embrace with his back to the exit. The clicking of Valdo’s heels fastens almost desperately.

Geralt would have sympathized with the man if he didn’t have something much more important to take care of.

“Are you really fine?” Geralt asks quietly, frowning when Jaskier’s freezing hands press against the nape of his neck, and the prince shakes his head faintly.

“Not when you’re held up for so long, darling. I’m still waiting for my late-night snack,” Jaskier mumbles into the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“It’ll be brought up in a minute.”

“You are the sweetest.”

“Valdo, actually. He thought of it.”

“Oh.” Jaskier pulls away, surprised. “Have I told you that I learned the lute just to spite him, back when we were kids?”

“You can tell me now.”

The prince wraps the robe tighter around his torso and steers Geralt towards their bedroom. “It’s a great tale that ends with my sweeping triumph, my dear. If you will just follow me.”

Gladly.

Valdo’s words keep turning in Geralt’s head for the rest of the evening as he helps Jaskier with a simple meal before letting him retire again. Asleep for the second time, the prince looks uncharacteristically small, his frame swathed by the thick velvety blankets, carefully tucked around him to fend off the chills. A shadow falls under his long lashes, making Jaskier’s features appear a lot younger than he is, a fragile buttercup, even an innocent one.

But Geralt’s prince is anything but innocent. Not when he’s seen no less evil than anyone on this continent, not when he’s hurt deeply for acting against it.

Geralt wraps his body around the prince, and knows for a fact that he is willing to follow Jaskier anywhere on this journey.

*

Geralt fusses with the cuffs of his ceremonial doublet one last time when the servant rushes in.

“It’s the king,” the boy says with rounded eyes. “He just collapsed, sir. The prince is with him.”

When he gets to the other side of the castle, there must be more than a dozen people in the corridor, close friends of the royal family waiting outside of the wooden double doors. Among them is Valdo, pacing anxiously at the edge of the crowd.

There are only two heartbeats in the king’s chamber, one steady, the other one weak and erratic, like a candle in the wind.

Geralt doesn’t need to smell the decay in the air or the stale melancholy trapped in the building to know that the king is dying.

Through the closed doors, Jaskier’s soft whimpers follow the king’s hoarse murmurs. Geralt forces his heightened senses away from what must be a private moment, the last heart-to-heart Jaskier will ever have with his father. He shouldn’t intrude.

The collar is too tight. Geralt rests his hand against the door by instinct, wanting more than anything to be with Jaskier, to hold and comfort him. Waiting out here might just be the cruelest torture when Jaskier is hurting in there.

“Geralt,” Valdo interrupts the witcher’s wandering mind, “I’m sorry that it’s happening today.”

Geralt blinks at the genuine sympathy on the other man’s face. “It’s hardly about me, Valdo.”

They turn their heads towards the king’s bedchamber in unison. The young prince sitting at his father’s deathbed is the single focus of both men, of everyone standing in this corridor, and soon enough, of this entire country and all of the northern kingdoms.

“Still, I was warming up to you, witcher. It’s a shame your big day has to end like this.”

Geralt hums, and, “Thank you, my lord.”

In the dim light, Geralt’s attire appears to be a homogenous dark fabric, the embroidery easily overlooked—buttercups, threaded with the same black as the silk. Subtle, but they are there. There are hidden buttercups all over him, weaving through his color and laying claim.

Jaskier would appreciate the design. Geralt brushes his thumb over one flower sadly.

“Did he tell you already?” Valdo asks.

“About what?”

“The investigation.”

A frown creases between Geralt’s brows. “I thought you couldn’t trace it back to Calanthe? That there was no proof.”

“Because it wasn’t her. Think about it. Since when has Calanthe resorted to a shady kill like this in the past? The Lioness was angry at our prince and she was vocal about it, but you’d think she’d just charge across the Yaruga with a sword in her hand,” the blonde man snorts. “We were looking the wrong way.”

“Jaskier never told me.” Geralt stands there, dumbfounded.

“He was protecting you. Again.”

Annoyance licks up in Geralt’s chest, burning for answers. “What is the truth, then? You have no inclination of doing the same, Valdo. Just tell me.”

The lord drags the witcher away from the murmuring crowd and lowers his voice in secrecy. “We were overthinking it by assuming it was an elaborate plan, but it hit me one day. How can we be so blind when it’s right in front—”

“Out with it.” Geralt grits his teeth and finally the noble sighs and ceases stalling.

“A friendly fire.”

“The poisonous arrow was friendly.” Geralt deadpans.

“When it was sent by someone who only wished to deter Julian from furthering his plans and angering every other king in the north by siding with the elves. Someone who arranged an attempt on his life only to scare him off, but didn’t anticipate the one million things that could go wrong on the day.” Valdo sends a heavy look to the closed double door. “Someone dear to Julian. Someone who has regretted the decision since.”

Geralt feels like all air has been punched out of his lungs. His knuckles crack and his nails are close to drawing blood from the palm. It’s because of Valdo’s hand halting him in place that Geralt is not charging into the room.

“His own father…” Geralt murmurs, suddenly all strength saps from his body and he just wants to get Jaskier out of this damned place, away from the man who’s supposed to support him but instead almost took his life. “I need to go in.”

“Don’t. These people will know something’s wrong. This cannot get out,” Valdo hisses. Down the hall, a few lords and ladies are already throwing them some curious looks.

“Jaskier knows this,” Geralt says, shaking off the buzzing in his ears.

“And he’s made his peace with it, and now they are spending their last moments together. Your anger, or mine, is—”

The double doors open with a creak, and there Jaskier is, eyes red-rimmed but his back straight.

“—pointless.”

Valdo completes the sentence but Geralt pays no mind. When he reaches Jaskier’s side with a few quick strides, there’s no other heartbeat inside the room, only silence. His world narrows down to the thrumming in Jaskier’s chest.

The palpitation is unmistakable. Fluttering dangerously.

So is the stench of overpowering pain, mixed with the distinct citrus floral scent that is Jaskier and the never-ending decay of a sick old man. Geralt almost gags.

“The king is dead,” the prince announces the tragedy. A few nobles reply with kind words. It all fades into background noises.

Geralt’s gaze fixes on the man he’s supposed to marry this very day, and watches as Jaskier bites into his lips when another quiver happens upon the spasming muscles of his heart like the wings of a hummingbird. A lady reaches out to offer condolences, so Jaskier takes her hands and thanks her. His features reveal nothing.

The paleness could be taken as a result of grief, the tremor as well. The guests remain blissfully oblivious to the agony their prince is in, and one by one they come to him and linger.

But Jaskier’s agony cannot escape Geralt’s eyes, not when he’s the one most intimate to those heartaches that have been with Jaskier since the day they met. A sheen of sweat gathers at Jaskier’s forehead, his lips pursed into a tight line, but the prince won’t show any weakness to these people. Instead, he stands tall and proud, stubborn like the first dandelion in the spring, blossoming where the wind is cruel and the soil still frozen.

“Julian,” Valdo calls out the name like a prayer.

“I need you, Valdo.” Jaskier’s voice cracks, the first outward indication of discomfort. “We’ve found ourselves in the most precarious situation, and I—”

Jaskier breaks off for air, squeezes his eyes shut to ride out a chill down his spine. Geralt catches the prince by the elbow and instantly Jaskier leans into the support.

“I will make the arrangement for you, my prince,” Valdo replies when the prince schools his expression back to normal and gives out a trusting smile.

“I depend on you, all of you,” Jaskier addresses the crowd, “for the future of this land we share. But now it’s time for me to grieve, my good people. Allow me some privacy and time with my husband.”

The slip goes unnoticed when the lords and ladies are led out and the only people left are Geralt, Valdo and Jaskier himself. The prince lets out a labored gasp, staggers, and sags against Geralt’s chest like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Shit. Jask—” Geralt scrambles to keep him up but Jaskier drops like a leaf in the wind and they both end up on the floor in a heap of limbs. He looks to Valdo in desperation.

“I’ll get the healer. Julian, please hang on.” The other man’s hand lingers by Jaskier’s wrist before he hurries away, but the prince seems unaware.

And it’s just them, alone on their wedding day.

Jaskier’s ragged breathing echoes in the empty hallway and Geralt has never felt more helpless in his long life. The prince’s face crumbles in agony and his body won’t stop shaking.

“Hey, just look at me.” Geralt places Jaskier’s cheek against his shoulder so their gazes meet, the cornflower blue not responding. “Why do you need to be so stubborn? Damn you, Jaskier…”

“You are wea—wearing buttercups, Geralt. Look—” A boneless hand comes up to caress the dark embroidery on Geralt’s collar, Jaskier’s eyes sparkle with fascination before a tremor racks his body again and contorts him into a writhing mess.

“Shh. Don’t talk, Jask. Save your strength.”

Geralt’s words are drowned in fear, and he can only wrap a steady hand around Jaskier’s cold, clammy one and hold it over the prince’s frantic heart in the hope of easing the tightly wound muscles underneath.

“But…but I’m all over you. Like you are all over me. See?” Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s fingers and that’s when he notices the wolf pattern sewn into Jaskier’s sleeve for the first time, silver thread against white. A perfect symmetry between them.

Despite himself, the corners of Geralt’s lips tug into a sad smile, and it is soon returned by Jaskier. His eyes well up in the process. From the physical strain or grief, Geralt isn’t sure.

“I don’t need it to know that I’m yours, my prince. Now and always.”

Where Jaskier bit into his lips earlier seeps with crimson, a stark contrast against his bloodless complexion, the look in his eyes dreamy and far-away.

“My knight in shining armor. My savior.” Jaskier says in earnest before something dawns in his eyes and devastation sets in. A whimper chokes in his throat. “You, Geralt…Will you betray me too? Even…my own father. The person closest to me. But how can he? How—”

The prince squirms against Geralt’s chest and struggles to take in air, his cheeks soaked wet with sweat and tears. Something twists in Geralt’s stomach powerlessly as he hears the wheezing sounds in Jaskier’s lungs.

“I won’t, Jaskier. Please,” Geralt pleads into Jaskier’s hair but it falls on deaf ears. Strings of words tumble out of his mouth, delirious and nonsensical.

“We didn’t even have the time…couldn’t even make it right. There was no time…”

Geralt shushes him and tries to calm Jaskier’s breathing by stroking his back but it only makes it worse. The deterioration is happening too fast, juxtaposed with grief and shock that Jaskier’s already weakened heart cannot handle. Geralt fears the worst.

“My father, I—they all hurt me and leave me…Like my… Don’t leave me, G’ralt—" Jaskier clings and pleads, but cannot escape the cage made out of his sorrow.

“I won’t. Not when you’ve promised the same, Jask. Stay with me. Just stay with me, please.”

He’s trying.

Jaskier is trying and failing. And it’s the last straw.

“It hurts too much.”

With that, blue eyes roll into the back of his head and Jaskier collapses in Geralt’s embrace, the column of his neck exposed with the strain and the pulse underneath faint like a whisper. His listless hand slips from Geralt’s grip and hits the floor.

Carefully as if any more force would break Jaskier’s skin, Geralt presses his lips to Jaskier’s still ones and tastes of copper and salt. He draws out the kiss like in those fairytales, like a proper true love’s kiss. When he finally pulls away, a swarm of healers and nurses are surrounding them and Geralt is pulled away by hands he doesn’t recognize.

But Jaskier doesn’t wake from the kiss.

Not like in the stories.

---

I know Jaskier isn’t having the best day but I promise this story has a happy ending. <3

Also I’m not sure who wants to be tagged for this one, but feel free to tell me ;)

[miscellaneous-obsession]

Hi, I'm not sure if you do requests but I came across your ongoing fic about Alcina Dimitrescu and the maiden. I was wondering if you could write an angst piece about the family involving Ethan Winters and him carrying out his mission in the castle (as hinted during gameplay)? You can make it as sad and gory as you want!

Ah thank you for the ask, I really tried to go all out with the piece! Also please note this was written before canon details of the girl's weakness was revealed.

The Inevitable

Warnings: Graphic violence, death of main characters, implied suicide, details of injury and blood, use of blades and guns and not suitable for minors.

Anguish consumed her entire being as sobs were ripped from her throat, each more violent than the last. Her chest heaved, becoming more breathless as tears relentlessly trailed down her cheeks, falling only to land on the creamy expanse of Alcina's dress.

Being the last to have turned, Ethan presumed her mortal connections of humanity lingered longer than most. The emotional intensity of the scene that unfolded before him forced him to avert his gaze as guilt threatened to tear through his heart. He was the cause of such destruction; he had laid waste, bringing about the death of a family in reparation and retaliation for the loss of his own.

He called them monsters, but there was always a chance he was wrong. Was it he who was becoming the villain of the story?

Forcing himself to face the consequences of his actions, his stomach turned. Recalling the events that led him to believe that the brunette was the first he had slaughtered. She had walked into the hall unsuspecting of the company hovering above on the bannister, perched in wait, ready to leap onto her frame. Unable to swarm and seek help from her sisters, Ethan had plunged a blade through the skin and muscle of her neck with such force even the crunch of bone and cartilage echoed alongside a gurgled scream. Her eyes had widened, arms flailing helplessly as her mind continued to fight, hoping that this was not her untimely end.

"Cassandra," the cry of her name rang throughout the expansive room and with force, Ethan was flung from his position over the fading woman. The redhead looked torn; anger and sorrow clashed together like waves against a cliff. Her bottom lip trembled as tears threatened to spill over with the force she blinked, a truly futile effort to contain them.

"You can't go, Cassie; who will I bicker with?"

Ethan had recovered by then, his heart aching with a drop of adrenaline as these sisters were forced to part, separated by planes of existence by his actions. The brunette now lay lifeless in a pool of her own blood, cradled by whom he knew to be Daniela. The very same redhead remained unguarded, vulnerable, and against his better judgement, he retrieved his gun. Solely focused on Cassandra's corpse, Daniela had less than a second to react as she unsheathed her sickle, refracting the bullet, so it embedded within wooden panelling rather than her head. 

"You bastard," with sloppy movements, she swung the blade that remained coated in her previous victim's blood. Advancing with ferocity, Ethan was compelled to retreat; his steps backward created a minute distance only to be quickly eliminated by Daniela's persistence. With both knife and gun in hand, Ethan continued to parry, deflecting potentially lethal blows, waiting patiently for an opening.

Two sounds followed in succession, first a second shot of the gun, then the thud of a fallen body. Not far from her elder sister lay Daniela, her body shaking as she slid across the marbled floor leaving behind an abhorrent bloody trail in her wake. Her effort was not in vain as she curled into Cassandra's now cooling body, hoping for a semblance of comfort in the absence of her mothers and only remaining sister.

Seconds later, the matriarch's wife stormed in, her fury no less palpable than her youngest’s. "No," her voice was soft as disbelief seeped in; ignoring the direct threat before her, she came to her daughter's side. The redhead forced a smile, hoping to alleviate the distress that crossed her mama's face.

"Mama," that sole word was enough for the maiden to hush the girl who she pecked on her forehead.

"Relax, Dani, you did so well, my darling. I am proud, so proud."

The slight smile, still as toothy as ever, cracked the maiden's heart, knowing it would be the last she caught from her daughter.

"Cassandra will be waiting, so do not fear, for you won't be alone."

The comfort Daniela sought was given in tenfold as always, and as she closed her two-toned eyes for the final time, she was only aware of her mama's delicate fingers carding through her hair. 

Much like her daughter, who had just passed, the blonde could not contain her pain at the sight of her deceased children. Although before Ethan could act, the two remaining ladies of the house emerged, summoned by the ruckus he was responsible for.

Bela surged forward after a single glance to her younger sisters; her protective nature had not dulled even in their deaths. On the other hand, Alcina flew to her wife's side, sharing in the grief that constricted their unbeating hearts. Never had she thought that a single man could enact such damage.

Bela was relentless, her anger conforming to her will and an advantage as she slashed with precision. Her blade getting too close for comfort for Ethan's liking, but he was prepared. Blocking and countering with his own attacks saw the blonde thrown off-kilter, her movements becoming sluggish as she expended her energy far too much over the course of the evening.

Observing her daughters struggles, Alcina moved to step in, only to be too late as Ethan used Bela's momentum against her. With her sickle wedged within the hearth of the fireplace, unable to rip it out in time, both blade and bullets penetrated her unprotected abdomen. The inhuman cry from Alcina sent Ethan staggering as she pulled Bela into her embrace, coaxing and pleading for her to stay awake. Quickly cream became crimson within seconds but was ignored in favour of re-joining her wife. Held safely in her mother's arms brought Bela a semblance of peace; she desperately wanted to stay but knew there was nothing to fear anymore, for she had her sisters to join.

"I'm sorry, mother, mama," she looked to them in turn as she spoke their favoured terms of endearment, eyes fluttering with each movement.

"Nonsense dragă mea, you were perfect." 

A small nod from the maiden confirmed Alcina's statement, confident that her daughter had succeeded. "Rest Bela," was the last thing the blonde heard as she slipped into an endless sleep, still held and cradled in the soothing caress that her mothers provided.

Only when they were sure did they let go, allowing Bela to lay by her sisters, placed with such delicacy it surprised Ethan. Only two to go; it was a thought that crossed his mind as both women stood, bodies stiff and ready to pounce as though they were predators and he was their prey.

Both matriarch and her wife were riddled with injuries by the end of the fight, Alcina more so as she had taken blows in an effort to save her beloved. Foolishly it was this notion, her own sentimentality, that brought about her end. Having collapsed her wife catching her with practised ease, Alcina was held against the blonde's chest. With an urgent need to convey her love, Alcina forced herself upright, seeking the lips of her maiden. Granting one of her last requests, her beloved closed the distance, savouring what would be the final kiss in which the matriarch would or could reciprocate. A hand rose to Alcina's cheek as she came to rest her head in the column of her wife's neck, fingers tracing skin with unparalleled tenderness. Ethan's own heart ached, he had lost his wife, his Mia, and he was the reason his ancestor was losing her own.

"I'll be with you soon, my love; I promise even death won't separate us."

Alcina hummed, although not in disagreement; she too did not want to be parted in the afterlife. "You are mine dragă mea."

"I am yours just as you are mine; that will never change."

Smoothing out tangled curls, the maiden pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her wife's head. Seconds later, Alcina's chest stilled and only then did the final Dimitrescu shed her tears, leading to the scene Ethan saw before him.

"Where is my daughter?"

No success, her sobs continued to wrack her body, oblivious to the man's question as she pressed her face into the top of her wife's head.

"Where is Rose?"

He demanded louder each time, growing more frustrated with a lack of results he had hoped to achieve from this massacre. Eventually, without any patience left, he drew closer, his footfalls treading carefully across stained floors. Extending an arm, allowing a hand to come into contact with the blonde’s shoulder, snapped the maiden’s attention to the man who murdered her family, her innate fear of being removed from her beloved squashed upon meeting his bitter gaze.

"Why would I tell you anything, Ethan Winters?"

For once, he had no response, but she filled the silence with her resentful tone, despite her wavering voice and quivering lip. "You hold no more bargaining chips. You played your cards much too early. How foolish a man to have made such avoidable mistakes."

He scoffed as if to refute her statement; despite all of the stacking evidence that she was right, some small part of his mind refused to acknowledge or toy with the concept that she was wrong.

"You want a daughter you will not find; I will not divulge a secret of which I was entrusted with. For you killed my daughters, my wife, my everything. Nothing you can say or do could repair or undo the damage you have caused. You will leave here knowing you have failed."

With that said, the maiden prepared for the inevitable, for Ethan's weapons to end her life much like he had the other four Dimitrescu's at her refusal to share what information he desired. Holding her wife tighter and an arm resting across her daughters, she waited. But the blow nor bullet she anticipated came, leaving a hollow, empty sensation festering in her chest.

"I won't kill you until I leave with what I came for."

"Unfortunately for you, that is the opposite of what will happen."

Before Ethan could stop her, she grabbed her youngest’s discarded sickle, and for all to hear, she said aloud, "In life and in death, glory to Mother Miranda." The weapon was swung with force, finalising the end of the Dimitrescu household, allowing the last member to come to rest, still clutching her wife's body with a loosened grip.

Ethan had failed.

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

Only hours later, without hearing from his sister, did Heisenberg approach the castle. Lacking his lycans or other substantial back up he entered silently, aware of the games that may be ongoing. He did not want to spoil his niece's fun.

Entering the hall brought about a shock; in the light of the fires dying embers lay those who he had called his family. Untouched from the fight, Daniela was held between her sisters, flanked on either side, just as she had adored as a child. Alcina was to their right, body held by her wife, who distinctly lacked the sickle once embedded in her skin. The very weapon was strewn to the side, still marred by her blood. Those emerald eyes Alcina adored to talk of were now closed in respect, an unforeseen gesture carried out by none other than the man who wreaked such havoc before having absconded. The matriarch's wife had her arm extended, albeit stiff with rigour mortis, across the girls, forever comforting them in a maternal gesture.

Never did Karl anticipate an ending like this, although he was only thankful for their departure together, for they remained a family even in their time of death.

But for now, it was time to inform Mother Miranda of their demise.

[angelguk]

→ sorry (not sorry) — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jeongguk

word count: 8.1k

genre: smut + umm everyone is pining on each other + jeongguk has a secret crush on oc hehe + college!au + fluff (kind of) + enemies to let’s fuck cause i like you lmaoo

warnings: oral sex (f receiving) / mutual orgasms / face sitting / fingering / jeongguk has a big dick / plot is there somewhere / this is continuation of the drabble where jeongguk broke oc’s vibrator (go read it in my masterlist if you would like but this can be read separately!) / protected sex / use of the pet name baby / a little bit of biting hehe

soundtracks: crush, cigarettes after sex + manic pixie dream, chloe lilac  

Jeongguk knows there’s something wrong the moment you step through the door. There’s a palpable tension in the air as you strut past the living room, where he’s sitting lax on the couch bundled up in the soft grey blankets Seokjin had bought for the apartment. You don’t spare him a glance but Jeongguk’s eyes move without his permission, gaze greedily trailing after your figure. The dress clinging to your frame shimmers in the soft glow of the apartment lights, a deep claret that looks stunning against your skin tone. His throat goes dry the moment your strides bring the high slit cut along the side into existence. The sudden span of skin makes his mind go blank, tongue heavy in his mouth as he stares at you. The greeting he was about to mutter stays lost in his throat, a strange throbbing in the back of his head matching the rhythm of your heels clacking sharply against the tiles.

It wasn’t like you were going to say anything back to him, he reasons, the thud of your door slamming resounding through the quiet building. Seokjin wasn’t home for once, leaving the two of you to wallow in your mutual relationship of abhorrence - except it wasn’t a mutual relationship at all. While Jeongguk knew you hated him, he never disliked you. Yes, sometimes you irked him with your obstinacy and sharp words but you were also hilarious and unabashedly spoke your mind; traits he greatly admired. He enjoyed being your roommate for the most part. The jabs you threw at him were always handed back with a mellow grin and a muffled laugh on his side but that was shattered by the incident. Which Jeongguk has been painfully trying to forget.

He’ll admit, he was wrong for that. Digging through other people’s stuff was out of character for him but Seokjin had sworn he’d seen you using a massaging machine when Jeongguk had voiced his extreme back pain to him one afternoon. He’d waited patiently for you to come home so that he could ask to borrow it, but it was growing late and his back was aching so he decided to borrow it first and ask later. He hadn’t intended on breaking the thing. It had just given up after a few hard presses into the thick knots in his shoulders. Jeongguk had neatly tucked it back exactly where he found it, completely unaware that he had ruined the mechanics of it. He didn’t even think you would notice, but of course, you did - it was your vibrator after all.

He cringes even at that minute realization, tugging the blankets tighter around him as his eyes stare blankly at the show flashing on the television screen. There’s an essay demanding to be written on his laptop but every fibre in his being is refusing to do it, the tension in the household making his stress one thousand times worse. He didn’t even like coming home nowadays - too many awkward silences and hate-filled glares in this confining space. But he’d abused his right to sleep on Jimin’s couch and had been promptly kicked out by his best friend due to that. Being in the apartment still sucked. Massively. Because you’ve barely spoken to him. It’s been two weeks since the incident and not a peep had come out of your mouth. Seokjin had reached a point where he’d began demanding that dinner had to be eaten together, once he’d picked up on the rage radiating off you whenever you were around Jeongguk. But that just ended in you shovelling your food down your throat and leaving the table early while Seokjin just stared at the both of you and Jeongguk just stared at his food. It was beginning to become inconvenient for everyone around you - especially your joint group of friends.

But he didn’t know how to approach you anymore, the apology Namjoon and Hoseok made him rehearse sticking to the back of his throat whenever you were around. You made everything seem cold, with your clamped lips and harsh eyes. If he’s being honest with himself, he misses the small smiles he would rise out of you whenever the two of you argued. And the sound of your giggles colouring the room. And having you look at him with a gaze that didn’t scream hatred. In general, he just misses you.

But it’s not like you’re going to let him in. He must have crossed a line, broken something in the precarious relationship you had. And it makes him mad at himself.

“Jeongguk?” It’s quiet, breaking through the drone of the television and hitting his ears hard. For a split-second he thinks he’s imagined it, the sound of his name leaving your lips. But then you say it again, firmer this time. A demand for attention. “Jeongguk?”

“Huh, yeah?” He’s scrambling off the seat, nearly tumbling onto the floor due to the tight bundle he’d wrapped himself in. “Yes?”

“Could you come here for a minute?” The door is cracked open, your face peeking through the tiny opening. Even from this distance, he can tell that your mascara is smudged, dark shadows streaking down your cheeks. He moves without a compliant, tossing the blanket onto the couch as he shuffles towards your room. There’s a tight feeling in his chest, and suddenly the television seems nonexistent, a silence in his head that’s punctuated by the thumping of his heart.

You stay quiet, falling back into the room with your back turned to him. Jeongguk follows, hesitant as he steps inside your space. A stark contrast to his brazen behaviour the last time he was in here, shamelessly digging through your stuff. The heels you were wearing sit idle in the corner of your room, little black strappy things that make his skin heat up. But then his gaze travels to you, standing expectant by your bed, and suddenly the air seems like it’s stifling, closing in on him with every passing second.

The glimpse he got of your walking past when you’d stormed into the apartment is nothing compared to this. The dress is fitted, shimmery fabric flitting perfectly along every curve and line of your body. It dips dangerously in the front, soft fabric draping over your chest. He keeps his eyes on your face though, afraid to stray further down because there’s a situation rapidly forming in his pants. But the frustrated look you’re giving him puts an end to that rather quickly, his apprehension settling firmly on his shoulders.

“Yeah?” He says because you’re not saying anything, eyes distant as your stare at the wall behind him. You shake your head the moment he speaks, the little gold chain dangling around your neck swaying with the movement.

“Sorry, I’m a little bit out of it. Could you help me unzip my dress?”

Jeongguk blanches. It’s a natural response, the blood in his system already roaring. He doesn’t know what to say, mouth agape, like a fish as you look at him, gaze unwavering.

“Y-yeah, sure,” He splutters, feet moving closer. But his palms are clammy and when you turn around, displaying the zip that runs along the back of your dress, his breath hitches. Everything in him hopes you didn’t hear that.

“Thank you,” You mumble, somewhat embarrassed by your request. You have been valiantly ignoring Jeongguk for the past few weeks now, so asking him for this favour was completely out of place. But you desperately need to get out of this dress, already irritated by the audacity and rudeness of the stupid boy you’d agreed to go out on a date with. He’d said so many infuriating things that you can’t even begin to think about them or your blood pressure spikes. And with the absence of your preferred toy due to Jeongguk’s annoying curiosity, you’d also lost one of your favourite forms of stress relief that you enjoyed. The sexual frustration coupled with the horrible date you’ve just experienced had you on edge and the last thing you wanted was this dress clinging to your skin. You don’t even know why you wore it - that guy didn’t deserve to see you in it anyway.

“Were you on a date?” You nearly jump, Jeongguk’s silk voice slipping around your frame. There’s a warm hand on your back, tugging at the zip keeping this dress fastened to your body. The sudden closeness makes your skin prickle, a tingle in your gut that you chose to ignore.

“Um - yeah.” It’s the only thing you can muster up right now, brain zoning in on the graze of Jeongguk’s hand along your back as he pulls the zipper down. It’s quick, the dress falling away as he does so. You keep the front up with a tight hold against your chest, the thumping of your heart under your palm making your head swim. It doesn’t help that his hand doesn’t move despite the zipper being down, warm palm pressed against the small of your back.

“With who?” It’s not accusatory or demanding, genuine curiosity in his tone, his breath a phantom against your back.

“No one.” You refuse to even think about the guy. Mentioning his name would rekindle the anger you felt throughout the date.

“Was he a dick?” Jeongguk asks, voice gentle. He finally moves away, the absence of the warmth of his palm nearly making you step back into him, searching for that strange comfort.

“Yes,” You retort instead, turning around to find his eyes on you, something swimming in the brown of his eyes. You can’t decipher what he’s thinking.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” He mumbles, rocking on the soles of his feet. “That sucks.”

“It does,” You reply, feeling oddly exposed even though the front of your dress is pressed against your chest. Jeongguk nods, and you suddenly begin to wonder why he’s still in the room. When you open your mouth to tell him to leave, Jeongguk beats you to it, babbling out something that has your body freezing over.

“Were you going to sleep with him?” He asks, eyes glued on the floor. It rushes out his mouth, the words bleeding into each other in his hastiness. 

“How is that any of your business?” You snap back, wanting him away from you immediately. The irritation that you feel against Jeongguk that you’d allowed to subside for a moment comes violently rushing back, sending your blood pounding in your head. A small part of you still lingers on the warm print of his palm against your skin, though, reluctant to give up the emotions you felt when he was touching you just yet. 

“It’s just - you’re wearing that - that matching stuff,” He mumbles. Stuff? He’s talking like he’s twelve.

“You mean my lingerie?” Your cheeks burn when you realise that you’d accidentally given Jeongguk a front-row seat to view your undergarments when you’d asked him to unzip you.

“Yeah.”

“Well...I wasn’t opposed to sleeping with him. And then he turned out to be a dick so I left.” You hope he can dedict the lack of interest to keep this conversation going in your voice. He doesn’t.

“Oh. Bummer.”

“Yep.” You’re starting to get annoyed at him. “You can leave now.”

That does sting, a sharp little dagger settling in his heart, but Jeongguk nods away, hating how hot his face is. He doesn’t look at you as he walks away, hands balled up in a tight fist and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. It’s only at the doorway that he halts, slipper shuffling against the ground. When he glances back, mouth falling open, you can’t help but note the rouge tinge of his ears peeking out from his messy brown curly man. Or the strange determination swimming in his eyes.

“Sorry about your vibrator,” Jeongguk murmurs, tone timider than he intended. He clears his throat, gaze faltering from yours. “I really didn’t mean to break it. I can get you a new one soon. I’ve saved up enough - I think. Just tell me the make and I’ll sort out the rest,”

You nibble at the inside of your cheek, a funny feeling blooming within your chest. But your mood is still too sore to soften up to his apology just yet. There’s still a lot about Jeongguk that irks you, but this was nice of him. His genuineness draws a tiny smile onto your face.

“It’s fine, Jeongguk. You didn’t need to do that. I’ve already ordered a new one. I was just really mad at you for snooping through my stuff-”

“I’m sorry about that too,” He interrupts, slipping back into your room. He must have forgotten that you’re still half-naked. You clutch the front of your dress tightly, ignoring the odd warmth the ebbs from your core. “It was totally out of line and I understand why you were mad. I still want to get you something, though. Food, maybe? Or another toy?” The way his cheeks bloom rose makes your heart slam into your chest. “Ignore me. I’m just blabbering at this point.”

You huff out a laugh, despite being slightly irritated. “Did offer me something better.” There’s a long beat of silence that follows that. You intended it to be a joke, yet the words feel like something else entirely. It came out without a second thought, but you immediately want to snatch back the words, the silence that descends upon you suffocating. You suddenly can’t look at Jeongguk and he’s blatantly not staring at you. When you finally gained the courage to tear your eyes away from the pedicure on your feet (which was a waste really), Jeongguk’s mouth is already parting, a series of words drifting from his mouth that make your heart stop in your chest.

“My offer..still stands if you want it.” There’s instant regret on his face. He doesn’t know why he said that. Perhaps it’s the way you look in that dress that has his head feeling foggy. Or maybe it's how warm your body felt underneath his fingertips. Or maybe it's the tiny (read massive) crush that he’s been harbouring over you for the past five months turning the gears in his head. But he sees the incredulity plastered across your face he wants the press rewind button on his life so bad. So so bad. 

He chokes out a laugh swiftly. “I’m joking, don’t worry.” And then he spins on his heel and wonders how much it would cost to move to Cuba right now. Like right now. He’ll book the plane ticket the second he’s out of your room. But you stop him from leaving with a simple sentence that has his whole body lighting up in a blazing fire that threatens to consume him.

“Are you really joking, Jeongguk?”

His smile is sheepish when he slowly turns back around. “...No?” A lot is running through his head and he stumbles over the words that fall out of his mouth. “If you want to, of course. I mean - your vibrator is broken and I - I don’t know what other toys you have but I presume you’re still sexually frustrated and I don’t mind if you use me - not like that but like I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to - I don’t know how to put this but like I said before a replacement. I could be like a replacement, if you want to I would be down. I wouldn’t mind it if-”

“Jeongguk, relax. I get it.” You’re so calm and it’s making him even more anxious. He despises the loud thumping of his heart that roars in his head. But he’s so caught up in his mind, overanalyzing his actions, that he misses the blush spreading across your skin. 

“I don’t need a dick replacement,” You say. He deflates. Which he didn’t expect to happen but he literally feels how his chest sinks into itself. “I have a dildo.”

“Okay.” He forces it out, ready to leave because this situation is the most embarrassing thing he’s ever thrown himself into. “That’s fine. That’s okay.”

“No wait - I don’t really enjoy using it...So if you want...I wouldn’t be opposed to your offer.” You can feel your blood rushing into your heart, a frenetic thumping inside of your chest that hurts. There’s a warmth in your core that makes you agree to it. It doesn’t help that Jeongguk is naturally attractive; easy grin and contagious laugh that you’d gradually learnt to love during your time with him. And that’s not including the way he’s built. You’re not blind. You live with him for heaven’s sake. Jeongguk also had an affinity for walking around shirtless at ridiculous times. There were moments where you had to hole yourself up in your room because you just couldn’t stand to see his golden bare skin on displayed, firm toned muscles and broad shoulders luring you. There was a reason you avoided Jeongguk during your ovulation. Not like he noticed that anyway.

Even now, with his worn plaid pyjama pants clinging around his tapered waist and the loose sheer white shirt billowing from his body, he still looks good. Your face is warm, palms clammy at the prospect of touching him. Then he cocks his head, soft curls tumbling into his face and the corner of his petal pink lip turning upward. You abhor how your burst, like a star, the heat that erupts through you dangerous. 

“You sure?” He ruffles his head, hesitant, but he’s moving towards you with quick steps. 

“Yes.” You hope it came out firm, not shaky like it sounded in your throat. He’s incredibly close now, and you can’t help but clutch the front of your dress with taut fingers, like you don’t want him to take it off. He notes that with a quick flicker downward of his eyes, halting right in front of you.

“Are you really sure?” There’s apprehension clinging to his question.

“Yes,” You reiterate, fingers itching to slip underneath his chest. His chest is so wide. Why is his chest so wide? “Are we going to do this or not?”

“Yeah, um, yes. We’re doing this.” Jeongguk can’t believe that he’s doing this. That you’re allowing him to do this. He also doesn’t know where to begin, brain blanking with the torrent of fantasies that pour from his mind. But then his gaze slips down to your bright crimson covered lips and he naturally moves in without a second thought. He can start there right. Just a kiss, a simple kiss. If it’s so simple why does his brain feel like it’s going to explode?

You can see the thought settle in his head the moment his brown eyes settle on you. You’re so close that you can see the multitude of tones swimming in his gaze; speckles of honey and gold that hold you captive in this silence, your heart drumming fast in your chest. His tongue sneaks out to swipe at his bottom lip, pink and wet. You can’t deny the shiver that travels across your skin, descending deep inside your gut, kindling a flame that threatens to consume you. When he closes in on you, you freeze, wine coated tongue heavy in your mouth. You forget how to breathe for a moment, frazzled by the sudden enclosure. But then you feel his breath brush against you and your brain snaps back into the moment.

“Don’t kiss me.” It’s harsher than it sounded in your head. He’s wounded, evident by the long look he gives you as he pulls away, the hands that were moulding around your waist drawing back too.

“Okay.” It’s somewhat timid, uncharacteristic for Jeongguk. He seems suddenly unsure like he’s trekking on undiscovered ground and he’s afraid to act on the whims swimming in his head in case he provokes you and ends up getting hurt. You want to tell him that you don’t bite, but you're too on edge tonight to coddle him. But he still gives you that kicked puppy look, doe eyes staring at you bewildered. “No kissing.”

“No kissing,” You affirm, clutching onto your dress rather desperately. “Let’s not do more than we have to.”

“But are you even wet?” Jeongguk questions, standing rather awkwardly. You pretend not to notice the tent in his sweatpants. But he also has a point. Despite the tension in the air, you’re rather dry between your legs. He must know he’s right because there’s a glimmer of a smirk tugging at his pink lips, eyes suddenly glinting deviously. “I knew it. You’re not even wet.”

“Why would I be?” You retort, skin hot from the attention of his gaze. “You’ve barely even touched me.”

“Because you won’t even let me,” He retorts. His hands suddenly settling on your waist, drawing you closer to him. Maybe you let out a little noise that you refuse to acknowledge. Jeongguk eats it up though, firm hands trailing gently along the smooth fabric of your dress. “If you could just,” He tugs at it, rather roughly and something spikes in your belly. “Take this off, we could start.”

“I don’t recall my vibrator being able to talk and make demands,” You bite back, grasp firm on the flimsy material that’s preventing you from being butt naked in front of your least favourite roommate. Jeongguk quirks an eyebrow, his hands resting along your back, the heat of his palm against the silver of exposed skin there making your eyes flutter.

“You want me to be quiet?” The immediate answer is no. You despised it when your partners were silent. Noises were a confirmation that you were doing things right - making them feel the way you were feeling. It was also an ego boost that you desired, something that made you feel completely in control and capable for once. But you’re not sure that you want to share that intimacy with Jeongguk of all people. He was the guy who ate your leftovers without asking, left dirty socks all over the apartment and never did he’s dishes for some reason. He was also the reason you were in this predicament in the first place; because he was the one who’d dug through your stuff and broken your vibrator. You’re both infuriated and turned on, mind struggling to form a response because the pads of his fingers are grazing your skin, gently coaxing you further into his arms, a tremor echoing between your legs. You feel stupid, for being so compliant to his ministrations. But you can’t help it, already a slither of slick pooling inside your underwear from the look he’s given you coupled with the steady graze of his fingers on your back.

“I asked you a question.” There’s a sudden burst of confidence in his voice that you detect right away, most likely a consequence of the way you’re swaying in his arms. “This is about you, you know. What do you want?” That takes you off guard. You look at Jeongguk again, taking in the soft chestnut curls framing his face, brown eyes warm. There’s a funny feeling wrapping itself around your heart. You want to shake it off but it’s got claws and they dig deep until you’re left dazed.

“My neck,” You can give him that. The intimacy of having his lips on yours is not something you can handle right now. “You can kiss my neck.”

Jeongguk sighs, the soft sound floating between you as he pulls you closer. He doesn’t bother to hide the erection in his pants, his cock pressing a hard line against your stomach as he leans in, face dipping into the hollow of your neck. You jolt the moment his mouth meets your scorching skin, pushing yourself further into his sure arms, thighs instinctively pressing against each other. “Of course you’re sensitive here,” He muffles, wet tongue firm along your skin. He licks a slow stripe, coaxing another jolt from your pliant body. Your palms are splayed across his chest, the firm ropes of muscle and the erratic beating of his heart beneath your fingertips making your legs weak. And then he murmurs, tone desperate, “Take this thing off.” He moves so fast that you’re left stunned, the straps of your dress slipping down your side in his hast to get you naked. The fabric hits the floor with a soft thud, piling around your feet. He helps you out of it, gently directed you towards your bed.

The mattress sinks underneath your weight, but you barely have time to think about it because Jeongguk is caving you in, mouth back on your neck where he prints himself there. There’s a heat that surrounds your tangled bodies, sweltering in a way that makes everything heady. You cling onto him naturally, searching for a way to roll your hips into his as his mouth finds new ways to make you sigh underneath him, a steady wetness blossoming in between your legs. But Jeongguk pins you down, drawing away swiftly, his hands on your hips. 

Why the hell is his shirt on? It should be off. Right now. 

You move to yank the fabric over his head, but he halts with a soft shake of his head, pink tongue sneaking out to swipe at his bottom lip. When he sighs, gaze slowly trailing down your exposed body, something in your gut sharply tightens. His fingertips begin to wonder, pausing at the band of your black underwear. He toys with it, not seeing how your gaze is focused on the very obvious tent he’s sporting.

“You’re hard.” You can’t help but say it. The fabric of his pyjama pants is so flimsy and you can see the outline of his dick without any obstruction. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s currently going commando.

He laughs, a low sound that fills your chest. “Yeah, I am. You’re really fucking hot.” He pulls the band of your underwear. It stings when it snaps back into your skin - but you like it. “But this is not about me,” Jeongguk continues, gaze flickering upward. His eyes lock into yours and your head spins with how intense the brown in his eyes is. His steady stare glazed over with want that you can feel. His fingers drift back to your underwear, tugging at the fabric gingerly. “What do you want?” He asks again.

“I’d like it if you fucked me,” You reply, fighting through nervousness that grips at your heart. Jeongguk blinks at that. And then he smiles, a grin that’s bright and makes your heart beat wildly. 

“You’re not wet enough,” Jeongguk returns, a playfulness in his tone that’s very foreign to you. You like it though, more than you should if you’re being honest with yourself. You don’t expect the firm press of his fingers against your clothed cunt - nor the rush of arousal that gushes out from you. He grins again, grinding his fingertips right where you need him most. There’s a warmth creeping across your face because he’s unabashed with how he touches you, something you never expected from Jeongguk. 

What were you ever expecting from Jeongguk?

“See,” He says, cutting through that weird revelation in your head. “You’re not wet enough.” His trails his fingertips upwards, gingerly flicking at your clit with a smug smile on his face.

You scowl, ignoring the way your heart thumps when he does that. He’s wrong but you refuse to tell him that you’re leaking through your underwear, there would be a damp stain if the fabric wasn’t that dark. And you can feel your sling slipping onto your thighs, walls already clenching. You refuse to give him that satisfaction though. He’d barely touched you and you were dripping. His ego would never deflate.

“Make me wet enough then,” You retort instead, a blaze building in your core when he fixes you with a heated gaze.

“Make you?” He hums, fingers suddenly slipping underneath the band of your underwear. Your breath hitches at the press of his skin against your own. “Okay. Take this off. Would you like it if I ate you out?”

His eyes hold a hope that you can’t help but give into with a shy nod. You raise your hips so he can help you shimmy out of your underwear, the air cool against your bare body. But that’s quickly replaced with a warmth that sinks into your skin when Jeongguk buries his head between your thighs, his body shuffling further down the bed, his hands swinging your legs over his shoulder. You don’t expect the first lick against your folds. Your body reacts before your mind can even register the press of his tongue against you, thighs trembling around his head. Jeongguk feeds off of that, sinking his mouth on you quickly. It’s not tentative or shy, Jeongguk’s assured in his actions, his tongue pressing flat against your cunt with no hesitation. He licks you open with a soft sigh drifting from the back of his throat, deft tongue slipping into your dripping hole when your hands settle on his head. You yank at the curls sprouting from his head, hips squirming underneath the steady assault of his tongue. From the way his tongue sinks deeper into you, you can tell that he likes it, another groan against your cunt when you claw your nails into his scalp.

“J-Jeongguk!” He doesn’t shift away from the desperate grinding of your hips, a determination in the way his mouth moves against you, lips latching around your clit firmly. He swirls his tongue around it, quick little flicks that follow leaving you breathless. You can feel your wetness spreading around his mouth, it’s obscene, how much he coaxes out from you. The heat in your core spikes when he draws away and your eyes take him in. 

His hair is ruined, dark curls tousled form your desperate grabs and tugs. And his mouth glistens with your arousal, pink tongue sneaking out to press a kitten lick along your dripping folds. You chase after it, embarrassed at the knowing look Jeongguk gives you. He doesn’t comment on your neediness though, instead planting a brief kiss against your cunt, leaving you wanting for even more when he draws away. Your mouth is open, demanding for him to slip himself between your lips. But Jeongguk beats you to it.

“Wanna sit on my face?” You don’t miss the nervousness in his eyes. Which is truly confusing to you. This boy just had his tongue deep inside of you and he’s still apprehensive enough to stare at you with those wide doe eyes of his.

“Yeah, sure why not.” You reply, trying to keep your tone casual but you positively buzz when that pretty smile of his spreads across his lips. You both move rather quickly, despite not being able to touch each other. Jeongguk slips between your legs quickly, curls splayed out underneath him like a halo. When he smiles up as you rest your hands against the headboard of your bed, you think, for a split second, that he just might be an angel. Then his hands are resting on your hips and he’s gently drawing you downwards, tongue already slipping out to meet you. You can’t help but tremor when his mouth returns to your cunt, tongue already settling against that bundle of nerves that has you heady. Your trembling is making Jeongguk lose his mind, spurring the urge in his gut that wants to see you unravel on his tongue. It doesn’t help that you sound like that, tiny little whimpers and gasps that makes his tongue drive deeper into your core. There’s an undeniable wet spot forming on his pants, cock twitching every time you grind into his, a mumbled whisper of his name floating from your lips. He thinks he could die happy like this, the taste of you on his tongue and the sound of his name on your lips. He’s so unbelievably hard right now. Harder than he’s ever been in his life, an aching in his stomach to just flip you over and fuck you senseless. But he wants to see you cum on his tongue first, taste you release and then fuck another one out of you. Even the thought of that has another burst of precum leaking from his dick. He’s going to die like this. And he’s not going to mind that at all.

“Am I not wet enough?” You whine, walls fluttering with the need to be filled. Jeongguk looks at you with those stupid glittering eyes of his and you try not to melt. But that doesn’t work because he plants another kiss against your cunt. When he laughs against your thigh, a gentle sound that has your stomach twisting, your chest blooms.

“No, not yet.” He wants to see you cum on his mouth first. Scratch that - needs to see you cum. The heaviness in his balls demands for it. 

There’s intent when his tongue returns to your core, movements fast and nimble tongue gathering your slick only to fuck it back into you with purpose. It consumes you, the fire that spreads from your belly with every lick of his tongue against your folds. Your stomach is already caving dangerously, the lap of Jeongguk’s tongue against you frying your brain. You can feel it already, in the tenseness of your thighs. And when he flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit, you snap, a broken moan tumbling from your lips. Jeongguk doesn’t let up, swallowing your release even when you try and shift away, the hands hold you down firmly.

When he finally lets you break away, your bones are tingling, a strange sensation in your knees when you roll off his face, thighs still tremoring. He watches you collapse onto the mattress with a satisfied smile, tongue licking your arousal off his lips like he’s still chasing after your taste. You observe that with heavy eyes, a warmth ebbing through your system and your nerves still buzzing as your high washes over you. The image is embedded in your memory though. You don’t know how you’re going to look at him again without thinking about his mouth coated in your wetness and a happy little smile gracing his rose tinged lips. 

You’re trying very hard not to think about the consequences of this at all.

Jeongguk doesn’t see the contemplative look in your eyes, hand already rising to fumble with the clasp of your bra. He undoes it rather quickly, something that has your eyebrow-raising. He notes that with a shy smile.

“I’ve had practise,” He shyly mumbles, propping himself onto his elbows. “You okay?” When he sees the way your gaze shifts.

Practise, of course he’s had practise. This is just a one-time thing. Jeongguk is desirable enough to have girls at his beck and call. With that lopsided grin and fluffy hair, you shouldn’t be surprised. This wasn’t a permanent arrangement. Jeongguk wasn’t yours. He was just a replacement. Nothing more. Yet, you can’t help the strange lurch in your heart when he says that. You shrug it off though, hating the questioning gaze he’s giving you.

“Huh? No, I’m okay,” You're pushing yourself upright a moment later, bra strap slipping down your shoulder. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on that little movement. But you’re aching to see him bare too, fingers itching to feel something solid underneath to distract yourself from the strange hollowness that sits heavy on your chest. “Why am I the only one getting naked?” You comment, quirking an eyebrow at him. Jeongguk complies without a complaint, shifting on his knees so that he put his hands over his head, grab the back of his shirt and swiftly yank it over his head in one fluid moment. Your breath is knocked from your chest in the next one, the display of his toned golden skin reigniting the fire in your gut that he’d briefly doused out. There’s so much skin you yearn to touch, the muscles in his arms flexing as he tugs his shirt off his body. He pants follow next, shucked off fast, leaving his cock exposed to the stifling air in your room. You were right, he was going commando. And you’re glad about it. His dick is incredibly pretty. There’s no other word for it, thick enough that you’ll feel him stretch you out when he fucks you, and length shimmering with his precum. You want to taste him, see his face twist with pleasure when you swallow around him

You move without thinking, mouth already parting to sink around him. But Jeongguk cups for chin before you can have him against your tongue, a gentle pause in your desires.

“I’ll cum if you do that,” He whines, and the twitch his dick gives when you send him a pleading look tells you he’s being honest. There’s already a heat pooling between your legs once again.

“You’re going to have to finger me then,” You comment, sneaking another glance at him. “You’re kind of big.”

He scoffs at that, guiding your back against the mattress once more. “Kind of? Baby, please don’t lie to yourself.” You freeze at the pet name, acutely aware of the way your walls clench, slick gushing out of you. He reads that wrong though, halting with concern colouring his gaze. “Can I call you that?” Jeongguk softly asks. “Is baby okay?” He won’t tell you but he really, really wants to call you baby. You hum a noise of acknowledgement before you can consider the implications of that, legs already drifting apart so he can find his place there. You feel the relief ebb off of him as he settles between your legs. “Baby,” He says it again and you flutter. Literally. A lightness in your system that you’ve never felt before. There’s a finger circling your entrance, teasing you open with gentle swirls. You try and buck down on it, but Jeongguk isn’t having that, the glint in his eyes devious.

“Not yet, baby.” And then he’s reach for your neglected bra. It’s tossed away, a flash of black that you barely register because Jeongguk is latching his mouth onto your nipples, tongue flicking until it pebbles in his mouth. When his teeth softly sink into the sensitive skin there, your body sparks, nerves a livewire for his pleasure. You feel one of his fingers sink in a moment later, a sting around your entrance that has the coil in your stomach tight. He groans against your chest, mouth dropping from your chest as he descends back between your legs. He peppers kisses against your skin throughout his downward journey before his breath is grazing on the apex of your cunt. One finger has turned into two, steadily fucking you open even as he shifts down your body. Jeongguk can’t help but watch how you suck his fingers in, walls desperately clinging onto him. You’re very warm around him, cunt tight and wet, and his cock is already leaking at the prospect of being deep inside of you. There’s no way he’s going to last - he knows it.

“Kind of want to eat you out again,” Jeongguk says. He hopes you’ll say yes, maybe it’ll help him calm himself down before he fucks you. But when you walls flutter around his fingers and his cock jumps dangerously, he realises there’s no use in that.

“No,” You groan, grinding down on his fingers. “I’ll die,” You reason. Which is true. You’ve never had someone fuck you open with their tongue like Jeongguk before. 

He muffles a laugh. “And that’s a bad thing because?” But you can’t answer. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth because Jeongguk is pressing in a third finger. The stretch is new but welcomed, the curl of his fingers inside of you maddening.

“I said because?” Jeongguk asks again, snapping his fingers into you hard. You sneak a glance down to find him watching you carefully, reading the shuddering of your chest well.

“I h-hate you,” You retort, squirming underneath the fast pump on his fingers into your cunt. When he laughs you want to die. Not because it’s mean or because you truly hate him. You don��t, you can’t. You want to die because you like the sound of it - it’s warm and soft and wraps itself around you and you want to hear it again and again. You know it’s bad now. There’s no coming back from this. And yet you can’t bring yourself to stop it.

When Jeongguk draws away his fingers, you chase after them, mortified at yourself but too far deep to care that his point. He just smiles at you, a tender thing that has you covering your face because this is too much and your heart is beating too fast and you don’t know how you’re ever going to look at him in the eyes again. But you pull your hands away hastily because you can’t bear to not look at him either. Your brain is committing everything to memory against your wishes, noting how your stomach twists when Jeongguk uses your arousal to pump himself twice, cock shimmering with your wetness.

“Uh? Do you have condoms?” He asks a beat later, hand still gripping his length. You’re too busy thinking about how much you want him on your tongue to answer until he taps your hip gingerly.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I do. In the drawer - that one.” 

He rises from the bed to get it, returning with the foil in hands which he rips open and slides along his length quickly. It settles in you then, core buzzing, that Jeongguk is going to fuck you. Jeon Jeongguk. The roommate that you hate. The roommate that broke your fucking vibrator. The roommate you’re currently not even meant to be talking to. He’s going to fuck you. And the worst thing is that you want him too.

“You okay?” He’s hovering over your body, the back of your thighs in his warm firm grip, an eyebrow quirked at your sudden silence. You nod because you’re too afraid to speak, but then you swallow your desire and force your mouth open.

“Yeah, I just -” He leans into your space, spreading you open underneath him. Your heart floats. “I just,” You try again, “Want you.” That’s fine. That doesn’t give away the weird emotion that is consuming you whole. But then Jeongguk looks at you hard, like he’s able to peel away the layers behind that to see the intent in your statement. It makes your heartbeat spike dangerously in your chest, blood filling your heart. But then his eyes flutter shut, his nose bumping into yours, a soft sigh wandering from his lips.

“Needy baby,” There’s a smile in his tone but you can’t even spend a moment analyzing it because the tip of Jeongguk’s dick is pressing against you. He sinks into you, a slow drag that you feel throughout your whole body, brain shutting down when his balls settle against the curve of your ass. He burrows his face into the hollow of your neck before you can even lean in for a kiss that you yearn for, still respecting the boundary you’d placed at the start of it. You regret giving that rule instantly, aching to have Jeongguk’s mouth on yours. But for now, you're satisfied with how full you feel, his large cock stretching you out in the best way possible. It’s a sting you revel in, walls fluttering along his length. You give him one shallow buck, a small gasp falling from your parted lips when he sinks in even deeper, cock curve right into a spot that has your nerves tingling. Jeongguk doesn’t move though, impossible still and his thighs tense against your own. You're about to ask why when he nips your neck sharply. You jolt, a small squeak emitting from your mouth.

“Don’t move,” Jeongguk murmurs into your sweat coated skin. He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, but he can tell from the tightness in his balls that he fucks into right away he’s going to cum. There’s a curve in his stomach that makes him nervous, brain overwhelmed by how good you feel around him. It’s insane, the way your pussy flutters around his length, tight and wet and warm around him. He’s trying very, very hard not to blow his load right now.

It takes him a moment, before he forces down his orgasm, hips slowly drawing away to slam down back into you, a lewd squelch echoing in the room when you meet. You can’t help but choke out his name, hands drifting along his back when he finds a rhythm that has you both groaning into the air, your hips rising to meet his deep sure thrusts. 

Jeongguk fucks you like he’s trying to make a permanent home for himself between your legs, alternating between sharp snaps that leave you breathless, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you vision spin and deep grinds that press against your clit with intent. It’s a lot to take in, and your brain is overwhelmed, blissed out from the pleasure of Jeongguk pounding you into the bed. You don’t even realise how loud you’re being, until Jeongguk pulls his head from your neck, eyes locked on your lips with a want you feel deep inside of your gut. There’s a bead of sweat forming along his hairline, long curls loose from the exertion of his body rocking into yours. He looks glorious like this, cock deep inside your cunt, your bodies naturally moulding into each other. You say it before you’re too afraid too.

“Kiss me.” Jeongguk’s hips falter at that, stuttering against you hard.

“What?”

“Kiss me,” You say it again, firmer this time.

His mouth meets yours a heartbeat, tongue slipping against yours like he’s starving. You moan into it, pliant because his hips are still rocking into you. Harder this time, like he needs you to reach your high before he does. He might get what he wants. There’s a heat raging through you, the drag of his cock intoxicating. It doesn’t help that he still tastes of you, tongue mapping your open with desperation. You can’t help but cling onto him, body sparking when he nips at your bottom lip. His back is sturdy underneath your hands, fingertips tracing the curves of the toned muscles in his back as he drills you into the sheets, the steady drag of his cock making you feel delirious. Your brain is mush, every nerve in you focused on where you meet, the slight rocking of the bed underneath you a detail that sits in the backburner of your mind. You can’t even string together a sentence, mumbling his name when he finally parts from your mouth, eyes dark. It hits you then, a hard fast thing that has you squirming underneath him wilding. Jeongguk fucks you through, hips unforgiving and your legs wrapped around his torso. 

“That’s it baby, cum on my cock, there you go. Such a good girl. Oh, fuck-” He burrows his head into your neck a moment later, the falter in his rhythm evidence enough.

When you finally drop your legs from his waist, they barely exist, your chest rising hard as you try to catch your breath. Jeongguk’s pants colour your skin, a sweet little intimate thing that has your heart swelling. And then he rolls off, instinctively sneaking another kiss before he forces himself onto his knees to dispose of the condom.

When he returns, you’re cold. You reach for him immediately, tugging him back into the bed where you latch onto each other, mouths exploring once again because your brain is still fuzzy and kissing Jeongguk seems like the best idea in the world. When he makes a move to get up again, your clutch onto him like he’s your only lifeline.

“Stay,” You whisper. You can’t let Jeongguk go. You really can’t. You’ll die if he leaves this bed. He nods his head, curls bouncing like he doesn’t want to go either. You feel nice in his arms, you taste even better against his tongue.

“Okay, baby. Okay.”

outtakes:

group chat: flat lord jin and the two little piggies

flat lord jin (11:34 pm)

hey guys i left my key could u open the door for me?

flat lord jin (11:39 pm)

are any of you home?

flat lord jin (11:43 pm)

jeongguk?

y/n?

where the fuck are you guys?

flat lord jin (11:55 pm)

lmaoooo never mind

group chat: da boys 😎

idiot #1 (12:09 am)

boys i have an announcement to make

y/n and jk finally fucked

i am proud of them

NO MORE SEXUAL TENSION I AM FREE YERRRR

yoongi hyung (12:35 am)

how the fuck do you know that information?

idiot #1 (12:39 am)

they didn’t close the door

saw them cuddling cause i went to look for y/n

it was kinda gross lol 

idiot #2 (12:44 am)

pics or it didn’t happen

teeny tiny hyung  (12:54 am)

omg taehyung shut up

yoongi hyung  (01:34 am)

y’all are weird

idiot #2  (01:54 am)

yoongi...don’t make me pull screenshots from the other group chat

yoongi hyung  (01:57 am)

i dare u 2

idiot #1 (02:12 am)

WE ARE DIGRESSING!!!!

the point is that they fucked

WHICH IS GOOD FOR ME

i was suffocating in this house

omg but now i have to hear them fuck all the time

f’s in the chat fellas

yoongi hyung (02:24 am)

f

hobi hyung (02:25 am)

f

joonie hyung (02:27 am)

f

jeongguk please tell me you used protection

jaykay (10:12 am)

first of all

FUCK ALL OF YOU

seokjin u weirdo i hate you

YOU’RE ON WASHING DISH DUTY FOR THIS

also

yes of course the fuck i did do i look stupid

but like...

idk but she’s not talking to me now? idk what i did she just kinda told to to go when we woke up? what do i do?

idiot #1 (11:18 am)

ARE U JOKING

THIS IS NOT A KDRAMA PLEASE STOP BEING STUPID AND JUST DATE

PLEASE

FOR ME

DO IT FOR YOUR HYUNG

JK PLEASE

teeny tiny hyung (11:21 am)

translation: may be ask her out? are you just fwbs now or? what does she like? food? flowers? have you ever even had a conversation with her that wasn’t a screaming match? 

jaykay (11:32 am)

not really....

idk man i just... I DONT KNOW

i like her 

i think i do

do i?

namjoon hyung (11:39 am)

you need to talk to her

that’s the only advice we can really give you

just talk to her