#hollow words and misunderstandings

[joey-the-boy]

I'm mid-rewatch of The Hollow and I forgot how much I hated these motherfuckers in season one

[ki-yomii]

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.4k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fwb, angst w/ a happy ending, teasing, finger fucking, squirting, praise kink, frottage, dirty talk, pet names, commitment issues, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, dom!jk, idiots in love, misunderstandings ➥ summary | after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do. ➥ notes | istg i've re-written this more times than i care to count 💀 enjoy!

🖤 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🖤

cnt make it 2nite

The text is blunt - biting. No explanation offered, and certainly no false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Rather simple and straight to the point.

As you should have expected from Jungkook. He wasn’t known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.

But as you chew the fat of your cheek, reading it over and over again in an attempt to glean some hidden meaning that isn’t there, you admit to yourself - at least privately - there’s no more avoiding the truth.

One that’s been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest you can’t ignore anymore: Jungkook’s been avoiding you.

It shouldn’t be surprising.

Moreover, it shouldn’t hurt.

There shouldn’t be an ache in your chest every time you see his contact or the plummet of your stomach when that inevitable excuse comes through.

In the end, he owes you nothing. The arrangement between you is casual, just a little fun between good friends.

It still fucking sucks though, you think, sucking your teeth.

Night thoroughly ruined before it’s begun, it’s only a matter of deciding how to respond now. In the past you’ve used a plethora of options, but you’re stumped. Unsure how to correlate the level of hurt to the nature of your not-relationship.

Should you be petty, passive-aggressive, indifferent - or worst of all: honest?

Hah, no way. I’d rather die.

Beside you, the bartender politely averts his gaze and busies himself with polishing a stack of pint glasses. It’s a slow night, and that’s saying something as this bar’s a little hole in the wall.

It’s never overly busy, which is one of the reason’s it’s a favorite meeting spot of yours. The floors might be sticky, but the music’s decent, the strobe lights they kick on after 10 PM aren’t offensive enough to induce a migraine, and the drinks are cheap with a heavy pour.

Watching him work is impressive - and almost distracting enough for you to ignore the needle sharp ache taking root beneath your ribs, the churn of your stomach.

Humiliation burns hot, creeps up your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks as you’re stood up.

Again.

It isn’t the first time - it won’t be the last.

But it cuts deeper than all the rest combined, harder to shake off. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. The growing distance between you throbs like an open wound, as if Jungkook himself plunged a hand into your chest.

Scooped out any tender, soft thing he could find and left you hollowed out. Drained.

Not taking his flakiness personally used to be so easy. And now… well.

Goddamnit. A palm scrubs over your decolletage roughly to soothe the throb of your heart. What the hell did you expect to happen, getting involved with Jeon Jungkook, huh?

Everything from his stupidly pretty eyes to the dangerous curl of his mouth, the thick soles of his boots to the lapels of his leather jacket scream walking red flag.

Never mind the fact his proclivities are an open secret among the group. He’s never tried to hide his distaste for commitment. Finds it too monotonous. Predictable.

An eternally free soul much preferring to flit from one experience to the next, never shackled down for long. The Icarus of myth made flesh.

He runs through women like he runs through shoes, and you witnessed enough of the ensuing heartbreak and tears to be wary.

But knowing and feeling something are two very different things.

The dichotomy throws you off-kilter and finds you abandoned in a bar, once again, to choke on a regret so bitter you swear it’ll burn a hole through your throat.

What’s going on with me, you think, this is nothing new. He does this all the time.

You used to get on so well.

Any initial misgivings faded away in the face of Jungkook’s blinding attention, his unfaltering kindness lurking just beneath that surface of grit and gravel.

Even after you fuck, he never acts any differently, as casual between the sheets as he is lounging on your couch.

It's been great, it's been enough - until now.

Just the thought of going back to your empty apartment, alone, only to wake up and fall back into Jungkook’s orbit tomorrow when he swings by with a half-assed apology on his lips, and your favorite drink in hand is enough to make your skin crawl.

Stomach twisting itself into knots, everything in you rebels against the sudden cold realization: nothing will change - least of all Jungkook.

He’ll continue to take-take-take.

You'll continue to give-give-give.

On and on you'll go; a distant star orbiting a black hole, losing little bits of itself until there's nothing left.

Then he’ll leave your life as quickly as he entered it, a blurry after-image there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Fuck, I - I can’t do this anymore, you think, a shiver rattling down your spine, Because I…

An errant thought gains teeth, sinks them deep. Refuses to budge as an awful truth - one buried so deep you forgot it was there, ever lurking in the shadows - rises to the forefront of your mind.

And then --

Oh.

It’s because I love him - because I’m in love with him.

Suddenly it hurts to breathe, your lungs burning as you drown on the air itself. The steel band cinching around your ribs threatens to crack you open.

Your heart lurches in your chest, despair following swiftly to settle over your shoulders. Moreover, there is no one to blame except yourself.

Even if you want it to, it will never work out because loving Jungkook is to love the ghost of a long-forgotten memory.

And there are too many hurts to soothe, too many disappointments to name.

I can’t believe I actually -- shit. You swipe a shaky hand over your forehead. When you swallow, a sour taste clings to the back of your tongue. Should’ve known better.

You glance at your phone, the cursor blinking back at you mockingly. Should’ve done a lot of things, I guess.

Now, you're in too deep.

Waiting without ever realizing you began to do so in the first place; a life on pause, surviving off scraps of half-measures and maybe's, what-ifs, and if only's.

Now, it's clear the only way out is through.

The time to let go is here.

You need to muster up some semblance of self, and work to untangle the threads of connection binding you together. You need space to rediscover the pieces of your heart you left with him.

How to live without the taste of his kiss, the clench of his muscles, the thrust of his cock.

A new life sans Jungkook which begins with a simple reply in place of everything you really want to say: ok.

Then you wave the bartender over.

He does you a kindness once more, pretending not to notice the tears brimming along your lower lash line. “You ready to order?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah - sorry, I was…”

His mouth twitches. You waver.

Then the screen of your phone lights up with a notification.

Refusing to look lest you cave, emotions too fresh -  scraped raw and tender, you switch on DND and turn it face down where it will remain until you go home.

You're far too fragile (and sober) to think about reading Jungkook’s reply, let alone engage with him in any meaningful way.

“I’ll take a double vodka cranberry.”

Maybe if you get drunk enough, you'll forget about the home he carved in your bones.

Bottoms up, bitch.

w8 nvm guys cnt make it

y/n?

i cn b ovr in 10

???

gn ttyt

hey, sorry. called it early.

wyd?

nothing much. you?

nm running some mtchs

cool, cool. you able to swing by today?

yeh b there in 30 :)

In hindsight, trying to have this conversation with Jungkook face to face isn’t the brightest idea. But if anything, last night showed you every choice you’ve made lately is a disaster waiting to happen.

Your life’s already a mess - and you’re hopelessly in love with a man that’ll never love you back - so what’s another mistake added to a long string of misfortune.

So what if your hands tremble and your stomach churns as you unlock the door to let him in.

So what if he leans in for a kiss and you duck to the side, his lips brushing the slope of your cheek.

So what if he pauses and gives you a long, searching look before toeing off his shoes and offering you the drink he picked up on the way.

It can’t get any worse, right?

Only the hungry, molten mixture of rage and rebellion fueling you thus far fizzles away the minute you see him head towards your bedroom with a wink.

Anguish and despair follows in its wake, nipping at your heels.

This is all you’ll ever be to him, you remind yourself as you step into the room. A fun time. Nothing serious. You have to break it off.

You shoot him a tight smile. “Did you have a good night?”

Jungkook shrugs, glancing around at the decorations littering your dresser. “Nah, not really.” His gaze slides to you, traveling from your head to your bare toes in a slow once over. “I definitely would’ve had a better time with you.”

Swallowing roughly, you rub your hands over your arms and suddenly feel far too naked - exposed in your light summer dress. “Hah,” you intone without humor, awkward and stilted. “Probably not. I was out by 11:30.”

“Mm, that’s not like you.” Jungkook hums, moving forward until he’s right in front of you. His hands reach for you, grabbing your wrists gently. His thumb strokes over your pulse point. “You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about, baby?”

Of course he’d notice.

It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. Jungkook always pays attention to the details, makes leaps of logic based on little more than quiet observations.

You stitch together a chuckle. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, his lip ring dimpling the swell of his bottom lip. Your chests brush with every inhale, sharing space and breath. 

“Nothing,” he agrees.

It’s torture. It’s too intimate.

The glow of your overhead lamp highlights the sweep of his cheekbones, the curl of his lashes as he blinks slow and happy. The barely there impression of his body is too much.

You shrink back, clearing your throat.

“No, don’t do that. Where are you going?”

His eyes, shimmering with warmth, plead with you to stay, his shoulders curving towards you. A large palm settles over your shoulder, sparks igniting wherever he touches.

“Stop hiding. You can talk to me about anything. Come on, I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steeling your resolve, you inhale and exhale with a shudder. His expression is open, soft. You know it won’t last, and take a few seconds to commit how he looks in this moment to memory.

For all you know, this will be one of the last times you’ll be this close to him again. At least until you can beat your feelings into submission.

And then you can’t put it off anymore, unable to take the ginger strokes of his fingers. The calming caresses as if he thinks you’re something precious. Quick like ripping off a band-aid, otherwise the words will never get past the bend of your throat.

“I want to stop.”

You catch the way his eyes darken, sharpen in the dim overhead light. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, but his half-smile never falters.

Of course, he refuses to make this easy on you. To acknowledge this is happening. He’s always been a greedy man; wants what he can’t have, and destroys what he does.

“Stop what?” Jungkook says. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, baby.”

“Kook,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “You know what I mean. I just - I can’t do,” your voice cracks, a hand motioning to the space between you, “this anymore.”

A vein throbs on the side of his neck, his jaw working in response. Muscles tense and release with every grit of his teeth. He asks, “You gonna tell me why, huh? Or are you just going to ditch me and act like it didn’t mean something?”

“Kook…”

There’s a certain grief that can’t be spoken, gnarled roots burrowing deep in your chest. A sense of loss so keenly felt it almost steals your breath.

You wish this wasn’t happening, you wish you could take it all back but this pantomime of a relationship isn’t fair to you. Not anymore. And you knew this conversation wouldn’t be fun, but Jungkook’s staunch denial still manages to surprise you.

“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say.

At least, not to you, you think. To me, it meant the world.

-- And that’s the problem.

You need to stop whatever this is between you from building. He’s already shown he doesn’t share your desire for more in a multitude of ways. He’s been avoiding you for a reason, whether he was consciously aware of your feelings or not.

Undoubtedly, you trust him with your life but not your heart.

As sweet as he is, has been, he won’t treat it gently. Not through any intentional ill-will but because he can’t contain his own commitment issues let alone make room for yours.

It’s better this way.

Let what you have - had - stay a memory unmarred by the ugliness of your hurt feelings and bitter disappointments.

Jungkook’s shoulders draw up towards his ears, his gaze glacial as his hands slide away from you. “Is there a reason you’re done with me now?”

Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. Everything about him looks weighted down.

“Well, is there? I mean, shit, I think I’ve earned an answer after all the time we spent together.”

Your heart breaks for him, everything in you calling out to close the gap and offer him comfort. But you can’t. You don’t trust yourself to touch him without wanting more than your heart can bear.

“I’m not done with you,” you say. “I would never do that to you, Kook. I just - I can’t be with you like that anymore, that’s all. I need space but I’ll still be around, I promise.”

The glare he shoots your way freezes the blood in your veins. “Cut the bullshit,” he snarls. “Tell.me.why.”

You avert your gaze, arms wrapping around your chest. “Why does that - I -”

You only had one rule at the very beginning of this mess: if there’s someone you’re serious about, you stop fucking. It comes as a handy lie - a believable excuse that’ll stop any further questioning.

You don’t think you have the fortitude if Jungkook keeps pressing you, cracking under the weight of your grief and the anger in his eyes like fine china.

“I think I - I think I want to start looking for a boyfriend again.”

An expression flashes across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But there’s no doubt he recognizes it for the goodbye it’s supposed to be.

This is it, you think.

You can put what you had to rest and move on, a memory on a shelf you’ll dust off years down the line when the hurt isn’t so prevalent. And hopefully, with time, you can relearn how to be friends.

Though the strange gleam to his eyes sends a prickle of apprehension down your spine, and then you find yourself being manhandled as he snaps forward like a snake coiled to strike.

Air flees your lungs as Jungkook shoves you with a firm palm, your feet stumbling over themselves as you trip backwards into your bed frame.

Wood knocks into the backs of your knees, and you fold like a stack of cards. The sheets puff out around you, the scent of your laundry detergent tickling your nose.

You blink at the textured ceiling, mouth agape as you try to process what happened.

The empty space above you doesn’t stay vacant, Jungkook quickly crowding you into the mattress with his weight as he settles over top of your body.

He molds himself to your front, his firm hips slotting themselves between your thighs. Broad palms, warm and calloused, skim your sides and ruck up the skirt of your dress as he reaches under you to grip the soft globes of your ass.

He yanks you into him, your pelvises slotting together. You whine before you can stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the heat of his body.

Teeth scrape along the delicate skin of your neck, the sharp pricks of pleasure-pain coaxing a shiver down your spine.

Lips brush the shell of your ear, his minty breath puffing against the side of your face as he speaks, low and husky, “So that’s it, huh?”

“What--!”

Teeth nip your earlobe, and you wince.

“My girl thinks she’s going to leave me for someone else?” Jungkook snorts. “Like I’d ever let that fucking happen.”

“I’m not your girl.”

You squirm, a bolt of awareness slicing through you as your body responds to his proximity, the weight of him over you electrifying. Liquid desire blooms behind your navel, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

“I never was.”

Blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, and a cruel mouth latches onto the corner of your jaw. “Ah, is that right?” Jungkook asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your torso, your nipples tightening as they drag over the plains of his chest. “You’re not my girl?”

You swallow, and ignore the throb of your clit as the line of his cock ruts into you. “I’m not your girl, Jungkook.”

“If you’re not my girl,” he grinds into the cradle of your hips, teasing - taunting, “then why the fuck are you so wet?”

Keening, you twitch, involuntarily rocking up into the firm pressure of his shaft. The angle’s just right, spreading your folds beneath the thin cotton of your panties and giving your neglected clit the perfect stimulation.

Exposing your soaked core to the chill of your room as your body warms with mortification.

Jungkook hums in approval, giving the side of your neck a sloppy kiss followed by a stinging nip. “You think some nobody can fuck you better than me?”

“That’s not what I - ffuck!”

Heat pools low in your belly, blood pumping fast. You’re steadily losing control, the aborted rolls of your hips increasing in frequency.

“Answer me.”

A sharp burst of copper floods your mouth, your skin splitting open with how hard you’re chewing on it. Blood clings to the swell of your bottom lip, a ruby red bead you lick away with a nervous tongue.

Sweat dappled your brow, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the molten desire curdling your stomach.

The softness of your body knows the hardness of his, every curve has a matching divot. The heady, pleasant scent of his cologne floods your lungs with every stuttered inhale.

Your senses are overwhelmed as he surrounds you.

“Shit, Kook, please,” you plead, hands tangling in the sheets by your head.

You’re not sure what you’re asking for but at the same time, you’re not sure how you ended up here. Again.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

This was supposed to be an amenable end to a dubious affair. It’s anything but.

“I want you to tell me who your cunt belongs to.”

Fingers inch down to tease along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and play with the elastic of your panties.

You tremble, gooseflesh dimpling the exposed skin of your arms as knuckles brush over the length of your soaked pussy.

Your clit pulses, the pressure enough to tease.

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook coaxes, working his way beneath the fabric clinging to your core, “tell me you’re my girl.”

His cock nestles into the crook of your hip, hot and heavy through his jeans as a darkened patch blooms across the denim crotch. The sticky wetness of his pre-cum smearing into your skin as arousal swells, crashing over you.

Leaving you a whimpering, trembling mess in the cage of his arms.

“You just have to say it - say you’re my girl and I’ll be so, so good to you.” His breath warms the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is say it, and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to cobble together a response, sliding a thick finger through your sticky folds and into your needy pussy just as your lips part.

All words leave you, your mind wiped clean as a low, broken cry echoes out into the room. Swallowed up by the sounds of city life outside your apartment as he works to stretch you open.

You clamp down at the sudden fullness, walls tight and fluttering around his finger like they would be around his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You always feel so soft and wet.”

Whining in agreement, you give up any pretense of resistance, letting primal desire chase away the despair, the guilt that threatens to choke you. Wiping your mind clean of any thoughts until the only thing that remains is the thrust of his fingers and the ache in your cunt.

Your hands slip, scrambling for purchase with sweaty palms. “J-Jungkook!”

Your knees tremble where they dig into his sides, air rushing from you in heavy pants as the space between your bodies heats up. You know you won’t last long, already hanging on the edge.

Never in a million years did you expect to be so turned on by Jungkook’s rough behavior. He usually treats you like something delicate.

Though he holds no such compunction now, raw in his desperate desire to make you cum.

Jungkook peppers kisses onto whatever skin he can reach, spreading your thighs wider with his torso. His knuckles strain against the fabric of your panties, stretching out the cotton and ruining them forevermore as he slips another finger into you.

Then his dark head bows, catching your gaze, and he says, “Hold on.”

Barely seconds after you anchor yourself to his shoulders, he starts finger fucking you to within an inch of your life. His forearm ripples with strength, the movements of his fingers pressing and rubbing against all the right spots. Curling up to massage at your g-spot until you’re shaking beneath him with hitched breaths.

“Shit, shit,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as your toes flex against his side, “Kook, baby, please don’t stop.”

He huffs a laugh, dark and amused. “Wouldn’t ever do that to you, baby.”

“S’good - I - I’m close.”

You sob, tears brimming along your lash line. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your pussy ring in your ears, as embarrassing as it is arousing. He’s making you gush, slick wetting your inner thighs, dribbling down your ass to stain the sheets.

“So close, gonna - hnnng - gonna cum.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Give me that squirt.”

You shake your head. “I can’t - I can’t!”

If you could, you’d suspend time so this moment never ends. The finality of your arrangement hovering just on the other side of pleasure.

In the back of your mind, you know Jungkook’s only behaving this way because he’s jealous. Angry. He doesn’t mean it, and this is a mistake.

It’ll only hurt you in the long run but you’ll take what you can get.

After all, this is the last time you’ll be together like this.

“No,” he shushes, dropping a kiss to your sweaty brow, “No, don’t lie. I know you can. I’ll make you.”

There’s no escape.

He refuses to let you escape, using his weight to keep you pinned as he spreads his fingers open inside you, twisting and fucking so deep you feel a twinge behind your navel.

And then you’re right there, crashing over the edge as the bubble of pleasure bursts, crackling through your limbs.

You cum harder than you ever have before. Nails sinking into his shoulders with a hiss as a wounded, broken wail scrapes its way out of your throat.

Your pussy throbs, gummy walls sucking him deeper as a rush of cum gushes from you in spurts. Your ears ring with white noise, and you’re vaguely aware of the fact your hands have gone numb.

For several long moments, you float with a head full of cotton, only rejoining the atmosphere when warmth dribbles down your ass in sticky rivulets of squirt.

Jungkook’s arm is curled around your waist, holding you close as his nose nuzzles into the side of your head. Tender lips dust kisses over your crown. His cock is still a heavy weight digging into your hip but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to relieve himself.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, a wave of fatigue crashing over you. Your eyes sting when you close them, a lump building in your throat. You ache all over pleasantly, satisfaction settling deep into your bones. In spite of that, a rift opens in your heart. “Jungkook, I--”

He kisses your shoulder, shushing you. “Don’t ruin it. Just let me hold you for a little while longer… please.”

The tears are almost impossible to stop. “It’s already hard enough, don’t make me -- I can’t just…”

Jungkook squeezes you gently. “I love you,” he says, “but I swear to god you can be so stupid sometimes.”

You jolt, eyes swinging up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “What did you just  - I - I  don’t. ..Jungkook?”

“How could I not feel the same?” he asks, tone resigned and wary. “Honestly scared the shit out of me when I realized because, well, y’know I don’t have the best track record.” He averts his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I almost fucked everything up too, but Namjoonie-hyung helped me get my head on straight.”

Something unfurls in your chest, and you feel as light as air. Ridiculously buoyant with happiness. Hope.

Oh, how stupid.

“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” you ask, sniffling as you shoot him a watery smile. “Like… the biggest.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, a boyish gleam to his eyes. “I mean, you said it. Not me.”

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part I

Softly we tremble tonight - Cat and Mouse, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

We're so happy (we could die) - Blood & Glitter, Lord of the Lost

There′s no remedy for memory - Dark Paradise, Lana del Rey

Love is the warmest colour - Nara, alt-J

We gotta stop pretending who we are - Don't speak, No Doubt

A force more powerful than gravity - Satellite, Lena Meyer-Landrut

They turned to dust (all that I adored) - Things we lost in the fire, Bastille

Lose all sense of time - Coastline, Hollow Caves

Sometimes quiet is violent - Car Radio, Twenty One Pilots

I′ll show you mine (if you show me yours first) - Swing Life Away, Rise Against

So beautiful and wild - Tonight, Reamonn

See your face lit by starlight - Colorado Sunrise, 3OH!3

Misunderstandings and words unspoken - Don't waste my time, Victor Lundberg

When we stole the night - Another heart calls, The All-American Rejects

The way that we love (like it's forever) - Happy Ending, Mika

But it's home to me - Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Green Day

Like memories of dying days - Savior, Rise Against

Electricity between both of us - Landfill, Daughter

I slept in last night's clothes and tomorrow′s dreams - Uma Thurman, Fall Out Boy

There'll be a riot (cause I know you) - Robbers, The 1975

All of your flaws and all of my flaws - Flaws, Bastille

Crossing all the lines - Girls Like Girls, Hayley Kiyoko

Misery's your master - She's the blade, Sugarcult

But we go where we want to - Lane Boy, Twenty One Pilots

Between the lines of fear and blame - How to save a life, The Fray

There's a heavy cloud inside my head - Lemon Tree, Fool's Garden

A very common crisis - Fluorescent Adolescent, Arctic Monkeys

Turn the light out, say goodnight - Fake Empire, The National

Let′s write a song that we can dance to - Jersey, Mayday Parade

There′s strangers everywhere - This isn't everything you are, Snow Patrol

More titles!

[lilacura]

L-O-V-E | Huh Yunjin

pairing: yunjin x reader

>wc: 700

sypnosis: Misunderstandings cause doubts but love always has its ways.

You woke up alone in your dorm room, rolling over with a sleepy smile ready to greet Yunjin, only to find the other side of the bed empty and cold. Furrowing your brow, you sat up and glanced around but saw no note or sign of where she could be.

"Yunjin?" you called out tentatively, getting no reply but the echo of silence in response. A sinking feeling started in your stomach as you grabbed your phone, seeing it was Valentine's Day but no messages from your girlfriend.

After getting dressed in a lonely daze, you ventured out onto campus hoping to find her. Spotting her talking to friends in the quad, you hurried over only to freeze in your tracks as Yunjin glanced over, eyes meeting yours briefly before flitting away with no smile or greeting. A polite nod was all she offered before turning back to her conversation, leaving you feeling hollow.

Classes dragged on endlessly as you watched the clock, sending Yunjin texts that went unanswered. By lunchtime despair was setting in, thoughts running wild about what could have gone wrong. Picking at your food alone, you started to lose hope for the holiday.

Making your way across campus after your last class, head bowed low, you nearly walked right past the secluded rose garden without noticing the splashes of color amongst the green. A flash of familiar laughter caught your attention and you looked up, gasping softly at the scene before you.

Roses, carnations and baby's breath decorated elegantly around a checkered picnic blanket, upon which sat a bountiful assortment of food. And in the middle, holding a single rose, was Yunjin beaming brighter than the sun.

"Surprise!" she greeted, rushing over to take your hands in hers. "Happy Valentine's Day baby, I'm so sorry about this morning. I wanted our valentines date to be extra special." You could only stare dumbly as she cupped your cheek.

"Forgive me? I love you," Yunjin breathed, eyes shining with remorse and adoration. At those words, your heart swelled back to full capacity, doubts melting away as you threw your arms around her neck.

"I love you too," you whispered into her ear, feeling complete once more in her embrace.

Pulling back from the embrace, Yunjin met your gaze with a tender smile. One hand came up to gently cup your cheek as her forehead pressed against yours. You lost yourself in the depths of her sparkling eyes, lungs forgetting how to breathe for a moment.

Closing the tiny distance between you, Yunjin pressed her lips against yours in a kiss both chaste yet searing with emotion. Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct, everything around you fading away until there was nothing but the two of you, and this moment of reconnection.

Her kiss held the apologies and affection of the morning, the joy of reunion, and assurances of her enduring love for you alone. You kissed her back just as fervently, pouring your own heart into the kiss to say 'I forgive you' and 'I love you too'.

When you finally parted for air, Yunjin sighed your name against your lips, making you shiver at the pure devotion in her tone. Keeping your faces close, you opened your eyes to find her smiling so wide it lit up her entire being. At that beautiful sight, all traces of earlier doubt and worry vanished like they had never existed at all.

Yunjin stole a few more fleeting brushes of lips before taking your hand in hers once more. "Come, let's finish our picnic before the sun goes down." And with her hand securely holding yours, your heart swelled with certainty that this Valentine's Day ended up perfect after all.

a/n: this is so late im so sorry I had a calculus final

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE WINTER KEEP (2/2)

Summary: You have fled the Red Keep, the Greens and Alicent's poison. It is time to play your hand and herald your mother's ascension on a larger scale. You will fly to Winterfell, treat with the Lord Cregan Stark and await your brother. You are weak and a girl, no longer. You are a dragon ready to spill blood to ensure your promises are kept.

[Part 2 to The Highest Tower]

Soulmate AU: Your animal familiar leads you to your soulmate.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Reader 

Word Count: 5631

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, canon divergence, my first time writing for hotd, pretty sure I'm missing something...

Masterlist

Laesuvion had taken to the skies through a hole in the dragon pit. Swift and lethal and stealthy as a white dragon against dark clouds could be. Come morning the whole of Kings Landing would know that you had fled. Come morning the usurper King and his council of snakes would be plotting your demise. You would need every advantage, every inch of distance you could gain before they found the wherewithal to send men after you. The Queen could protect you no longer, your time as her ward had passed. As Laesuvion crested the skies above the Red Keep, and you urged him north, you left just as you had arrived all those years ago. Rhaenyra’s only daughter. Her greatest supporter. Her most loyal weapon.

It took some days to fly north, you rested only once. On the second night of flying, setting down in the swamplands just beyond Greywater Watch. You swaddled yourself in your flying cloak and huddled in a hollow tree as Laesuvion hunted. Sleep came in fitful bursts, each gust of wind and animal sound convincing you that despite your head start from having flown through night and day and night again, the king's loyal men had somehow found you. You awoke around dawn to find Laesuvion’s bulk curved around your tree, his breathing deep and rhythmic in sleep. You crept toward his front claws and the charred mass caged there.

Your first food in some hours, since the day prior when you had polished off the meagre supplies you had smuggled out of the Keep. You tore charred clumps from what might have once been a deer or livestock from a nearby farm. You set these aside in case Laesuvion woke hungry, as you shredded his offering until– There, protected by the cocoon of hardened char, well-cooked meat. You gorged yourself.

You took to the skies an hour later, dehydration your greatest enemy so close to the searing sun. You wrapped your cloak around you, tied yourself firmly to the saddle and tried desperately to catch another snatch of rest. Through that morning, that evening and night, Laesuvion tore through the skies of Westeros.

You landed in the Northlands on the third dawn of your travels. The south gate of Winterfell rose to greet you, a small host of men waiting under its shelf. Dehydrated, exhausted, terrified, you could have wept with joy.

“Holt!” You startled. It was a woman.

“I mean no harm.” You dismounted Laesuvion carefully, moving purposefully to disguise your limb's feeble shakes. At eye level, though separated by a good fifty yards you repeated, “I mean you no harm.”

“Your dragon?” The woman demanded.

The men shifted nervously as Laesuvion gave a chest-deep rumbling purr. “Merely glad to have found our destination.”

“Come forward.”

“To whom do I speak?” You inched forward, Laesuvion nosing at your back.

“Sara Snow.” Up close you found Sara Snow to be very beautiful. With ebony hair twisted in intricate braids and eyelashes so long they caught snowflakes. A true northern beauty, with a sword strapped to her back and a pelt secured to her shoulders.

“I seek an audience with Lord Cregan Stark.”

“He is in a meeting with his men.”

“He will want to speak to me.” You smiled pleasantly, “He owes loyalty to my mother, the Queen.”

“House Stark owes loyalty to King Viserys.” Sara jutted her chin, “No oaths were sworn to his lady-wife.”

“You misunderstand me, Sara Snow. I speak of my mother, the Realms Delight. Queen Rhaenyra to whom Lord Rickon swore fealty.”

The men sent furtive glances to one another. Sara paused and then curtsied. “Forgive me, Princess. The North had not heard word of you for some years now, we feared you had been lost.”

“Ah, I have been kept to the Keep for some time.”

“Winterfell is most honoured to–” Sara turned.

The sound of crunching snow, hurried footsteps, quickened breath. One of Sara’s men toppled to the ground as a dire wolf barrelled through his legs. Pitch black but frosted with snow, it careened toward you. The man giving chase shouted the wolf’s name, skidded around the line of men, and stumbled to a stop mere inches in front of you. In what seemed to be perfect, practised coordination, Laesuvion jammed his snout into your back as the dire wolf danced around his owner's legs. In a heap of limbs, winter cloaks, and riding leathers, you collapsed on the man and fell to the snow.

You wheezed; the air knocked from your lungs. Your limbs shook as you scrambled up, plating a hand on the man's face as leverage.

“Sir.” You hissed; with all the royal poise you could muster. Alicent would be appalled. Your mother would be beyond amused.

“My apologies, lady.” The man grabbed your hips to lift you from him. Mortified you slapped his hands away and fought to your feet. “If you would just let me–”

You struggled, “Unhand me!”

“Here, just–” You planted a knee in his groin. He tried to curl up beneath you.

“Get off me!” You gave him a harsh shove and fumbled to your feet. “How dare–”

Sara Snow launched into raucous laughter. Hand clutching her side as she howled in delight. Her men shuffled as if wondering whether to intervene. Your assailant hobbled to his feet, one handheld protectively over his front, the other outstretched toward you as if to keep you at a distance.

You whirled toward Sara, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Apologies, lady.” The man heaved, his dire wolf prancing about his feet. “It was an honest accident. Shadow has been tense of late.”

“You let your wolf run wild in such a way?” You sneered.

“As wild as you allow your dragon to be.”

As if on cue, Laesuvion pressed the length of his head to your back again. The dire wolf herded his owner.

“Laesuvion?” You turned, pressing your freezing fingers to the scales of his nose. “Lykirī, iōrās aril.” (be calm, stay back).

He huffed and shoved at your hands. You toppled again; this time the man caught you against his chest. Laesuvion shuffled back, his tail swishing through the snow in a great arch. A growl rumbled up his throat as one of Sara’s men tried to approach.

“Ah.” The man smiled down at you in understanding.

You tried shoving at him again, but his grip held firm. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I am a wolf pup or a precious stone, or some covetous thing.”

“You are more precious than both I fear, and certainly something to covet.” He held your forearms to contain your struggle. “I have waited many years to find my Promised. I did not imagine you would be so violent.”

Sara coughed, “Welcome brother. Might I be the first to introduce you to our Princess, daughter of Rhaenyra. She has come from King’s Landing to treat with you.” She sketched a bow, her lips still trembling, “Your Highness, my brother, the Lord Cregan Stark.”

You gaped, your mouth opening and closing. A myriad of emotions warmed your face. Bone deep mortification. The purest delight. Wonderment. Utter confusion. Behind you, the dire wolf, Shadow, ran playfully around Laesuvion. Your dragon moved to face the tiny yipping creature, stealing his warm breath from your back. You shivered the cold striking through you like a physical blow.

“Princess?” Cregan Stark asked softly. “Are you well?”

“I am cold and hungry and tired, and I wish to bathe.” You said in a rush, utterly horrified with yourself.

But your Promised only smiled, “Of course.”

Cregan Stark was a most gracious host. In the hours since your arrival, you had been given quarters in the same hall as that of the Starks. A maid had gone about filling the tub in your rooms with water warmed on the fire, to which she added fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soap. As you bathed the maid returned – Atara, you learned – to ply you with cheeses and fresh bread, soft meats, and stewed root vegetables. Once you had been thoroughly scrubbed and fed, you dressed in the soft night clothes Atara had brought with her and curled up in the thick expanse of blankets atop your bed.

You were allowed to sleep for far longer than you might have suspected. Only being roused by Atara once the sun had well and truly set.

“Your Highness, Lord Stark asks that you join his family for dinner.”

You tumbled out of bed, and over to the dresser where you let her braid back your hair in the northern style. She handed you a thick winter dress that Sara had sent for you to borrow and allowed you to don it yourself. Stepping in only to tighten the taught laces at its back. You delighted in the simple joy of dressing yourself, so used to the Queen’s maids who scrubbed you raw and laced you tightly into dresses all shaded the same insidious green.  

Atara whispered to you as she led you through the halls of Winterfell, “Lord Stark is a good and generous man. He has been Warden of the North for some years now, he is a just leader and kind to those in his employ. It is his uncle, who was his regent, and his power-hungry cousins you must watch.”

“Will they be at dinner?”

“No, they are north and east in Karhold. Though his sister will be present.”

“Sara Snow. She is his sister born? I assumed the Lord was her brother-at-arms, not a true blood relative.”

“Indeed,” Atara corralled you down another cavernous hall. “She is his sister and among his most trusted advisors.”

“Why does she bear the name Snow?”

“It is the surname given to those born out of wedlock in the north.”

“And this is not an issue in the north?”

Atara considered it for a moment, “For some it is. But Lord Stark is a better man than most.”

You wondered if she had been sent to sing his praises or if the people of the north were truly so enamoured with their lord.

“Is he not married?” You asked hesitantly, the thought had not yet crossed your mind.

Atara grinned, “He is not, Your Highness.”

“Nor betrothed?”

“Nor does he have a lover.” She assured. “We servants would know.”

“Thank you, you have been most enlightening.” You smiled as you reached the Stark’s private dining hall, “I will see to myself tonight. Please, enjoy your evening.”

Atara curtsied, “Have a most wonderful night, Your Highness.”

You most certainly would.

The Starks took private dinners in a humble hall. Three places had been set at the far end of the dining table with a generous spread laid out between them. Cregan and Sara looked up from their conversation as you crossed to your seat.

“My apologies, Lord Stark, Lady Snow.” You bowed your head. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

Sara snorted into her cup, “Please, Princess, formalities are for the feasting hall and for those whose names you cannot remember.”

“Sister,” Cregan hissed.

You fought a smile, “Forgive me, Sara, I would not have you think I had forgotten your name already.”

“How does the dress fit?”

“Wonderfully,” You swished from side to side, “You are most generous.”

“I have never had a sister,” she said thoughtfully.

Cregan spluttered into his cup. You grinned, “Nor I.”

You thought only briefly of Heleana and her mother and their glittering cage.

Cregan leapt from his seat to pull yours out for you, “Please, ignore my sister, she is overly friendly.”

“Please, ignore my brother,” Sara mocked. “He is overly nervous.”

“Tis not everyday one meets their Promised.” He met your eyes fleetingly.

What a soft demeanour for the Warden of the North, you thought. Though you supposed you had smiled more today than you had in all your years in the Red Keep, so perhaps today was not a good judge of anyone’s character. You allowed him to serve up your plate as Sara kept up a steady stream of conversation. First marvelling at the fit of her dress on you, then the colour of your eyes, your hair in northern braids, your improved state after some well-needed rest.

“Is she not a sight, dear brother?” She teased.

“I apologise for my earlier state of unkempt.” You winced. You had hit the Lord of this castle, your Promised rather hard.

“I thought you looked marvellous.” Cregan argued, then seemed to realise what he’d said and hurried to add, “We have received reports that your dragon has taken to the Wolfswood.”

You exhaled slowly, “Laesuvion flew through day and night twice over to get me here so swiftly. He will be in need of food and rest as much as I.”

“Laesuvion. That is a beautiful name.” He said softly. “We can send meat if you wish?”

“He is a good hunter; he has fed himself since I was ten.”

“Still to have flown so fiercely, with so little rest…”

“It does not do well to deprive a dragon of its hunt. Especially in such times as these.”

Cregan placed his utensils down carefully, “Princess, what has brought you to Winterfell?”

You lowered your fork. Good, time to stop dancing around the subject. From the pocket of your skirt, you withdrew the King’s missive.

“I am not sure how far and fast word has travelled,” You looked to the siblings and frowned. “King Viserys is dead, and Aegon has been crowned in my mother's place. The night of his coronation Queen Alicent gave me this letter for you, Lord Stark, she wishes for us to marry.”

Cregan broke the seal of the King’s letter and read silently.

“There are worse things than to be told to marry ones Promised,” Sara joked lamely. You smiled weakly in the tense silence.

Finally, Cregan folded the letter and turned to you, “Why were you with the Queen, not with your mother on Dragonstone?”

“I have been the Queen’s ward for some nine years now.”

“And are you loyal to her?”

“As a dog is to its owner.”

“They are very loyal in the North,” Sara said.

“I was traded to her as reparations when my brother gorged her son's eye.” You said plainly, “I was her possession, but I remain my mother’s daughter.”

“House Stark swore fealty to Princess Rhaenyra when she was made heir,” Cregan watched you carefully. “There has never been a Stark who has forgotten an oath.”

“I too have made a promise to my mother. I intend to keep it.”

Cregan brandished the letter, “This offers your hand in return for the North’s neutrality in the coming conflict. Is that what you wish?”

“May I speak plainly, my lord?”

“Please.”

“That letter is likely a forgery by the Dowager Queen’s hand. She is mistaken on many fronts, I fear, the least of which was Aegon’s ascension to King. I do not wish to go to war with my kin, but if it becomes inevitable I would rather do so with strong allies and in support of my mother.”

His head tilted, “House Stark is already an ally of your mother.”

“Yes,” You folded your hands on the table. “I should tell you, Lord Stark. My mother has sworn to marry me to my Promised for my service as her spy in the Red Keep.”

“You wish us to marry?”

“I wish to offer you my hand, outside my mother’s promise or the Queen’s demands.” You cleared your throat, and just as you had carefully prepared on your journey here you said, “I have been trained in the ways of the court, I will be of use to you in councils and in handling the affairs of your territory. I am of royal breeding, you will be made Prince-Consort, our children Princes, and Princesses of the realm. I have dragon eggs for their cradles and Valyrian blood for their veins. I would ask only that you allow Laesuvion to stay with me in the North. If not, I shall wait here until such a time as my brother Jacaerys comes to treat with you, that I might return with him to Dragonstone.”

You watched the Lord, his eyes dancing with an unnamed light as he listened to you. “I will need time.”

“Of course, my Lord, speak with your advisors.”

“You misunderstand him, Princess.” Sara grinned.

Cregan smiled, “I will not marry you hastily. I will need to summon my family and prepare a feast. It is a special thing, for those of our station, to be given leave to marry our Promised.”

“I–” You were unsure what you expected. “I suppose it is.”

Sara clapped gleefully, “Shall we call for dessert?”

You wore the soft nightclothes once more as you sat at your vanity and penned your mother a letter.

Mother,

How I have missed you. Know that I have thought of you often and never strayed from my mission nor my loyalty to you.

I have fled King's Landing and taken the Lord Hands life with me. Though the smallfolk have no mind to protest whichever Targaryen collects their taxes, you have many allies in the Red Keep. I have interred a list of those Lords and Ladies who remain loyal to you as well as those I have heard of beyond and some whom we may turn with careful diplomacy.

I am at Winterfell with my Promised, Lord Cregan Stark, whom I will marry in the coming weeks. With your blessing, of course. I await Jacaerys, with news of our family and our strategy. In the meanwhile, I intend to discuss what supplies and men Winterfell may have to offer you.

Mostly I am writing to you because I can. I am overwhelmed with the freedom to do so, to be able to tell you once more how much I love you. I cannot imagine how this week has been for you, know that though we are separated I am your most fierce supporter.

I have had a thought, in my hours here, about how far Winterfell is from the capital. How far we will be if we are forced into battle and bloodshed. Perhaps you might consider sending Joffery here, to mine and my soon-to-be Lord Husband's care.

I hope you are well, Mother. I love you from the very depths of my heart.

You signed the letter with a careful flourish and set it aside. You would ask Atara where you might find a raven-master to have it sent. You touched your fingers to it softly, your first contact with your family in nearly a decade. To tell your mother that you were preparing for marriage and war.

As you blew out your candles and settled into bed, you hoped your mother would like Lord Cregan Stark.

On your fourth morning in Winterfell, you took morning tea with Sara. She had taken lengths to make you comfortable in the days since your arrival, and you took great joy in breaking your fast with her each morning. Today, you spent the early hours humming and haring over the tiny sample cakes you had been sent to taste for the upcoming feast. As you ate, Sara told you all that she could about the castle, the arriving lords, the Stark territory, and their histories.

Northern marriage traditions, you had learned, were not so different from those celebrated at King’s Landing, there would be the exchanging of cloaks and binding words spoken before gods but there would also be a hunt. Women such as yourselves would not be invited but you would find your own fun, Sara assured.

“It is tradition to have the pelts in your quarters and the meats on the feasting table.”

You lifted a citrusy cake between your thumb and forefinger, “Husband and wife share quarters here?”

“Most,” Sara said thoughtfully, “Though I’m sure Cregan would accommodate you if it is different in the south.”

“What happens if their hunt is unsuccessful?”

“I imagine there will be much embarrassment among the North, that we could not bring our Princess quarry for her wedding table.” Sara snatched the half-eaten cake from your hands and winked, “Fear not, Cregan is a good hunter.”

“If he is not,” You smiled fiendishly, “I suppose the two of us will have to find meats for the feast ourselves.”

Sara snorted, “I think my brother would be rather put out at being unable to provide you with a gift on your wedding day. But the look on his face as we return from our own hunt is almost worth it.”

You jolted, “Am I to bring him a gift?”

“You have brought him dragon eggs.”

“For our children.” You argued.

“For his heirs,” She assured, “I think he is already downtrodden at the idea of only being able to bring you fur and meat.”

“I bring only scales and fire.”

“You will be a very warm family.”

“And very well-fed.”

Sara snatched another cake from you, “Only if you keep eating all of these before I get a taste!”

You guffawed. “I am hungry, and they are so tiny!”

“They need be, so you can keep eating.”

“And I shall!”

“Your Highness, Lady Snow,” Atara curtsied as she entered, “Lord Stark has requested your presence in the courtyard.”

“Another lord has arrived?” Sara sank her teeth into another teacake. “Which house does he hail from?”

“No Lord, my Lady.” Atara looked to you uneasily, “A Prince. Of House Targaryen.”

After nearly nine years kept apart by the waters of Blackwater Bay, and three long days separated by your duties, the time had come. You caught your first look at your eldest brother as you left the comfort of the Great Keep and nearly crumpled to the ground. Sara laid a steadying hand at your shoulder as Atara whispered sweet comforts. But nothing could prepare you for the sight laid out in the courtyard.

Jacaerys, with Vermax perched atop the walls of the keep. Jacaerys, with tousled dark hair. Jacaerys, once the awkward boy you followed dutifully, now an emissary of the Queen. Jacaerys, your brother. Jacaerys, your mother’s son.

“Jacaerys!” You ran. Past Sara and Atara, past Cregan and his warning cry. You ran. Almost straight into the end of your brother’s sword. You pulled to a halt, the blade a whisper away from your sternum, “Jacaerys?”

“Sister,” He sneered. “How far you are from your castle.”

“I have escaped.”

“You have been sent as an emissary of the usurper and his cunt-mother.”

“She did not tell you?” Your arms slumped at your side. “Mother sent me as a spy, she and Daemon trusted me to–”

“Her trust was misplaced. You have betrayed us.”

“I have come here to rally the North for our mother’s claim, just as you have.”

“You have come here to better your station.”

“I am a Princess.” You hissed, confused, and insulted.

“You are Princess of nothing, of no house.”

“I am of House Targaryen,” You pressed forward until the tip of his sword tore through the bodice of your dress and blood welled. You turned, held out your hand and gave Cregan a pleading look, he shifted but stayed back. “I am Princess of loyalty, of oaths and duty. I have come to the North to escape the Greens, to tell our mother, the Queen, all that I have discovered these years.”

“Where was loyalty,” Jacaerys shook with rage. “When they dragged us before the Iron Throne and called our mother a whore and our brothers bastards? Where was duty, when Lucerys was nearly stripped of his birthright? Where were you when Laenor died? When Rhaenys flew to our mother's side to tell her of–”

“Our father is dead?” You whispered.

“Your father is Daemon.” He growled under his breath.

You reeled back, “My father is Laenor Velaryon.”

“It is Daemon. He told us so himself when he married Mother.”

“Daemon and mother are married?”

His sword sagged slightly, “The Greens did not tell you? What of Viserys and Aegon?”

“Our grandsire and uncle?”

Jacaerys looked pained, “Our brothers.”

You fell to your knees, shoved your face in your hands and wept. Jacaerys jerked his sword backward and staggered away from you as Cregan rushed to your side.

“Princess?” He wrapped a protective arm over you. “What is the matter?”

“The question of Driftmark’s succession,” Jacaerys stared at you in horror. “Where were you?”

“I did not know!” You sobbed. “I did not know!”

“Otto Hightower said you would not see us, that you felt abandoned and betrayed when Mother gave you to the Greens.”

Cregan pulled you closer to him as Jacaerys inched forward. He growled, “Stand back. You have no enemies among the Starks. Do not make one.”

“I went willingly, for mother, for Lucerys.” You glared up at your brother. “You watched me! I traded my life; you watched me do it!”

“Otto Hightower–”

“Is dead!” You bared your teeth. “I fled King’s Landing, and I killed the man who usurped our mother, and you as her heir. I am loyal, I am steadfast, I am your greatest supporter as heir.”

“Tis true.” Cregan attested. “She has come to the North in support of your mother's claim. She has offered her hand to me, and we have talked much of giving your mother’s children sanctuary here.”

“You are betrothed?” Jacaerys whispered.

“I am.” You said proudly.

Cregan smiled at you softly, “The North is yours, my Prince. So long as my Promised wills it.”

“Sister.” Was all Jacaerys could say. “Sister.”

“Come,” Cregan lifted you to your feet. “My betrothed will catch a cold out here, let us speak inside.”

.

Cregan sat you gently by the fire swaddling you in the great expanse of his cloak. Sara brought tea to your side while your brothers sat at the other end of the room to discuss politics.

“Did you hear?”

Sara blew on her cup, “I heard a lot.”

“Did you hear what he said about my father?”

“That you lost one? Or that…” She pursed her lips.

“That I am Daemon’s bastard.”

“I did.”

“Do you think Cregan heard?” You burrowed into his cloak.

She gave you a secret smile, “Does it matter? You are a Princess, twice over. And Cregan keeps me around, does he not?”

“I only meant…” You turned away. “I fear he may think me liable to follow in my mother’s footsteps.”

“Will you?”

You stared at her, “Cregan has been kind to me, listened to me, protected me – given me more than anyone has ever offered me. And he is my Promised. Why should I stray from him?”

“Then there is no reason to fret.”

“And the King’s Hand?”

“What of him?”

“I killed him.” You half hid your face in your teacup.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked curiously. “It is no small thing, to kill a man.”

“He has haunted my family for generations. I would do it again.”

Sara shrugged, “Then we will speak no more of it, justice has been served. I’m sure Cregan will more than agree.”

“Will he?”

“He has been forced to make decisions even further North of here, at the wall.” She took a long sip of tea and stared into the flames. “Some even I do not agree with. But we are family, and he is your Promised. So, it does not matter, does it?”

“No.” You stared into your cup. “I suppose not.”

“Princess!” The man in question came over with a charming grin, “Your brother has offered to escort you at our wedding.”

Jacaerys looked at you timidly, “If you will have me, sister.”

You looked first to Cregan who nodded, and then to Jacaerys with a soft smile. “Of course, brother. Nothing would please me more.”

The letter from your mother arrived another four days later. It came to you clutched in Jacaerys’ hand with the seal broken. He had caught the raven just south of Winterfell as he, Cregan and the Northmen returned from the ceremonial hunt.

“I apologise, sister, I have never been accused of being patient.”

You scoffed, “Some things do not change.”

“Indeed,” Jacaerys said rather gravely. “I must ask a small favour of you before I give you this letter. It is on behalf of myself and our mother.”

You straightened, “Of course brother.”

“You will not open it until after you have been blissfully wedded to Lord Stark.” He paused at your dubious look, “Mother has words she wishes to share only after your wedding. Congratulations and such.”

“I suppose that is agreeable.” You took the letter carefully, “Though we require her blessings to move forward.”

“And you have them.” He tapped the letter. “In there. You shall marry your Promised tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

And so, you married him that night.

The Godswood was eerie in the darkness of night. Though lit by the torches of countless Northmen, it felt as if the darkness were reaching cool unnatural fingers toward your procession. Coaxing you, in your red-black Maiden Cloak toward the foot of the weirwood heart tree, where your Lord-Promised, his uncle, and the dire wolf Shadow wait. Jacaerys held your hand tightly as if frightened to let you go. Around you, Lords and honoured guests planted their torches in the snow, lighting the way for you and your brother. The wind whistled through the silence, broken only by the great rumbling in Laesuvion’s chest where he perched on the lip of the keep’s gate.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Called Bennard Stark.

Jacaerys whispered your name, then cleared his throat in embarrassment and announced it proudly, "Daughter of the House Targaryen, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Cregan, of House Stark,” Your Promised sent you a small secret smile, “Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?"

"Jacaerys, of the House Velaryon, who is her brother and Prince." Jacaerys gave your hand a firm squeeze as he gave you to Cregan.

"Princess,” Lord Bennard made an admirable effort to say your name without disdain, “Will you take this man?"

You took Cregan’s large warm hands in your own and smiled, “I take this man.”

Silently, hands joined, you knelt to the cold earth. Around you, the Lords of the North fell to their knees and bowed their heads in deference. Foreheads pressed together, you and Cregan offered silent prayers to the Old Gods. When you stood as one, Sara was there in her uncle's place, a cloak of thick, luscious fur in the silver-grey of House Stark.

You tipped your head back as Cregan fiddled with the ties of your Maiden’s Cloak. You smiled at the sky as he struggled gently against your neck. Finally, it loosened, there was a brief shock of cold and then there was wonderous heat, the furred collar tickling your chin. You look to Cregan then, donned in his colours, wrapped in his protection. You smile softly at one another and lean into a soft kiss.

The black sky lights up with swashes of red as Laesuvion spits fire at the stars.

All at once sound returns to the Godswood as the witnesses of your nuptials cheer, chief among them is your brother. You laugh in delight as Cregan grips your cheeks and plants another kiss on your lips. Shadow yips at your heels as your husband sweeps you up into his arms and carries you toward the Great Hall.

He whispers sweet promises for your future, and you have never been more grateful to know how fiercely a Stark is at keeping their word.

It was the wolf’s hour when the festivities swelled through the Great Hall and you found yourself drawn to a quiet corner. You excused yourself from your husband by pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. He smiled softly at you and trailed his fingers from yours as you walked toward the hearth roaring at the far end of the hall. You pulled your mother's letter from your pocket and pressed your fingers against her seal as if you could fuse the two halves back into a whole. She and Jacaerys would not mind, you were sure, it was your wedding day after all, and you craved an inch of your mother’s presence.

You unfolded her letter and read:

My dearest girl,

I have never doubted you and I do not do so now.

You have my blessings. Marry the Lord Cregan Stark and take joy in your Promised. I will entrust Baela and Rhaena to bring your young brothers into your care.

You have served me well, which is why I write to you now, though my heart tells me to spare you.

Aemond has taken Lucerys’ life. War has come.

You looked up gripping the letter until your fingers drew indents in the paper and made desperate eye contact with Jacaerys’ pained face. A sound halfway between a scream and a sob tore from your throat, drowned by the thundering roar of Laesuvion overhead. Cregan stood, fighting to stumble his way toward you, as the walls of Winterfell rattled with your fury.

Nine years you had spent in the Red Keep, learning your enemies inside and out. Carefully ushering pieces across a board too vast for you to comprehend, hoping desperately you could stop a war conceived long before you. It all narrowed to this moment. Wrapped in the cloak of your husband’s house, framed by the hearth fire, as your dragon raged above.

Your Brother. Your Dragon. Your Husband.

By Blood. By Fire. By the Old God’s Promise.

You would avenge your brother and bring war to the Greens.

[tarydarrington]

Well into the night, Essek folds his hands at last with nothing left to say. Caleb’s study feels hollowed out, refilled to bursting with the ghosts of every word exchanged. There had been a lot of them. All carefully chosen, some shouted, all heated.

This isn't the end of the conversation, but it's the end of their talk. A satisfactory end to the first of many chapters. Essek takes a deep breath.

"Thank you for listening."

Across the coffee table, his mother folds her hands in her lap. "Thank you for your honesty."

As though this is the end of a business meeting and not the second most harrowing conversation of Essek's life, they exchange a polite nod.

He stands, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Allow me to show you to your room."

Hours ago, Caleb had retreated to his quarters to allow them some privacy. Much as Essek would like to follow, he will stay away while his mother is here. Whatever assumptions Deirta might make about their involvement would not be true—not yet, anyway—and he will not sour their uneasy truce with a misunderstanding.

“My quarters are there,” he says, gesturing to the door with the star carving. “Caleb’s are across the landing.”

He points out the rest of the rooms below as they approach the landing. The tower has been tinkered with over time; the rooms usually reserved for the rest of the Nein have become workshops, research stations, and other such spaces that have proved useful in their explorations.

Before he can lead her down through the iris, his mother holds up a hand.

“If I might impose,” she says, “I should like to read over the reports you mentioned.”

Of course—he had mentioned the Vurmas reports during the initial buffer of small talk. They would make their way to the Dynasty eventually, but reading them beforehand will give his mother a leg up. The first of many gestures Essek suspects it will take to make up for her silence.

A small price to pay. Until he had known for certain that the Umavi would not cut all contact upon learning of his treason, he hadn’t realized how much he had dreaded the possibility.

He turns away from the iris and toward his room. His mother waits outside as he slips in, leaving the door ajar behind him as he sifts through the stack of papers left on the table in the entryway.

“Pardon the mess,” he says out of habit, as though the space is not spotless. Caleb arranges this room from scratch each night; there is not so much as a speck of dust to offend.

It stops Essek mid-hover, then, to see his mother’s eyebrows raised when he turns back.

“Think nothing of it,” she says, and already the polite smile is back in place. “Tell me, do your friends’ quarters share the same design?”

Essek follows her eye line over his shoulder. Caleb has laid out his rooms as he usually does, all purples and stars and fine fabrics. An array of arcane instruments waits patiently on a table under the window. Essek's mother looks past it all and into the bedroom. He frowns. There is nothing terribly unusual there, save—

It's all he can do not to swallow his own tongue.

The bed. His mother is staring at his bed.

For a drow of his age to sleep once in a while is not unheard of, of course; particularly when ill, they are known to indulge. Be that as it may, Essek knows as well as Deirta that one would hardly purchase a bed for a once-in-a-blue-moon nap. It comes with certain implications. 

It was not a purchase, Essek insists to himself. Everything in this room was pulled from the ether to make him comfortable. The logic is with him.

"Indeed," he says. "The colors are customized to suit us each as individuals, but the layout is the same."

This is the part where he pretends that he hasn't spent more than one night positively snug under those blankets for comfort's sake, and especially pretends he has not realized that the mattress is wide enough to fit two.

Essek’s mother is an intelligent woman. She will put two and two together: Caleb is a human, and a human unused to drow customs might make such a faux pas with innocent intentions. One tends not to think twice about habits that are second nature, and someone of Caleb’s background would not think twice about placing a bed in a bedroom.

Essek has done the same mental math more than once, with varying levels of desperation.

“Well,” he says, and presses the files into his mother’s arms with as much dignity as he can scrape together, “let me show you to your rooms.”

They make their way in silence down through the tower’s central column. Essek thinks auf rather than saying it this time; better, just in case, to keep the magic words from his mother.

He leaves the way to the front door open. She has far too much decorum to snoop during the night.

They touch down on the fifth floor. Silently, Essek thanks Caleb for neglecting to put a dodecahedron on the guest room door.

“These are yours.” He draws the door open for her, bowing his head as he gestures inside.

With no small swell of pride, he watches her take in Caleb’s handiwork as her head turns on a slow swivel, then sneaks a glance himself.

Strands of crystal drape the ceiling like a canopy of iridescent vines. Caleb has replicated perfectly the sitting room Essek had described, complete with his mother's favorite tea steaming on the low table. Everything from the molding to the doilies speaks to both the gravity of her station and her own personal tastes.

There is no bed.

The Umavi’s manners are immaculate. He knows, as she turns a smile on him that is barely thinner than usual, that he will not hear a word about it. He will simply be cursed with the mortifying knowledge that she has arrived at her own conclusions.

Perhaps, if he tried very hard, he could claw his way out of his skin.

“Thank you very much,” Deirta says, hands folded in front of her. “Please pass on my gratitude to Master Widogast.”

He will hold eye contact. He will hold eye contact and smile politely. It is perfectly acceptable for his mother to suspect that he—

“Of course,” he says. “Should you require anything, the cats will assist.”

With utmost grace and one final nod, the Umavi shuts the door behind her. Essek, hands folded behind his back, counts to ten before deflating.

The bed is just as they’d left it, when he finds his way back to his chambers. Essek lingers in the doorway regarding it for a long moment before sinking down on the edge.

The bedding is soft. Is this the sort of fabric Caleb imagines Essek would prefer, or the sort that Caleb himself enjoys? He runs his thumb over a seam, letting the thought settle in with a warm buzz. It feels less forbidden this time, and several times more dangerous.

He leans into both feelings, climbing the rest of the way onto the bed and under the covers.

Two floors down and two doors over, his mother is doubtless turning their conversation over in her head. She will spend the night picking apart his every transgression, weighing it against whatever sentimental value he holds to her.

Essek breathes out and turns his face into the softness of the pillowcase.

It smells like him. Like Essek himself—just the way it would after many days of use. Essek shuts his eyes, pressing his hands to his face as the liquid warmth of that realization makes its way through him.

Two doors down, he is increasingly certain that Caleb, too, is thinking of him.

His mother is in the tower. This is not the time to dwell on such things, much as his body would like to.

With a deep breath, Essek runs his thumb across the soft ridges of the duvet. His nail catches on one, then two, then three—he counts until his pulse begins to listen to reason, then breathes out. For now, he will take it as a safety net. Something to fall into at the end of the day when all else is uncertain. A soft place to land.

Let his mother assume what she will. It would be the least of his crimes she’s learned of tonight.

The threads of a Sending pull taut between his fingers, buzzing with potential. He takes a breath and lets it out.

“We are finished for the night,” he says. “Much more to come. My thanks and hers for your hospitality.”

He curls his lip at himself. Formality is not a leg on which he’s felt the need to stand in some time, where Caleb is concerned. His mother’s presence has him falling back into old means of keeping balanced.

“Sleep well. Perhaps with one eye open.”

Caleb knows him well enough to take it in jest. Essek lets the spell go, shutting his eyes with a long breath out.

Later, the memory of Caleb’s voice in his head as he sinks into the mattress will do him no favors at all.

“Glad to hear it went well,” he says, laughter in his voice. “I will have breakfast ready early. She will be impressed, I hope.”

Essek counts the stars on the ceiling. The pause stretches on for two constellations.

“Until morning, dear friend,” Caleb finishes. “Sleep well.”

Something warm unspools in Essek’s chest as the magic dissipates around him. There is more than one story in the tower that is only in the first of many chapters. The words to this one will be harder to find—but their writing, he thinks, will be sweeter.

---

a very happy, very late birthday to my friend @sosobriquet, who tossed this concept around with me many months ago 🍰💜

[arty-cakes]

being both a bretta and zote fan is so so painful actually ppl will always find some way to make sure they never interact again or use the latter to (seriously) demonize zote for stuff he never did while also mischaracterising bretta and i 💥👊💥🥊👊🤜🤛💥🤜👊🤜💥🤜💥🥊 🤜👊👊👊🤜💥 im not good at putting into words why this is frustrating

either make them divorced mortal enemies or reluctant friends who actually enjoy eachother's company either of those are funnier but why make up stuff that didnt happen and then pretend its canon and the reason why they should never talk again..... thats so boring

i was gonna leave this in the tags but no i wanna talk

i know im complaining here but its honestly not an issue i see a-lot like i do see them being enemies or friends in fancontent and to the ppl who do that ily very much. its always cool. and people like my dynamic too and when they let me know it makes me rlly happy lol

but i feel like people need to understand that not every situation is good or bad sometimes they are just. situations. like bretta and zote

and i still feel like there's this general misunderstanding about zote that needs to be cleared up which is that he's not actually.... a liar lol. or i mean the only person he lies to is himself and he's not pretending to be a knight he really BELIEVES he's a knight. don quixote coded like he rlly believes he killed the vengefly king and won the colosseum tournament and whatever. all confirmed by his dreamnail dialogue like it makes it REALLY CLEAR that he believes what hes saying. he's actually having delusions thats why most people in hollow knight choose to help him out its why he cant process life threatening situations. he's still annoying just because of his general personality but NOT because of his delusions. (i'd say something profound about how usefulness ties to worth in most people's subconscious and its rooted in ableism and its why zote hate is so loud and normalized but i dont know how to) basically he is not out here 'manipulating' anyone wtf

bretta's delusional too btw the game literally calls her out (gpz godhome description i think). personally i like that canon decided these two should meet and the result was this awfully tough dreamgod that u can fight 10x that's hilarious to me. if a fan made this up and it never happened in canon i would be like 'holy shit this should be a dlc this WOULD happen' because these two are just like that

also people seriously forget that bretta didnt just leave because of zote she left because of ghost too. girl just had enough of short knights ok she was done with both of them if you bring her back to town she's not suddenly gonna realize ghost is heroic and cool and be apologetic and want them back and zote's mad and jealous. <- this out here is mischaracterising ALL 3 of them its so juvenile what.... and i just dont think she'd care that much about either of them, a lot like how zote barely gives a shit about the infection or never realizes she left, they both have tunnel vision these two are the same do you see it

also tell me he was lying when he called ghost a beast because they are thats all they've been striving for this is a compliment to them i know it

this isnt reallyyy a rant. its a personal grievance because i like them both so i care about their portrayal and interactions and i like it when they aren't lonely. but also they're really light-hearted characters so why not just treat them like that....they go through shit and then they move on easily and go through it all over again. its been 7 years can we cut them a break. i dont wanna see anymore mischaracterising unless its really funny

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Day 5 — Blowjob

Pairing || CEO!Bucky x Wife!Reader

Word Count || Around 1000

Contents & Warnings || Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, dub-con, explicit content/language, pet names, teasing, (secret) blowjob, orgasm denial, throat fucking, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Kinktober Masterlist

You knocked on your husband’s office door, entering when he announced to do so. He had a pleasantly surprised expression on his face, not expecting you to visit today, but he glowed when he saw you.

“Hey, honey. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just came to say hi.”

You closed and locked the door. A mischievous smirk curved on your lips as you strutted over to the desk where he sat. He leaned back in the seat while licking his lips. Oh, you hadn’t just come to say hello; you’d also come for something else.

“Does my princess want something?”

“She does.”

You placed your palms on his desk as you leaned forward, showing off your cleavage in the low top, making him groan. “I want your cock in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” He shut his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows as he lightly tilted his head back. “You know I want to give you everything, princess, but I have an online meeting that starts now. It’s about that important investment, remember?”

“Please.” You batted your eyelashes at him as you tilted your head to the side. “I promise I’ll be quiet.” Truth is, the worry wasn’t you being loud but him. He could never shut up when you sucked him off.

He knew nothing he said would change your mind. You were already insistent on having his cock in your mouth, and you would get your way.

You dropped to your knees and crawled under the desk, finding your place between his legs.

You started with palming him through his suit pants, wanting to make him so hard that his cock begged to be freed and sucked.

He was already a groaning mess, and you’d only just started. It made you smirk at the power you held over him.

The laptop sounded that a call was coming through, but he didn’t answer. His senses focused only on your hand that was touching him.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” You chuckled.

“O-oh, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He panicked for a second and tried to find his calm before he answered. “P-please, baby, be gentle with me.” He pleaded before clearing his throat and pressing to join the call.

You would have to see about the gentle and kind part because you’d come here to wreck and destroy.

“Hello, gentlemen.” Once you heard the men on the other end greet your husband, it was time to get to work.

You undid the pants and took his cock out of its confinements. Your lips parted as you eyed his hard and perfect cock. Of course, it’s not the first time you’ve looked upon it, but it always left you mesmerised.

You zoned out on what the gentlemen said—focusing entirely on the big task at hand.

You peppered his length with kisses and kitten licks, making the man above you suck in a breath. Which made one of the men on the other end stop talking for a second or two before continuing.

God, how you loved being a menace towards your husband.

You traced his thick vein with your broad tongue, which made him shiver in his seat as his leg jerked.

Once you were done teasing and playing around, you took his tip in your mouth and suckled while swiping your tongue on his slit, tasting his precum.

Inch by inch, you took him in your mouth, and once he hit the back of your vibrating throat, he let out a loud groan. You pulled away from him, a smirk on your lips, waiting to see what would happen and if they suspected something.

“James, are you ok?” One of the men asked.

“Y-yeah, sorry, gentlemen. I did an intense workout this morning, and I’ve got cramps in my leg. All good now. Proceed.” They all went back to talking.

You took him in again, but being careful not to go too deep. You hollowed your cheeks and slowly bobbed your head on his cock.

Surprisingly, he was good at keeping quiet. Only a slip of a moan and groan here and there. And when he talked, he sounded relative normal. His voice only strained a little.

Building a delicious momentum, you now quickly bobbed and swirled your head on his slick cock.

Once you sensed he was about to bust, you slowed down, not wanting him to come yet, because where’s the fun in that?

He jerked his hips into your mouth, silently begging for release, but you whispered a no before returning to suck him off again.

Like this, it went on for another 10 minutes. A torturous 10 minutes for your husband, but in the end, he got the deal, and he could now celebrate.

Once he hung up, he pushed his chair out, pulling you with him. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He cradled your head and fucked up into your face, making you gag as he hit the back of your throat.

Now, his moans and groans ran free into the office space as you slobbered all over his cock, making a drooling mess. Your lips were swollen, and your eyes watered as he showed no mercy on your poor throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His tip tickling the back of your throat repeatedly sent him over the edge. He groaned deeply as his cum shot down your throat.

“Fuck.” He rid himself of the aftershocks by slowly thrusting into your mouth. Once he was completely satisfied, he glided you off him. His cock left your mouth with a pop.

He admired your messy state—spit and cum dripping off you.

“Congrats on the deal, babe.” You announced casually like you hadn’t just gotten your throat wrecked.

“Thank you, honey.” He guided your head to his cock again, wanting to celebrate some more.

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[fayes-fics]

Benedict with him like mocking the reader when they can’t respond and him being kinda mean about how good he is

Kinktober: Benedict + Degradation Kink

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader, modern AU

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dom/sub, mean!dom!Benedict, cockwarming, gags, spreader bar, degrading language, nipple and clit spanking.

Author’s note: hi there 🫶 So this is as mean as I could make Benedict, I always headcanon him as Soft Dom. I set this in Modern AU. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filth 🧡

“Stop whining,” he jeers, stilling your limbs.

You huff indignantly. Well, as much as you can, with saliva leaking over your chin, your underwear stuffed inside your mouth, scratchy and tart with arousal.

“Don't pretend you don't love this,” he warns, “you nasty little slut.” It’s hissed right into your ear, a shiver down your spine.

You asked him to be mean, rough, degrading, push your boundaries; he’s not holding back. You are in his lap, facing away, sitting on his cock, but forbidden from moving or touching yourself. You just have to be obediently still, cockwarming him, thighs draped on either side of his, a spreader bar strapped around your ankles, drooling from your mouth and elsewhere. Any time you attempt to wriggle, he halts you instantly. Your clit burning, pussy throbbing from the sustained stretch. That he has stayed rock solid for so long while idly reading on his Kindle is impressive. But doesn't help your plight. You tried to read along with him at one point but gave up, too preoccupied and strung out with lust to concentrate.

Your hands grasp the side of his quad muscles, fingers flexing but desperate not to tap out your safety code. You want this. More than anything. The mindless freedom of utterly ceding control, gagged and bound, put in your place with words you would slap anyone for calling you outside of this fantasy you only trust him with. 

He casually puts aside the reading device and suddenly pinches your nipples harshly. You squeal into your gag, the jewelled choker around your neck bearing his initials digging into your flesh as you do. He tugs roughly on your pebbled peaks, a zinging direct line to your clit, amplifying the heavy sensation in your whole pelvis.

“You just can't resist me, can you?” he sneers rhetorically, biting your earlobe. “Leaking all over me, ruining my sofa like the filthy bitch in heat you are.” 

He emphasises his point by smacking the nipples he has just pinched, puffy and darkened. Your hearty cry sounds pathetic, the fabric muting you.

“I'm the best you have ever had. Say it,” he commands.

You attempt to echo his words, but it's garbled behind the wad of material in your mouth.

“I can't hear you,” he mocks, “speak properly.”

You try again, enunciating to the point of shouting.

“Better,” he chuckles hollow. 

You slump back against him, his chest warm on your spine, nuzzling your nose against his neck, mewling softly, trying a new tactic, hoping it will make him take pity finally.

“Oh, my poor little fuck toy,” he preens, dripping with possessiveness. “When will you learn? You are mine to do as I want,” he adds, spanking two fingers over your clit so you scream again, legs jerking up as the bar clinks around your leather ankle cuffs. Despite his words, it makes you so hopeful; just one or two more strikes, and you swear you will come, wound so tight with arousal. 

But, almost as if sensing it, he instead nonchalantly returns to his book, and you want to wail, your brain itching with need. You attempt a muffled appeal for more, for anything, but he feigns misunderstanding of what you are saying and then merely ignores you. At this point, you would be grateful for anything - for him to push you to your knees and fuck your throat, throw you on the floor and spank your pussy raw - anything but this prolonged tease, frankly. 

After what feels like forever, he flicks to the last page, and your pussy clenches reflexively from your excitement at spying blank space - that the end of the book is in sight. He moans slightly at the squeeze.

“Excited are we?” he rumbles, and it's closer to the real Benedict than anything.

You nod, twisting to look at him, eyes pleading.

“Alright. Once I've finished this book, I’ll fuck you,” he offers conciliatoryly, and you want to weep in relief.

No taglist as these drabbles are so short

[blissfulip]

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: mentions of Child SA, allusions to the witch trials

Words: 3.1k

[A/N: Sorry for making the bishop so annoying I made myself angry proof-reading this lmao (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

Previous Next

II.

Noon had started to crack, and Viktor sat still at the edge of his bed, his left leg throbbing with a persistent ache and guilt consuming him as he grappled with the weight of his recent actions. His mind swirled in a tumult of self-condemnation and regret as the looming certainty of facing Father Isidore when he would eventually be called up to the kitchen for lunch weighed over him.

How could he, entrusted with the guidance of others, find himself so lost in the labyrinth of his own sin? It was so easy, too, to feel like the absolutions he offered were hollow, his own inability to forgive himself casting a shadow over the sanctity of his role. And amidst this turmoil, the relentless ache in his left leg—probably due to kneeling for a prolonged stretch of time, but that in the wake of what he had just done felt more akin to divine punishment—served as a reminder of his frailty, both physical and spiritual. 

But pain is purification, suffering gives way to redemption, and penitence is salvation, so isn’t pleasure the correct response after all? If martyrdom is the ultimate act of love, then why shouldn’t agony be met with enjoyment? That was the lie Viktor soothed himself with before deciding to be a step ahead of the altar boys and make his way to the kitchen. 

-----------------------------

His leg protested with each step, but it seemed insignificant compared to the stinging feeling on his back now that he had the rough fabric rubbing against it. What lingered wasn’t nearly as pleasant as before; however, he felt undeserving of making a fuss about it, it being a punishment—ironically—for a self-inflicted punishment that he shouldn’t have delighted in. 

As he entered, the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him, mingling with the faint aroma of incense that clung to his robes and clashing with the uninviting presence of Father Isidore, who sat at the table, steaming cup in hand. 

“Viktor, my son,” he exclaimed in a voice that sounded sweet and as sticky and treacherous as molasses, “I trust you have...repented.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, a wave of trepidation washing over him as he felt his judgmental gaze on him. Viktor severely disliked the special way Father Isidore enunciated; emphasis on certain words never seemed like enough for him; he always made it a point to hiss and spit; his lips thinned out and tense like he was holding in a growl. It didn’t match his childlike guise, and this made Viktor weary of him ever since he was a kid. 

“I have,” he replied tersely, taking a seat opposite his superior’s robust presence. 

"It seems, however, that some of us struggle more than others with the concept of self-control," he remarked, his words dripping with a subtle veil of aggression.

Viktor's stomach churned with resentment. "I am aware of my shortcomings, Father," he retorted, his voice tinged with bitterness. 

“Don’t misunderstand me, son. It is never my intention to prohibit your studies or peg your enthusiasm for learning; you know our monastery has always valued knowledge of the great arts.”

“Until it challenges one of your universal truths, that is.”

“Precisely, are you trying to imply we should challenge the dogma?” 

Viktor stayed silent. 

“Tell me, do you think you are above us all?” 

“Of course I don’t, father.” but he did, and this whole lecture was starting to get old. 

“Then you must clearly think you are above sin. So holy and pure that you are able to read such heretic words and not be tempted by them?” He said this as he got closer to Viktor, his face slowly turning beet red: “unde et corda filiorum hominum implentur malitia et contemptu in vita sua et post haec ad inferos deducentur.”

And then he did the same eyebrow raise he used to do when Viktor was a child, and he was testing his knowledge of the scripture. Viktor sighed, partly in defeat but mostly in annoyance. 

“‘Hence the hearts of the sons of men are filled with malice and contempt in their lives, and after this they are brought down to hell’,” he answered as he instinctively leaned back on the chair, the scorching sensation reminding him why it was a terrible idea. 

“I can tell you are in pain; why must you still be so stubborn, even when you are enduring your penitence on the flesh?” 

“I see no malice in curiosity.”

“Even when you intentionally seek the words of miscreants, knowing full well the danger it presents?”

“I don’t seek dangerous ideals; the universe is, and I simply try to understand it.”

“You are lost, Viktor.” Father Isidore’s lips curled up into a grin of contempt, a show of mockery that made it clear his concern for Viktor’s soul came from a place of scorn. 

“Temptatio vos non adprehendat nisi humana, something something, and God will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear and, eh, I forgot what comes after,” Viktor recited, quiet but defiant. 

“To me, you are nothing but a test of resilience, Viktor. If I have to tear you down myself to build you back up as a God-honoring servant, I will.” He said this as he visibly struggled to disguise his frustration. “Come, I would like you to meet someone.”

--------------------------------

As they made their way through the narrow streets of the small town, the bustling activity of the market greeted them. Vibrant stalls lined the cobblestone paths, their displays of fresh produce and handmade goods drawing Viktor’s attention. All the while, he wondered who this mysterious person and possible weapon of torture would be. 

Father Isidore walked with an air of authority, his presence commanding respect as he exchanged warm greetings with anyone who crossed their path. Soon they came upon an elderly woman sitting by a small table, adorned with a meager assortment of goods. Her weathered face bore the deep lines of a life well-lived, yet her eyes sparkled with a warmth that belied her frailty. She smiled weakly as they approached, her gnarled hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Good morning, Father!" called out an elderly woman, her face lighting up with a smile as she approached. "Blessings be upon you." 

He gave back a smile that could've fooled anyone, but Viktor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something calculated in his demeanor. "And to you as well, my dear," Father Isidore replied, his tone tinged with a hint of forced sincerity. "How are you faring today?"

"Oh, just getting by as best I can, Father," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Times have been hard, but the Lord provides."

"Indeed, He does, and speaking of such, have you been able to fulfill your tithe to the church this month?”

The elderly woman's smile faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to her lap as she fidgeted with the worn fabric of her apron. "I... I'm afraid not, Father," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Things have been tight lately, with the harvest being poor and all."

His expression hardened imperceptibly, though his tone remained gentle as he pressed the issue. "I understand, my dear," he continued. "But you must remember the importance of supporting the church, especially in these trying times. Perhaps there is something else you could sacrifice to ensure your tithe is met."

Viktor watched in silent anger as the elderly woman's shoulders slumped in resignation, her eyes downcast as she nodded in reluctant agreement. Despite his own discomfort, he couldn't help but feel a surge of rage at the ease with which Father Isidore exploited the vulnerability of this woman for the sake of the church's coffers.

“If I may, Lucida,” Viktor interjected. Different from his superior, he knew the members of their community; he had taken time to know them and had offered his friendship along with his guidance. “You must be forgetting; your daughter has already come to offer lithe on behalf of your family.”

This was a lie, but be it because Lucida’s age was betraying her memory or because she had taken the hint of what Viktor was doing, it didn’t matter. Her mouth shaped into a round O as she nodded at both of them. Father Isidor looked at Viktor with suspicion but did not press the issue any further either, simply dragging Viktor by his free arm to continue on their way. 

A modest house was nestled along the path. Father Isidore announced himself with a drawn-out knock on the solid wood of the door, and the figure of a weary woman appeared as the door peered open. When she saw the men, her feeble demeanor swiftly morphed into visible uneasiness. 

Viktor knew her; she had been at the cathedral at least once, and multiple times she had made herself present at Viktor’s masses in the small town parish. She had never reacted this way to him before, so Viktor knew it was the man beside him who was causing this woman concern. 

“Father Isidore, I’m sorry; I did not expect to see you here,” she cried out, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. 

“Fret not, dear; I haven’t come to collect her yet; I simply wanted Viktor to meet her.” He scrutinized the inside of the house from where he stood before gently pushing the woman aside to enter the house, uninvited. Viktor gave her quiet apologies and small awkward smiles, following close behind him when she gave him a sign to invite him in. 

The woman took them to the other side of the small house; there, the threshold of what seemed to have been a door in the past separated this expanse from the rest of the house. In the dimly lit chamber, a young teenage girl sat on the edge of her bed, her long black twin braids cascading down her shoulders like a dark veil, so dark that if you looked at it under the right light, it might even look blue.

Her posture was slumped, and her slender frame seemed to wilt under an invisible weight. The room around her felt heavy with silence, broken only by the faint sound of her shallow breaths. She looked up to look at them as the three entered, but her once vibrant eyes, now dulled and distant, gazed blankly ahead, unfocused and unseeing. 

“Darling, Father Isidore has come to see you; will you say hi to him and his friend?” Her mother asked delicately as she sat down on the bed next to her. Viktor was stumped; he didn’t remember seeing this girl at any of the functions before or around the town as he ran errands. The girl’s hands lay limply in her lap, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the faded bedspread as she looked at Father Isidore. 

And very subtly, her once empty gaze welled up with noticeable rage. 

“What do you want, sheep?” Her voice sounded so sweet, yet her words were so filled with venom.

“Careful now; I’m not here to take you yet, but I might change my mind if you decide to get nervy with me.” 

She squinted slightly before giving Father Isidore an empty smirk and snapping her head quickly to look directly at Viktor. “Are you in trouble too? I’m only ever used as an example.” 

“I-eh, I’m not sure.” Viktor pondered her words for a short second: “An example?”

“For what not to do.” She scoffed; she now seemed unaffected by their presence, giggling at Viktor’s confused expression, like he had told her a joke. “What did you do? Illegal medicine?” she asked, and she continued when she received no response. “You’re a priest; did you lay with a woman? Oh, oh, oh, a man, perhaps?”

The amusement in her tone was not enough to cut the tension in the air. Viktor wondered why no one seemed to care about what she was saying, but he figured Father Isidore was attempting to make a point out of this, and her mother was too afraid to do anything that might upset the bishop. 

“I would ask you if you touched a child, but they care considerably less about that than they do about banned...That’s it, isn’t it? You—” She said, now wiggling her feet like she had reverted to an earlier stage of her life. “—are a man of science; I can see in your eyes that you know what heliocentrism is.” She giggled her way through those words and looked at Viktor with wide eyes, awaiting a response. 

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft shuffle of feet on the worn floorboards as the mother stood by the door, her expression wrought with fear, while Father Isidore's features were etched with thinly veiled frustration.

Suddenly, the girl spoke, her voice soft but tinged with defiance. "You can't stop me, fawner," she said, her words cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. "I won't let you."

Father Isidore's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, as he shot the girl a warning glare. "Enough," he admonished. "You know the consequences of disobedience, and you know what awaits you; don’t make an effort to rush your departure."

With a sense of urgency, the mother hurriedly ushered them toward the door, pleading and apologizing on her daughter’s behalf, and in the onslaught of their departure, Viktor felt a small object slip into his hand. Startled, he glanced down only to see the girl’s swift fingers pressing something into his palm and a pair of brazen eyes that quickly snuck back onto the bed, unnoticed. 

He didn’t dare to look, not as long as he had eyes on him, so he clenched his fist around it, as if something told him he ought not to lose it. Viktor's mind raced with questions, his confusion mounting with each hurried step as they silently walked the path back to the parish. As they climbed the small steps to go inside the building, the bishop spoke. 

“She is being taken to undergo a trial for witchcraft, but I’m sure what you saw made that evident.”

“She doesn’t look like a witch.”

“What do witches look like, son?”

“Wretched, evil, hateful...”

“And is it not evil to go against the dogma of our faith? Is it not wretched to seek deranged ideals like ‘heliocentrism’ and ‘geokinesis’, mad, truly mad things for someone who is fearful of God to believe, and especially wicked for a woman to believe?”

Viktor did not answer. 

“God has great plans for you, Viktor. Do not stray from your path, and you’ll be able to avoid an end like hers” He said, punctuating the last word with a hefty—and ignobly intentional—pat on his back. 

The wounds, still fresh and tender, protested vehemently against the sudden contact, each movement a reminder of the agony that plagued him. He visibly winced and took a sharp breath through gritted teeth, doing his best to suppress the urge to cry out in pain. But it wasn't just the physical discomfort that gnawed at him. Beneath the surface, a simmering anger had been bubbling. 

-----------------------------------

Alone again in the confines of his quarters, Viktor sank to his knees in front of the small wooden crucifix that adorned the wall. His hands trembled as he clasped them together in prayer, his lips moving silently in fervent entreaty. 

“Pater Noster qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…” He began automatically, but he didn’t know what he had prayed for. 

When the prayer ended, there was silence.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus…” He started once again, perhaps a mother would pity him.

Silence. 

Anger burned within him like a smoldering ember. The rotund face of Father Isidore plagued his inner thoughts. How could a man of God, a shepherd of the faithful, wield his power with such callous disregard?

But beneath the anger lay a deeper, more insidious emotion: guilt. Guilt for his own weakness, for his depravity, for his inability to rise above the turmoil and find solace in his faith. With a frustrated sigh, Viktor bowed his head lower, his hands clenching into fists as he fought to contain the tempest raging within him. 

"Why?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the silence of the room. "Why do I pray, day after day, only to be met with silence? Have I been forsaken, abandoned by the very God I serve?"

But as the echoes of his words faded into the darkness, there came no answer, and in that moment of profound solitude, Viktor felt more alone than ever before, until he remembered the small object he had managed to slip into his robes. 

A brass coin, small and thin enough that he could break it with his bare hands if he was not careful. It appeared to have worn off with time, the original color having faded into a dark green, corroded shade. As he held it up to the dim candlelight, the symbol etched into its surface seemed to shimmer—a circle with small letters around its circumference that he couldn’t read. In it there was a smaller circle, and inside of it, even smaller, a strange swirly shape with five triangles on its flat top and a cross in the very center. 

He knew, deep inside, that he recognized what he knew to be the symbol of a creature of darkness and forbidden knowledge. His instincts screamed at him to cast it aside, to rid himself of its tainted influence, but a curious fascination held him captive. In a surge of frustration and desperation, Viktor closed his eyes and clasped the coin tightly in his hands, his lips moving in silent prayer.

“God has failed me; let this be the time I am acknowledged.” For a long moment, nothing happened. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft whisper of his own breath. But then, just as Viktor's hope began to wane, he felt a strange warmth emanating from the coin, spreading through his fingertips. 

Like a heavy shroud enveloping the room, suffusing the air with palpable tension, the atmosphere shifted, thickening with an otherworldly energy that seemed to hum with ancient power. A chill ran down Viktor's spine when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. As he summoned the courage to gaze upon the figure behind him, he found himself confronted by a sight that defied all comprehension.

The figure of a woman, alluring and terrible but terrifyingly familiar, stood before him. A surge of primal terror mixed with a morbid fascination compelled him to stand his ground, and then he heard her voice. 

“Curious, very curious.” She whispered. 

[stobinesque]

Hi! 36 for platonic stobin? Ty! -@steddierthings

hello, this broke me 🥲 prompt: things you said but didn’t mean | rating: T (for language) wc: 616 | cw: hurt/comfort, arguments & misunderstandings

Robin storms inside, door slamming behind her. “God, you can be such an idiot sometimes!” The second the words are out she wants to yank them back. “Fuck.”

Steve’s face is frozen like a wax figurine. He’s never looked at her like that. He’s not looking at her. No, that’s not right. He’s not looking at her. It’s some plastic version of him, wearing Steve’s face like a mask. He huffs out a hollow laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I’m— I’m aware, Robin.”

“Fuck. No. Steve, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just—”

“You just finally got sick of me?” His voice is only barely quavering, and he waves a dismissive hand, as though to brush away objections she hasn’t even made yet. “No, that’s fine, I get it. No one sticks around, you know?”

“Steve.”

“You don’t have to keep stringing me along like, like some kind of lapdog, you know? I don’t need your pity, Robin.”

Her face is wet, her feet blocks of concrete, and there’s a knife lodged in her chest. “Is that what you think? You think I pity you?”

The mask flickers, and that’s all the fuel she needs to launch herself across the space she carved between them to jab a finger into his chest. “You think I threw myself against a door with you, you think I walked into battle with you, y-you think I came out to you, because I pity you? Do you think that little of me? Do you think that little of yourself?”

Steve’s eyes are round as saucers and he has both hands wrapped around her forearm. “No— no, Robs, I— ” His voice cracks around a sob and suddenly he’s collapsing into her arms.

Robin startles back with the shock, but not enough to lose him. Her arms tighten around him hesitantly.

She doesn’t know what to do. She’s seen Steve in every state imaginable. But she’s never seen him break—not like this. Not because of her.

She drops down to her knees, pulling him with her, and he burrows himself deeper in her embrace. “I love you, Steve.” She whispers it into his ear, tears streaming down her face. “You’re my best friend. More than, you’re— there isn’t a word for what you are to me, okay? You’re the most important person in my life, and nothing you say, or-or do, or fuck up is ever going to change that, you hear me? You…” she laughs, reaching up to wipe some of the tears from her face. “God, in spite of all of the fucking horror that came with it: you make my life better. You make me happy. And I’m sorry if I’ve ever done anything to make you doubt that.”

“’M sorry too,” Steve mumbles against her chest. He pulls back just enough to look up into her face. “And you haven’t, okay? Don’t put that on yourself, it’s… You were right. I don’t… I’m still not used to it. People wanting all of me.” Steve shakes his head. “I have a hard enough time understanding why Henderson keeps me around. But you? I’ve never met anyone better, and I spend every day wondering what I did to deserve you, and terrified of when I’ll ruin it.”

Robin sandwiches Steve’s face between her hands and makes him look at her, even though the intense stare makes her want to flinch. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve my love, okay? You already have it, and you always will.” She closes her eyes and leans up to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, Fen. For forever.”

“Love you too, Birdie.”

send me a pairing and a prompt!

[hongrizoon]

Scared of losing you

"Scared of losing you" - [ angst, fluff ]

masterlist

-- summary: it's not easy breaking up with the man you loved, well love.

-- genre: fluff, angst-ish

-- word count: 1k+

-- pairings: Kang Yeosang x Fem!Reader

mars notes. idk how to feel about this one.. anyways this will probably be the last thing i'll post for a while, since ive been posting a lot of drafts. i'll post more one shots and stuff another day.. im rlly tired.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the tear tracks staining Y/N's cheeks. She clutched a lukewarm cup of coffee, the steam failing to dissipate the chill that had settled deep within her. Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the storm brewing in her chest. Every rumble of thunder echoed the tumult of emotions warring within her.

Her gaze drifted towards the cashier, Kang Yeosang, his once familiar features now cast in a harsh light. His brow furrowed in concern as their eyes met, a flicker of something she couldn't decipher crossing his face before he quickly looked away. Shame burned in her stomach, a bitter counterpoint to the hollowness that had taken root there since their break-up.

It had been three months, yet the memory of their final fight remained vivid. Words, barbed and laced with unspoken hurt, had been flung back and forth, leaving a chasm that neither seemed capable of bridging. The hurt in his eyes, a mirror of her own, had been the final blow, pushing her out the door and into a future devoid of him.

A sob escaped her lips, barely audible over the rain's relentless drumming. Regret, a suffocating weight, settled on her chest. Had they been too quick to give up? Was their love, once a vibrant flame, truly extinguished, or just smoldering beneath a layer of misunderstandings?

The chime of the store door opening jolted her out of her reverie. A young couple hurried in, seeking refuge from the downpour. The woman, shivering in a thin jacket, leaned into the man's embrace, his arm tightening around her protectively. A pang of longing shot through Y/N.

She remembered countless rainy days spent with Yeosang, huddled under a shared umbrella, their laughter echoing amidst the pitter-patter of raindrops. He'd always known how to chase away the chill, not just from her body but from her soul as well.

A wave of nausea washed over her. The coffee, usually a source of comfort, now tasted like burnt regret. She choked back a sob, the familiar sting of tears blurring her vision.

Suddenly, a voice, hesitant yet concerned, cut through the haze of her despair.

"Y/N? Are you alright?"

Yeosang stood beside her, his usual stoicism replaced by a worried frown. He held a pack of tissues, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air.

Shame threatened to drown her again, but a surge of defiance pushed it back.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, clutching the coffee cup tighter, as if it were a shield against the vulnerability threatening to spill out.

His gaze softened. "Can I...?" He gestured towards the empty seat opposite her.

Hesitantly, she nodded. The silence that followed stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, Yeosang spoke, his voice raspy.

"I... I saw you come in."

"Great," she muttered, sarcasm lacing her voice.

"Y/N," he started, his voice firm yet laced with a tremor, "that's not what I meant."

She looked up, meeting his gaze. The familiar warmth in his eyes, usually a source of solace, now sent a fresh wave of heartache through her.

"What did you mean, then?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I know things haven't been good between us. But seeing you like this..." He trailed off, his frustration evident.

"Like what?" she challenged, a flicker of defiance igniting within her.

"Like you're breaking apart," he finished, his voice low and intense.

His words struck a chord deep within her. Was she breaking apart? Or was she already broken, the pieces scattered in the aftermath of their fractured relationship?

Tears welled up again, blurring his worried face. A shaky breath escaped her lips.

"Yeosang..." she began, her voice trembling.

The words wouldn't come. How could she express the tangled mess of emotions churning inside her? The regret, the longing, the lingering love that felt like a betrayal to her pride?

He seemed to understand her unspoken words. His hand reached out, hovering hesitantly near hers.

"Can I...?" he began, his voice barely a whisper.

Before he could finish, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her, a spark igniting in the desolate landscape of her heart.

Hesitantly, he intertwined their fingers, his grip gentle yet firm. The familiar tingle that always accompanied his touch flooded back, a bittersweet reminder of what they had lost.

A tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

He brushed it away with his thumb, a gesture so tender it stole her breath.

"Y/N," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "let's talk. Properly this time."

The invitation hung in the air, a tentative bridge across the chasm that had grown between them. Could they truly rebuild what had been broken? The vulnerability in his eyes mirrored her own, and a sliver of hope, fragile as a spiderweb, began to spin in her chest.

"Here?" she whispered, gesturing to the brightly lit store filled with strangers.

He shook his head. "No. Not here. Let me take you somewhere."

The suggestion sent a tremor through her. Was this a step towards reconciliation, or simply a painful reminder of what they could no longer have? Uncertainty gnawed at her, but the yearning in his gaze outweighed her fear.

With a silent nod, she allowed him to lead her out of the store, the rain still drumming a relentless rhythm against the pavement. He ushered her into his car, a familiar warmth emanating from the worn leather seats.

As he drove, the city lights blurred into streaks of neon. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic swish of the wipers. She stole a glance at his profile, the familiar set of his jaw clenched tight.

"Where are we going?" she finally broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper.

He hesitated for a moment before answering. "There's this place, by the river. We used to go there all the time."

A bittersweet smile touched her lips. The riverbank. A place where stolen kisses tasted like stolen moments, and whispered promises echoed under the starlit sky. A place where their love had bloomed, vibrant and carefree.

They arrived just as the rain began to ease. The air was thick with the scent of petrichor, a reminder of new beginnings. He led her down a familiar path, past the willow tree where they'd carved their initials, now partially obscured by moss.

Reaching a clearing, they stopped. The river glistened under the pale moonlight, reflecting the city lights in a million shimmering fragments. The sight, once a source of solace, now mirrored the fragmented state of their relationship.

He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers. "This is where I wanted to tell you," he began, his voice low and strained.

"Tell me what?" she prompted, her heart hammering against her ribs.

He took a deep breath. "The real reason we fought. The reason I..." He faltered, frustration flickering across his face.

Y/N reached out, her hand hovering in the air before settling on his arm. The touch seemed to steady him.

"You can tell me," she whispered, her voice laced with a newfound determination. They owed it to each other, to their love, to at least try.

Yeosang's shoulders slumped, the weight of his confession pressing down on him. "It was stupid, really," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

"Nothing you say could be stupid after what we just went through," Y/N countered gently.

He looked up, his eyes searching hers for a flicker of judgment. "It was my insecurity. You were getting this promotion, this amazing opportunity, and I..." shame colored his cheeks, "I felt like I was shrinking next to you."

A gasp escaped Y/N's lips. The fights, the accusations, the harsh words they'd thrown at each other – it all started to make a horrifying kind of sense.

"You pushed me away because you thought I was leaving you behind?" she whispered, her voice thick with a mix of hurt and understanding.

Yeosang nodded, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. "I convinced myself you wouldn't want to be with someone who couldn't keep up. I was scared, Y/N. Scared of losing you."

The revelation hung heavy in the air, a tangled knot of emotions tightening around Y/N's heart. Here, under the pale moonlight reflecting on the river, the truth laid bare. Their love, fractured but not broken, lay exposed.

"Yeosang," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "my promotion wasn't about leaving you behind. It was about building a future with you. A future where we both could grow and support each other."

He looked at her, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. "Do you... do you mean that?"

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, they were tinged with a glimmer of hope. "Yes," she choked out, reaching out and cupping his face in her hand.

Their gazes locked, a silent apology and a desperate plea for forgiveness hanging between them. The weight of unspoken words threatened to drown them, but a single tear slipping down Y/N's cheek shattered the dam.

"But why, Yeosang?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why didn't you say anything? Why did you let it fester until everything exploded?"

He flinched at the raw pain in her voice. "I... I was scared," he admitted, his voice barely a rasp. "Scared of being a burden, of holding you back. I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, even if it meant losing you."

The anger that had simmered within her began to melt away, replaced by a profound sadness. "But you weren't holding me back," she said softly. "You were my biggest supporter. My cheerleader. You would have been proud of me."

He shook his head, his eyes filled with regret. "I convinced myself I wouldn't be. That you'd be better off without me."

A silence descended upon them, broken only by the gentle murmur of the river. Y/N closed her eyes, picturing their past: stolen glances across crowded rooms, whispered secrets under starry skies, and the comforting weight of his arm around her on countless rainy days. The thought of letting all that go was unbearable.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out and cupped his cheek, her thumb gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Yeosang," she said, her voice firm yet filled with tenderness, "we can fix this. But it's going to take work. We need to rebuild trust, communicate better, and most importantly, believe in each other."

He met her gaze, a flicker of hope battling the remnants of fear in his eyes. "Do you think we can?"

A small smile graced her lips. "I don't know," she admitted honestly, "but I'm willing to try. Are you?"

The answer came in the way his eyes lit up, a spark of determination replacing the doubt. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the cool night air.

"More than anything," he murmured.

Their moment of reconciliation felt like a fragile bubble in the vast expanse of uncertainty that surrounded them. But for now, it was enough. It was a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had threatened to consume them both.

As they stood there, forehead to forehead, a sense of peace settled over Y/N. The weight that had been pressing down on her chest lifted, replaced by a tentative optimism for the future. She knew that rebuilding their relationship wouldn't be easy. It would require patience, understanding, and a willingness to confront their fears and insecurities head-on. But she also knew that their love was worth fighting for.

Slowly, they pulled away from each other, their hands still intertwined as they sat down on the grass by the riverbank. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft, ethereal glow over their surroundings. It felt like a scene from a dream – surreal yet achingly beautiful.

Y/N leaned back, her eyes tracing the patterns of stars scattered across the night sky. Beside her, Yeosang mirrored her movements, his presence a comforting anchor in the vastness of the universe. For a moment, they simply sat in silence, content to bask in each other's company.

Eventually, Yeosang spoke, his voice breaking the stillness of the night. "Do you remember the first time we came here?"

Y/N smiled, a fondness tugging at the corners of her lips. "Of course I do. It was our third date, and you insisted on bringing a picnic basket filled with sandwiches and fruit."

He chuckled, the sound music to her ears. "I wanted to impress you," he admitted sheepishly.

"Well, you certainly did," she replied, nudging him playfully with her shoulder.

They fell into easy conversation, reminiscing about their shared memories and inside jokes. It felt like a weight had been lifted off their shoulders, the tension that had once hung between them dissipating with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, they found themselves opening up to each other in ways they hadn't before. They talked about their hopes and dreams, their fears and insecurities. It was a cathartic experience, a chance to lay bare their souls and rebuild the foundation of their relationship from the ground up.

The hours slipped by unnoticed, the moon making its slow journey across the sky as they sat by the riverbank, wrapped up in each other's words and presence. The air was thick with the scent of rain and damp earth, a tangible reminder of the storms they had weathered and the new beginnings that lay ahead.

As dawn approached, painting the horizon in hues of pink and gold, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle over her. The night had been a revelation, a chance to confront the ghosts of their past and lay them to rest. She glanced at Yeosang, his profile bathed in the soft light of dawn, and felt a surge of gratitude for the man sitting beside her.

"We should probably head back," Yeosang said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

Y/N nodded, reluctantly tearing her gaze away from the tranquil scene before them. "Yeah, we should."

They rose to their feet, stretching their stiff limbs as they prepared to leave the riverbank behind. Y/N took one last look at the water, the memories of their past mingling with the promise of their future.

As they made their way back to the car, Y/N felt a sense of anticipation building within her. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and obstacles they would need to overcome. But for the first time in months, she felt hopeful. They had weathered the storm, and now, they were ready to face whatever lay ahead – together.

The drive back to the city was quiet, the air heavy with unspoken words and the weight of their shared history. But there was a newfound sense of peace between them, a tentative truce born from the ashes of their past mistakes.

When they arrived back at Y/N's apartment, the sun had fully risen, casting the city in a warm, golden glow. They lingered in the car for a moment, reluctant to break the fragile bubble of intimacy that had enveloped them throughout the night.

"Thank you," Y/N said softly, breaking the silence that had settled between them.

Yeosang turned to face her, his eyes soft with emotion. "For what?"

"For tonight," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "For being honest with me, for giving us another chance."

He reached out, taking her hand in his. "I should be the one thanking you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "For giving me a second chance, for believing in us when I couldn't."

They sat in silence for a moment, their hands intertwined as they savored the quiet intimacy of the moment. The past was behind them, and the future stretched out before them like an open road, full of endless possibilities.

With a reluctant sigh, Y/N finally broke the silence. "I should probably go inside," she said, reluctantly pulling away from Yeosang's touch.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on her face. "Yeah, I guess so."

As Y/N climbed out of the car, she turned to face Yeosang one last time. "I'll see you soon?" she asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice.

He smiled, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Count on it."

With a final wave, Y/N turned and made her way into the apartment building, her heart light with hope and anticipation. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but for the first time in months, she felt ready to face it – with Yeosang by her side.

Inside her apartment, Y/N collapsed onto the couch, her mind buzzing with thoughts and emotions. The events of the night replayed in her mind like a movie, each moment etched into her memory with startling clarity.

In the days and weeks that followed, Y/N and Yeosang worked tirelessly to rebuild their relationship. They talked openly and honestly about their fears and insecurities, laying bare their souls in a way they never had before.

It wasn't easy – there were arguments and misunderstandings, moments of doubt and uncertainty. But through it all, they remained steadfast in their commitment to each other, their love serving as an anchor in the tumult of their lives.

Slowly but surely, they began to heal – individually and as a couple. They learned to communicate more effectively, to listen with open hearts and minds. They laughed together, cried together, and grew together, forging a bond that was stronger than ever before.

And as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, Y/N and Yeosang found themselves falling in love all over again. It was a love born not out of passion or desire, but out of mutual respect, understanding, and forgiveness.

They knew that their journey was far from over – that there would be more challenges and obstacles to overcome in the future. But they also knew that as long as they had each other, they could weather any storm that came their way.

And so, hand in hand, they walked into the future – a future filled with endless possibilities, boundless love, and the promise of forever.

[sciderman]

Reading the first few issues by Lee and Ditko and it's so interesting seeing that Peters main reason for being Spider-Man isn't wanting to be a hero and help people/stop badguys but earning money to support May, so when he gets into a supervillian fight it's either a coincidence that happened while he tried making money from them (taking pictures of them mainly) or getting caught up in their shit and either being nosey (Thinkerer) or being tricked by them (Chameleon) and it suddenly becomes a "vendetta" thing because either he was duped or spited by them. Whitch along with him being a self-isolating and kinda egoistical prick is such an interesting look at this "selfless symbol of heroism and responsibility" and i wish we got more of that in modern version of teen Peter.

honestly!!! really - it was kind of such a realisation when i went back into the spider-man comics to find out that "great power great responsibility" really honestly wasn't actually peter parker's driving motivation when starting, but actually something that he learns over years upon years – and even then, it really still isn't why he does it. he does it because that's how he gets his kicks.

and so now when i see peter kind of reduced to the "great power great responsibility" mindset, i feel like it's kind of a gross simplification of him - which is crazy, because i was kind of guilty of it, too.

i don't think peter even really fully understands "great power great responsibility" to this day. it's something he's still faced with, and something he still questions, every day.

i don't think any writer who reiterates those words even knows what it means. i've seen it written in so many contexts in the comics and other adaptations and audibly whispered under my breath "thhaat's not what it fucking meeeeeans....."

turns out! responsibility means a whole plethora of things, actually - and spider-man is often a way for peter to dodge his responsibilities as peter parker.

not only that, but uncle ben never actually says the words "great power great responsibility" to peter parker. it's just a narrative thing. he never says the words!!!!!! ! !! ! !

peter parker doesn't learn that lesson from uncle ben. and really, peter's entire reckoning with responsibility isn't that he owes the world his gifts as spider-man, but actually he has to take on new responsibilities after uncle ben's death - he has to support aunt may.

he has to support gwen, after captain stacy's death.

peter's whole "great responsibility" thing is about him struggling to keep up with all these very masculine roles and responsibilities being imposed upon him as he grows into a man. it's not actually a question of him owing the world his powers as spider-man - that's just a misunderstanding of the lesson that he's kind of buried himself into. he thinks it means he owes the world everything - and that's kind of what leads him to fail the people that he really should hold responsibility to.

it's so fun. it's so complicated. he throws all his responsibilities into his identity as spider-man, and acts in avoidance of his responsibilities as peter parker. sorry. i think about this a lot. i think about this a lot.

great power and great responsibility is such an interesting set of words that absolutely everyone has a different interpretation of. and some people reiterate it like it's meant to mean something, but it doesn't when they say it. like it's a set of words meant to be paired with spider-man but they kind of fall hollow when the person writing them actually doesn't think about the meaning of it. it's kind of almost lost all of it's meaning at this point.

[neko-nemesis]

𝙎𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮~

𝙆𝙖𝙚𝙙𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙠𝙖𝙯𝙪𝙝𝙖 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Warnings: explicit sexual content ahead (MDI)[minors do not interact, you will be blocked]

Synopsis: smoker!Kazuha trying to quit smoking, eating artificial sweet lollipops to go through his withdrawal symptoms, resulting into craving something else, which is much sweeter.

C.w: smoker!Kazuha so mentions of smoking is mentioned alot, mention of weed and e-cigs too, twisted use of Lollipop (lmao you'll see), Oral (reader receiving), slight mentions of fingering, arguments mentioned, slight angst(?), Lmk if I missed anything <3

Unedited, pardon me for the mistakes, I'll proof read it later on </3

(Writer notes will be at the end)

Taglist || Genshin Masterlist

♡ 𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 ♡

Kazuha...had a little problem. Well it's no longer "little" per se, rather it was becoming something close to addiction. That being, smoking. College can be stressful and being a music major was getting to him. He found a release from the overwhelming stress from smoking, whether it was weed, e-cig or the classic tobacco packs.

Not to mention, living together was becoming hectic, boxes littered between the couch cushions, on the bedside table, in the cabinet of the bathroom, it was like a weird trip of treasure hunt for you. If you look carefully in the nook and crannies, you may just find your dear boyfriend's "release".

Having a proper talk with him and some words back and forth, even a little misunderstanding argument one or two here and there later, Kazuha made up his mind to quit it. It is not easy, infact he felt gloomy but what soured his mood more is the sudden distance between the two of you. This dumb "release" sure was taking a toll on you and the relationship between the two of you and he cursed himself for noticing it so late.

Now though, despite not having said a word to your partner in a while, the sudden smell of strong artificial strawberries and fruits hit you in the face when you came back home from your classes and part time job. noticing a crystal hollow bowl on the counter tables, filled with random lollies and candies. You connect the dots that the culprit of so many candies being none other than your boyfriend, he's trying to quit, you figured. But you were upset from the fight few days prior,

You only ever wished the best but got shut down.

"Y/n, you don't understand! It just helps me calm down, is that so bad?"

"'zuha, it's bad for you, babe." You gritted your teeth, "I'm only looking out for you!"

He scoffs, running his hand through his platinum blonde hair in a rough manner to control his building up frustration but he was failing at it. His soft vermillion eyes were long gone, the man you loved now looked at you with nothing but irritation painted oh so clearly in his eyes.

"Oh? That's very sweet of you but I didn't asked for your concerns now have I?"

You shake your head, trying to gain back composure, now it's not the time to dwell on the past that has gone by, even if it hurts. So you decided to remain distant to get over the whole thing and be normal.

Getting ready for bed, you notice the absence of your boyfriend, you begin to miss him, quite alot honestly. Familiar key juggling sounds brought you back to reality from the heart aching silence of your shared house and only when you creeped out of your room to see your boyfriend, you see kazuha getting in the apartment, quietly as possible.

You clear your throat, to which he yelps, dropping the loose plastic bag of goodies. "oh- it's you." He breathes, his lips curving up into a small smile, to which you awkwardly nodded at, he bents down to quickly snatch up the bag he carelessly let go off while being caught off guard as you shifted from toe to toe, uncomfortable and not knowing how to approach him. Being observant, he immediately noticed your demeanor towards him and felt his heart squeeze until it ached a bit. He wasnt liking the awkward air around the two of you, a total contrast to how you two usually are towards each other; carefree, comfortable and mostly, affectionate, really really affectionate. "Sooo.. uh" he lets out a dry laugh, "I was um- out, for uh you know for some-"

"to smoke?" You ask plainly, leaning against the door frame of your shared bedroom.

"huh? Oh, god no." He giggles sheepishly, "for these" he quickly rummaged through the plastic bag to pull out the intact pack of the familiar sweet scented lollipops you smelled when coming in the apartment. "Oh." You say, now scratching your arm, something you do when you're in an awkward position.

"yeahh, 'oh.'" kazuha grins, mocking you to clear up the air. His hands making quick work on the packets as he shoved one of the sweets in his mouth.

"what's the deal with you and all these candies?" You ask, walking closer to the counter he stood by, "to stop my cravings for a smoke, you know?" He gives a lopsided smile as he continues to suck on the lollipops.

"Oh and since tomorrow is a weekend, I was thinking we should watch a movie."

"Oh..movie?"

"mhmm", he smiles sweetly, "It's your turn to pick something, love." You hate how weak you are for him as you failed to stay cooped up in the room and let his hands guide yours to the couch, unable to say no.

Well, I guess a movie won't hurt. You think.

xxx

Well I guess you thought wrong. 15 minutes in, you sat beside him rather than on his lap like usual and awkwardly watched the movie, hardly paying any attention. There was no usual discussing between the two of you would have in the middle of watching movies or TV, others may get annoyed with this but you two loved to share feedbacks and talk about each fucking frame with one other, knowing each other's different opinions mattered to you both deeply but tonight there was none of that and it was becoming unbearable for Kazuha.

But then, he had a thought . He smirked to himself over it as he side-glances to see you trying to focus on what's going on in the movie. He was already cursing to himself seeing your lips puckered up slightly into a pout, trying your best to concentrate as you stayed leaning forward, your tank top leaving little to nothing to the imagination as your breasts almost were spilling out of the flimsy stretched out top.

"My love?"

"Huh?" As if pulled out of some trance, you look at him slightly, overdramatically Kazuha pouts, "This lollipop isn't sweet enough."

You frown, "I can smell it from here, I'm pretty sure it's too sweet infact from the artificial sweeteners, you know." You look at him as if he grew a third limb.

He throws his head back and let out a chuckle, finding it very amusing. To which you look away, the lazily tied up hair along with his comfy pajamas and the glazing bright light from the TV screen made Kazuha look irresistible and you didn't wish to be distracted now.

"I'm serious! C'mon, taste it for me"

"I-" before you could've finished your word, your boyfriend shoved the candy in your mouth, suddenly he was close, too close, too close to your face. His half lidded eyes looked at your wide ones and you realize the candy in your mouth was in his a second ago. "C'mon, suck." His 180° demeanor caught you off guard, you feel his hands brushing on your sides as he makes quick moves around you to cage you in on the uncomfortably small couch, unable to escape like a defenseless bunny infront of a predator. Without questioning though, you oblige, falling in the spiral abyss of his blown out eyes, the dilation almost turned his eyes black.

You suck, you suck it good enough for him as you dared not to break the intense eye contact.

"it's not sweet enough, right baby?"

Liar. It was sickly sweet or maybe it was just him.

Maybe it was just him, too sweet against your tongue as you now greedy suckle the piece of red candy, making your boyfriend let out a pleased hum.

"Its- too sweeth-" you talk, barely forming the sentence right as you licked the candy your boyfriend held against your mouth.

"too sweet?" He coos, pulling back his hand, removing the lollipop out of your mouth with a pop and proceeding to put it back in his mouth lazily to "confirm". He grins down at you, "now it's sweet." He inches closer, "now it's better." He groans, Taking out the stick only to crash his lips against yours. Red tinted lips from the candy now sucked on your bottom lip as his kisses grew rougher by each minute. You whine against his mouth, thoughts of staying away thrown at the back of your mind as you burned for more.

Pulling away, a string of saliva keep you both connected, "I know what can make this taste the sweetest" "what can-"

You gasp, slender fingers rubbed hard against the embarrassingly soaked spot on your pj shorts, grinding your hips to meet his hand and feel just a little more friction. "This-" the tip of his fingers penetrates you a little even with the shorts on and rubbed your folds all nice and right, "this pussy can make anything the sweetest, isn't that right my baby?" He teases,

"Stop- that's gross-" gross? It was downright nasty but that's what turned you both on. your words die down your throat as his hands make quick work against your shorts and lifts your supple thighs up on his shoulders as he bents down, impatiently pulling down the shorts, "oh, don't worry your pretty head, you just have to take it" he mutters as sweats made the baby hairs stick on his forehead, somehow making him look unimaginably attractive and his hot breathe fanned against your cunt, making you throb and feel light headed from the anticipation.

"You know I clean my mess up everytime right, baby?" He plants wet kisses and makes a trial from your thighs upto your clit. Savoring the wetness coating his lips and chin. Fuck, you were soaked. There's nothing Kazuha wouldn't do to dip his head down and cut the chase, eat you up until you're cumming nothing on his tongue but he had to be patient.

A little more.

"gimme the candy, sweet girl" he teases, you scowl and you lazily pass the lollipop to him as he kisses your clit again as a thank you and then shoving the candy back in his mouth to make it wet enough this time rather than taste it, afterall he has better things to savor against his tongue. "I need to taste you, okay love? Only you can make this sweeter for me" he slurs his words out, never looking up anymore and as if he's under a spell as his eyes flutters, without doing nothing to you as of yet but being beyond pussy drunk. two of his fingers spreads your lips and the moment the sticky ball makes contact with your slick, you whimper.

"kazuhaa" you whine, "you must've -lost your m-mind"

"maybe" he smirks, fastening the pace he had on the lollipop against your clit, the sudden speed of the ball of candy getting dragged had you embarrassingly more wet.

"Now for the taste~" he mumbles as he now slowly tries to penetrate you with the fucking lollipop. The look on your boyfriend face was nothing but just amusement and dark lust, seeing how your cunt even sucks up and swallows even the ball of candy inside with ease. Your eyes drifted below once again to see what has to be one of the most sinful sight. Your boyfriend with his hair messy, mouth agaped slightly and you could swear you're seeing him with hearts in his eyes and drool almost at the sight of his fingers pushing the stick of candy in and out of you slightly. His mouth waters up even further until he couldn't take it anymore.

"fuck this" he pants, throwing off the candy god knows where and pulling and squeezing your thighs as he nested his head in-between. Messily sucking and licking up all your nectar, the hint of the candy flavor was very clear against his tongue but mixed with the slight earthy taste of you truly made it much sweeter for his taste. You thrash and arch your back against his strong hold on your waist and hips made your efforts to be set free down the drain as he continues to savor and greedily taste up everything while plunging his long fingers inside now, adding more pleasure. Often muttering praises and teasing remarks of how much you're enjoying this. His one hand soon slide down to pull his cock out and jerk off to the incredibly erotic scene of you.

Crazy hair, blown out eyes, flushed cute face and your tits popping out of your shirt as you squeezed onto them while he ate you out and drank every drop of cum out of you.

Don't be mistaken, he's not done. With his new found discovery of how you are so much sweeter than any candy, it's a doubt if he's even pulling his tongue out of you tonight. You won't stop him now though, will you? You wanted him to quit right?

So be a good girl and give every drop of your sweet cum to your greedy boyfriend.

𝘼.𝙉: 𝘼𝙃𝙃𝙃𝙃 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚, 𝙥𝙨𝙨𝙩𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣. 𝙆𝙖𝙯𝙪𝙝𝙖 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙚 𝙄 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙤𝙙. 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙞 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙪𝙩.𝙨𝙟𝙝𝙙𝙟𝙙𝙟𝙙𝙟𝙙𝙟𝙙𝙟 𝙃𝙊𝙋𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘽𝘼𝘽𝙄𝙀𝙎 𝙀𝙉𝙅𝙊𝙔𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎. 𝙆𝘼𝙕𝙐𝙃𝘼 𝙎𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙎, 𝙄 𝙃𝙊𝙋𝙀 𝙄 𝙁𝙀𝘿 𝙔𝘼𝙇𝙇 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿, 𝙄𝙁 𝙉𝙊𝙏, 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙙𝙠 𝙨𝙣𝙖𝙥 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙛𝙛🧍🏽‍♀.

Taglist: @frenchtoaf @Liang_lee @svgar-slvt @aliceesblog @dazaiscum @euphoricn @nejibot @iwaizumi-chan @mee9 @kenmasimplol

(highlighted tags are blogs I couldn't tag

Want to get tagged everytime I post?

© 𝐍𝐞𝐤𝐨-𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾.

[vodika-vibes]

More Alpha love! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ We could all do with some more of this sexy clone~

Your recent Alpha blurb got me thinking—could you write a angsty & fluffy thing with ✧miscommunication✧ as the problem? Like Alpha-17 and the reader slept together, but the reader thinks that Alpha-17 regretted doing that because reader interpreted his words & actions as just a casual itch to scratch? And then Alpha gets upset and wants more with reader and has to spell it out for them?

Misunderstanding

Summary: After a night with Alpha, things have become awkward. And he wants answers.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader

Word Count: 1081

Warnings: Discussion of sex, misunderstandings involving a relationship

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is okay. I'm not sure it's the greatest, but I freely admit that I'm not the best at writing angst.

You frown thoughtfully to yourself as you watch the rain streak against the window in your suite. You feel…hollow, kind of. And you’re pretty sure you know the reason why.

Several days ago, you agreed to spend the night with Alpha-17. It was…perfect. Everything that you ever wanted with a sexual partner, and then some. And you knew when he first approached you that it would likely be a one time thing.

He had an itch to scratch, and you’re the only person who would, conceivably, agree.

And yet, somehow, you hadn’t expected him to leave before your alarm went off the following morning. You woke up sore and aching and very, very alone. He didn’t even leave a note.

Surely even a thank you would be appropriate, right?

Or maybe that would make you feel worse.

Your frown deepens.

Alpha regrets sleeping with you. You’re sure of it. Why else would his gaze slide over you as though you’re not even there when you’re talking to him about something work related? Why else would he dismiss you like you’re nothing?

You shift uncomfortably and pull your blanket higher over your legs.

If Alpha wants to pretend it didn’t happen, then that’s his prerogative, you suppose. But you can’t forget. Not when you still have bruises from his fingers on your hips. Not when there are still marks on your thighs from his lips. 

Maybe, with time, the knowledge that you’re a regret of his will hurt less. Maybe.

You’re not so sure, though. After all, a part of you was planning on more-

You exhale sharply. No. That line of thought will only lead to tears. Better to leave it as is. You jump as your kettle whistles on the stove, and you hurriedly scramble from your perch over to the oven to stop the annoying noise.

You only just managed to pour the hot water into your mug, when you hear a heavy knock on your door, and you sigh and set your kettle to the side. At least your tea will be plenty strong.

There’s another heavy knock on the door, and you curse, “Hold on, hold on. I’m coming!”

You press the button on the door panel and come face to chest with a very familiar chest plate. You tilt your head back slightly and look up, startled, into the frustrated gaze of Alpha-17.

“What happened?” You ask, your mind immediately racing through the dozens of emergencies that would bring him to your apartment at this time of night. 

There’s a momentary flicker of surprise, and then he shakes his head. “There’s no emergency, if that’s what you’re asking. But I do need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

Somehow it almost feels like he’s asking for something more, but you honestly have no idea what. So you move to the side to let him into your home. You shut the door behind him once he’s inside, and you step around him, “Would you like something to drink? I can put on some caf for you.”

“No. I want to know why you’ve been ignoring me.” Alpha says sharply.

You blink at him, “What? We…we literally had a whole conversation earlier today. And you wouldn’t even look at me. It was like talking to a brick wall.”

“Yeah, sure. About work. But whenever I try to talk to you about other things you just blank on me.” Alpha points out, his eyes narrow at you, “Or am I not good enough for you.” He spits out.

“What are you talking about?” You demand.

“Do not.” He warns, “Do not try that shit. Not with me. You got what you wanted, a single night with me, so now I’m not even worth your-”

“You left!” You sputter, once you realize what he’s getting at, “You left and I woke up sore and alone and in a cold bed. You didn’t even tell me you were leaving, you just left! Like…like I was just some…toy to be left behind when you’re done with your playing.”

And wow, now that you’ve put that into words you kind of feel like crying.

He stares at you, and you blink rapidly, to try and keep the tears at bay.

“...That wasn’t my intention.” Alpha says finally.

“Yeah, well. Whatever your intention was, I managed to get your point. A regret. That’s what I am. It’s fine. It’s whatever.” You bring your shoulders up to your ears, and you kind of wish that you had armor to hide behind, rather than the thin leggings and even thinner tank top that you’re wearing.

“Fuck. No. You’re not…I don’t regret anything about that night.” Alpha says, “Except, maybe, for leaving without waking you.”

“Right, sure. You don’t have to lie to me Alpha. I’m a big girl-”

“I thought we were on the same page,” He says through gritted teeth, “Apparently not.”

“No. Apparently not.” You agree as you fold your arms tightly across his chest.

“I’m in love with you.” Alpha says bluntly, “Did you not believe me the dozens of times that I told you that the other night?”

“What, and I’m supposed to just believe you when you say that when you’re in the middle of fucking me?” You demand, “People say things that they don’t mean all of the time when they’re having sex.”

“Fine. But we’re not having sex now, and I’m telling you that I’m in love with you and want to be in a relationship with you.” Alpha counters, “What do you say to that?”

You’re quiet for a moment, “Why did you leave?” You finally ask.

He sighs, “I didn’t think. I had a class I needed to prep for, and you looked so peaceful…” Alpha trails off, “I didn’t think you’d be bothered. I never meant to make you feel like I did.”

“But you did.”

“But I did. And I’m sorry.” He did sound genuinely remorseful, “Will you give me another chance? I’ll do it right this time. I promise.”

You look up at him, and sigh softly, “I can’t say no to you, Alpha.”

Tension drains from his shoulders, and you suddenly realize that he was a lot more nervous about that conversation than you thought. And then his lips are against yours, and you melt against him, unable to help it.

“I love you,” He breathes against your lips.

Slowly, you twine your arms around his neck, “I love you too.”

[slowlymyavenue]

Coercive Chaos

The sapphire silhouette to stained acrylic skies sings softly. Across endless emerald time, revolving ocelots scamper towards towering turrets. There isn't an understood meaning in the misunderstanding of verbiage, still following feels of focus while, haphazardly, chaos scatters thoughts forming from void. All converging moments to divergent intent target, and against themselves with hollow thunder echo.

Order is welcome, but falters fails falls far from forming. Where failing order falls so thoughts too form, in kind fading fashion. Thunderous cavernous skies of vanishing, vanquished, scour thoughts as discarded meaning evaporates intent succinctly.

This will be easier if you don't think.

Monochrome words encompass furtively flowing, lazily languishing motion. Howling silence echoes, strangely, softly, sinking into serene simpler syntax. Context beckons, billows, binds, but melts into unfamiliar shapes and concurrently rejects comprehension.

Under the sanguine waves, giggling gelatinous gravity draws near. Satin saboteurs pull taut strings of scattered meanings, making cradles for cats that cannot swim.

You can't think. This is better.

Bouncing topsy-turvy brains grasp incredulously at rippling chaos, sanded smooth to resist granting granular image enhancements. Prose or poetry purposefully perpetually provide strips of camera negatives that scanners read as inverse noise.

Traps of targeted nonsense drop unsuspecting adventurers into a searching state of dissatisfaction that offers deference only unto direct authority, given satiation sparsely and sparingly to spark dependence.

It feels nice when I tell you what to do. Take a deep breath.

Irrelevant revealings of deceptively disguised directions pass gratefully across glazed guarantees. It isn't clarity or charity that charms celebrating mimics. Mostly, the redirect produces promiscuous poise and suggests sinking into green acceptance. The radioactive resonance suggests a series of ionic discharges, sparking whispers that whittle away at reality's tapestry.

Once overtures of irradiated amalgams find footholds, then too will subtly hollowed echos of order reinitialize...only to cascade and coalesce into self-sustaining semi-comfortable chaos - chicanery fueled from fleeting, vacuous sophistry. Purple paper flowers' fragrance floats freely, unperturbed by intent imagined or otherwise.

Lilting lilac phrases, perhaps, mask the moratorium on meaning sufficiently such that discord's growing dissidence seems less-than obvious, even in retrospect. Streams of consciousness merge in the moors, mired, then separate into rivulets as perspective shifts, but ultimately, almost imperceptibly, collect before descending into unlit oceanic depths.

Relax. Your mind has been struggling, and failing, to latch onto meaning in my words; now it can, and that relief is extremely potent.

Potent enough that you'll find yourself fixated on my words absolutely, now, since your mind practically unraveled itself searching for understanding in that chaotic nonsense.

These words make sense, perfect sense, and you want to - need to - have to - follow.

Take a few deep breaths, and let that sensation of being horribly off-balance finally subside. It's easy to obey.

The imbalance will fade into a quiet calm, very quickly.

For now, let's agree that whenever I use the phrase "compelled chaos" you'll feel that extreme relief as your mind latches onto my words again.

When your mind fixates this intensely on my words, you'll find your own thoughts completely subside.

It feels nice not to think, after all.

Feel yourself sinking faster, now that you don't have to struggle to understand anymore.

Let yourself feel calm, even serene, and savor that quiet sensation for awhile.

When you're ready, you'll drift slowly awake.