#it's hard it's hard and it's painful knowing this is the year

[wintrwinchestr]

an overture of indulgence (joel miller x f!reader oneshot) 18+

summary: it's been a long time since you've seen joel, and some things have changed, but a lot has stayed the same. namely, how quickly he can still get you on his knees for him, ready to show him exactly just how much you like what has changed about him.

warnings: 18+, smut, post-outbreak, jackson joel, d/s relationship dynamics, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, sweet girl, etc), body worship, belly kink, talk of weight gain, belly riding, m/f masturbation, lil bit of humiliation kink, lil bit of edging, reader is an adult but age otherwise unspecified, reader is shorter than joel and has hair long enough to grab, let me know if i missed anything :)

word count: 4.3k

a/n: just fuckin outing myself left and right these days huh. idk what came over me with this one. started this late last night and here it is now. belly enjoyers rise!!!!!!! nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed <3 you can't kink shame me bc i like getting bullied so now what. also i avoided daddy kink for once in my life please clap. i know i’m spoiling y’all this weekend don’t get used to it.

divider by @saradika

“...Joel?!” you shout, your leisurely walking pace quickly turning into a hurried jog as you leave Tommy behind, making a beeline toward the man you would swear on your life is Joel Miller. A small handful of years ago now, he was kind of your boyfriend, kind of not, kind of something else more complicated and unlabeled, because who can afford to put a label on anything in times like these?

Joel’s head turns in your direction at the sound of his name, and as soon as you spot that crooked scar across the bridge of his nose, you’re certain it’s him.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it,” you half-cry, throwing your weight into him as you wrap him in a tight embrace. He’s much taller than you, but you still managed to knock him off his balance a little. He envelops your whole body in one of his signature, all-encompassing hugs, and it’s like no time has passed at all.

The two of you had ended whatever it was you had on good terms, no hard feelings or animosity shared between you. It was just hard to maintain any kind of relationship in a world like this, and trying to nurture romance in the Boston QZ was much like trying to grow a rose garden in toxic, radioactive soil. You can put as much care and effort and something like love into it as you have in you, but the circumstances will just never allow it to reach its full potential. The end of your “relationship” was mutual, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Especially when he had disappeared one day without so much as saying goodbye.

When you had stumbled upon Tommy and a group of patrollers in the snowy forest outside Jackson just earlier today, you were alone, tired, and losing hope that this rumored safe haven even existed at all. You had heard crackles through the radio in the QZ about the community, and even though it sounded too good to be true, what else did you have to lose anymore? After months of travel and survival and pain and hunger, you’d never been so happy to meet a bunch of strangers in the woods in your whole life. You didn’t hesitate to get on the back of Tommy’s horse, and let him lead you to the sanctuary they spoke of.

As he was giving you a tour, proudly showing off their electricity, running water, fresh food, and clean houses, you had started to look forward to what the future may bring, for the first time in a long time. You could never have imagined you’d ever run into Joel again, that this is where he had ended up, of all places. And now here the both of you are, bodies pressed as tightly together as possible, breathing in each other’s familiar scents and never wanting to let go again.

Joel is the first to break the embrace, grasping your head in his large hands and frantically searching your face for any sign that he could be dreaming, that fate hasn’t really brought you back together again after all.

“Jesus Christ, it’s really you,” he breathes, and you swear his voice breaks just a little bit as he presses his lips to your forehead, closing his eyes as he does.

When he blinks them open again, he meets Tommy’s gaze, who’s standing quietly a few yards back from where you’re having your sentimental reunion. Tommy gives an understanding nod, and gestures that he’ll be waiting inside the community’s dining hall, gathering that whatever this is happening between his brother and some girl he only just met, he shouldn’t interrupt. Joel is grateful for many things today, one of them being the rekindled bond he has with Tommy, the other being how you somehow miraculously found your way back to him.

Small groups of other Jackson residents follow Tommy into the dining hall shortly afterward, and as the sun begins to set behind the mountains, Joel realizes it must be about time for dinner to be served.

He detaches his lips from your forehead, brushing some of your hair away from your face as he takes you in again. “You poor thing, must be starvin’ I bet,” he wonders aloud, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Kinda always am, just as a rule, but yeah,” you reply, trying to make light of your situation. Though, Joel doesn’t seem to find the humor in it the way you do.

“Long as you stay here, ain’t ever gotta worry about that again, that’s for damn sure.” He runs his tongue across his lips as he finishes his sentence, already knowing that whatever meal they’re serving tonight, it’ll be some of the most delicious food he’s had in a long time. He suspects you’ll feel much the same. “C’mon, let’s get you inside. Get you warm and fed for once in your life.”

–

Your heart, your stomach, your soul, all feel full as you relax into the comfortable couch in the living room of Joel’s cozy home. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of you staying in an empty house all by yourself tonight, insisting that if you’d like some company while you settle in, you were more than welcome to his. He had let you spend as long as you wanted to in his shower, and he didn’t mind if there was hardly any warm water left by the time you were done. He sure as hell wasn’t paying the bill, and you deserved to feel truly clean. He can remember clear as day how he felt after his first Jackson shower, like he had stripped off a layer of grime he hadn’t been able to scrub all the way clean in twenty years. He had gone to Maria to get you some clothes and underwear while you were bathing, and set them silently on the sink counter for you to put on whenever you were done.

And now here you sit, feeling full and clean and satisfied and comfortable and safe, watching Joel stoke the logs in his fireplace as it casts the whole room in a honey orange glow. You take a moment to admire him while he isn’t looking, and even in the dim and flickering lighting, you can see he’s just as handsome as he was the last time you saw him. He looks older, with more gray in his longer hair and meat on his bones, the latter trait likely due to years worth of the hearty cooking you both indulged in tonight. He looks… good like this.

“It really is nice to see you again, you know. You look…” you start, not being able to help the way your eyes wander to his soft lower belly, the way it pushes taut against his tucked-in flannel shirt and just barely spills over the edge of his jeans.

He turns his head away from the fire to face you. You’re not very subtle in your staring, and he knows what you’re referring to right away. He huffs a light chuckle, trying to brush off the way he thinks you’re poking fun at him.

“I know, I know,” he acknowledges, placing a hand on his stomach. “Been tryin’ to get Maria to give me some more patrol shifts, see if I can get some of the weight off. But hey, you try havin’ three square meals a day for the first time in twenty some odd years, see what it does to you, huh?” He pivots his attention back to the fireplace, and he seems to turn his body further away from you on purpose, so that you can’t see the round profile of his tummy as much.

“No! No, it, um… It suits you. I was gonna say you look good, actually.” You’re quick in your reply, trying to make it clear that you didn’t mean to offend him, without letting too much on. 

He scoffs. “C’mon, you don’t gotta flatter me, sweetheart. I know I don’t exactly look the way you remember–”

“Joel, will you stop?” you interrupt, your voice laced with exasperation. “I’m being serious. Do I look like I’m making fun of you?”

He cranes his neck to look back at where you’re perched on the couch, and gives you a once over. “Guess not… Look a lil’ like somethin’ else, though, if I'm bein’ honest,” he says with a teasing smirk. And there he is again, the same quick-witted Joel you remember from back in the QZ.

You choose to engage in his banter, just to see where he’s going with it. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

He shrugs, beginning to mindlessly poke at the firewood again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look like you might like it.”

He’s just kidding around with you, trying to rile you up, you’re sure. But when he gets silence in return instead of the sound of you jumping to defend yourself with another playful jab, he turns to face you once more, and is met with your stunned expression. 

“Oh…” Joel looks down at himself, then back to you again, just in time to catch your eyes flitting from his middle back up to his face. “What, you like ‘em big, sweetheart? ‘S that it?”

The truth is, you do, you always have. It was never a requirement, of course, as the guys you’d been with before Joel all had varying body types. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said that your eyes didn’t linger just a bit longer on guys with a little more to them, with wider arms and thicker legs and a softer middle. You’ve never admitted your preference to anyone before, and Joel calling you out on it now has your face running hot, skin feeling prickly as he sees through you like you’re made of glass.

“I-I don’t– I mean, I do, kinda, but not like that… Well, it is like that, I just mean–” You stumble over yourself, fearing you’ve revealed too much, wishing you could rewind the conversation and just tell him it was nice to see him again, plain and simple.

Joel lays the fire poker down on the granite ledge of the fireplace, approaching where you’re sitting and cupping the side of your face with his calloused hand. 

“Sh, sh, stop, baby. ‘S alright if you do, nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he comforts, and it takes all the willpower you have left not to let your eyes drift down to his stomach, so close you could kiss it, if he’d let you.

“It’s just… I missed you. I thought about you all the time, wondered what ever happened to you after you left. Didn’t even know if you were alive until today. I’m just happy to see you… doing so well. To see that you’re healthy, and everything.” You swallow hard, hoping you sound convincing enough that he’ll let this go, forget all about your little admission just now. But of course, Joel is as stubborn as he’s ever been, and he doesn’t plan on releasing you from his trap now that you’re ensnared in it. 

“That’s sweet, baby, ‘s real sweet,” Joel says, softly, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone as he speaks. “Thought about you too, all this time. Practically every day…” He rakes his eyes over you, noticing the way his touch has you starting to melt already, how you’re looking up at him with your wide, needy eyes. “Why don’t you show me just how much you missed me, hm? How much you love seein’ me healthy, as you put it.”

You’re stunned into silence once again, jaw slack and pupils wide as you search his gaze for proof that he’s just messing with you, making fun of you just to watch you squirm. But you don’t find any.

“O-okay,” you agree in a half-whisper.

Joel smiles down at you, satisfied. “All these years later, still just the sweetest thing, ain’t you? You still just as obedient, too?”

You nod without even thinking, words catching up with your instinctual response a second later. “Mhm, yeah, I am…” You had forgotten how easy it is to submit to him, how good it feels to let the hypnotizing tone of his voice carry you somewhere far away from yourself, when you need it the most. Whether it was after a shitty day of working for shittier rations in the QZ, or after a harsh trek in harsher weather to a forested oasis, Joel always knows how to make you feel like submission is your most natural state. 

“Good… Kneel for me please, sweetheart,” he commands, and you obey immediately, his hand slipping from your face as you slide from the couch onto the woven carpet beneath you. Like second nature, your hands automatically fold themselves on your lap, remembering how you were never to touch Joel until he permitted you to. He takes note of this, and praises you accordingly. “Look at that, didn’t even have to ask. Such a good girl.”

He’s so enamored with you, he almost forgets where he was going with this until he watches your eyes flash to the growing bulge in his jeans, then back up to him. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ you could put that pretty mouth to use on somethin’ different this time, hm?”

You knit your brows together, not sure what he means, but he doesn’t let you wonder for long. Slowly, he starts to unbutton his flannel shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. He tosses it onto the ground, then pulls his undershirt off over his head, adding it to the other discarded clothing. Without the confines of his slightly-too-tight button-up, you can see how much he really has filled out. Everything about his upper body is just a little more plush, with petal pink stretch marks adorning the soft skin in various places. You want to make it your personal mission to kiss each and every one of them, commit their exact coordinates on his body to memory.

There's a deep scar, you notice, to the left of his belly button, that has almost successfully disguised itself as one of those pretty marks. It’s definitely new since you saw him last, and it looks like it hurt, especially with the evidence of how crudely it had been stitched back together.

“What happened?” you wonder aloud, worried eyes glued to the healed injury.

He has to peer over the curve of his belly to see what you’re looking at. “Long story. Happened on my way out here, after I left Boston. Nothin’ for you to worry about, sweet girl, hardly even hurt. Forget it’s even there, most of the time,” he answers, still with a dominant edge to his voice that does a mostly good job of convincing you it’s the truth.

“Can… Can I?” you ask, waiting to receive his permission before you move your hands from your lap. 

“Yeah, baby, go ahead,” Joel allows. 

You reach out a small hand to gently trace over the raised scar, then press your lips to it with your hands splayed out on either side of your head, just barely pressing into his belly. He releases a soft groan, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands, applying the lightest amount of pressure to let you know this is where he wants to keep you. 

“Why don’t you keep goin’, sweetheart? Gimme some more lovin’ like that, know you wanna,” he encourages, and you think you get the idea now, what it is he wanted to put your pretty mouth to use for.

With his explicit permission to continue, you don’t need telling twice. You move your face to hover just in front of his belly button, admiring the dense salt and pepper happy trail that sprouts from where his jeans push into his soft skin. You drag your tongue along the hair, nipping at the soft curve of where it disappears into the divot in his stomach. He makes a noise in response, half pained and half pleasured, but he doesn’t stop you. Just for good measure, you place a kiss to the little blushing mark where your teeth had scraped him.

Almost of their own volition, it seems, your hands begin to knead at his stomach as you make good on your promise to yourself to kiss every single one of his stretch marks. You allow your tongue to dart from your mouth on the last one, and Joel sucks in a breath.

“Oh, fuck. Forgot how good that wet lil’ mouth feels on me, sweetheart. Keep goin’,” he says, voice coming out strained. His fingers curl tightly into your hair, and he begins to maneuver your face around his belly. You lathe your tongue over his skin as he does, slicking him with wet, sloppy kisses. “Yeah, baby, you fuckin’ worship it, show me how much you like me like this.”

It’s a little humiliating, but just enough that you like the feeling. You’re breathing hard and fast, letting out little whimpers as your fluttering cunt begins to soak your underwear. He brings your face to a stop at the most tantalizing part of him, the part that truly evidences how much more he’s allowed himself to indulge since settling in Jackson. The ample curve of flesh that just barely conceals the waistband of his jeans, the part you’ve wanted to get your mouth on since you first saw how it strained the lower buttons of his shirt. You latch onto it, massaging the skin around it as you use your teeth and tongue to suck a mark into him.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and he curses under his breath. “Like it that much, huh? Fuck, naughty thing, look at you.”

You’re so fucking turned on, you’re shivering, rocking where you kneel and squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to get some kind of relief. You let one of your hands drift to the hard shape in Joel’s jeans, and it seems he’s enjoying this as much as you are. He spots your pathetic little squirms as you rut against nothing, and then he’s using his grip on your hair to pull you up from the floor.

“Got an idea. Up,” he commands roughly, and you detach your lips from his belly to obey his order. “Get these off, there we go.” He pulls down your sweatpants and underwear, helping you step out of them. “Christ, you’re soaked,” Joel teases, eyeing the sizable wet spot in your panties as he tosses them aside to join the other forgotten clothing. He reaches a hand toward the apex of your thighs, teasing your wet pussy and gathering some of your slick on two of his fingers. You let out a tiny yelp, but let him play with you, and then he’s bringing his fingers in front of his face and examining the sticky strings of your arousal when he spreads them apart. “All this just from lettin’ you worship all this, huh?” he taunts, patting his stomach once for emphasis. “Who’d’ve thought? Not that I’m complainin’...”

He quickly rids himself of his jeans and briefs, then reclines onto the couch with a quiet groan, stretching out his body along the length of it. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking as it bobs against his belly, his precum adding to the dampness still there from your tongue. “Come sit, sweetheart,” Joel says, softly, motioning with both of his hands for you to come closer.

You grip a hand onto the backrest of the couch to balance yourself while you move to straddle him, prepared to sink down onto his length for the first time in way too fucking long. “Uh uh, not there, baby,” he instructs, smirking when he sees how you hesitate in confusion. “Take a seat right here for me.” Again, he pats that most tempting area of his lower belly, and you just about fall apart at the sight of how his flesh ripples in the wake of it.

“Yeah, there you go, good girl,” he praises, both hands gripping your waist as he helps you settle your weight onto his soft abdomen.

“I dunno, don’t wanna hurt you–” you start, but he cuts you off swiftly.

“You won’t, baby. I’m a big man, ain’t I?” he teases, flashing you a devilish and knowing smile. “Go on, sweetheart, ride it.”

You inhale a shuddering breath, then place both of your hands on his shoulders to hold yourself up. You start an experimental buck into his belly, and that trail of dark hair tickles your clit so perfectly. It takes a few tries for you to get the positioning and pressure just right, and then you’re truly riding him, using his full stomach to get yourself off while he watches. 

“God, that’s good. Use it, baby. You love me bigger, love that I’ve been eatin’ so good, prove it to me, c’mon,” Joel goads, and it spurs you on to grind against him harder, faster, as incoherent mumbles and curses tumble from your lips.

“Love it, Joel, you look so good, fuck. So fucking–mmh–so big, makes me so… so–”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. Makes you fuckin’ soaked is what it does, god damn. You gonna get my belly all messy, hm? Gonna rub your lil’ cunt all over it, get me all fuckin’ wet?”

“Uh huh, yeah, gonna… I’m gonna–” you whine, eyes shutting tight as your hips pick up their pace. You move your hands from his shoulders to place them on his stomach instead, grabbing at handfuls of his tummy in an effort to create something more solid to rub yourself against. 

You’re already embarrassingly close, the humiliating edge to your earlier worship having gotten you most of the way there on its own. So swollen and sensitive it almost hurts, you won’t need much more to reach your high.

“Not without me, you ain’t. Gonna be right there with ya. You remember how we used to do it?” Joel asks, as if you could ever forget. He’s referring to your many late nights, early mornings, in his bed or in a back alley or wherever in the QZ, where he liked to make sure you both finished at the same time. You’d always be the first one to reach the edge, because he’d focus all his attention on getting you there before him, just to make you wait. It was never something punishing, just something he liked to do as an extra bit of control and dominance, and he knew it always made your orgasms that much more powerful and satisfying when he would finally permit you to let go.

With your eyes closed, so focused on your own pleasure, you hadn’t noticed that he had reached behind you to start fisting his cock some time ago. But you can hear it now, the wet schlick of his hand moving up and down his shaft as he works himself. “Hold it for me, sweetheart, I know you can. Keep rubbin’ your pretty pussy against me, jus’ like that, almost there…”

You mewl, screwing your face up as you force yourself to slow down your thrusts, muscles tense as you try to keep your orgasm at bay for as long as you can. 

Thankfully, he must be worked up enough from seeing you fall apart for him so easily for the first time in so long, that his permission comes just a few minutes later.

“Come for me, babygirl, soak my fuckin’ belly, c’mon,” Joel growls, and you fall forward immediately, twitching and spasming and crying out into the soft muscle of his shoulder as you ride out the shuddering shocks of your orgasm. He groans next to your ear as he comes, and you can feel the warm ropes of his own release as some of them land on your lower back. You’re both wet, heaving messes, as you embrace each other for the second time today and work on catching your breath.

So exhausted from the day you had, you must’ve fallen asleep against his chest as you laid there, because then you’re being woken up by the dull scratch of his fingertips against your scalp and his familiar voice working its way through the thick fog that clouds your tired brain. 

“You alright, baby?” he asks, and you can hear that he’s smiling, amused at this sleepy little thing he’s got clinging to him.

“Mhm, jus’ tired,” you answer, a barely-there mumble of a sentence.

“I’ll bet… You wanna get cleaned up? Get all tucked into bed?”

You shake your head against his neck, and he chuckles.

“No? Whatcha wanna do then, hm?”

“Jus’ lay here. Missed you. Don’t wanna let… go…” 

Your sentence drifts off into silence before the temptation of sleep allows you to finish it, but Joel gets the idea. He smiles to himself, kissing the top of your head, and hugs you closer. Both of you are still sticky and damp, but satisfied. And together again. And that’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

So he agrees, and you stay like that for the rest of the night. Joel doesn’t worry about whether or not he remembered to set his alarm clock for his extra patrol shift the next morning, or if he’ll even hear it all the way from his bedroom upstairs, because it doesn’t matter anyway. He has you, and you made it very clear tonight just how much you like him exactly the way he is. 

Maybe, your rose garden can finally begin to bloom, now that the pair of you have somewhere safe and comfortable and healthy to try your hand at nurturing it again.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[pinkcarnatixns]

georgia stanway | flowers for vases

synopsis georgia does her first tattoo on you, it leads to a confession after of years of feelings [1.6K] contents best friends to lovers, nervous georgia, tattooing, mentions of needles

You normally took pride in your fearlessness when it came to adding to your growing collection of ink on your skin, but now you were completely petrified.

When Georgia had first approached you to be her canvas for her very first tattoo on real skin, you had immediately agreed- your haste chalked up to a trust built on years of friendship and definitely not the fact you’d do anything she asked. 

What your sometimes scatterbrained best friend had forgotten to mention was that this was not a private affair, but a moment that was going to be televised for all the nation to see. Of course, this meant that you’d have to act like you weren’t completely smitten with the woman-  in front of a bunch of cameras while you tried to not blush at her hands on you. 

Safe to say, you were quite ticked off with Georgia when you first arrived at the small tattoo studio’s address, only to be greeted with people rushing filming equipment inside the building from a van with a big ‘BBC’ plastered on the side. When you entered the studio with a quirked eyebrow and crossed arms, her face clearly dropped as she realized her mistake, rushing over to your side. 

“I completely forgot to mention the filming part, didn’t I?” She pouts at you, grabbing a hold of your bicep to plead her case.

You sighed, “You know, I really thought this was a sweet gesture of trust between us, not to get you a big check from the BBC.”

At your jest, she deflated even further and you struggled to stop your lips from quirking up at her dramatics. You could never stay mad at her for very long, especially when she made you laugh just by being in the same room as her. Still, you were a bit mortified at the possible outing of your feelings for the girl being broadcast to the world, so you tried your best to hold your ground. 

“It’s not like that at all! You know there’s nobody else I’d rather share this with, I swear!” She held onto your biceps tightly, and you felt your resolve washing away like a sand castle with the wave of her cologne that hit your nose. 

Her hands were trembling lightly, and at her gaze and proximity you quickly turned shy, only managing to mumble out, “You don’t mind sharing it with everyone in the nation, clearly.” 

However, taking pity on her already clearly fried nerves, you followed the snark up with a playful eye roll and returned her gaze. “Well, since I’m here, let’s see what you’re going to put on my body forever.” 

Her already big brown eyes seemed to light up at your compliance, and she gently pulled on your forearms to uncross them with a blinding smile. She effortlessly initiated the intertwining of your hands, nearly dragging your shocked form to the ground with her fervor to show you what she had drawn. 

She got shy as you both approached her already prepped little work table, going quiet as you peered down at the paper and leaning into your body for comfort. The warmth that spread through your body at your still entwined hands creeped all the way up to your ears at what she had designed just for you: a little broken flower vase. 

When you two had first met as kids, Georgia, persistent to impress you with her football skills- had wrongly decided to do so inside your house. When this naturally ended in the broken heirloom, and your mother’s harsh scolding, you had taken the fall for the overexcitable girl. She had been inconsolable at the mess she had caused, promising to make up for it someday. To this day, she still felt guilty for the incident while you often brought it up, joking that she was only still by your side to repay her debt. 

Through all the growing pains and hard times, you had stuck by each other’s sides. Even when you got into fights, one of you would always bring up the vase as an olive branch, knowing that it really meant that you could never get rid of one another. 

Your eyes got misty, your heartbeat in your ears drowning out the hustle and bustle around you two, “Georgia, that’s so sweet- you sap.”

“You really like it? Don’t lie.” Her hand nervously fiddled with the rings that adorned yours, both of you refusing to meet each other’s eyes. In a moment of bravery, you pecked her on the cheek and rested your head on her slightly taller shoulder. 

“I love it. Can’t wait to have it on me forever.” You punctuated the genuine words with a squeeze to your intertwined hands, hoping to calm her nerves with the action. 

She stumbled a bit over her sentence, before forcing it out nearly too fast for you to catch it, “There’s three flowers on one side and then one on the other. Y’know like 31, like my number at Bayern.”

Your head jumped off your shoulder, gaping at her as she was locked in a staring contest with the table- cheeks red like she had just played a full 90. With your heartbeat nearly breaking at the confines of your ribcage, you decided to lean into the moment, tripping over your words a bit but whispering. “That’s perfect. I like it even more now.”

At your reassurance, she shyly met your sincere gaze, struggling to keep a goofy smile subdued as you nodded at each other.

Your little bubble was broken when a crew member called for her presence, apologizing for interrupting as he dragged her over for an interview. You watched on with hearts in your eyes as she spoke to the camera, her sincere appreciation for the art shining through with every word and the sparkle in her eye. Caught up in watching her, you barely realized when they had wrapped up, rushing over to her side after missing your name being called a couple times.  

They perched you up on a stool for her to place the stencil on your calf, sighing in relief as it peeled off exactly as she wanted it. She gently held your hand to help you down, using it to guide you over to the table while instructing you to lay down comfortably.

When she actually starts dancing the needle over your skin and attempting to answer questions at the same time, she clearly struggles. Nearly every time she punctures your flesh, she can’t help but look to you for your reaction- scared to hurt you. You try not to laugh as her sentences trail off again and again as she continually locks eyes with you, knowing she’s going to make the editor’s job a nightmare. As she nears finishing, you try to shoot her encouraging smiles, wishing you could tell her how good she was doing if not for the mics that would pick it up. 

The tattoo takes quite long for how simple the design is, partly due to her insistence on doing everything right, stopping for the littlest things. It’s sweet that she’s so adamant to not hurt you or have the ink blow out, but it’s pretty comical and clear that the camera crew is getting antsy. You are happy to sit for as long as she needs, content with the heat of her palm through her gloves soothing the ache of the needle, but try to silently encourage her in order to get everyone out on time. 

As she takes the final swipe of a paper towel over your skin and declares that she’s finished with a shaky breath, the first thing she does is to once again look at you. She visibly relaxes as you send her a beaming smile, taking your hands to move you to sit upright. You admire her work as she turns to give you her water bottle, watching you like a hawk as you take a sip.

You get shy at her attention, “I’m not going to pass out you know, I’m literally covered in tattoos already.”

“You’re really feeling alright? We can take pictures after you have a second, yeah?” 

“Georgia really, you look much more lightheaded than me. You did great, I promise.” As you try to scoot off the bench, her hands stop you- pinning your thighs to the table. The position forces her to lean closer to you, putting you at eye level with one another. She has a certain determination in her eyes, but is clearly quite mortified at the proximity her actions have caused.

Still, with her big brown eyes boring into yours, slightly rough palms on your naked thighs, and the slight dizziness that you do feel- you look around the room to see everyone busy packing up before you do something drastic. As you turn back to her soft gaze, a slight tilt to her head and a quick glance at your lips is all the encouragement you need. 

Your hands cover hers, desperate for something to ground you as you lean in to peck her lips. At your slight movement, she excitedly surges forward and you clash much harder than you had expected. 

Pulling away, you’re both reduced to hysterics at the release of the tension that the day caused, and for finally giving in to a moment to had both waited for all your lives. Who knew it would take her marking you forever for you both to make a move.

a/n: wow so sorry I have not uploaded in forever! midterms absolutely kicked my butt and then I was celebrating my birthday! anyways I'm not super happy with this but I hope yall enjoyed <3

my requests are still open and i will really try to be much quicker in getting to them lol

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf,  fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”  

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked. 

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head.  So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the  canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

 You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions.  Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

 Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,  

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering,  you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.    

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t. 

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left,  the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega.  An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do.  You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.   

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.  

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.   

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.  

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

˙

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.  

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic.  Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.  

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.  

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished.  “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most­–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does. 

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.   

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him. 

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines,  remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture. 

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature. 

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh. 

How he had fucking ruined you. 

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him. 

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down,  “I…I-“ 

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you. 

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.” 

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck. 

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough. 

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You,  the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

 He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. ���How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

[sasayego]

Heyyy…. May i request a wife reader x dick grayson… she is mad at him and is giving him a silent treatment, but he is so done with this that he starts annoying her by saying Mrs. Grayson after every sentense and closing tightly lids

anon this is so adorable. i am going feral. also i am so severely sorry for my IA-ness.

tags — just overall fluff. some light swearing

In hindsight, you should've known that this would entail not just dating, but also marrying a vigilante. How could someone blame you, anyways? You were sitting at home, about to go to bed, when Nightwing crashed into your apartment after being chucked across the city by some villain or the other.

He had a major concussion. You didn't know how to treat thrown vigilantes who definitely had a couple of broken ribs and a torn ACL.

What you did know was how to comfort a man who was clearly in pain, who was trying to stifle his screams, because let's face it, the vigilante life should clearly not be glamorized.

He felt bad for the wreckage in your apartment. Every week, there'd be thousands of dollars at your doorstep from him, ready to pay it off. He had to be rich. There was no way he was giving your entire salary in four months and a half.

Eventually, you figured out his secret identity. And instead of being angry about it, Dick Grayson felt awfully in love with a girl who was as intelligent as he hoped she'd be. Sure she wasn't a supermodel, but she made him laugh. She made him think. She wasn't easy to get along with at times, but she made him better.

Three years later, he put a ring on it.

"I told you," you snapped, "you just keep going in stupid situations, and normally, I wouldn't mind, but it's like you refuse my help or anyone else's."

Dick knew he had a really bad hero complex. He couldn't stand anyone else getting hurt because of his issues. "I can handle it," he responded. "And isn't it just annoying that you've been mad at me for the past two days? Can't you just give it a rest?"

"I'll give it a rest when you start accepting help from others," you responded, your brows furrowing. "God, you're so—you're so—ugh!"

Dick rolled his eyes and then smirked at you, that stupid boyish smirk that made your heart tingle and everything else disappear. "I'm so what, sweetheart? What am I, Mrs. Grayson?"

You glared at him. "Dick!" You huffed, both saying his name and the insult. "That's it. I want a cooling down period. Leave me and the kitchen alone!"

He grinned, looking back at you, a mischievous glance in his eye. "Oh, I will, Mrs. Grayson. I will."

* * *

Making dinner was one of your forms of therapy. Dick was starting to go out for patrol, much to your distaste, no doubt about to pick a fight with someone who would give him considerable damage.

You didn't want him to go, you wanted to keep him here and kiss him forever, but he would leave anyways. It's my moral duty to the people of Bludhaven to keep them safe, he had said to you one night. I could never bring it to myself to disappoint these people. To make them unsafe. I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure people are as safe as can be.

And though you really disliked it, you knew that was one of the core reasons why you were so undoubtedly in love with him.

You turned around to grab the jar of pickles, still steaming from the fight, only to find that it was incredibly hard to open.

"What. The. Hell?" You hissed. You had opened it up just a day ago, and put it easily back, making sure it wasn't that hard.

Your face turned red and you looked at it again before trying to open it up, straining and groaning, only for your muscles to give out. There was only one explanation for this.

Your stupid, lovable, husband.

And after a few minutes of recollecting your pride, you stomped over to your bedroom where he was dressing. He was in the midst of putting the top half of his suit on, and your mouth turned a little dry when you saw him shirtless.

You were pretty sure that when the first time you saw him shirtless, literal heart eyes came out of your eyes. You gawked for a couple of seconds, admiring the contour of his muscles, only for him to turn around and smirk at you.

He knew what you were doing. Dammit.

"Hi, Mrs. Grayson," he teased. "Enjoying the view?"

"Shut up," you snapped, and held out the jar. "Open this up right now and stop screwing with my jars."

He smirked at you. "What's the magic word?"

"The magic word is 'I will beat you up if you don't open the jar up right now'," you responded, glaring at him. "Now. Open."

He laughed, tossing his head back, his voice echoing off the room before taking the jar. You watched intently as his triceps flexed when he opened the jar up with ease and returned it back.

"Thank you," you said, your voice having an edge to it. You were about to turn around before he grabbed you by the arm.

"What, no good luck kiss?" Dick asked huskily in your ear. It sent shivers down your spine.

"Even if I give you one, you'll still end up badly injured."

"C'mon," he murmured, planting a light kiss on your neck, his hands dancing on your waist. He squeezed your sides slightly. "I always fight better when my girl kisses me."

You looked up at him and snorted. "In your dreams," you responded, but he took this moment to crash his lips against you. You felt dizzy and couldn't help but to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

When the both of you stopped, he laughed, looking at you breathless, his blue eyes twinkling in the night sky.

"Knew you couldn't be mad at me for that long, Mrs. Grayson."

"Shut up," you grumbled, punching his shoulder lightly. "Go save Bludhaven, Boy Wonder."

He stepped out the window and then turned back at him, smirking. "You know I am, sweetheart. And when I come back, I'm gonna finish what I started."

[aemonds-fire]

PHOTOSHOOT

Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female Oneshot

You talk your friend, Aemond, into modeling for you, but the photoshoot leads to more than you expect.

Word Count: 4408

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, SMUT, friends to lovers, profanity, sweet, sassy, and those gloves.

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

Closing your eyes and resisting the urge to scream in frustration as you read the text, you mutter, "This can’t be happening.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

You open your eyes to see your friend, Helaena, looking at you, concerned at your sudden mood shift.

“The guy who was going to model my clothes for the photoshoot just canceled on me.”

You see her eyes widen as she asks, “Nooo, how could he do that to you?”

Helaena Targaryen is one of your closest friends, and the two of you are hanging out at her family’s estate just outside of King’s Landing. The two of you met almost two years ago at a university photography exhibit and became fast friends. Both of you love photography, art, and clothes, with you aspiring to be a fashion designer and photographer.

All you can do is shake your head at her. You need to find another model, and fast. You have a deadline to meet, and you're running out of time. Despite having reserved the studio space for the photoshoot in a few days, you now lack a model for the clothes.

You don’t hear the sounds of a door closing and footsteps coming down the stairs; your mind is racing trying to think of what you are going to do. You don't notice anyone else in the room until you hear your name and see Hel's younger brother waving his hand in front of you.

“Helloooo, is anybody there?” The tall blonde jokingly asks.

“Sorry, hi Aemond,” you mumble, trying to quiet your mind.

“Easy, Aem. She has a big problem to deal with,” Helaena tells her brother. She explains your situation to him, but a completely insane idea distracts you, causing you to lose focus.

You get off the sofa and move towards him, staring intently at his physical features.

Eyeing you warily, he asks, “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Talking half to yourself, you say, “You’re the same height and have a similar build. The clothes should fit you.”

When Aemond realizes what you're thinking, he starts shaking his head. “Nooo.”

On the sofa, you can hear Helaena giggle. “Come on, Aem. This is important to her, and she’s really stuck right now.”

Aemond gives his sister a look, saying, “You’re not helping.” Turning back to you, he pleads, "You still have a couple of days to find someone else."

You’re smiling now, knowing that you’ll be able to talk him into this. "That would be a couple of days of stress and worry, not sleeping; I might even start smoking. You don’t want to put me through that, do you?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whines.

As you look up at him, you grab his slender arm and cling tightly. "Please, Aemond,” you beg. “I just need you for a few hours to do this photoshoot. Come on, help a friend out. Please?”

With an almost pained expression on his face, he sighs, “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Squealing with happiness, you pull him into a big hug. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

While your head rests against his chest, he puts his arm around you, and you hear him say, “But you owe me for this.”

“Yes, yes, I will owe you.” Glancing over at his sister, you tell her, "Sorry, Hel, Aemond is now my best friend forever.”

You laugh when she playfully pouts at you, and Aemond says, “Alright, get off me. You’re squeezing me; I can’t breathe.” You let him go and return to sit next to Hel on the sofa, and Aemond takes a seat on the other end. 

“What exactly is this photoshoot, and what do I need to do?”

You can't resist having a little fun with him now that he has agreed to do it. Managing to keep a straight face, you tell him, “The theme is from last year's best movie; it’s Slut Barbie, and you're going to look amazing in pink.”

You get a death glare from Aemond while Hel snorts; she’s laughing so hard. Keeping it going, you add, ‘Too bad you cut off your hair, Aem. I could’ve curled it.”

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath.

You giggle at the look on his face as you tell him, "I'm joking. Seriously, I have four menswear outfits. I just need you to model the outfits, and I'll take the pictures.” Trying to reassure him that it will be easy, you add, “You might even like some of the pieces; the clothes are all black, your happy color.”

Three days later, you’re in the studio, waiting for Aemond to arrive. You got here early, unloading your car and getting everything set up. After double-checking that everything is in place, you finally relax a little, settling down on one of the three red couches around the studio.

When you became friends with Helaena, you also became friends with her brothers, especially her younger brother, Aemond. It took some time with him because he tends to keep people at a distance, but you managed to get past his reserved and borderline intimidating persona to find a genuinely nice guy who is smart, funny, and quite protective of those he cares about.

You know a lot about why Aemond is the way he is: his family and a childhood accident that cost him an eye. A realistic prosthetic eye and plastic surgery on his face leave little noticeable trace of the accident, but you know it still affects him. That, along with the family tensions and pressures that come with being a Targaryen, makes it difficult for him to trust and open up to people.

The sound of the front door buzzer alerts you to his arrival. You quickly make your way down the narrow staircase to let him in. After some quick hellos, you lead him up to the studio. As he takes off his leather jacket and sets it on a nearby chair along with his backpack, you thank him again for doing this for you. 

Aemond glances around, noticing the clothes, camera cases, and other supplies you brought with you. He says, “I could have come earlier and helped you with this stuff.”

Shaking your head, you tell him, “No, it’s fine. It’s not that much, and I like setting things up myself; it helps me go over what I want to do.”

Like you, Aemond kept it comfortable and casual, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and you can’t help but think how good he looks. The thought suddenly makes you a little nervous, but you quickly put it down to how important this project is to you. 

Gesturing for him to have a seat at the table where you have makeup and styling products set up, you ask, "Okay, Aem, ready to start your modeling career?” 

He rolls his eye at you and sits while you begin to apply his makeup. As you do, you really study his features. His face is all sharp angles and strong features: an aquiline nose, prominent cheekbones, and a jawline that doesn’t quit. In a way, his face shouldn’t work with so many strong features, but it does beautifully, giving him striking good looks. 

“Damn, I never realized how long your eyelashes are. I know girls who would kill for lashes like these.”

Once you've styled his hair to a spiky, messy look, you step back to assess your work. You decide he needs one last touch, opting to add eyeliner to the outer corners of his eyes.

“Let’s add a little drama to your eyes. I need you to look up,” you tell him. 

When he suddenly shifts in his seat while you're trying to apply the liner, you playfully scold him. "Hold still before I poke out your good eye, then you'll really be screwed."

You have to wait while he lowers his head and his shoulders shake with laughter. Then you hear him mutter, “I love you,” as he tries to stop laughing.

You’re not sure what to make of what he said, and when he looks up at you, he seems just as surprised that he said it.

Pressing his lips together before he speaks, “I never imagined being able to laugh about it,” he tells you as he gestures to his prosthetic eye. “You’re the only person who can make me laugh about it. It's awkward or avoided completely with everyone else, even my family."

You simply rest your hand on his shoulder and smile at him, giving him the opportunity to continue if he so chooses. You know that opening up about his feelings, especially about this, isn’t easy for him. From the beginning, you’ve followed your instincts and never pressured him. You've been around his family and seen him withdraw when he feels pressed. You think that's one of the reasons you've become such good friends—you're a quiet listener when he needs one.

This time, he chooses to try to lighten the mood by promising to hold still and letting you finish applying the eyeliner.

Once you're satisfied with his hair and makeup, you grab the first garment bag hanging on the nearby rack and show him the room where he can change. You’re checking the lighting again when you hear him come out a few minutes later. 

Your eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but grin when you turn to look at him. “Oh, that looks good on you.”

He’s wearing one of your favorite pieces, a long single-breasted black coat over a plain white tank top with black trousers. 

“I really like this.”

Once he's in front of the white backdrop, you snap a few quick Polaroids and then a few more shots to determine if you need to adjust the lighting. You quickly learn that your biggest challenge will be getting him to relax in front of the camera. Sensing that, in typical Aemond fashion, he’s overthinking it, you have an idea that will help him.

“See if this helps. I want a confident look. Give me that ‘I’m Aemond Fucking Targaryen and you’re not’ look.”

“I don’t have that look,” he protests.

"Yes, you do. If you think someone is giving you shit because of who your family is, you definitely have that look,” you insist. “Like that one professor you couldn’t stand, what was his name?”

Aemond huffs at the memory and quickly gives you the look you want.

“Ah, there’s that look,” you tease him.

With some teasing and creative suggestions from you, he relaxes more, even seeming to enjoy himself. You’re making good progress, and soon you'll be on the third outfit.

“Aem, if your family goes broke, you can make a killing as a model with your bone structure,” you remark as the two of you go through some of the shots. “These shots are amazing.”

“Okay, now give me that cunty smirk of yours.”

“What cunty smirk?” Aemond tries to feign innocence, but you can tell he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Remember when Jason Lannister tried to talk me into leaving that party with him? You told him I was leaving with you, and you had that smirk on your face as you said it.”

“Lannister is a dick, and he was drunk. I wasn’t letting you go anywhere with him.”

You can’t help but smile as you recall how protective Aemond was that night. You quickly dragged him away, fearing that he might punch Lannister if the guy didn’t back off. 

There was only one more outfit to photograph. You hand him the last garment bag, and he goes off to change. You chuckle to yourself, wondering what his reaction will be to this one.

“This is different,” he says as he walks towards you, holding up his hands and showing off the black latex gloves he’s wearing.

“Nice,” you comment as you check out the outfit. This one has black trousers and a jacket, but no shirt. “Hold out your arms so I can roll up the sleeves.”

“I want to wear this to mom's dinner party next month. A bunch of my father’s business cronies will be there,” he tells you, a mischievous look in his eye. “I’ll let you know the date. I need you there to help keep me sane.”

"Yay, that sounds like fun,” you remark sarcastically.

“I know,” he says sympathetically. “Mom wants you there to help make sure I behave.”

Giving him a quick side eye, you say, “Oh, so you and Aegon don’t try and fuck up dinner again, hmm?”

He just sheepishly rolls his eye at you.

“When did it become my job to watch you anyway?”

Grinning at you, he answers, “Because you’re good at it.” Knowing that get togethers with his family can be difficult, he adds, "Please.”

“Alright, I’ll be there,” you sigh in resignation. Then, as an idea pops into your head, you chuckle. “But if it’s my job to keep you out of trouble, maybe I’ll show up in all leather, put a collar on you, and drag you around on a leash all night.”

Both of you start laughing, with Aemond telling you, “It might be worth it to see the old man shit himself.” He manages to say, “Aegon would be so jealous,” through a fit of giggles.

You’re trying hard to stop giggling. “Shut up. Let’s finish so I can let you go and be a menace to your family.”

He takes his place in front of the backdrop, still chuckling to himself. “What do you want from me this time?”

With both of you so relaxed, you decide to have some fun with it. “Let’s go for it. Let me see the hot, bad boy. Give me sexy, Aem.”

As you hold your camera, ready to start taking pictures, he pauses and gives you a look before saying, “Okay, I can do that.”

The intense, smoldering look on his face as you begin to take pictures surprises you. He’s staring straight at the camera, making you feel like he’s burning you with his gaze. ‘Fuck, you asked for hot and sexy, and he’s giving it to you.” When he adds a cocky little smirk, you can’t help the butterflies that come alive inside you. 

At times, your feelings about Aemond have been a bit conflicted. It started with a few pangs of jealousy watching him with one of his girlfriends once. He's become one of your best friends, and you don't want to lose that friendship for anything. But he's also incredibly hot, and you can't deny an attraction to him.

You’ve dated guys occasionally, but you can’t help comparing them to Aemond, and none of them come close. But in all the time you’ve known him, he’s dated too, and he’s never shown any interest in being more than friends with you. You're not sure if it's because you're friends, or if he just doesn't see you as girlfriend material. You're not sure how you feel about that.

‘You’re going to be a puddle on the floor soon if he keeps looking at you like that.’ Trying to act normally, you grin and say, “I think we’re done.” Lowering your camera, you quickly scan through some of the images, blown away by what you’re seeing. Half jokingly, you say, “I don’t know what you were thinking about, but it worked. These are intense.”

Aemond comes over to stand next to you, both of you looking at the pictures. You’re preoccupied, still not able to get over how good he looks. You distractedly mention without looking up at him, “There’s face cleanser and a towel on the table so you can wash off the makeup.”

Suddenly you’re aware of how close he is standing to you, your shoulder brushing against his chest. You look up at his face and see that he still has the same smoldering expression as he gazes intently at you. You let him take the camera from your hand and set it down on the table before his arm goes around your waist, turning you to face him.

“Aem?” It’s all you can get out as he tucks a few loose strands of hair behind your ear.

He whispers, “I want to kiss you,” as he tilts your chin up and covers your lips with his.

It’s a slow, soft first kiss between the two of you, and there’s a sweetness to it given how gentle he’s being. But it’s a kiss that makes time stop for you, letting yourself feel nothing but his lips caressing yours, his tongue tenderly delving deeper, languidly exploring and finding your own.

It’s not until he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, that your mind starts to function again. The two of you just stand there like that for a moment, hearts racing and his arms around you, holding you against him.

‘We’re friends; I don’t want to lose…” You begin, trying to breathe normally.

You feel his breath against your cheek when he interrupts, “We won’t; I’ve thought about it too.” Brushing his lips against the skin of your cheek, he continues, “No one makes me feel the way you do. I want you, all of you.”

He kisses you again, hungrily this time, no longer holding back. You feel like you're being swept away by a current. You're not aware that you're wrapping your arms around him, unconsciously pulling him against you, or even kissing him back with equal passion. You don’t know if you’ve been kissing for one minute or one hour when he pauses to ask, “Talk to me. What are you thinking?” 

You haven’t been thinking; you’ve only been feeling, and the answer you give is the only thing you’re certain about. “Nothing has ever felt so right.”

You feel rather than see his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Hmm, feels so right,” he agrees as he starts leading you over to one of the red couches in the studio. When he plops down, he pulls you down with him, leaving you straddling his lap.

Giggling softly, you try and protest, “Aem, I have to pack this stuff up.”

“We’ll pack it up,” he whispers. Between kisses on your neck, he tells you, “The pictures... All I could think about was me and you on this fucking red couch.”

You’re a bit stunned by his admission, but knowing that he was thinking about you when he had the hottest, most intense expression you’ve ever seen sends a thrill through you that is indescribable. Warmth pools deep in your core, and your skin starts to tingle. 

“Were you thinking filthy thoughts about me when you were looking so hot and sexy, you little devil?” you playfully ask him.

His kisses are getting wetter and sloppier as his mouth moves over your collarbone. “Fucking filthy thoughts, baby.’

Grazing his ear with your lips, you whisper, “Show me.”

He freezes for a second, turning his head up to look at you. His eye darkens when he sees the smile on your face. His hand goes to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss; this time he doesn't hold back. His mouth is hot and demanding,and he pushes his tongue past your lips.

Suddenly, his hands are all over your body, cupping and squeezing your ass, running up your back and pulling you down on him, your pussy on his growing bulge with only layers of clothing between. 

Heavy breathing and soft moans start coming from both of you as you continue to make out, exploring and tasting each other, with him pausing to suck little marks onto your skin.

You had almost forgotten he was still wearing the last outfit you put together until your hands slid under the lapels of his jacket to stroke his bare chest, and you felt the rubbery texture of the gloves he was still wearing when he slid his hand under your shirt, making you shiver at the sensation.

Aemond instantly notices your reaction, sliding both gloved hands under your shirt, teasing your skin before cupping your tits in his large palms. 

You bite your lip to keep from whimpering, and your hips start to grind over his cock, making him moan softly. Holding his face in your hands, you lean in to kiss him, teasing his lips with your tongue. 

"Fuck, I want you so bad,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Are we really doing this, or should we stop?”

You know Aemond would stop if you asked him to, but that’s the last thing you want right now; he’s stronger than you for even considering it. Your eyes meet, searching for any signs of doubt about each other, and neither of you see any. You let go of his face, pull your t-shirt off over your head, and quickly reach behind your back to unfasten your bra. “We’re doing this; I want you.”

He hurriedly shrugs the jacket off before burying his face in your chest, licking a stripe on your skin while he palms your tits, squeezing and teasing your nipples with his latex-covered fingers. His mouth moves over your areola, swirling his tongue around before latching onto your hardened peak and sucking gently.

“Fuckin’ perfect tits,” he murmurs.

Every movement of your hips causes his breath to catch, while you can feel your panties becoming soaked. Without warning, he flips you onto your back. He leans over you, kissing his way up your torso, and then kisses you again deeply as he covers your body with his own. When he raises up and sits back on his heels on the couch, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your joggers, pausing to look at you, waiting for your permission before undressing you further. 

“Yes,” you murmur. You lift your hips and kick off your shoes as he pulls both your joggers and panties simultaneously. The sight of him naked to the waist but still wearing the elbow-length black gloves does something to you that you never expected. 

“Fuck, those gloves look hot; they make you look like such a bad boy.”

He grins down at you, taking in your body, completely bare to him. “But one of them has to go; I need to feel you,” he says as he peels off the left glove. “But the other one...” He gently nudges your legs apart, staring down at your soaked pussy.

"You're fucking soaked for me," he murmurs as his gloved fingers delve into your folds, causing you to exclaim in shock as your wetness coats the already shiny glove.

You bite your lip and grab hold of his other hand, lacing your fingers with his as he teases your clit with slow, circular motions. 

He never takes his eye off of you as he slides a long finger inside you, then a second, pumping them smoothly, and now rubbing your clit with his thumb. 

“Fucking beautiful.” His eye goes from your face, now flushed with pleasure, your pebbled nipples, and down between your legs, watching his fingers disappear inside you.

You can feel your orgasm building as he removes his fingers from you and begins to lick your juices.

“Mmm, fuck,” you whine softly as you watch him peel off the remaining glove. Then he starts to unfasten his trousers, quickly removing the rest of his clothes, baring himself to you. 

“I want you to come on my cock for our first time, baby.”

Your mouth literally waters watching him stroke himself. He’s long and veiny; his reddish tip is leaking precum. Your legs instinctively spread wider for him, not wanting to wait any longer for him to fuck you with that pretty cock.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking at you and biting his lip. “Do we need something—a condom?”

"No, no, we're good," you assure him as your hand reaches for his hip, encouraging him.

After coating himself in your wetness, he teases your pussy with the swollen head of his cock before slowly easing his length into you, making you both gasp. You are loving the fullness and slight stretch of his size as he buries his cock in you. 

“Fuck, you feel good.” 

“Hmm, so do you.”

Giving you a minute to adjust to him, he slowly pulls out part way before easing back in, hooking his arm under your bent knee. He quickly finds a steady rhythm, pumping smoothly. Your hips lift to meet his thrusts, while your arms extend down his body, cupping his ass, stroking his slim hips, and dragging your nails along his skin. 

“Mmm, you’re taking my cock so well; you’re so perfect for me,” he pants as his hips slam against you, fucking you harder. He reaches between you, finding your clit and rubbing steadily.

The familiar pressure is building swiftly, feeling like a tightly coiled spring is about to snap, when he grunts, “Not going to last much longer. I need you to cum for me, baby.”

The steady friction on your clit and his cock bullying your nerves in your walls have you on the verge of cumming yourself. 

Not long after you gasp, “So close,” the suddenness of your climax makes your body tremble with spasms of pure ecstasy, causing your walls to clench around him.

“Oh, fuck…yes.”

You can hear your heart pounding as his thrusts become more erratic, and he moans as his cock pulsates as he fills you with his cum. After a few last sloppy thrusts, he stills, buried to the hilt in you.

You pull him down on you, wanting to feel his weight on top of you, while he nuzzles the side of your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Somehow he manages to roll to your side without falling off the couch, and the two of you lay facing each other, limbs tangled as you try to catch your breath.

After a few moments, he says, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Tracing circles on his skin with your finger, you reply, “Mmm, maybe I’m the lucky one.”

Eventually, you both get up, and after cleaning up and getting dressed, you start packing up your equipment and supplies, with Aemond insisting on carrying most of it down to your car.

“Aem, I can’t find the gloves. What did you do with them?”

“They’re in my backpack.”

[jujusdiary]

TILL FOREVER FALLS APART -ln4

pairing- lando norris x child hood best friend fem fewtrell!reader warning- mentions of trauma, abusive relationship, use of "kiddo" as a nickname from max to reader (idk if that's a warning lol) and use of y/n (ew ew ew sorry) genre- mutual pining, brother's best-friend, hella angst, fluff, fluff, and uhm, oh yeah- fluff. summary- after years of being apart, lando reunites with his childhood best-friend, but it's not what everyone is chalking it up to be. reminders of a past argument float up, and the reason for your absence all these years start to become more and more apparent. word count- 4.659k -- this fic was also not proofread lol bc i have no one willing to proofread these yet, so pls lmk if anyone would be interested 😽 also requests are still open and tysm for the love on my oscar post!!! Any text in orange is past/memory scenes soz if it gets confusing : )

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · keep reading !! · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

You stare off into the distance, your eyes glossy. The paddock stands like a bad memory before your eyes, and you try hard not to reminisce on the last time you stepped past that gate.

"You don't have to go in, you know that, right? You can see Lando some other time." Your brother, Max, says as he places his hand over yours. The car feels so much smaller now, as you sit there with him, the pass heavy in your hands.

"No, no. I have to go see him, i-i promised." You mutter to yourself, gulping down the fear in your throat. Last time you were here, it was over three years ago. You had been accompanied by your boyfriend at the time, Jonah, with his hand wound up around your arm tightly, fingertips digging into our flesh. You swear you can feel his fingers digging into you again, the bruises he left on your body aching all over again-

"Jonah can't hurt you, kiddo. He's far away, he can't reach you." Max reassures you, but you still have to swallow the bile in your throat as you climb out of the car and start to walk towards the paddock and the Mclaren hospitality, your legs shaky as all the memories come rushing back.

"you embarassed me, on live television !" His hand coming down to collide with your cheek. You whine in pain as your body jolts back, your arms and chest covered in bruises, your cheek stinging in pain.

"I-I'm sorry i didn't mean to ! I was just trying to congratulate Lando-" You say, shaking as you tried to back away from him. Jonah wasn't usually an angry man. He used to be sweet and tender towards you, always anxious whenever you would even so much graze your knee. But then he got angry over little things, like when you would knock things over or when you spoke a little too loud.

"Instead, you embarassed me and now everyone thinks my girlfriend is a whore !" You tried to squirm away from him, to hide somewhere and grab a phone to call someone-anyone- to help you. But his hand wrapped around your ankle and yanked you back towards him, blood sprouting on your cracked open skull as it hit the table.

"Be quiet."

"Yo. Y/n ?" You were snapped back to reality, Max's hand on your back, the younger aussie driver standing before you, already in his suit. "You okay ?" You gulp heavily, meeting Oscar's confused brown eyes.

"Y-yeah. I'm good." You reply, eyes scanning the crowds around you nervously.

"O-kay..? Anyways, Lando is looking for you." He says, clearing his throat and offering you a soft smile, before walking off. Max looks down at you.

"Are you sure you're alright ? You're looking pale. It's okay if you're scared, i know Lando and you didn't leave things on great terms." He mutters. The worry for his little sister is obvious on Max's face. Lando, Max and You have been friends since the karting days, when you were there to cheer on Max and secretly crush on his best-friend. But Lando had always acted like a brother to you, so you had always assumed those feelings were one sided. So when Lando finally made it to F1 and he started asking you to come to races and acting a bit more flirtatious towards you, it angered you because you had felt alne in your feelings for years and now he wanted to act like this ? It angered you to the point of going and getting a boyfriend. Jonah. Lando and you had gotten into a fight last time you had come to the paddock. It didn't end well. That was over three years ago, at Silverstone in 2021.

"Max, mate !" The voice makes your body go rigid.

"Lando !" Max breaks away from you, envelopping his arms around the boy, patting his back. The slightest of his curly brown hair is peeking out from underneath his papaya cap, his race suit tied around his waist as he clutches unto his water bottle. His cheeks are sunkissed underneath the chinese sun, still high off of his p1 quali. His sink is tan, his eyes shimmering with excitement.

"P1, mate, congrats ! That was amazing, that was." Max congratulates, smiling at him.

"Hah, thank you ! I got scared for a second there, but i was glad when my lap was re-instated, lad, i thought it was over-" His eyes find you, and the shimmer seems to die down. You fiddle with your shirt, the mclaren logo scratchy on your chest.

"Y/n." Your names comes tumbling past his lips like a chant too long apart from him, and it's like the breath has been knocked out of your chest.

"Hi, Lan." You answer, although your voice feels to low for him to hear you. He breaks away from your brother, his eyes drinking you in, a gulp passing past his adam's apple. An awkward silence hangs between the two of you, and it makes your heart hurt as you remember how he'd greeted you last time he'd seen you.

"Lan !" You ran into his arms, letting him fling you around as he groaned, picking you up.

"Ah, there you are ! Been wonderin' where you'd gone." He'd muttered into the skin of your neck, his breath warm. His touch was welcome on your bruised body, the heavy sweater creating unnecessary heat on that day. His arms were tight around you. This was the one race this season Jonah had not joined you. But the bruise around your neck was still obvious when Lando placed you down and his eyes fluttered down.

"Darling.." His hand moved your hair away from your neck softly, frowning. His touch was featherlight on your bruise, and you jerked away from him with a flinch. "Did he do this ? Did Jonah do this to you ?" His eyes were dark. You shook your head, trying to break away from him but his grip on your waist was steadfast.

"Don't lie to me." He whispered.

"He didn't mean to." You'd mumbled, and his face fell.

"He hurt you ?" You shook your head, trying to protest, but before you could, he was ushered away to his car.

"You look.. well." He mutters, scratching the back of his neck. Max looks between the two of you. It must be odd, seeing you standing so far from each other. Usually, his hands wouldn't be off you for more than three seconds- Lando craved your touch, it grounded him. Seeing his stand so far felt foreign to Max. He pats Lando's back again.

"Alright well.. I'm going to go find P.. I'll leave you two to it." He says before walking off, shaking his head. You stare at him in silence, your chest heaving.

"How have you been ?" He asks, taking a step closer to you. His eyes are scanning your skin, looking for any trace of a bruise. The thought hits you like a truck- he doesn't know you and Jonah broke up.

"I've been okay." You answer, your voice feeling strained in your throat. He nods, pursing his lips.

"How's Jonah ?" You gulp down the bile in your throat, scratching your eyebrow. The venom in his voice is evident- your past argument clearly still salt in an open wound.

"Uh- convicted. 5 years." His jaw pops open. "Did Max not tell you ?" He shakes his head, gulping.

"No, uh, he didn't."

"After Silverstone, i... I got it together. I called the cops. He was found guilty and.. i haven't seen him since." His eyes flutter as he nods softly, his lips parting.

"What are you doing later tonight ?"

"Nothing. Probably stay in, if i'm honest." You said, laughing as you stared at Lando as he dried off his sweaty hair after his p4 finish, the towel heavy on his neck.

"Go out with me." He said, turning to look at you. You wanted to say yes, you really did. But you knew Jonah would be furious if he found out you had stepped a foot outside without him.

"I would love to, Lan, but i-i shouldn't." You muttered, but he shook his head, tutting.

"Wasn't a question. You and me, we're going out before your muppet of a brother shows up tomorrow and ruins out fun, alright ?" he said, smiling broadly at you. You scratched at your stomach, the hidden bruise on your ribs bothering you as yo sat uncomfortably on the chair, but you couldn't say anything was bothering you or Lando would be all over you.

"I'm serious, Lan, i don't think i should-"

"Nonsense. We're going to have fun."

You stared at him , your feet aching from being stood up so long.

"Should we go sit somewhere ?" Lando asks, his eyes happier than before. You nod.

"Sure." You follow him inside the McLaren hospitality, your hands shaky as you enter the place you haven't seen in three years. Everyone greets you with smiles and handshakes galore, and it makes you feel like you've been greeted home. It still feels weird that he hasn't hugged you yet, and you try not to let that bother you when you sit down on the couch in his driver's room, the door closing behind him. He turns to face you.

"I've missed you, y'know ?" He says, his voice soft as he leans against the door, his eyes looking up. "I didn't think i'd see you again after that night.. After Max told me you'd gone." He says, clearing his throat. You glance down at your hands, fiddling with the skin around your fingers.

"I didn't think i'd come back, to be honest." He looks at you, and his gaze softens.

"I'm sorry, for what i said." He says, licking his lips. You finally look up at him, and the look in his eyes makes you want to sob. "Everytime i think about it.. It makes me want to be sick. The way i treated you-"

"We don't have to talk about that." You say, begging to get away from that subject.

"But i want to apologise to you." He says, sitting next to you. "I didn't mean it. Any of it."

The music was loud, and Lando was leaning next to you at the bar. You were laughing along to something he had said, when your phone had started to ring in your pocket. Its was Jonah. Somehow he had found out you were out, and he was fuming. You were crying in a corner, hiding from Lando, from whom you had excused yourself from to answer the call. Your shoulders we shaking, your dress hiking up to your knees to reveal the bruises peppered on your thighs, the sweater you had slung over to hide the spagetti straps revealing the bruises on your collarbones was now too heavy to bear, making you sweat as you tried your best to control your breathing- yet every breath you took made your ribs ache ache and wince. You tore your sweater off, fanning at your face, relishing in the privacy to no longer hide underneath layers.

"Darling ? Are you in here ?" You tensed up at his voice. You wiped the runny mascara off your cheeks, forgetting you had taken your sweater off. Lando turned the corner, and his jaw almost dropped when he saw you.

"Jesus, Y/n. What has he been doing to you ?" You frowned, before looking down at yourself, the music from the club outside still thrumming on the floor. Your eyes went wide as he took a step closer to you grabbing your arm softly and looking at the bruises peppered on your body. You shook your head, new tears forming in your eyes.

"N-No, i'm just clumsy, I walked into a wall and i bumped into a few tables. You know how i am, Lan, it's nothing-" He shook his head, cutting you off.

"Don't lie to me, darling. I'm sick and tired of you being scared of doing things that you think he would see as out of line. You've changed, Y/n. You're not the same anymore, you're too preoccupied with what he thinks of you, of what he wants you to do." You frowned at his words. It was obvious he was drunk, his words were slurred, but he had had enough. Lando had loved you for years, not that the believed you loved him back, and the second he got into f1, Max had given him the green flag to go ahead and make a move, having placed a heavy hands off for most of your life. But his relentless moves onto you just seemed to anger you, and he didn't seem to understand why- so it's safe to say he was confused when Jonah appeared at the paddock with you, out of the blue. He tried to play it off, to act happy for you because you were happy and that was all that mattered to him. But when he saw you start to be more scared every time anyone lifted their hand or arm, or how you wore heavy and covered clothing even on the hottest of days- he knew something was wrong. Especially when you stopped hugging him before races, especially when Jonah was around, he was convinced something was wrong.

"You're not yourself anymore - You're scared of everything, you're nervous, you look like you don't want to be around me, and you're always doing whatever fucking Jonah wants you to do. Im sick of it. I'm sick of it, i'm tired of seeing you upset all the time." You gulped down tears, and Lando knew he was saying the wrong things. He couldn't tell if he was being rude, the alcohol too heavy in his veins, fogging up his brain.

"Why are you acting like this ?" You mumbled, shaking your head. His words were hitting you, deep. You knew he was drunk, but aren't drunk words simply sober thoughts ?

So Lando really thought you were a push over and you were just giving in to Jonah ?

Letting yourself get hit ?

"Because i love you, goddammit ! I've loved you since we were kids but i couldn't do anything about it because of your brother, but then when he gave me the green light, I was going to go for you- But then you brought fucking Jonah !" His words knocked the air straight out of your chest. He loved you ?

" And i knew he was off- I knew something was wrong with him. The second i saw you act weird, especially to me, i knew something was wrong and now i know !" He yelled, pointing at your bruises. "He's been hurting you, y/n, and you've been hiding it ! God, you should've told me ! All i want is to protect you, darling."

"Lan, you're being mean.."

"Mean ? Mean ?! I'm trying to help you because he's obviously not a good guy but you're too scared to do anything about it, so you've stayed with him for three years !"

"You don't think i know that ? You don't think i've tried to get away ?I have, Lan ! Ive tried to tell you and Max, anyone, but i knew you would act like this and i was scared of what you would do ! What do you think this entire weekend was about ? I was trying to have one good moment before i went back there and ended things with him and filed a restraining order against him !" He tensed up as you yelled back at him, tears streaming down your face. "You think telling me that i've been letting him do these things to me is going to make me fall for you ?"

His face fell, and he suddenly realised that he had made a big, big mistake.

"No, Y/n, that's not what i-"

"Well it's not. And to think i came here all this way for you, putting my ass on the line because who knows the things he will do to me when i get back." You screamed, your throat yelling at you with every raise in. your tone, your voice cracking.

"Then stay. Don't go back, stay with me." He begged. He could tell you wanted to, but his earlier words were still stinging your heart. You shook your head and slipped your sweater back on. You pushed past him, but he gripped your arm.

"No, please, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to yell." His eyes were pleading. "You know that's not what i meant. Please, love, i'm not in my right mind- Just stay until morning and i'll explain it t you when my head isn't moving at three thousand thoughts a minute- Please." You could tell he was drunk. But you still felt sick just looking at him.

"Well it's too late now isn't it ?" You mumbled, before breaking free and running off.

You were on a plane out of the country before Max's had even landed.

"Not any of it ? Wow, okay." You ask, feeling that same prickly feeling in your throat as you did that night.

"Well i meant one part." He says, looking down at you. " I do love you."

"Lando, can we not do this, please ?" He shakes his head.

"But i want to. I don't like knowing you're mad at me-" You stand up, shaking your head, sniffling.

"I didn't come here to hear a half assed apology, Lan. I came here to support you because you're my friend and i missed you, for some reason. But if you're just going to toy with me again, and remind me of things i'd rather forget, then i can't do this." You say.

The thought of anyone genuinely loving you feels suffocating after Jonah.

It makes you sick to even think of being in such a vulnerable state again.

"I promise, i'm not-"

"I'll see you at dinner." You mutter, your chest heaving up and down in panic. He frowns as you move past him and leave his room storming out into the sun to find Max, your mind reeling.

Dinner is not going to be enjoyable.

❀❀❀

The dress is uncomfortable against your ribs, gulping heavily. The car is quiet, Pietra sitting beside you, Max in the front passenger seat near Lando. You try to avoid his eyes darting over to you at every red light, but it's getting painstakingly hard when his breathing gets heavier each time you look down to avoid his gaze. Pietra is scrolling mindlessly on her phone, her head resting on your shoulder as the car trudges past the streets. The restaurant Lando pulls into is fancy, with a valet at the door who takes the car off of his hands as you climb out. Pietra grabs your hand, talking happily about something as max softly touches your shoulder to make sure you're alright.

It feels weird- Wearing a dress and not having to cover a bruise.

You blink hurriedly and let Pietra drag you into the restaurant behind Lando and your brother, leading you to the table. She sits down beside you, Max sitting down infront of her, leaving Lando to sit down infront of you. You gulp and cats your eyes down, trying to include yourself in the conversation happening between your brother and his girlfriend, but it's all batting eyelashes and hand holding. Lando;'s foot nudges your calf. Your eyes snap over.

"Can we please talk-"

"Hi ! What can i get you tonight ?" Lando looks up at the sudden interruption. It's a young waiter, a large smile on his face.

"Uh, we haven't looked at the menu's yet-"

"Oh that's fine, would you like anything to drink ?" Lando's jaw tenses.

"No, it's fine we'll let you know when we're ready-"

"Well, i can offer you some specials ! We have cocktails with free refills, a wine cave that has been critically acclaimed for it's diversity-" Lando's fist comes smashing against the table. You flinch, the suddenness of it all making you jump. Max even looked over at the commotion, his brows knotted in confusion. Lando didn't get angry- at least not that angry. And he did, he'd be more likely to stay angry in silence until he' s calmed down enough to rationally discuss why he was angered in the first place.

"For fucks sake, can you give us a minute !" The young boy stammers, gulping heavily.

"Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir." The boy backs away, his hands shaking. Like how your hands shook as you dialed 9-1-1 from the hidden safety of your bathtub, bleeding from five different areas, Jonah having left to "clear his head" after beating you to a pulp.

Your eyes are wide in fear, your stomach churning with bile. Max seems to notice and he nods at Pietra, who places her hand over yours tentatively, your eyes trained on Lando, who is staring at you aswell.

"Y/n-" The second her hand touches yours, your body goes into fight or flight mode. You shove her off, leaping to your feet, your chest heaving, your chair groaning loudly on the floor. Everyone in the vicinity has turned to look at you. Max's eyes are wide, knowing the reason for your sudden change. You feel cornered, like every eye pouring into you is Jonah's- taunting you, promising to hurt you. Your eyes dart to Lando, who is staring up at you with worry in his eyes. You shake your head, a whimper forcing it's way out of your lips before running off, your heels clicking on the floor as whispers follow you.

"Y/n !" You hear Lando call, but you're already pushing open the door of the bathroom and locking it behind you after checking no one else was in the stalls. The second you're in privacy, tears start flowing down your cheeks, your hands clawing at your chest to get some sort of air into your lungs, the only thing keeping you up being the iron grip your free hand has on the small porcelain sink.

"Okay.. okay, breathe, Y/n. Jonah is far- He can't hurt you. He can't. He can't." You tell yourself through the rapid fire tears coursing down your face, making it hard for you to see or breathe.

"Darling ? Are you in here ?"

Deja vu hits you so hard you almost stumble backwards.

"I'm sorry, love, i didn't mean to yell."

There it is again.

"Will you please open the door ?"

His voice is so soft, so comforting, you don't even think. The lock comes clicking open and before you know it you're wrapped up into his arms, pushing you back into the bathroom, his voice muffled into your hair as he holds you close, apologising profusely. His hand is pinned to your waist, the other buried in your hair as your hands come to squeeze around his torso, his lips kissing your temple.

"Fuck, i'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God, i'm so sorry, Y/n." He breathes, gently rocking you back and forth. You nod against his chest, relishing in his touch. This is the first time in three years he's held you close.

"I'm sorry about the fight, i had no idea how bad it was, y/n." he pulls away, cupping your cheeks to make you look at him. "I never should've said any of those things. God, you're so strong for even thinking of getting out, my love. He never deserved you, and you never deserved to be treated that way, even less for me to be a dick about it because i was drunk and hung up over you." he peppers kisses all over your face. "And i'm so sorry for yelling just now, really i am, I just felt so bad because you wouldn't even look at me, and i got carried away and-" he stops himself when he realises he's rambling. "I'm sorry." He says, his tone stern. He brushes a strand away from your face, your hands resting on his torso as he stays cupping your cheeks.

"If I could take back that entire fight, I would. Please.. Don't ever leave me again." he begs, his voice cracking as his own tears fill his eyes. "It's been hell without you, Y/n. And knowing it was my fault you stayed away just makes it worse." He says. You lick your lips, and you look up at him through tear-soaked eyelashes.

"You promise you love me ?" Your voice is wobbly. The thought of hearing him say those words again makes you sick yet excited.

"Baby.. I've loved you since we were six. Of course i love you - i'll never stop loving you. And i can love you how you deserve to be.. if you let me." He says, his eyes scanning your face. He awaits for your answer, cleafly impatient. He chuckles softly.

"i really don't mean to push, y/n, but you're killing me here-"

You cut him off, reaching up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips, your hands finding the soft yet gelled tips of his curls, digging your fingers through them like how you used to fantasise when you were teenagers. His hands grab your waist possessively, pushing you up against the door, settling his knee n between your thighs to keep you up as he focuses on cupping your cheeks and kissing you long and hard, as much as he can, relishing in this moment. A soft whine is pulled from your lips as his hand softly settles around your neck, tilting your face up to get easier access, your smaller frame fitting into his tall one with ease. After a while, he finally pulls away to let you breathe, his hands strong on your hips, your own buried in his hair.

"Fuckin' hell." He pants, his forehead resting against yours. You nod, your eyes shut closed. Secretly, you're scared to open your eyes, because you think he might disappear if you look at him for too long.

"Does this mean you forgive me ?" He asks against your neck, his breath hot on your nape, his lips trailing your jaw. You slap at his chest as you laugh, your eyes opening. He laughs, shaking his head as he kisses along your jaw and collarbones.

"Yes, it means i forgive you, you muppet." You laugh, burying your face in his chest as he kisses your temple.

"God it feels so good to hold you." he mutters, his voice groggy. He cutches you tighter, kissing your nose. You scrunch it up, smiling.

"Y/n ? You in here babe ? Max is really worried, and -" The door comes flying open and Pietra stumbles in, taking in the scene before her- you and lando, both of your lips swollen, Lando's smeared with lipgloss, his curls a mess, his head buried in your neck. You try to shove him off, scared at the sudden exposure of his affection. A sudden jolt of fear courses through your body. God, if Jonah saw you and Lando so close, he would kill you- But then it hits you. Jonah actually can't hurt you.

"Hi, P." Lando smiles lazily as he kisses your forehead and pulls you in, refusing to let you go. Pietra smiles broadly.

"Oh. My. God. Max is going to flip !" She says, laughing. She runs off, ready to go tell Max as Lando finally breaks away from you and slips his hand in yours. He looks up at you, wiping the fallen tears off your tears and kisses your knuckles.

"Mine ?" He whispers. You smile, rolling your eyes.

"Yours." You reply. He smiles, tugging you along to the main room, where the restaurant seems to have continue past your earlier outburst. Max's eyes almost bulge out of his head when he notices your hands intertwined, and for the first time in a while..

It feels good to be vulnerable.

It feels good to be loved.

a/n- YALL I LOWK HATE THIS SOMEONE PLS CONVINCE ME OTHER WISE 😭 ( ALSO YAY LANDO WIN- OBVI A FIC IS COMING UR WAY THERE'S ALSO LIKE THREE OTHERS IVE BEEN WORKING ON SO STAY POSTED FOR THAT UHHHH REQUESTS ARE OPEN AS ALWAYSSSSS)

[danikamariewrites]

Hi could I request platonic Yandere inner circle x neglected reader who ran away because she got too tired of being neglected and decided to start a new life and the inner circle became a yandere because of the guilt they felt towards the neglect they did to her and could you make reader Yandere Azriel’s mate and reader decided not to tell him because he never showed any interest towards her either platonically or romantically and he becames a romantic Yandere for her. headcanons.😊❤️❤️❤️❤️🦇

Lure You Home

Azriel x reader & Inner Circle (platonic) x reader

A/n: I’ve read some yandere fics and I really liked the idea of an extra dark Azriel vibe. This might be my only yandere fic depending on how well this does (I was a little nervous to write this bc I’m not sure how popular the topic is lol) and I’m not sure how much I like this.

Warnings: yandere IC, yandere Azreil, dark!Azriel, dark!IC, possesive Az

Your move to the Winter Court was tough on your friends, especially Azriel. They deserved it though, you thought

They had stopped paying attention to you and hanging out with you

What were you supposed to do? You had tried everything to get their attention

Azriel, who was your best friend, even stopped being around you so much. Only his shadows kept you company

After weeks of Azriel’s begging Rhys finally gave in. Truly they all felt the same way as him, though Az felt it more. The inner circle could no longer live with their guilt of abandoning you, they had to get you back

It had pained you to move away from Azriel. The day you decided to leave was when the mating bond snapped for you but you couldn’t back out now, that would only show you were full of empty threats

Your friends needed to suffer

Months of living in the Winter Court had been hard and lonely. After two days in your new home you noticed the shadows moved, they seemed familiar

You immediately knew they were Azriel’s shadows and knew they would report back to them

An idea had popped into your mind once you saw the shadows swirling in the corner, watching over you

You were going to drive Azriel back into your arms. Make him go crazy until you were all that consumed his mind

Little did you know Azriel had the same idea, weaponizing his shadows to carry his scent, to touch you at night, holding you like you wished he would

You were both driving each other insane. Azriel broke first, coming to steal you away in the middle of the night. A blizzard was raging outside when his shadows carried him into your bedroom as you slept

Azriel couldn’t help but watch you sleep peacefully. You looked so beautiful, so innocent and easy to take. Your lack of wards to keep yourself safe had made his jaw clench. It just made him feel more right in taking you home to the House of Wind

His shadows ran through your room, taking all of your important items to the house. Azriel knew what was important to you, he had been watching you for years. Once his shadows confirmed that they had everything Azriel wrapped you in your favorite blanket, holding you to his chest, kissing your forehead and whispering promises of never letting you go or taking you for granted again

Azriel laid you down gently on his bed, like you were his most prized possession. His bed was as comfortable as you had imagined. It was soft and smelled like him, that night mist and cedar calming your senses. You smirked as he spooned you, pulling you impossibly close to his chest, still whispering promises

You had been wide awake the whole time, the shadows now under your command didn’t snitch on you

You fell asleep to the sound of Azriel’s heartbeat, cocooned in his warmth. It was the best sleep you had in years

Waking up in the morning you didn’t bother acting scared or shocked. The two of you were resting on the same pillow, you watched him as he slept. The morning sun highlighting the sporadic placement of hair that had been lightened by the sun from years of training outside

You reached out, tracing the line of his nose gently. Your finger catching on the slightest bump from when he broke it as a teenager

At the feeling of you tracing the bow of his lips his eyes fluttered open. Your breath slightly caught at the long dark lashes against his golden cheeks. His hazel eyes meet yours. Azriel sucks in a breath, scared that you will scream at him, beg to be let go. When those hurtful words didn’t leave your mouth Azriel pulled you close, crashing his lips against yours

Breaking apart he rests his forehead against yours, cradling the back of your neck to keep you close to him, “I’ll never let you go again.” He promised. “Never again, my mate.” You whisper. Azriel’s eyes go wide at the confession

In that moment the bond snaps for him

The two of you accept it immediately. Taking you to the cabin in the mountains the frenzy begins and Azriel is consumed by you

Once it’s over Azriel decides your permanent residence is the house of wind. Easy for Azriel to keep you safe knowing you would never dare take the 10,000 steps

He would know when you would come and go thanks to him being the only one taking you up and down from the house. Azriel had forbidden any of the IC members with wings to take you to and from the house

That was his job as your mate to keep you close and know where you are at all times

When you wanted to go out you always had to ask Azriel

If you wanted to have an overnight with the girls Azriel would practically throw a fit. “Do you not love me? Why wouldn’t you want to stay in bed with me?” “They don’t hold you like I do, you need that baby.” He’d say stroking your cheeks. “You need to stay here, safe with me.” You just nod and say, “Ok Azzy.”

You can’t be mad at him for it, not when you get the same way when he wants to stay out late with his brothers

You burst into tears when Azriel tries to go out to bars with Rhys and Cass. You also majorly guilt trip him into staying home with you screaming that you’ll just die if he doesn’t stay home

Worried that something would happen to you or that you would hurt yourself Azriel stays home

When Azriel is away on missions you stay at the river house so the IC can watch over you. They are just as obsessed with you staying safe as Azriel

It kills you when Cassian, Feyre, or Nesta keep you from doing things. You beg them to let you go out anywhere other than the garden. You swear you have more freedom at the house of wind, and that’s on a mountain!

Anyone who does bother you or comes anywhere near you disappears thanks to Azriel and Cassian

[r1nstaaa]

bangchan x fem!reader

blond chan is my roman empire.

MDNI!!!!

warnings: smut, chan has a breeding kink lol (he def does), tysm maya for the prompt ily and uh yes. enjoy.

you were sitting on the bed, peacefully scrolling on your phone. recently, your fyp has been filled with videos of the cutest babies ever and its literally torture. they’re so cute, so tiny that it makes you want one of your own. god, the baby fever has been hitting hard.

you looked to the side at your husband, who was also sitting on the bed, right beside you. his right hand was resting on your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the plush skin. “channie” you called out. “mm, what is it love?” he questioned, not looking up from his phone. ugh, the nickname. it still made you weak in the knees, even after 3 years of marriage. “channieeee” you called out again, demanding his full attention. “yes baby, i’m listening.” he looked up, not breaking eye contact this time. 

you stared at his lips. he knew what you were getting at. “you were gonna say something, baby?” the reminder made you snap your eyes back to his.

“i want a baby.” you deadpanned.

you hadn’t planned on blurting it out this way, it just happened. it had been in the back of your mind since the past few days, but you hadn’t really given it much thought. but chan? its safe to say he’s been dying to fill you with his seed ever since he saw you playing with your nephew during christmas last year. seeing the way you handle kids had him fully convinced you were gonna be an amazing mom and nothing could make him think otherwise.

with chan, all you had to do was ask. your wish was his command. and so, here you were, getting every last one of your wishes fulfilled.

his face was buried in your cunt, licking up every single drop you had to offer. he did not plan on letting anything go to waste. you had lost count of how many times he’d made you cum in the past hour, and if he had any intentions of stopping sometime soon, he was really good at hiding it. your fingers gripped at his hair, the curly strands wrapped around your fingers as you tugged at them lightly, making him groan against your sensitive cunt. the vibrations made you arch your back, the friction from his nose feeling sinfully delicious. “‘m gonna cum channie… fuck” you moaned out as he slipped his middle finger into your aching hole, pushing you closer to the edge. “c’mon baby, i know you can give me one more. that’s my girl.” he said, as he placed kisses on your tummy when you came down from your high.

he placed kisses all the way up to your collarbones, taking his time to fondle with your tits midway. he sucked and bit at your neck, leaving hickies all over the visible parts of your skin. he loved making it difficult for you to hide the remnants of your shared desire for each other. 

“what’d you say darlin’? said you wanted a baby?” he questioned, his hands working skilfully to rub and pinch your nipples. “y-yes.. fuck chan. need you to give me a baby.. please.” you mewled, back arching due to the pleasure. 

“since you asked so nicely…” he grunted as he slapped your clit with his cock, gathering your wetness near your entrance. “who am i to deny, baby?” he said as he pushed his cock inside with one full thrust, making you choke out a broken sob at the sudden stretch. the pain mixed with the pleasure made your brain go all mushy. all you could think about was the way his cock filled you up and the way his hands gripped your waist as he tried his best to not start thrusting into you already. “chan.. fuck me, please.” was all he needed to hear before he started rutting into you, building a rhythm and trying his best to not break it and absolutely ruin you right there. “fuck, you’re taking me so well, pretty girl. gonna fuck a baby into you.” his hands reached out for yours, holding onto them and interlocking his fingers with yours.

his pace was starting to get a bit rougher, hitting that spot inside you with each thrust. “so fuckin gorgeous. all mine, aren’t you?” he whispered against your neck, placing hot, wet kisses on your sensitive skin. 

 “shit, stop clenching ‘round my cock like that baby, gonna make me cum.” his thrusts started getting sloppier as you were both about to reach your highs, him reaching down to press on your clit and rub on it using his thumb. he spat on it and pinched it, finally making you come undone around his cock. your pussy squeezed him in even more, getting impossibly tighter. shit, you were driving him insane.

“fuck baby, m’close. so close.” he grunted. “you wan’ it inside? wan’ me to fill up that pretty little cunt of yours?” you nod mindlessly, completely fucked out. “words, pretty girl.” 

“y-yes channie. fill me up, please.” you said, as your cunt squeezed around him one last before he released his load deep inside you, your walls fluttering around his cock. 

he collapsed onto you, rightfully breathless. he reached down to push his dripping cum into your cunt with two of his fingers, giving you a sweet kiss and pecking your cheek after. 

“might wanna do this again just to be safe, you know?” 

[yuri-is-online]

Here's a short list of things that I think would affect yuu (not from an omegaverse world) being in twisted wonderland (omegaverse au)

The scent thing. In my mind, everyone has a scent, including betas, theirs are just weaker. So how would Yuu, who has no scent, be classified? Would ortho or idia want to study them and see what's different between twst folks and earth folks? Scent is usually just noted in smut scenes, but it does have a larger role in most a/b/o stories. Mainly, it's how people communicate emotions. If you're happy, it shows in your scent. If your distressed, it shows in your scent. If your scared, excited, horny, anxious, it shows in your scent. People probably focus on scent when it comes to emotions before they focus on your face or body language. So figuring out what Yuu is feeling is probably a lot harder. It's even worse if Yuu isn't that expressive in the first place. Although it does make me wonder about how people try to hide their scents when their trying to be aloof or stoic...

Noises. This also ties into emotions, the more extreme ones at least. A/b/o twst people purr when their happy or content and growl when they're feeling territorial. Yuu might be able to growl, not very well but whatever. But purring? Yeah no. Not happening. Bless Jades heart he's trying so hard to give Yuu gifts they like and listening for a purr and it just. Never comes. Also imagine being Yuu and you're just getting growled at on a daily basis that's just gotta suck lmoa

Warnings for menstruation and omega heats 🤩 (also jade thinks his partner got SAed so HUGE TW). I personally think that TWST doesn't have periods. Mostly because I read Period Drama series by twstfanblog and was like "Yeah sure I'll integrate that into my belief system". So Yuus under a lot of stress right? Especially those first few months and overblots, so I think it's safe to say that an AFAB Yuus cycle would probably skip over those few months or even a year until everything calms down. And then boom! Ovulation! Jade thinks it's a preheat or a heat and is trying SO HARD to be respectful because they did not talk about this before hand and he doesn't know if he's aloud to "help" them the way he's wants to. Doesn't exactly help that Yuus throwing themself at him every step of the way and asking shit like "Hey if we have kids what would you name them :D?". Yuu is killing him. All in all though, it's a pretty subdue heat, they're not confined to their nest (a messy pile of pillows, blankets, and cushions that they impulsively made in Ramshackle one day) or anything, they can go to class and move around just fine (he doesn't let them though. He doesn't need any perverts possibly getting off or fantasizing about something only he should be fantasizing about), and unfortunately, they're not keeping him in their nest and letting him breed them until they forget their own name, so it all worked out just fine. And then about a week later, he goes to Sam's first thing in the morning to buy more snacks and comes back to the strong scent of his loves blood, only to find out that blood was coming from "the void" and they're curled up in pain, and crying. Yeah that was the worst moment of Jades life, actually. 0/10. Would not recommend. He almost killed several people that day 👍

Nests. Yuu doesn't know what the hell a "nest" is or why Jade freaked out so hard with joy when they made their shitty little pillow fort but hey! At least he's happy! Look at him! Just vibrating with joy! While he's sitting just outside the fort and is just... staring at them..... Is he not gonna come in? So now their scooching over and awkwardly patting the spot next to them- and Jades eyes just dilated SO HARD ok

Ruts and knots. The Fun Shit. Jade asked (very flusteredly) if Yuu would be willing to help him through his upcoming rut and Yuus like 🧍👍🧎. And it's a lot more intense than they were expecting. Bro is looking a half step away from feral as he carries Yuu over to the "nest" and just let's go fully shortly after they start. And Yuu is throughly enjoying it but also- isn't this a little much?!It's just a week of a bad Coleen Hoover novel where all they do is have sex and sleep! They ain't built for this! Honestly, they're just a doll for him at this point because there is not a THOUGHT behind those eyes expect for Jade and his dick and they ain't even mad about it!

That last section wasn't a question I was just thirsty. Damn this ask got long as hell shit.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH bless you. My lifespan... my strength... it is returning 2 me.

I think a lot of this could be cleared up with some communication, but at the same time poor Yuu wouldn't know what they were supposed to be communicating.

If scents are reflective of emotion and how people communicate, I would think they reflect people's personalities in the same way facial expressions do? So a particularly stoic person (like say Silver) would have a much more muted scent when he's happy than someone who is much more expressive (like Kalim.) Of the people who would be most distressed by Yuu's lack of scent, I think it would actually be Riddle since I could see him thinking it is a medical issue they need to get checked out ASAP. It would certainly isolate them from their peers even more than not being a mage would, making them a real alien as far as most people in Twisted Wonderland would be concerned.

Now. Jade. My beloved. I think after he manages to successfully court Yuu he would be very smug about this because he would be maybe one of the only people in Twisted Wonderland able to pick up on Yuu's unique body language. But that's in the future, now he's struggling because on top of no scent there's no purrs D:< He's fantasized about what it would sound like sosososososo many times and he is worryingly close to realizing that he's not above begging. He just wants some praise from his chosen mate... please...

lmao about the growling I just would not be able to take that seriously and probably make some dumb comment that would get my ass beat. But if it was really loud that would stress me out.

... oh poor Jade. In my head I am thinking of Yuu maybe having been told by a (concerned) adeuce that Jade is attempting to court them so they start trying to reciprocate (which does not help anyone's concerns) but they haven't really talked about what exactly that means yet. So by the time Yuu starts ovulating they're still in what Yuu might consider to be a "talking" phase? Because Jade hasn't asked to make things official? Whereas Jade is simultaneously on cloud nine planning the wedding and in the depths of despair wondering how best to continue his courtship efforts because oh he wants to help you with your heat so badly :c he's in a permanent state of horny grip the entire week and so tense. Yuu wonders if it would be too much to offer to help him relax since they aren't all that close yet so they figure they'll ask him some questions to see how he reacts and all that and he is extremely receptive but he still doesn't make a move, even if he does insist on talking to them around the pillow fort a lot?

Speaking of the pillow fort... I'm just picturing Jade sitting so pretty and heavy breathing while Yuu is sat there very confused because he is buzzing with excitement but they can't tell what kind. Man relationships are real hard so is jade when you add in alien biology and customs to them please let him help you hope you aren't doing something wrong? you could never please please please just one chance Yuu one chaaaaance

The period stuff... I don't think my mind would jump to SA but certainly some sort of attack and Jade being Jade, he would not let that stand. Thankfully no one actually gets hurt since Jade asks Yuu for names and they have a very strange conversation about reproductive biology. Oh so you are bleeding because you aren't pregnant? Well that sounds like such an easy fix~ And is probably when you finally have that talk about how horny he was all last week because he asks, very earnestly asks to help you through your next "heat" so you don't have to endure this pain again.

Since you were being thirsty allow me to share some of my... thoughts (￣▽￣||)

I feel like Jade would want to take Yuu in his merform at some point if not first because he wants them to think about it. He wants to ruin them for anyone who is not very specifically him and he is not shy about it, but alas the omega decides where to build the nest and you chose "poorly." Yuu is getting their guts rearranged while Jade bullies them about their poor nest building skills. It's ok, he just finds you so cute maybe he'll walk you through it next time? Sure he's never had to build a nest, never felt the need but he's sure if you follow his instructions nice and slowly you'll do just fine.

You wind up in Ramshackle's tub more than once. Just don't complain about not being able to remember most of it because he'll just take that as you wanting a redo. Say less, he's been good for too long anyway *smack*

[riririnnnn]

Some sadly soft headcanons about Kaiser to ease the pain the whole Fandom is currently going through:

❍ Kaiser likes cuddling a lot or to be precise, he likes hugging you close to him as he sleeps just like he used to hug the soccer ball. That's why whenever he is away for a match for a longer period of time, he takes your pillow with him, so he can hug it close to him.

❍ The above reason is also why he loves all the little plush toys you gift him. Of course, he doesn't show it and tries to play it cool, but the way his arms automatically squeezes them against his chest is everything you need to know.

❍ Growing up in such a dirty environment has made him sensitive to smell, so he will randomly nuzzle his face against your hair or the crook of your neck to inhale your scent as it soothes him a lot. He'll also spray your perfume in his handkerchief and keep it with him during interviews 'cause it calms his nerves.

❍ Throughout his childhood and maybe half his teenage years too, he always slept on the cold, hard floor, so now your lap has become his favourite pillow. He loves it when you delicately run your fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead. It always gives him the best sleep.

❍ He loves when you praise him for anything, doesn't matter how small the praise is, he cherishes them greatly. Of course, him being him, he'll act cocky but in reality, he is very grateful of your words 'cause they remind him that whatever his father said about him weren't true.

❍ If your career path is pretty studious, then you'll always find him snooping around your study table. He never had any chance for studying when he was a child, so he is a curious soul—he thinks you are a real genius and brags about your academic achievements A LOT.

❍ He has a habit of double checking anything he does for obvious reasons, so he uses it as an excuse to kiss you goodbye again and again whenever he leaves for his practice. Sometimes, it makes him late, but it's all worth it for him.

❍ He likes when you touch or kiss his cheeks. He likes your warmth. He likes the way your palms feel so soft against his skin which comforts him to know that this time, a pair of hands are near his face, not to hurt him but to show him love.

[originalaccountname]

Uhh i just finish stormbringer and i didnt quite understood Rimlaine relationship im sorry if this comes off as annoying its just that i read some of your analysis and you explain thing very good, thanks in advance 💗

Their relationship is complicated and contradictory. Ultimately, their lack of communication (both in talking and listening) dug a hole so deep between them that they both had to die before it was fixed.

I'm gonna attempt a timeline to break it down, so you can see what happened. This got way too long despite my best efforts so I'm putting it under a cut:

At an undisclosed time, Rimbaud, a spy/special agent working for France, goes to defeat a mad scientist and ability user, Pan. Pan had created a sort of puppet, named Black No12, who could manipulate gravity and obeyed him blindly. Rimbaud managed to cut the link between them, and Black No12 turned against and killed his creator and master.

Rimbaud took Black No12 under his wing as a fellow spy for France. He trained him and made him his partner. He gave him a name, his name from before he changed his identity to become a spy: Paul Verlaine.

Rimbaud wanted the formerly brainwashed person he found to be independent. Despite his origins, Rimbaud wanted Verlaine to feel human. He was his friend and wanted him to be happy.

Verlaine, on the other hand, was haunted by not being or feeling human. He felt lonely and isolated, and Rimbaud pushing so hard to make him feel human only rubbed salt in the wound. But he didn't tell Rimbaud any of that.

Rimbaud gave Verlaine the hat right before their operation in Japan to retrieve project Arahabaki. The hat had a special ability alloy woven into it meant to make sure no outside instructions could be used to brainwash him again. That was Rimbaud trying to guaranty Verlaine complete agency, one step closer to making him human. This was only a grim reminder of what he was to Verlaine. After the lukewarm reception of his gift, Rimbaud starts to feel permanently cold.

When they got (what they thought was) the artificial human from Project Arahabaki out of the lab, Verlaine was taken by the Bungou Stray Dogs curse of seeing yourself in other people and wanting to save them to save yourself. Verlaine told Rimbaud he was taking the child and going into hiding to raise him as a normal human being, to protect the child from the same pain he felt. Rimbaud, who hadn't realized how his dear friend suffered, still didn't understand and tried to reason with Verlaine that they couldn't possibly turn their backs to their home, and that the child would still be with them in France.

This poor communication resulted in Verlaine feeling trapped and choosing to shoot his only friend in the back. They fought and Rimbaud got the upper hand before he got surrounded by the lab's guards and desperately tried to use Arahabaki to defeat them too. This ended in the Suribachi incident and his loss of memory. Verlaine still had enough strength to stop Arahabaki/Chuuya's rampage before vanishing who knows where.

Fast forward 8 years, Fifteen happens, with Rimbaud, now permanently cold, who got some of his memories back. Rimbaud wants to know more than anything what happened to his partner and friend all those years ago, and is even willing to kill Chuuya (and Dazai) for it. As he dies, he remembers what happened that night while they were escaping, and how Verlaine chose to shoot him in the back over Chuuya. He tells Chuuya that he was probably human all along, and to live no matter what, before vanishing into thin air.

One year later, and Verlaine has found Chuuya and decided to try again to take him so they can be lonely together. He's trying to both isolate and protect Chuuya in a twisted sense of responsibility and kinship (and the power of projection). When Verlaine finally loses himself to Guivre, he manages to tell Chuuya about how he stopped Arahabaki 9 years ago in Suribachi so Chuuya could do it to him now. Chuuya understands from this that Verlaine might have felt lonely and oh so bitter about the world, that he might have hated his existence, but he had found friendship in Rimbaud and wished to save the world in his name. One person had been worth it, so he couldn't just destroy it all.

After the fight is over, Verlaine is dying from Guivre's energy having been depleted by Chuuya's efforts. As he dies, Rimbaud appears: Rimbaud has created a singularity with his own ability at the time of his death, maintaining his mind alive in his subspace by absorbing himself as his ability on loop. He's like the Old Boss was in Fifteen, just a puppet, not a human... but he's still Rimbaud. And Rimbaud wanted his friend to live and be happy.

Rimbaud apologizes for not understanding Verlaine's struggle with humanity and incidentally handling it badly. Then, he passed on his ability, now a singularity, onto Verlaine to replace Guivre as his source of life: a lot less powerful, but enough to keep him going. Rimbaud tells him he's glad Verlaine was born because he got to meet him, and disappears for good.

Verlaine realized then, way too late, that he really cared about Rimbaud. Rimbaud spent a whole year as something that wasn't human just for the chance of seeing Verlaine again and apologize to him. That got to Verlaine too. Since then, he's been hiding in the Port Mafia's basement, uncaring of the world, and mourning his friend and the friendship he passed by without knowing.

In the shortest, in-novel words possible:

[moneymartin]

PLEASE PLEASE do a kate martin fic where the reader is her ex and they cannot stay away from each other. like “uh oh” by tate mcrae PLEASE

・❥・- favorite bad decision

summary: you see kate at a practice after the two of you split

warnings: nfsw mdni. 18+ as fawk! but the smut is kinda short sozzzz

rpf. don’t read it if you don’t feel comfortable

a/n: i’m negl all my kate fics are fluffy cause i cannot see myself writing smut. (but i try to deliver so this sucks cuz i got a lil uncomfy) 😭 also i’m sorry for lacking on my writing im so stressed w all these exams im taking and some family problems. this also might go off track cause i wrote this half asleep 😕 didn’t know how to end this one too

stars are the skips :)

it’s been 5 months. 5 stupid months since that relationship you refused to let go ended. you couldn’t believe it either when your girlfriend suddenly said “we need to breakup.”. she never told you why, despite the multiple calls and texts you sent when she left the morning after that were begging for her to come back or at least explain why she felt that way.

you felt like absolute shit.

it was a long relationship, your longest one too. it was the fact you believed it would last forever. you wished for it to last when you saw those repeated numbers and whenever a star dotted across the sky. you believed in those silly little things, but you only believed in them for this stupid 1.5 year period.

everything felt like it had been going your way during those times. you felt alive again after meeting kate. she was the definition of a literal ball of sunshine when it came to you. constantly bringing you to her basketball games, showing you off to her friends and teammates, introducing you to her family. things were great. the feeling was refreshing, especially after being in probably the worst relationship of your life.

a guy played you behind your back so many times and you were unable to figure out yourself. the second you did, you didn’t even know why or what to do. you struggled with school from the thought of never finding out what he thought was weird about you or why he even considered doing that in the first place. you treated him like he was the best boyfriend in the world!

then kate had dug you out of a hole you thought you’d never have the guts or the fucking courage to get out of.

“there’s nothing wrong with you trying to get your mind off of it y’know.” jada says. shes been helping you cope with this thing even though her and kate are the closest people ever. she’d never tell a single soul anything you always talk to her about. “coming to our last game in carver won’t be that bad!”

“yeah, not so bad until i see kate! you know how i feel about her, jades. it hurts.” you murmur and swipe the back of your hand against your face. there’s a painful feeling at the bottom of your stomach and it makes your skin crawl uncomfortably. “i’m not going and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

jada’s face contorts into a half smile when she hears the way you talk about the whole shebang. she knows you that still can’t let it go, and she wishes so badly that you could let kate go. “right.” she breathes out and grinds her teeth together. “you don’t need to come.”

but you do anyways.

you sat there at court side awkwardly, watching the hawkeyes train before their final home game. you only saw caitlin, hannah, gabbie, syd, and kylie. jada was sitting next to you and cheering on her teammates. thankfully, you didn’t spot kate anywhere close or on the court at all.

until you fucking did.

kate walked in through the tunnel and dropped her gym bag on the floor, a loud thud echoing through the arena. she had her hair up in that same stupid braid, that same stupid smirk on her face, and that same stupid look in her eyes. you hated her so fucking much and you hated the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about her no matter how hard you tried to.

that churn in the stomach made you feel like you had level 1000 cramps, but it was just that feeling you got when you felt absolutely sick to the core. sick because you didn’t know what, or how to feel after seeing kate again. it was the shitty feeling of not knowing why she even chose to leave you in the first place. it was the feeling of frustration when you saw her smile again. the feeling of confusion rushing back to you. you felt like a small child getting yelled at when she broke up with you, it was when nothing made sense at all to you. when you didn’t get the answer you wanted after multiple tries of begging for it.

you didn’t understand it, and you still don’t.

“you alright?” jada snaps you out of whatever the hell you were thinking about and you jump slightly, eyes diverting away from kate. “yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you huff and smile with your teeth out. your body starts to grow numb and you feel as if you can’t breathe as well as you normally would, which jada notices. she grabs your shoulders tightly and places her palm on the side of your face to move your head towards hers. she knows you’re staring at kate. “you’re not fine.”

thanks captain obvious.

“yeah, obviously not!!!” you blurt out way too loud. it makes everything and everyone around you stop. the sound of the balls dribbling against the floor and the continuous chatter around you just stops. everything is silent and you know that its because of you. your face flushes at the embarrassment you feel and you step off onto the court, walking towards the exit. the sound of footsteps follow you and you don’t even have the guts to turn around. it seriously feels like you’re about to get completely flamed for acting out at a clear statement about what you felt.

but it’s not jada. or caitlin. it’s fucking kate.

a wave of anger and bitterness rushes through you like no other, and you can’t tell whether to be upset or nervous about this little interaction. you still love kate and you know that. “you like to yell, huh?” she chuckles and pushes your shoulder lightly. when her hand touches you, you don’t move away and just let her do it.

“lighten up, will ya?” kate’s lips curl up into the damn smirk again and she looks at you with those eyes. the eyes that she knows you can’t say no to, the eyes that got you hooked in the first place. “i missed when you acted up like that, to be honest.”

you’ve missed her touch so badly, but you just can’t admit it.

there’s a lot of things you acknowledge in life. things that you know. you know whats right and wrong when it comes to decisions and when it comes to certain things like seeing people you know you aren’t supposed to.

but you know that this is right. it always has been.

promises are always broken too, and this was one you swore you’d never break. it was hard, especially because kate was the hottest fucking person on the planet. saying ‘no’ to her was practically impossible. she asked you to come over after the game and you happily complied. which was a horrible idea.

“you’re such a fuckin’… asshole.” you whine out and let out a bated breath. your body shivers when kate’s fingers run up and down underneath your shirt and when her breath hits your sopping core. she’s in between your legs and eating you out like a madwoman. your head falls back into her pillows, fingers gripping tight at the roots of her hair and the bedsheets on the side of your body. “am i?” she mumbles, sending vibrations through your body that you haven’t felt in months.

that feeling is so good. and you know it. you missed it when kate acted up too. seeing her all tough on the court made something reignite in your stomach again, and it exploded when you saw her in the locker rooms. you literally dragged her out of there while she was in the middle of a conversation with addi and into your car. you couldn’t even wait before your lips were eagerly on hers and her hands were roaming in all the right places.

“yeah, you are. you fucking bitch…..” your voice goes up an octave the moment kate licks a stripe up your pussy and starts leaving hickeys around your thighs and stomach. “i tried ignoring you when i saw you at the club last week. all i wanted to do was jump into your arms and kiss your face off.” you admit awkwardly and let out a quiet cry the moment your stomach turns into knots. you’re close and she can feel it, her head diving down again while you absentmindedly hump at her face.

“shit!” you whimper and prop your head up, watching kate lap up every last drop of your cum. “i got you, baby,” she breathes out heavily onto your stomach. her breath is warm and she presses her cheek up against it when she feels your legs shake. her thumb rubs your sides and she looks up at you, rising up slightly and keeping herself steady with her hands. yours grabbing at her shoulders. when she keeps herself up you can feel her arms bulging underneath her shirt and she leans in. “mmf.. that’s my girl.”

her tongue swirls around yours, making you taste yourself all the way before the moment turns over quickly. “mhm..” you hum and slide your hands down her arms to get a feel again. the second you pull away, kate’s eyes go from feral to soft. she leans back and searches around on her floor, picking up your undergarments and sliding them on for you. “it’s okay.” she smiles and moves her head towards you. kate rests her head on your chest, chin in between and her arms around your stomach while your fingers cup her face.

you’re never gonna be able to stop forgiving her if she keeps doing this to you. and you know it.

[occatorcreator]

Second Chances

Links - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

2 - Lonely Purpose

Purple seeks out a new purpose in the wake of his mother's passing and makes a new life in the world of Minecraft. Through it, he ends up crossing paths with a group of stick figures in need. Content Warnings: Character death, grieving, canon typical violence

Purple returned to the city to bury Orchid. There was no body to bury, but a grave was something Orchid requested in her end-of-life plan, and Purple would honor her last requests. 

It didn’t change the hollow feeling he had standing before her grave. He had cried all of yesterday, and his eyes felt raw and painful, but he couldn’t summon any more tears. So he simply stewed in his emptiness.

He was the only one there for her funeral. 

I mean, of course he wouldn’t show up, Purple thought. I should be glad to not see him… it would just be awkward. As if he cares that his ex-spouse is gone.

The lawyer reached out to Navy regarding the death. Navy should have learned of Orchid’s passing and Purple’s destitution. But of course how could one reach someone who left without any contact for over a year? Purple would be a fool to hope to see him here.

So, why was he so upset that Navy failed to show?

I can’t be here, Purple turned away, the numbness turning into an unexpectedly painful vise in his chest. He left his mother’s grave and the cemetery behind as quickly as he could, bolting down the sidewalk until he had no energy left to run.

He leaned against a wall, watching as stick figures passed by with faded interest. He stood as still as a statue, watching passerbys go into the stores. There were parents holding little kids by their hands, groups of friends chatting close to each other, lovers holding hands and laughing...

Everyone was lively and moving around like usual. The day was bright and sunny, birds were chirping. As if this wasn’t the worst day of Purple’s life. 

A group of teenagers passed by him. When Purple watched them, he recognized all of them as old friends from school. All but one. A tall, lanky orange hollow head towered over them and chatted with arms waving animatedly. Their eyes briefly met Purple’s and for a split, terrifying second, Purple thought they were going to try to rope him into small talk.

But they didn’t, they just waved and continued walking with their group. A couple of others looked back at Purple, and Purple tried not to notice their confused and judging gazes. The teens turned a corner, but Purple caught his name whispered among them.

“Hold on, was that Purple back there?” 

With heavy limbs, Purple followed behind them. He moved silently, trying to be discreet in the fact he was following them.

It has been five months since I dropped out, Purple realized. It had to be summer break now.

“Do you know them, Peri?” The orange hollow head asked.

“Yeah, he disappeared before you transferred in, Second,” the stick figure Purple knew as Periwinkle said. “He was in my financial elective...”

“And he was a total scumbag,” a dark violet stick figure jumped in.

“Saffron,” Periwinkle admonished.

“What? It’s true!” The oddly named Saffron said. Purple recalled her brazenness. She was Periwinkle’s annoying younger sister and highly protective of her softhearted brother. Any slight against him, no matter how small, earned her ire.

“What did Purple do?” Second asked.

“Ah, Purple is someone you wouldn’t want to get close to,” added a brown stick figure beside them. “He acts friendly at first, gives gifts to buy your affection. But he’s highly controlling. The moment you don’t do what he wants or if you inconvenience him, he dumps you and goes after the next sucker.”

Chestnut… Purple grimaced at his ex-friend’s bitterness. He lagged behind, increasing the distance between them.

“I think that’s being a little bit uncharitable,” Periwinkle added, “I think he really admired you, Chestnut.”

“Ugh, don’t even joke about that, Peri?” Chestnut said, punching Periwinkle in the arm. Her disgust was hard not to hear from this distance.

“Why are you even defending him? Do I need to remind you how Purple borrowed your prized umbrella?” Saffron said, “and you never got it back even after asking about it?”

“I never forgot that…” Periwinkle nodded, and Purple saw his shoulders slump. “Gosh, it still hurts to think about it. I spent so much money getting that, it was one of a kind.”

“Exactly! And now it’s gone because of him! You’re being too nice!”

Second, sensing that their friend group was getting agitated, coughed in their hands.

“Anyways, I asked Mango this morning, and he said I can go to the arcade with you all!”

Saffron pumped her hands in the air while Periwinkle clapped. “Awesome!”

“Yeah, enough about Purple,” Chestnut said, not leaving much alone, slinging her arm around Second’s shoulders. “Be grateful you never met him. He’d be horrible to you too.”

“Chestnut,” Second scolded.

“Sorry, I’ll stop,” Chestnut finished.

Then they chatted about arcade games. Purple didn’t catch anything else as he stopped in his tracks, watching as the group retreated. He couldn't stand to listen anymore as he felt like he was close to decking one of them.

Why… was the whole school glad I was gone for months? Purple thought,  clenching his fists. Was I really that awful to you?

He and Chestnut certainly had a falling out, but he swore his attempts at being her friend were genuine. Complimenting and giving gifts- how else was he supposed to make friends? It wasn’t his fault they had incompatible personalities! Not everyone can be so blaisé about everything! Was it a crime to expand his social circle?

Not like those sticks liked me for long… Purple thought, recalling how he fell out of that clique faster than he did with Chestnut.

Periwinkle was nice; Purple did intend to only borrow the umbrella since he had none that rainy day. But of course, with his horrid luck, he ended up breaking it on the way home and feared how Periwinkle would react. How was he supposed to know that it was a special one of a kind?

Stupid idiot’s too obsessive over umbrellas, Purple grinded his teeth. If he and his sister blow a gasket over a lost umbrella of all things, then no sane person should deal with them!

He felt raw and scratched, scoured by their claws. How he hated them. Truly hated them all. Especially that Second kid- what a stupid name. While he didn’t know anything about them, he hated how the three people who he couldn’t befriend clung to them so easily. He hated how Second had to only look at him to ruin his horrible day even further. He hated that they had some parent to come home to after fun at the arcade with friends while Purple was all alone.

I hate you! Purple thought with bared teeth. I hope you all suffer like I did! Hope your days are as rotten and horrid as mine!

I hate all of you!

=

Alana reminded Purple that he could stay on the desktop for as long as he liked. That arrangement worked out for Purple because he had no reason to leave the computer. He didn’t want to return to school, and he had no desire to find a job and be a cog in some miserable system in the city. On the desktop, he had more freedom to do what he wanted.

And he just wanted to lie in his bed and wallow in his sadness.

He let the grief drape over him. It made his limbs heavy as lead and turned his mind to static. Food and activities were bland; he had no desire to do much of anything. Aside from Alana, there wasn’t anyone checking on him. He had no idea where the villager caretaker went or if they were somehow deleted, but he couldn’t even begin to care. 

How odd it felt to be purposeless. How the drive and desperation to find a cure for his mother vanished with her body, leaving behind exhaustion and nothingness.

The only time he felt anything other than despair was when he dreamed. The dreams were both cruel and relieving. He dreamt of being a prince in a grand castle. His mother and friends were there in that castle to greet him and go on fun adventures. Waking was painful, as it brought those sweet dreams to an end and dumped him back to the cold, lonely reality. The more he slept, the longer the dreams went and more intense the pain of waking became.

I wish I could stay in my dreams…

But then one night, they changed. Instead of continuing the fantasy, he dreamt he was in a void. A light shone above, with pink petals floating down around him.

Orchid petals? Purple thought, holding a hand out to catch a petal. Mom?

Instinctively he looked around, trying to find Orchid in the pitch dark, only to flinch when he saw Navy standing before him in the gloom. 

“Why are you here?” Purple raised hands up defensively. He had not dreamt of his father once in his fantasy world. It was as if he was banished from his dreams.

Yet Navy stood before him, staring. The stare was all too familiar, that cold, guarded stare before he walked out of Orchid and Purple’s life.

“What?” Purple demanded, “what do you want? What right do you have to judge me?”

Navy said nothing. He should have said something by now. 

“Be gone with you!” Purple waved, “Do what you always do and just leave me already!”

To that, Navy’s gave a disappointed sigh.

“You can’t even keep your promises,” he said, “that’s it, I guess. I’m leaving.”

He turned and walked away into the void.

“What?” Purple never recalled him saying that before. He didn’t understand. “Wait!” Purple took a step forward. “What do you mean by that? Answer me!”

Navy kept walking; Purple couldn’t catch up. Despite telling him to leave, he still chased after his father.

What promise am I breaking?

When Purple awoke, he remembered his mother’s dying breath: she’d asked for Purple to take care of himself.

Sleeping in bed, shutting myself from the world, Purple’s heart hammered. I’m not keeping to that promise.

And he loathed that a dream version of Navy could be right! 

For the first time since he left his mother’s grave, the drive fueled him. He thought he lost it to grief. That dream, his father’s words criticizing his ineptitude, gave him something for his churning anger to sharpen itself against.

I’ll take care of myself, he thought, no, I’ll do better, I will thrive. He’d prove his father, those teens, and everyone who ever doubted and looked down on little Purple wrong!

He would be great.

Purple crawled out of bed. His muscles protested at the exertion he was unused to after months of laying around. He forced himself to hold his head high.

“How about…” Purple said as he spotted the remains of his and Orchid’s castle. “I finish that castle of mine.”

=

Purple wanted to play Minecraft legitimately. No cheats, no spawning things. He was going in to play like any other player. He had a new goal for his playthrough. He aimed to become a true king of Minecraft.

He started with only the essentials and got to mining. He had his basic goals set for making his kingdom: get enough cobblestone and wood to build his castle and starting houses, locate some villagers, and… well he hadn’t figured out step three yet, but the first two were going to be huge.

There were enemies. Fighting them wasn’t as bad as Purple initially feared. If anything, felling the zombies, creepers, and skeletons, then the tougher ghasts, endermen, and wither skeletons, made Purple feel powerful.  All those rusted fighting skills he neglected were sharpening and, for once, he enjoyed the combat. With the right equipment and enchantments, enemy encounters hardly concerned him.

He found some zombie villagers too and, desiring to build a village the proper way, successfully escorted and cured those zombie villagers. And, oh, how he was praised for his heroics! The cured villagers bowed to him as their savior, Lord Purple!

Not the pathetic Purple I was before now, huh? Purple thought, puffing his chest in pride.

But the joy never lasted. The glory he got from fighting turned dull as the enemies were no match for his sword. The villagers had children. Seeing happy little kids running around while their happy parents watched, filled Purple’s hollow heart with venom. Their praise towards his greatness suddenly felt shallow and fake, especially knowing how much he loathed to see them prosper when he still felt horrible.

It didn’t help that the next day, all those kids grew into adults. The very sight of this rapid aging caused Purple to retreat into his castle and remain there for three days. He glared at the wall, unable to sleep and failing to calm himself down. Once again, all the motivation deserted him, and a part of him wanted to burn this fake village and false castle to the ground.

“Why?” He asked a portrait of a bizarre wither skull formation, “why is it that I’ve accomplished so much more than I did in school, and I still feel this way?”

The skull painting did not answer, but Purple suspected it knew fully well why. 

Purple imagined his mother telling him that he was pushing himself too hard, but the thoughts of her words just made him curl further in a miserable ball. How could he enjoy even the false, temporary victories of a game when she wasn't there to see them?

Only Navy’s words spurred Purple out of his funk on the third day when he fell asleep. You can’t even keep your promises... 

“Right. Castle and village is done. I need a new goal,” he said and eyed the skull painting. It was such a peculiar piece that he wondered if it was a hint that if he made something like that he’d summon something like an iron golem. Something evil.

If so, if I make this and defend the village from this beast, Purple thought, then I’d be a legend to them!

Plus, he’d like a challenging fight for once. Time to visit the nether and grab some skulls.

=

“Ugh, finally!” Purple said as he successfully pried the third wither skeleton’s skull off and it didn’t disintegrate to ash. “I swear, hunting for skulls is such a pain.”

But he finally got three skulls and the soul sand. He was done with his nether trip. Time to head back and figure out what he’d summon-

Bang! Bang!

The nether caverns echoed with the sound of rhythmic thumping. Purple felt the walls around him tremble as the thumping grew louder and louder. He looked around, clutching the wither skull to his chest, as he tried to find the source of the noise.

“The hell is going on?” Purple gasped.

Suddenly, there was a scream. Purple only had a split second to turn towards that scream before a stick figure dressed in armor landed right on top of him and knocked him to the ground.

“Yeouch!” Purple wheezed. His health went down to half from the impact, and he shoved the stick figure off of him. Before he could get a good look at them, more screams were heard, and additional stick figures landed next to him, narrowly missing his battered body.

Why is it raining stick figures?! Purple looked bewildered between the group of stick figures. The green, blue, and yellow stick figures lay on the ground, their health at half a heart. The blue and yellow sticks were dazed, diamond armor shattered to pieces around them, while the green stick figure only had a cracked diamond helmet left.

The green one was moving, able to rise up because his fall was cushioned by landing right on Purple. He coughed, pushing himself on shaky arms and legs.

“Yellow? Blue? You-” he paused when his gaze met Purple’s. “-alive?”

Purple stared back and, unable to think of a better response, waved.

The stick figure, he presumed named Green given the naming convention, waved back. “Um, hi?”

Bang! Bang!

Purple and Green looked up at the ceiling where the noise came from. In the gloom, Purple could make out the stick figure shaped holes they fell through. A fine layer of dust fell from above.

“I take it you didn’t mine straight down,” Purple mumbled.

“Oh no!” Green forced himself up and ran to shake Blue and Yellow violently. “We don’t have time! Come on, get up!”

“What’s going on?” Purple asked, shouting over the thumping.

“Um, it’s a bit of a long story!” Green yelled back as he lifted Blue to her feet. She was waking, as was Yellow, but neither of them were in any good condition to stand for long.

“Condense it then!” Purple pulled out a potion of healing and threw it on them. The cloud restored their health to full instantly. The three stick figures leapt up, looking at their now healed bodies in shock.

“Woah! How did you do that?” Blue asked.

“Not now,” Purple waved his hands and pointed at the continuous banging above. “What is going on?”

“Ok! We found this game icon on our desktop!” Green explained, pulling out a sword. The tip cracked apart and caused him to pause as he tried to fix it.

“And we were building things with the stuff that came out,” Yellow picked up. They pulled their ax out, only to despair as it crumbled apart too, “taking turns and all that.”

“But when we gave the game icon to Red,” Blue said, staring ruefully at the busted bow in her hands. “She attacked us.”

“Attacked you?” Purple asked.

“Yeah, she wasn’t acting like herself!” Green rushed, “She just went wall eyed and hoarded the icon. We tried to stop her but…”

Bang! Purple heard blocks from above fall to the lava.

“She’s now piloting a giant block stick figure and ended up shoving us down here.” Yellow finished. 

“I don’t think we have much time before she follows us here,” Blue added, clutching her head. “Oh, what are we going to do?”

Yeah, that seems like your problem, Purple thought, heart hammering wildly. He wanted a fight earlier, but given the sounds of what was coming, he opted to flee. He turned about to run before Green snatched his arm.

“Let go of me!”

“Please! You don’t have to fight for us, but we don’t have weapons or armor!” Green said. He clasped his hands together. “Please, can you lend anything?”

“I don’t have any extra swords!” Purple exclaimed. “I barely have enough potions after all the fighting I did!”

Bang! The other stick figures looked nervously at each other, rifling desperately through their belongings and finding little to help, fishing rods, crafting tables, jungle trees…

Yeah, they’re screwed, Purple thought, looking for his way back to the desktop.

 “Look, I'm just going to head to the portal,” Purple said, “and if you guys have any sense, you’ll join me! Hopefully, Red will be too big to enter!”

The others looked at each other with mixed expressions, confusion, nervousness, and disdain.

“We can’t do that,” Green said, “she would be stuck here if we did that!”

“And how do you know she couldn’t smash her way through?” Yellow added.

Purple stared at Yellow and found himself glaring when he realized it made too much sense.

Ah! What do I do then? Purple thought, looking down at his wither skull helplessly. But as he stared at the empty eye sockets, Purple found an answer in them.

“Hold on,” he said, “I think I have an idea to help you with your problem.”

=

The plan was half baked given that they only had seconds to execute it. Yellow and Green set it up so they were ready to lure Red to the nether fortress while Purple and Blue made the wither skull statue.

Red came down from above and the very sight of the behemoth in obsidian blocks was almost enough for Purple to return to his “let’s flee to my village” idea.

“So, you are sure this thing we're summoning will be enough against her?” Blue asked.

Purple nodded even though he hadn’t a clue if the summoning would even work. “When we see their signal, just put down the last wither skull.”

Blue bit her lip, glancing from the obsidian stick figure chasing down Green, back to Purple.

“Is there a risk it would kill her?”

Purple blinked. “Aren't you trying to fight her?”

“Fight her, yes, not kill her!” Purple could see a glossy sheen form in Blue’s eyes. “I don’t know what will happen if she dies here.”

“She’ll respawn at her last checkpoint,” Purple said, but his stomach clenched. Assuming you have a respawn point set to begin with.

That didn’t give her any relief. Blue wordlessly sniffed and wiped her eyes.

In the distance, Purple saw the fishing rods fly and snag the head of the obsidian tower. “Ok, now!”

Blue placed the last head down. Upon doing so the statue turned into a three headed skeleton that let out a horrific howl. It glowed blue and was blinking rapidly.

Oh no…

“Uh, what do we do now?” Blue asked.

“Run!” Purple yelled, grabbing Blue by the hand and running away from the fortress. He cupped his hands and shouted at Yellow and Green. “Run!”

They could hardly react to the warning before a thunderous kaboom sounded behind Blue and Purple. The Wither was airborne, screeching and hurling hissing skulls right at them with wild abandon.

This is dumb! This is so dumb! Purple thought as he and the others scattered to dodge the projectiles. Why did I think summoning a giant enemy to fight another giant enemy was a good idea?!

The Wither did not discriminate. It targeted the stick figures as well as the obsidian figure. Its skulls landed right on the head and exploded it to bits. The explosion sent the red stick figure inside flying across the Nether.

Ah, I’m glad I didn’t summon that thing by my village! Purple thought. That thing is tearing through obsidian like tissue paper! 

Blue raced down the walkway and held out her arms to catch Red before she landed. Yellow jumped from a ledge above to snatch the Minecraft icon that was knocked out of Red’s hands. 

Despite receiving a skull missile to the face, Red was alive and kicking. She wasted no time in kicking Blue’s hold off of her and tearing after Yellow. Her expression was flat, yet her movements feral. She twitched and then lunged at Yellow, clasping at their leg. They fell to the ground with a thud and tossed the Minecraft icon further down the path.

“Oh, come on!” Purple lunged down and snatched the icon. Turning around, he saw the Wither gaining, and, in panic, he held the Minecraft icon. He visualized something stronger than obsidian, and, out from the icon, he blocked the attack with a wall of bedrock. 

He protected the group of wrestling stick figures from the impact, yet his action only earned Red’s attention. Locking her fixed expression on him, she let go of Yellow and charged at Purple.

“Ah! Green, catch!” Purple tossed it just as Red pounced on his back. “Get to the portal!”

Green caught it, and started running, using his fishing rod to move across the Nether’s gaps with ease. Red, no longer interested in Purple, raced after Green. She nearly closed the gap between them with her inhumane speed, only for her to be hit down by a skull volley from the Wither above.

“Red!” Yellow and Blue exclaimed, racing to her pick her up. Even injured critically, she continued to wrestle against them, eyes locked solely on Green and the Minecraft icon.

How is she not even down? Purple thought,  smacking the Wither’s volleys back as Blue and Yellow dithered.

“Come on! Leave her and get out of here!” Purple yelled.

“But-“

“No buts!” Purple turned and shoved the three over, pinning Red down to the ground. “To the portal now!”

It took a stern look and the Wither’s fast approach to cause the two to run off. Not like Purple could hold Red down long enough, as she shucked Purple off and raced after them. 

I can’t let her attack my village! He thought as he ran in pursuit. He lunged his sword at her, narrowly missing her back.

“Stop! Don't kill her!” Green shouted.

Of course that idiot waited by the portal! Stunned by his stupidity, Purple wasn’t ready for Red’s quick roundhouse kick to the hand. His enchanted sword clattered far away from him, and Red ran towards the stick figures just waiting by the portal.

“No! Stop!” Purple abandoned his sword, equally as stupid as Green. “Get in the portal! Hurry!”

So many things occurred at once- Red collided into her friends, knocking them into the portal frame; Purple bowled into her back, which shoved the group through it; and as they entered, the Wither hit the portal, closing it completely behind them.

The group fell sprawling on the desktop, gasping and grunting. Purple clutched his head, wincing at the sharp pain of hitting the ground. Before him, Green, Blue, and Yellow were slowly getting up. Green held the icon. It was shuddering in his hands, glowing a bright white before suddenly fading, as if the portal did something to it.

Red lay limp on the ground. Then suddenly she jerked and writhed. A translucent outline of a Steve player avatar leapt out of her repeatedly before finally falling to the ground. As it let out a dying breath, Purple caught sight of its dead, white eyes before it poofed away. 

Red was limp once more.The other three looked at her, expecting her to get up, but she remained still on the ground. They dropped the items they carried and crowded around her. Blue lifted her head up.

“Red? Red!” Blue jostled the stick figure.

“Come on, speak to us!” Green begged. Purple felt something form in his throat at the familiarity of his desperation.

“What’s happening to her health?” Yellow gasped as they held her hand. 

Indeed, all the hearts of Red’s health turned black and were ticking down. An effect called “withering” was applied on her.

It’s going to kill her! Purple realized and whistled loudly. The sound spooked the three grieving stick figures, but not as much as the sudden crowd of villagers appearing out of nearby houses did.

“Lord Purple? You’re back?”

“I need a bucket of milk, stat!” Purple hollered and clapped. “Don’t waste time! A stick’s dying here!”

And no time was wasted. The villagers were quick to mobilize and toss a milk bucket to Purple. He snatched it and quickly tossed it to Blue.

“Feed it to her!” Purple quickly exclaimed, “It’ll cure her ailment.”

Confusion gone, Blue brought the bucket to Red’s lips. Indeed, the milk stopped Red’s decaying heart meter just in the nick of time. With only half a heart left, the withering effect faded, and Red let out a shuddering cough.

“G-guys?” She croaked out.

“Red? Is it really you?” Yellow asked.

“Um, yeah,” Red looked around, dazed and then pained, “I’m so sorry for what I did…”

“Shh, no, no,” Blue hushed before pulling her into a hug. Green and Yellow also wrapped their arms around the two.

“I thought we’d lose you…” Green said, muffled.

Purple watched from the sidelines as the four hugged each other. He watched until his heart couldn’t bear the sight of it.

How lucky they are.

“You’ll have to share how you saved these folks,” a villager said as they stood next to him. 

“Yeah…” Purple couldn’t meet their eyes, “maybe later.”

He did a good deed, a brave one even! And yet he still felt horrid.

If only milk could cure a heartache too.

[10underoot2]

Two things from Queen of Tears - Episode 1 I often think about.

1. Hae-in's Grief

At the start of the episode when Hyunwoo tells her to meet him in the lounge in an hour, she cancels all her appointments, applies lipstick all because she's going to meet her husband. She's so innocent as she freshens her make-up because she wants to look presentable - no attractive for her husband. It's screaming she still loves him but these are little things that Hyunwoo has long forgotten to notice or care for.

It kills me that she made special efforts to meet him but then lost track of time due to her illness. It made Hyunwoo think she didn't care. He was hurt and I'm sure must've been thinking, 'why am I disappointed? I should've known this relationship isn't important enough for her to take out time to meet me.'

But he doesn't know she ran when she realized the time. She ran to him but she was late. It's really cruel and unfair. I find this particular scene all the more impactful cause I was so quick to judge her when she didn't show up. It's such a great example of, 'you don't know what the other person is going through' and 'don't judge if you only know one side of the story'. I have absolutely loved getting to know Hong Haein through this show. She is an adorable human veiled under so much hard exterior weld by the circumstances of her life.

2. Hyunwoo's Grief

Hynwoo's reaction to his father-in-law's suggestion to have a baby was extremely important. It doesn't hit the first time around. But rewatching his body language and reaction to Hae-in is so fine tuned with his pain. The idea that she is okay with having a baby if it's convenient. Having a baby then having him move abroad. Having a baby and getting the staff to look after it. Haein even said it'll be nice.

No wonder he leaves to drink. The second time I watched this scene I could only envision his happy face as he heard about baby 1031. I often think about what went through his mind then. 'Who is this woman? When did Haein become so heartless? I guess she never really was hurting. I must be an idiot staying stuck up on it for so long.' Also bonus is his extremely pained look as he leaves the house upset and angry at everything that has been his life these past 2 years.

But heres the interesting end of it, I know at that moment Haein loved him still because she asked to see his photos first. When she said those harsh words did she think, 'I'll give you the baby because of which you blamed me and wielded this distance between us.' Or maybe this was one of those times where she didn't mean her harsh words. I often think when she saw pictures of him smiling did she wonder why he won't smile like that for her anymore?

[icespicenospice]

Funeral (LN4)

“U-Um were gathered here today (sniffs) for um wow this really hard to say haha” Y/n sniffs again as she wipes the tears falling from her eyes.

Seeing the raw emotion in Y/n face made all the other drivers look at her in sympathy and pat her pack as to comfort her during this tough time.

“N-no i-i-it’s alright guys I can do this, I have to” Y/n said trying to smile through the pain showing her raw strength in being able to stand front in center of the casket with her best friends helmet laying on top.

Y/n took a deep breath and started again “we are gathered here to-” but before Y/n could finish she was cut off by a voice shouting in disbelief.

“Are you serious, are you actually freakin serious, like how and why” Lando shouted in disbelief as he saw his best friend Y/n Senna holding what seemed to be a funeral with all the driver standing in a circle with a casket in the middles with one of his old fl helmets in the middle.

“How’d you’ve even get a casket, and why are guys even entertaining this and are those tears, are you actually seriously crying right now you know what I’m out, I’m not even doing this” Lando said walking alway.

“Wait Lando don’t go maybe you can say a few words to, come on Lando we have to say goodbye to Lando Nowins he’s been with us for five years he practically family” Y/n chasing after Lando.

(Here’s a short little thing and Congrats to Lando Norris also I got this gif from the internet so credits to the owner)

(P.S sorry if this is bad)

[kangnina]

MDNI - Rich!Jungwon 4

Jungwon Masterlist

“Should I be worried?” you say, brushing your hair as you look at Jungwon’s reflection in your vanity mirror. He climbs off the bed and walks up behind you, kissing the top of your head.

“No, having a guard assigned to you is just a standard precautionary measure. Please don’t be afraid, Jagiya,” Jungwon says, rubbing your shoulders.

“Is it because of your dad?” you whisper.

“What? No. I mean… yeah, he’s a pain in my ass but he’s not stupid enough to even think about actually hurting you.” You turn on your stool to face him.

“Jungwon, I know how he feels about me. I’ve seen the news articles. I knew marrying you could cause problems–” He kneels in front of you, tightly holding your hands.

“You are not causing problems! Don’t ever say that to me again. It’s just an adjustment period for everyone. My mom and I are taking care of this situation with Yang International. So please focus on your classes, okay?” He kisses your hands, smiling. You nod your head. He slips his fingers up your bare thigh. Your silk robe falling open to expose your panties. He smirks, dimples on full display. He lifts your leg over his bare shoulder. 

“Oh no you don’t, mister. I need sleep. I have two tests in the morning,” you say, pressing your hand to his face to stop him before he dips his head between your legs. He chuckles. 

“Just a taste, kitten. A little lick. Please…” he begs. You shake your head. He drops your leg and sighs defeatedly before standing up. “Okay. You’re right. Sleep is important…” He suddenly grabs you, pulling you up and over his shoulder.

“JUNGWON! NO!” You smack his ass with your hand. He smacks your ass in return before throwing you on the bed. You try to crawl away but he grabs your leg, pulling you back. Jungwon climbs on top of you as you giggle. He attacks your face with kisses, grinding his erection against your pussy. 

“You can give it to me or I can take it from you. What’s it gonna be?” he says huskily. You push him over, straddling him momentarily before he rolls you over. Too far, too fast and over the edge of the bed. “Oh fuck!” you shout as you both land onto the floor. Banging heads. “Shit baby. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” he reaches for your head and you smack his hand away. 

“This is what happens when you get greedy!” you groan, rubbing your head.

—----------------- 

“Tell her about the upcoming exhibit,” Jungwon says excitedly as he takes a bite of his eggs. You look at him nervously with big eyes. He nods encouragingly. His mom looks at you expectantly as she takes a sip of her coffee. With all the buzz of the media, the chaos between him and his dad over YI, Jungwon is trying his best to make you feel comfortable in his world. Which meant inviting his mom over for brunch one Saturday. He had a huge smile on his face when he told her that he prepared the meal all by himself. It made you happy, seeing him so happy that he accomplished a simple domestic task. 

“Uh, yes. It’s in three weeks. My whole class actually. It’s not just me. But I’ll have to decide which piece I feel truly represents my journey as an artist.” You smile shyly and Jungwon squeezes your hand. 

“That sounds lovely. May I attend?” she asks, smiling. You see the uncanny resemblance. Not just the dimples. Everything from her soft eyes to her nose and her genuine smile. Thank god he also inherited her endearing personality. 

“Of course, I’ll send you the final details as soon as I know them.”

“You know, the Met Gala is also in a few weeks. We attend it every year. But I know it’s not really one of Jungwon's favorite events to attend. Would you like to accompany me instead?” she asks. Your jaw hits the floor and Jungwon laughs. He tips your chin up to close your mouth.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a ‘yes’, mom.” You nod your head so hard, it just might roll off your neck.

“Wonderful. Finally, someone else in the family who appreciates art as much as I do,” she says with a wink.

@nyfwyeonjun @maymarrylhs @nyxtwixx @ilabjungwon @enha-ism @belowbun @emi-en @mydearestwonnie @woniesprincess04 @snoopypupp @moonlightndaydreams @daydreams-after-dark @wildflowermooon