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justimajin · 1 year

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The Language of Flowers

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst

↳ 9.5k / Hanahaki AU

⇨ Hanahaki (pre-existing concept): a fictional disease in which an individual will cough up flowers after experiencing unrequited love.

Warnings: heavy angst, discussions of illness/surgery, implied smut (on the explicit end)

Love is funny.

It blossoms unexpectedly, spontaneously conjuring up within seconds. A spur of the moment, which draws in budding affection. Love at first sight, that flourishes into sparks of tender electricity. Or simply an unexpected encounter, getting spun into something more meaningful.

It develops, it grows. It becomes so much more as the handles of time spiral, adoration and devotion thrown into the mix and creating everlasting bliss.

Until of course, it becomes long term, its longevity and commitment spanning an entire lifetime.

You glance around, pupils revolving around the blooming garden. There are long tables lined into rows, draped with lilac silk material and decorated with bright yellow flowers. Amongst them, an array of individuals are seated, chattering with one another.

You find her closer to the fencing, where fairy lights are looped and a giant white board stands, the word ‘Engaged’ written in bold cursive purple.

“Aera.” She turns around, dressed in a short white lace dress with a small tiara resting on her black hair, making her appear like a princess. Her eyes are wide, having been in mid-conversation before she heard your voice call out to her.

Her lips tug into a huge smile upon seeing your tender look, moving forward to envelop you into a hug. “Y/N!”

You hug her back, “Thank you so much for coming. It wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

“Don’t say that.” You sheepishly chuckle, but she presses on.

“Oh, come on, you’re the one that introduced me to him.”

You dismiss her, “I just introduced you two, you were the one to take it a step further.”

Taking a step back, you gesture to the entire display of the white board and a bubbly laugh emerges from her.

“Let me at least give you some credit.”

“Fine, maybe I helped a little.” You retort and she grins at your acceptance.

A low voice cuts through your conversation.

“I moved the balloons like you wanted, the decorator said–”

A young man appearing to be within his twenties emerges, donning a white dress shirt with a black tie and pants. His dark hair is styled and parted back, brows furrowed and doe eyes swirling with focus.

It doesn’t take you a second later to whisper his name.

“Jungkook?”

He halts his steps, frozen by the sound of his name. Head snapping up, recognition flows through his orbs.

Within a heartbeat, he shutters out. “Y-Y/N?”

Aera darts her eyes between both of you, taken aback with the familiarity with a frown.

“Do the two of you know each other?”

“Ah– yes,” You quickly clarify, “We work together.”

“Yeah, we do.” He replies, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here…”

“Well, I am friends with the bride.” You chuckle.

Aera pitches in, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “And she introduced me to Sunoo, Kookie!”

He stiffens. “I see…”

“How do the two of you know each other?” You ponder, surprised by their proximity. If anything, you at least knew that Jungkook was greatly distant at work, never really going out of his way to speak to anyone.

Aera warmly smiles, looping her arm around Jungkook’s, “Let me reintroduce you to the Jeon Jungkook,” She gazes at him with tender eyes, “My childhood friend and the person dearest to my heart…“

Pausing, she adds in, “–after Sunoo, of course.”

You nod understandably, but Jungkook lets out a low cough.

“I-I should go,” He brings up, “See if the decorator needs any more help.”

You watch as he loops out of her arm, swiftly turning around without another word.

A pout surfaces on Aera’s lips, like she wanted him to stay longer with you.

But then she turns and catches your intrigued gaze, orbs brightening up in an instant. She dips into conversation once more as if he never left, occupied with showcasing the giant ring that now sits on her third finger.

Yet if you had been paying enough attention, you would have noticed the flicker of dread in Jungkook’s eyes.

***

As you attempt to catch up with Aera, it’s not long before she’s being whisked away by her husband-to-be, who you warmly greet with a smile.

Being left alone, you decide to head over to one of the side tables, setting down the gift you had bought for them before filtering through all the guests to find your seat.

Locating an empty one on the same table Aera and Sunoo would be at, you sit down and take a napkin, carefully placing it down onto your lap.

From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of Jungkook. He glances around, doe eyes frantic and lips pursed. He awkwardly lingers for a moment – like he was debating on being there, unsure of where to look or where to go.

It’s surprising to you, considering only moments ago he was effortlessly navigating himself to the decorator’s instructions.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing the two of you aren’t particularly close. However, as his confusion spins by the minute, you ultimately decide it wouldn’t be so bad and give in.

“Jungkook!” You call out, watching his train of vision fall onto you. Taking out a chair next to you, your hand waves over with a warm smile.

Jungkook glances around one more time, before walking over with his head ducked down.

Instead of taking the one beside you, he takes the one on the opposite side – the one that is furthest away from Aera.

You raise a brow, wondering why he didn’t want to sit closer to the bride and of course, his childhood friend, but you freeze when your orbs land on his appearance.

His eyes are glossed over, tinged with red. They almost seem hollow, dark circles collecting underneath them and his shoulders are caved in.

“Are–…” You quickly glance around, words dropping into a whisper before leaning in, “Are you okay?”

Jungkook’s pupils snap back into life and he furiously nods, shifting uncomfortably away from you.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay.” He sniffles, voice coming out hoarse. His field of vision lands on the decorations upon the table, features straining with dismay, “I’m just allergic to the flowers.”

Your own eyes follow his line of sight, falling onto the beautiful, bright yellow petals. In fact, they’re littered everywhere – from the long tables lined up, to the blooming garden, to even attached to the white board that sits in the front.

“Tulips,” You remark, “Aera’s–”

“Favorite flower.” He mumbles, pupils focused down on his fidgeting hands and not bothering to take a glance at them.

An involuntary harsh cough escapes his throat.

You lean over, grabbing a jug full of water and a glass, filling it up. Tapping him on the shoulder, he looks up, fatigue radiating deep within his irises before they morph into surprise.

He takes the glass hesitantly, muttering a small thank you before you turn your attention back to the front, watching all the guests take their places as the food gets served.

Save for the few occasional glances stemming from concern, you and Jungkook don’t say another word to each other for the rest of the duration.

***

The evening spins away – dinner is all served and more guests pool in. You occasionally smile, greeting new people and munching down on the contents placed in front of you.

Amongst all this, Aera is attached to Sunoo, a tender smile on her features as they deeply gaze into each other’s eyes and beam with so much sweet affection.

You grin when she calls for you to take a picture with the two to them, instantly leaving your table and trudging over. Looping your arm with Aera and standing opposite to Sunoo, all three of you smile as the photographer’s flash goes off.

“You two look really good together.” You comment and Aera giggles, eyes crinkling in the direction of her to-be-husband.

She leans closer to him, brushing his lips against hers for a kiss. Sunoo follows suit, clasping onto her hands.

They radiate the to-be-wed glow, encased in their own bubble of infectious love and happiness. It’s joyous for anyone to watch, to see two people be so utterly and completely in love with each other.

At least, that’s what you think.

As you turn to greet another one of Aera’s friends, you catch a flash of movement from the corner of your eyes.

You blink, but then there’s a tap against your shoulder.

“Y/N,” Aera asks, her head surveying around, “Do you know where Jungkook is?”

You swivel, mimicking her puzzlement. “I-I’m not sure…”

“That’s too bad, I wanted to take a picture with him.” Aera remarks and a frown lines your lips. You had just seen Jungkook sitting by the table by himself moments ago, but now he’s up and disappeared, just when the photographer had started taking photos.

You sigh, not understanding his train of thought.

Turning to Aera, you give her a quick reassured smile. “Focus on Sunoo, I’ll go find him for you.”

She breaks into a huge relieved grin and nods, returning to her husband’s side.

Spinning around, you walk in the opposite direction.

Your head darts back and forth.

You had entered into the side building, the one adjacent to the garden where the engagement party was being held. It’s empty save for the occasional workers or bystanders you pass, either trying to help set up or busy conversing with one another. However, you don’t find the head of dark hair and pair of doe eyes you’re trying to locate, simply left mulling if he had truly decided to leave.

That is, until there’s a black tie resting near the soles of your feet.

You pick it up in suspicion, instantly recognizing it as the same one Jungkook had donned when you had met him prior in the evening.

Peering around while gripping the tie, you wonder why it was so clumsily thrown onto the ground, as if he didn’t care about where it ended up–

The sound of retching startles you.

You glance around, wondering if you had imagined it. But then you hear it – a low choked sob, and your feet are gyrating, ears keenly picking up on the sound.

Your feet falter for a moment, having stopped right in front of the men’s bathroom.

Biting down your bottom lip, you cautiously push against the door, darting your pupils around.

It's completely empty, save for one stall in the far corner.

Your heels click against the ground, turning to face it. Noticing it slightly open, you raise your hand, preparing to knock and ask him if he was okay, if he has perhaps consumed too much alcohol than expected, or if he needed anything – infinite questions ready to tumble out of your lips.

But that’s when you feel a slight flutter against your foot.

Peering down curiously, you breath hitches and you nearly stumble back.

For there’s a fragrant and beautiful, bright yellow petal there.

Hand quivering, you lightly push against the door.

It opens, and your mouth falls agape at the sight.

Jungkook is on his knees, hunched over the toilet, completely surrounded by yellow flowers. His eyes are squeezed shut, shudders running through his body and tears pooling into his eyes. Despite being very tall, his frame looks small and cramped, sweat clinging to his temples.

You thought it was all fake, a disease so rare that it could be considered a myth. But the flowers spilling out from his coughing lips is enough to reel you back into reality, cementing that it was all true – all the puzzling pieces of information stemming from the rumors, all the hushed whispers of unrequited love.

You were wrong, so utterly wrong.

Your hands cover your mouth, voice only managing to come out in a shakingly whisper.

“O-Oh my god….”

Jungkook heaves as the last flower slips out, finally noticing your presence as his eyes snap back.

Your widened ones make contact with his half-lidded orbs, which expand into complete horror.

***

You don’t remember how long it took – how long you merely stood there, glancing at his horror stricken irises with a mix of terror and confusion in your own. You had watched as his eyes diverted away, a deep flush coating his skin as he had leaned back, gripping the edge of the wall for dear support.

“Tulips.” You had murmured, “Aera’s–”

“Favorite flower.” He croaks, a harsh rasp to his voice. His quivering hands reach out, attempting to scoop up the remaining flowers on the ground.

His pupils widened when your shaking ones reached out as well, gaze concentrated as you discard them into the toilet can. But he continues, ensuring each and every single petal had been collected before rising to his feet, wobbling a bit as he turns to flush the contents away for good.

You had quietly trailed out of the bathroom, walking behind his light footsteps.

A moment of silence overtakes you as you reach the opposite side of the building, far from where there are guests celebrating the new engagement. The fresh breeze weaves through your hair, nipping at your skin and offering a change of atmosphere.

Jungkook seems to like it as well, a content sigh leaving him as opposed to the profuse spilling of flowers inside a cramped stall he was experiencing just moments ago.

A thousand questions are ready to burst out from you, but amongst them is one that already has an answer.

“I-Is it…” You warily gaze at him, “...Aera?”

Jungkook visibly gulps, fear echoing deep in his doe irises. You’re startled when he snatches onto your wrist, grip tightening as his eyes desperately scan your expression.

“Please…” He inhales, “Please don’t tell her...”

You slowly nod, gaze still trained on him as his shoulders slump down, relief flooding his body.

Your voice drops into a whisper, “H-How long has this been going on…?”

Jungkook’s lip thin out, and his gaze is on the ground.

Sucking in a breath, he reveals the answer that has a harsh gasp escaping you.

“A year.”

“A year?!” You sharply repeat, “Jungkook, how are you still alive?”

Your coworker had been quietly suffering the effects for a whole entire year, delving within his own misery and attempting to live a normal life as the disease ate away at him.

He shakes his head, like he didn’t want your thoughts invading his mind, “Why haven’t you just gotten the surgery?”

“I-I can’t…” He whispers, brows furrowing.

“Why not?” You press forward, concern filling you to the brim, “The rumors say that hanahaki consumes the individual’s lungs within a year, leading their entire system to shut down–”

“Because I can’t, Y/N.” His words are louder and firmer, but there’s guilt swimming in his orbs. “I…I don’t want to forget her.”

Your lips pursue, knowing what the rumors had to say about the surgery. That along with all the flowers, each and every memory is taken, ripped out of the patient’s mind until they have no more recollection of the feelings, the love they had once felt for their person.

Which means Jungkook’s only other alternative would be for Aera to reciprocate his feelings.

Your stomach churns, guilt radiating out from you.

“She can’t love you back…” You whisper and Jungkook’s eyes snap up, brimming with despair.

“She’s engaged now, and I…I can't take it all away from her,” He hurriedly explains, voice shrinking down into an anguished whisper, “Not when I love her so much...”

“But…are you just going to let yourself die?”

He has no other option. The fonder his heart grows, so do the petals, spreading out within his airway until his breathing is completely constricted. Without the removal surgery or reciprocated feelings, he’s caged – left to fight the disease on his own until he ultimately succumbs to it, drawing out his last breath in the name of the same love.

Jungkook is silent, your words lingering within the empty space between you.

He continues to remain silent, but then his features twist and something snaps.

His eyes are glossed over, shoulders hunched as he chokes out a sob.

You’re startled, but you realize it then and there.

He knows he’s resigned to his fate and at this point, all he can do is receive the illness that’s marred his pathway with flowers.

You’re not very close to Jungkook, but it doesn’t hold you back from outstretching your arms, hands wrapping around his torso as the tears stream down his eyes, form violently trembling.

Aera’s eyes had sparked up when you returned with Jungkook following suit. You watch with dismay as he places a hand on her shoulder, a weak smile on his lips. Jungkook’s condition is obvious, there’s dark circles underneath his eyes, his skin pale and fatigue running deep in his shoulders. But he continues to pose for the photo, not ignoring Aera’s plea to take more with her husband.

Sunoo stands on the other side of them, sharing Aera’s tender smile when she glances at him. Jungkook’s lip twitches, smile slightly faltering.

As the evening draws to an end, your gaze is attached to Jungkook’s every movement, watching him turn on his heels and begin to take the various decorations down. All as Aera and Sunoo have their arms wrapped around each other, fondly staring down at the rings on their hands.

A bitter taste lingers on your lips.

It stays for a while – even as you’re knocking on Jungkook’s door the next day.

To be honest, you’re not sure what you're trying to accomplish. Jungkook and you were merely coworkers, bypassing each other occasionally or conversing through cubicles when work called for it.

But there’s a piece of you deep inside that can't help but feel awful. Awful that in a way you were the one to resign him to the fate of his disease with your own actions, pointing out to Aera that there was a guy you knew back in your college days together that would be her type, even helping out to get his number for her.

Conversely, even though you weren't aware of Jungkook’s existence in her life, the image of him hunched over, trembling as the flowers endlessly poured around and circled his sobbing form, is hauntingly ingrained inside your mind, a deep chill running through your spine anytime the memory plays.

The door swings open, revealing a started Jungkook.

Knowing what you know now, makes it hard to look at him. He still looks exhausted, the deep circles underneath his eyes ever most present and his skin drained of life. You suspect he’s even lost weight from the last handful of times you’ve seen him at work, the disease taking its sweet time to slowly break him down, bit by bit, till his lungs are full and bursting with flowers.

“W-What are you doing here?”

You take in a deep breath, “You’re off from work, right? To be here for the wedding.”

Aera’s wedding is closer to the end of the month, set seven days after the engagement.

Seven days left until hanahaki runs its full course of a year, the victim falling prey to its effects and their lungs being forever constricted.

He slowly nods, “I thought we could go out, do something aside from wedding preparations.”

Jungkook goes silent and you gnaw on your bottom lip. You knew that the wedding plans were still going on, that Aera would need assistance from the two of you, but you know he’s spending all this time helping the very person he loves, without ever getting to be with her.

You wonder if he’ll protest, if he’ll remark that she needs him and that he needs her, that there’s no way he can halt the planning process for his own needs.

But Jungkook heavily exhales, and you wonder if he can see the pity in your eyes.

“Okay.” He simply utters, much to your surprise. He widens the door, letting you in before swiveling, attempting to look for his jacket.

You stand rather awkwardly by the front of his apartment, pleasantly surprised to find the black and white layout of the place, with everything appearing meticulously organized. It’s almost too clean, not a speck of dirt in sight.

However, the layout seems too simplistic, the black and white not contrasting well with the sunlight that tries to pour in, appearing more bleak and empty for your own liking.

It feels lonely.

You press your lips together, a grimace running through you. How long has he been quietly suffering by himself, keeping distance from others? The Jungkook you know wouldn’t even attend events or go out for drinks with everyone else post-work, but now he’s submerged within guests everyday and next to the person he loves, suppressing flowers from spewing out.

Jungkook emerges soon, throwing on a black jacket. Stepping outside with you, he lets out a sharp cough, rubbing his throat with a wince.

“Where to?” He ponders, looking at you with his big doe eyes.

You shrug, “Coffee?”

He nods, and you lead him to the local coffee shop you’ve frequented a couple of times after work, one that’s more closed in and has cozy booths. It isn't popular by any means, only a few individuals occupying the seats, but it’s something you notice Jungkook relishes in from the corner of your eyes, form visibly easing from the low amount of prying looks.

You order your drinks, asking Jungkook what he wanted and he simply murmurs that anything was okay. Within minutes, two lattes are handed to you and you join him by the booth he’s seated at, a deep frown marring your lips.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and you wince, pushing the drink closer to him.

“Sorry…I didn’t realize this cafe also did coffee art.”

Jungkook's eyes are wide as the drink comes in front of him, a foamy little white heart greeting his line of vision.

The corner of his mouth curls up.

“It’s okay.” He remarks, “I think it’s rather cute.”

You look at him in surprise, but he’s already bringing the drink up to his lips, cautiously taking a sip from the heated mixture.

The words blurt out before you can stop them.

“I’m really sorry.”

He halts, placing the drink down. “Y/N, I said it was okay–”

“No, not that.” You harshly swallow, “I-I’m sorry…about Aera…”

He stares at you perplexed and you explain, “I was the one to bring her and Sunoo together. I knew both of them and thought they would work well as a couple.”

Your eyes flutter shut, biting down on your lip, “If only I had known about your relationship with her, I could have–”

“Y/N.” He stops your train of thought, hand brushing against yours. You immediately stare down at it, and he notices, sheepishly removing it in an instant as his complexion dusts pink.

He clears his throat, “Don’t apologize. Me and Aera…we were never meant to be, even if you stepped in.”

You stare at him, “We were friends for years…and even as I came to realize my feelings recently, Aera never once felt the same for me, no matter what I did.” He chuckles bitterly, “I was always Jungkook, her childhood friend, and nothing more.”

Anguish spreads over his features and your heart sinks. You can imagine a younger Jungkook, gaze filled with adoration and affection for the girl, desperately seeking for something, anything to be similarly reflected in her own eyes.

Remorse flickers over you, “But I can imagine Sunoo’s sudden appearance wasn’t all that great for you...”

Jungkook’s gaze falls down, a soft yet wistful smile on his lips. “It confirmed a lot for me, mainly that this disease was going to turn out to be more permanent than I had initially assumed.”

You bite back your words, wanting to tell him that it isn’t just permanent, that the disease would reside with him until he finally succumbs to it.

But you can’t bring yourself to, not when there’s so much hurt swirling in his eyes, the disease already physically manifesting itself against his own wishes.

At his silence, you sit up straighter, desperate to change the topic of conversation you had to spring up.

“What do you do outside of work?” You question, “Do you have any hobbies or anything?”

Anything you do to cope? – you can only silently wonder.

Your questions catches him off guard. “Not really…” He deeply ponders, “At the most, I’ve been just working…and of course, helping Aera when I had time off.”

You nod, features twisting. But then his eyes light up.

“Sometimes I like to game.”

“Game?” You blink and he slowly nods, sipping down on his latte. “I could have never taken you for a gamer.”

Something you wouldn’t have expected from the quiet man who would bump shoulders with you at work.

“It’s fun, I like playing games online.” He states, “It helps not having to worry about…”

His face sours as he gestures to himself and you quickly nod, not wanting him the chance to fill in the blanks.

“Maybe you could show me sometime.” You suggest, and he looks at you surprised. To be fair, you don’t know the first thing about online gaming, but watching Jungkook’s expression change, having some spark of joy, is too much for you to miss out on.

A soft smile lines his lips. “Sure.”

You mimic his smile, bringing the remains of the latte to your lips.

Aera is to be married soon, Jungkook knows that.

As such, he’s aware that moments with her are consistent, that she gazes into his eyes with a wide smile regularly, making his heart skip far too many beats.

But what he is pleasantly unaware of is just how involved you are, unabashedly seeking him out when you need assistance with picking up favors for the wedding.

“There should be at least a hundred candles wrapped with thank you notes,” You mumble, brows furrowed together as you read the text off your phone. The sun is bright and shining down, a light breeze lingering in the air that truthfully makes his chest feel lighter.

You glance up, confused eyes connecting with his wide ones. “I can’t open them to check, right?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t think so.”

“But then how do I know they made them properly?” You gesture towards the box resting before his feet in exasperation.

Letting out a huff, you shake your head. “I swear, this whole wedding business is so much more complicated than it really needs to be.”

A light chuckle resonates through the air and you stare at Jungkook in astonishment, watching at how the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Believe me, I know.” He chides, leaning down to pick up the box. “I’ve been helping to plan this wedding for months.”

“For months?” You question in puzzlement, reaching out to help him balance it. However, he pushes your hands away, gesturing for you to let him carry it.

You frown, but oblige when he starts to walk. “That must have been so stressful. I’ve been only helping out for the last couple of weeks and it’s already making me want to rip my hair out.”

The corners of his lips tugs up and you continue, the words escaping you before you can stop. “Why would you go to such lengths?”

You freeze in an instant, already knowing the reason as to why.

“–Sorry,” You quickly retract, “I-I didn’t mean it like that…”

Jungkook shakes his head, almost feeling something akin to amusement.

His condition is supposed to be a secret, a taboo of a disease and something he’s never uttered a single word to another soul. He supposes that you’re different, that you weren’t someone he told out of his own volition, but rather someone that stumbled upon it.

Which gives him no reason to hide from you. That, and the fact that you’re so mindful about his potential reactions.

“Don’t worry about it.” He simply says, but picks up on the curiosity swirling within your orbs.

“If I can ask…how difficult has it been? Planning all this and dealing with…”

You wave your finger into the air, letting the sentence complete itself and it makes him want to smile.

“It’s kind of hard to explain…” He murmurs, falling deep into thought, “I know Aera doesn’t love me, but I still want to see her happy, you know?”

A low chuckle leaves him, gaze downcasting. “I guess that makes me sound really stupid.”

“No, not at all.” You justify, “You’re right, it’s hard to explain and even harder for someone like me to understand, but you’ve known Aera for so long, and I can imagine that you care a lot about her…”

– and that your love runs deeper than you probably would have imagined – you silently think.

He hums, glancing around as you cross the street together, your eyes focusing onto his backside.

After a moment of contemplation, you speak up.

“You know, I really hope I’m not causing you any trouble.” You explain, “I know talking about it can be–”

“It’s okay.” He replies, “I don’t mind, you’re…really easy to talk to.

You’re surprised by the soft smile he holds while glancing in your direction, but it’s one that you don’t hesitate to return.

A bright yellow flower lands right in front of your face.

You and Jungkook both jolt, the elderly woman in front of you holding a wide grin. It’s only then you realize that you’re near a boutique, selling flowers to those passing by.

“These beautiful tulips are fresh,” She states, attempting to play matchmaker as both you and Jungkook flush, “It’s said they represent unconditional love.”

You blink, the scent of the flowers being shoved right into your faces. Jungkook stills, holding in his breath as his form slightly trembles.

You clear your throat immediately, pushing them away.

“We’re okay.” You take a step back, “I’m allergic to flowers.”

She grimaces, realization donning upon her that neither of you meant business. You don’t think twice, grabbing Jungkook's wrist and whisking him away from the deeply fragrant area.

It’s only when you walk a good handful of steps away that Jungkook tugs on you, a sheepish look on his features that has your confused eyes widening.

You let go of him, “Sorry.”

He softly shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

His head turns, gaze concentrated on the store from a distance.

The next question leaving his lips has you taken aback, “What’s your favorite flower, Y/N?”

You deeply mull over it, drawing a blank. “I-I can’t say I have one….”

He ponders over it and your eyes flicker over to him, “What about you?”

“Ah–” He lightly laughs, scratching the back of his neck. Your eyes widen when he places the box down and takes hold of his sleeve, rolling it back a few inches.

An array of images greet you immediately, but among them is a giant orangish-red flower carved into his forearm.

“It’s my birth flower.” He informs.

You stare at it in pure awe and wonder, the ink swirling his skin beautifully.

Your voice comes out in a whisper, “What is it called?”

“The tiger flower.”

You hum, still looking at it in fascination. “Wow…it’s amazing.”

Jungkook silently watches, oddly feeling exposed for suddenly revealing an important piece of himself to you. But as he notices your irises brightening and lips curving up, he can’t help but warmly smile, his chest swelling with pride underneath your observations.

Ending up at Jungkook’s apartment becomes a staple for you.

You don’t know how or when, but through figuring out the delivery for the cake to ensuring you had enough tables for the RSVP'd guests, your messages to Jungkook would occasionally stray over to pondering over how he was doing. His responses always ended in simple reassurances, much to your own dismay, but then he would stray too, bringing up that if you ever felt like coming over again, you could.

At first, you didn’t want to be rude by declining, but then it became to the point where Jungkook expects you, swinging open to his door non-chantlently.

“Did you eat yet?”

Entering inside, you shake your head and he turns, heading into his kitchen. You glance around, ultimately deciding to sit on his couch.

There’s a table right next to it, a handful of picture frames that have your heart twisting.

They stand out in the midst of his bleak apartment, having an odd touch of hearth to them. There’s different age ranges – roughly around ages nine, twelve, fifteen – all of Aera and Jungkook together. There’s ones of them as small children, bright eyed with huge smiles, to ones where they’re a bit older, smiles turning warm and eyes tender. You muse at how adorable Jungkook looked when he was younger, a light to his crinkled eyes that you don’t really see much anymore.

His footsteps pad into the room, two bowls of instant ramen in his hands. You swivel around and his eyes catch the movement, but if anything he’s learned, it’s that you’re naturally very curious, surprise not even crossing him.

“We can go to my room,” He gestures to the doorway across the hall, “I already have my computer set up.”

You frown, rising from your seat and following behind him. The room is dark, all the lights turned off save for some sunlight peeking through his black drapes, and you’re astonished to find his room just as organized as the rest of his apartment.

Off to the side, there’s a bright lit screen alongside a keyboard that glows different colors.

“Woah.” You mutter and Jungkook hands you your instant ramen, before sitting on the large gaming chair and pulling a seat up for you.

You slurp on your noodles as the game loads. Once it does, his hand revolves around the settings for a moment before he dives into action, his fingertips tapping at an incredible speed across the keyboard and mouse furiously clicking. He seems completely zoned into the game, almost like he had forgotten where he was for a moment.

Nonetheless, you watch with wide eyes as he effortlessly wins the first round, hands coming around to search for his own ramen. He continues to keep playing, pupils never once leaving the monitor and you’re fascinated with how well he’s able to multitask.

His eyes connect with yours, a grin surfacing on his lips. “Want to try?”

Unease fills you, “I don’t know, I’m not the greatest with games–”

“You’ll be fine.” He insists and you nervously nod, giving into his wishes. He gently guides your hand over the mouse, watching you attempting to shoot things with terrible coordination.

It’s when you accidentally shoot someone that was trying to heal you that Jungkook bursts into laughter, a beautiful melodious tone that echoes off the walls.

“I told you I’m terrible!” You protest with a pout, and his laughter still bubbles as he moves behind you.

“Here, let me show you.” His hand laces over yours, effortlessly navigating your character.

You smile at the assistance, watching him cross all the hurdles and play infinitely better in comparison.

You turn to remark about it, but the words die in your throat.

His face is inches away from you, something he notices right away too. Neither of you move, the sounds coming from the game lingering in the background.

Jungkook shifts and you instantly move, your hand hitting your container of noodles.

It spills onto the ground and you immediately get up, clearing your throat.

“I-I’ll go get something to clean it up.” Jungkook simply nods, watching your backside disappear.

You head straight into his kitchen, pressing a hand against your racing heart. Deeply inhaling and exhaling, you glance around for a cloth, locating it on the edge of the counter immediately and turning back.

The doorbell rings.

You blink, hearing the loud sounds of the game coming from Jungkook’s room and wondering if you had imagined it. But then it rings again and you scramble forward, grasping onto the knob.

The sight before you shock you to your core.

Aera stands in front of you, arms crossed and her orbs tinged with cracks of red. They widen at the appearance of you, the shock scattering over her features reflecting your own.

“Y/N?”

“Aera?” You blurt out, wondering what she was doing here.

Her grand wedding is supposed to be in three days, and here she was.

Jungkook’s voice cuts through, “Y/N? Is everything oka–”

You hear his footsteps pad through the apartment before his breath hitches. Aera steps right in at the sight of him, walking straight past you and throwing her arms around his torso.

She sobs loudly and Jungkook’s pupils quiver, making direct eye contact with your confused ones, before awkwardly wrapping his arms around her.

There’s a painful tinge in the center of your chest, but you ignore it.

“S-Sunoo–” Aera sputters out, clutching onto Jungkook tighter. “S-Sunoo and I….we had a fight!”

Jungkook can barely muster out any words, harshly swallowing. Your eyes widen at the reaction, and it’s not long before a cough leaves his lips.

You step forward, placing your hand on her back. “Aera, how about we take this outside?”

Her head tilts, like she had just noticed you’re also in the room.

At her silence, you slowly peel her hands off of Jungkook, who quickly scurries away into the confines of his room.

Aera’s taken aback with response, but nonetheless follows you like a lost puppy.

The moment you’re outside the apartment, she spills. “We ended up fighting, Y/N! Can you imagine?!”

She sobs more, eyes connecting with the door behind you.

“Why won’t Jungkook come out?”

“He’s…not feeling the best.” You wince, unable to come up with a better answer. “You know, you should check in on him every now and then.”

Images of the splattered flowers echo through your mind.

“What’s there to check?” She chuckles, sniffling and wiping her tears, “Jungkook’s always fine.”

Your chest tightens, something unfamiliar brewing.

“No one’s ever always fine.” You grit.

Even if his symptoms weren’t so painfully obvious, there was no way to simply dismiss it all as something mere like work fatigue.

Aera eyes you, baffled by your tone, “Since when have the two of you gotten close?”

You open your mouth a couple of times – unable to muster the exact words for an answer. However, you relent, shaking it away and opting to ask her about Sunoo instead, to which she gladly focuses on.

***

You spend a considerable amount of time coaxing Aera that Sunoo still loved her and that being stressed about wedding planning was completely normal.

She cries continuously and you pat her back, sprouting as much reassurance as you can all while bypassing any of her further inquiries about Jungkook. It seems to help, because soon she’s nodding in agreement as the tears within her eyes begin to dry.

She departs and you manage to head back into the apartment, exhausted beyond belief.

But Jungkook lingers in your mind.

You bolt into his room, heading directly into the connecting bathroom. The door whips open, and your heart clenches at the sight before you.

There’s bright yellow tulips. Everywhere. And Jungkook is in the middle of them, form slouched against the wall with his eyes squeezed shut and sweat sticking to his temples.

You immediately crouch down, placing his weak arm around your neck and helping him to his feet. When he sways, you let him lean his weight against you.

Sitting him down onto his bed, you withdraw into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. Reentering the bedroom, his gaze is downcasted and you silently hand him the drink, watching his fingertips curl around the cup.

You then walk back into the bathroom, taking every piece of petal that’s been scattered and throwing it into the toilet can. You flush it down the drain as Jungkook sips on the water, quietly watching you from afar.

You sit down next to him with a deep sigh, silence overtaking the dark room.

A shuddering breath leaves him.

“I started to forget…” He croaks, grasping your attention immediately, “I actually managed to forget about everything for once. The engagement, the wedding, her…”

You remorsefully watch as his eyes flutter shut, noticing the single tear that rolls down his cheek. It propels you to shift forward, wrapping your arms around him comfortingly.

He leans into your touch, head resting on your shoulder and his arm curling around your waist.

There’s a thought that lingers in the back of your mind, seemingly growing louder and louder with every passing minute.

“You know…” He lets out a low hum and you continue, willing all your courage together. “I ended up thinking about a third alternative in curing you.”

Within a heartbeat, he mumbles – “What was it?”

Sucking in a sharp inhale, you let it out.

“For you to fall in love…with someone else.”

His breath hitches, form stiffening underneath your fingertips. You part from him and he slowly raises his head, staring at you impassively.

You fidget underneath his gaze, unable to read his thoughts.

After what feels like an eternity, you slowly pull yourself away from him. It was wrong of you to bring it up and you want to curse yourself for thinking otherwise.

Shuffling your feet, you stand up.

Jungkook’s hand clasps onto yours, tugging you towards him in an instant. Your eyes morph with surprise, but then his lips collide with yours.

It steals your breath away, warmth flooding through you and making you melt at his touch. He tentatively moves against you, lips softly brushing against your own.

He pulls back for a split second, chest rising and falling. But you lean forward, pressing your lips against his once again.

And that’s all it takes to drown.

Jungkook litters kisses all down your jaw and neck, and you find yourself stumbling backwards, back hitting his mattress. It’s only a matter of a few moments before his torso is hovering over you, and you reach up, clutching onto his shoulders.

Your clothes scatter across the room and Jungkook’s bare chest presses against you. He marks your skin in the shape of his lips, all while his name profusely tumbles out of your own. He pushes into you, gently at first, like he has something to prove. You accept him fully, nails sinking into his back as you both climax, an onslaught of gasps and moans escaping the two of you.

His arm wraps securely around your waist, and you're lulled into a deep sleep.

You’re woken to the sound of retching.

A gasp parts from your lips, and you immediately scramble up from the bed, dressed in only the shirt Jungkook had been wearing the night before. You stumble into the bathroom, finding Jungkook hunched over and surrounded with the yellow flowers once again.

However, your breath hitches.

Because this time there’s more of them, and they're all splattered with drops of scarlet.

“Jungkook!” You exclaim, knees buckling down. Placing your hand on his shaking back, you rub it up and down comfortingly.

“I-I was starting to feel b-better…” He chokes out in defeat, hands clutching onto the toilet. A cluster of coughs leave him, his voice disappearing as more and more red stained flowers overflow out.

You attempt to coax him, features twisted from watching him be contorted in so much pain. “It’s okay, Jungkook.” Your hold on him is firm, “We’ll figure it out, don’t worry, we’ll–”

“Y-You don’t understand….” He cries out, "I-I can't, Y/N…."

A deep furrow in your brows form and Jungkook shakes his head, eyes shut as his forehead lulls down, “I-I can’t do this anymore….I-I’m still in love with her."

It feels like someone’s just stabbed you in the heart.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you, entangled in too much shame and agony to dare raise his head and say the same words with your eyes meeting his. The same pair of eyes that discovered him one day and reached out, not letting him stumble on his own anymore.

Orbs glossing over, you rise with shaky legs. The feeling in the pit of your chest twists and knots, spreading through you like a deep ache.

Jungkook can’t say anything, not even at the sound of you grabbing your clothes, the unevenness of your footsteps against his carpet, or the door shutting on your way out from his apartment, the frequency echoing off the walls. His gaze remains fixated on the flowers, even plucking one completely smeared in red, wondering why fate was always so cruel to him – why, in his mind when he’s smiling and laughing with you, Aera’s warm eyes and big smile show up there instead, forever imprinted into his brain.

***

You stagger on your way home.

A stream of hot tears roll down your face, with harsh breaths shuddering out of you. Your sobs are thundering and violent, racking through your entire form.

There’s a thousand emotions running through you, leaving your mind completely numb and your body feeling like it’s breaking, scattering into pieces. You wonder how you could have let it gotten to this point, wonder how you could have been so foolish.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you soon arrive at your apartment complex. You can barely unlock the front door, gasping as you stumble in.

You fall right at the entrance, clawing your hands around your throat, eyes rapidly darting and flickering everywhere. The pain accelerates, winding tortuously over and over around your windpipe.

The cord snaps.

A sharp chain of coughs leaves your lips, vibrating down your throat and through your lungs. It morphs into a retch and the contents come spilling forth before you can even blink.

Deeply heaving, you can only stare helplessly at the clutter of bright orangish-red tiger flowers before you.

Love is twisted.

It threatens to find you unexpectedly, spontaneously making you crumble within seconds. It’s a spur of the moment, welcoming in painful affection. Love at first sight, that withers into petals of grief. Or simply an unexpected encounter, getting spun into something that turns your entire world upside down.

It develops, it grows. It becomes so much more, rendering you weak and constricting your breathing, just as the mere thought of it makes you feel sick.

Until of course, it becomes long term, a trail of flowers never leaving your side.

You don’t see Jungkook for the remaining days until the wedding, avoiding him like the plague. He doesn’t reach out, keeping to himself like he’s always done.

However, running into him at the wedding now, is a completely different story.

He’s dressed in a sleek fitted black suit, his hair styled and pushed back. He’s working alongside the caterer, a crease in between his brows as he ensures the food arrives in a timely manner.

You had just entered the venue, eyes scanning around for any indication of where Aera might be.

As cruel as fate would be, your eyes suddenly find his.

You attempt to look away, but it only takes three steps for Jungkook to be right in front of you.

He looks the same, his skin pale and dark circles still underneath his eyes, tiredness running deep through him.

He opens and closes his mouth several times, before quietly asking a question that has you nearly coughing.

“Are…are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Your voice comes out croaked, immediately taking a step back from him. He catches the movement and you notice it right away – the way his eyes scan all over your face.

You wonder if he can see the fatigue in your shoulders, wonder if he can see the bags starting to form under your eyes, or how pale you seem to have gotten. Wonder if he knows you were throwing up just this morning, mind swirling with thoughts of him and lungs brimming with flowers, unable to loosen the imprint he’s left.

“Are you sure? I–” He reaches out and you flinch, but then a call of your name has you spinning around.

“Aera has been looking for you two.” A woman you instantly recognize as her mother, informs. You nod, ignoring the pleading look in Jungkook’s eyes that just makes your lungs constrict.

After all, you were here for someone else entirely.

But when you and Jungkook follow her into a side room to see Aera completely decked out in a lavious white wedding dress, you can only harshly swallow.

“Y-You look amazing.” You sputter out, and she has a huge, radiant smile.

“Isn’t it lovely?” She chuckles, “I can’t wait until you get married and wear one too, Y/N!”

You know she means well, but your lips are pursued together, not a single word slipping out as you numbingly nod.

She turns to Jungkook, her smile widening, “What do you think, Kookie?”

It catches Jungkook off guard, his gaze previously on you.

A small smile laces on his lips and he answers her genuinely.

“It’s lovely on you, Aera. You look very beautiful.”

She giggles, looping her arm around his.

But you can see everything.

Jungkook’s eyes are tender and warm, fondness radiating out from every fiber of his body. He holds her gently, as if treasuring her was his uttermost priority.

Your breath hitches, a wave of nausea hitting you. There’s nothing you can mutter except a quiet ‘excuse me’ as you’re racing out of the room, hand clamping against your mouth and feet hurriedly filtering through the venue.

You don’t even find a bathroom, yanking open the door to a staff closet before you stumble down, tiger flowers bursting out of your lips. Water builds up in your eyes, hand clutching onto your chest as the retching continues, a deep burn being left behind.

It’s when the flowers slow down, decreasing in volume that you manage to swipe some of the sweat trailing down your temples. Your vision finally focuses through all the tears, small coughs still trembling through your windpipe.

A small gasp behind you has you freezing.

Your half-lidded eyes snap back, finding Jungkook's paralyzed ones. A hand is covering his mouth, his voice quivering.

“Oh my god….”

You don’t have the strength to will your voice to work, barely able to breath in and out with your congested airflow. Jungkook falls to his knees, eyes scanning all over the flowers before flickering up to you.

“You–” He begins, form frantic. “In here…the f-flowers….”

His hand plucks up on the tiger flower, perfectly matching the ink on his skin.

He lets go of the flower and it flutters down to you. His lips move, horror transfixed in his eyes as the realization dawns onto him, hitting him all at once.

“I-I broke you….”

You sniffle, arm coming up to swipe away the tears that have collected in your eyes. But Jungkook is faster, the pads of his thumbs immediately coming up to cup your face, gently brushing them away.

You look up, gaze locked onto his. And you can see everything.

He understands – his pain reflecting yours.

“Jungkook!” He sucks in a breath, head swiveling around to a voice echoing out from the closet. “Where have you been? Everyone’s already taken their seats.”

“I-I’ll be right there.” He turns to you, but you’re already scooping the flowers up, tucking them into a bag that you found nearby. Jungkook silently joins you, helping you until the closet is completely clear of any trace of them.

You leave before him, not exchanging one word.

The wedding commences.

You have taken your seat at the front, having a full display of the event right before you. Jungkook sits a row behind you, and you’re grateful at not having to be so close to him for the long duration.

Because as much as you can acknowledge the shared pain you hold – you know that the existence for Jungkook's is why you’re gathered here today, and you know that yours is just sitting a row away.

He will never love you like you do him. Aera will never love him like he does her.

The ceremony begins and you look up, gazing at the couple you’ve come to see tie the knot. The marriage officiant speaks up, going through each and every piece of what will bring them together. Your eyes are focused, but ever so and then, they furrow at Aera.

Not because of envy, but rather, it’s like her eyes are wavering, prodding around in the audience instead.

What is she doing?

You wonder, only seeing her glance at Sunoo a couple of times or breaking out of her daze to repeat the officiant words.

It’s almost like she’s focused on–

Your eyes trail, following her field of vision until it lands straight on Jungkook. And you’re even more caught off guard when you find out where his gaze is directed.

He’s looking at you, eyes not wavering even when you catch him.

You flush at the realization, quickly averting your eyes to focus back onto the couple. Thankfully, it soon draws to an end and the officiant wraps up the ceremony.

“You may now kiss the bride.” Sunoo leans in and Aera smiles, as does the officiant.

He pronounces them as husband and wife and a big cheer erupts from the guests. Everyone claps – including you and the couple descends down, interacting with those that have attended their wedding.

You take up the opportunity to depart, desperately needing some fresh air and Jungkook catches onto the action.

“Jungkook!” Aera exclaims, leaving Sunoo’s side and looping her arm around his, “Come on! I want a pictur–”

“Not now, Aera.” He winces with an apologetic smile, feet headed after the direction you’ve left in. Aera watches in complete disbelief, not even hearing Sunoo call out her name.

His steps are quickened, eyes darting back and forth. He bumps into a couple of guests on the way out, simply giving them a quick smile before he resumes trudging against the tiled floor.

His heart is racing, so much to the point where it feels like it might burst.

Within minutes, he finds your backside on a bench outside near the venue, shoulders hunched and making your form appear smaller than ever.

“Y/N?” He breathes out, slowly walking towards you.

“J-Jungkook?” You swivel, startled that he had followed you out here.

He stands in front of you, kneeling down. The eye contact makes you flinch, an uncomfortable sensation churning in your chest the longer he looks at you.

But before you can run away, before you can even search for a place to empty out the flowers threatening to spill from your throat, he leans forward.

He leans forward, and his lips collide with your own.

You softly gasp, heat brushing on your cheeks. It feels just like the first time you shared a kiss with him, warmth flooding through you.

Your trembling hands reach out, tugging him closer.

He places his own on top of yours, holding them as lips moving fervently against yours.

You feel it all – the delicate flowers blooming within your chest, the hues of orangish-red coloring your windpipe, the itch to push him away spiking more than ever.

But you part from him with a different reason altogether.

A sharp breath escapes you, airflow flooding into your lungs. It feels easier to inhale and exhale, no longer feeling like there was something constricting and blocking your windpipe.

As your chest rises and falls sporadically, you stare at Jungkook in astonishment. He mimics the expression you hold, a twinkle beginning to spark in his eyes.

Almost as if he were experiencing the same thing.

“I-I can–”

“Breathe?” He completes with a smile and you slowly nod, tears slipping out of your eyes.

Jungkook wraps his arms around you comfortingly, his own eyes glossing over as you tremble. The pads of his thumbs come up to cup your face, gently brushing your tears away.

He rises to his feet, reaching his hand out. You take it within a heartbeat, sniffling as he walks back into the venue with you.

Your tender gazes occasionally meet, with soft smiles being exchanged.

A sharp scream pierces through the air.

The two of you whirl around in an instant, noticing Aera's mother stepping out of the room in the frenzy.

“What happened?” You immediately ask, watching the woman’s shake her head frantically.

She doesn’t answer you, too caught up in her own thoughts, “Oh, it’s terrible, so, so terrible–”

You frown, but Jungkook tugs on you, eyes staring straight into the room that she had left.

Stepping next to him, your eyes transfixed into horror.

Aera stands in the middle of the room, with Sunoo by her side – a plethora of tiger flowers and tulips surrounding the two of them.

#jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook hanahaki au #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts jungkook hanahaki au #bts jungkook angst #bts jungkook fluff #bts jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts hanahaki au #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader

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froggibus · 8 months

Note

Hi there! If requests are still open, would it be alright if I requested HC’s for D.Va, Mei, Sombra, and Mercy with an S/O who’s a writer?

Thank you!! You rock! Keep up the amazing work!

Writer S/O Headcanons - D.Va, Mercy, Mei & Sombra

Genre: fluff!

Pairing: D.Va x gn! reader, Mercy x gn! reader, Mei x gn! reader, Sombra x gn! reader

CW: mostly fluff, some canon/implied canon things (we love our doctor/science women), i'm horrible at writing sombra (sorry)

been a while since i did an OW request, haven't touched the game since the beginning of Dec since i don't play for a team rn & hate the direction the game is going :( but i love the characters so its a dilemma lol anyway enjoy!!!

(also!!! i am once again bothering you guys to vote in this poll if you haven't already. your input matters to me vv much & would love to hear about what you want for our valentines event this year!)

D.Va:

literally your biggest fan

she always supports your writing no matter what & definitely shares it on her stream

will probably just game while you’re writing

she gets loud sometimes but she tries her best to stay quiet so you can focus

does her best to read your writing but she has such a short attention span she just can’t sometimes

will write little hearts and stars on her favorite passages in your writing

brings you lots of snacks and drinks!! makes sure you’re always hydrated and that you don’t work too long

honestly probably gets really distracting sometimes

like reading your writing over your shoulder or tapping her nails on the desk really loudly

“Hana…”

“sorry,” she’ll say sheepishly. “you just have me on the edge of my seat.”

Mercy:

your proofreader/beta reader

she LOVES to read so you know she’ll pick up anything you write and devour it

will lay on the couch with you after work while you write and listen to the taps of your laptop

“hey, Ang, do you know the word? like the one—the word for—ugh”

“luminescent.”

you’re not sure how she does it but she always manages to read your mind & know exactly what word you’re looking for

also super helpful when you have random medical questions

she’ll break down exactly how you treat a stab wound in a dingy motel for you without batting an eyelash

queen of overworking so she won’t judge you too harshly if you work all night

but will definitely be there to chastise you with a glass of water in one hand and some plain toast in the other

Mei:

literally the sweetest ever

always tells you how amazing your work is & recommends it to all her friends

working in the science field she’s always reading scientific journals so your work is a breath of fresh air

she’ll have a glass of rosé and settle down with your book after a long day

NEVER critiques your work because she thinks you’re the best ever

probably annotates it with her thoughts while reading it and voices her excitement about it

asks you a million questions about your work and nods along while you give long winded explanations

cooks you yummy food & brings you 5 spice hot chocolate to keep your energy up

snuggled up to you on the couch and listens to you think outloud

Sombra:

absolute best research buddy

you open your mouth to ask her a writing question and she already has it pulled up in four different browsers

thoroughly explains everything to you too

through her work she knows a lot about violence and other things

so she’s always willing to answer questions—especially spy + stealth related things

if anyone ever tries to criticize your work online she’ll literally doxx them

probably hasn’t read much of your work but she makes it up for it in undying support

you could be writing about murdering a public official and she’d support it

lets you sit at her desk with her while she works and hums soft songs to you

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

masterlist | overwatch masterlist

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tears0fsatan · 1 year

Note

I have something in mind

Can brothers+ Simeon (If you can) react to a smutty fanfic with male mc written by some random succubus?

They're just randomly scrolling on devilgram (or any other platform) and they see this fanfic (if you know what I mean)

Sorry if it's a bit confusing.

✦ ⊹ ˚˖ warnings... nsfw??, below 16 do not interact u'll be blocked if u do, male!mc, mainly implied dom!mc, mainly implied top!mc, possessive language yeahhhh 🤘🤘🤟, praise, levi has two dicks lol (its canon atp yall source: trust me), implied blowjob lol (levi), lowkey exhibitionism (satan&beel), mention of somno (belphie), mention of body worship lol (simeon)

:¨·.·¨ ♥︎ a.n... wait this is actually pretty cute??? HAHAHA had so many ideas for this thank you hon <3 (lol lets move past the fact that this req is almost a year old and it reminded me of svsss lowkey)

LUCIFER !

he doesn't really remember how things had gotten to this point, one moment he was busy doing his paperwork and the next he was reading this... obscene nonsense on his phone. it was horribly vulgar and terribly inappropriate, not to mention how it invaded his and MCs privacy.

yet for some reason, he couldn't look away.

lucifer was no teenage boy, he had the willpower to move mountains and never felt the urge to masturbate, especially to something as crass as smut of someone he knew personally.

he had no need to read horrible stuff like this since he could easily have the real thing, yet he had to admit, there was something rather enticing about someone's lewd fantasies between him and MC. it annoyed him to no end that someone thought of his MC in such a way but knowing that they knew it was lucifer that was the one making his human feel so good eased his jealousy.

it was comical almost, how the author depicted him fucking MC into the next day when in reality it was the opposite. it was lucifer who was under the mercy of the human, the one who would cry and beg for more, not that anyone outside of the two of them needed to know.

however, there was one commonality between the vulgar post and reality that made his pride flare, no one, not human, angel, or demon, could ever make his little human feel as good as he did. it was interesting to see how accurate yet inaccurate this succubus's fantasy was at the same time and only lucifer would know.

lucifer thought about leaving a comment correcting the author on what a satisfied MC really looked like, on how it was really he himself that trembled under the human's touch, and how MC managed to get the avatar of pride into such a state. yet, knowing that he was the only one who truly knew those little things pleased him greatly, and quickly dismissed the thought. some things were better left unsaid.

MAMMON !

during one of his nightly visits to his favourite casino, mammon couldn’t help but notice how some of the succubi keeping the gambling demons company were whispering amongst each other and giggling to themselves while occasionally throwing glances at him. at first, he thought nothing of it, he was a demon lord after all and the second oldest of all seven avatars of sins on top of being a model, it was no surprise people would recognise him.

throughout the night he caught wind of bits and pieces of the succubi’s whispering and immediately opened his D.D.D. to see exactly what the hell they were muttering about. what he found left him speechless and unable to focus on his bets the entire night, though he tried (and subsequently failed miserably) to not let it show.

there was a flare of anger at the thought of other people thinking of his MC in that way but the fact that they imagined him with MC had a different feeling flaring up in the pit of his stomach. a sense of smugness bubbled up from within, damn right it was him that was fucking MC, as if he would allow anyone else touch his treasure.

mammon's thoughts kept flitting back to the post despite himself, images of scenes the author described coming to haunt him through his bets and they had him shifting in his seat, eager to keep the money rolling in but also desperate to have MCs arms wrapped around him and make the dirty fantasies of a random succubus come to life.

he wanted to feel MCs desperation on his skin, he wanted the humans attention all on him, his eyes focused on the demon and him alone, but most of all, mammon wanted to hear the cascade of praises that the human sang his way, just like how the post had described. he needed all of it.

before he realised, his thoughts were no longer focused on the money he could've been earning and instead on his human. he'd deal with the perverted succubus and his increasing debt another day, what he needed right now was MC.

LEVIATHAN !

now, leviathan was no stranger to fan fiction, especially smut and x readers. he was what one could describe as an expert on internet culture, so how could he not know about something as infamous as fan fiction? they were his guilty pleasure, not that anyone knew.

he was also no stranger to searching MC up online, whether it was on devilgram to see the most recent photos captured of him or fabsnap to replay the videos of him doing a silly challenge with one of his brothers. while he knew that the real living human was merely a few steps away, leviathan wasn't sure if he wanted such a useless and gross otaku breathing down his neck.

so, when he was scrolling through devilgram to see updates on a new anime he was into and accidentally stumbled upon a once in a lifetime goldmine, how could he pass up the opportunity to read it? i mean, to think that some other basement dweller thought of him with MC in such an intimate way... that was pretty fucking awesome, wasn't it?! leviathan was divided between feeling like the luckiest demon in all three realms and feeling like he had tainted something he shouldn't have, as his eyes shakily scanned the blob of text with bated breath.

there were several moments that sent a shudder down his spine, the description of MC taking his cocks oh so sweetly had him running laps in his mind. even after he finished reading the entirety of the post, he had to go back again, as if to burn the text into his memory.

a whine made its way out of the demon's throat when the mental image of the human stroking his cocks with a lazy smirk on his lips and sharp eyes analysing his every move took reign over his thoughts, the image coming back despite how hard he tried to will it away and focus on the post again. his attempts proved futile, thoughts of MC on his knees in front of him with a cock in each hand, movement stopping completely just as he was about to come flashed in his mind with every breath⎯ leviathan couldn't get him out of his head.

hidden beneath the guilt that came with thinking of such lewd acts with MC lay a flare of envy⎯ how dare someone think of the revered human in such a manner? the more he thought about him and the post, the brighter the flare burned, and soon it consumed him, on top of the sinful thoughts of his human.

SATAN !

while waiting for a certain human to join him at the library for their promised tutoring session, satan decided to scroll through his devilgram, chuckling quietly to himself when he comes across a silly video of cats. however, his laughter soon died down when he scrolled onto the next recommended post and saw that it was about his study date and himself.

after a moment of pondering whether he should take the time to read the horny rambling of a random succubus or not, he ultimately decided, fuck it, why not? it was crude and quite poorly written, he noted, but the thought behind the post was made clear; satan took MC to the library under the guise of tutoring him when in reality it had only been a front to fuck the human in public.

a concoction of emotion bubbled underneath his skin and his mind ran rampant, the thought of someone naively believing that satan would be the one who would do something as ballsy as that nearly made him laugh, but he imagined a scenario where the dynamic flipped, and the chuckle died in his throat. various images of MC using him in a place he deemed to be his haven weaselled past his wall of self control and it became the only thing he could think of.

it wasn't something he hadn't thought of, it was just one that he tried not to acknowledge. after all, it was a public setting and satan had the reputation of a demon lord to keep up, he couldn't just do something indecent where lesser beings could see him and MC. yet, in a way, the vulgar musing of some unknown succubus brought an onslaught of unwarranted thoughts about him and the human doing uncouth things in places where someone could randomly stumble upon them that he didn't hate all that much.

the idea of the human covering his mouth with his hand to silence all the obscene noises so people wouldn't discover them had more of an effect on the demon than he thought and he had to stop himself from divulging in his horny daydreams further.

he was pulled out of his dirty fantasies by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and satan looked up to see that the human had arrived, chest rising and falling faster than it would normally, giving him the idea that he had run to meet him. the demon put on a smile and continued with the date like he never read the post in the first place, but unbeknownst to MC, there were endless plans swirling around in his mind.

ASMODEUS !

there is no demon in devildom who is more active on devilgram and fabsnap than asmodeus, the avatar of lust himself. it was no surprise to find him scrolling through his phone whenever he wasn't checking himself out on the nearest reflective surface. he isn't ashamed to admit he often checks posts tagged with his name, he enjoyed seeing all the compliments random succubi and inccubi showered him in.

though as of late, there was another name he found himself searching up alongside his. there was no one else it could've been besides MC, the human had somehow managed to worm his way into asmodeus's self fulfilled heart, which shocked even asmodeus himself. the demon always read every caption and comment under a post with either his or MCs name in it, especially posts tagged with both of their names. he made sure to never miss a post, regardless of whether they had something good or bad to say (of course the negative ones all got mysteriously bombarded with death threats and soon after were taken down). it was how he found the random musing of one of his fans.

it was scrambled and all over the place, not to mention the number of inaccuracies woven into it, and yet it turned asmodeus on nevertheless. there was one thing they got right; how the demon absolutely adored milking the human dry. the way his spit coated lips would bleed from how hard he bit on them and the way the filthy, degrading names that made asmodeus tremble in all the right ways would tumble past his lips as he rode him, he loved it all.

he fed off of MC's grunts and delirious praises like they were his last lifeline, both in this fan's fantasy and in real life. he never thought that someone could look as beautiful as himself while orgasming but then the human came along and suddenly it was like he had found god again.

the demon found himself getting more and more worked up as he read the text, the detail in the writing of what the two did sent a delightful shiver down his spine, and asmodeus had a sudden urge to stalk the human down and jump his bones. who knew someone's horny rambling could make asmodeus, the avatar of lust, feel this heated? as he skipped off in the direction of MC, thoughts about commissioning the fan kinkier work in the future cycled through his mind.

BEELZEBUB !

the avatar of gluttony wasn't someone who was constantly glued to his D.D.D. like a certain brother of his, if not for communicating with his brothers and MC or using his food sleuthing skills to find new and upcoming food businesses, he hardly even glanced at his phone.

yet somehow, beelzebub found himself unable to take his eyes off of his phone after one particularly tiring fangol practice. while all the other players had finished washing up and changing, the avatar of gluttony was still seated on the bench, unaware of the world around him. the post that had the demon so entranced was one about MC and himself doing sinful things that he only thought asmodeus would indulge in inside the very room beelzebub was situated in at the moment.

a shiver went down his spine and goosebumps broke out all over his skin, both from sweat that clung to his skin and the cool air and the post on devilgram. he was already hungry from not being able to eat during practice, but the description of MCs equally sweaty chest pressed against his back while his hands roamed beelzebubs waist made him feel a different kind of hunger⎯ a different sort of want.

usually his sin felt like a neverending void that he couldn't fill no matter how much he stuffed himself, and he still felt that, but the constant buzzing was somehow not as strong as the ache in his chest and the fire in his lower belly. amidst the heavy racing of his heart and the adrenaline from practice was still pumping through his veins, the post didn't exactly help with his current predicament.

he knew he needed to shower, to go back home and see his family, to stuff his face with all the food he could imagine in hopes of one day being able to silence the ravenous hunger, but after reading the post, he didn't know if he could take a shower without his member getting hard at the thought of MC doing him there too.

to be pressed up against the wall with his hands bracing his weight, the feeling of lips leaving evidence of their activities and lingering on the spot that drew out all sorts of uncharacteristic noises from the demon for a beat too long, the rough yet gentle touch of the human, all the thoughts swirled around in beelzebub's mind and it overpowered his insatiable hunger.

BELPHEGOR !

he had just woken up from the perfect after school nap with nothing to do, MC wasn't around and beelzebub was most likely in the kitchen emptying out the fridge. all homework that needed to be completed was filled out, it wasn't his turn to make dinner and he had already finished all of his chores. with nothing better to do, belphegor slid his phone out from where it was tucked underneath his pillow and scrolled through devilgram with no real goal in mind.

all the posts that flooded his feed were of fellow RAD students he couldn't have been bothered to remember and random promotional shots of RAD from the student council account that he felt the sleepiness creep back into his mind. just as he was about to shut off his phone and continue his nap, a flash of MCs name caught his eye and he scrolled back up to the post.

it was a relatively long post and belphegor mentally groaned, not in the mood to read something so lengthy, but he caught a glimpse of a few rather enticing words along with the human's name thrown in between and he was suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge to read the entire thing.

the way the author had detailed how MC fell victim to late night wood and couldn't sleep it off no matter how many times he tried while cuddling the demon, resulting in him rutting in between belphegor's thighs until the demon stirred awake had him squirming underneath his blanket.

with the help of his sleep addled mind, he could feel the ghost of MCs touch on his skin and he had to suppress the whine that wanted to crawl out of his throat. his eyes continued to skim through the fat chunk of text, swallowing thickly when he read about how the human sucked on his neck to muffle the sound of his own groans, leaving marks in his wake.

belphegor could hardly finish reading the post due to the onslaught of vivid scenarios of MC being all over him and feeling him up in his sleep, to which he felt his half hard dick twitch in his sweats. content with the train of thought his mind was heading in, the demon shut his phone off with the perfect dream to indulge himself in.

SIMEON !

all he was looking for was a new recipe and yet somehow, he found himself entranced with the filthy, sinful words. simeon was by no means the perfect angel, he had done his fair share of dirty deeds in his time but nothing quite enough to make him fall like his former brothers.

temptation was, naturally, an angel's worst enemy and simeon was known to flout the rules every now and then, and this was of no exception. the words on his D.D.D. were familiar yet strewn in a way that was foreign to the angel. it wasn't as though he was completely ignorant of such activities, but his status as an angel certainly meant that he had limited understanding of it outside of reproduction purposes.

so when this post suddenly showed up on his feed, as an author himself, how could he pass up the opportunity to read such a miracle?

the writer described MC in such a way that left simeon feeling flustered, with how this written version of him became so pliable, like putty in the human's hands. he didn't consider himself submissive, but rather something in between. however, there was something about MC praising him for doing well that made the angel think corrupting himself for the human wasn't all too bad of an idea.

he particularly enjoyed the way the writer entailed that MC was gentle and didn't limit himself when it came to praises while he caressed simeon's body, worshipping his body like it deserved. the angel could practically hear the breathy whisper of his name on the tip of the human's tongue, could see the satisfaction on his face whenever simeon couldn't hold back a noise from how good the human was making him feel.

well, as long as he didn't actually act out what was written, he wasn't breaking any rules, now was he? then, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in a few more similar works, right?

178 notes · View notes

lillianofliterature · 1 year

Note

If your requests are open, and you are comfortable with it, could you maybe please do a King Thranduil x reader one-shot where reader has cancer and it is like angsty?

the toll of sickness | thranduil x reader

a/n: Anon, I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to provide all the angsty venting and comfort I could for you in this! Thank you for your request! I wanted to do this right by you. I hope this helps soothe whatever parts of you need soothing today. I don’t know anon’s/anyone’s specific diagnosis or symptoms, so I’m doing my best to remain respectful and widely general with the topic of cancer. I took inspiration from my own experiences with the mental/emotional toll of long-term chronic illness to supply a plot to resolve, I hope that’s okay (and still relatable). <3

The reader is implied feminine in this as they are referred to as lady/queen, but otherwise, I did my best to keep it gender-neutral with descriptions.

This could also be interpreted as a reader with chronic illness.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK. GIF EDIT IS MINE.

summary: after a long day of tiresome treatments and the heaviness of your thoughts, you retreat to your chambers to seek the comfort of your husband’s arms.

warnings: mentions of cancer (the reader has cancer), mentions of cancer treatments and symptoms (including needles), medical exhaustion, nonsexual nudity and nonsexual bathing, open discussions of symptoms, fear of death

word count: 6.1k

music: As Long As We Both Shall Live by Bear McCreary

elvish translations: melamin = my love, melda = my dear/beloved

“I think we will conclude here for today, my lady.”

The head healer’s voice drew your wayward attention back to his prim features. His thin lips spread into a smile as he gently unstrapped the tight leather band above your inner elbow, releasing the tension from your skin. The long syringe with its glass barrel was gently pulled from the blue vein that the pressure had highlighted. You rubbed your arm subconsciously as he set aside the supplies for cleaning, hoping the motion would rid your flesh of the awful sensation of being probed.

You blinked away your muddled thoughts. Briefly, you worried that perhaps he had been talking to you long before you’d heard his assessment to end the treatments for the evening. If you had, you were grateful to find no resentment in his gaze for your absentminded silence.

He softly closed his collection of books that had been displayed around a table on the wall adjacent to your cushioned cot in the infirmary. With a bottle of herbal salve, he applied a generous portion to the inner curve of your elbow, satiating any irritation from his needles. The cool gel of the aloe soothed the itchy redness, while the lavender masked the sterile scent of the medications and intensely bitter herbs.

You glanced up from the healer’s gentle efforts, trying on your best smile. “Thank you for your diligence today, Sudryl. It is very much appreciated.”

He bowed his head as he clasped your hand between his palms, “It is always a pleasure to tend to you, my queen. We will resume tomorrow morning if it suits your schedule?”

“My schedule is always free for your remedies. Thranduil has made sure to take over many of my duties so we may focus on my treatment.”

Sudryl smiled once more as he helped you stand from the cot, draping your silken robe over your bare arms as he did so. “The king is very wise, your majesty. I know you detest this period of healing you’re undergoing, but you mustn't mistake rest for idleness. Your people desire greatly for your full recovery, myself included. In order to achieve that, your rest is crucial.”

You didn’t know what to say. Rest was crucial, you knew that. As were the innumerable treatments and remedies being applied and adjusted every day.

But didn’t anyone understand that you were tired of all of this? Exhausted by more than just the cancer and its seemingly endless repercussions that it presented almost daily. Worn down by more than just needles and salves and bitter syrups that lingered in your throat.

You missed feeling well-rested when you woke up in the mornings after a long sleep—you missed having the energy to spend your days fulfilling your duties as a queen, as a servant to her people. You missed the days in which every activity was not dictated or measured by searing pain or groggy fatigue. You were tired of wrestling with your body just to exist comfortably.

But it’s your duty to get better, they keep telling you.

It’s what everyone’s hoping for, your majesty.

Do your best to rest and eat well, my lady.

Don’t give up hope, Queen (Y/n). You are blessed among our kin!

The people have been petitioning their prayers to the Valar fervently, your grace.

They were supposed to be words of encouragement spoken to invigorate your fighting spirit, to ignite that spark of determination that was starting to flicker these last few months. But these endless strains of hope and enlightenment had started to weigh heavily upon your shoulders like a milkmaid’s yoke, and with every well-intentioned word and chorus of song another stone was dropped into the buckets you carried.

The pressure to recover for the sake of others was beginning to feel like too much—the toll of the sickness itself was enough for one to worry about, was it not? Not only did you feel this fearsome desperation to recover for your own sake, for your own life, but also the need of a thousand other voices begging for a show of strength you didn’t feel tangible anymore.

The summoning of one of your servants outside the infirmary doors reminded you that the hour to retire for supper was nearing presently. You felt your posture deflate as it dawned on you that you couldn’t yet retire for the day. Although your extravagant evening meals were one of the few constants that motivated you to follow your days through until nightfall, your hunger had dispersed in the last few days. Being seated at a stiff table dressed with rich delicacies and savory wines sounded nothing short of torture at the moment, even with the promise of dessert.

The servant curtseyed in the broad doorway as Sudryl led you across the room. You couldn’t help but tense as your legs tremored from the sudden activity. A long exhale slipped through your pursed lips.

“My queen,” She rose gracefully, her hands folding together at her waist. “Your supper with the king is nearly prepared. He will be present in the dining hall shortly as soon as his meeting has concluded. I was advised to escort you there safely.”

Clutching onto Sudryl’s forearm, you hesitated to address the messenger. You couldn’t help the expression of distaste that twisted your face. The thought of food was not the only thing that churned your stomach at that moment; the prospect of being walked through your own palace as though you were an invalid, incapable of making it there of your own merit, as though every pair of eyes in this forest need offer you their due pity, bothered you even more than the risk of losing your supper to the toilet.

Knowing you couldn’t send her away under Sudryl’s watchful eye (for surely there would be further inquiries as a result of such an unnecessary dismissal), you managed to nod in thanks to her before turning to him. The head healer’s smile was brimming with empathy. You tried not to feel offended by his pitying compassion. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek reverently, bidding you a respectful farewell until the morning.

You turned from him and followed the servant into the winding halls. Gaze following the eroded pathway of the massive tree roots beneath your sore feet, you bided the seconds until you were both too far to be noticed by any superior voices that might challenge your decision-making. When your footsteps halted, she turned to face you.

Her brows raised, she asked, “My lady? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m alright,” You waved her worries aside with the vague gesture of your hand. “But I can manage the walk to the dining hall from here.”

Her brows drew together in an expression of confusion. You straightened your back—had she seen through your polite fib? Was it that obvious you had no intentions of eating this evening? Or was just she not used to being given conflicting commands between two monarchs?

“—On my own. I can make it there on my own.”

Her lips parted in protest as she recalled what you assumed were very clear orders from your husband only minutes prior. Stretching your hand out to gently touch her shoulder, you reassured her it would be alright. “I will explain to the king myself that I demanded to be left alone. No trouble will come to you, I promise. You will not lose your position.”

“But my lady, I—it is my duty is to ensure your safe arrival. Are you sure you don’t—?”

The irritation that swelled within you wasn’t her fault, you hastily reminded yourself. You bit back the frustrated sigh you wanted to release, tightening your polite smile. Reasoning with another person about what you wanted to do and why you wanted to do it was the last thing you presently wanted to deal with. Desperate to detach yourself from her and anyone else lingering about, you decided to be straightforward. No beating around the bush.

“I value your persistence, young one, but I would very much like to retire early tonight. You may inform my husband that I’ll be taking my meal in our chambers if you must.”

“Understood, your majesty. I shall inform the king. Have a good evening.” She dipped into an impulsive curtsy, quickly trailing back to the chancellery to relay your decision.

You didn’t even wait for her to pass beyond the long hall ahead before you turned in the opposite direction. Your private chambers weren’t too far from the infirmary, thankfully. However, it still took some resolve on your behalf to encourage your depleted energy through corridors and foyers all the way back to your comfortable bed. The silver silk of your robe billowed around your feet with every step, giving your eyes something other than walls of stone and root to follow.

You were sure your husband wouldn’t be taking the present news about your wellbeing all that agreeably. You could see it clearly in your mind—the disheveled, anxious worry in his eyes that he masked behind a wall of solemn regality. But you could always see what he was thinking. He wouldn’t like the fact that your treatments were taking more and more of a toll on your already wearisome state. He would like it even less when he found out you would soon be dismissing supper altogether.

His concern wasn’t for himself, of course. It was for you—it was always for you.

He wanted desperately for you to be able to enjoy your meals in the glittering brilliance of the dining hall, unperturbed by fatigue and nausea. He wanted you to be able to take those strolls through the forest gardens that you adored so much without the sore discomfort in your bones. He wanted you to relish in your life and its unrivaled importance. And most of all, he wanted desperately to take this lingering sickness away; he wished he had been born with a skill for healing like some of his kin.

But all he could give you were the promises of an unsure future and the enlistment of his most skilled associates and all relevant resources that could be found about your condition. And some part of you—some sad, twisted part of you—felt a rush of guilt that so much commotion and worry was being circulated about the kingdom on your behalf. And that guilt only made the whole affair all the more frustrating and maddening. These days, everything inflamed your anger. This whole tumultuous ordeal seemed to be unraveling more than just your physical state.

You knew it was ridiculous to feel responsible in some way for what was happening to you. You hadn’t chosen this, you hadn’t brought it on yourself—you most certainly didn’t deserve it. No one with cancer ever does. But reasoning with your inner turmoil was like wrestling a wild boar in the mud; there was never any true resolve without the cost of more anxieties, more wounds, more gashes in your soul. And the more you tried to gain a grip on yourself, the less grounded you became, the more it all slipped through your fingers.

The click of the door was a chime of resolve as you leaned against the tall wooden frame from within the calm confines of your spacious bedroom. Sliding out of your supple leather flats and letting your robe slump to your elbows, you took the first deep breath you had been able to control since earlier that morning. The king-sized bed frame creaked subtly as you lowered yourself onto the fluffed silken duvet. Ever so gradually, you felt the weight of the vertical world begin to reprieve from your muscles like steam rushing upwards from a boiling pot.

Rest wasn’t a cure for what ailed you, no, but Valar above, sometimes it felt like it.

Since your diagnosis—the terrifying sickness devouring your energy and livelihood from within your own body—nearly every day had been spent in the infirmary or the healer’s sanctuary, remedies administered by the hour, conversations turning tiresome and sour. It had begun to feel like your own home was a prison, the world beyond the palace unreachable, like every action was a strenuous transaction of vitality and exhaustion. Even just walking the gardens that lead into the forest had become inexplicably draining—it left you feeling as though you’d run to Mirkwood’s southern border and back rather than taking a few turns about the courtyard.

But here, on the cloud-like comfort of your private chambers, there was some reprieve from it all. There were no endless strands of questions about your well-being and your comfort and opinions on the tedious details of your health here—only the distant rush of the waterfalls that crashed brazenly into the river moat outside the palace gates. You could hear the chirping of the early summer insects as dusk narrowed on the horizon beyond the open terrace. There was no sterile smell of concentrated alcohol or the pungent gnawing of tart herbs. Instead, there was a faint aroma of lilacs wafting in from the gardens and the scent of your husband’s musk lingering in your bed.

Closing your eyes and rolling onto your lesser-sore side, you sought out the imprint that his body might have left there that morning. But the duvet was creased flat and folded with a chill under your skin. It was curious futility to think his warmth might have lasted after so many long hours away, you knew that; the bed was always plumped and remade in the mornings by your gracious servants. A coldness ran through you, engulfing your skin in little bumps that felt like prickling needles.

Too sore from your aches to unfurl the taut covers from the mattress and too comfortable to retrieve one of your husband’s many fur throws, you recoiled your arm and folded your limbs closer together, curling into a position that would magnify your own body heat. While quietly taking in the environment of your sanctuary, this small peaceful haven that almost made you forget the turmoil your body was enduring, you hardly noticed as you faded into a light slumber. Caught between the ebbing flow of consciousness as it bobbed around the sleepy release of your strained body, wading between thoughts and dreams.

Unaware of the passage of time as you laid there in groggy consciousness, you hardly felt the urge to stir from your position until you felt the back of someone’s hand on your cheek, the brushing aside of your askew (h/c) tendrils. Then you made out the quiet husk of a voice that hovered above you in the dark.

In the dark? Sunset was still a couple of hours away! And after that, dusk would linger still until the light vanished beyond the mountains to the west. Why was it already so dark?

Hadn’t it only been a few fleeting minutes since you’d closed your eyes, listening to the cicadas and savoring the sweetness of the summer flora? Eyebrows pursed, you could hear yourself attempt to answer, but the meticulous reply you’d fabricated in your mind was delivered in heavy vowels that grouped together lazily. Your speech felt like treacle slipping off your tired tongue.

A velvet chuckle reverberated in your perking ears.

“Have I forgotten my native tongue or was that a very poor attempt at Sindarin?”

Thranduil.

Your nose scrunched up as you fought to drain the sleepiness that was working against you so fervently. Before you could stir the tired droopiness from your eyes with eager fists, two gentle hands cupped your cheeks and swept their thumbs over your closed eyes. The motion was akin to a gentle massage, spanning your sore eyelids and dusting across your cheekbones, a cradling of your vulnerable stillness that filled your chest with a fond fervor. The supple tenderness of his lips collided briefly with yours before parting all too quickly.

“Mm?” Your vocabulary hadn’t quite refreshed itself, it seemed. “When d’dju geten?”

Another rumbling chuckle he didn’t bother trying to hide. You pictured his willowy frame standing primly in front of the tall gilded looking glass, unfastening his stuffier robes and tucking his powder–blonde hair behind his pointed ears, or perhaps even tying it back for the night as he often did.

Stars, it felt like there were weights on your shoulders pulling you back against the duvet as you forced yourself to sit up, like the muscles beneath your skin were unraveling at the seams. You rubbed your eyes and shooed your disheveled hair from your peripheral vision, glancing around the dark room for your husband’s silhouette. A flicker of light plumed suddenly in the sconce near the vanity, illuminating his fair features. The match in his hand extinguished with a puff of air from his lips before his pale blue eyes found yours.

“I only just came in,” he reassured you, “I’m afraid I underestimated how much wind some of our advisors have in their lungs, especially when provoked.”

Another votive flickered to life on the other side of the room, another match snuffed out under his breath. The sunlight outside had all but gone in the murky hours you had been asleep. Now that you could take in the mellow darkness of the evening without confusion, some part of you felt distressed about the sudden absence of natural light. The daylight, warm and golden, always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it was dark and grey and the light of the moon was cold, distant, and you hadn't had a chance to prepare yourself for it. Another chill ran across your skin as a more frigid breeze swept in from the open terrace.

“Did Sudryl have a chance to share the news with you before retiring this evening?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His lips pursed when he saw your unmoving figure still sitting on the edge of the bed, your back draped in silks, facing away from him. Your slumped posture told him all he needed to know about how you were feeling after your treatments—the exhaustion was palpable in how slow your palm rose to cradle your own forehead, in how shaky you were as you forced yourself up from the bed and took hold of the bedpost.

He was near you in an instant, his strong hands taking gentle hold of your bowed shoulders. There he was, combing the stray hairs on your head down with doting affection, all while the same frustrations were building up inside of you as your sleepiness dissipated.

“You needn’t rise for me, melamin, I am no guest.” He chided gently.

“I know, I just need a bath before we settle in for the night.”

“You’re in no state to manage that tonight, (Y/n)—”

“Thranduil, I haven’t rinsed off the ointments. I smell like the forest—and not in a good way.”

“You smell like an herb garden, fresh and natural, as all things should be.”

“Pungent is more like it,” You quipped, catching the accent of bitter walnuts exuding from your thin robes. It was that old, damp, dingy sort of bitterness that made you want to expel the air from your lungs with a snort when you caught a whiff of it—not the pleasant sort of musk from the gardens.

He laughed again, this time with more relief behind his eyes. Even though he knew you were spent from the day’s strenuous activities, the presence of your humor provided him with some semblance of comfort. And as for your own weary senses, his smooth strain of laughter was more than a consolation for the muted anxiousness that the infirmary always inflicted.

“Then let me help you.”

“Thranduil, I can do it mys—”

“I insist,” He offered decidedly, and you knew well enough from past experience that arguing with him on the matter would prove ineffective.

He gently looped your arm through the curve of his elbow, placing a sweet kiss to your messy hair before turning along with you toward the adjoined bathing chamber. You leaned into him for support and begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he was right—there was no way you could withstand the exertion on your own, at least not tonight. Not while you felt this lethargic, not while your stress levels were causing such tension throughout your body, making everything denser, slower, sluggish.

Once he led you into the warmly lit haven of the spacious chamber, the steam of the hot spring pool seemed to draw you in on its own accord. The walls and their rugged shapes made the flickering yellowness of the torchlight spread longer shadows among its natural angles and divots. The far right wall was connected to the run-off of one of the many springs that stretched like veins throughout the mountain palace—and it was little cavern rooms like this one that reminded you that you were living in the majesty of a low-peaking mountain, not just nestled in the forested density of the Greenwood.

You knelt at the rim of the bathing pool on the soft stone edge, dragging your hand through the clear blue water. The natural warmth of the hot spring invigorated you with a sense of eagerness as you remembered just how soothing these glowing pools always were. A gentle touch to your shoulder lured your attention back to your husband, who with a fond smile, was waiting to help you unravel your robes and underthings. Taking his hand, you were pulled to stand in front of him with the gentlest limits of his strength.

You hardly felt the pressure or the tugging of his lithe fingers as he helped you undress, his touch but a breeze across your sore skin. When you were naked and chilled from the exposure, he guided you into the blue waters and leaned over the pool’s edge to make sure you were steady on the outcropped seat of eroded stonework submerged in the water. As the bubbling warmth enveloped your flesh, your eyes fluttered shut with an involuntary sigh of relief.

There were very rarely things that proved effective for your ceaseless pains—medicines and supplements only lasted so long or relieved so little, and sleep was growing more difficult to manage. But this—the heat bubbling up from the earth, sorted through sediment and mineral—was the most relief you found these days.

When submerged in the hot spring bath, your entire body numbed to its own plague as your bones and muscles absorbed whatever benefits came from the terrain around you. You briefly wondered how you ever managed to get out the last time you soaked like this, with every inch of your flesh basking in the warmth that enveloped you.

You relaxed against the glossy stones, trying to quiet your mind of all the infernal anxieties pressing a weight against your chest. The noise of your thoughts made it difficult to focus fully on the soothing effects of the natural hot spring, tensing and loosening your muscles and posture between every harsh doubt.

With a fresh cloth he brandished from a side table, Thranduil dipped it into the warm bath and began gently scrubbing away the ground athelas mixture. He’d seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bath, submerging his calves into the pool to cradle you between them. The cloth strummed along your chest and stomach as he reached over and behind, where the herbs from Sudryl’s remedies had been infiltrating the cancerous sickness plaguing your organs. You hadn’t meant to show him how weak you felt, how tired you were, how desperately you needed this—but your head fell back to rest against his stomach despite this as the steam curled around you both, dampening your hair and foreheads.

After your rinsing from the spout of a silver pitcher, he coaxed oils and lathered soaps across your flesh, your own fingers clasping onto the pale skin of his forearm or around his leg, refusing to cease contact with him. And although he generously and willingly offered his aide while the healing minerals of that glowing pool of steam soothed you, some venomous voice in the back of your mind tried to feed you strings of doubt and loathing.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have had to become my caretaker.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get sick—neither of us was.

He deserves more than this mess I’ve given him. He deserves better than me.

You cleared your throat, trying to silence the growing guilt and shame before that stinging swell of tears could grow any more than they already were.

“What was it you were going to tell me?” You asked after the first of his own sweet-scented oils was being lathered along your arms, turning you about to face him. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Sudryl?”

“Ah, that,” he nodded in remembrance, “I gather he didn’t mention anything about Lord Elrond to you today?”

“Lord Elrond?” You inquired, lifting your questioning gaze to meet his. “No—no, he didn’t. Has something happened? Something to do with our alliances? Or with that trade treaty we adjusted with Laketown in the spring—”

“No, melamin, nothing of diplomatic proportions—all is still amiable with our kin for the time being,” he reassured. When he glanced up at you, the tranquil hope glittering in his blue eyes soothed the curious worry growing in your mind. He almost seemed excited about something. It tugged the corners of your mouth into a brief smile. “I sent word to him a little more than a month ago now, I suppose, to see what he might be able to do about your condition, to inquire about whether his skill with healing might mend what ails you.”

You swallowed hard over the sudden discomfort of anxiety that rose again like bile in your throat at the mention of more treatment, more guests, more expectations for healing. More, more, more.

“He is to arrive within a week of his latest correspondence, which came this morning. Preparations are being made for his arrival as we speak.”

Unknowingly, your grip had tightened on your husband’s forearm, your nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. The sharp sensation drew his attention downward to your hands, his dark brows furrowing in concern. His fingers winding around yours brought your attention to your vice-like grip, which you promptly loosened.

“What is it, (Y/n)? Does this news not please you?”

The earnestness in his pale eyes pierced your heart, the guilt bubbling up in your mind again. You weren’t sure what worried you most. The prospect of more prodding, more treatments, more attempts that might lead to nowhere; the fuss being made across the realm about your condition, about this peculiar, harsh sickness that was so puzzling to even the brightest minds; or perhaps, most worrisome of all, was the fact that you were no longer able to manage the upkeep of a happy facade. So many people were hoping, praying, supporting, and tending to you.

And somehow, you found that to be the most exhausting part of it all. Not only were you fighting for your own body, for comfort and life, but you were trying to uphold and appease every pair of eyes that was eagerly awaiting your miraculous recovery from something you didn’t even know how to fight. There were so many hopes to meet, so many hearts to comfort on your behalf, and your resolve was quietly crumbling.

Before you could think to soften your words in an attempt to save Thranduil’s optimism, your lips began to move, a sudden impulse of tears gathering in your eyes. “What if there is nothing even Lord Elrond can do to cure this?”

He paused, his eyes searching yours briefly before his damp fingers reached up to caress your cheek. How had he not seen the disparagement growing behind your gaze, darkening the lilt in your voice? Hidden behind humor and mischievous quips, but no less obvious.

“If—if I do not show improvement, our people will lose their resolve. Everyone’s counting on me to get better, to show some store of strength I no longer have and I–I can’t will my body to right itself,” you bore to him, panicked and spent from months of effort, “I cannot give everyone the hope they're seeking from me."

“Oh, melamin,” his chin nestled over your ear as he murmured with such rich affection, pressing your face into the musky homeliness of his neck.

“I know I should be grateful for their support, for their prayers and their offerings, but it’s becoming too much, Thranduil. I don’t have the strength for a kingdom’s worth of miracles.”

“You do not owe anyone but yourself the grace of your strength. Had I known their encouragement had put pressure on you to perform, I would have silenced the lot of them.”

Despite his sincerity, you panicked on. “What if I am never rid of it? What if this is my blight that I must war with for the rest of my life?”

He sombered then, drawing in a deep string of air into his lungs. You could see him wrestling with the reality of your honesty, with the questions you both had been too afraid to speak aloud before now. Gathering himself, he drew you nearer to him, clinging to you with a brief urgency that almost startled you.

“Then we will rise together each day to face it. There will never be a single day that you will have to endure this on your own. Do you hear me? That is my promise to you—that my vow and my diligence will never waver where you are concerned.”

Your tears burned with his words and you worked to force them at bay, his sweetness drawing every sour fear and thought of guilt from your mind and onto your tongue. “I am so sorry for this life I have given you. You didn’t ask for this—you cannot be happy with me—with this-this terrible thing I’ve brought upon us. You deserve so much more, and I can no longer give it to you.”

“You’re apologizing—?” He questioned, his voice quiet in shock.

Your eyes clamped shut, forcing the well of sorrows from your eyes to plummet. Gently, he pulled himself back, repositioning his hands on your upper arms as if to garner your absolute attention.

“(Y/n), this life you have given me has been far more than I have ever deserved and could ever strive to. From the moment we met, you have enriched my life just by your existence alone, much less the many qualities and traits about you I have come to treasure beyond all fortune or success. You have given me everything, a dozen lifetimes over, in the mere centuries we have been together.”

“You cannot have wanted this,” you breathed out, hushed by your own shame.

“No, I did not want you to suffer with something so abysmal, something so beyond my control. Of course I did not want for your pain…but if this is our future, if this is our path together, then I want every minute of it, and I will not settle for a second less. I would upheave the very crest of the world and drown mountains in flame if it meant saving you. And if that makes me selfish or ruthless, then I will be the standard at which devils compare their sins.”

His hands had gradually found their way up to your face, cradling your damp cheeks with a sincerity that made your lip quiver.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

The sight of the tearful waterline reflected in his eyes drew a noise of curt regret from your lungs. Your sob pierced his heart, filling him with a desperation to amend the shame and anxiety plaguing your mind.

“If you truly believe that you are at fault for this sickness, then in turn I must be held responsible for allowing it to happen in the first place. As your husband first, but also as your king.”

“No, no that’s not true! It’s not even reasonable of you to—”

“Then how can it be your fault? How could any of this be on your shoulders? There is no sense in blame, (Y/n). Not here, not with this.”

There was a stillness after his words, a stillness that was meant for rumination, and sealed with his lips against your skin and hair. Your hands rose to rest against his chest, nestling them over the dip of his collarbone as you felt for comfort in the blur of your tears. His silence prompted an answer.

“It’s not my fault,” you replied.

“Say it again.”

“It isn’t my fault,” you echoed, meeting his gaze once more, “just as it isn’t yours.”

And as shocking as it was for you to realize it, you truly believed the words he encouraged from you. This sickness wasn’t your fault. Neither of you could have had any sway with fate or destiny, with whatever had brought this on. And perhaps, it just simply was, with no cause or fault at all. What mattered now was how kind you could be to yourself, how to take one moment of strife and find something in it to hold onto. Moments like this were one of those morsels between the ebbing aches of pain and grief that you could relish and devour again and again.

Thranduil leaned forward, pressing his sweat-laced brow against yours. “Do not ever blame yourself, melamin. Do not let those foul words pass between your lips again.”

You nodded against him, pulling him nearer. “I promise.”

In the long minutes that followed, there was the solace of quiet intimacy as he rinsed through your hair one final time, peppering you with kisses and caresses at every opportunity. He met you with a soft fluffy towel when he led you out of the bath, never allowing a breeze to nip at your damp skin. His touch was featherlight as he patted you dry from head to toe, scrunching your drenched tendrils of (h/c) hair without complaint.

“I’m still so afraid,” you managed the courage to speak aloud, “What if–...what if this sickness claims my life?”

“You will not part this world without me, melda. Not a single breath will leave your lungs without my sharing it, not a single heartbeat will we not share,” he vowed, the absolute belief in his voice making the promise all the richer, “there isn’t a corner in this world or any other that you could wander to that I would not accompany you.”

Your silk nightgown slipped over your outstretched arms swiftly, sliding down your body and into place comfortably. He did up the lace of the collar with efficiency, not missing the chance to playfully tug you closer with the slightest bit of his strength. You planted yourself against his chest, the smile on your lips effortless with his own. The firm warmth of his arms wrapping around you had the same sort of pain-numbing effect as the hot spring, lulling every fretful thought to a close. His somber laugh reverberated again, this time through your bones, bringing an ethereal kind of peace with it.

The pillows of your large four-poster bed were positioned, fluffed, and repositioned. You waited patiently, upon his insistence, as he untucked and pulled the puffy duvet back for you to crawl under. Once comfortably tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, he assumed his place beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress as he settled, mindful that every movement enticed your discomfort.

His body heat made you sleepy as you sank further into the covers, fogging your thoughts with a drowsy anticipation for the release of slumber. You’d waited for this moment all day—it had been the image that had pushed you through the hours of treatment and questions—the moment you could finally burrow against his warmth and drunken yourself with his scent. There was a slight stirring as he reached off to the side to retrieve something on the bedside table.

The fluttering of pages caught your fading attention, pulling your heavy-eyed gaze toward the book in his grasp. “Would you like to continue where we left off?”

You smiled tiredly against his chest, not recalling the events of the book he’d been reading to you for the last few nights. Oftentimes, the first few pages would strike vividly in your imagination, but as his lustrous tone carried on through paragraphs and chapters, the sleepy security that his presence enticed made it impossible to recall anything beyond the thrilling hum of his voice. In all actuality, you were quite sure he didn’t mind if you knew anything at all about the story he was reading aloud. It was enough to hold you and be held.

TAGS: @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossoms73 @sunnysidesidra

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littlebitshylittlebitangry · 8 months

Note

Hi, hi it’s me again… your writing was very good, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Now you must be responsible for the consequences…. Which is listening to me ramble.

Anyways, first off small doodle!

This is what I imagine bound arcane egg looks like, and something I didn't explain, my b. Is when arcane egg gets taken to be the “heart” of the hungry ones, it’s basically an in between plane of existence. It’s between the normal world and where the hungry ones reside.

Secondly this is one of two times arcane egg goes to this inbetween, and that second time is more triumphant and it’s where her light of defiance reignites!

Anyways no more exposition, time to talk about some new stuff mainly the aftermath after arcane eggs desperate pleas for death!

Note I do imagine her pleas at that moment go from sad and desperate to manic and desperate, since at this point of the story it’s a nice contrast to how well and collected they’ve appeared so far.

But yeah when they wake up… boi it’s so sad. When they awake their very comatose and quite, very similar to how they were when they came back to life after their death by the hungry ones. I imagine that shadow milk and golden butter are waiting her them to wake up, which arcane egg can’t fathom why but, what ever.

If you haven’t noticed arcane eggs response to their own emotions and emotional problems is to ignore, belittle, or don’t think about it. Which is in sharp contrast on who they USED to be, which was open and tbh the therapist / listener friend. But also they were honest about their feelings, so arcane egg after that display of pure raw emotion acting so… empty greatly upsets her friends.

They’ll try to get an answer but they’ll just get a chill and numb cookie in response, I do imagine they get her to talk at some point after pleading and asking persistently for a while. And it would most likely begin with arcane egg breaking down sobbing and they’ll also shake like a leaf.

Than afterwards if the two ask questions and prod for specifics, she start answering and probably tell the, how she got to this point / her history thus far. She’ll tell them that they’ve died before, that their now both alive but technically an undead thing,… that they thought about taking their own life during the dark flour war.

They wont tell about their complicated feelings about the two of them yet, no not yet. But she will spill how she feels about themselves which is again bad!

How would the two react, o honest don’t know I’ll need to think about it more. Do you have any ideas? You did a good job last time so. Anyways thanks for listening have a good day :D.

(Also tell me if you want me to post ideas to you here or on your side blog!)

Took me awhile to get back to this post-

Anyways, had to do some searching (thanks for the notes.) Ended up being four pages long-

Honestly for some reason this gives me ‘nowhere king’ vibes.

Now, Warnings; implied masscure, war crimes, sucidial thoughts, dissacation.

She blinks awake- her body is heavy and it's hard to move. She feels a hand carding through her hair, for a moment she struggles to move her head, but she does. She mentally feels the want for her shoulders to tense up- but they don’t. Yet Mystic Flour doesn’t stop carding her hands through her hair. For a minute they could almost swear her eyes opened, but she didn't say a word. Carefully moving their head around, she blinks yet again.

The room wasn’t overly big by any means, but it was a decent size. Arcane could spot Silent salt staring out the window, Burning spice was oddly calm as he rubbed his axe. Shifting her focus to the other half- she found Eternal sugar half sitting on a chair, half resting her head in her arms on the bed. Its then she spotted by a table that looked like it was dragged over that Shadow Milk was writing something onto the desk- he looked oddly frustrated. It was… It was an old memory. He’d often be over desks like that when he hit a wall with whatever he was researching or when he was lacking the creativity on his newest project.

For a moment she puzzled over where Golden Butter was, until the door opened. The very person who they thought about walked in with a bag over to Shadow Milk, They closed their eyes as they felt Golden Butters gaze on them. The other sighs, “...Shadow… how is progress?” Shadow Milk seems to growl, “It's honestly worse than I thought! Those Damn witches that sealed us are the reason those fucking thing even exist! And that means they are the main issue on why Arcane is like this!” They can hear a fist slam onto the table, its silent for a moment, before Silent salts' rarely heard voice comes through, “....The witches did this? To her?” They don’t know what Shadow does but they hear the screeching of the chair and his words, “YES! They did! They fucked up Arcane so badly that I’m not even completely sure there is a way to undo it!”

Mystic Flours hand pauses, she hears the other speaks, “.... Shadow Milk….are you… are you sure?” They don’t exactly hear much other then shuffling for the next few moments before an audible sigh, “..I can’t be completely sure at least now.” His tone turns resigned, slightly saddened with a hint of frustration, “If only I had my labs, the tower and…” Her heart drops, she knows just who he was going to say.

Fortune Cookie, his closest pupil.

Fortune Cookie had a bright future ahead of them. At Least until Shadow Milk destroyed his own tower. It was of very little doubt that Fortune cookie was a casualty in that event. Fortune Cookie, she thinks, had a brain even Shadow Milk sometimes struggled with. ‘Boundless creativity filled with sky high genius’ Shadow Milk once put it as. Fortune Cookie who he likely killed.

This hadn’t been the first time he’d regretted it.

She allows her eyes to open, everyone is still in the room just different. Eternal sugar, for once, is awake, and is blankly staring at them, Silent Salt has moved away from his window position, Burning spice had set his axe down and was gripping onto his hair with a fierce look on his face. She couldn’t see Mystic Flour from this view, but she could see Shadow Milk back as Golden Butter looked over him.

He was half hunched over and he was shaking.

Part of them wanted to reassure him it would all work out, but wasn’t that hopeless?

There wasn’t a cure and one person who had the most research on the hungry ones is dead, anything she did note was likely destroyed. It was hopeless.

It threw everyone off the moment they spoke, “It's been a hopeless situation from the start. It would do you all better to just kill me now.” The air in the room became strained just at her words. Shadow Milk straightens up, brushes off Golden Butters Hand and immediately turns around and walks over very calmly. He pushes his hands on the side of the bed and looks directly at her, “We won’t, we’ll find a cure. There isn’t another option.”

She blinks at him, “..You just said it yourself...you don’t know if there is a way to undo it… There isn’t a cure coming.” She shakes her head, “It would be the best choice- the hungry ones would be gone.” Shadow Milk shakes- not in a silent fear or overwhelming sorrow, but in a very poorly suppressed rage. “It doesn’t matter what I just said, I will find a cure.”

Arcane egg stares at him as she speaks, “....Fortune cookie was the only one who had-” He slams his hands on the bed as he shouts, “I’ll bring back the fucking dead if I have to! I’ll face whatever goddamn consequences that come my way!” He sags, “I’ll face Fortune cookie if it means I can help you.” He looks resigned, “I’ll search every single book the witches saved, I’ll tear down kingdom after kingdom and build them back up, If I need to I’ll start a new a tower just to figure out a fucking cure, I’ll let that stupid half-a-cookie replacement of mine keep my damn soul Jam!” The rage slowly wears off, replaced by desperation, “Please- just don’t- never ask me- never ask any of us- I don’t think.” Tears well and fall off his face like the sword of damocles falling, “I don’t think we could take it.”

Something in them hurts, so very deeply hurts in a twisted sense that its like having a vine shoved right into your heart before twisting and growing. Something grabs their left hand, looking over Silent Salt, it seemed he was the one who grabbed it. Burning spice had dragged a chair over and was sitting with the backside facing her as he sat facing her. Eternal Sugar has shifted from her place and is now sitting at the edge of the bed as Shadow Milk and Golden Butter stick to her right. She can spot Mystic Flours dress off the side- likely sitting by the pillows on their left side.

They had all moved to gather closer than previously. The next words flowed out her to easily as she looked at them. She- she doesn’t know what to think.

(She lost count after thousands of years, after watching hundreds of cookies crumble from age. Yet things linger in her memories.)

(Afterall the hungry ones have been with her for almost the same amount-- and it hurts holding them- it hurts in a sense that she can’t quite let go.)

(Everyone left in one way or another and she was left behind, Fortune died, her friends left her behind- and even when she grew close to people they disappeared. She doesn’t have anything- her friends are here now, yes. But they left so long ago- they told her not to come looking for them and-)

(- and they fell.)

Everything- Just feels so overwhelming. This isn’t the first time- something just- they feel so wrong today. They woken up for days with the group here for a number of days- some of them are normally out.

(Burning spice came back once with strawberry jam covering him, Mystic flour and Eternal Sugar just stared him down until he left. They don’t remember much of the few days after that- their head was just buzzing. She noticed the more… careful and hesitant natures when they wake up. All weapons, she noted, were always kept out of sight most times. No one ever came in the room without knocking unless they were ‘cleaned’ as Mystic Flour put it.)

Part of them just- there wasn’t an exact way to put it into words.

(“We have been silent for so long, haven’t we?”)

(“How long must you remain to let your defiance be stamped out?”)

(“Listen to me- to yourself. Defy this fate- fight against it, do not let yourself fall.”)

(“Please- just fight off for a little more. To defy in this moment, allow yourself to be helped.”)

Its quite- a mere echo in her head- but something. Something in her breaks.

Tears, she notes almost mutely, she’s crying.

Someone- she's guessing Mystic Flour sits her up as Shadow Milk crawls his way onto the bed by her sides. Golden Butter sticks to the side but sits on the bed as the rest stay close. She lets it spill out.

She talks about the isolation that happened after Golden Butters sleep, she speaks of the horrors of the experiments of the witches and the hungry ones who were sealed inside her- the war she fought to save cookies who either died or forgot about her actions, she brings up letters she sent- only to learn they never received a single one of hers. She whispers of the dark flour war, the endless death, the chaos that reigned and even traced over scars left from those dark years. Of the violence that she faced in the line of cruelty of Dark Enchantress Cookie.

The room is silent for the longest period, and then she admits the most damning thing.

She admits her death- and coming back different.

The silence is different, its stiff, its twisted and she can see something is off. Shadow Milk is the one who prodes her further with his face towards the ground. She tells the rest what they wanted to hear, she admits everything slowly hesitantly, as tears fall down, as she cries, screams, and breaks down. There are several times someone in the group leaves for a few minutes before coming back in- but Shadow Milk stays the entire time, just staying by her side.

Somehow, she ends up asleep as the rest of the group lingers within the world.

Shadow Milk is frowning as he takes Mystic Flours combing through Arcane Eggs hair, Golden Butter stays by his side as the rest of the group lingers around. Golden slowly speaks, “..I should’ve focused on her- I was so- I was so caught up in my own misery that I…” Golden Butter looks down. Shadow Milk sighs, laying a head on her shoulder. Its silent before he speaks, “We’ve been dealt a shitty hand- just-” He looks frustrated before looking at Arcane egg and his face softens in sad way, “...We just been playthings for the witches- they’ve- They’ve been treating us like that for so long.. I just-” Burning Spice speaks up, “They will pay.”

His words are followed by nods as Shadow Milk echos his friends words, “They will pay.” He pets Arcanes Hair, “But not now. For now, we tend to our wounds and we focus on finding a cure.” Its an unsaid agreemnt by the others.

Right now, tending in their own in the focus.

Vengeance upon The witches, Dark Enchantress cookie and any other cookie else can wait until they’ve recovered.

Then, all cards were off.

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #cookie run oc #cookie run x reader #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk x reader #beast yeast #burning spice cookie #mystic flour cookie #eternal sugar cookie #silent salt cookie

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chubs-deuce · 6 months

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Hi!! Love your artwork and your Charlastor AU with Dawn!!

I was wondering if you think Alastor would make any dawn-themed dad jokes and puns in your AU, and if he does, what would Dawn and Charlie think of them? I can’t really think of any off the top of my head right now, but I know ‘a brand new dawn’ is a phrase he could maybe use!

Again, love your art!!! If you don’t mind answering questions about it, do you have any advice for artists who want to improve their drawing or any practices that have helped you develop your skills? And are there any particular artists that really inspire you?

You’re one of my favorite artists and I don’t know how to explain it but your drawings have so much life in them!! 🌟

sdlksdflkj thank you so much omg!!!

I'm so glad you're enjoying them ;W;

And he would be insufferable with them lmfaoo, especially because I'm sure Charlie would hop in on a few of them and add to the pile as well xD

One more I can think of rn is "Oh, I was wondering where the sun went!" whenever Dawn enters a room, because the implied punchline is "but then it Dawned on me" or something? XD idk I'm not good with puns sadly

Now regarding the art advice!! This one got HELLA long so I'll hide it under a cut for everyone's comfort lmao

I know it sounds shallow and like worthless advice, but a huge huuuuge part of getting better at art is to just... make art! Practice makes perfect - it develops your motor skills, gives you somewhat of a muscle memory for certain basic shapes that are a necessity to have a good feel of for good foundation sketching.

Practice also develops your eye for compositing and for how color theory actually applies in practice, it basically helps you develop a more consistent grasp on art as a whole :D

There are some things I've learned over time that definitely helped speed things up though xD

here's some rough sketches I did just to demonstrate what my rougher drawings can look like - also a little diagram (on the right side of the image) of things I keep in mind for the average proportions of a human body!

I tend to sketch very loosely and try to capture the overall vibe and silhouette/rough shapes first before I even think about adding details - there's a certain flow, squish and stretch to everything that's just much easier for me to get a good feel for when I use quick, loose brush strokes and as few lines as possible to convey a concept.

Repeatedly sketching humanoid characters of various shapes, builds and sizes for years genuinely helped enormously in getting not only faster but also more consistent with it!

I'm fairly well practiced with hands and expressions especially at this point since I like to focus on those in my art often, so those come fairly easily to me as well now!

Something I learned along the way about keeping a certain liveliness to my artworks is that sometimes you have to forego anatomical correctness a bit if you want to fully express specific emotions - if you try too hard to keep everything perfectly proportional and realistic, it can make the outcome look stiffer than you might've aimed for - this is something I actually struggle with in my cleaner artworks :'D The ones I do proper lineart for, since a lot of the flow of the original sketch gets lost in the process haha

As for artists/artstyles that inspire me...

There's @/southpauz for example!

Her artstyle is unbelievably expressive and her eye for compositing and her use of shapes is SUBLIME - it inspired me to let loose more with my expressions, exaggerate features a bit more and to push the way I try to vary facial features :D

Then, back when I had that massive Rise of the TMNT phase, the artstyle of it has actually greatly influenced how I draw today!

It manages to be detailed and highly recognizable despite its deceivingly simple style - it exaggerates shapes and uses it to communicate personalities, emotions and action super effectively and taught me a lot about utilizing those more efficiently myself :D

And last but not least Ishida Sui - the mangaka behind Tokyo Ghoul (which used to be a highschool obsession of mine)

His striking use of colors, textures in abstract, yet symbolically heavy ways and his courage to be rough and expressive rather than looking polished, yet also having such a solid understanding of realism blew me the fuck away as a teen and still does now!!!

His art may have less of an influence on my style today than it used to back then, but I think in my more exagerrated, more horror-esque drawings you can kind of see it still :'D Either way I greatly admire him as both a writer and artist.

-----

I'm genuinely so so flattered that you enjoy what I do enough to give me such high praise, thank you so much for writing me such a wonderful ask <3 I'm glad I got to gush about some of my favorite artists/artstyles for a bit haha

If you have any more specific (digital) art related questions don't hesitate to reach out!! I love giving pointers about a subject I'm so passionate about, we don't gatekeep helpful information in this house!!! <3<3<3

#chubs answers #charlastor fankid #chubs ocs #dawn morningstar #art inspiration #art tips

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beanibon · 1 year

Text

Bottom!98Knives x DomAFAB!Reader

Part Two

Summary: you have endured Knives countless abusive speeches ever since Vash convinced you to babysit his brother while he ran errands in the town. Eventually it became too much, to the point you had to put your mutt in place.

warning: this fic is an absolute kinkfest, I apologise. Also heavily Trimax implied (mostly anatomy wise not actual spoilers).

TW: oral (F!receiving), face-riding, overstimulation, pegging, hate sex, inexperienced sex, fake orgasm (gotta humble knives somehow), cockwarming, creampie, sex toys, bondage, gagging, degradation, choking.

Another bitter lecture on why humans were an insufferable species, those words filled with venom that bounced off your slouched shoulders. Head already pounding with a headache, you had regretted agreeing to watch Vash's spiteful twin, bearing his verbal abuse on what appeared to be a daily basis now.

Yet despite those words spat your way, like you were the very reason of his hatred for humankind, Knives still found himself begrudging spooning your smaller form. The only issue with that was you were still subjected to his rants, until they were all that filled your dreams, dreams that use to be full of nothing but pure happiness.

"Incompetent species your kind are, useless and disgusting to gaze upon. Your very existence plagues this world, may you all burn one day." You rolled your eyes, yet kept silent about how his actions contradicted his words. The arm slung lazily over your waist as your back was pressed uncomfortably into his chest, his aura suffocating.

"Do you ever shut up, I'm trying to sleep and you're grating voice is causing my ears to bleed." You sighed, voice bitter as Knives squeezed your waist.

"You dare speak to me in such a tone? I will make sure you regret every word spok-"

"You piss me off," Knives' taller form was now beneath you, the rage on his face obvious from your position a top of him. "Acting high and mighty, but then crawling into my bed like a bitch in heat. You're fooling no one bar yourself."

Knives looked furious, teetering on the edge of rage if you persisted your outburst. He was furious, until the moment you tore that silk nightgown from your body.

"Someone ought to put you in your place," You hissed, fingers embedding themselves into his platinum blonde hair, pulling at tuffs until his face collided with your cunt. As your weight sunk onto him, squashing his face underneath you and the pillow he rested upon previously. "I know you don't require sleep, that's one positive we now have all night to make sure you're returned to your brother a dumbafied mess."

The growl against your clit had your thighs shaking, suffocating Knives between them. When he made no move to advance in your pleasure you took it upon yourself, grinding your hips against his contorted face. Chasing your high as Knives clawed at your body, mind indecisive as whether to stop you or indulge you.

It took a few minutes until you felt something wet slot its way inside your folds, lips suckling at your intimate flesh. Knives had decided to indulge your humanly needs, hands gripping your ass, a need to dominate even in this particular predicament. But he'd soon find out you had no intention of allowing him an inch power, stamping out that idea like embering flames.

You greatly despised the hands holding your waist, dragging you along his awaiting mouth. None but impressed, you raised your hips to break away from his reciprocation, bile in your throat as he slammed you back down hungrily. So you let him have his fun, manipulating him to believe he had the upper hand, that he was the one bringing you unrelented pleasure as you moaned sweetly.

In reality it was painfully obvious that Knives had no idea what he was doing, having never touched or seen a woman's body. His hungry lapping was sloppy, unsure of what to focus on, sure his teasing suckling against your flaps had you keening enthusiastically but that's where it stopped. Forcing you to press your neglected clit sharply against his nose, grinding against it to offer some relief. Knives may not have been pleased with this, but it didn't matter, soon he'd be finding out just how 'in control' the fucker truly was.

Once it hit the ten minute mark you knew you weren't going to orgasm any time soon, and as embarrassing it was you didn't have a choice to stop this unpleasant mouthing. Face red as you let out an loud moan, thighs clenching Knives face as you faked an orgasm, quick to remove yourself as your eyes glared at the man smirking at you. God he looked like an idiot, and how you desperately wanted to make him whimper like one.

"You humans are such simple creatures, chasing your disgusting pleasure highs and here you are calling me a bitch in heat, when you so beautifully cum." You wanted to gag, perhaps even admit you faked it to get him to stop embarrassing himself.

Without so much as a single word you got up, crouching down to grab a locked crate from underneath your bed. Knives watched with a quirked brow, sitting up as he crossed his legs, amusement in the form of sly smirk.

"Giving me the silent treatment? You truly are petty," Unknown objects were beginning to line up on the bed's edge, Knives frowning at them in confusion. "What are these?"

"You'll know soon enough, but this bitch in heat wishes for you to properly fuck her, think your Lordship could treat me with his cock?" Your voice was laced with something, malice? No, that couldn't be it.

Knives smirked, chuckling as fingers propped your delicate face to look at him. "Who am I to deny my sweet human bitch?"

The room was filled with desperate pleas, moans soon muffled harshly by the ball gag slammed against teeth. Nails dug into the sheets, clawing frantically to try and escape.

Knives felt his drool pool around the ball gag, tears filled his blue eyes as he whimpered, jolting at another harsh smack to his ass.

"I don't know whether to be disgusted or amused that you're getting off to this," That silky voice, belonging to the only devil present in the room as you smiled wickedly down at his form, running the whip teasingly along his cock. "Next time, don't test my patience."

Another snap of the whip, Knives crying against the plastic gag, trying to crawl away from your sexual torture. Only you brought him cruelling back, pulling him arms back as you clicked a pair of pink, fluffy cuffs around his wrists.

Laughter made Knives shiver, eyes wide and filled with fear as you leaned against his arched back, fingers pressed delicately against his rim. "Good thing you've already cummed for me three times, otherwise this wouldn't be as enjoyable. For you at least." The way Knives tensed had you giggling, shoving his face into the pillow as you angled the strap on against his prepared hole.

You could hear the frantic pleas from the man, muffled as he begged for you to stop. Except they only acted to urge you on, slamming your hips into his anus, earning a high pitched moan from the usual calculated and cruel twin. Satisfaction at having turned him into a drooling, moaning mess beneath you as you pounded into him at ruthless pace.

Knives with eyes full of beautiful, bliss out tears, looked back at you, not having the strength to muster even a glare as you winked at him. He wanted to curse you, strangle you for withering him to a submissive being completely at your mercy. Yet despite it all, Knives couldn't help but find some pleasure at how you had him drooling a muffled version of your name at each thrust against his prostate.

"You likin it? What a filthy excuse of a creature, indulging in such a disgusting act of self pleasure." Your words reflected his own, cruel and condescending. Those deceitful fingers drawing lines along his spine, causing his back to arch against the touch.

Leaning against his back, breasts dug into shoulders as your teeth nibbled at his ears. Laboured breathing sounded heavenly, eyes rolled into his skull as he covered the sheets beneath you two in bioluminescent cum.

"Such a filthy whore."

"Please....no more...I can't."

"You can't? I thought you were a superior being, stronger than any mere mortal that walked this hellscape?" Knives whimpered, hiding his tears has you dragged your hips excruciatingly slow along his pelvis.

Hands placed against his chest, fingers pinching his nipples as you stilled, appreciating how his cock twitched against your cervix. You had to admit that Knives looks angelic beneath you, the feathers sprouting at random an added extra as he struggled to keep eye contact.

"You've satiated your desires, please you can't need anymore." Knives hated begging, but what else was he to do when it came to appeasing the succubus milking him until he was dry.

"My sweet Knives, you should know by now," You leaned forward, pulling the collar tighter around his throat untilheet out strangled cough. "I'm insatiable."

Knives could no longer see straight, cum dribbling endlessly from his throbbing cock, encased in your hands as you pumped the fleshlight up and down along his shaft. His mouth was wrapped around one of your nipples, not like he noticed at this point, numb to overstimulation.

A stuttering cry sounded from the blonde, releasing your nipple at the pain of coming again, fresh tears staining his feather covered cheeks. Those soft, silk like feathers encased your body, their touch gentle against your skin.

Collapsing against your chest, face buried between those warm pillows as he sobbed. Incoherent word vomit spilled from his bruised, drool coated lips. Shivering at the way you giggled, finally freeing his flaccid cock from the textured fleshlight.

Taking the collar off his neck, smiling proudly as Knives sucked in much needed air, thankful to be able to breath properly. You moved him to the side, his body limp as you circled his cock with a finger, watching it stand yet again in painful anticipation. Knives whimpered, wondering what other cruel torture you had in mind, no longer surprised at your insatiable desires.

"Still wanting more? My, my, my how adorable you are my sweet slut." Your voice was no longer cruel, you may have whipped his ass raw, choked the air from his lungs and fucked him into another dimension, but you no longer had that malicious undertone. Instead opting to sweetly degrade him, praising him for how he came for you over and over again, getting hard after each touch to his cock.

Legs hoisted over his head, Knives tried to focus on what you were doing, panting as he felt something enter him again. It was large, not to mention unnaturally wide as he grunted at the intrusive toy. What had his body convulse and contort with pain and pleasure was the intense vibrations against his prostate, drawn out whines filling the small room yet again as his legs rested against your shoulders.

"Good boy, now he can't forgot that gorgeous cock of yours." Something snapped against his tip, the small band squeezing the head of his pulsating dick. "Just to make sure you last as long as possible, don't want you coming too soon, especially now that you're on the verge of breaking."

You re-inserted his cock into the fleshlight, only this time pressing a few buttons on the side, intense vibrations causing Knives hips to buck up, back arching. You flipped him over, laying on your back as you wrapped your legs around Knives face.

"Now eat me out properly this time, I want to cover that face in my cum, mark you as my personal whore." You cooed, fisting tufts on his hair as grinded his face against your dripping cunt.

This time Knives knew what to do, mustering enough energy to suck and lick your clit. His actions were slow, sluggish as the smallest of movements were agonisingly painful to perform. Releasing your clit, Knives began lapping at your pussy, pressing a shaking thumb against your bud of nerves.

Moans spilled from those cruel lips, along with praises and mocking coos. Yet despite the way you mocked him, Knives couldn't help swelling with exhausted pride at finally pleasing you, hoping this torture would now end.

And thankfully it did, the moment you crushed his head between your quivering thighs, gushing over Knives fucked out face, you halted the devices vibrations. Freeing his abused cock and anus from their toys, Knives collapsed wings wrapping themselves around his body as if to protect himself from your satiated lust.

Gentle hands brushed themselves along those wings, weight sat upon his back as he caught his breath. Knives prayed to whatever holy being that you had had enough, eyes drooping at the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. Arms encased his feathery form, your warm body pressed against his back as kisses were placed along any exposed patch of skin. Humming filled his ears, drifting him into a much needed sleep.

"Heya Y/N! Hope Knives behaved last night, so sorry about leaving you with him again." Vash, finally back from whatever errand he was running, stood awkwardly at your door.

A smile tugged at your lips, cruel and devilish. The look had Vash confused as you stepped aside to let him in, leading him to the living room.

There, collapsed and sprawled out on soft, velvet couch was his sore, strained twin brother, face contorted as the discomfort of moving had him remain in place. Not even Vash's gentle greeting stirred Knives, who was still covered in last nights sins, too exhausted to even make it to the shower.

"Is he okay?" Vash asked quietly, noticing the many tear stains on Knives cheeks.

"Oh he's fine," You waved off Vash's concern, pouring warm water into a mug. "He was very well behaved last night, the most obedient he's ever been actually!"

Wings sprouted from Knives instantly, startling the younger twin. Knives face was bright red, hidden by the pillow that covered his face as the feathers quivered in excitement at the praise. His body reacting eagerly as if you'd take him then and there, disregarding his stupid brother's presence.

"You might have to carry him home though, he's exhausted from helping me move some furniture around." You lied, sliding some freshly made tea towards the Humanoid Typhoon, blowing to cool your own drink.

"But everything looks the same? What furniture did you move?" Vash asked innocently, warming his hand on the mug.

You quirked a brow at Knives, catching his gaze sent a shiver along his spine. "Just rearranged a few things in my room."

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