#the story is about personal responsibility

[leejenowrld]

after all this time?

word count — 8.2k

genre — smut, fluff 

synopsis — you run into jeno, your ex, at a college party. despite a tough breakup, the spark between you never faded. after a night of reconnecting and reigniting, you realize some feelings are too deep to ever truly go away.

warnings — explicit sexual content, explicit language and swearing, sexual themes, intense emotional scenes, reconciliations and reunions, don’t expect unnecessary and forced angst, this is a story of two emotionally mature and intelligent lovers, communication communication!!,  oral sex, unprotected sex (stay safe!!), intense smut scenes with themes of dominance and submission, scenes depicting emotional vulnerability and deep angst, themes of unhealed emotional wounds and confrontations, mentions of past relationship trauma and heartbreak, hea!! 

“After all this time, you still love me?” you whisper, your gaze intently searching his for confirmation.

He nods, his response quick and unwavering, infused with a depth of sincerity that leaves no room for doubt. “After all this time,” he affirms softly.

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The muffled thump of music grew louder as you and Yeji approached the house, the bass reverberating through the cool night air. It was your first night on campus, and the idea of starting over had already filled you with enough nervous energy to last a lifetime. Transferring halfway through your academic course wasn’t something you’d planned, but circumstances had changed, and now, so had you. 

Your arms were interlocked with Yeji’s, her presence steady and reassuring. You shot her a thankful smile, feeling a rush of gratitude wash over you. You hadn’t expected to make friends so quickly, especially on your first day, but Yeji had greeted you with a warmth that immediately put you at ease. Her bright, welcoming smile and easygoing attitude made the transition less daunting, and now, with her by your side, you felt like maybe—just maybe—things would be okay.

As you glanced around, the neighborhood was bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, the shadows of swaying trees flickering against the sidewalks. The crispness of the autumn night lingered in the air, a reminder that you were stepping into a new chapter of your life. A party wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined spending your first night, but Yeji had insisted. 

“You’ll get to know people this way,” she’d said, her voice light and encouraging. And now, despite your doubts, here you were, standing outside a house that seemed to pulse with life from within.

The house itself was large, the kind of place that screamed "party central" the moment you laid eyes on it. Soft, colorful lights spilled from the windows, casting a warm, inviting glow across the front yard. You could see silhouettes moving behind the windows, the faint murmur of laughter and conversation blending with the steady beat of the music. It looked like one of those classic college parties you’d only seen in movies—people standing in clusters, drinks in hand, and a general air of excitement buzzing through the night.

You adjusted the strap of your dress nervously, feeling the weight of the newness pressing down on your shoulders. A party had never really been your scene, especially not on the first night in an unfamiliar place, but something about this moment felt different. You weren’t the same person who avoided stepping out of her comfort zone. You were here now, and you wanted to make the most of it.

“Ready?” Yeji’s voice broke through your thoughts, her eyes shining with anticipation as she glanced over at you. Her energy was infectious, and you found yourself nodding, despite the tight knot of anxiety still sitting in your chest.

You took a deep breath, letting the sounds of the night fill your senses—the distant hum of cars passing, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the faint echo of laughter from the house. It was all part of this new world you were stepping into, and for the first time in a long time, you felt the stirrings of excitement mingling with your nerves.

“Let’s do this,” you said, your voice more confident than you felt.

As the two of you made your way toward the front door, you could feel the energy of the party radiating outward. The door opened, and a wave of warmth hit you, both from the inside heat and the buzz of life within. The soft glow of string lights hanging from the ceiling gave the place a laid-back, cozy atmosphere, contrasting with the thrumming music that vibrated through the walls.

Inside, the house was packed. People filled every available space—some lounging on couches, drinks in hand, others gathered in small groups, laughing and talking. The smell of something sweet and a little smoky hung in the air, and the chatter mixed with the pulse of the music, creating a kind of chaotic harmony. You scanned the room, taking it all in—the casual, carefree smiles of people you didn’t know yet, the flash of colorful cups clinking together, and the low, heady buzz of excitement that seemed to swirl through the crowd.

Yeji led you through the throng, her hand still hooked around your arm as she navigated the party with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. She moved with confidence, offering smiles and waves to people she knew as she guided you through the maze of bodies, all the while keeping a reassuring presence by your side.

You couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, like you were watching everything unfold from the outside. The laughter, the easy conversations, the way people moved around each other like they belonged—it all felt like a world you hadn’t quite stepped into yet. But being here, surrounded by this energy, made you want to dive in, to be part of it.

“This is it,” Yeji said, smiling as she pulled you to a stop near the kitchen, where a makeshift bar had been set up. Bottles of every kind of alcohol lined the counters, and a few people were mixing drinks with practiced ease. “What do you think?”

You glanced around, feeling the pulse of the party in your bones, the music reverberating through the floor beneath your feet. “It’s… a lot,” you admitted with a laugh, feeling the tension in your chest start to loosen just a little. “But it’s good.”

Yeji grinned, squeezing your arm. “That’s the spirit. Let’s grab a drink and have some fun.”

You nodded, taking another deep breath as you let yourself be pulled into the flow of the night. The unfamiliar faces, the hum of excitement, the newness of it all—it didn’t feel quite as overwhelming anymore. You were here, in this moment, and maybe, just maybe, it was exactly where you were meant to be.

“Who’s house party is this?” you ask, glancing around. The question lingers in the air for a moment as Yeji opens her mouth to answer, but before she can, you bump headfirst into someone’s chest, your momentum nearly knocking his drink out of his hand.

You stumble slightly, your hands flying up in reflex to steady yourself. His chest is firm—hard, even—and your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you take a step back, wide-eyed. You open your mouth to apologize, but the words get stuck in your throat when you look up.

At first, his expression is one of annoyance, his brow furrowed as he glances down at you. But then his eyes meet yours, and everything shifts. His features soften, and time seems to slow down, the noise of the party fading into the background as the two of you stare at each other, frozen in place. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in every detail, and you can see the moment recognition dawns in his eyes.

“Jeno,” you breathe, the name slipping from your lips effortlessly, almost as if your body had been waiting for this moment. You blink, half-convinced that this is some sort of dream—because how could it be real? How could he be here, after all this time?

Yeji starts to speak again, her voice cutting through the haze of disbelief. “Yeah, it’s his party—” She trails off when she notices the way you and Jeno are looking at each other, the sexual energy that seems to hang in the air between you two. It’s like the entire room has disappeared, and suddenly, it’s just the two of you standing there, unmoving, locked in a silent conversation only you can understand.

People around you begin to grumble, nudging and pushing past as you both stand still, blocking the hallway. Someone mutters something about moving, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All that matters is the person standing in front of you, the one you hadn’t expected to see, let alone here, in this place.

“Y/N.” His voice is deeper now, more grounded, and the sound of your name on his lips sends a shiver down your spine. It’s familiar, yet distant—like hearing a song you used to love, but haven’t listened to in years.

You swallow hard, taking him in, trying to make sense of how much he’s changed. The teenage boy you once knew has grown into a man, his features sharper, more mature. His jawline is strong and defined, the once soft angles of his face now chiseled. His hair, slightly tousled in a way that looks effortlessly perfect, falls into his eyes, which are darker and more intense than you remember. There’s a confidence in the way he holds himself now, his broad shoulders filling out the leather jacket that clings to him like a second skin. He’s beautiful, in the way that takes your breath away, but there’s something different about him too—something distant.

You can’t help but smile at him, though your heart hammers in your chest, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. Joy, disbelief, and something deeper—something painful. But that smile falters when you see the way he returns it: tight-lipped, almost forced. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and the realization stings, sending a pang of guilt through your chest.

You frown, the weight of your last interaction with him crashing down on you. All those years ago—the tears, the screaming, the painful goodbye. You can still feel the heartbreak in your bones, the ache that never fully went away. It’s all rushing back to you now, as if no time has passed at all.

He looks at you, and for a moment, it’s like he can see straight through you. Every memory, every feeling, every regret. You gulp, your heart heavy with the confusion of seeing him here, after all these years, in a place where you’d least expect to run into him.

You’re overthinking—your mind spiraling through everything that went wrong, how things ended between you two. The guilt gnaws at you, but at the same time, there’s a flicker of something else. A warmth, a quiet happiness in your chest that he’s here. Out of all the people, out of all the chances, it’s him. It’s confusing, overwhelming, and it makes your head spin.

Love was never simple. And seeing Jeno again, after all this time, only reminds you of how complicated it can really be.

“Come here,” Jeno says softly, his voice a gentle command that cuts through the haze of noise around you. His eyes search yours with an intensity that sends a warmth rushing through your chest, and when he notices the flicker of uncertainty in your expression, his gaze softens. He always did think your smile was the prettiest, and now he just wants to see it again.

You hesitate for only a second before moving toward him, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as you step into his embrace. Your heart races, your body thrumming with nervous energy, but being in his arms feels like a release—like slipping into something warm and familiar. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, his grip firm but gentle, as though he’s afraid to let go. The feel of him against you is intoxicating—solid, warm, his body radiating a heat that makes your skin tingle. The scent of him, that blend of fresh soap and something uniquely Jeno, envelops you, making you feel safe, grounded.

Your arms slide up around his shoulders, pulling him closer, your fingertips grazing the back of his neck. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You bury your face in his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. It’s as if time has slowed down, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the party, the noise, the crowd. It’s just you and him, wrapped in this moment, in each other.

But all too soon, he pulls back, and the loss of his warmth hits you like a cold wind. You blink up at him, confused, your heart still pounding in your chest. And that’s when you notice it—the stares, the whispers. People around you are watching, their eyes filled with curiosity, judgment, and something darker that makes your skin crawl. It’s only now, without Jeno shielding you, that you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if the entire room is dissecting the moment you just shared.

You gulp, trying to shake off the unease, but it lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind. Why were they all staring? Why were there whispers? What had you done to deserve those mean eyes?

Before you can spiral further, Jeno’s hand reaches for your face, his fingers gently tilting your chin upward until your eyes meet his. The world seems to still again under the weight of his gaze. His eyes are soft, filled with understanding, and without a word, he tells you everything you need to know—focus on me, not them.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low, sultry, yet threaded with that same kindness and softness you remember so well. His arms find their way back around your waist, pulling you close once more. The feel of him pressed against you again sends a wave of calm through your body, making you forget about all the eyes still watching.

You clear your throat, trying to gather your thoughts. “Oh, I made a new friend, and she brought me to this party. She kinda dragged me along, she’s over there—” you ramble, gesturing vaguely in Yeji’s direction.

“I meant… what are you doing here? In Seoul?” he cuts you off, his gaze steady as he searches your face for the real answer.

“Oh—” you stammer, blinking in surprise. “I transferred to this campus today.”

Jeno’s lips quirk into a small smile. “I’m a student here too.”

You nod, the realization slowly sinking in. “Did you end up doing engineering?” you ask, your voice soft, almost tentative. You fight the urge to reach up and run your fingers through his hair—it was always so soft, so tempting.

He nods, holding back a grin. “Yeah. And you?”

“Journalism,” you reply, your words barely above a whisper, your gaze never leaving his.

“I knew it,” he says, his smile widening as if he’s always known that was your path.

The air between you hums with something unspoken, something simmering just beneath the surface. You suddenly become aware that his arms are still around your waist, holding you close, and the weight of his touch makes your pulse quicken. His body is pressed against yours, so close that you can feel the heat of him radiating through your clothes. Without hesitation, you slide your arms up around his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Jeno hums softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he looks down at you. His eyes are darker now, filled with something you can’t quite place. His hands move slowly, trailing up and down your spine, the light touch sending shivers across your skin. He never lets his hands go lower, even though part of you wishes he would.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice low and intimate, his gaze never wavering from yours. The words hang in the air between you, thick with meaning, and you can feel your heart stutter in response.

You don’t trust your voice to respond, so you just smile up at him, the warmth of his words seeping into your skin, making you feel seen, understood, and undeniably desired.

You swallow, the heat between you nearly overwhelming, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip from your lips. “Do you wanna go somewhere more private?” Your voice is a little shaky, but the meaning is clear. “We have a lot to catch up on, and this party is kinda dead, anyway.”

Jeno’s eyes widen slightly, and then he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “This is my party,” he reminds you, his lips quirking into a teasing smile.

“Oh,” you mumble, feeling a little sheepish. “Right…”

You feel your cheeks warm under his gaze, and you mumble, “Well, you haven’t been partying.”

He shakes his head with a soft laugh, then leans down, his voice barely a whisper. “Come with me.”

He pulls back just enough to slip his hand into yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you. The second his arms leave your waist, you feel the absence of his presence, but then his hand squeezes yours, and he gently pulls you through the crowd, guiding you with purpose. The whispers and stares fade into the background as you follow him, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Jeno leads you down a hallway, away from the thrum of the party, and finally into his room. It’s a simple space, neat but lived-in. A TV is mounted  against the wall next to a desk cluttered with papers and books, and his bed is neatly made, the navy blue sheets crisp against the low lighting. The room smells faintly of him—clean, comforting, with a hint of something warm and masculine. He lets you step in first, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

As soon as the door clicks shut, you’re on him, and he’s on you—there’s no hesitation, no space left between you. Your lips collide with his in a heated, desperate kiss, as if neither of you can wait a second longer. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist with a hunger that makes your knees weak, pulling you so close you can barely breathe, not that you care.

You can feel his need, the urgency in the way his fingers dig into your skin, in the way his lips devour yours like he’s been starving for this moment. Your hands are tangled in his shirt, yanking him closer, matching his intensity. Tongues meet in a fevered rhythm, gasps escaping between kisses, the room thick with the heat building between you.

Without thinking, you jump into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist as he steadies you with a low grunt, his strength evident in the way he holds you so effortlessly. He fumbles for the light switch, turning it off, and the room is instantly bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candles—ones he had lit earlier. The dim light casts shadows across the room, making the moment feel even more intimate, more romantic.

With one hand, he locks the door behind you then with a gentleness that contrasts with the fire burning between you, he carries you over to the bed, lowering you carefully onto the soft sheets. His gaze never leaves yours, full of so much longing and adoration it makes your breath catch. For a moment, he just stares down at you, as though memorizing every detail, every inch of you.

Then he’s on you again, pulling you into his lap, his hands roaming your back as your lips crash together once more. This time it’s even more desperate, the tension between you palpable as soft moans escape both your lips, mingling in the heated air. His hands move up your spine, gently tugging at your clothes, and you respond in kind, your fingers working to undo his shirt, your skin buzzing with anticipation.

You grind down against him, feeling how hard he already is beneath you, and he groans, his grip tightening on your waist. The heat between you is overwhelming, the connection almost too much to bear, but in the back of your mind, something lingers—something you need to say.

You pull back, your lips parting from his with a soft gasp, and he groans again, clearly frustrated by the sudden distance. His brow furrows as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, his desire for you unmistakable. “We can have sex after…” you whisper, your voice soft but insistent as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, hoping he understands. “I just want to talk to you now.”

He exhales, the tension in his body easing slightly as he nods, offering you a patient, if slightly strained, smile. He hums softly, his hand still resting gently on your waist, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he nods, silently encouraging you to go ahead and speak.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, the words barely above a whisper, but the heaviness of them palpable in the quiet room.

He watches you closely, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression soft but serious. The warmth of his body next to yours is comforting, yet the guilt gnaws at you from the inside out.

“I’m sorry for leaving the way I did... leaving us the way I did,” you continue, your voice catching. “I’m so fucking sorry, Jeno. I know it’s too many years too late, but please believe me when I say I wish I could go back. I wish I could’ve stayed with you all these years. I’d go back, and I’d choose you—every single time.”

You try to hold it together, but when you see a single tear escape from his eye, your own walls crumble. The tears spill over, unbidden and uncontrollable. Your hands tremble as you reach up to cup his face, your thumb gently brushing away the tear that trails down his cheek.

“I love you so much,” you choke out. “I always have, and I always will. I’ve never stopped loving you, Jeno. The biggest mistake of my life was leaving you, and that will always haunt me. I’ll always regret it. I’ll always hate myself for what I did to us, to you.”

His lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but you continue, needing to let it all out, needing him to understand.

“I didn’t want to leave you. It was the hardest decision of my life and one I wish I never made. Japan wasn’t worth it... I hated every second. I missed you every single day. I didn’t even realize how much I missed you, how much I needed you, until today.”

The vulnerability of your words hangs in the air between you, raw and exposed. The years of separation suddenly feel like nothing as you bare your soul to him. Jeno had always been the one you could unravel yourself for, the one who knew every emotion, every thought, even when you tried to hide it. It was strange to realize that after all this time—after all the changes life had thrown at you—your feelings for him were unchanged, as deep and intense as ever.

He sends you a tight-lipped smile, one of understanding, and gently wipes away your tears with the pad of his thumb before leaning in and kissing your forehead softly, the tenderness of the gesture almost breaking you all over again.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his voice low and calm. “You don’t need to apologize to me. At the time, I was hurt, but I knew you had your reasons. We were so young. I never held anything against you all these years. I’ve always been proud of you. No one deserved that opportunity in Japan more than you. I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way you wanted. But Y/N, it’s been so long, I don’t feel the same pain as I did when you left. I accept your apology though.”

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, a heavy weight lifting from your chest, though the tears still threaten to spill over. “You were always so understanding and supportive,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion.

He smiles, that familiar, kind smile that always made you feel safe. “It’s not hard to be when it’s you.”

You exhale shakily, still reeling from the intensity of the moment. “I’ve been imagining this for years, you know. Finding my way back to you, having this conversation, figuring out what I’d say to make things right. I’ve never forgotten you, Jeno. Not once. I didn’t think I’d see you tonight... but it feels good, it feels like nothing changed, even though I know everything has.”

His eyes soften as he listens, his hand still resting on your cheek, grounding you in the moment. But there’s a question hanging in the air, one that you know he has to ask.

“Why didn’t you contact me again?” he finally says, his voice gentle, not accusatory, but filled with genuine curiosity. “You had me blocked on everything. I tried to reach out, but I couldn’t.”

You lower your gaze, shame creeping up on you, and you bite your lip. “I didn’t have you blocked at first,” you admit quietly. “But after how I left things, after that massive fight we had... I didn’t think I deserved to be in your life anymore. I felt so guilty, Jeno. I didn’t think I deserved you, so I blocked you to stop myself from calling, from telling you how much I regretted it.”

He nods slowly, processing your words. “So why now? Why did you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Time has gone on, and a lot has changed. I’ve grown up, and I’m not losing you again.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, softening the lines of tension that had been there moments before. “So you always imagined coming back to me?” he repeats, echoing your earlier words with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You smile through the tears that still linger in your eyes. “I always knew I’d find my way back to you.”

Jeno's grin widens, and without warning his lips capture yours again, but this time there’s a deliberate, slower intensity behind the kiss. His hands glide up to cradle your face, fingers strong yet gentle, as he guides you back onto the bed. His weight presses softly against you, but his touch remains light, controlled, like he’s savoring every second.

He leans down, his lips tracing a path over your skin, brushing across your forehead, your cheekbones, down to your jaw. Each kiss is unhurried, but there’s a quiet hunger in the way his lips linger, in the way his breath comes hot against your skin. He knows how to take his time, but there’s an underlying sense of control, a restraint that makes every touch more electric.

His hands move lower, fingertips grazing over your hips, sending shivers through you. His lips follow, trailing from your neck, down over your collarbone. His touch is confident, exploring your body with a slow, deliberate pace, like he’s memorizing every inch. There’s a heat between you, building with each press of his lips, each pass of his hand, as he continues his slow descent.

He gazes at you with a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine, his eyes dark and filled with desire. Gently, he guides you onto the soft sheets, his hands never leaving your body. As he kneels between your thighs, his fingertips trail lightly along your skin, igniting sparks wherever he touches. The anticipation builds as he lowers himself, his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive areas.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs, his voice husky. He places tender kisses along your inner thighs, each one drawing a soft gasp from your lips. His eyes flick up to meet yours, a mischievous glint dancing within them before he continues his journey.

When his mouth finally reaches your core, he starts with a gentle, lingering kiss, his lips soft against you. A sigh escapes you, and your fingers instinctively weave into his hair, the silky strands slipping between your fingers as you hold him close. He smiles against you, clearly enjoying the way you respond to his touch.

He begins to explore with his tongue, starting with slow, deliberate strokes that make your breath hitch. He licks a teasing line from bottom to top, savoring every moment. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. He nips lightly, his teeth grazing just enough to add an edge to the softness, then soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Jeno,” you moan softly, your voice trembling. He responds by gripping your hips firmly, pulling you closer to his eager mouth. His movements become more passionate, his tongue circling and flicking in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. The heat between you intensifies, every nerve ending alive under his attentive care.

He sucks gently at first, creating a delicious pressure that builds with each passing second. Then he increases the intensity, drawing you deeper into a haze of sensation. The wet warmth of his mouth contrasts with the cool air of the room, heightening your awareness of every movement.

Your back arches off the bed as you feel yourself losing control. You tug at his hair, a silent plea for more, and he groans appreciatively, the sound vibrating against you and adding another layer of pleasure. His name falls from your lips like a mantra, each syllable filled with need.

He adjusts his approach based on the shifts in your breathing, the tilts of your hips guiding him. One hand remains firmly on your lower abdomen, pressing just enough to enhance the sensations rippling through you while he releases his other hand from your hip to entwine his fingers with yours, his grip is reassuring yet possessive. Holding your gaze, he spits softly, the unexpected act intensifying the slickness and sending a thrill through you. “You taste so good,” he whispers against you before diving back in with renewed fervor.

His tongue moves expertly, finding the perfect rhythm and pressure to push you toward the edge. The combination of his mouth and the subtle squeeze of his hand around yours creates a connection that feels both electric and intimate. The sounds filling the room—the soft slurping, his occasional groans, your escalating moans—blend into a symphony of raw desire.

The tension within you coils tighter, a wave of heat building low in your belly. “Please… don’t stop,” you whisper, barely able to form the words. He answers by doubling his efforts, his tongue moving faster, more deliberately. He nips and sucks with just the right amount of pressure, his movements confident and unrelenting.

Your thighs tremble around him, and your grip on his hair tightens. The world narrows to the point where only this moment exists—the feel of his mouth, the warmth of his breath, the intense gaze that holds you captive.

With one final, perfectly placed stroke, the wave crests. Pleasure crashes over you in powerful surges, your body shuddering as you cry out his name. He doesn’t let up, guiding you through the climax with gentle licks and kisses, prolonging the bliss until you’re left utterly spent.

As you sink back into the softness of the pillows, your breathing is heavy, your body still trembling from the waves of pleasure. Jeno doesn’t pause; he continues his gentle ministrations, planting soft, deliberate kisses up your inner thigh. Each kiss sends a shiver up your spine, a lingering promise of more to come. When he finally meets your lips, the kiss is deep and deliberate, letting you taste your own arousal on him, mingling it with his desire.

A soft whine escapes you as you feel the hard press of his erection against you. It’s not just the contact but the intent behind it that makes your heart race—a palpable reminder of your shared hunger. You reach down, your fingers encircling his length, and the contact pulls a guttural moan from deep within you. He’s slick with anticipation, his size as formidable as ever. As your hand glides along him, you’re reminded of the first times—those initial encounters where his size was an exhilarating challenge. The memory of how he filled you completely, stretching you deliciously, flashes through your mind. Even the way he felt in your mouth, substantial and overwhelming, rushes back, tinting your cheeks with desire.

Jeno’s eyes darken with desire, locked onto your movements. His breath hitches as you explore, recalling the precise ways to stoke his arousal. As your hand moves, he suddenly grips it gently, stopping your motions. “Don’t baby, I won’t last,” he murmurs with a strained moan, his voice thick with lust. This interruption, laden with urgent need, sends a thrill through you, underscoring the intensity of the moment and the deep, carnal connection that continues to draw you irresistibly together.

He groans softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Do you have a condom?” Jeno asks, his voice tinged with a mix of urgency and desire.

You shake your head, feeling a flutter of nerves and longing swirling in your stomach. The dim light casts a soft glow over his familiar features, highlighting the depth in his eyes. “Jeno… I’m literally a virgin,” you whisper, your cheeks flushing slightly.

His brows raise, a playful disbelief dancing across his face. “No, you’re not. I took your virginity. Are you saying I never used fuck you good enough?”

You smile softly, running your fingers through his tousled hair, the silky strands slipping between your fingers. The familiar gesture brings a rush of memories—stolen glances, shared laughter, the way his touch used to set your skin on fire. “No, I’m saying you were the last person I had sex with,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s been a long time for me, so I don’t just carry around condoms.”

He blinks, surprise and a flicker of emotion crossing his gaze. “The last time we had sex was five years ago,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hip. “I know we used to have a lot of sex but that’s a long time.” He whispers. 

“It’s been six years,” you correct him softly. “I’ve not even wanted to fuck anyone else, I was never able to get over you even if I tried to move on.” 

He leans back slightly, eyes widening as realization dawns. “Wait, seriously?” His gaze softens, a mixture of surprise and something deeper reflecting in his eyes. “It’s only ever been me?”

You nod, a hint of vulnerability beneath your steady gaze. “Yes,” you admit quietly. “It’s always been you.” 

A slow, affectionate smile spreads across his face. “Well, that’s good to know,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your cheek. “Because I don’t want anyone else.”

He gazes deeply into your eyes, his breath warm against your lips. “Are you on the pill?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with a mix of desire and concern.

You shake your head slowly, feeling a potent mix of frustration and longing swirling within you. The heat between your bodies is almost unbearable, every inch of your skin alive with anticipation. “I want you,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “I want you to come inside me. Just fuck me, please.”

His eyes widen slightly, a storm of emotions flickering across his face—desire, hesitation, and something deeper. “Y/N… are you sure?” he asks, his tone serious as he cups your face gently in his hands. His thumbs brush lightly over your cheeks, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt.

“Yes,” you affirm, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “I need you. I’ll take the morning-after pill.”

He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Alright,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I need you too.”

As he enters you, it's as if the world narrows to just the two of you, every sensation amplified. The initial stretch is intense—a blend of sharp pleasure and a fleeting ache that steals your breath. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you adjust to him, the fullness both overwhelming and profoundly intimate. Tears well up in your eyes, not from pain, but from the cascade of emotions flooding through you. You never anticipated that this night would lead you here, wrapped in the arms of the man you've always loved. It feels right, destined—as if every moment in your lives had been guiding you back to this point.

"You're so tight," he whispers, his voice strained with a mix of restraint and desire. He moves slowly, each deliberate thrust gentle, allowing you time to acclimate to the depth of connection between you. His eyes never leave yours, filled with concern and an affection that makes your heart swell.

You blink up at him through blurred vision, feeling both vulnerable and cherished under his gaze. "So you forgive me? Do you still love me?" you ask softly, your voice tinged with hope and uncertainty.

His lips brush tenderly across your cheeks, kissing away the tears that have escaped. Each touch ignites a warm spark beneath your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I never stopped loving you," he murmurs, his words a soothing balm that eases the lingering doubts in your heart. The sincerity in his eyes reflects the depth of his feelings, making the moment all the more poignant.

As his movements begin to find a steady rhythm, the heat between you intensifies. The slow, sensual glide of his body against yours builds a mounting tension, each motion drawing you deeper into a shared world where only the two of you exist. Your fingers intertwine above your head, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he's anchoring himself to you. The intimacy of the gesture sends a flutter through your chest, solidifying the unspoken promises hanging in the air.

"Wait," you breathe out between soft gasps, “Can we go to mine? The bed isn't as big but I want to show you some things.” 

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating pleasantly against your skin. "Baby... I'm literally inside of you right now," he teases, disbelief and amusement mingling in his expression.

A laugh bubbles up from your lips, mingling with the quiet moans filling the room. "I know you are! I just meant after." you exclaim, a smile spreading across your face as a blush warms your cheeks.

“Wowww, I haven’t even finished fucking you in my bed and you’re already wanting me to fuck you in yours? So impatient, baby…” he tuts playfully, a teasing smirk dancing on his lips.

You pout, a playful glint in your eyes. “I just want to show you my room and the cute dresses and skirts I got.”

He coos softly, leaning in to press his lips against yours, the kiss warm and tender. He promises you that he’ll go to your place tonight and that you can show him everything you want, and that you’ll do whatever you have in mind.

His affectionate shake of the head softens his expression, a mix of amusement and adoration shining through. “You haven’t changed… still the yapper you always were.”

“Hey!” you protest lightly, squeezing his hand with a mock glare, though the laughter bubbling between you both erases any tension. The moment feels light, full of shared history and comfort, wrapping you in a warmth that feels both familiar and cherished.

His lips move to yours once again as he begins to move with purpose inside of you, each thrust deliberate and steady, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. The sensation of him filling you completely is both overwhelming and exquisite. Your bodies fit together seamlessly, as if molded for each other. His cock feels thick and warm inside you, the veins pulsing against your inner walls with every movement. The slickness between you eases his glide, intensifying the friction that draws soft moans from your parted lips.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. The angle shifts slightly, and he hits a spot that makes you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "God, you feel incredible," he groans, his voice strained with restraint. A sheen of sweat forms on his brow, and his dark hair falls messily over his eyes. You reach up to brush it aside, your fingers trembling as they trace the contours of his face.

"Jeno," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of skin meeting skin—the rhythmic slap that echoes in the room, punctuated by your shared breaths and quiet whimpers. The scent of desire hangs heavy in the air, a heady mix that makes your head spin.

He gazes down at you, eyes filled with a mix of lust and tenderness. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, leaning in to press kisses along your jawline, down the curve of your neck. His lips are warm and soft, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You arch your back, pressing your chest against his. The friction of your bodies sends sparks of electricity coursing through you. Your hands roam over his toned back, feeling the muscles tense and flex beneath your touch. Each thrust drives him deeper, the intensity building with every passing second.

The pleasure mounts, a coil tightening low in your belly. His pace quickens, hips snapping with a newfound urgency. The sounds of your passion grow louder—his low grunts mingling with your breathy moans. "I can't get enough of you," he growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder.

"Don't stop," you plead, your head thrown back as he hits that perfect spot again and again. The world blurs at the edges, your focus narrowing to the exquisite sensations he's drawing from you. You moan softly, your head tilting back as he kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck. “Right there,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a sigh.

“Like this?” he asks, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone carries a hint of teasing, but his eyes are filled with tenderness.

“Yes,” you reply, your fingers digging gently into his back as you encourage him to maintain the rhythm.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as he brings them above your head. The gesture is both protective and possessive, anchoring you to him. The intimacy of it sends a warm rush through your body.

“Look at me,” he whispers. You meet his gaze, losing yourself in the depths of his eyes. The connection between you transcends the physical; it’s as if your souls are touching.

He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure. His tongue dances with yours, the taste of him intoxicating. Your lungs burn for air, but you don't dare pull away, not wanting to break the connection.

Your bodies move in perfect harmony. The bed creaks beneath you, the sheets tangled around your entwined limbs. A thin layer of sweat slicks your skin, making every touch slippery and electrifying.

"I'm close," you gasp against his lips, your nails digging crescents into his back. The tension inside you winds tighter, threatening to snap.

"Me too," he groans, his rhythm becoming erratic. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as he pins it gently above your head. The gesture is possessive yet tender, grounding you in the moment.

You whine softly, tears welling in your eyes as you instinctively cover your face, overwhelmed by the pleasure. Each moan that escapes your lips is a testament to the intensity building within you. “Look at me,” he urges again, his gaze searching yours with a dark intensity that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. When you don’t move your hands, he gently pries them away, his voice low and sultry as he warns, “If you cover your face again, I’ll get handcuffs.” The threat hangs in the air, electrifying the moment and deepening the tension between you.

Your eyes meet his, locking in a gaze so profound it feels as though he’s seeing into your very soul. The stern edge in his expression softens abruptly, replaced by a tenderness that takes your breath away. His movements slow, each thrust becoming deliberate and filled with meaning.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, his voice rough with passion yet laced with vulnerability.

Your heart swells, the raw emotion in his eyes mirroring your own feelings. “I love you more,” you manage to reply, the words tumbling out amidst your mounting ecstasy.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, soulful kiss. The world around you fades as you melt into him, every sensation intensified—the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat, the way his breath mingles with yours.

With a final, deep thrust, the coil inside you releases. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your vision white-hot as you cry out his name. Your inner walls flutter and clench around him, pulling him deeper.

Feeling you come undone pushes him over the edge. He groans loudly, his grip on your hand tightening as he spills into you. The warmth of his release fills you, a intimate claim that leaves you both trembling.

He collapses gently onto you, careful not to crush you under his weight. His face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breaths hot and ragged against your skin. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart matching your own.

For a few moments, neither of you moves, both riding out the lingering pulses of pleasure. The room is filled with the sounds of your slowing breaths, the air heavy with the scent of sex and something deeper—reconnection.

He lifts his head to meet your gaze, a soft smile curving his swollen lips. His eyes shine with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness. Gently, he brushes a damp strand of hair away from your face.

He moves inside you with a relentless rhythm, drawing out until only the tip remains, then thrusting back in deeply. As he pulls out, the slick sound of your combined arousal fills the air, and the visual of his glistening arousal intensifies the raw, erotic nature of the moment. Your eyes flutter, heavy with the afterglow and impending exhaustion, but he’s quick to gently catch your attention.

“Don’t sleep now, remember you have to show me your apartment,” he says, his voice a tender nudge against the lure of sleep. You nod, half-heartedly, your body sinking deeper into the comfort of his bed and his arms, your eyes remaining firmly shut.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Sex always did use to knock you out,” he observes with a warm laugh. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispers, his hands coaxing you gently off the bed despite your protesting groan. He leads you into the bathroom where he runs a nice, warm bath. The steam fills the room as he carefully helps you into the tub, his care and attention washing over you as soothingly as the water itself.

That night, as effortlessly as slipping into a warm bath, he became your boyfriend again. It didn’t feel rushed or unnatural; rather, it was the most natural progression in the world. It was as if fate had steered you back to this exact moment, unwilling to let you waste more precious time apart. Despite the years, the foundation of your relationship remained unshaken; tonight, you simply continued building upon it, marveling at how natural it felt to be together, how much you both had grown.

Later, nestled against him, the vulnerability of your conversation mirrors the intimacy you’ve shared physically. “I still don’t understand why you forgave me so easily though,” you murmur, half-dazed by sleep and contentment.

Jeno’s response is tinged with the wisdom gained from years of reflection, “I was mad at first but then I calmed down. Being angry wouldn’t help either of us. Besides,” his voice softens, “there’s a reason you’re back here with me now. No point in wasting any more time.”

Your mind spins briefly with the image of him with someone else, but his next words reassure you, “You’ve been the only one for me. I never stopped loving you.”

You laugh, a soft, disbelieving snort, “And to think you’ve been the only man I’ve ever been with.”

He grins, the sound of his laughter mixing with yours in the quiet of the night. “And the only guy you’ve had sex with… I still can’t believe it.”

Your voice is playful, yet curious, “So how many girls have you been with other than me?”

Jeno's response is nonchalant, a casual shrug catching the dim light of the room, “Honestly, I don’t keep count.” His tone is dismissive of the past, focusing only on the present moment with you.

“Hey,” you interject gently, shifting the conversation as your eyes soften and your voice drops to a more vulnerable tone, which he immediately responds to with a comforting hum and an encouraging smile.

“After all this time, you still love me?” you whisper, your gaze intently searching his for confirmation. Despite the clear affection and warmth in his eyes—a testament to his feelings—doubt whispers through your mind, pushing you to seek reassurance.

He nods, his response quick and unwavering, infused with a depth of sincerity that leaves no room for doubt. “After all this time,” he affirms softly, his voice a steady anchor in the sea of your insecurities. His simple affirmation, laden with years of unspoken emotion and a steadfast commitment, resonates deeply, offering you a profound sense of peace and belonging. His eyes hold yours, reinforcing his words, a silent vow that despite everything, his heart has remained irrevocably yours.

──────────────────────────────

authors note — i know i’ve been really inactive, this work doubles as a sorry and a thank you for an amazing follower milestone i’ve just reached <3 mwah mwah enjoy. make sure you leave an interaction if you enjoyed it xx

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 8

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The next day, the headlines dominated the news:

"The Barnes Brothers' Hidden Scandal Exposed"

"Shawn Barnes: The Untouchable Elite Dodging Justice"

"Political Candidate’s Family Ties to Corruption Unveiled"

At the campaign headquarters, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The usual hum of activity was replaced by silence, only broken by the sound of phones ringing off the hook.

Steve stood near the table, crumpling a newspaper in his hands, frustration written all over his face. Bucky stood by the window, his posture rigid as he stared out into the distance, lost in thought.

Steve let out a heavy sigh, massaging his temples. "I didn’t expect they’d bring up Shawn at the debate."

Bucky turned slightly, his voice calm but carrying an edge. "You know Brock. He always hits below the belt, always makes it personal."

Steve glanced out at the campaign team, who were scrambling. The room beyond was a flurry of chaos: phones ringing non-stop, staff members anxiously typing responses, pacing as they fielded questions from the press, all trying to extinguish the flames of the scandal. Steve ran a hand through his hair as he watched, feeling the weight of the situation.

"The numbers are tanking," Steve muttered, his face grim. "After this, the public’s furious. Voters won’t back a candidate whose family used connections to dodge the law."

Bucky’s jaw tightened as Steve continued, "People hate it when those with power think they’re above punishment. That’s the real damage here. It’s not just about Shawn—it’s about what it represents."

The trend #CatchShawnBarnes was everywhere, climbing to the top spot on social media. The timing couldn’t have been worse. The firestorm had erupted, fueled by rumors and bots likely hired by Brock and Edgar’s teams, intensifying the outrage.

Bucky broke the silence with a quiet, "I’m sorry."

Steve looked at him, shaking his head. "Don’t be. This isn’t on you, Buck." His tone softened. "Besides, it’s not your fault."

Steve had known the Barnes family long enough to understand the full story. Shawn, the eldest son, always had an ego, fed by the wealth and privilege of his upbringing. With everything handed to him, he acted like the world owed him, seeing himself as untouchable.

In truth, it was Shawn who was supposed to enter politics. But unlike Bucky, he lacked the charisma and leadership qualities. Caroline, their mother, had long since given up hope on her eldest son, who had failed to live up to expectations.

Back then, Bucky had been a quiet presence, almost invisible in his own home. Caroline had never even heard his voice much, even though they lived under the same roof. But everything changed when Bucky entered law school. There, he shone.

He joined clubs, became student president, volunteered, organized demonstrations, and eventually graduated as valedictorian. Every trait of a leader was there, clear for everyone to see—especially Caroline. She shifted her attention to Bucky, molding him into the perfect candidate, ensuring he stayed on the path to success.

Shawn, once the golden child, watched as the spotlight shifted to his younger brother. The attention, the purpose he had once enjoyed, slipped away. He felt lost, purposeless. That’s when the spiral began. The drugs were his escape, his way of coping with the emptiness.

At first, it was subtle. But soon, it became public knowledge—Shawn Barnes was a cocaine addict. In an attempt to save face, Caroline and Julius sent him to rehab. But the real disaster struck when Shawn escaped, driving under the influence. That’s when the accident happened—the night he hit someone with his car.

Steve didn’t know the full details after that. What he did know was that Shawn had paid bail and was sent to another rehab, the entire incident hushed up. The Barnes family had buried the scandal deep, hoping it would never see the light of day.

But as Steve thought to himself, no matter how deep you bury something, eventually the stench of rot seeps through.

"I’ll fix this," Bucky said, his voice low but determined.

Steve raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "How, exactly?"

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The Barnes household felt colder than ever, the tension suffocating the room. Shawn sat in the corner, hunched over, hugging his knees. His fingernails were chewed down to the skin, his pale face etched with panic.

"Shit... shit..." he muttered under his breath, eyes darting around the room like a caged animal.

Across the room, Caroline and Julius were in a quiet panic. Caroline paced, wringing her hands, her face pale with fear. Julius stood by the window, his jaw clenched, staring out as if searching for answers that weren’t there.

You sat on the sofa, watching the unfolding chaos like a distant spectator. It was almost theatrical—the Barnes family, once so composed, unraveling before your eyes.

Just then, the door creaked open, and you turned to see Bucky walking in. His face was a mask of determination, his eyes dark and unreadable.

You rose from the sofa and approached him. Before you could speak, he cut you off with a low, firm voice. “I want you to stay out of sight. Away from the windows.”

You frowned but nodded, sensing the weight of his words. He brushed past you without another glance and made his way toward Shawn.

Shawn looked up at Bucky, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He seemed so small in front of his younger brother, almost shrinking under the weight of Bucky’s presence.

“Get up,” Bucky ordered, his voice hard. Without waiting for a response, he reached down and pulled Shawn to his feet.

Shawn stumbled but didn’t resist. He followed Bucky like a lost child.

“Where are you taking him?” Caroline’s voice trembled as she rushed forward to stop them, but Bucky didn’t break stride.

“What he should’ve done years ago,” Bucky answered coldly, dragging Shawn along.

Caroline hurried after them, her heels clicking against the floor. “Bucky, wait! What do you mean?”

Bucky led them outside, the sound of the door swinging open making Caroline stop in her tracks. She froze as her eyes widened in shock. There, right outside their home, were TV station cameras, police cars, and flashing lights.

Caroline’s heart pounded in her chest. “Bucky,” she hissed, her voice sharp with disbelief. “How could you do this? This is a public execution! You’re putting a guillotine to your own brother!”

Julius stepped forward, his voice tired but stern. “Son, is this really the only way?”

Bucky turned briefly to look at his parents, his expression cold. “We have to set an example.”

Caroline’s face twisted in fear, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Bucky, please... don’t do this.”

Before Bucky could respond, Shawn’s voice rang out, shaky but clear. “Stop!” he shouted.

Caroline flinched, her eyes locking with Shawn’s. His face was pale, but his eyes, for the first time in years, looked determined.

“Mother,” Shawn said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been free from jail, but there’s been a shackle on me ever since. Guilt has haunted me every day. I’ve been hiding, running, pretending it didn’t happen. But it did. And I need to face it.”

Bucky gave his brother a nod, and Shawn took a shaky breath before turning to him. “Let’s go.”

They walked toward the press together. Cameras flashed as Bucky led Shawn to the bouquet of microphones, the press shouting questions over one another. Shawn took a deep breath and stepped forward. His hands trembled as he gripped the podium.

“I made a mistake,” Shawn began, his voice cracking. “I was reckless... I hurt someone. I ran from it, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry—for what I did and for hiding it for so long.”

As the words left his mouth, you could see the weight of guilt lifting from his shoulders, though his face remained heavy with regret. He glanced at Bucky, who stood beside him, stoic but supportive. Bucky knew how much the accident haunted Shawn, how it had eaten him alive from the inside out.

After Shawn finished his confession, he stepped away from the podium and voluntarily walked toward the waiting police car. The press erupted with questions aimed at Bucky. One reporter shouted above the rest, “Why did you expose your own brother like this?”

Bucky met the reporter’s gaze, his voice steady and firm. “Because no one is above the law.”

As Shawn was driven away, Caroline stood frozen in the doorway, her face a mask of fury. She didn’t want to look at Bucky, not now, not after what he’d done. Julius said nothing, too exhausted to protest or intervene.

Once the commotion had died down, you walked up to Bucky, your voice low. “You don’t feel guilty? Sacrificing your own brother like that?”

Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "I'll do anything to get that position. It’s all for you too, babe." His voice was low, dangerous, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity in his gaze as his lips hovered just inches from your skin. The closeness sent a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something intoxicating in the way he said it, like a promise that left you both thrilled and unnerved.

You met his gaze, your pulse racing. "You’re crazy," you muttered, though the words felt weaker than you intended.

Without another word, you pulled away, leaving him standing there, the charge of the moment lingering long after you had gone.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next day you returned to the campaign headquarters, where the atmosphere was thick with tension.

So much had happened in the past 48 hours. The campaign team buzzed with a frenetic energy, fueled by the fallout from Shawn’s confession. Despite the chaos, there was a flicker of optimism; his admission had managed to regain some trust from the voters.

Yet, you could sense the undercurrent of anxiety. Everyone was on edge, aware that the storm wasn't over. Phone calls rang out, strategy meetings were called, and you could see the weight of the situation pressing down on each team member's shoulders. You felt a mix of relief and dread—relief that there was hope, but dread about what might come next.

Your brother, Tim was still focused and serious as he poured over the reports, his usual calm replaced by a quiet intensity. You watched him for a moment, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest. But you couldn’t linger on that.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

The streets were busy, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in the chaos of everything that had happened. The scandal, the press, Bucky. It felt like everything was unraveling. The nearest café was only a block away, and you pushed through the door, grateful for the brief respite.

That’s when you saw him.

Ian.

He was leaning casually against the counter, a cup of coffee in hand, but the moment he spotted you, something changed in his expression. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was far from friendly.

You froze in place, staring at him for a beat too long. “Are you spying on us?” you asked, your voice low but sharp as you crossed your arms, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Ian's smirk widened as if he’d been waiting for this. “Isn’t it obvious?” he replied, his tone almost teasing but dripping with bitterness. “I work with the other side now.”

You felt a surge of frustration, but more than that, something inside you twisted—an old wound reopening. You took a step closer, your eyes narrowing.

“We’ve worked together, Ian. We’ve seen injustice and unfairness in the world. But this…” You hesitated, searching his face for any trace of the person you used to know. “This feels personal.”

Ian’s smile faded, replaced by something darker. He snapped his fingers, and in an instant, everyone in the café left, leaving just the two of you inside.

You were taken aback, a chill running down your spine as the door swung shut behind the last customer.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You got that right,” he said, his eyes burning with something deep and unresolved.

“The person who died in that car accident? The one your dear Bucky’s brother killed? That was my twin brother.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the world around you narrowing to just Ian and the heavy weight of his words. “Your twin…” you whispered, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut.

Ian’s expression hardened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Yeah. My twin brother. Both of us were put up for adoption. I didn’t even know he existed until I was fourteen years old.”

He turned his gaze away from you, the memories clearly painful, but he didn’t stop. “I was adopted by a British couple. Grew up thinking I was an only child. It wasn’t until I did some digging into my adoption records that I found out about him. My twin.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as you listened, unable to speak. Ian’s voice was tight with emotion, but he pressed on.

“I was so damn happy when I found him. We bonded right away, as if we’d never been apart.” His voice softened, but the pain was unmistakable.

“We stayed in touch. Became close. We had so much to catch up on, and it was like I finally had someone who understood me in a way no one else could.”

He shook his head, his jaw clenching. “But then…” He looked back at you, his eyes blazing with anger. “Then Shawn Barnes took him away from me. He killed him. And your husband family covered it all up.”

You flinched at the venom in his words, your heart pounding in your chest. You had no idea. You hadn’t known the full story, and now it was staring you in the face.

Ian stepped even closer, invading your space, his eyes searching yours for something—maybe regret, maybe guilt. “They buried it. Buried him. And now you’re standing by their side, supporting the man whose family let my brother’s killer walk free.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You felt frozen, torn between your loyalty to Bucky and the weight of Ian’s grief and anger.

You knew about the cover-up involving Shawn, but who were you to uncover the truth, especially knowing it would be futile to fight against Caroline?

Now, guilt washed over you for having ignored this. It turned out the victim was closer than you had ever realized.

Ian’s voice softened, but the intensity didn’t fade. “Tell me,” he said, his gaze piercing into you. “After all of this… after everything you know… do you still trust him?”

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[orbitsaturn]

the virtues of a hero.

─ he truly believed that the noblest of characters were the ones hailing from nature.

until he met you.

kinich x reader angst + 2.8k words TW: death + graphic imagery spoilers for kinich's character stories

────────────

Kinich always wished for freedom. It was an escape from the wars in his household, the violent voice of his father ringing through the walls, and the arguments that plagued his home every week.

He hated his father.

He hated how his family fell apart because of his violent outbursts, hated how he always yelled at his mom and hated how he chased his mom away. He longed to get away from his father, to be free from the negativity that consumed his life, he wished for freedom.

On his seventh birthday, he got what he wished for.

"Dad, do you know where mom went?"

Kinich looked up at his dad expectantly, the smell of alcohol hitting his nose. It was his birthday today, usually, he wouldn't ask for anything but the curiosity of where his mother is ran through his mind often.

But he came to regret his words for years to come, the moment he mentioned his mother, his dad was instantly enraged.

"You little brat!"

The giant figure above him looked at Kinich with stricken eyes, the sight filling the young boy with dread. That wasn't his father anymore.

That was the monster who ruined his family.

With the looming figure's hands raising to hit the boy, he fled. The figure chasing him in pursuit. It was terrifying for a boy his age. He ran through the highest cliffs in Natlan, the sight of the monster behind him pervading him with the sense to flee.

"You wretch! Come here-"

As the man yelled at him he lost his footing due to the steep terrain, plummeting down the cliff. Only when Kinich's adrenaline wore out, did the realization hit him. He stared at the body of his father down the cliff. Kinich slowly crawls down the steep terrain, his palms and knees getting abrase from the rocks.

"Dad."

"Dad."

"Dad!"

"Dad?"

Kinich can only yell for the prospect of his father responding. Any response, whether it'd be a movement of his hand, the utterance of a groan, anything that could show that he's still alive, but there was nothing. The only thing that in his hearing is his own voice, one that's growing wearier and wearier. Yet the only thing in his sight was his dad's lifeless body.

Kinich's father was dead.

His father, the man he lived with for years, the man who frequently yelled at him, and his mom, the man he detested was dead.

Kinich's stomach churned, and the sight of the lifeless body overwhelmed the young boy. He could only stare in a daze before tears threatened to spill out of his amber-green eyes.

The only thing he could do was squeeze his eyes shut, scrunched his nose, twisting his face to prevent any tears from spilling. His lips pressed shut, preventing the whimpers that threatened to come out.

He hated his father, but he was still his father at the end of the day.

It's absurd how you remember a person's greatest qualities, even if they were a terrible person once they're gone.

Kinich could only bury the times when his father would spoil him with sweets, how heroic he looked when he would secretly watch him use his grabbling hook, and how he would always hug him when his mother was still around.

Kinich gained his wish for freedom, yet the only thing he truly gained was solitude.

───

After the departure of his father, Kinich became adept at living alone. He never sought help from anyone, and he didn't trust anyone.

Thoughts of his old life often plagued his mind. He questioned why he still kept the old alcohol bottles from his dad, why images of his family frequently haunt him in his dreams, and why he would ever ask about his mother on his seventh birthday.

All of this was witnessed by Elder Leik, the individual responsible for the children's education in the Scions of Canopy.

So when Kinich visited the market he was approached by the elder. The young boy was offered education in return for courier services. Yet, Kinich refused, and he bid goodbye to the elder before returning to do business at the tribal market.

But that wasn't the last time he'd see the elder.

Every time Kinich visited the market, he'd be met with the familiar face time and time again with the offer of an education. So after months of the elder's insistent offers, he finally relented.

───

Curious stares permeated Kinich's figure, yet the intense looks from peers his age didn't bother him. All he needed to do right now was listen and leave after to do more substantial activities anyway.

"Kinich have a seat anywhere you like!" Elder Lief exclaims with a big smile, happy to see Kinich attending a class.

Without any word, he heads away from the circle of kids, before a hand pulls him down. Catching him off guard, he looks to the owner of the hand, a young kid his age.

"Sit next to me!" You give him a toothy smile, patting the space next to you, "okay," Kinich obliges, not wanting to bring any more attention to himself if he sat away from the other kids.

"I'm (name)! What's your name?" you whisper to him, and he turns to look at you with an inexplicable look, "Kinich."

"Hi Kinich!" you stretch your hand towards him. He hesitates for a bit before grabbing your hand and shaking it.

"Ahem, now children, settle down," Elder Leif coughs, beckoning the kids to quiet down, "Today we'll talk about our honored heroes and their stories, with each of them deserving to be remembered by their contributions and their self-sacrifice for the nation of Natlan!"

Kinich raises his hand, "Why would they want to sacrifice themselves?" he looks at the Elder inquisitively, to which he responds by gently smiling at him, "It's not a question of why, it's simply a virtue innate for heroes to do whatever they can to help those they love."

"And what did their self-sacrifice get them?" Kinich asks again,

"Virtue is a priceless trait, those with it gain the highest rewards"

"The highest rewards? Like fame or mora? "

"Haha, those are part of the rewards," the elder chuckled, "But that wasn't the reward they obtained. They gained and maintained their virtue, they stayed a hero due to their unchanging morals." The elder gave him a sincere smile.

Kinich didn't really understand how a trait could be the greatest reward for self-sacrifice. Would the forest boar be filled with virtue as they relieved his hunger? And would the river water be a hero since it relieved his thirst?

If anything, he wanted to become a hero to gain the reward of mora.

"Hah! Of course, a dirty kid like you would only think of mora!" a little boy shouted, laughing, "Just leave if you're just a money-grubbing monkey!"

"Children! Mind your words!" Elder Leif scolds them, not noticing Kinich already heading out.

"Wait!" you stood up, grabbing his wrist, "Don't take their words to heart, they're only self-projecting!" you whisper to Kinich, "In fact! I heard them talking about how they don't even need to be a hero since they're well-off already! Ugh! Selfish jerks right?" you give him a reassuring smile.

Kinich stares at you, "oh," he pulls something out of his pocket, "Here, this herb can help you heal your scrape." He looks down at your scraped knee, handing you the herb.

"Wow! Thank you so much!" you reply, waving goodbye to him as he leaves the Learning Lodge.

Although he declared that he only wanted to be a hero due to the prospect of mora. You knew deep down that wasn't the case.

Why else would he look down at your scraped knee with a slight furrow of his brows and the apologetic look he gave Elder Leif when he left without informing him?

───

As the years grew, so did Kinich's reputation. He was incredibly skilled, and more and more people started coming to him for dangerous commissions. Kinich also grew closer to the old man he once found annoying, Elder Lief. The old scholar guided him throughout the years, giving him invaluable lessons that would help him for years to come. Yet the only thing the Elder wanted in return for his teachings was the promise with Kinich to learn what it truly meant to be a hero during his journeys.

He also grew closer to you, the first person who gave him words of reassurance ever since his mother's departure.

You were the complete opposite of him, you had a bright personality, always helping others freely. Yet, you were his best friend, even though he was different from you like night and day, You never judged him for his demeanor, you encouraged it.

"Let the people get mad! I mean, you're only making sure they aren't scamming you right?" You exclaim to him, "Mhm, I'm simply making sure I get paid adequately," he smiles at you amused by your unrelenting support for him.

"Yeah! So keep doing what you're doing." You throw your arm around him, "Don't think about those old geezers complaining," you flash him an earnest look. "Let's buy some Saurus Crackers once you're done for today!" you give him a grin.

"I'll pay using those old geezers' money." Kinich gives you a smirk.

And when you give the smile you frequently flash, he finds himself getting dragged into your world every time.

He didn't understand what it meant to be a hero.

But if he had to pick who would be fit to be a hero,

It would be you.

───

Kinich was still the same old Kinich even when he gained an ancient name and a 'pet' dragon. So when he emerged victorious in the Pilgrimage and threw himself into the Night Warden Wars with no hesitation it wasn't a surprise to everyone. Yet, only one person was surprised, it was Kinich.

You were participating in the Night Warden Wars along with him.

"Worried to see your little partner participating? Heh." The dragon beside him said in an irritating voice, causing him to smack it.

"Hey!" the dragon growls.

He knew how strong you were, and that you could easily fend for yourself. But he had an inexplicable feeling in this gut, one he couldn't identify.

As Kinich's team headed into the Night Kingdom and began fighting off the abyss his gut feeling became stronger.

There was something wrong with this place.

"Kinich!" A yell from his left direction catches his attention, "T-There's something wrong with this place! The creatures they can mask as your─" yet before his comrade could relay the news, he was ambushed by a creature of the abyss.

The creatures were disguising themselves as their loved ones.

The warriors that emerged from the pilgrimage were faced with the vile tricks of the abyss. The faces of their loved ones appeared before them, which caused them to hesitate to draw their weapons.

And that hesitance proved to be deadly.

One by one, many warriors that came down to fight in the Night Kingdom were ambushed. Only a few remaining comrades prevailed through the harsh conditions.

"Kinich?"

A familiar voice called out to him, one he thought he had long forgotten. He turns around, seeing his 'mother', who he hadn't seen for years.

The figure opens her arms to hug him, yet, the instincts and reflexes he honed over the years caused him to swing his weapon.

With one swift movement of his claymore, he cut through his 'mother's' body.

"Wow. Heartless." Ajaw laughed heartily.

"Hah..." Kinich wipes the sweat off his forehead. The situation was getting dire, more and more abyssal creatures were flooding near him. Yet, he didn't relent, one by one he slayed every creature that came near him, each making his heart and body fatigued. Once he was done with all the abyssal creatures in his area he looked around, yet he could only see the wretched landscape of the abyss, with no sight of his comrades in sight.

The continuous fighting made him lethargic, but he had to prevail so his fallen comrades could come back again. He looks up, checking the crack in the sky. It was getting smaller, he needed to find his comrades soon, he needed to find you soon. As he drags his tired body to the other areas of the Night Kingdom, a deep pit of worry fills his stomach.

Is (name) okay?

As he scans his surroundings again he spots you lying on the ground, seemingly lifeless. A feeling of dread washed over him.

"(name)!" Kinich runs over to you with a worried expression. His eyes were quivering, a sense of relief washing over him once he saw you breathing.

You were still alive.

"Kinich! I'm okay, just catching my breath!" You reassure him, giving a tired smile, "No, your arm is gashed," he says breathlessly. With his hands trembling he holds your arm before taking out the gauze in his pocket.

He wraps the gauze around your injury tightly, yet the hold on your arm is gentle, careful even.

Looking at you with concern he shoves a herb in your mouth. Which you immediately spat out in response, you give him a disgusted look, "Kinich! You know I hate that herb!"

"But you gratefully accepted it back when we first met, didn't you?" Kinich laughs before stretching his hand towards you, "That's cause I didn't need to eat it!" You grab his hand and he hoists you up.

"We need to go, the opening is going to close soon." He looks up, the crack in the sky getting smaller and smaller.

"Mm. Let's hurry, you nod in response.

The two warriors run to the crack in the sky with hordes of abyssal monsters pursuing them. It was getting smaller and smaller, they needed to be quick. He made sure you were in front of him, it's okay if he didn't make it back. At least one of you needed to return the Ode of Resurrection, and he wanted it to be you.

He didn't want you to experience the feeling of death.

"Kinich!" You yell, spotting a rift hound that caught up to him. The sight of it preparing to attack Kinich made you act without thinking.

Kinich has a better chance of going back.

Without having the time to react, Kinich finds himself pushed onto the ground. You get slashed by the rift hound but you put it down with the last of your strength.

"(name)!" Kinich yells out your name in horror.

Deep gashes painted your abdomen, causing you to wince in pain. You press on your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding but it barely does anything to no avail. Kinich runs over to you, his eyes quivering, lips pursed together.

"(name). (name). (name). Please." he supports your limp body in his arms. Fumbling in his pockets for any gauze, medicine, herbs, anything to keep you alive.

He couldn't lose you.

He was fine losing everything but you.

He sets you down on the ground, hastily wrapping the scarce gauze he had left on your stomach.

"Kinich," you look up at him, giving him an apologetic smile, "Go without me." His hands stop momentarily, before going back to bandaging your abdomen.

A brief moment of anger flashes in Kinich's mind

"Are you serious?" Kinich looks at you in disbelief. He quickly finishes wrapping your abdomen. He hoists you up, the feeling of your limpening body causing panic to bubble in him.

He should've been the one who got slashed.

Why did you go out of your way to save him?

You cough, before putting a hand on his cheek, "You know you're stronger than me, if anyone was getting out alive, it'd be you." you give a weak smile.

"No, you're making it out. You're gonna be okay (name). Please," his hold on you tightened, "Please don't leave me." he looked at you in distraught, his voice trembling. "(name). Please, please don't leave me."

"I should be the one saying that." you laugh at him weakly, causing Kinich to glare at you, "Go without me Kinich. I'm quite heavy." Your hand falls down from his cheek, your eyes slowly shutting close.

"I really need a good sleep too."

Kinich's eyes quivered, his hold on your limp body weakening.

"(name)."

He calls out to you.

"(name)."

This time he shakes your shoulders.

"(name)!"

This time he yells out your name.

He looks at your face, it looks peaceful even with the amount of wounds that littered your body. He strokes your head, fixing any stray hairs and clearing the hair from your face.

He takes in a deep breath.

He doesn't linger any longer, he stands up and starts heading to the crack again.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, he scrunched his nose again, and his face twisted to prevent any tears from falling again.

The bright light seeping from the crack created a stark contrast compared to the dark environment.

He looks back to the direction where you last stood before the light took him back.

He truly believed that the noblest of characters were the ones hailing from nature.

Until he experienced you.

───

a/n: guys don't worry ode of resurrection magic

ill do part 2 (?)

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am just flabbergasted sometimes: one week you are on a leave from your job to heal and the next you are receiving an award for doing such a great job at your job. The duality of human kind.

Anyway, double whammy: congrats and hope you feel better soon!

it's so wild. actually, and this is such an "everyone clapped story" but it is true: when I went back to the hospital a few weeks back to discuss my return to work with my manager, my goal was to slip in and out so I could see how I felt about being back at the physical location of work without making a big fuss. Then my manager was like, "oh come into our morning staff meeting!" And I was like, sure, I should see what's going on. So I walk into the conference room and find out 1) I am the last person there to arrive and 2) this is the most crowded staff meeting I've ever seen. so already failed my goal of discretion. I scoot to the back of the room, and then the chief nursing officer starts a presentation which includes showing a short video about DAISY award winners, which I watched and was like, "this is schmaltzy as hell........but it would be cool to be featured in something like that one day."

The clip ends and they announce that this business associated with the awards had picked someone from our hospital as one of the three people they were going to feature this year, and I thought, "is it me?" because I did win a DAISY, but then I thought, "nah. surely they would have given me a head's up in advance." And then the nursing director said, "They picked Sarah," and pointed at me, and like forty people in the room turned to stare and, yeah, everyone clapped.

My first response was, "I'm not even back to work yet." They asked if I would participate in this, and the answer was yes despite some reservations (I'm proud of the work I do, but I'm mortified at the idea of talking about it), but what I said aloud was, "Wouldn't it be wild if I said no right now?" Anyway, after I was rapidly and frantically assured that of course I could say no, obviously, I let them off the hook and said, "sure yeah I'll participate in this."

And then I went to go talk to my manager about accommodations for return to work, and guys would you believe I got exactly the shift schedule I asked for?

[lk0727]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[bunnis-monsters]

Guys. I am not a content creator. I am a person, a human being posting fanfics on the internet. You are responsible for your OWN online experience. I’ll tag things, but it is your job to filter out things that you do not like. It’s not MY JOB to hold your hand and tell you what to filter and how to make yourself comfortable.

I have a list of tags you can filter in my pinned post. It’s in bold letters. That’s the most I can do for you, directly giving you the tags you need to filter to help you not be triggered or upset. I care about y’all, but there’s only so much as I can do.

I’m autistic and don’t like change, and I really don’t like people telling me the thing I’m doing is wrong when I KNOW it’s the right way. It really pisses me off.

You do not tell me what to do, you either filter the tags or block me and move on. Just like I’m doing to the people in my asks that think I’m some sort of content creator, which btw is a harmful way to view people. I create stories, works of art, whether you see them as such or not.

I’m 23, write Fics in my spare time. It’s not that fucking serious.

[bilal-salah0]

I would like to tell you about Yasser

Yasser is not just an ordinary person; he is a symbol of resilience and strength amid the difficult conditions he faces in Gaza. He is the sole breadwinner of his family, carrying a heavy responsibility in the face of countless challenges. Despite everything, Yasser has never stopped striving to provide a decent life for his family, and now he needs our support.

Yasser recently launched a fundraising campaign to help his family and ease the burdens they are facing. I know how brave and determined he is, and I believe that with the right support, he will be able to overcome these tough circumstances.

So, I kindly ask you all to read his story and support in any way you can, whether through donating or sharing his campaign with others. Your support can make a big difference in his life and the lives of his family.

€75 raised of €70,000 goal

@yasser-alostath2001

vetted by me @bilal-salah0

Please share

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[creatingblackcharacters]

As October approaches, I would like to encourage everyone to watch Jordan Peele films if they haven't already. It's quality horror with Black characters whose experiences as Black people actually play into the genre. I feel like Peele's contributions were a defibrillator we all needed. (IMO there was a lull where storytelling was taking a backseat to edginess, but these movies gave me some hope again.) Not to mention, his movies star Black people with full stories, meaningful action, and chilling commentary. Favorite characters galore. Even if you don't like to dissect horror, his content is enjoyable.

The easiest to recommend, personally, is Nope. A sci-fi Western horror, which sounds like a lot, but it's actually the best and SUPER fun. It's not nearly as scary as the other Peele movies, and it's a good start to anyone interested.

MY favorite character is Otis Junior Haywood, our main protagonist. He runs the family business: they're trained horse handlers for the film industry. He's softspoken but responsible and sensible, and is trying to take care of things after his father passes from a tragic accident. He's much better with horses than with people, but he's sharp and serious and sentimental. Even when he has to resort to selling horses to a local theme park, he wants to acquire them back and give them a good, long life.

The fan favorite is Emerald, his sister. She's funny, playful, and easygoing. She's OJ's confidant, but also a free spirit who is exploring all her options and trying to find her own place in Hollywood, so long as it's away from horse training. Unfortunately, it's not going well, as CGI and changing technology are quickly replacing all their gigs. The siblings notice paranormal activity in their area, though, and it's Em's idea to capture video proof of its existence so they can save the family business.

I think about OJ so much. He's a well-written character and every single interaction he has serves immense purpose-- and even the moments when he's all alone in the open, it's less that he's waiting for something to happen and more that he's watchful and observant. No second feels wasted while riding behind his eyes. He also has an EXTREMELY interesting foil to another character, whose trauma in film has been distorted to an extreme form of profiteering and delusion. I do love Em and my family thinks she's the best character, but OJ as our main protagonist is a perfect fit and I love how he was made for the role.

The main themes in Nope are about spectacle and exploitation: a legacy can be built on the remissions and injuries of others, like Hollywood and its unfair treatment of Black people; it's about the illusion of power between an animal handler (man) and a wild animal (the unknowable); it's about bearing witness to tragedy, and how the consumption of said tragedy can make the difference in how we interact with it. I think it's especially compelling that Western themes were incorporated into the story, as an extremely American-centric storytelling that often exploits BIPOC lives and storytelling for its perpetration. But in Nope, the siblings win the day and protect their home.

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!!! Do you have any fics where aziraphale is famous and crowley's just a "nobody"? preferably without explicit scenes, please :)) thank you so so much <3<3

Hello! We have a #famous aziraphale tag. Here are some fics in which Aziraphale is famous and Crowley is not. I could only find a couple of non-explicit fics, I'm afraid, but I'm pretty sure the smut is minimal/skippable in most of these...

First Thing In The Morning by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale Fell, erstwhile nerd, now successful fantasy author, is signing books at this year’s Heaven and Earth convention when he spots a red-headed man in the crowd. Someone he hasn’t quite been able to forget since his school days. And as luck would have it, Anthony Crowley, former troublemaker, now responsible adult, seems keen to reconnect.

Pride Month and Prejudice by TawnyOwl95 (E)

They say that you should never meet your celebrity crush. Especially when you know what an absolute bastard he is. So, of course, Anthony J. Crowley's participation in a queer adaptation of Pride and Prejudice for Pride Month has nothing to do with the involvement of A-lister A.Z. Fell. Crowley is only doing it so he has some gossip for his column. He didn't mean to get cast as Lizzy Bennet, he certainly didn't mean to be acting opposite Fell's Mr Darcy. And to make matters worse, Fell keeps staring at him...

Veni Vino Vegas (I Came, I Got Drunk, I Got Married) by A_N_D (T)

After a whirlwind drunken evening, author Az Fell came home from Rom-Con without his heirloom pinkie ring – but with a wedding license from a 24-hour Las Vegas chapel. Elsewhere, book fan Tony Crowley woke up with a hangover, vague memories, and a brand new ring he’s only seen in author photos. Mutually attracted, mutually terrified the other one thinks it was all a regrettable mistake, they turn to their dear but anonymous online friend to vent and ask for advice. …Maybe they should tell each other their screennames someday.

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue (E)

Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener… Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

Once upon a time by elf_on_the_shelf (E)

‘Hello, my dear.’ Crowley bit his lip for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath and just went with it. ‘Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?’ There was silence at the other end. Oh shit. ‘That was my friend messing around with my phone…?’ ‘You do realise that only works over text.’ ‘Myeah.’ Why was he like this? He had wanted to kill Bea for doing the same thing and yet here he was, doing the thing. At Bea’s behest, mind you. ‘I would love to go for coffee. Oh, and cake!’ Aziraphale is a very rich and successful writer. Crowley is at the worst possible moment of his life - living off Bee's couch and posting his mum's fairy tales on some random sites only to be ignored by everyone except one random person simply called A. This is a story about how both of our main protagonists get over the ghosts of their pasts, learn to work together and maybe - just maybe - fall in love in the process. Not to mention that all of the characters that we love (hate - looking at you, Gabe) make an appearance.

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard. Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved. But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

- Mod D

[thefirstlioveyou]

what i Don't like is when people make "the heart" thing something only about byler, rather than maybe mike's place in the story

like what i mean is

when people say will only said that bc he likes mike. or mike will say will is actually the heart in s5, just because of his feelings.

will's speech is not only about his feelings for mike but it's a response to mike basically saying he feels useless and not needed, which is beyond from the truth considering he's one of the reasons why these characters haven't died. he's the one that moves others with motivational speeches. he creates a lot of the plans. he tells the others when they're doing something stupid or something that won't work. he is SO needed.

will recognizes this and acknowledges it, which is IMPORTANT. you need to acknowledge it too. he noticed this about mike with or without his romantic feelings. it's his genuine view of him.

mike needed to hear that speech, the AUDIENCE needed to hear that. (it's also important foreshadowing of him being the person vecna needs to take down next since he's in the center of will and el)

will isn't the heart, and that's fine!! if anything, he's more of the blood. he's the motive, he's the one that keeps that heart beating. mike's motivate has always been related to will. everyone's motive in s1 and s2 had always been about will as well.

[doc-art]

Part 4 of the D&D art/story summary!

After yesterday's castle conquering, everyone got up and got ready to head back to the town to reconnect with the rest of the party.

While we were getting ready, our bard, Courrier, pointed out Loa's total lack of clothing, which she did not quite understand, and that Lloyd did not notice until it was pointed out.

There was also a running gag of our DM not appreciating how often we'd split the party. Left to right: Dolmir the dwarf cleric, Lloyd the human fighter, Courrier the human bard, and Zzrez the goblin rouge.

Loa the minotaur left the party to head back to her home to spread word of her deeds, while we went back to Phandalin, the mining town. It was still in a bit of a rough state after the siege a few days prior, but held well. We reconnected with the other half of our party and had some fun with the dragon hatchlings.

Once we were together, we all set out to our final objective. One tricky part was that we recruited a doppelganger from earlier to assist us, and he took the form of our agent member--Sildar, so we had to sneak Sildar out so no one would notice the clone.

The way that Rebecca and Sildar decided to smuggle him out was a very interesting approach.

A harness under her outfit, the perfect cover. It's cover was foiled when we heard odd noises coming from her, and Zzrez found a loose strap and tugged on it, causing our hidden agent to become known.

After some journeying out of the town, we found the mystical cave we had been searching for the whole campaign. Inside we faced an assortment of creatures and beings, along with being magically antagonized from afar by a beholder deep in the cave.

It was an ordeal.

After we made progress in the cave, we doubled back to rest up. When we came back, there was a large sea of unusual goop blocking our way back in. However, back at the castle we raided to save our boss, our goblin rouge picked up (what we thought was a bag of holding, but was actually a Bag of Devouring!) and used it to clear the way, much to the surprise of the party members that did not know of its existence in her possession.

We resumed our descent into the cave and met up with a band of minotaurs led by Lloyd's lover, Loa, who were there on a mission to kill the person responsible for the problems we had been facing.

We found them in the middle of a fight against some flaming, flying skulls.

It was a good fight, and Rebecca, who Lloyd failed to notify properly about his minotaur girlfriend (Loa), was surprised to meet her and her gang. The confusion was quickly resolved, however!

Once everything was cleared up, we continued forward together and made our way to the source of the magical horrors of the cave--a beholder. On the way, a subordinate to Loa questioned her leadership and charged ahead, taking with them two other minotaurs and leaving her with us.

The fight against the beholder was a difficult one, but we came out on top. The other minotaurs, through bard trickery and high aggro, fought each other, with the pale-minotaur (the guy going against Loa) being defeated by her and sent into the fires of the magical forge we were at.

Dolmir also considered the plan of throwing a bag of poisonous mushrooms into the mouth of the beholder, but was unable to since it quickly fell to the assault of multiple minotaurs and our whole party. He also took an axe to the shoulder from the mutinous minotaur, and our bard and goblin shared a moment.

After the fight, Lloyd and Dolmir got an armor upgrade.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

I'm Kinda Terrified to Ask, But... Questions I NEED to Ask After You Read My Writing

I understand that many writers feel hesitant about sharing their work. It can be unnerving to think about others critiquing your writing. However, sharing your writing is crucial, especially if you're seeking feedback or thinking about publishing your work for a wider audience. Personally, I've only shared my work with a select few friends.

If you're thinking about doing the same, or if your friend has already read your entire piece, it might be helpful to ask them some questions to get their feedback and opinion on your writing. Here are a few questions you can consider asking them.

(Disclaimer: This is not my original concept; rather, it was inspired by something I saw on Pinterest. However, I did ask several friends who had read my work these exact questions, so I thought I'd share them with you all as well. Please let me know if you are able to locate the original creator of the concept on Pinterest.)

 Now That You've Read It, I Have Some Burning Questions

"So, uh, you finished reading my story... 👀"

• What was your overall impression? Did you enjoy it? Was it...you know, good? 😅

• Which character did you like the most? The least? And why?

• Was the pacing okay? Did the story drag at any point or move too quickly?

• Did the dialogue feel natural and authentic? Or did it sound a bit forced?

• Were there any plot points that confused you or didn't make sense?

• What was your favorite scene or moment? The one that really stood out to you.

• If you could change one thing about the story, what would it be?

• On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate it overall?

And the big one... 😨 Would you actually read more of my writing in the future?

anxiously awaits response

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with writers and aspiring authors. 

[novella-november]

For the record, I've gotten another ask that is complaining that I am encouraging people to branch out and experiment with original fiction vs fanfiction for the short story events -- that is to say, the events that consist of four, 5k short stories in a month, NOT me telling people they have to write 30k original words in November. If you read it that way, please go back and re-read the original posts.

It has part of this blog from day 1 that fanfiction is not only included and embraced in this challenge alongside technical and non-fiction writing, and if you take me encouraging people to also give original fiction *a try* on one of the mini challenges as a personal attack of some kind, I'm not sure what to say.... except I'm not going to have my inbox filled with this.

Re-read my biggest, top post, where I literally included Fanfiction and technical, non-fiction writing as fully fledged options on the literal announcement post of this blog.

I do not hate fanfiction, I do not look down on fanfiction, and I read and write plenty of it myself.

Suggesting that people might consider writing a short original story for one of the 5k a week challenges is not me attacking fanfiction or fanfiction writers, because I literally am one.

I am not going to be engaging in any further asks that act like I am browbeating or guilting people into not writing fanfiction or that I am "looking down on fanfiction writers".

I've responded privately to probably a dozen different blogs who asked about fanfiction since this blog began and forgot those dozen responses weren't visible to the rest of Tumblr, so it looked like the only times I had mentioned it at all were when I got asked twice in 24 hours about it.

Its been on the announcement post of this blog since day one that fanfiction is allowed along with any other form of writing.

If you are mad at me for encouraging people to give original writing a try for a writing contest alongside fanfiction then idk man 🤷

[all-0f-the-above]

the superhero's parallel to the hero's journey is one of an almost unbreakable curse: someone is harmed or killed while you are unable to stop it. you spend the next part of your life learning how to stop exactly that, promising yourself it won't happen again. you think to yourself, "if only I had been more prepared the first time, then I could have stopped it."

except defusing bombs isn't the issue. the person planting them is.

betrayal can't be anticipated: that's what makes it a betrayal.

and it's impossible to predict every single time someone will need life saving medical care.

still, you fantasize, "if I had the knowledge I have now, things would be different." and you save others from the same situation. time and time again. but still you ache. you didn't do it all those years ago. it haunts your every triumph.

it's not until you look in from the outside. the exact same thing happens to someone else this time, and you weren't able to stop it.

as you're beating yourself up for it and desperately trying to control the damage that's been done, you see someone sitting off to the side. they are alone and wrapped in a blanket. when you talk to them, you are shocked to hear that they blame themselves.

"What?!" you exclaim, "it wasn't your responsibility to stop this- you couldn't have known! it's on the shoulders of the perpetrators and people like me, who couldn't make it in time."

they are inconsolable. "from now on," they say, "I won't be so naive, and I will do everything I can to stop this from happening again."

you know when a battle is lost, so all you can do is nod and step away. back to your own business.

but it makes you terribly sad for someone to lose their innocence in such a way. to blame themselves for the consequences of someone else's evil. to never again see the world as a hopeful place: just a mosaic of fulfilled and missed opportunities.

and your story, the hero's story, will be tragic as long as you continue without looking inward.

it is only by considering your own beliefs that you are free of the vicious cycle:

sometimes, there is no happy ending, no clever way out. sometimes, awful things happen and there is nothing we can do about it. all we can do is pick ourselves off the ground, movement by excruciating movement, and hold our heads high. we continue. because it is worth it. not because you can "fix" things now. not because you will do things "right" this time. but because you deserve a good life. a life after the bad things. a joyful life.

this is when when you, the hero, finally realize that you're living a triumph. that even after something tragic happens, your life is not a tragedy.

[wilcze-kudly]

Someone once said Aang and Katara’s romantic interactions have no impact on their relationship. Which I find a ridiculous notion, given how

One: The Series genuinely wasn’t built around romance.

Two: We do gradually see the characters develop feelings for each other more across the show.

https://www.tumblr.com/melu-lis/762094698681745408/one-of-the-most-baffling-thing-about-kataang-to-me?source=share

Honestly, the fact that Katara and Aang's relationship has that strong aspect of friendship is one of my fave parts of it.

Like, maybe this is an unpopular opinion and I'm just a degenerate little dyke but I'm so so tired of romances having to follow the typical usually heterosexual conventions that have been set ib place both irl and in media.

And not to sound like an old man shaking my fist at a cloud, but in an era where romance is very standardised (look at the plethora of YA romance books selling basically the same plotline but in different aesthetics). It's nice to find a relationship that doesn't fully fit that mold.

Like people have joked about this but Aang and Katara really do follow the famously memed lesbian relationship stereotype of "we've been besties for ages and we've kissed a few times and she's said she loves me and I'm starting to think she's into me but idk". And I love that for them.

Also OP's examples aren't really saying much. They mention that "sokka learns that aang has a crush on katara in the fortuneteller, but we never see aang trying to get advice from sokka after he learns about it" while disregarding the fact that Aang did try to get advice from Sokka, and it backfired. Did we all forget "Soooo... papaya?" (also Sokka didn't realise that Aang had a crush on Katara? He thought Aang had a crush on Meng.)

Another argument from OP is that: "aang and katara kiss in the cave of two lovers but we never see katara's perception of aang change at all" which I find a bit of a flawed idea because there's not really anything in Katara's perception of Aang to change? Like she was already seeing him as a viable romantic partner from at least the Fortune Teller, she was blushing when considering kissing him and offended when he didn't immediately agree to it.

(I actually think this is the moment where Sokka realises there's something between Katara and Aang man look athis face.)

We do not see Katara's pov, but we can pick up her thoughts from how she's animated and other clues because atla makes it quite easy to emphasise with its characters. I talk more about it in the Kaatang and female gaze post.

OP using the description of "natural development of a platonic relationship becoming a romantic one" is also mildy annoting because just because a romance doesn't follow established conventions and timelines, doesn't mean that it's not natural or badly written. We study tropes and aechetypes usually in order to subvert them.

The concept that romance has to be a series of events followed by switches flipping automatically in response is incredibly limiting and, frankly, overdone. I can see the appeal of romantic stories being a series of actions and reactions between two people, but I personally find a slow, budding development even more compelling. But once again, thsi is up to preference. If OP doesn't like this style of romance, than that's fine. Though I will stress the golden rule: your preference doesn't mean that everything else is bad/unnatural/unethical etc.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Full-Cast Audiobook Imaginations

So with the sequel on the horizon, we’re not that far from a full-cast re-recording of the audiobook, right?

I listen to the audiobook more than I read the book, mostly because I can listen to it while doing other stuff, and no offence to the original narrator, but while it’s good, it’s not the best. I kind of cringe at his British accent for Henry.

So I have a lot of thoughts.

The thing is with an audiobook, we can get both the wonderful vocal performance of the movie cast, and the iconic book lines, the ones that didn’t, and frankly, could never have made it into the movie due to format restrictions:

Sexy explicit sex scenes

Sexy explicit sex lines “For fuck’s sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night”, “I want you to fuck me”, “I’ve been thinking about your mouth on me all well”

Emails in their entirety

Email openings and endings “Huge Raging Heache Prince Henry of Who Cares”, “First Son of Shirking Responsibilities”, “Horrible Revolting Heir”, “First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege”, “Haplessly Romantic Heretic Prince Henry the Utterly Daft”

Email historical quotes “The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you”, “I meet you in every dream”

Swearing and explicit language “fucking shit” “I fucking love you, okay?”

Internal Struggle

Iconic lines that didn’t make it into the movie for adaptation and story purposes “I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you” “I love him on purpose”, “America, he is my choice”

Like, imagine hearing all of this in Taylor, in Nick, in Sarah and Uma and Ellie and Rachel and Thomas and Aneesh and Cfiton etc etc 's voice. Just imagine it!!!

Another thing to add is that to put it in simple terms, the current version of the audiobook does the dialogue lines closer to theatre acting: more enunciated, more inflection, and slower. Which is fine in its own right (I’m a theatre kid). But with the cast audiobook, hopefully, we can get them to do something closer to film acting, i.e. closer to reality, reading the lines as they would if they were to shoot those scenes.

Which is gonna make big moments like sexy times and confrontations a lot of fun :D

And something really entertaining to think about is now that we also know the cast and their dynamic is thinking about how much fun they would have while recording the book, especially when they have scenes together. And it’s not necessarily just Taynick, it’s group scenes with the whole Super Six, like the karaoke scene in chapter seven, or the Texas Holiday Scenes with Firstprince and Junora.

Like, Imagine it, the actors in the same recording studio, maybe even on the same couch:

Taylor and Nick laughing while reading off the insults from the earlier frienemies days of their relationship

Taylor and Nick squirming and playfully hitting each other when recording lines for sexy scenes like the first night, or the tack room, or Wimbledon

The cast shouting and booing (playfully) whenever someone messes up a line in their group scenes

The chaotic fun that is the LA karaoke scene, everybody’s laughing, Ellie gets to be the singular sober person while everyone else acts drunk, Nick singing Don’t Stop Me Now shittier (Nick has the voice of an angel but book Henry can’t sing for shit),

Taylor and Nick giving each other hugs after screaming at each other for the Kensington confrontation

Nick grinning smugly at every book height difference mention (:<

More of Taylor speaking Spanish!!!

Thomas gets to be a proper asshole villain who later turns into awkward older brother who's trying

Ellie gets to do the pie metaphor grief monologue  

Taylor gets to do another speech (he’s really good at delivering speeches)

 I want to quickly reiterate that I am in no way unhappy with what we got in the end for the movie; I love it to pieces. However, as Matthew and Casey said, there are two “canonical” versions of the story now, and since audiobooks are an option, it would be really nice to connect this aspect of the movie verse with the book verse in some sort of middle ground.

So yeah Audible? Amazon? Get on with it!!!

@almightaylor this was the long post I mentioned, I literally started this in July lol