#will be posting to ao3 soon :D

[windybreeze12]

im alive...?

[fraudulent-cheese]

LET'S FUCKING GO MKULIA IS NOW ABOVE RAJBOW IN FIC NUMBERS

LET'S GO LESBIANS LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

[face--the--strange]

My two (very different in tone and rating) Weilan fics for @guardianbingo! :) Cat-astrophe (415 words) by facethestrange Fandom: 镇魂 | Guardian (TV 2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Da Qing & Shen Wei & Zhao Yunlan, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan Characters: Da Qing (Guardian), Shen Wei (Guardian), Zhao Yunlan Additional Tags: Humor, Innuendo, POV Da Qing (Guardian), Cat Da Qing (Guardian) Summary: Da Qing's mosquito chase gets interrupted. Almost (803 words) by facethestrange Fandom: 镇魂 | Guardian (TV 2018) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan Characters: Shen Wei (Guardian), Zhao Yunlan Additional Tags: Ye Olde Haixing Era, Hurt/Comfort, sex as comfort, Hand Jobs, Post-Battle, Tenderness, Established Relationship Summary: Even after the frantic, desperate healing, when their skin is unmarred once again, Shen Wei can't shake off the feeling that the pain is not gone, hidden somewhere underneath. He faintly realizes that it's not located where his own wounds used to be — the sword went straight through the right side of Kunlun's chest. Shen Wei can feel the searing burn of it regardless.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Day 28: Her Favorite Medicine

(Merrill x Marian Hawke)

Merrill smells good. Really, really good. Hawke knows that it’s probably a side effect of working more on her Reaver skills. But that doesn’t make it any less tempting.

Post-Love of DA to finish up Femslash February!

Rating: Explicit

Read on Archive of Our Own Here!

[fonulyn]

for @kreonweek Day 7: Unhealed wounds

“And you guarantee that with this… thing, I’ll get the use of my arm back?” Krauser asked, again. They’d already been through this and he wasn’t really sure why he was asking, not when deep down he’d already made the decision. He’d seen, firsthand, the kind of power that these viruses and parasites could grant, and he’d seen proof in Manuela that it could be controlled. Only the weak-minded would fall prey to it, he’d be fine. And yet…

Wesker hummed, a sound that was almost a laugh but not quite. He leaned back in his chair, lounging as if there wasn’t a care in the world for him, and crossed his hands lazily as he eyed Krauser. It was as if he was enjoying this. He took his time, but eventually he answered with a question of his own. “And if I don’t guarantee it?”

Scowling, Krauser instinctively grabbed his bum arm, his fingers digging into the flesh. The arm hurt more with every single passing day, as if something was dying inside, underneath his skin. The doctors acted as if they didn’t understand his concerns, dismissed what he was trying to tell them, and just told him to keep doing those pitiful exercises as if those would somehow reverse the damage done. There was no help coming from that direction. None.

Briefly Krauser thought of Leon, and what this choice would mean to their relationship. Leon had been unwaveringly there for him, the only person who had ever stood by Krauser’s side like that. The only one in this world who had looked at him like he mattered, him, not what he could do, or what could be gained from him, just him. But Leon wouldn’t walk away with him. Leon might’ve loved Krauser but he didn’t love him enough to deny his principles.

Krauser took a step forward. “I’ll take it.” He would be whole again. He would not be weak, not anymore.

The next days Krauser spent not only preparing for his new future, but also saying goodbye to his past. Leon might’ve only been a part of his life for mere months, but he’d shaken Krauser to the very core, he’d left an imprint like no one else. He was permanently seared into Krauser’s very existence, even though Krauser was going to walk away and leave him behind.

So Krauser took every single chance he could to wrap himself into all things Leon, to imprint into his memory everything that mattered. He spent hours in bed mapping that pale skin with his hands and his mouth, kissing Leon breathless time and time again, letting himself get lost in what they shared away from the rest of the world.

He could see Leon was suspicious something was up, and he’d expected that. Leon wasn’t stupid. But he distracted him whenever he could, and thankfully Leon seemed to think he could let it slide and they’d get to whatever it was eventually.

Leon seemed happy. It made it so much harder for Krauser to leave.

Even when the time came, Krauser hesitated. His arm may have been injured beyond repair, at least with normal human medicine. Yet walking away from Leon left behind a wound so gaping Krauser didn’t think it would ever even begin to close.

One day, he swore to himself. One day they would reunite again. He would make sure of that.

[goosemagician]

Oooooooh special little sneak peak at The Project

[missmanlykink]

yea…”homework” | clark kent ✿

MDNI - 18+ | navigation - m.list - taglist 𝜗୧ | COME TO MY I𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 (100 followers celebration!)

summary: clark kent is head over heels in love with you, and everyone know that. but when he offers to help you with your schoolwork, you take it as the perfect opportunity to make the first move (by sucking his cock)

paring: virgin!smallville!clark x bold!crush!fem!reader

wc: 2.6k

warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, cum swallowing, sub/dom undertones, clark is a shy virgin, reader is kinda pervy and very horny, swearing, semi-quiet “sex” and corruption kink lol..? lmk if i missed any! (to be edited later)

a/n: okay hey guys! i have 3 things to say. 1. for all my baddie that are waiting to their 100 followers celebration fic, it’s coming soon :D i just wanted to get this out of the way. 2. sorry if the s-stutter is overused, he’s just like SUPER nervous around read lol and 3. i again stayed to so fucking late/early to write this (5am) …my sleep schedule is so bad. okay luv you guys! (will be post on ao3 sooner or later)

SMUT UNDER CUT - MINORS DNI </3

“Shit…i have 4 assignments due next week, and I have so much homework to do.” you whined to your friend as you both walked down the hall to get to your last class. Somehow Clark overheard you through the crowd of rushing students, and there he was right next to you. ”I can help!” he shouted out swiftly, like he was trying to make sure no one offered their help before he could.

Clark was in love with you, it was incredibly obvious, but Clark didn’t know that. He thought he was crushing on in private, but anyone with eyes that can see and ears than can hear knows how nervous he gets when your around, he’s so cute when we stutters over his words and pretty pink blush erupting on his skin at the mere mention- no, thought of you.

Once he finished his very quick sentence an idea immediately popped in your brain. You know how much Clark likes you. Everyone who is aware of you and Clark knows. Its a fact. And I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get him alone and pounce. You liked him as well, and you could just say that. But why not have a little fun when you do.

Your cheeks bunched up as you smiled sweetly up at the tall boy “Aw, Clark! That's really nice, thank you,” you remove your hand from your side and grip his arm softlyhis strong arm. He literally tried his hardest to contain himself, he wanted to melt into your touch. “Yea, anything.” a familiar pink hue erupted on his cheeks. You were both going to be late to class but it’s going to be so worth it. “So I'll come to your house after I get my thing, yeah?” he nodded slowly, the thought of having you in his room, sitting on his sheet, had him hot.

-

Now you’re finally at the Kent's family farm. You walk up to the big yellow house, and stand on their front porch. Before you could knock on the door Clark immediately opened the door. Your eyes widened in shock from the abrupt opening. He must’ve been watching you through the window, waiting for your arrival. “How cute.” you said in your mind, thinking about him waiting for you and about his very sexy appearance. He looked so good in that tight white t-shirt that clinged on his strong torso so perfectly.

And he looked out of breath, like he was trying to clean up before you got her—he was, his room was an absolute shit show. The slight of his chest heaving up and down got you even more excited to make him do that with your mouth. Yea, that sounds pervy, but how could you not. Look at him.

You had a plan. Up your flirting, be more touchy and bold. He was going to melt wax into your hands. Both of his arms and resting on the threshold, looking down at you with that smile–the unknowingly sexy smile on his part. “Hey, Clark,” you flirted , gazing up at him with the biggest fuck me eyes your could wear.

That has such an effect on him and you know it does. His skin gets hotter as he gets more nervous. “H-hi Y/N…” he says shyly, resting his arm on the threshold. This is already going perfectly. You both just kind of stood there for a second, you’d walk in he's blocking your way, and when he realized you couldn't come in the poor boy got embarrassed. “Oh! Sorry-“ he blurted out, swiftly moving his arm so you could both “get to work”.

You giggled at him as you slipped inside the cozy home. You walked around slowly, eye scanning the family photos and very comfortable looking furniture until you heard his mother call out “Clark? Who was at the door?”. Well you didn’t know his parents would be home, but don't think that discouraged you, now you think of this as a fun little challenge. Now you have to stay quiet. She stepped into the living room with a towel in her hand, wiped the residue from whatever she was doing in the kitchen. “Y/N? What’re you doing here?” she asked with a gentle smile, “Hi, Mrs. Kent! Clark offered to help me with my schoolwork. So I suggested we study at his house!” you replied, mirroring the expression on her face.

You were here to study, yes. But you probably weren't going to retain any of the information, you had a one track mind. His mom gave him a very knowing look. She knew exactly why he offered to help you. “Well, Clark, that was very nice of you,” she teased. You could tell in his face that he wanted to scream “Please stop embarrassing me.” But he said “It's nothing. I just overheard, that's all..” instead while rubbing the back of his neck. “Mhm, you two behave yourself,” Well..

-

You had followed upstairs into his freshly cleaned room, and he so kindly opened the door for you like a real gentleman. His room was very clean, practically spotless. Now it's time to put your plan into action. You walk slowly into his room and say “I didn't get to say this earlier at school, but you looked really good today.” You couldn't see him because he was behind you but you could basically feel the stunned look on his face. You turned around and you were right. HIs eyes were widened, mouth parted as he tried to say something back.

“R-Really?” he sputtered out, eyes zoned in on you as approach closer to him.”Yea…I like what you did with your hair.” his hair looked the same as it always did, but you couldn’t say “Clark, your lips looked so kissable today, I could swallow them whole!” That would be too much. At least for now. You raised your hand up so you could thread your fingers through his soft, dark hair and framed his face so perfectly and smiled. There was that pretty pink blush you always loved to bring to him. He was going to lose his mind. His heart was beating out of his chest.

You both sat down and sank into his bed. You took off your bookbag and sat it down next to his light brown bedside table. Clark cleared his throat before he spoke up. “Okay, which subject do you want to work on?” if you were going to compete honestly you didn’t even think about that so you choose the one that needed the most urgency. He was extremely smart, so you knew he wouldn't struggle with any of it. “Let’s do Algebra,” you reply as you zip your bag and dip your hand into it to collect your math folder. His eyes light up at your words. “That’s perfect, I've been told that I”m pretty good at math. You smile “I bet you are,”

-

You both got more comfortable on his twin bed, you kicked off your shoes, sat up against his pillow, legs crossed. You were trying your hardest to stay focused but it was hard, intelligence turned you on, and Clark using it made it even better. It was just algebra but he was just so hot.

His eyes were locked in on the pieces of paper that sat in front him as he explained each problem to you. Fingers trailing down the paper, you wanted them inside you real bad. You were about to pop the question.

“Clark? Can I ask you a question?” his shoot up to your face, fully unaware of how vulgar the question was going to be. “Yea sure, what is it?” he replied with a curious look. “It's a bit of a topic but, has anyone ever gone down on you?” He almost choked on his spit, you didn't say what he thought you said, right? No, wrong. His mouth gaps as he straightens up his back. “I- W-What?” he stutters with a nervous laugh. He genuinely couldn't believe this. This is exactly what you wanted, that look on his face made you want to jump his bones.

“So I'm guessing that’s a no?” you tease, scooting a little closer, trying to break the unwanted distance in between you two. He wanted to lie to you so badly–to save himself the embarrassment–but he couldn’t and if he did tell a lie, he may have missed out on the best that might happen to him. So simply shook his head, eyes looking everywhere but your alluring face. But when he felt your hand lay down gently on his thigh, inching closer and closer to the tent in jeans, he could no longer avoid your seductive gaze.

“Okay listen..” you begin as you scoot even closer. “I usually don’t do this, but I like you, Clark…want me to show you how much?” you purrs, palming his hard through his jeans. “Yes- yes, yes…please.” he whimpered between his stutters, blush traveling all over his body. He chews on his bottom lip as he watches you sink down to the floor, sitting pretty on your knees.

You pause on rubbing on a growing tent in his pants and start to get rid of his belt, unbuckling the strap of leather, but his hand is on yours faster than you could blink. “Wait-” his face was painted with guilt, you furrowed your brows, was this actually a bit too much? ‘What’s wrong, Clark? Did I go too far?” you asked, “No- not at all, but you don’t have to if you really don’t want to..” he muttered. How could a boy be so smart but dumb at the same time?

There you were, on your knees for him. Ready to suck him off in a heartbeat, and he thinks you don’t want to do this. And that is exactly what you said to him, and he nodded softly at your words, you didn’t mean to make him feel stupid, but he needed to get a clue.

You removed his belt, and finally you zipped open his jeans, you lips your bite in excitement, you could wait to see what he looked like under his blue boxers. You grab the buckle of his jeans and slide them down just enough, making sure you could easily pull his underwear down.

Clark couldn’t believe his eyes, he had the love of his life sitting before him, basically drool over him. You’re darkened eyes locked eye contact with his as you began to stroke him through the fabric. His mouth gaps at the pleasure shooting through his leaking cock. Pre-cum staining the inside of his boxers.

His little gasps made you throb. You bite your lip as you feel his hard, big, veiny cock—like you guessed. You know he would be big from the way he walked. It only made sense. Now the real prize was about to spring out of his boxers. Your fingers hooked the elastic of his boxers.

There it was. His dick bouncing onto his clothed abs—that you were going to see in the meantime. He was long and thick, the tip of his cock was bright red, like it was screaming for you touch it, and you listened.

You got your nails and slowly dragged it up and down his length to get a reaction, you wanted to hear him again so badly. That earned you a soft whimper from him, hips buckling up into nothing as you teased him. “P-please..” he murmured, begging you touch him again.

You smiled softly at him and decided to put an ending to his misery and fully grabbed hold of throbbing length. You slide you hand up to collect the leaking pre-cum, gliding it up and down. You heard his breath start to pick up, panting from the sensation. . “Does that feel good?” you purred, as you start to pump him a little faster. “Yes..” he whimpered, brows knitted together from the feeling.

He looked glorious. Even though you were sitting on your knees, you still felt in control and that was the hottest thing ever. His eyes are watching your every move, focusing on the way you’re stroking him, the way your face moves as you pleasure him so well.

Soft whine escapes from him as you lick a long stripe from the base of his cock to the head of it, finally taking him into you mouth. You wanted to ruin him. You use your tongue swirl around his tip, making him bite back a moan that would’ve been way too loud—for now.

You begin to bob you head up and down, slick lips coating his skin. “F-fuck-“ he gasp, hands grasping on the duvet that sat underneath, hips jolting up into your mouth. Innocent farm boy Clark Kent swearing? You were really doing a number on him.

That word gave you the signal to work a little faster.

His head threw back as you hollowed your cheeks around him and you sucked him off, using your hand to stroke the par that wasn’t in your mouth. You use your other hand to pin his squinting hips down.

His skin was on fire. Cheek, ears and neck pink because of you. Salvia ran down you chin as you deepthroated him, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Mascara streaming down your puffy cheeks. Then you felt him twitch in your mouth.

“Shit- I’m about to-“ he rasped out, heart slammed against his ribcage, and before you could do anything he release in your throat. Not that you're complaining, but you deepthroated a virgin, this was bound to happen.

Little praises and whimpers fell out of his mouth as he came, eyes shut closed. Hair falling in front of his eyes as his chest heaved up and down. You swallow his cum and take him out of your mouth. Immediately catching your breath. He felt so embarrassed. He tried his hardest not to but your mouth just felt so good.

“I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to…You just-“ you cut him off before he could babble on and on and on. “Clark. It’s okay. We’re not done yet..” you said, grabbing his length back into your hand once again.

His hissed at the the shocking feeling that hit his cock, “O-Oh-“ he stuttered out, head tilting down as you overstimulated his already fucked out dick. He takes his lips between his teeth, trying his hardest not to scream out your name. Now this was a sight everyone should see at least once in their life.

You pumped your hand really fast. You knew it was going to drive him nuts. His hips jolted up into your hand, eyes screwed shut as his second climax hit him like a brick wall. It hurt so good. He sees stars as his release pouring down your hand. He was out of breath, his lips were swollen from the tugging his teeth did and if it was time for the grim reaper to take him away, he could die a happy man.

-

After he cleaned both of you up, you had to fix your makeup in his bathroom. If her mom saw you in the condition you were in she would flip. As you were cleaning up your lipstick, you saw Clark standing right beside you in the mirror. “Y/N? Can I ask you a question?”

You just knew this was about to be good. “Yea sure, what is it?” He cleared his throat before he started to speak. “Can I- you know…return the favor? I’ve never done it before but you could teach me?”

taglist . ✿: @luvlisbon @wolfiemarley @uniqueweaselfestivalbagel @radcolletivesoul @celebrinigf @soggycranberrycereal @x-beetlebabes-x @bee-unknown @sugarbeaglewitch @cinnamoncunt @goldenheartofsouth + like this > post if you want be added!

this blog is 18+, do not copy my work for anything without my permission ꔫ / dividers by @uzmacchiato % @diviniyae

[inseobts]

Sleight of Heart

nami x fem!reader

you flirt with men to manipulate them and get whatever you want from them, so what happens when you meet the strawhats?

a/n: happy pride month, my sapphics ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊

words count: 4.7k

tags: slow burn, thief x thief, post-timeskip, enemies to lovers, clever reader, tension

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sun burns bright over Asteria, a busy island full of life, music, and secrets. The Strawhat crew walks through the main market street, loud and colorful as always. You see them from a rooftop, leaning over a balcony with a half-eaten apple in your hand.

You already know who they are.

Monkey D. Luffy. Pirate captain. Rubber boy. Big smile. Easy to fool, if he’s distracted.

Roronoa Zoro. Strong. Grumpy. Bad with directions. Not your target.

Nico Robin. Too smart. Too calm. Too risky.

Franky, Usopp, Brook, Chopper… All dangerous in their own ways. At least for what you have in mind.

Vinsmoke Sanji...

Ah, Sanji. Weak for a pretty face.

Bingo!

But the one to truly worry about?

Nami.

You see her now, walking near the back of the group. Arms crossed. Eyes scanning. Calculating. You can almost feel her sharp mind from up here.

She’s just like you.

Too bad.

You jump down from the roof, land silently in a side alley, and slip into the crowd. You wait, moving carefully. You smile when Sanji walks closer.

Now or never.

You step into the open and “accidentally” bump into him.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” you say in a sweet voice, placing your hand on his chest lightly.

Sanji’s eyes turn into hearts instantly.

“Mon dieu! Are you okay, mademoiselle?” he asks, taking your hand and holding it like it’s made of gold.

You already slipped your fingers into his coat. There’s a bag of beli in there, too easy.

But before your hand can close around it, another hand grabs your wrist.

Strong. Quick.

“Nice try.”

You look up, and there she is. Nami. Amber eyes locked onto yours. She caught you but you don’t flinch.

Instead, you smirk “Took you long enough.”

Her eyebrows twitch “You knew I was watching?”

“I was counting on it.”

You twist your wrist, not to break free, but to slide a small coin into her palm. Her fingers close around it by instinct. She opens them. The coin is fake, cheap metal, painted gold.

Nami looks at it. Then at you.

You’re already gone.

Vanished into the crowd.

Back on the Sunny, Nami stares at the fake coin.

Robin notices “Trouble?”

“Maybe.” Nami slips the coin into her pocket “She’s good.”

Robin smiles “Good enough to fool you?”

Nami doesn’t answer but her lips curl into a tiny, curious smile “Not for long.”

The diner is loud. Full of clinking silverware, sizzling oil, and way too much talking. It smells like grilled fish and spiced rum. The Strawhats sit at a corner table, taking up too much space as usual.

You spot them through the window.

You grin.

They don’t see you yet. Not until you open the door and walk in like you belong there. No disguise, no tricks. Just confidence.

You grab a chair from a nearby table and drag it across the floor. The sound makes Zoro glance over. Luffy pauses mid-bite. Sanji... oh, he lights up the moment he sees you.

You sit down at their table like you’ve been invited “Miss me?”

“Angel!” Sanji gasps, nearly knocking over a glass “What a miracle—did fate bring you back to me so soon?”

You lean your elbow on the table, chin in your hand “Maybe I just like the way you blush.”

He practically melts into his suit.

“You shouldn’t be here” Nami says from across the table, arms crossed.

You don’t look at her.

You keep your eyes on Sanji “Is this the part where someone kicks me out?”

Luffy shrugs “You seem fun. I vote she stays.”

Chopper giggles. Usopp is nervous but interested. Brook’s just happy to have another pretty face at the table.

Zoro says nothing, which probably means he’s watching too closely.

“Can I get you something, mademoiselle?” Sanji asks, already rising from his seat “What do you drink? Wine? Tea? Something sweet like your voice?”

You tilt your head “Surprise me.”

Sanji bows low and rushes off to the counter.

You finally turn to Nami. She hasn’t stopped staring.

“Relax,” you say “I’m not here to rob you… again.”

“Then why are you here?”

You smirk “I like to fool men. Can you blame me?”

She blinks once. Not offended. Not angry.

Intrigued.

“You’re honest” she says slowly.

“Only when it makes people trust me.”

She nods once, almost like approval. But there’s something else under her gaze now... curiosity. Calculation. Maybe even respect.

“You know you won’t get far with Sanji” she says.

“Oh, I know,” you say with a wicked smile “But watch this.”

Sanji comes back with a fancy glass filled with something pink and fruity. A paper umbrella leans on the rim.

“For the goddess at our table” he announces, placing it in front of you.

You take a sip “Delicious. You made it?”

“Of course! I used—”

You interrupt, leaning in “You always treat strangers this nice? Or just the ones with long eyelashes?”

He stutters “N-no! I mean—yes? I mean—uh—it’s not like that!”

You laugh. It’s charming. Loud enough to make a few heads turn.

“Relax. You’re adorable.” you say, tapping his chest lightly.

His eyes go soft “I would die for you.”

You raise an eyebrow “Would you tell me anything I asked?”

“Anything!”

“Even secrets?”

He looks around, drops his voice, and leans in like a schoolboy “You wanna hear how I once cried over a sea king because it reminded me of a soup my mom used to make?”

Your smile grows wider.

Nami watches this with raised brows.

You glance her way, then wink.

You twirl the umbrella from your drink between your fingers, eyes moving from one Strawhat to the next.

Sanji’s already yours. He hangs off every word you say like you’re some sea goddess he dreamed into existence.

Brook’s not hard either. You only had to compliment his style and call him “elegant” before he offered to write you a song “May I see your panties?” he asked, and you only laughed. Poor guy nearly exploded when you said, “Buy me dessert first.”

Usopp? Easier than expected. You said, “You look like a man who’s seen real danger” and he told you five war stories in two minutes. You told him his aim must be deadly, he blushed red and nearly spilled his water.

Chopper shyly asked if you were a doctor too. You leaned in and whispered, “Only the kind that heals broken hearts.” He squeaked and hid behind his hat.

Even Franky cracked when you complimented his “super” arms and asked if he could build you a weapon one day.

Luffy… okay, maybe not “seduced” but even he’s laughing at your jokes now. You told him he has the best smile in the world. He gave you a piece of his meat.

Robin sips her tea slowly, watching it all unfold. She doesn’t say much but she’s watching.

“You’re really good at this” she says at last, smiling.

You smirk “I study people. Their tells, their weaknesses. Most men just want someone who listens. Or laughs. Or touches their hand at the right time.”

Nami raises an eyebrow “So that’s your trick? Manipulation?”

“Call it… understanding.” You shrug.

Robin chuckles behind her hand “You’ve gotten into all of them.”

“All but one...” Nami says, standing from her seat. She points across the table.

Zoro sits there, arms crossed, one eye half-closed, sipping his drink like this entire thing bores him.

You grin “Ah. The hard one.”

“If you can crack him,” Nami says, folding her arms, “I’ll give you something I’ve never told anyone about. A treasure I found on Skarva Island. Secret map. Gold. Real deal.”

Robin arches an eyebrow “You never told me about that.”

Nami just smiles “Didn’t need to.”

You look at Zoro, then back at Nami “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You lean back in your chair, cracking your knuckles “Oh, now this is fun.”

Zoro hasn’t said a word in ten minutes. He’s just sitting there, arms folded, eye on you like he’s waiting for something to impress him.

You know the type. Stoic. Quiet. Sharp under the silence.

You lean your elbows on the table, turning your full attention to him now.

“Zoro, right?” you say casually.

He grunts “Mm.”

You rest your chin in your hand “Swordsman. Second-in-command. Scary.”

He doesn’t answer.

You smile “You don’t talk much.”

“Nope.”

“Because you’re mysterious? Or because you just hate people?”

“Both.”

That gets a soft laugh out of Robin. Even Nami cracks a half-smile.

You nod slowly “You know… the strong silent type is the easiest to read.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced “Oh yeah?”

You lean in a little “You watch everything, but you don’t say anything. That means you trust your instincts more than people.”

He blinks. Stays quiet.

“But here’s the catch,” you go on, tone softening just a bit “People like you don’t hate people. They hate wasting time on people. There’s a difference.”

You meet his gaze. Steady. Calm.

“And I think,” you continue, lowering your voice just slightly, “you already knew I wasn’t a threat.”

His eye narrows.

You grin.

“That’s why you didn’t stop me before. And you were watching if someone else would.” You nod toward Nami.

Zoro doesn’t smile but he gives the smallest shrug, and says, “You talk too much.”

You lean back and cross your arms smugly “Which is your way of saying I’m not wrong.”

Zoro does a short nod towards you before drinking again. Which means you’re right.

Robin claps once, slowly, amused.

“Impressive” she says.

Nami leans forward on the table, hands steepled, eyes on you now with intent.

“Alright,” she says “You win.”

You raise an eyebrow “The treasure?”

She taps her pocket, smirking “We’ll talk about it.”

Later, most of the crew gets distracted arguing over dessert. Sanji is still telling Brook about how your smile “cured his heart.” You, Robin, and Nami linger at the table, your drink now halfway gone.

Robin leans over, voice low and curious “So tell us the truth. Why all the charm games?”

You swirl your glass gently “Men are easy. Predictable. They react fast. It’s all surface-level with them.”

Nami quirks a brow “So you don’t actually like any of them?”

You smile. Not flirtatious this time. A little softer “No. I don’t play with people I’m interested in. That’d be too messy. Too… distracting.”

Robin watches you with interest “So… women?”

You meet her gaze, then glance toward Nami. You speak slowly, honestly this time.

“I don’t joke about women.” you say “They don’t deserve that. When I speak to a woman, I want it to mean something.”

Nami’s quiet. She stares at you for a beat too long.

Robin looks between you both, then just sips her drink.

“So…” Nami says eventually, voice quieter now, “you play men… but you respect women.”

You nod once “Exactly.”

She leans back in her chair, studying you again. But it’s different now. Less suspicion, more… interest. Like she’s trying to figure out what kind of game this is, but maybe hoping it’s not a game at all.

“Alright,” Nami says, slowly, “what do you mean… when you speak to me?”

You grin “I guess you’ll have to keep talking to find out.”

You’re still sitting with Robin and Nami, tension slowly turning into something warmer, when a sudden voice cuts through the table:

“Hey!”

It’s Luffy. Of course.

He’s leaning over three empty dessert plates like they wronged him, hands on the table, grinning at you.

“You should join my crew.”

Your eyebrows shoot up “…Sorry, what?”

“You’re sneaky!” Luffy says, like it’s a compliment “You’re fun. You tricked everybody. And you’re smart like Robin but more annoying, like Nami.”

“Wow, thanks” Nami mutters.

“I mean it,” Luffy insists “You could be useful for missions. Infiltrate stuff. Get into places. Pretend to be people. Like a spy! That’s cool.”

You blink, then laugh “You want a con artist on your ship?”

He grins wide “Yup!”

Usopp leans in “That’s actually not a bad idea. We’re always getting chased or caught.”

Sanji’s eyes sparkle “As long as she’s on our side…”

“I am not babysitting another thief” Nami cuts in but her voice is dry, not angry.

Robin tilts her head, smiling “She’s already halfway in.”

Zoro shrugs “Just don’t steal my swords and we’re fine.”

Chopper tugs your sleeve “Can you fight, though?”

Luffy’s eyes widen “Yeah! Can you fight?”

You lean back, stretch your arms above your head, then smirk “I don’t pick fights. But I finish them. Okay, that was corny, but look.”

You reach down and lift your pant leg, revealing a slim blade strapped to your thigh. Not flashy, silent. Practical. Deadly.

“Knives,” you say “Fast, quiet, and sharp.”

Robin nods “Elegant choice.”

Nami tilts her head “Do you use them well?”

You grab your knife, point at a bounty poster at the other side of the local, all people in the middle enjoying their night.

“Look at the “O” of “dead Or alive”.”

You throw the knife without even thinking twice and hit right in the middle of the “O”.

Everyone at the table goes quiet.

You turn back, raise your glass, and smile “Good enough?”

Luffy slams both hands on the table “You’re joining.”

You pause, sipping the last of your drink, watching them all. This is insane. Reckless. Completely dangerous.

But… kind of perfect.

You finally set the glass down.

“Alright,” you say “I’m in.”

Later, as everyone leaves the diner and heads toward the Sunny, Nami walks beside you, her arms crossed, a smile just playing on her lips.

“You really said yes.”

“I like chaos” you say.

She glances sideways “You’re gonna regret this.”

You nudge her with your shoulder “I doubt it. I haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

Nami slows her steps just slightly, walking closer “…Let’s see if you can keep up.”

You smirk “Oh, I plan to do more than that.”

It’s been almost two years since you joined the Straw Hats.

You’re not the new one anymore. You’re family. You share the table. The chaos. The fights. The treasure. The sky above the Sunny at night.

And most of all, you’ve earned your place.

Your role? Simple. Infiltrate. Extract. Disappear.

It’s your gift. You blend in. Play a role. Men talk too much when you smile the right way. Say the right thing. It’s always worked.

Until now.

You’re inside a high-end lounge in Arcaen Port, dressed sharp, drink untouched, eyes locked on your target across the velvet booth.

Except your target… is a woman.

She’s calm. Powerful. She’s watching you the same way you usually watch others. And you freeze.

You hesitate... not out of fear, but out of something else.

This isn’t the game you usually play. Women aren’t pawns. They’re not jokes. They don’t deserve to be manipulated. And they don't let people manipulated them.

That’s always been your rule.

But this woman has the information you need. Info on a Celestial delivery, something that could save thousands. Luffy’s counting on you. So is the rest of the crew. Franky needs it to stop a weapons shipment too.

You take a breath. Let the moment settle in your chest.

Your voice goes soft. Flirtatious “I couldn’t help noticing the way you walk like you own the room.”

The woman smiles, leaning closer.

Hook set.

But somewhere on the sea, back on the Sunny, Nami watches through the transponder snail video feed. Robin beside her, calm as always.

The rest of the crew is off deck, but Nami stayed behind, “just in case.”

She’s used to this. You, sweet-talking idiots who fall for your smirk. It never bothered her.

Not when it was men.

But this... this is different.

You hesitate at first. She saw it. The slight twitch in your eye. The flicker of something in your hand.

And then you push past it.

You lean into the woman. Smile. Tilt your head the way Nami knows too well. Touch her wrist. Laugh.

Nami’s stomach twists.

Robin is quiet. Watching. Always watching.

“You okay?” she asks, softly.

Nami crosses her arms, a little too tight “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Robin’s gaze lingers on her. But she doesn’t push.

Nami focuses back on the screen, where you’re now sliding closer to the woman. Saying something low. Intimate.

And something burns under her skin.

Jealousy.

A feeling she doesn’t recognize at first, because she’s never let herself have it. Never thought you with those men mattered.

But seeing you with a woman, doing what you swore you never would... it changes everything. Because now it could be real.

And Nami suddenly realizes something she didn’t want to admit.

She doesn’t want to watch this anymore.

She wants you.

Back on the Sunny, it’s chaos in quiet voices.

Sanji is pacing. Chopper is gnawing on his hoof. Usopp’s leaning on the railing, muttering, “She’s fine, right? She has to be fine.”

Nami’s already halfway to the mini-boat. Boots laced, windbreaker half-zipped, stubborn fire in her eyes.

“She said she doesn’t flirt with women,” she snaps “And now she’s all over one? What if something’s wrong?”

“She can handle it, Nami,” Zoro says flatly, arms crossed “You going there now could blow the whole thing.”

“She’s not stupid,” Robin says calmly “If she crossed her own line, it’s because it mattered.”

“You don’t get it,” Nami says suddenly, her voice rising “She—She’s reckless and arrogant and she thinks she’s untouchable—”

Luffy tilts his head “You’re mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad!” she snaps, throwing her arms up “She always flirts like it’s nothing! With every guy in every town! And now it’s with a woman and—”

She stops herself.

Everyone is quiet.

Even Sanji, for once, doesn’t speak.

Nami exhales, sharp and fast. Her fingers twitch like she wants to hit something and then, colder, she mutters “I hate her.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that doesn’t belong on this ship.

The kind that stretches a second too long.

And then your voice “Good to know.”

They all turn.

You’re standing at the edge of the deck, soaked in dim moonlight, cloak fluttering in the breeze. The shadows under your eyes say you heard enough.

Your tone is even, but there’s something off. The sharp glint that usually dances in your words is gone.

Nami’s eyes go wide.

You step onto the deck, holding up a small rolled scroll and a black coin “I got everything you needed. Names, routes, drop points. She cracked after three drinks and a smile.”

No one speaks.

You look… wrong.

Not physically hurt. Not bruised. But dimmed.

You hand the scroll to Robin without meeting her eyes.

“I’m gonna get some air” you mutter.

And just like that, you turn and walk toward the back of the ship, disappearing into the shadows near the observation deck.

The silence left behind is loud.

Luffy sits down, cross-legged, eyes on the floor “She looked… sad.”

“She never looks like that.” Usopp murmurs.

Robin just holds the scroll tight, her expression unreadable.

And Nami’s still frozen. Staring at where you stood. The wind tugging her hair around her face.

Her hands are clenched at her sides.

She doesn’t say a word.

You haven’t come back down since.

You’re still somewhere above, maybe the observation deck, maybe the crow’s nest. No one knows. Or maybe they just pretend not to.

Dinner came and went. You didn’t eat.

You always eat.

Sanji cooked your favorite. Left it warming, just in case. No one touched it.

Now, the moon is high, casting silver light across the Sunny’s deck. The sea is quiet. Almost too quiet.

Nami is pacing. Barefoot. Hair tied back. Jaw tight.

“She heard me,” she says for the fifth time “She heard me say I hate her.”

“She also heard the part before that.” Robin adds gently, sipping from a cup of warm tea.

Sanji leans against the mast, arms crossed, for once not playing the romantic fool “You don’t hate her.”

“I know I don’t!” Nami snaps “That’s the problem!”

Robin glances sideways at her “Then maybe it’s time you tell her.”

“I can’t just walk up there and say ‘Surprise, I don’t really hate you, I actually might be in love with you, sorry for being jealous of someone who didn’t even matter.’”

“Why not?” Sanji says simply.

Nami glares “You’re seriously okay with this?”

Sanji shrugs “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you look at her when she’s not watching? You only get mad when she flirts with someone smart. And now that she had to flirts with a woman.”

Nami groans “Sanji…”

He smiles softly, but it’s not his usual over-the-top grin “I want the both of you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me. That’s what love’s supposed to mean, right?”

Robin places a hand on Nami’s arm “You’re not alone in this. But she is. Right now. And that’s not fair.”

Nami’s shoulders drop. Her chest is tight.

She doesn’t like feelings. Doesn’t like being soft.

But this one’s already slipped through the cracks.

“Okay,” she whispers “Okay. I’ll go.”

You’re sitting at the back of the ship, legs dangling over the railing. The breeze cools your skin. You’re watching the stars but not really seeing them.

You didn’t cry. Not really. But your chest aches.

You always told yourself women were off-limits. You respected them too much. Admired them. Needed them to be real, not illusions.

And now Nami, of all people, thinks you’re just another act.

“Hey.”

You freeze at the voice behind you.

Nami steps slowly into view, hands in her pockets, hair messy from the wind.

“I’m not here to fight...” she says “Or yell. Or… accuse.”

You don’t speak.

“I messed up,” she continues “I got jealous, and instead of admitting it, I acted like a child. I said something I didn’t mean.”

You glance at her, finally “Why did it matter? Me flirting with her?”

Nami swallows “Because it was real.”

You tense.

“Because it wasn’t a game anymore,” she says quietly “Because you looked at her like you meant it. And that scared me.”

You stare at the waves “I didn’t mean it.”

A pause.

“I only did it for the mission,” you add “Even though it felt wrong. Even though I hated myself for it. Because I thought I could handle it for one time.”

Nami walks closer, sits beside you on the rail. Close, but not touching.

“I never wanted to be someone who made you feel like you weren’t safe here,” she says “But I did. And I’m sorry.”

The silence stretches again.

This time, it feels softer.

You speak low “Why are you really here, Nami?”

She meets your eyes, and her voice is so raw it almost hurts.

“Because I don’t hate you,” she says “I think I might… actually like you... like LIKE you… love… love you.”

Your breath catches.

You blink, stunned and then for the first time in days you smile.

The world is quiet.

Just the gentle hush of waves against the Sunny’s hull. The occasional creak of the ship. Stars hanging above you, soft and endless.

You stare at her.

Her words echo in your chest.

It’s everything and nothing. It’s terrifying. It’s real.

You laugh, breathless “You’re not saying that just because you feel guilty, are you?”

Nami rolls her eyes “Do I look like someone who says ‘I love you’ to fix guilt?”

“…Fair.”

She glances down, fingers brushing the edge of the railing beside you “I’m saying it because watching you with that woman—watching you break your own rules—made me realize something.”

You tilt your head “What?”

“That I don’t want anyone else getting that close to you again,” she murmurs “Even for a mission.”

You don’t say anything. You just look at her.

Her voice lowers “Not because I own you. But because I want to be the one who gets to be close.”

It comes out of you before you can stop it.

“Then be close.”

She blinks. Breath catches.

You shift. Slowly. Cautiously. A hand reaches out, halfway between you and her, fingers hovering.

Her hand meets yours.

Fingers slide together like they were always supposed to.

You watch her eyes. There’s still that spark. That fire. But it’s softer now. Waiting.

You lean in.

She meets you halfway.

The kiss is slow.

Not rushed. Not desperate. Just real.

Her lips are warm, sure. Her hand finds your cheek. You hold her waist. The world tilts for a moment, but you don’t fall. Not this time.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against hers.

Nami’s smiling.

So are you.

“Finally” she whispers.

You laugh “Yeah. Took us long enough.”

From somewhere above, faintly “WHOOOOOOA!!”

You freeze.

Nami freezes.

You both whip your heads up toward the crow’s nest.

Sanji’s head immediately disappears.

Robin’s voice follows, calm as ever “Sanji. We talked about spying.”

“IT WAS TOO ROMANTIC TO IGNORE” Sanji yells from somewhere off-screen.

You groan, covering your face. Nami’s laugh shakes her shoulders, and this time when she kisses you, quick and soft and just yours, she doesn’t hold back.

The next island is bright, busy, and full of overly confident men in shiny coats who think they invented charm.

Perfect hunting grounds.

The mission? Infiltrate a minor noble’s gala to collect intel about a secret Marine experiment. You and Robin are the inside team. Sanji’s security backup. Nami… is in charge of recon.

Or so she insists.

“Can I trust you not to fall in love in there?” Nami asks, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, the picture of dramatic girlfriend energy. You’re already halfway into your gala disguise: sleek dress, earrings, confidence dialed to ten.

You grin “You can trust me to do the job.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You lean in, kiss her on the cheek “I’ll be back before midnight. Try not to burn the ship out of jealousy while I’m gone.”

“Don’t test me.” she grumbles, but her cheeks are already pink.

Robin smiles softly beside you “You two are worse than Luffy and meat.”

Inside the Gala

“Darling,” purrs a man in gold-trimmed boots, bowing too low “Surely you’ve never been kissed by a general before?”

You smile politely, hand grazing his wrist just long enough to lift the coded invitation from his pocket.

“Not yet.” you reply sweetly.

Robin snorts behind her wine glass.

“I swear I’m going to stab someone.” Nami growls from the comms, listening in from the ship.

“You said she was retired from flirting.” Sanji whispers dramatically.

“She lied!”

Back on the Sunny, hours later you strut up the gangplank, mission completed, dress a little rumpled, earrings gone, but smiling wide. Robin follows, calm as always.

“Hey, I got it!” you call “They’re planning to move the research to a sky island in a week. And the general thinks I like poetry.”

Luffy cheers “Let’s go steal stuff from the sky!!”

Franky whoops. Chopper claps. Usopp asks about fireworks.

Nami’s marching down the deck, fire in her eyes.

“You told him you like poetry?” she demands.

“It helped” you say innocently.

“You winked five times.”

“You were counting?”

She throws her hands in the air “I am dating the most frustrating woman in the world!”

You grin and tug her closer by the waist “Yeah, but I came back to you.”

That slows her. Just a bit.

Then she rolls her eyes and kisses you anyway “Next mission, I’m going in.”

“You sure?” you tease “I’m the master of disguise here.”

“I am the queen of jealousy.”

“That’s for sure.”

She squints at you “You want to test that?”

Robin sips tea behind you two “Please do. It’s entertaining.”

Sanji sighs dramatically in the background “Why are all the beautiful women already dating each other…”

Later that night, you lie on the deck with Nami curled against your side, her head on your shoulder, the sea whispering around you.

“You’re really not mad?” you ask softly.

She shakes her head “I’m always going to get a little jealous. But that’s just because I care.”

You smile, brushing her hair from her face “I’ll stop if you ask me to.”

She pauses.

Then grins “Don’t. I kind of like watching you work.”

You blink “Wait, what?”

“I said nothing.”

“Nami—”

“Goodnight.”

“NA—”

She kisses you again.

And just like that, the sea rolls on, and the two lovers lie under the stars, wrapped in sails, secrets, and the sweetest kind of trouble.

[hivemuthur]

Hey! I was the one who wanted to request an arrange marriage (regency era) au with viktor and reader. I would like the reader to be bubbly and artistic (for painter/drawer), if that’s okay?

If you’ve watched bridgerton, perhaps reader would be apart of that family? But if you haven’t, that’s fine, just ignore this part lol

Hi Anon! So... this is happening. People this is my take on Bridgerton-inspired regency AU :v more under picture!

A Deer and a Man - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature (overall explicit) - tho this chapter is a little pornographic, there is some naked wrists, running around in nightgowns and men with loosened cravats, so proceed with caution :v

Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 7,7K (it will be this long, sorry!)

tag: #d&m

summary: You are the eldest daughter of a noble family, soon to be married to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region—Viktor, the adopted son of House Talis. The arrangement is simple: a marriage that secures your family's wealth in exchange for access to Hextech. What could possibly go wrong?

author's note: Anon, forgive me, but I wasn't able to write it precisely into the Bridgerton universe, I don't know it nearly enough. Also, I got brain damaged while writing it and included the artist part as a pianist, as this is the subject I know best. Super special thanks to @mithrava who helped me with details (I almost squeezed our poor girl into a corset, but she fucking hates bras anyways) and to @rennethen who beta reads and brainstorms the ideas with me!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

The first look into the mirror in the morning is always suspended between a thing in bloom and a thing fading away. What blossoms is the vision of yourself, wrapped up in a short stay, your form sculpted to society’s liking, cheeks brushed with a becoming rose tint, hair pinned into a careful bun, soft tendrils escaping to frame your face. The self that fades is the girl who may draw a full breath, whose flushed cheeks owe nothing to powder but to joy, whose wild curls defy taming. You greet her each evening and bid her farewell each morning, so that the lady—your family’s prized jewel—might step into the light. Mostly.

That is, when you were not hunched over the piano, playing Appassionata with a furious fervour instead of what your mother deemed proper, like some dull Hummel or Clementi. How utterly boring and soulless they seemed, that you could almost hear your night self scolding you each time your fingers reluctantly touched the keys to play one of those Sonatinas.

Running was also a thing you had to avoid, for the most part. Eating a whole apple was strictly vulgar. As for a whole egg—well, that was something to be done in the strict privacy of the kitchens, once you’d managed to filch one without the cooks noticing. Yanking your skirts up while sitting on the grass and scribbling was also one of those moments when, if your mother had caught you, she would have been most displeased, to say the least. All in all, you had precious little time to let your night self emerge during the waking hours. She was continually suppressed by the version of you that took small, delicate bites, drank tea from a tiny cup, and sat upright while playing agreeable tunes.

Today, of all days, it is imperative that your night self remain firmly in check, while your day self does her utmost to impress the very man you have already deemed beyond salvation—without so much as laying eyes on him. A rare occasion indeed, where both versions of you are in agreement.

He has but one benefit of the doubt, and that is Jayce Talis. A brilliant inventor you once encountered when you slipped away from your mother and sisters while running errands in town. Back then, he had been mocked and overlooked as he tried to preach his discoveries from a modest tent set up on the way to the pharmacy. Someone particularly unkind had flung a fistful of mud in his direction, which Jayce avoided with such grace that your eyes had lit up.

You had been so young then, perched atop a crate of peaches, listening from afar, watching him wave his hands about, utterly bewitching.

"Is this truth you are speaking? Absolutely fascinating," you had said, once you had mustered the courage to approach him and give voice to the questions grinding in your hungry mind.

"It’s all possible, Miss," he had replied with a brilliant smile. "Take a pamphlet. I am here every Thursday."

But before you could so much as tell him your name, your mother had seized you by the ear and dragged you—nearly by force—into the nearest perfumery. Huffing and sighing in disapproval, she had straightened your dress, grumbled about the mud on your shoes, and scolded you for indulging the poor man’s delusions.

Little did she know.

Five years later, Jayce Talis is one of the most sought-after and highly regarded inventors and scientists in the entire region. Yet it is not he whom your family desires—not exactly. His research and the opportunity to invest in it—now that is what truly entices them.

And standing beside Jayce is his partner, Viktor. A stray, adopted by House Talis as though he were its own son. Apparently just as brilliant, undoubtedly just as sought-after.

"A good match," your mother says with a firm tone.

"A bright future for you and your sisters," your father says, his voice tinged with sadness and apology.

Of all men, you had thought him the one who would never betray you. And you tell yourself it is only one part of you that he has betrayed. Yet it wounds you so deeply because it is the part he always claimed to love most of all.

The real part of you.

You push her aside as you tuck a loose lock back into your bun. Fill your lungs with as much air as your short stay allows—nearly not enough. Then you answer your mother’s call with a rehearsed, “I will be right there, Maman!”

One last glance in the mirror—oh, no. You forgot a smile.

So you plaster it back onto your face, let the stale air escape your chest, and run—no, walk—downstairs. And the noise is already there as they all exchange their exaggerated good afternoons—your sweet father, your benevolent mother, your silly younger sisters, Jayce and Viktor. You hear their voices, your mother chuckling politely at Jayce’s remarks about bumpy roads, Viktor’s reserved greeting with a lilt of an accent that makes your ears perk up. Pretty.

Your eyes land on Jayce first—his frame broader than you remember—and something swells within you. Not sultry, just pleased to see this once-boy now a full-grown man, taking up the space he was always meant to claim.

And next to him—oh.

Emerging from your father’s embrace is Viktor, visibly startled by the stark contrast between your official mother and your matey father, who claps him on the back, smiling with flushed cheeks. Happy, relieved, because the boy who will marry his daughter is a slender, gentle man with kind hands and bright eyes. Your father breathes deeply, granting himself absolution for sending his eldest away into the arms of a stranger.

And the man at the bottom of the staircase looks nothing like the monster you painted in your mind. His frame is lithe yet full of quiet strength, supported by a cane. His face, all sharp angles, is touched by shifting light and shadow with every expression he tries to suppress. Lips small and tender, nose a work of the most skilled sculptor, eyes the colour of your father’s favourite bourbon—and your favourite honey, the one from summer flowers. His leg is hugged by a strange contraption of a brace, and you feel a weird sense of camaraderie—both of you constricted in some way.

"Hello," you say in your rehearsed voice, though it wavers slightly at the touch of his hand on yours. Your heart stumbles between beats when his lips press to your glove, his thumb steady on your knuckles.

"I am so glad to finally have met you, Miss. I have heard so much about you," says Viktor, holding your gaze. His composure settles back into place, his eyes drilling into you. And beneath his voice, a hint—suggesting he has heard more than just that you are a sweet young lady.

"Only good things, I hope?" you ask. And truly, the hope lingers in your tone, even though you know Jayce has told him what a wild thing you are when nobody is watching.

Briefly, you wonder—what would it be like to be asked by this man to marry him, had your families not decided your fate for you? Would you say yes, tears in your eyes? Or would you smile gently and tell him a polite maybe? Would you challenge him or take him in without compromise, had you met and known him before everything was resolved for you?

"Only good things," Viktor says with a false, polite smile as he releases your hand. And the falseness of it stirs something within you—a worry, a flicker of fear.

What is this man like when no one is watching?

You have heard almost nothing—only mentions of his brilliance and good behaviour. But if they are as much half-truths as the mentions of your brilliance and good behaviour, then this arrangement could be either a blessing or a curse.

Not that it matters. If you ever wanted to be married, which you still do not. You merely accept your fate for the sake of…

For the sake of your family. Of course.

The exchange of pleasantries has barely settled when the butler steps forward, his voice measured and precise. "My lord, my lady, refreshments are prepared in the drawing room."

"Ah, excellent!" Father claps Jayce’s shoulder in a display of easy camaraderie. "We have much to discuss, Mister Talis. Shall we?"

Mother inclines her head gracefully, extending a gloved hand toward the open doorway. "Come, gentlemen. We shall not let business keep us from our tea."

The procession to the drawing room is orderly, Father leading Jayce in enthusiastic conversation about the boundless opportunities ahead. "A partnership of this nature is unprecedented, of course. An investment in the future—our shared future."

Jayce responds with the confidence of a man accustomed to admiration. "Precisely, my lord. With the right support, we could revolutionise industry as we know it."

You follow with measured steps, Viktor at your side. He has not spoken since the introduction, his expression composed, though his eyes—deep, contemplative—move with interest over the fine furnishings of the room.

As everyone settles, tea is poured, the gentle clink of porcelain filling the brief lull in conversation. You accept your cup, watching as Viktor does the same, his fingers long and careful around the delicate handle. A man of precision, no doubt.

You lower yourself onto one of the chairs as a maid pours the tea, your hands folding neatly in your lap as you watch your father and Jayce fall into an easy rhythm of discussion. They speak of investments, of Hextech’s promise, of the ways in which your family’s patronage will shape the future. You hear none of it.

“You must find this arrangement rather inconvenient,” you say to Viktor, keeping your voice light as you turn toward him.

His eyes sharpen, though his smile remains polite. “How so?” His hand playing with the cane stills, long fingers extend idly toward its wooden pole.

You tilt your head. “To be bound to a wife you do not know. And for science, no less.”

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, setting his tea down. “Science is a noble cause, Miss. Perhaps even nobler than marriage.”

A test. You recognise it as easily as you recognise your own reflection.

"Then I suppose you have the better end of the bargain," you say, knowing it’s in fact, the exact opposite.

What Viktor doesn’t know, is that your mother has ensured the bargain benefits your family far more than it does the inventors. And looking at both of them—Jayce, hardly containing the beam on his face, and Viktor, observing everything reverently—you feel a pang of guilt, followed by a flicker of anger at the injustice.

A plan formulates in your wicked brain faster than you can blink.

Viktor’s lips press together, but amusement flickers in his gaze. “Perhaps we both do.”

Whatever he means by that, you don’t get the chance to find out. Your mother’s voice cuts through the conversation, her smile as polished as the silverware. “My dear, do spare Mister Viktor the interrogation.”

You return her smile, though yours is sharper. “I was only ensuring he is as clever as they say.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow slightly before she turns back to Viktor, seamlessly redirecting the conversation to something safer. "Dearest, I do believe Mister Talis was about to ask your thoughts on Clementi’s compositions. Such refined taste in music is most becoming."

A deliberate redirection. A warning.

You inhale, curbing the temptation to press further. "Indeed, my lady Mother." Turning to Jayce, you summon a practiced smile. "I do believe his sonatinas have their merits. Though, some find them rather—predictable."

Viktor’s gaze lingers a moment longer, unreadable. You have tested him, and he has not recoiled. A curiosity, then. A mystery yet to unfold.

You spend the rest of the afternoon refreshments chatting to Jayce about mediocre music, wondering if he is as bored as you are. He is ever the gentleman, offering the occasional enthusiastic nod or agreeable remark, though you catch the way his gaze strays toward the conversation between your Father and Viktor. You, on the other hand, attempt to suppress yawns, stuffing your face with biscuits only to receive a sharp, silent scolding from your mother—her ever-composed expression unchanging, yet her message perfectly clear in the slight arch of her brow and the subtle narrowing of her eyes.

Jayce, for his part, is far less burdened by such silent reprimands, complimenting the food with an easy charm that has even the servants standing a little straighter. "Absolutely delightful," he declares after a bite of pastry. "Your cooks must be geniuses, my lady."

Mother responds with a gracious nod, her practiced smile unwavering. "We do strive for excellence."

Meanwhile, across the room, Viktor exchanges politeness with your father, and—intriguingly—seems to warm to the conversation. While his initial responses are careful, measured, there is a spark of genuine enthusiasm as the subject shifts to research. Your father, less constipated than your mother in matters of etiquette, easily shakes off formality, allowing his hand to linger on Viktor’s shoulder longer than necessary—a gesture of camaraderie and gratitude.

As the discussion unfolds, Viktor’s composure loosens. He leans in slightly, his hands moving as he speaks, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of a man entirely lost in his own world of ideas. His voice, once restrained, now carries a lilt of passion as he explains the intricacies of Hextech and its boundless potential. You watch, fascinated, as the façade slips away—just a little—revealing something softer beneath. And how lovely he looks when he forgets himself.

Dinner proceeds without any great disturbances, save, again, for your mother’s silent rebukes whenever you take too large a bite or drink too greedily. Conversation flows between the three men, animated and full of promise—the future, progress, the shape of the world yet to come. All three desire it in their own way, though you suspect Viktor’s hunger for it is of a different nature than the others’.

And then, of course, comes your turn to be put on display. After dinner, Mother’s hand lands lightly on your wrist, her voice smooth as silk yet firm beneath the surface. "Dearest, why don’t you show our guests the depths of your talents? A sonatina, perhaps? Something refined."

Refined, meaning dull. Predictable. A test, as everything always is.

You rise, crossing the room with measured steps, already feeling Viktor’s gaze on you. He has seen something of you in conversation—but now, he will listen.

And so—you play the godforsaken Sonatina, your skin pulled tight over your face, eyes hooded, fingers moving with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner serving a sentence. Your back aches from keeping your spine stiffly straight, and despite your best efforts, your brows begin to furrow in ironic frustration. You only realise it when your mother clears her throat—pointedly, just a touch too loud.

You correct yourself immediately, smoothing your expression, though you swear you hear the ghost of a chuckle slip past Viktor’s lips. How dare he.

"How lovely," Jayce says, his smile wide and honest. You return it with one of your own—entirely dishonest—as you offer an insincere, "Thank you, Mister Talis," and bow politely. Viktor nods and swallows, and for some reason, you catch the way his throat bobs.

"Gentlemen, I believe it is time to discuss business. Let us move to the smoking room," Father announces, beaming. You can't suppress the sigh that escapes you. Soon—very soon—your night self will be free. She has been clawing at the edges of your skin for hours.

"Goodnight, my dearest girls," Father says warmly, pressing a kiss to both your forehead and your mother’s—a gesture so private, so natural, it earns him a scoff from his wife and a kiss on the cheek from his daughter.

Pleasantries are exchanged, and as soon as the men are out of sight, you bolt toward your bedroom. Your mind is already racing, gears grinding. Your feet slip from your heels, and you clasp them in your hands as you take the stairs two at a time. Every step sheds another layer of constriction—the short stay, the chemise, the pins biting into your scalp, the suffocating weight of your skirts. Off, off, off. The blush, the powder, the pretence. Her watch has ended for today.

You shake your hair loose from its updo before you even reach your door, already calling for your maid the moment you step inside, clawing at the laces of your gown in desperation.

“Miss, why the dramatics?” she teases, catching up with you in the corridor.

“Peggy don’t test me. I can’t breathe,” you whine, slumping onto your vanity chair, hands pressing against your ribs to emphasize the urgency. “I am convinced that in hell, everyone wears a short stay.”

Peggy chuckles but says nothing more as her fingers work deftly at the laces, loosening them with a care that speaks of years spent tending to you. You feel the tension ease, your ribs finally expanding without resistance.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice light but expectant. “How was the evening?”

You hesitate. The words sit heavy on your tongue, as though speaking them aloud would solidify them, make them real. And you are not quite ready for that. Instead, you exhale slowly, composing yourself before replying, “He is… nice.” That is all you can manage.

Peggy hums knowingly. “From what I managed to spy, he’s also rather handsome.”

You scoff, turning your head away. “Is that all that matters?”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” she says with a grin, but she does not press further.

At last, the constriction gives way, and you take an exaggerated breath, filling your lungs like a drowning woman reaching the surface. Then, without ceremony, you slide off the chair and sprawl flat on the floor, half-dressed, limbs flung out like a marionette with its strings cut.

Peggy, unfazed, picks up your nightgown and drapes it over you as though covering a corpse. “God, grant rest upon my poor mistress’s soul and let her eternity be free of the constriction of breast support,” she intones in mock solemnity.

Laughter bubbles up from your chest, unrestrained and real. You lift an arm weakly and wave it in her general direction. “Saint Peggy, patron of weary ladies, I thank you.”

She curtsies dramatically. “As ever, at your service. Call on me if you need anything.”

“I expect I shall sleep like a log.”

“Good. You’ve earned it, I think.” With that, she takes her leave, pulling the door shut behind her.

Silence settles over the room, thick and absolute. You are alone.

For the first time since the day began, the weight of it all presses down on you. The evening, the introductions, the expectations—your mother’s sharp gaze, your father’s quiet resignation, the way Viktor’s eyes had searched yours with something unreadable. It is real now. You are betrothed.

You swallow. A part of you wants to dwell on it, to trace every moment back and find meaning in the way Viktor’s lips had pressed to your glove, or how he had looked when he spoke of his work, his façade slipping just enough to let something genuine through. But you stop yourself before you go too far.

No. There is still one more thing to do tonight.

You push yourself up from the floor, shaking away the thoughts. The night is not over yet.

Barefoot and silent, you slip from your chambers, the corridor dimly lit by the soft glow of sconces. The house is quiet, the faint crackle of a dying hearth the only sound accompanying your careful steps. You know this path well—the precise places to avoid so the floorboards won’t betray you, the door handle that needs an extra nudge before it turns smoothly.

Inside, your father’s study smells of ink, aged paper, and a lingering trace of cigar smoke. The large mahogany desk dominates the space, neat and orderly, save for the glass of brandy he left half-finished. You move swiftly, rifling through the stack of documents until you find it—your contract, tucked within a leather folder. The paper is thick beneath your fingers, the ink crisp and unwavering in its certainty.

You sit at his desk, candle alit, quill and ink poised above parchment. The contract lies before you, its neat, formal script a reminder of how little say you had in its creation. Pushed through by your father but shaped by your mother’s precise demands, it is, at its core, a transaction. A business arrangement designed to favour your family above all else.

Your eyes skim over the terms, and irritation prickles beneath your skin. The imbalance is glaring. The investment into Hextech is substantial, but in return, the Talises and your future husband receive only what your mother deems “reasonable compensation.” No direct ownership, no authority over the funds. Your family retains the power, and Viktor and Jayce are little more than beneficiaries at your parents’ discretion. A gilded leash.

You press your lips together. No. This will not do.

Dipping your quill into the ink, you begin to amend.

First, the finances—your father’s control over the investment is reduced. Instead of an allowance doled out at his leisure, the funds will be released in agreed-upon increments, ensuring neither Jayce nor Viktor are forced to beg for what is already promised to them. They will have the freedom to allocate resources as needed, without interference from your family.

Next, ownership. The contract had positioned your father as a silent but permanent stakeholder, yet he has no knowledge of Hextech, no hand in its creation. You strike that out, altering it so that once their research yields results, patents and profits remain in the hands of their rightful creators. Your family will receive a generous return, but not at the expense of their autonomy.

Then, Viktor himself. The terms outlining your marriage are, predictably, cold. Your mother’s hand is evident in every word. You are to be an asset to your husband, a guiding influence, ensuring that he remains focused and socially presentable. It is not about companionship—it is about control.

You set your quill down, flexing your fingers before taking it up again. You cannot undo the engagement, but you can redefine it. The clauses regarding expectations of your role are softened, turned into vague suggestions rather than obligations. Where once it stated that your husband must be “encouraged” to attend events and maintain appearances, you adjust it to read that he may do so at his discretion. No doubt your mother will notice this change, but you will cross that bridge when you must.

By the time you finish, the candle has burned low. You lean back, studying your work. The contract remains an arrangement, a tether you cannot sever, but at least now, it is fairer. A step closer to something tolerable.

You blot the ink, letting the parchment dry. The night stretches on, silent save for the scratching of your quill as you forge your own small rebellion in ink.

Once you deem it ready, you sneak back out, guiding your footsteps toward the guest bedrooms. An unthinkable mésalliance, your mother would say, but you feel that both Jayce and Viktor should be made aware—if your plan is to work. You step carefully, your bare feet growing dirty from crossing the house without slippers.

Muffled conversation filters through the door your mother assigned to Jayce. His voice is slightly raised, Viktor’s quieter, edged with irony. They are discussing the evening.

One proper breath, and then a knock on the door.

The hum of conversation ceases instantly as heavy footsteps approach. The door cracks open, and Jayce’s eyes widen—because there you stand, in nothing but your nightdress and a loose cape that does little to conceal your state of undress.

His mouth falls open, and only a small, startled sound escapes his lips.

“Let me in!” you whisper sharply, glancing down the corridor with nervous urgency.

“Oh, Miss, forgive me, but this… is very inappropriate,” Jayce says weakly, though he makes no move to stop you as you push past him and step into the room.

The air is thick with the remnants of their earlier conversation, the scent of brandy lingering. Viktor sits slouched in an armchair, one elbow propped on the armrest, fingers pressed against his temple as if warding off a headache. He watches you, silent, unreadable.

Jayce, on the other hand, is all frantic gestures and hushed protests. “You must go back to your room. If anyone—God, if your mother—” He exhales sharply, rubbing his jaw. “This is madness.”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Fuck the polite society, Jayce. Do you want to be a slave to my mother, or will you read what I brought you?”

At that, Viktor’s lips quirk—barely. “Quite a mouth you have there, Miss.” His voice is smooth, carrying none of Jayce’s flustered panic. He rises from his chair, extending a hand.

It’s only then that you truly take him in. His shirt is undone at the neck, the cravat abandoned somewhere, his hair tousled prettily as if he’s raked his fingers through it too many times. A flush warms his cheeks—alcohol, no doubt, courtesy of your father.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before placing the document in his outstretched hand. Your fingers brush, and you retreat too quickly, as if the touch burned.

Silence. Viktor’s eyes flick across the page, reading with quiet intensity. Jayce, peeking over his shoulder, mutters under his breath, “Oh, my.”

Viktor lets out a quiet scoff, the amusement avoiding his eyes. “And to what do we owe this mercy of yours, pray tell?” His gaze lingers on the last lines of your text, his tone devoid of the warmth he carried earlier. Now, it is sharp, cold, measured—kindness stripped away as if it had only ever been a mask to wear in polite company. He swallows and lifts his eyes to you, utterly unamused, borderline bored. “I loathe charity.”

Heat rises to your cheeks before you can stop it, a tangled mess of emotions forming beneath your ribs, but anger is among them. You exhale sharply, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of how exposed you are. “And I loathe injustice and trickery. This—” you gesture vaguely at the parchment. “Is fair. If I am to be sold to a man I do not know, let it be on terms that are humanely acceptable.”

“How kind,” he says, smiling—mocking. “And how do you expect us to accept this? Who do you think is stupid, me and Mister Talis or your own father?” He steps closer, ignoring the way Jayce’s hand presses against his shoulder as if to restrain him. His weight wavers without a cane, and for a moment, you think he might have to steady himself on you.

“My father is not an unkind man. He simply loves my mother too much for his own good. My mother…” You tilt your head, letting the words settle between you. “Well, she’s a woman.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile. “Charming.”

“But my father will not read this upon signing, of that I am certain. We will be long bound before anyone notices.”

Viktor exhales, a sound of something between disbelief and amusement. “And who are you doing this for, my merciful Lady?” His voice shifts, the sharpness still there, but beneath it—a spark of something else. The same fervour he held when speaking of his machines, now laced with something darker.

“Myself, my Lord.” You meet his gaze without hesitation. “You just happen to be a casualty of my mercy.”

And something stirs in your chest—a swelling, an exhilaration. The night version of you, the real you, speaking bluntly to the man who is to be your husband. And he does not recoil. He accepts the challenge. Infuriatingly so, but beneath your irritation, something sparks under your skin that you cannot chase away. Excitement.

Viktor blinks, slowly. Then, he turns to Jayce, whose face has gone chalk white during your exchange. “What do you think of this?”

Jayce swallows hard. “What if he notices? Your father, that is,” he asks wearily, clearly tempted by your terms yet frightened of what it might cost your families' alliance.

“He won’t. And if, by some unholy joke, he does—I will take the blame. Tonight never happened,” you state firmly, bravely. You do not let your voice betray the truth: that you have no idea what you would do if your mother ever found out. She would probably cut your hair and throw you in a convent.

They both nod, and you allow yourself a breath. Then, Viktor extends his hand for a handshake.

You stare at it briefly before accepting—his palm is calloused, warm. Bigger than yours, his fingers so long they nearly brush your wrist. His grip is firm, unwavering.

For the briefest moment, his gaze flickers downward—to your chest. It’s so quick you might have missed it. But you didn’t. And neither did he miss the way heat rushes to your cheeks.

His eyes meet yours again, glinting with an unreadable taunt. “I think it’s best you return to your chambers, my Lady,” he says at last. To that, you can only nod.

You slip back into your father’s office under the cover of darkness, placing the altered contract precisely where it needs to be—where it will be signed without a second glance. Then, just as carefully, you retreat to your chambers, slipping past every creaking floorboard with the expertise of someone who has done this many times before.

Once inside, you bolt the door, shrugging off your cape before sinking onto the mattress. The night version of you refuses to rest. She tosses and turns, replaying every moment of the evening—the music, the dinner, the conversation, the challenge in Viktor’s eyes, the brush of his fingers against yours.

And yet, despite all of it, he is still a stranger.

Morning invades you with harsh light pouring through the abruptly opened curtains and Peggy’s voice urging you to get up.

“Miss? You’ve overslept! Up! Up!” she whisper shouts, pulling the covers down from the bed.

You groan and press your palms to your eyes, curling up into a bean. “Peggy, have mercy, I beg of you.”

“Sorry, Miss, no mercy today. Our guests are leaving soon, and you can’t miss breakfast, not today,” Peggy says with a kind smile that disarms you. You roll out of your bed, feet dragging across the floor before you slump down in front of the vanity. You watch as Peggy chases away the night self, pins your hair up, wipes the night drool of your face to make you at least vaguely presentable. She’s merciful with the short stay though­—picks a looser one, from the time before you lost your baby fat.

Your heels clack on the staircase and you can already hear voices coming from downstairs. As you approach the drawing room, a glimpse of the scene within stops you in your tracks. Lurking in the doorframe, you watch as Jayce and Viktor hunch over a parchment, feigning deep concentration as they pretend to read it thoroughly before signing. They do so, exchanging pats on the shoulder—conspirators sealing a silent agreement.

Then, it is your father’s turn. He catches sight of you lingering in the doorway and flashes you a warm smile. “Good morning, love.”

His eyes drop back to the document. He gives it one last cursory sweep, his quill hovering just above the space left to sign.

You hold your breath.

And he... hesitates. A small hmm escapes him. His brows knit together in fleeting consideration, and then—oh.

He looks straight at you.

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you do not waver. You hold his gaze, steady, unflinching. And for whatever reason—be it the bond of blood or simply the fact that he has known you all your life—his expression softens. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

And oh.

He signs.

You exhale, breathless, weightless. Laughter erupts between them—hugs, handshakes, pats on the back. Jayce beams, his happiness unguarded. Viktor wears a smile that, for once, looks almost honest. Your father looks content.

It is signed. Done. Sealed.

Your father steps forward and pulls you into a firm embrace. “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you,” he murmurs against your hair. Then, in a quieter, amused tone, he adds, “Now, let us pray your mother doesn’t notice until the wedding.” He chuckles softly.

Oh. Right. You are getting married.

***

A few days have passed since the contract was signed, and to your relief, your mother has not noticed the adjustments you made. She remains blissfully consumed by wedding preparations, entirely unaware that the original terms—so starkly in favour of your family—have been tempered to grant House Talis a fairer standing.

However, your father called you to his study, his expression unreadable as he regarded you across his desk. His words were firm, yet not unkind. He did not scold, nor did he praise, only ensured you understood the weight of your actions.

"You have done them a service," he admitted at last, after a measured silence. "One I hope they will not forget." And though he said nothing further, though his approval was never voiced, something in his tone—something almost like respect—settled in your chest, easing the uncertainty that had lingered since you first put pen to paper.

Now, with a storm in your mind, your fingers fly over the keys, the sharp, cascading notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (Presto Agitato) filling the room with thunderous urgency. It drowns out everything—the ticking of the clock, the creak of the floorboards, even the faint rustle of the curtains shifting in the afternoon breeze.

You have not thought about it until now. Not truly. Not beyond the abstraction of ink on parchment and the murmured discussions over tea and candlelight. But now, with only days left before you are no longer just yourself but someone’s wife, it hits you. A shift. A point of no return.

How strange, to know that the house you grew up in, the one you have played in, dreamt in, stormed through in childhood fits of temper, will no longer be yours. That soon, your place at this very piano, in this very room, will be an absence rather than a presence. The thought unsettles you.

So you play harder. Louder. Until the force of it rings in your chest, keeping you from thinking too much. You curl forward, biting your lip absentmindedly, your face twisted with emotion, your torso nearly hovering over the keys like a hunchback.

You do not hear the front door open, nor the sound of measured footsteps in the hall. You do not see the maid, Peggy, curtsy as she leads your visitor inside. You do not even notice when she hesitates, turning to announce him—because before she can, a voice stops her.

"It’s alright, Peggy. Please, allow me."

It is a quiet request, yet it holds the weight of something decisive. Viktor stands in the doorway, smiles for Peggy, but his eyes are fixed on you, considering. The way your body moves with the music, the tension in your shoulders, the way you lose yourself in the notes.

Peggy looks up at him, blinking in momentary surprise, before a small, approving smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He is not appalled. Not by the passion, the volume, the unladylike ferocity with which you play. And that, she thinks, is a good sign.

So she gives him a knowing look, inclines her head, and quietly slips away—leaving him alone to watch you. And you, still unaware of his presence, continue to play.

He spies your reflection in the window—your face shifting from one expression to another with each rise and fall of the music. Your brows knit in concentration, your eyes clamp shut with feeling, your mouth parts slightly, forming an unconscious little o. Strands of hair have slipped free from their updo, framing your cheeks in wild disarray.

Viktor inches closer, careful to avoid the floorboards that might creak beneath his step. He drinks in the scene—the unguarded display, the sheer abandon with which you play. A thought takes root. Perhaps this arrangement will not be the terrible imprisonment he once feared. Surely, you—with your tempestuous fingers and flagrant disregard for propriety—will agree that freedom is the highest privilege, worth protecting above all else.

He tells himself the feeling in his chest is not admiration but hope. Hope that the two of you might reach an understanding, one that will allow you both to remain unshackled even within the binds of matrimony. He tells himself that your parted mouth is merely amusing, nothing more.

The piece crashes to an end, and with a frustrated groan, you collapse forward, resting your forehead and elbows on the keyboard. A discordant wail echoes through the room. Viktor chuckles and finally breaks the silence.

"Are you not happy with your play, Miss?"

You jolt upright with a sharp gasp, spinning around so quickly that you nearly stumble in your haste to stand.

"Dear God, my Lord!"

You attempt a curtsy, but the motion is so hurried and clumsy that you almost topple over. Viktor steps forward instinctively, his hands finding your forearms to steady you, cane clattering to the floor. His grip is light, his touch like a feather, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle," he murmurs, breath quickening despite himself at the warmth and tension in your arms. He holds you wondering whether his fingertips would meet had he closed them around you. The thought gets chased away as soon as it enters his mind.

You swallow hard, your heart still racing from the shock. The room suddenly feels much smaller, the space between you too charged. You are keenly aware of your appearance—loosened hair, flushed cheeks, a dress slightly rumpled from sitting too long at the piano. You feel exposed. He does not seem to mind, still holding your elbows.

"I do not know as much about music as Jayce," Viktor continues, tilting his head slightly, "but this sounded rather… challenging, no?"

"I’m so sorry—you weren’t meant to hear this," you blurt out, lowering your gaze.

"I enjoyed it thoroughly," he replies without hesitation. "It’s rather different to what I heard last time."

Your fingers twitch on his arms. Different was one way to put it.

"Oh, it’s quite different," you admit. Then, lowering your voice, "Also, quite forbidden. Please don’t tell my mother—she will burn my sheet music and make me play that measly Clementi until my fingers bleed."

Viktor smirks, his fingers wrapping just a notch tighter around your arms. "I shall keep your secret, Miss. What’s another one shared between betrothed? I imagine there will be more."

For the briefest moment, you wonder if he is flirting. Your pulse quickens at the notion, but you quickly clear your throat and step back, disentangling yourself from his grasp. You smooth your skirts, willing the heat in your cheeks to fade.

"What brings you here, if you don’t mind my asking?"

He leans to pick up the cane and you wonder momentarily if you should help, before he says, "Oh, I was announced to call upon you today. Have you forgotten?"

You press your lips together, mortified. "Forgive me. It completely slipped my mind—I got lost in thought."

Viktor hums, nodding in understanding. "That’s quite alright. I think I am familiar with the feeling." Then, arching a brow, "Also, why are we whispering?"

Your shoulders stiffen. "Because if my benevolent mother finds us here without a chaperone, hell will open its mouth and swallow me whole."

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, unbothered. "I was told your mother went to town with your sisters, Miss. No need to fret. Or whisper, as much as I like the sound of it."

His voice is steady, indifferent to the scandalous implication of being alone together. You, however, remain acutely aware of it, your hands smoothing over your skirts once more as if to will yourself into some semblance of propriety. So odd to meet another who cares not about the binding of the rules made up by God knows who. Absolutely peculiar to be the one who leans toward the constriction on instinct, being presented with someone who doesn’t obey. The night self has cackled within you ludicrously.

“What is the reason for your calling, then?” you ask, forcing your voice to remain steady.

“I was told by Jayce’s sweet mother that such is a custom between courting couples,” Viktor replies, his tone unreadable.

Courting. Couple. Be still, your stupid heart. You press your lips together before speaking. “I thought I was considered to be courted by now.”

Viktor tilts his head slightly, watching you as though deciphering a puzzle. “If you do not wish me to visit, do tell. I don’t mean to impose upon you, Miss.”

“Oh no, my Lord, forgive my bluntness,” you say quickly, feeling a warmth creep up your neck. “I am merely not sure if I am able to entertain you in the way you desire.”

Something shifts in Viktor’s expression—his gaze darkens slightly, and his fingers twitch at his cane before he hesitates, swallowing as if choosing his words carefully. “I meant to invite you for a stroll later this week,” he says at last, voice softer, but still carrying that enigmatic lilt. “Apparently, it is good were we to be seen in public together. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone and have an unsupervised conversation while being regarded.”

There’s something about the way he says it—an almost playful contradiction in the idea of a private moment under the scrutiny of others—that makes you pause. He is studying you again, and though you should feel wary, you find yourself intrigued instead.

“Well, I would lie if I said you didn’t grasp my attention. I shall indulge you, my Lord,” you say after taking a long inhale, steadying yourself. The moment of unguarded reaction is gone—you slip back into the polished version of yourself, the one who knows how to navigate these waters. Calm, composed, hands resting gently on your abdomen, back straight, chin held high.

Viktor only smiles, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he inclines his head. “I am no Lord, just a man. Please, call me Viktor.”

Your fingers twitch where they rest. He is dismantling barriers you had placed with such ease it’s infuriating. “I will be there, Viktor.” The name feels unfamiliar yet strangely natural on your tongue.

In response, he whispers your name softly, like a secret meant only for him to know. A shiver curls up your spine, and before you can stop yourself, your arms move—grasping at your elbows in a defensive clutch. The instinct to shield yourself is immediate, but you smother it, replacing it with a placid smile. If Viktor notices, he does not call attention to it, though something in his gaze flickers. He looks as though he is about to say something, but then he hesitates. Withdraws.

For a moment, you simply stare at each other, the air thick with something unspoken. It feels strange—utterly so. As if you are being assessed, studied with a precision that leaves you feeling exposed. And the duel is not fair. He has some sort of weapon, some unseen advantage, while you stand bare, vulnerable. Like a deer in the forest, ears pricked, waiting for the shot to ring out.

“I shan’t disturb you further,” he finally says, turning toward the door. “I will send a note as to when and where we will meet.”

On cue, the door creaks, and Peggy peeks through the crack.

“Miss, the Lady will be back soon. Shall I make some tea for you and your caller?”

You exhale sharply, regaining your bearings. “Mister Viktor is leaving, but thank you. We should, probably—” You catch yourself before you say too much, before you admit that you need to look as though you have been dutifully engaged in proper, ladylike pastimes rather than playing scandalous music behind closed doors. You glance at Peggy, willing her to understand.

She does. “Of course, Miss! I will be with you in a few moments.”

The door clicks shut behind Viktor.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, pressing a hand against your ribs as though it could steady the frantic beat of your heart.

Save for your father, this was the first time you had been alone in a room with a man. The realisation settles over you like a weight, and the two halves of yourself clash within your chest.

The day you—the dutiful daughter—cannot help but acknowledge the impropriety of it all. She knows what is expected, what lines should not be crossed. And yet… she hesitates. Because the unease doesn’t stem solely from being alone with a man. It stems from being alone with Viktor, a man whose manners slip free of societal constraints the moment he is given the chance.

The night you, however, does not hesitate. She roars in satisfaction. This was thrilling. The push and pull of conversation, the glances, the knowing looks. And to do so while basking in daylight, without shadows to obscure the truth of it?

Intoxicating.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 3

Part 1 2 3 4

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, noncon/dubcon, implied smut/cunnilingus, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: pls comment and reblog because 🥲 i wanna nuke this again and could use the reassurance | cross posted on ao3

tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

You are changed after that, you both are. When Caraxes lands in the dragon pit, Daemon helps you down, something he's never done. The prince knits his brows in offence when you break away from his hold. You walk towards the two knights in white cloaks, gazing in wonder, "twins."

You look between them, smile spreading across your face as you tried to make out one for the other. You point to the one on the left, "Ser Arryk?"

The man smiles back and nods, "well met, princess."

You giggle and clap you hands, "tis dumb luck." You turn to the other, "greetings, Ser Erryk. A pleasant afternoon to you."

You feel someone come up behind you.

Erryk returns your smile and bows, "a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, my princess."

You look over your shoulder as Daemon places a hand on your waist. He looks between them, "you need not follow. I will be with my wife until later this evening."

Your brows quirk, "you will?"

Daemon turns to you, lip curving upward, "don't you wish to know the pleasantness of fucking in one's bed?"

In unison, the Cargyll brothers turn away and clear their throats. Meanwhile, your heart leaps into mouth and your jaw hangs low. You cannot even speak as you feel your face burn. Your devilish husband chuckles and rubs your back, "worry not. You'll find yourself making noises soon enough."

With that, the twins step aside and you cower into Daemon's shoulder as he leads you off. He laughs, both in mockery and amusement, enjoying your reaction thoroughly. There was something in the way you retreated into him that made his chest uneasy. The feel of your forehead upon his arm was rather unnatural. He does not like the effect on him, so he pushes you away.

You squeak at the sudden action. Your features spare no reflection of your confusion and hurt.

Daemon grins at it, then pulls you back in, one arm snaking around you.

Your face falls back into a state of rest, that is until his hand begins to travel up your breast. You whimper at his squeeze, "D-Daemon."

He hums, "feels good, doesn't it?"

Your hands tremble as you bring it up to his. You slowly push him away, "later."

His brow quirks. Defiance?. He drags you across him, eliciting another squeak as he traps you between his body and the stone wall. Your heart begins to race when he gathers your skirts. You press your hand on his chest, "Daemon-"

"Is this not my right?" he hangs his head low to press his nose upon your jaw, "if I take you here in this hall, I would only be exacting the will of the gods for a married man and woman."

You squeeze his shoulders, "but there are peo-"

"People should know of my efforts to produce an heir."

Your body burns at the thought. But then, you both turn to the side upon hearing the sound of skidding and footsteps running off.

"Daemon!" you whine, hiding into his chest.

That's enough. He smirks then looks down at you. He releases your skirts in lieu of taking your hand. "Very well, prudish wife. I will claim you in our marriage bed, as you insist."

And Daemon does, right after he claims you against your chamber door and your vanity table. In truth, you do not understand how he had the wits about him to leave bed when it was all over.

The next morning was strange. It felt like a dream, in both parts that you enjoyed yourself coupling with your husband, and that you could not believe the turn of events. You get out of bed when your servants come to rouse you with a, "good morn, milady."

"Good morn," you stand, pushing your long hair behind you. Your servants giggling catches your attention. Your forehead curls inquisitively.

"The prince is a very passionate lover, milady."

You are bewildered by the sudden remark.

"Shall you wear a turtleneck today?" one says.

"Or perhaps a large necklace?" the other adds.

You look into the mirror and only then do you realize why they were offering such things. Red and purple blossomed on your throat, travelling even beyond the collar of your nightgown. Your body burns and you promptly cover yourself.

Your servants giggle and come to your side, "you need not hide from us, your grace."

"My cousin works in a brothel and she has— aw!"

You watch as one of them rubs their arm. The other who had pinched her turns back to you, "many apologies, your grace."

"Apologies," she mutters, rubbing her arm.

You stare at the two of them, feeling something bitter creep up your throat. "Did you..." you take a deep breath, "mean to say your cousin has... lain with my husband?"

She give you an apologetic expression, "forgive me, I-"

You cut her off with your nod, "you need not say more. I would like never to hear about this in future."

The two curtsy and speak no more as they ready you for the day.

By the time you're dressed in a modest turtleneck dress, and your brown hair is braided and adorned with silver pins, there is a knock on your door. You open the door yourself, dismissing your servants on the way.

"Ah," you smile at the sight of Cargyll, "good morrow, ser."

He bows, "good morrow, princess."

You rub your hands together as you examine his face, "... is it Erryk before me?"

He smiles, shaking his head, "tis Arryk with you this morn."

"Ah," you raise a finger, "you misheard me, ser. I clearly said Arryk and not Erryk."

Arryk chuckles softly and nods, "apologies, your grace."

"Perhaps you might teach me how to tell you apart," you mutter, "as a twin myself, I would be most offended if someone mistook me for my brother."

His laugh is more pronounced this time. He links his hands together as he thinks momentarily, "well, I would say he is uglier than I, but then again, he has my face."

You giggle under your breath. You bring a hand to your lips, "I understand you completely."

"As of late," he rubs his chin, "my beard has become longer."

You hum, "good to know." You exit your room, closing the door behind you, "have you broken fast, ser Arryk?"

"Indeed."

"Oh," you pause, "... you... would not happen to know where Prince Daemon is, would you?"

He turns to his feet.

You raise your brows.

"Would you like to know the truth?"

You stiffen at the thought, "...yes, ser. Always."

"Last I heard he was drinking with Gold Cloaks in Fleabottom," he mutters before looking up at you.

"I see," you say softly, "I— thank you for your honesty."

He nods, "of course, my princess."

You needlessly inspect your fingers, "my siblings would be eating with my father," you turn to Arryk, "and I do not wish to face him. I am sure he would say the same about me."

He clenches his jaw. He remembers the argument yesterday, and how Lord Otto moaned and hissed as Arryk escorted him out the maester's ward.

"Do you mind accompanying me as I break my fast?" you mutter, "I do not like eating alone."

He bows his head, "it is my duty to accompany you wherever you may go."

"... Ah," you look to your feet. You meant to offer that he drink a cup of tea with you, but the thought becomes preposterous the longer it lingers. He is not your friend. You have no friends in the Keep, "yes... it is."

Arryk knits his brows then finds himself correcting, "but I do not mind it at all. It is my pleasure to serve."

You offer him a soft smile. He is taken slightly off-guard by the sadness he catches in your eyes, which is why he does not smile back.

As you masticated your first meal of the day, you absentmindedly mashed your food while looking out the window. You longed to seek refuge in your twin, but you knew it would not be long until your father came around to chew you out. It would only be worse if you went to your sister, though, if she was under the refuge of her princess, perhaps not.

You decide it would probably be better for you to look for your husband, for after all, you were no longer a Hightower.

Arryk watches how your hair blows with the wind. He remains five paces behind you at all times. You were a lonesome thing, he thought, fragile and melancholic. You appeared as though you were searching for someone, and yet your gait felt rather aimless. Suddenly, your back straightens when you spot something— someone from across the hall, in turn, so does his.

Before you could speak his name, he calls out yours and smiles at you. Daemon even adds, "there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Your brows quirk as you walk towards each other.

Arryk allows an extra five paces to come between you.

You examine your husband's face, the dimples on his cheeks, the silver hair tickling his curled lips. You simultaneously feel the urge to push his hair away and debate whether or not his fair expression is truly borne form the fact he was searching for you and has now found you.

Your brows furrow as he tucks his hair behind his ear.

Is this what sex does to a man?

"Come," he says, grabbing you, "we mustn't delay."

Your heart races as you look at your arm. He tucks it underneath his own and hastily leads you off somewhere. You do not know where your feet take you, but you do know that the prince looks lovely when he speaks through a grin, just as he does now.

In truth, you catch not a single word from his mouth, which is why you are turned to stone when he begins kissing you. However, whatever rigidness your form holds quickly melts as his lips urge yours to a slow dance. You go putty against the window sill he pushes you against.

There is peace in the warmth he radiates. Your fingers finally find what they had longed to touch and unabashedly crawl up his nape to tangle in the roots of his hair. When he moans and pulls away, you stiffen and come back to reality. Had you hurt him?

"Daem-"

He turns about and says, "ah, Lord Hand."

Your stomach drops. You feel sick as you peak past Daemon's shoulder to see exactly him, glaring at the both of you.

"Or shall I call you father?" the prince grins, as to show the venom on his teeth.

"It would do you good to comport yourself," Otto blurts, face calm, but you knew better to believe he was anything but.

He tilts his head, "what for?"

Your heart squeezes when Daemon takes your hand and brings you to his side. You cannot bare to look at your father as your husband speaks, "you have created such a desirable creature. It would be more tactless of me not to worship her body with my own."

You feel your breath quicken as you hear your father grumble.

Daemon is victorious to see the old man walk away with a dark cloud over his head. He chuckles, "do not be so sullen, my lord. Tis a fine day!"

You feel your palms go sweaty. You lick your lips frantically. You screw your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself.

He chuckles as he turns back to you, "very goo-"

Your brows tighten.

Daemon catches your chin between his fingers. You are forced to open your eyes and you see the glimmer in his violet ones as he repeats, firmer this time, "very good."

Your heart does not calm though he rubs your back.

"You did well for me."

Your eyes begin to water, "Daemon, I-"

"Shh," he shakes his head, "there's no need for this."

"I—'ve upset him. "

He feels your body begin to tremble beneath his palm.

"But-"

"You spoke the words yourself, he's tormented you, has he not?"

"D-Daemon-"

"Shh, shh, shh," he leads you back to the window sill and sits you down.

You are gasping for air at this point, but he does not stop hushing you. He even begins to rub your cheeks with his thumbs. He pushes himself into your skirt, making room for himself between your legs. You gawk at him as he mumbles in a language you do not understand. He is impossibly close, as though you were kissing without kissing.

You do not know how many minutes pass, but you do know his timbre is just as serene as the voice of water. You only realize you had been crying when you take his wrists and feel water drip to your fingers.

He speaks that language again and you shake your head, "I do not understand."

"It does not matter," he mutters, pulling away to examine your face, "you are calm, no?"

You cannot reply because the sensation of his rubbing your cheeks is far too arresting.

"There is magic in the High Valyrian," he says, pulling away. It is so abrupt and unwanted that you chase after his hold and involuntarily attempt to stand.

Of course, Daemon is in the way and prevents you from doing such a thing. His head inflates ten sizes bigger upon unveiling how deeply affected you were of him. But as he looks at your wet cheeks, he thinks, how could such a pathetic creature not be so affected by one such as he. He further amuses himself by tracing your collarbones.

Your body tingles at his gentle thouch.

"Think of it as revenge."

Your lips part and brows knit, "r-revenge?"

"Yes," he taps your nose, "to your tormentor."

You gulp and clench your jaw. Daemon grins, but you are no longer blinded by it. "I- I do not-"

"Your very existence is torment to him, is it not?" he tilts his head, "must I remind you of your own words, my love?"

You are flabbergasted by the pet name, but before you could even tell yourself he did not mean such words, his airy chuckles tells you himself. You turn to your lap.

Daemon takes your chin again, "look at me."

Your heart races and your breath heavies.

"You want to be a dutiful wife, yes?"

Your release a deep sigh through parted lips, "... yes."

"It pleases me greatly to watch your cunt father suffer," Daemon rubs your chin before releasing it, "that is all I require of you."

Your brows furrow.

"Then you are free to do all that you desire, notably all those that your father has forbade."

"I-" wait, what?

Daemon catches the way your face shifts when his words finally click. His grin only deepens as he nods, "yes, yes. If he did not let you go out and play, oh, I do so beg you to play at your heart's content."

Your lips part further at the thought.

"But be sure to always play with me when I so desire," he says, cupping your cheek, "I do not like to be kept waiting."

Your heart skips a beat when he swipes your lips before walking off. He nods once at ser Arryk, who you had no idea was still here.

The said man then walks over to you, offering you an arm, "princess."

You look at his armored limb and feel sheepish. He must think you uncouth and ill-bred upon witnessing what he did. You take his arm— amongst sickly and feeble. You weakly mutter, "thank you."

"Would you like me to escort you to the maester's office?"

"W-wha- why?" you stand.

His brows tighten, "you were having an attack, were you not?"

You release his hand and step away from him. You smile softly and shake your head. He watches as you clasp your hands together. "They would only supply me milk of the poppy to ease my pain. There is no medicine for my affliction, Arryk."

He nods, "I see. Th-"

"Apologies. May I call you Arryk?"

He nods once more, "you may call me whatever you so desire, princess."

You smile, "very well," you turn to your feet, "I desire to call you by your name. You may do the same with me," you lift your gaze but do not turn to him, "I admit, the title princess does not suit me."

As you walk, Arryk follows closer this time, "it suits you well for you are a princess."

You sigh and smile at him from over your shoulder.

For the rest of the day, you retreat to your chambers and lay in bed. You stare at the ceiling, repeating over and over what had happened to you. As much as your father's searing glare burned in your mind, it was somehow not as hot as Daemon's gaze. You could do nothing but go between dread because your father and- and... affection because of your husband.

You rub your chest as you feel it tighten, thinking of your prince. You begin to fight your own breathing though, and sit up to calm yourself. You screw your eyes shut as you bring to mind things that calm you: swimming, Gwayne, Alicent, you-

Your eyes open when you hear the door swinging. You straighten up as Daemon walks over.

"Mmm," he chuckles, "did you wait because I asked?"

"I-" but your words are cut off by how the bed dips when he crawls over to you.

"I would prefer you with less clothing next time," he says, leaning into you, pressing a hand on your thigh.

Your heart quickens at his kisses. He smells and tastes of wine. He pushes your skirt up and comes down to kiss your knee.

You gasp when he pushes you back. And then you realize your breathing is heavy, but not strangling. You squeal when he kisses up your thigh, "D-Daemon-"

He gives you a warning look and mutters in a foreign tongue.

Suddenly, your smallclothes are being removed and your husband is sinking between your legs. You yelp, "D-Daemon, you're drunk!"

He holds you in place by your thighs. "No," he dismisses, "but I will be once you let me taste your cunt."

Your eyes widen and you immediately try to sit up.

All he has to do is lift your legs and speak your name for you to- "cease your needless wrangling," Daemon grunts, "you will quite enjoy this."

"P-pl-"

"You enjoyed my fingers did you not?"

Your mouth goes dry.

"Then you will more so enjoy my tongue, shaky thing. Quit trembling."

The strangled moan that is pulled out your throat is more confirmation than any word you could have ever told him.

By the time Daemon was satisfied playing with you, you were sticky and sweaty and naked lying next to him on your bed. You tense when he stands and you immediately cover your body with your blanket, "w-where are you going?"

"Mmm," he walks towards the drawer and pours himself a cup of wine, "to my bed."

You turn to your lap, unable to help the pinch you feel at the confession he does not see this as his bed.

You watch him as he grabs his clothing, then quickly stand, "let me-e help you!"

Wrapped in a blanket, you come to Daemon's side and help him get dressed. He lets you, slight amusement falling on his features as you so ardently assist him.

He allows you and stares at your glowing face, glowing because of how good he fucked you. The blanket rests heavy on your shoulders, but your neck is bare to him. He finds himself reaching out after you tie his breeches.

You still when he pushes the blanket off your shoulder. He tilts your head to the side to behold his work. You begin to breathe through your mouth when his thumb rubs over the new and previous purple marks he's put on you. You gasp when he makes the blanket fall to the floor. Instantly, a shiver creeps up your spine.

He rubs your sides and kneads your breasts. He's made such pretty marks all over your chest.

"Come to me tomorrow," he rubs his hands down your bare bum.

You whimper as he squeezes you there.

"I will be with my Gold Cloaks," he tilts his head, "I wish to parade my prize, so wear something pretty," he rubs your shoulders, "something that shows my good work."

Your lips tremble, from both the cold, night air and his words, "I do not think it-"

"It is not a question, wife."

Your skin breaks out in goosebumps.

He leaves after and you scramble to wrap yourself in your blanket.

The next morning, Erryk Cargyll assumes his station and knocks on your door to announce himself. When the door opens, he is pulled inside before he can speak.

"Good morn," you clasp your hands together as you look him up and down, "Erryk?"

He smiles softly and bows, "yes. Good morn, my princess."

You smile back and him and motion to yourself, "I must enquire your opinion as a man and not a knight sworn to serve me."

Erryk straightens up and nods, "very well."

You rub the cowl upon your shoulders and sigh, "what do you think of my attire?"

The man looks over your red dress and black cowl. He takes a moment to think of what might be out of the ordinary with it, but finds nothing, so he says, "it suits you very well, my lady."

You sigh at this and untie the bow of your cowl. You remove it, revealing your décolletage and his eyes widen at the sight of the marks on your skin. He clears his throat and looks away.

Your face falls and you cover your shoulders with your dark curls, "is it very tasteless?"

Erryk opens his mouth but he cannot form more than a stutter.

You shake your head, gripping your cowl tightly, "Daemon wishes to... parade his work."

The man's brows furrow and jaw clenches.

"Perhaps the cowl should stay on," you mutter, feeling your breath begin to shorten. You turn to the said object and feel your hands shake. You try to put it on, but it feels as heavy as a boulder.

He catches your cowl just before you drop it.

You release a deep, shaky breath, looking up at him with watery eyes, "will you help put it on, Erryk?"

A line forms between his brows as he nods. He takes your cowl then circles around you. He gathers your hair and places it upon your shoulders one side at a time. As he circles back to fix the piece, he feels your trembling, but says nothing as he does the bow.

"What is a wife supposed to do?" you mutter, tears becoming too heavy to remain unshed.

Erryk feels a pinch in his chest upon seeing your pink eyes. He feels rather helpless as he retorts, "I confess, I am unsure."

Your throat tightens. You rub your lips and shake your head, "forgive me. It is a cruel question to ask a kingsguard."

"Did you not say you ask this of me as a man?"

You fiddle with the ring on your finger.

"I do not imagine it oft, for I will never have one, but I imagine still, if I had a wife, she would wait on me and help me out of my armor once I return. She'd nurse me to health whenever I'm beaten. She'd trim my beard and braid my hair. She'd give me children as fair as she."

Your brows raise at his solemn words.

"And in return, I would honor her. I would worship her like the gods," he motions, "I would not allow harm, or shame to befall her, not if I could help it."

You chuckle at the way he says this. You shake your head, "you are man of honor. It is both a blessing and a curse that you are kingsguard."

You feel light headed.

Erryk hovers when you lean your face into a hand.

You barely turn to him as he takes your arm. You mutter, "this is what he requires of me."

His brows knit.

"That I be a conduit of his chaos," you gulp, "and in return... I will have my freedom."

"Freedom?" he leans his head forward.

You finally face him fully and shrug, "many a thing my father forbade me to do. I once believed he did it with love... now, I am not so sure."

The line between his brows only deepen.

"I should like to do most of what I could not before I die," you chuckle, as if it was a jest, to soften the mood. It does not work; it was not a jest.. You rub your chest and walk towards the door.

He guides you, but grows wary upon noticing how you lean your weight into the knob, "perhaps you should take a seat?"

You smile and shrug, "it matters little if I sit or not, Erryk."

You open the door and step out. He links your arm into his. You lean into him and sigh, "apologies-"

"There is nothing to-"

"-I have been calling you by your name."

He places his hand atop yours, "you may call me whatever you so desire."

"Mmm. You truly are quite like your twin," you lead down the hall, "you should do the same for me."

"Very well, princess."

"Hopefully not princess, and simply my name."

He shakes his head, "too late. You told me I could call you what I desire, and I desire to call you my princess."

"Except princess."

"Once more, too late."

"Hmp. You are less kind than your twin."

His jaw drops, "you wound me so deeply, my princess."

"I am glad to hear it, Erryk."

"My princess is quite cruel."

"Relent, I beg."

You realize you unconsciously walked yourself to the training yard by the time you got there. You also realize then how famished you were. On cue, your stomach grumbles, making Erryk look to you in concern.

"Have you not broken fast, my princess?"

"I- no."

"Then why did you walk us here?"

You were about to explain that your body had a knack of going to the areas in which your brother frequented, but before you could speak, the said man was calling your name.

You instantly come alive at the sight of your twin walking over.

"Good morn, sister," Gwyane nods, "Cargyll." He looks at him for a moment, "I wager... Erryk?"

You gasp and chuckle, "how could you tell?'

Your twin turns to you, "mmm, it might have to do with the fact I passed Arryk, who was stationed at the gate today."

"Oh, bother," you swat Gwayne, "I thought you could tell them apart."

"I just did, simpleton," he raises a brow.

"No, you're the simpleton, you nincompoop."

"No, you're the nincompoop, you daft sod."

"No, you're the daft sod, you freakish dunderhead."

"No, you're the freakish dunderhead, you ratty ninnyhammer-'

"You dare speak to the princess this way?"

You all turn and see Daemon's severe expression. He steps between you and Erryk, imposing upon Gwayne.

You tense and take his forearm, "Daemon, tw-"

He silences you by raising a finger. He narrows his eyes at your brother, "I should have your tongue for that."

Your twin chuckles in disbelief, but whatever amusement he might have had instantly melts into irritation, "a jest, prince. You act as though you are not capable of doing the same to your older brother."

"There is a time and a place for jests, yet I doubt there is a time or a place to publicly slander the Princess of Dragonstone."

"Daemo-"

"Believe me, I would be the first to demand satisfaction to whomever dare slander my twin sister," Gwayne grits his teeth.

Your husband laughs loudly, "then perhaps you should go shove a-"

"Daemon, please," you quip, finally raising your voice enough that you could not be ignored.

Both Daemon and Gwayne turn to you. You grab the former's arm and undo the ties of your cowl, "my silly brother is not worth the headache he's about to give you."

Gwayne's jaw tightens as he looks at the face you pull as you look at Daemon.

"He's not, but I can-"

His mouth goes dry when you remove the cowl and hand it to Erryk. Daemon's eyes rove over your cleavage. The marks on your skin were more apparent than he remembered, but then again, he had only seen it in candle light.

"I... dressed so prettily for you," you mutter, pushing your hair back, "perhaps we should go for a stroll instead?"

Daemon's lilac gaze falls upon your pleading eyes. For a moment, he's so distracted he'd forgotten all about your brother, but when he remembers, he turns to him with a chuckle and grins, "yes, you're quite right, wife."

When you look at Gwayne and he immediately turns away from you. Your throat constricts because of it.

"A good stroll would do us good," Daemon turns to you, "then I will shall show you the might of my City Watch. Tis far more entertaining than whatever you could behold here."

With that, the prince leads you off, turning to Erryk as he did, "that is all, Cargyll. I have her now."

You watch as the kingsguard nods at the instruction, stepping back to let you pass. You look over your shoulder, finding Gwayne already looking at you. You give him a sorry expression before looking away.

[lavandadiana]

Nice's Support System

Thanks to this post by @kiraisrika for giving me brainrot and had me spend my lunch break writing this for the past two weeks

Word Count 🜲 1,614

TW 🜲 Attempted suicide

Constructive criticism is welcome! Let me know if I miss a TW or a tag. :)

Also, on Ao3!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒🜲𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒🜲𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀🜲⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒🜲𓈒

“Is that Nice?” Lin Ling thought. He lowered his hand as the “Perfect” hero flew towards him; towards the roof’s edge. “What is he doing here?” Lin Ling pondered. As Lin Ling was about to open his mouth, Nice smiled and shoot his signature pose at Lin Ling before his foot was over the edge.

Lin Ling’s eyes widened as his hands reached out, grabbing Nice’s arm, his feet planted against the roof’s risen edge. “What the hell are you doing?!” Lin Ling yelled as he used his entire body weight to hold the suicidal hero.

Nice struggled against Lin Ling’s hold. “What the- Let go of me!” “No way! Whatever’s wrong, I’m sure jumping to your death isn’t the answer!” Nice’s eyes widen as tears pricked his eyes. Nice stopped struggling and flew upwards, slightly lifting Lin Ling into the air.

As soon as Lin Ling’s and Nice’s feet touched the floor, Lin Ling, still holding Nice’s hand, gasped for air. “W-Why?! Why did you try to kill yourself?” Nice’s eyes widened as he looked at him before his gaze turn to Lin’s hand on his arm.

“Because... I’m tired... I’m so tired of being Nice...” Nice said as he wiped away his tears. Lin Ling’s eyes widened as he removed his hand from Nice’s arm. “I... I’m sorry... But killing yourself isn’t the answer!” Lin Ling yelled at him. “Then why are you here?”

Lin Ling’s eyes widen as heat flushed to his cheeks “I-I’m different! Yo-you’re perfect, you’re amazing, you’re Nice! I’m nothing like you... I- I don’t have a great relationship with my family, I don’t have a girlfriend, I’d just got fired, not even an hour ago, and my dreams of being a hero totally got crushed.”

“I have nothing to lose, but you... You have everything to lose ...“ Lin Ling cries, his head fallen forward as tear droplets hit the concrete roof floor. Nice’s soften his gaze at him. “I- I’m not perfect ... I’m forced to be perfect... But I- I would rather be you.”

Nice said his voice, wavering with emotions. Nice took a deep breath and held his hand out. “What’s your name?” Lin Ling sniffled as he blinked away any remaining tears and shook Nice’s outstretched hand. “Lin Ling. What about you? I don’t think you want me to Keep calling you Nice.”

Nice smiled; Not his signature smile, but a genuine smile. “Actually, I would like it if you can keep calling me Nice. Hearing you saying my name is music to my ears. Like a breath of fresh air.”

Lin Ling’s cheeks heats up as he turns his head away to the side."D-Don’t say that ... Well, if it stops you from killing yourself ..." Lin Ling sighed and sharpen his gaze at him.

“Are you still going to kill yourself?” Nice sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Well... Yeah? Treeman wouldn’t exactly get me therapy. Wouldn’t want news of the perfect hero being in therapy or suicidal.”

“And the only way from me to not be Nice is to kill myself... unless...” Nice looked at Lin Ling and smiled. “You said that you’d want to be a hero, right?” Lin Ling nodded. “Yeah. What about it?” “How would you like to be my hero?!” Nice exclaimed as he leaned forward, his face inches away from Lin Ling’s face. “Huh?!” Lin Ling pulled away, slightly jumping back. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know about me being suicidal, and I enjoy talking to you. So how would you like to be my emotional support human?!” “Huh?! Wait... I’m supposed to be like those emotional support pets?!” Lin Ling exclaimed, not believing Nice’s words.

Nice nodded, floating in the air, his face inches away from Lin Ling’s. “You’ll obviously get paid, and you’ll basically be my side 24/7!” “Huh?! Wa-wait! What do you mean by your side 24/7?! Wha-what about when you fight?! What’s going to happen to me?!”

Nice landed, his body inches away from Lin Ling’s body. Nice paused for a moment; Nice’s blue eyes staring into Lin Ling’s brown eyes. Nice’s face morphed into a cheeky smile. “I’ll protect you, of course! Although, the thought of you being in danger leaves a bad feeling in my heart ...”

“He’ll be with me, then.” Both Nice and Lin Ling jumped at Miss J’s voice. They turned around and saw Miss J standing there, her face morphed into a stern look, her arms crossed over her chest, and her bodyguards behind her.

“What?! No way! I’m not letting him anywhere near you!” Nice frowned, baring his teeth, his body in front of Lin Ling, as if he’s a shield. Miss J, nonchalant, just sighed and shook her head. “Although, I’d much prefer if Lin Ling to signs an NDA in return for a handsome reward.”

Nice gritted his teeth, but took a deep breath. He looked back at Lin Ling; Nice’s expression is one of concern and fear. “Lin Ling, what do you want to do? Do you want to be my support system, or do you want to get paid and sign an NDA?”

Lin Ling pondered for a moment. If he signs an NDA, he’ll get paid. He’ll have enough for bills and rent while he looks for a new job. But what would happen with Nice? Will he still try to kill himself? How much can Nice take before they push him too far?

On the other hand, if he becomes Nice’s support system, he’ll get to see the real Nice; he could be a hero to Nice and maybe he’ll get to see Moon. Call him selfish, but Moon is still his idol, even though Nice is creeping into his number 1 spot.

Lin Ling made up his mind. He stared at Nice and Miss J, his face stern as he nodded. “I made up my mind. I want to be Nice’s support system.” As soon as he said those fated words, Nice jumped and flew to Lin Ling, hugging him in the air, while Miss J let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine... I’ll let Treeman Corporation know about Lin Ling and his role with you. Since Lin Ling will be by your side 24/7, I’ll have someone rearranged your floor at hero tower.” Miss J said, already contacting someone on her tablet.

“No need, Lin Ling will sleep with me!” “Yeah... wait, what?! Isn’t Moon living with you?!” Lin Ling asked; his expression is one of shock. “Well, yeah, but I can kick her out.” Nice nonchalantly said. “You are not kicking Moon out! And you and Lin Ling won’t be sleeping in the same bed!” Miss J growled at the nonchalant Nice. Miss J pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe I’ll just have Lin Ling live close to you ...” Miss J contemplated. “Then I’ll live with Lin Ling in his new place!” Nice smiled. Miss J gritted her teeth, but before she can speak, Lin Ling spoke up.

“It’s okay, Miss J. I’ll live with Nice and Moon, but I’m not going to sleeping with Nice in bed; there, a compromise between two wants!” Miss J nodded. “Not bad, kid. That’s an acceptable compromise; In the meantime, you,“ Miss J pointed at her one of her bodyguards. “Get to the ground quick. Nice; princess carry Lin Ling, smile at him and slowly fly down. “Huh?!” “On it!”

Without hesitation, Nice princess carried Lin Ling, smiled at him, and slowly flew down the building."Wa-wait!" Lin Ling stuttered, his eyes widened in shock as his cheeks heats up. On the ground, one of Miss J’s bodyguards held a phone out and took a photo of the scene.

Once Nice and Lin Ling landed safety on the ground, Miss J walked out of the building and towards them. The bodyguard handed Miss J the phone, and she looks over the photos and nodded. “These are acceptable.” She pockets the phone and looks at Nice, still carrying Lin Ling.

“You can put him down now.” As soon as she said those words, Nice and Lin Ling’s cheeks turned red, and Lin Ling scrambled out of Nice’s arm, stumbling a bit once both of his feet touched the ground. “So, what was that photo for?” Lin Ling asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’ll have someone write a news article about Nice saving this civilian from suicide and, from time to time, checks up with him. It helps raises Nice’s trust value and covers up any time you both go out in public together.” Miss J says, not once looking up from her tablet.

“Hmm... Not bad, Miss J. Now Lin Ling, you ready to go home?” Nice says, looking into Lin Ling’s eyes, a genuine smile plastered on his face.

Lin ling, cheeks red, nodded. “Yeah, let’s go home, Nice.” Lin Ling smiled back. Nice smiles even wider and Princess carried Lin Ling. “Ah! What the hell!!” “Hold on tight!” “Wait! Nice! Hold on- AHH!” Lin Ling screamed, wrapping his arms around Nice’s neck as Nice flew fast in the air and carried Lin Ling home to their now shared living space.

Miss J shook her head as she puts away her tablet. She looks at her bodyguards. “Get the limo. God, explaining this to Moon is going to be a headache...” She says, looking annoyed but the small smile on her face says otherwise. “Good luck, kid. I wish you the best of luck.” Miss J muttered under her breath as she steps into the limousine, driving towards Hero Tower to explain this situation to Moon and to lay some ground rules.

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - six (j.yh); section two

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. five | six (section 1); (section 2) | series masterlist 🔗read on ao3 ✨across stardust pinterest board

note: the end. thank you all so much for loving this story and being so kind and supportive. this fic has meant the world to me, and i hope you all are happy with the ending. there will be a short epilogue posted soon, but for now our story comes to a close.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, anxiety/nerves, some general angst and upset emotions, allusions to a bad household growing up and cptsd, very frank coversations about idol life, pr, etc. saesangs and saesang invasions of privacy, discussions about delulu both fun and not okay delusion, but then also smut! including…. oral m!receiving, throat fucking, messy oral, cockwarming, dom!yunho, sub!reader, actual d/s dynamics even if it’s kinda not defined, subspace but reader doesn’t know that’s what it is, fingering, dirty talk, fingers in mouth, light degredation, mostly praise, heavy on the good girls / pretty girls, cowgirl, absolutely intense multiple orgasms, creampie, dw they don’t need to wrap it up they’re married and in love

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 21.9k **note, this part was too long again for tumblr! please make sure you've read section one first! linked here!

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

You spend the day in a daze, alternating between naps and needy touches, almost every second spent in the sheets. Finally, Yunho pulls you both into the shower and makes you something to eat, leaving you with nothing to do but explore the house as you stay away from your phones. 

You find a little library, a private study, a few more bedrooms with their own luxurious tubs and views of the ocean. Eventually you stumble into a wine cellar, and Yunho jokes about popping what looks to be the oldest bottle of champagne you’ve ever seen. 

You settle on a more recent, modest looking bottle of white and hope no one notices it’s missing after you’re gone. 

With the sky finally dark outside, as Yunho uncorks the bottle and finds some glasses, following you out onto the patio. 

He pours you both a glass before he settles into his own seat next to yours, but then he sighs pleasantly, “The storm really cleared up,” 

“Mhm,” You nod towards the inky sky, “look at that moon,” 

His eyes follow yours to the wafer thin crescent that cuts a bright white shape over the water, “It’s so beautiful here,” 

“You can never see the stars like this in Seoul,” You let your head fall back to take in the lights above you. 

“We’re always in cities,” He says softly, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen stars like this.” 

“Me either,” You murmur, “I wish I knew any of the constellations,” 

He smiles, studying the sky, “I only know a few,” 

You turn to look at him, watching as he looks at the sky, trying to discern patterns from the dusky night above you. 

“There,” He stretches out a hand, pointing up, “my mother always talked about Lyra,” 

“Where?” You lean in, trying to follow his gaze. 

“The brightest one there,” He points, “and then there’s another bright one just below it,” 

It takes you a minute, but you see it, and you nod, “I got it,” 

“There’s two stars there, Vega and Altair,” He smiles softly, “Vega’s the highest one, the brighter,” 

“Your mother told you stories about the stars?” 

He drops his hand and turns towards you, a warm expression on his face, “Only this one, I’d forgotten about it until just now.” 

“What’s the story?” You ask, settling into your chair. 

“You know that old myth? The farmer and the weaver who fell in love at first sight?” He says, and you nod. It’s a famous myth, a sad one too. Two lovers separated by circumstance, cursed to meet only once a year, but still they can never manage to make it back to each other. Every rainy season is said to be their tears, falling down on the earth as they reach out for each other in the sky. 

“My mother always said that’s where soulmates come from,” He says warmly, glancing back up at the sky, “it’s God atoning for keeping the first soulmates eternally apart, and that they watch over all of us now from the sky.” 

Your heart aches, tears pricking at your eyes, “And that’s them?” You nod towards the two bright spots in the night. 

“That’s them.” He nods. 

“Well,” You soften, “I think your mother’s right, I think they’re watching over us.” 

Yunho goes quiet, nodding as he blinks back his own rush of emotions, “I like that idea,” 

“Me too,” You take his hand, running your thumb over his knuckles. 

For a moment you both just listen to the waves on the rocks and the wind in the grass, the crackling stretch of the way the night moves around you, but finally he laughs softly, humorlessly, “We should just stay here forever, who cares about being an idol when we could be living on a beach and stargazing,” 

You give him a small smile and squeeze his hand, “I know,” you murmur, “but we can’t avoid it forever,” 

He nods, “I know,”

You turn towards him, “I think we should check on things,” 

His eyes stay on the sky, but he nods, “I think you’re right.” 

You could decide to live in bliss, shut your phone off completely for the few days you’re in Jeju, but there’s no point. The longer you wait to learn the fallout, the more and more the anxiety will eat at you. No amount of orgasms or movie nights or expensive bottles of wine can distract you from that forever. 

The pit in your gut started up again a few hours ago, and you both know it’s time. 

You dip back into the bedroom, grabbing both of your phones from their place on the nightstand and then walk back out onto the patio, setting them both on the little table between you.

“Should we do this?” He asks, nodding towards them. 

You nod, taking a sip of wine for courage before setting it aside, “Let’s get it over with.” 

You both pick up your phones, but Yunho secures his hand onto the leg of your chair and tugs you across the patio floor until your chairs are flush together, and you lean against his arm. 

“Together,” He says in a nervous exhale. 

He presses the side button on his phone and the screen lights up and you watch him grimace when he sees the sheer number of notifications. 

“God,” You breathe. 

“Let’s just,” He swipes them away, hesitating on his home screen to decide what to do, “I don’t know, let’s get the worst of it out of the way.” 

Your stomach tightens as he opens Twitter. 

It’s immediate. His name is a trending topic and reluctantly he clicks on it. 

The top tweet makes his hand tighten on the phone - What are we to do if idols can betray us like this now? Do you expect us to cheer? To care about streaming when we know it’s all for a lie?

Your eyes flick from his phone to his face, but he’s stoic, not a flicker of emotion. 

He scrolls and you take in a flurry of tweets as fast as your eyes will allow. 

Jeong Yunho, I really cared about you and this is what you do? Break my heart like this? 

Was every I love you a lie?

What was he supposed to do? Ignore his soulmate? Be serious, none of you would do that if it were you. 

He’s been lying to us for months. MONTHS.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and you look up. 

“It’s alright,” You murmur, “we knew some people would take it hard.” 

He doesn’t say anything this time, he just nods towards the phone and you feel a tender pull of anxiety inside you as you look back down. 

There, plain as day in a photo gallery, is your picture. 

“Oh,” You breathe, “that was fast,” 

The sound of your soft voice breaks his concentration and he wraps an arm around you, “It’s okay, we’re okay,” 

You nod, but your eyes are still glued to the post. The pictures of you are clearly from moments where you were just any old staff member behind them. You’re working, face passive, half the time wearing a face mask, and almost every photo is grainy since there was never a photographer focused on you. It’s a strange sensation seeing yourself like this, encapsulated in a tweet and picked apart in the comments. 

You reach out a hand and tap the hashtag of Yunho’s name and yours together. 

“Oh, fuck,” Your breath dissipates in an instant, the top post here something you never expected to see. 

It’s a video, two clips side by side, both only a few seconds in length. They’re zoomed in shots from Incheon Airport, the day of your return to Seoul from the Europe tour. Perfectly clipped and positioned in frame is your fall, a loop of yourself being shoulder checked and falling forward to your knees. The second video is the same moment, but a wholly different camera, Yunho in focus, lurching forwards at the moment you drop to your knees, his eyes wide. San stepping into frame cuts off Yunho’s expression. 

It’s a thread, this moment clipped from different angles. Comments from all sides assaulting you at once. 

Ah!! Look he’s so worried!! I’d swoon if Yunho did that for me. 

K-drama in real life?? These men do exist??

This was months ago and they’re only announcing it now? Something weird is going on. 

Seems fake. 

How long has she worked at KQ?? They’ve been lying for years.

Is this her? Does anyone have other pictures? 

I’d kill for him to look at me like that.

You pull back from the phone, covering it with your hand and shaking your head, “I need a second,” 

His lips press to your hairline, “You’re okay,” he assures. 

“I know,” You manage, “I just… how do you stand it?” 

“The comments?” He rubs your back, “mostly I don’t look,” 

“I mean that was two seconds,“ You blink, “and everyone thinks they know something,” 

“They don’t,” He reminds you, “let’s be done,” 

He starts to tuck his phone back, but you shake your head and tug it back into your hands, “No, no, I want to know,” 

“y/n,” He sighs, “don’t, if it’s too much don’t. Things are always worse on the first day something gets announced anyways, we can wait to look,” 

You glance at him, reading his pained expression, but you have to keep going. 

You flip through tweets again, mostly the recycled takes you’ve already seen and reshared pictures. Your heart nearly stops when you scroll far enough to see a thread, higher quality photos of you, ones you recognize from your Instagram. Betrayal burns in your gut knowing that someone in your following list turned over photos of you the second they realized they could make a dollar off it, but that feeling snuffs out like a light as you see the comments, something more panicked coiling in your gut.

y/ln y/fn - What we know about Jeong Yunho’s secret wife. An ongoing thread, will be updated with more information as we learn it. 

Internally you try to scoff at the whole thing - but it’s hard to maintain that level of casual scorn when you actually see the information being shared. 

“Fuck,” Yunho’s hand rests on the back of your neck, “this needs to be reported,” 

Your age, your job title, how long you’ve worked at KQ. The name of your high school, the fact that you have one sister, the brief tidbit that you and Yunho are both originally from Gwangju. Photos of you are attached to each post, group shots with friends where their faces are blurred but not yours, mirror selfies, photos Iseul took of you on various tours when you were sightseeing. 

Yunho lets you keep scrolling despite the tense muscle in his jaw, but he loses any amount of his composure when he sees the top responses to the thread. The first comment has him yanking the phone out of your hands in hopes you didn’t read that far down, but he knows the minute he sees your expression that you took in every word. 

Not pretty, and so trashy with all those tattoos. Totally not his type, he must be so disappointed in his match. 

“Baby, no,” He drops the phone on the table and sinks down into a crouch in front of you, hands on your knees, “don’t listen to them,” 

“I’m okay,” You tell him, trying to work through your initial impulse to burst into tears. 

“They don’t know me,” He looks up at you, his face clear and determined, “they don’t know you, us. They’re jealous, they’re fucking idiots. You’re beautiful, you’re mine, you’re my girl,” 

“Yunho,” You try softly to interrupt, to tell him you really are okay, but he keeps going. 

“I could never be disappointed, never,” His hands rub back and forth over your thighs, “I was so fucking happy the second I realized it was you,” 

“Yunho,” You smile, “I know that, I already know,” 

He cups your cheek, “But,” 

“It hurt for a second,” You admit, “but you’re right, they don’t know us.”

His face softens and he strokes the side of your face gently, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “this is why I didn’t want you to see it. People are so mean for nothing,” 

“I’m a big girl,” You murmur, turning your hand to kiss his palm, cupping it to your cheek as you look back at him, “and they’re just words,” 

He nods. 

“Does it get easier?” You ask him, “People looking into your life like this?” 

He clears his throat lightly, “Honestly?” 

“Yeah,” 

“Not exactly,” He shakes his head, “and I know right now you feel like you need to read it all because it’s about you, but the only thing down that path is heartache.” 

You kiss his palm again, nodding into his touch. 

“The members and I,” He says, “we all learned young that it was better to leave what people say online be. We have staff to handle serious threats or issues, but we don’t search our names or scroll through comments on our posts, it’s better that way.” 

“I can see why,” You sigh. 

He nods, dropping his hands to your hips and pulling you forward on the chair a little until your knees are pressed against his chest, “Listen,” he murmurs, “they’ll talk themselves out, we just have to let them.” 

He squeezes your hips as you say, “Some people said good things,” 

He smiles, “Yeah,” 

“That’s good I guess,”

“Mhm,” He stretches his neck, connecting his mouth to yours in a quick kiss, “it’s really good,”

Deep in your gut you feel a relentless pull, something in your body wanting you badly to keep scrolling, to fall down the rabbit hole and dig into every little thing. You want to defend yourself, to set the story straight, even though you know you shouldn’t. Your eyes flick to the phone again and Yunho’s hands pulse on your thighs. 

“Babe,” His voice is low, serious, “let’s let it go. We saw it, we know enough for now.” 

“Kay,” You breathe, pulling your eyes back to him. 

He cups your cheeks, pulling your lips to his and then stands up, grabbing his phone off the table, “Go get comfortable, okay? Pick another movie, and I’ll see if they have any snacks in the kitchen,” 

“What are you doing?” You ask, studying his face as he types. 

“I need to call Gyu-uk,” He says honestly, “and message Harin. They probably know about the photos, but I want to make sure, and I don’t like that your personal information is getting spread around like that. It’s not long before it’s a phone number or something else, I want them to keep an eye out for your contact information, your address, and be sure we’re good here too.” 

Nerves bubble in your gut, but you nod, “Are you worried?” 

His eyes flick up, unsure how to answer. 

“I’m okay,” You remind him, “I can handle it if you are.” 

His jaw tenses and relaxes, and then he nods, “I’m worried because it’s you, but I didn’t see anything in the posts that made me worry more than I already was,” 

His honesty makes your shoulders relax and you nod, “Okay,” 

“Alright,” He breathes, dialing on his phone and leaning down to kiss the crown of your hair, “I love you. I’ll just be a few minutes,” 

He pads off into the house, the phone pressed to his ear. 

Alone on the patio, you settle back into the deck chair and draw your knees up, resting your head in your hands. The breeze from the ocean makes you shiver a little, but the quiet of the night is comforting. You can hear Yunho’s voice in the background, not enough to really make out his words, but enough to still feel him close. 

Your hands itch to pick your phone up and dive back into everything, but you trust him when he says the end of that road is heartache. It’s a fine line between curiosity and obsessive compulsion and you’re a little afraid you won’t recognize it when you step over it if you let yourself look again. 

Another minute passes, the niggling impulse still pressing at your mind, and with a sigh you grab your phone anyways.

You’ll stay off social media, that’s for sure, but a full day without your phone still leaves you curious about what’s going on in the outside world. 

The first thing you see is a notification from Instagram letting you know you have 719 new follower requests and you swipe it away with a little burst of panic. You avoid Twitter entirely, and open up your texts. There’s too many to wrap your mind around. Messages from friends you haven’t spoken to in years, a few distant relatives, and you mark those as read and dismiss them with ease.

Iseul sent you a simple message to let you know she was here when you finally looked at your phone again, and you resolve to call her tomorrow. You have kind and encouraging messages from all of the members, which warms something in your chest, knowing that they’re supporting you both, but it’s Hana’s texts that you open up and read in full. 

She’s written a string of messages, all separated by random amounts of time. Some hours, some minutes, and you smile as you catch up on her stream of consciousness. 

Yunho’s post was perfect. If you’re reading this, put your phone down and get back to your honeymoon. 

Fuck anyone who says you two aren’t meant to be. 

This industry is insane, you were right. I’m about to ask Em to start hexing people. 

Sorry - I shouldn’t be telling you about that bad shit. If you’re looking at your phone you’ve already seen it, I didn’t mean to add to that. 

Okay wait - there’s a bunch of good stuff too. I feel like I can tell you about that? These girls on Twitter are Yunho fans, they’re saying you’re really pretty and this whole story is like that one K-Drama? The one with Lee Dong Wook - the one you like. 

“I bet he’s so in love with her if he made KQ announce it” - These girls are good.

You burst out laughing at that, and then keep reading. 

Okay you’re probably having a great day with your new husband and that’s exactly what you should be doing, but let me know when you do see these. I just want to know you’re both doing okay. 

OH AND

Other idols are commenting on Yunho’s post. You’ve got a lot of people in your corner, so stay strong. 

Anyways text me when you can. 

Her last text is a few hours old, and you wonder if Em physically removed the phone from her hands to keep her from frantic scrolling and deep diving. You’ll call her tomorrow too, but for now you tap out a simple message. 

We’re doing our best to stay offline, so just seeing these. All okay here, just focused on enjoying our time and pretending the internet isn’t tearing us apart. I’ll call you tomorrow, but I love you so much. Thanks for being my best sister.

It’s a little joke you two always used to say to each other, calling each other your best sister even though you only ever had each other. All the times you had to be there for each other when no one else would have your back, all the times it was just the two of you against everything. It’s been a long time since you’ve said it, maybe since you both lived with your parents, and you hope she reads it and knows exactly what you’re trying to say. 

You let your phone drop back into your lap and take a deep breath, looking back up at the stars. You’re not a praying person, you don’t believe in saints, but if Yunho’s mother is right, you think you could believe in stars. 

With a silent thought up to the constellation above you, you make your peace with the chaos surrounding you both, and then you take your wine glasses with you as you walk back into the warm house, following the sound of Yunho’s voice. 

As you round the corner to the kitchen you hear his hums through the receiver, acknowledging whatever Gyu-uk is saying on the other end. He’s leaning up against the far wall, his head hanging as he listens, nodding to himself, and you smile at the sight of him. 

For a split second, the image of him in this kitchen is more domestic than being actually married. If you forget about the circumstances, he just looks like a husband, your husband, in what could be your kitchen. You’ve known him for years, but he’s never looked more like a man than he does right now, dressed casually in gray sweatpants and a black tank top, his bare feet on the kitchen tile, wedding ring on his finger, barefaced, his black hair messy and unstyled. 

“Well that’s good,” Yunho says into the phone and you wait in the doorway to avoid interrupting. 

He listens some more, nodding to himself again. 

“She’s good,” He smiles, his eyes still downcast, “she’s handling it better than we did as rookies,” 

Warmth curls in your belly at his words. 

Yunho laughs at whatever Gyu-uk says, straightening up and catching sight of you finally. He smiles at you as he replies to Gyu-uk, “That’s for sure,” 

Now that he’s seen you, you step into the kitchen properly and set the wine on the counter, moving around the island towards him. 

“We will,” Yunho says, reaching for you as you get closer, “thank you,” 

As he tugs you into his chest you hear Gyu-uk’s reply, “We’re handling it, don’t worry, Yunho.” 

“I’ll try,” Yunho says honestly, dropping his lips to your hair, “thank you,” 

“Alright, kid,” Gyu-uk says with a sigh, “I have to go. Stay positive, and go spend some time with your wife, okay?”

“Mm,” Yunho acknowledges, and the line clicks dead. 

You give it a few minutes, letting the silence stretch, but then you nudge him, “We’re okay?”

He nods, head bobbing against yours. 

“What did he say?” You ask. 

“The usual,” He admits, “they’re taking care of it, Harin’s team is already aware, we should stay offline and enjoy the sunshine.” 

“Did you tell him it rained all day?” 

Yunho snorts a soft laugh, “I should have,” 

With your arms wrapped around him, you rub his back and press a kiss to his chest, “Hana said there’s a lot of positive comments too, and a lot of other idols saying supportive things on your post,” 

He nods, “Harin says the response is better than expected,” 

“That’s good,” 

“Did you talk to Hana, how is she? How’s Em?” He asks. 

“Just caught up on her texts,” You pull out your phone and open the messages back up, passing it over to him, “I’ll call her tomorrow.” 

His eyes skim over the messages and you watch a smile spread over his face, “I love your sister,” 

“Same,” 

Yunho nods, kissing your forehead as he passes back the phone. 

You sigh into him, “Let’s do more movies, let’s relax for the night.” 

“Just us,” He murmurs. 

“Just us.” 

He holds you a little longer, needing you close after everything, “We’re going to be alright, I think,” he finally says. 

“Yeah?” You nod into his chest, your face tucked against the warmth of his soulmark.

“I have you,” He murmurs, emotion thick in his throat, “my heart, that’s all that matters,” 

Tears well in your eyes, and let your lips linger on his chest. 

He rocks you gently, whispering promises against your hair, nothing in the world so important as his skin on yours, his body and your body right where they’re supposed to be. 

When the wave of emotion passes, you leave your phones in the kitchen, and spend the night just the two of you. The couch piled high with blankets as you cuddle close, catching up on all the movies you’ve missed constantly touring. You stay up late, what would be too late on any other night, but tomorrow is just another empty day of possibility. You fall asleep with him on a couch so big it wouldn’t even fit through the door of your tiny studio apartment, your lives completely different than they were this morning. 

In the morning you wake up in his arms. 

The sun shining brightly through the wide windows, the storm having washed away any trace of clouds. 

It’s been a while since you’ve woken up without fear or anxiety or creeping loneliness, but somehow, you both know that part of your lives is over, and with deliberate slowness, you stretch into the day.

You did the hard thing. Now, you just get to live. 

With a new lightness in the bond, you leave the house. 

Without masks or disguises, you walk down the street hand in hand. You take the little path to the sandy beach a few blocks over from the house and walk down to the water together. Despite the unseasonable warmth, it’s still quiet, just a few older couples walking along the shore. There’s not a soul around that would recognize him, but you still feel weightless, free. 

At the water’s edge, Yunho wraps his arms around you from behind, his hand in yours, wedding rings nestled together.

To anyone watching you’re sure you look like just another young couple in love. 

In a way, that’s all you really were from the start.

Your heart and his, one steady beat. 

Everything else, background noise.

No world but yours.

No wonder but yours.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

hi, i really like your work and I was thinking maybe if you could write some fluff about if gdragon was a dad? no pressure ofc :3 I just think it would be very cute hihi (*´ー｀*)

thank you for your request! i hope you like it!!! :D

「first doctor’s jitters

Pairing: g-dragon / kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 3,325

Summary: Jiyong feels a high amount of anxiety towards your newborn daughter’s post-natal doctor’s appointment. Good thing you are there to be his rock through his nerves.

Tags: first-time parents, fluff, anxiety, comfort, light teasing, g-dragon is a girl dad

cross posted on ao3 here

You woke up to the soft, golden morning light creeping through the curtains, a peaceful silence settling in the air. The house smelled like fresh coffee, your favourite blend, and you could hear Jiyong in the kitchen, humming a little tune as he prepared breakfast—his way of easing into the day, even if it was an important one. Today was your baby girl’s first doctor’s appointment, and although it was routine, you could already feel the nervous energy reverberating through Jiyong. He had not stopped checking the time since he’d woken up—five hours early just to be sure he would not have any risk of delay—muttering about being so unsure as to whether or not you all would leave on time, despite you both having two hours before the appointment.

"Are you ready?" you called out, your voice a little raspy from sleep, filled with warmth. You wrapped the little pink blanket around your daughter, cradling her gently in your arms, the soft murmur of her content breaths presenting as a comfort to you both.

Jiyong glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing. "We need to leave soon, right?" His words came out in a near whisper, nerves creeping through due to a fear of waking the baby, and of being late to this absolutely normal, post natal doctor’s appointment that every baby is required to have after birth. Just how will he react when she actually falls sick? His eyes flitted to the clock, then to you, then back at the clock as if the minutes were slipping away too quickly.

"Jiyong, baby," you teased gently, crossing the kitchen to him, "we have time. Her appointment is in two hours, and we’re not going to be late." You placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath your touch. "You’re overwhelming yourself over unnecessary details."

His eyes met yours, wide with concern. "But what if—" He cut himself off, voice faltering as though saying the words aloud made it more real. He would not be surprised if you could hear his anxious heartbeat from outside his chest. "What if something's wrong? What if we miss something important?"

You chuckled softly, unable to resist. "Honey, you’re not a doctor." You kissed his cheek, the stubble tickling you as you grinned. "She’s fine. It’s just a checkup of her weight and stuff. This is normal."

He ran a hand through his hair, still looking troubled. "But what if it’s not? What if she’s too cold? Or too hot? Or—"

You cut him off with a soft laugh. "Ji, we’ve only had her for, what, a few weeks? She’s perfectly fine. Just like she’s been every other day since she was born. Trust me." You handed him the diaper bag full of equipment–that Jiyong had checked had everything needed, of course. Shaking your head fondly at how worried about most things related to your shared daughter he was, it made your heart swell with affection. You could not be more overjoyed that your daughter had a father that cared about her as much as Jiyong did. "You're a dad now. You shouldn’t keep overthinking everything, you’ll give yourself a migraine."

He hesitated for a moment before his lips curved into that familiar, sheepish smile. "I just—I don’t want anything to go wrong. Not with her." His voice softened, and you saw that flicker of tenderness behind his eyes, the deep love that always felt like it could burst from his chest at any given moment.

You smiled, your heart feeling a little too full, as you glanced down at your baby girl, her little face with ever so soft pink cheeks peeking out from the blanket. "I know. I know. But everything will be fine. You’ll see," You move to stand behind Jiyong, rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to help him soothe his anxieties, which was safe to say, was not working.

A sigh fell from his lips, he always gave in to what you said, ninety-nine percent of the time you were right anyway. “Alright, we’ll go soon then. We can wait in the car if we arrive too early. Please?” He pleaded gently.

You knew he would feel unbearable discomfort if you had arrived on time, so of course, you gave in to him. You always did, anyway.

On the way to the doctor’s office, Jiyong asked you to read him the directions on his phone at least five times, each glance toward you was followed by a sigh of relief when you said you were on track for an early estimated time of arrival. His eyes kept searching your face, looking for any sign of hesitation, as if waiting for you to change your mind.

You teased him on the way there, every little nervous check of the car's rear view mirror, every quick glance at the clock, and every huff of concern about the baby’s well-being. You loved every second of it, though—how much he loved, how deeply he felt every moment with her. And you did not have any qualms about being his rock to stabilise his nerves.

When you finally arrived, Jiyong parked the car with a precision that only came from his deep need for control. His hands were still trembling slightly as he helped you out of the car and lifted your daughter’s car seat, like every movement was deliberate, careful—too careful, maybe. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly to yourself.

Inside the doctor’s office, Jiyong was on edge, pacing the waiting room, tapping his foot nervously, making sure everything was perfect. The waiting felt endless to him, every second stretching and distorting into a worry-filled eternity. His gaze flickered to the clock, then to you, to the baby, and back to the clock. Each time, his breath would catch, as though his entire world depended on this one appointment, on this one checkup.

“Jiyong,” you said, your tone soothing as you pulled him close, “She’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

He met your eyes then, his hand tightening around your own, a rare vulnerability in the depth of his gaze. “I just… I don’t know if I’ll ever stop worrying about her. She’s so small. So fragile. What if—”

You placed a finger on his lips forcing him to pout. Cutting off his spiraling thoughts, your eyes soft with affection, you cooed, “She’s fine. And I’m fine. And you’re doing great, Ji. Just breathe. We can do this together.”

The doctor finally called your child’s name, and as you walked into the examination room, Jiyong’s breath hitched one last time, but this time, you could see him take a deep, grounding breath, as if readying himself for whatever was ahead. As the doctor checked your baby’s heartbeat, her reflexes, her development, and everything in between, you could feel Jiyong’s tension slowly ease, his shoulders relaxing inch by inch. Each time the doctor gave a reassuring smile, Jiyong’s eyes softened, the lines of worry melting away, even if just a little.

When the doctor gave her the all-clear, Jiyong let out a long, relieved breath, a huge weight visibly lifting from his shoulders. He smiled, a smile so bright it made your heart flutter. His hand gently brushed against yours, and you felt the deep gratitude in his touch. “I told you she’d be fine,” you whispered, teasing, as you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

He chuckled, that familiar nervousness still there but now mixed with relief. “You were right. Again,” he smiled gently, pulling you toward him.

“Always am,” you grinned, wrapping a hand around his upper arm. "She's your daughter. Of course, she's going to be perfect."

And in that moment, it felt like the world had slowed down just for a second, as though the quiet joy of being together, of being parents, had enveloped you both. All the worry, all the little fears, melted away, leaving only the soft, steady rhythm of your baby's breath and the warmth of Jiyong's arm in yours.

Everything was perfect. Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.

As you and Jiyong walked out of the doctor’s office, his steps were lighter, his demeanor more relaxed, and you could feel the tension that had once gripped him start to melt away like winter ice beneath the warmth of spring. Your baby girl, snug in her car seat, cooing softly, her tiny hand reaching for the world around her, oblivious to the whirl of emotions her parents had just navigated.

Jiyong glanced down at her, a soft smile curling up at the corners of his mouth, his gaze tender and almost reverent. It was always like this with her—a quiet, unspoken awe that filled the spaces between his words, a love so strong it nearly overwhelmed him at times. You could see it, the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at her, as though he were seeing something extraordinary every time.

“You were right, you know,” he said, his voice almost in a whisper, as though not wanting to break the serenity of the moment.

You laughed lightly, nudging him with your elbow as you both strolled back to the car. “I told you, didn’t I?” You smirked playfully, enjoying this small victory in the ongoing battle of his worries. "Everything’s fine, Ji, you baby."

He rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at you, though it was a look full of affection. "You make it sound so easy." He gently buckled your daughter into her car seat, his movements meticulous, as if every click of the buckle was another reassurance that he was doing it right.

“It’s never easy, love,” you said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder as he finished the task. “There will always be difficulties, all throughout her life, but being a parent doesn’t always have to be about worrying. Getting in your head about small things can make situations harder.”

He met your eyes, and for a moment, there was a flicker of doubt still there, hidden behind the tiredness in his smile. "But what if something happens? I just want to be sure she’s okay every second of the day. What if I miss something? What if—"

You cut him off gently, brushing a strand of his hair back from his forehead, your touch warm and reassuring. “Ji, you're doing the best you can. And you know what? That’s all she’ll ever need. All she’ll ever want is you. And I’m here, too."

His shoulders seemed to sink a little further as he let out a deep sigh. "You’re right. Again." His hand found yours, his fingers interlacing with yours, a silent promise between you both.

The drive home was quieter than usual, but in the best way. It was as if the weight of unspoken fears had been lifted, leaving you both with a sense of peace that was still settling in, like the calm after a summer storm.

Jiyong kept glancing at your daughter in the rearview mirror, his eyes scanning her face as though looking for any sign of discomfort, but each time, he would smile softly, his eyes softening. “She really is perfect, isn’t she?” His voice was tender now, free from the panic it had carried earlier.

You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “She is. Just like her dad.”

Jiyong’s cheeks flushed with the smallest hint of embarrassment, though his smile only deepened. “Stop it,” he murmured, his voice filled with endearing bashfulness.

“Why? I’m just stating the facts.” You grinned, your playful teasing coming through once more, but this time it was tempered with a quiet affection that only the two of you shared. You could tell he was still processing everything—still adjusting to his new role as a father—but there was no doubt in your mind that he was going to be amazing at it. He just needed a little more time, a little more confidence, and he would find his rhythm.

By the time you reached home, the afternoon sun had warmed the world outside, casting long shadows across the yard. Jiyong took a deep breath as he parked the car, a content sigh leaving his lips as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He leaned back, just for a moment, soaking in the tranquility that had settled over him.

“Do you think we’ll ever stop worrying?” he asked, his voice quiet, but filled with sincerity.

You took a moment, thinking about it. You knew the answer, but you also knew it was something that needed to come from you in a way that would reassure him—reassure both of you. “I think we’ll always worry, a little. One of us more than the other," you snickered, but then continued, your voice laced with genuine comfort, "It’s natural. But it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being there when she needs us. And I know we will be. You will be. You’re already amazing at this.”

Jiyong didn’t reply right away. He simply took your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your skin, as though grounding himself in the love between the two of you.

You both stepped out of the car, your baby girl still sleeping soundly in her seat, the day’s bright light reflecting off her little face. You stood together, just for a moment, looking at the tiny life you had brought into the world—this perfect little girl who was already surrounded by so much love.

“We got this,” you said, more to reassure him than to convince yourself, though the words rang true.

Jiyong smiled, his heart full, as he nodded, a quiet, steady confidence in his voice. “Yeah, we do. Together.”

And with that, the two of you walked into your home, your hearts light, your minds at ease. This was the beginning of so many more milestones, so many more firsts. And no matter how many times Jiyong’s worry surfaced, you knew he would always have a way of turning it into something beautiful. Together, you were navigating parenthood one step at a time—and you couldn’t imagine anyone better to do it with.

The days that followed were filled with the tender rhythms of new parenthood, a dance that was both exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure. Jiyong continued to check in on your daughter—now growing just a little bit bigger with every passing day—like a gentle guardian, always hovering nearby, making sure she was comfortable, safe, and perfect, in his eyes. He was still the same old Jiyong, the one who double-checked the diaper bag every time you left the house, who adjusted the baby monitor just so, and who spent what seemed like hours studying her little face, as though he were memorizing every detail.

And even though his worries were never truly gone, they had become something easier to bear—something you both laughed about now. In the mornings, when he’d ask if she had eaten enough or if her cheeks looked too flushed, you would smile and tell him, "She's fine, Ji. You’re both fine."

One evening, after a particularly long day, you both collapsed on the couch. The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the baby monitor in the background, and you could hear your daughter’s gentle breaths from the nursery. Jiyong was propped up against the cushions beside you, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your hand, a quiet warmth between you.

"You know," he said, his voice quiet, as though unsure if he should voice the thought, "sometimes I feel like I’m never going to get it right. I mean, I look at her, and I just want to... I don’t know, do everything perfect for her. I want to protect her from…everything." His words came out slower now, not in a panicked rush, but in the quiet, reflective tone of a man who had just come to understand something about himself.

You looked at him then, studying his face in the soft glow of the living room light. There were still shadows beneath his eyes, remnants of sleepless nights, but there was something deeper there now, too. Something steadier, more grounded. The worry was still there, but it was becoming a quieter hum, not a shout.

"You’re doing it," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "You’re protecting her by loving her the way you do. That’s enough." You paused, leaning your head against his shoulder. "I know it feels like a lot sometimes. You don’t have to be perfect. She just needs you to be you."

Jiyong sighed, his head tilting back against the cushions as he closed his eyes for a moment. "I still feel like I’m learning. Every day. And it’s not just about the baby. It’s about being a dad... being someone she looks to, to keep her safe and happy." His voice grew more contemplative, the weight of the words heavier than usual.

You smiled, pulling him closer, your heart swelling with pride. "Parenting is never ending learning, my love, there’s a new thing that happens each day that you least expect. Besides, smhe’ll never look to anyone else the way she looks to you. The way you love her... that’s her world." You felt the quiet confidence in your words, but you knew it was the truth. Jiyong didn’t need to fix everything. Just being there, in the moment, was enough.

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "I guess I’ve got the easy part, then."

You raised an eyebrow. "The easy part?"

He laughed softly. "I mean, you’re the one who’s been with her from the beginning. I’m just playing catch-up. All you have to do is hold her, and she’s already calm. She trusts you more than anyone else." He reached over, brushing a hand over your hair, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "You’re amazing, you know that baby?" You leaned into him, the familiar comfort of his presence settling over you. The silence between you two was comfortable now. The days of uncertainty, of worrying about every little thing, seemed to have settled into something more manageable. The weight of responsibility was still there, but it no longer felt overwhelming. It was shared, this journey. And while it was still new, you both were finding your rhythm.

Weeks passed, and with each one, Jiyong’s worries became a little less frequent, though never entirely gone. There were still moments when his eyes would flicker with concern, or when he’d check your daughter’s temperature just a little too many times. But you could see it—his love, his care for her was evolving. It was no longer about anticipating every little danger, but about cherishing every little milestone, every tiny moment that was slipping by.

One quiet evening, as you all sat together in the living room, Jiyong held your daughter in his arms, her tiny fingers curled around his finger. She looked up at him with those wide, trusting eyes that seemed to see everything.

"Hey, little one," Jiyong whispered, his voice filled with so much tenderness it almost made your heart ache. "I promise, I’ll always take care of you. I’ll always be here."

You watched the two of them in that soft, glowing light. The sight of Jiyong with your daughter—his devotion, his quiet strength—was something you’d never grow tired of. It was in these simple moments, these everyday interactions, that you realized how much love had already woven itself into the fabric of your little family. Jiyong, despite his worries, had already become the father he was meant to be. He loved her in a way that made your heart ache with sweetness. There was no need for perfection—there was only this, the raw and beautiful reality of being together in the mess and the joy of it all.

thank you for reading! keep sending your requests through, all are welcome!

[thatdeadaquarius]

HELP I JUST HAD A THOUGH

WHAT IF

What if....

Blunt reader became a harbinger

I have NO idea how that would go but im here for the crack lol

I BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE-

(and to use this gif more importantly they're all so hot here lol)

Sun: Reader (you/they/them), Blunt Language AU :D

Orbit: Headcanons-ish, crack treated srsly (yes im using ao3 tags atp)

Stars: Harbingers!

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: none known & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

☆

SO thought I’d update anyone missing out bc of the new year but-

I made this silly thing called Blunt Language AU, that was my 1st post for this blog/fandom actually! :D

I’ll link it here, but TLDR: it’s just our modern speech sounding “ancient” to the Teyvatians, who speak really flowery/fluffy/lots of context in comparison!

That’s all you rlly need to know to read this I think, so enjoy! :)

☆

u fall into Genshin Impact, and Snezhnaya is where you land first type of energy lol

weird golden star falling from the sky? that sounds like a prophecy the Tsaritsa knows abt alright

so they sent Childe, one of the friendliest (if not The Friendliest) Harbinger, to see if it was a valid claim you’d finally descended,

and ofc as soon as the redhead heard you try and talk to him, he knew the claims by the small village nearby (who had taken u in from the cold weather/taken care of you) were legit

pantalone did manage to squeeze some examples of what you’d possibly sound like into his head before he left so while Childe personally has a tough time talking to you, it doesn't mean he’s not willing to try!! >:)

he mostly just kept asking questions forever until he understood what you meant, and as soon he got u were asking abt the Tsaritsa, the other Harbingers, himself, even how to get Sneznayan-made clothes lol

he was like: 👀👀👀???!!!!

it wasn't so much recruitment at first as it was “omg the exalted one wishes to learn abt us, the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers? abt me?? well would your highness like to come to our palace perchance???!!!!”

= have u ever been seduced and worshipped by a god and her country?? would you like to- ??? ← Childe actually

and with that convinces you to come straight to the Harbingers/Tsaritsa’s very home

No, you’re not just spoiled.

No, you’re not just pampered.

You are cosseted and coveted.

The Tsaritsa makes her first in person appearance to the people in decades to personally announce your return, and to get a festival going to literally parade you into the capital lol

And tbh it was kind of shocking how quickly the people of Snezhnaya are able to whip out the party supplies, within days of traveling via horses/sleds/carriage/trains all kinds of transportation, u arrived at the capital in full swing of a parade for you

The Tsaritsa herself in what looks like a genshin-ified kokoshnik, the elaborate headress draped with a veil so thin it looks like frost covering her face,

flocked on either side by her harbingers in full (kinda goth) ceremonial outfits waiting on your arrival too

needless to say you are properly smitten intimidated

and you stay nervous around them for the first few days or so,

that is before you run into the weekly, what you would call “family dinner nights”, but they call “dinner reports”…

in which Childe, the only one you’d been comfortable enough around to be a bit more genuine to, and surprisingly the only one to quickly adapt to your speech after traveling with you for days, would translate for you what tf you were saying to them vs. what everyone at the table was saying to you/around you

you would also like to propose other titles for these weekly dinner meetings you’re invited to, aka “family feud dinner night/family fight night/harbinger on harbinger hate night/fruit on fruit crimes, if you will” 💀

the Tsaritsa is just peacefully talking to you abt any and everything, bc ofc Pierro’s on her right, and ur on her left

(she and Pierro are surprisingly soft spoken, very polite, and able to say something interesting/take an interest in whatever subject you all end up on)

u don't think you've ever been more comfortable and on such equal footing around ppl sm older than you (what are older ppl to you, but to them ur literally fucking eldritch with how ancient u are, and u can tell with how they treat u like it lmao)

hard cut back to the rest of the table:

an argument that just gets louder and louder has broken out between Childe, Dottore, La Signora, and Pantalone abt who should get free time with you first/get to do smth with you first as you get over ur adjustment period here, Childe has taken his butter knife to throw and just barely missed Dottore’s eye, and it is now embedded in the back of his fancy chair (the servants placing down dinner courses just move abt w/the most bored expressions on their faces)

(u send half the table if this group gets out of hand and u just: “Please shut the fuck up, each of ur comebacks take 30 minutes and it’s killing me” 💀 bc they're the most likely to understand u too, even Pierro/Capitano/Pulcinella chuckle a little, and u think the Tsaritsa smirked under her veil)

ur honestly too scared to see what Scarmouche, Sandrone, and Arlecchino are arguing about, because they're arguing so silently further down the table. They have murder in their eyes.

Columbina and Capitano are having a peaceful collab over weapons, armor, and clothing to offer you, Pulcinella is close enough to both participate in that convo and in you, Pierro, and the Tsaritsa’s convos too

by the 2nd week you've decided to choose chaos, and get them to play board games together sometimes (they cant all make it all the time, tbh u don't know if u can handle that either) but groups of them will play at a time

u remembered early on what a dick Dottore was, and sentenced asked if he’d like to play this new board game called “Monopoly” from ur world with Childe, Pantalone, Pierro, Arlecchino, La Signora, and Scaramouche all together :)

(so what ur trying to bring khaenri’ah part 2 down on his head as punishment?? u owe scara and collei that at least)

Columbina is more than happy to help get you Harbinger-like clothes to wear since ur so interested in the style!! (yes yesss get converted, she already has a title picked out for you)

she also giggles anytime u talk abt whether u like an outfit or not, bc u just “no thank you I’d rather wear a trash bag than that shirt, but lets try another?”

meanwhile the tailors in the background u could literally edit them to one of those videos where it just zooms in on their faces with a vine boom of shock

like Pierro, ur unranked, just above the other Harbingers really, as it wouldn't do to make you the 12th Harbinger or smth

the names they gave you being, “The Playwright” or “The Renaissance” or even “Drammaturgo”

(pls anyone who speaks Italian correct if I'm wrong ToT )

ok but the first time, unsurprisingly, one of them got snappy with you, likely Scara I would think,

Scaramouche, pissy: “And what shall we do if it appears our almighty god is perhaps a descender who is entirely human? Why I dare say you’d be transgressing on privileges that were never yours to begin with!”

Every other Harbinger, the Tsaritsa herself, the servants, the frost on the walls: 😶😦😨😶‍🌫️

You, unbothered, still eating and fully expecting this moment: “I don't want to hear it from someone who has god-mommy issues. You shouldn’t have an opinion about me, ur biased.”

yeah, so obviously, they’re emotionally all attached now whether they know it or not, and this was of course the moment they realized they're god would fit in so perfectly here

(the other nations are going to have to pry you from Snezhnaya from their cold dead hands, esp since u now have legal deniability to visit bc ur technically a Harbinger, only commanded by her majesty lol)

(Scaramouche, Arlecchino, and Sandrone were fighting about who gets the room nearest to your quarters lol)

(Capitano won, somehow??)

☆

sorry ive been slow lately guys, been just trying to work on alllll the fics these past weeks/days/however long its been??

anyway had the shift from hell last week so wish me luck with work this week if u see this 😭

hope u enjoyed this old ask/crack treated srsly post orah!! :D

Safe Travels,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit

@kiyomi-uchiha777

[midnight-mourning]

🐟Midnight's DCA MerMay🐟

It's that time again, but now it's for May! So let's just jump right into it;

Requests

I will have 16 slots available for requests. Length will be the same as previous events with 1000-2000 words allocated to each

Requests can be anything (again)! Just ask that they relate to mermaids/mermay in some way, be that directly or indirectly and of course DCA-related.

As most know I am an X reader writer, but as long as my general request rules are followed, I don't mind writing for ocs, canon, etc. 

fair warning though for the above, I am not familar at all with TSAMS and if you DO have a specific au, I will do my BEST to be accurate but cannot guarentee beyond that

For those who don't know my rules, no nsfw (suggestive is fine!), and if you want something specific, be specific. Besides that, it's fair game, request what you want!

Potential Issues & Schedule

If there is overlap between request ideas, they will be combined in some manner of speaking (if possible). If needed, I will reach out to you about adjusting ideas or the likes, though I don't forsee this happening. This would occur if for example, someone wants gift shopping with Sun with their oc, and someone else wants the same thing with a reader-insert. Whoever requested second would be who I reach out to. 

Requests will be posted starting on May 1st & ending on the 31st! I will likely post every other day, with the fic I'm writing suplementing in between ^^

I will be starting writing as soon as I get the first request, as I have a busy month or so prior to May SO, requests will be open from today (April 13th) until next week April 20th, or until I get 16 unique requests.

To keep things organized, please request in the comments of this post. This also helps to potentially keep from overlap in requests, as you'll be able to see what else has already been requested. If you request in my ask box or such it'll make things a bit more difficult, so please avoid that.

HOWEVER, there is one exception to the above, which is if you wish to request anonymously, which is completely fine to do! But please only request in my ask box if you want to be anonymous. If overlap happens in that case, then y'all may just get two responses with similar vibes on the same day (essentially a bonus lol)

Sharing & More

Please feel free to share this post around, and request if you want to! Once I hit 16 unique ones I'll reblog this post with the announcement that requests are closed, so make sure to double check they aren't closed already prior to requesting!

I'll also post updates every couple of days regarding the status of total requests as well ^_^

Everything related to this will be under the tag #MM dca MerMay

These should be uploaded to ao3 when posted here, so you'll be able to read there if you prefer!

Shout out to the artists and beta-readers helping out with this event! It's a big help and adds to the fun so very excited to get to cooking with these and see what y'all get up to with them ^^ (if you're interested in joining in on this here's a final call to reach out and I'll invite you to the discord server :D)

General update things from me

As I said in my update post I am, very busy, things have picked up in my research so I'm in crunch mode to get done asap so i can graduate

I've been writing tho! Several things I'm waiting to share until I clean them up a bit but once mermay gets started i don't forsee another dry spell for a bit at least

Been working on a bit of everything, CS and HS both sit at the back of my mind but I just haven't had the time to really sit down and write for them both given theyre more in-depth with plot and such, will be getting back to them once im able to though I promiseee

I'm down a thumb rn due to a run in with a mandolin (the cutting tool not the instrument) but I will survive! not being able to draw sucks tho >_<

Excited to see the requests, bye for now!

Tags for those who enjoy my writing (if you'd like added, just let me know!)

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzy-bee @hazelthebat @nightriverart

[sweeterthanficstion]

— coast2coast (pt. one) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, featuring claire (and chris in later parts!), UNEDITED!! so far only fluff (unheard of...) i'll add as i go!

oh actually, my shitty attempt at knowing anything about surfing despite learning everything through youtube, google and malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid (what started this whole thing). i am NAWT a pro --- so if any of you guys actually know a thing or two abt surfing hit me up!!! i'd love to learn more!

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: AHH HI! i'm so excited to post this one!! it's currently summer here in australia and i've been down at the beach nearly every weekend, so it was only inevitable that my fixation on surfer!leon came back full force. i have this big story all set up in my head, but i was too excited to wait to finish writing it so i'm posting it in parts!! ++ oh also i had no idea corral beach was an actual place in malibu so my version is fictionalised. just. take everything in this fic with a grain of salt i have no idea what im doing lol

i also thought it'd be really fun idea since i'm so busy nowadays, that if you guys are interested at all, you can send in little ideas for blurbs for surfer!leon, and i'd love to write them! i'll figure out ways to fit them into the story, just as little extras, but obviously no promises on writing all of them!! i'll likely just pick the ones i think fit best into the plot. i just think that'd be AWESOME!! <3

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3 ⭑ series masterlist⭑next part (coming soon)

California is exactly how you’d left it. Exactly how you remember it. Nothing has changed between the sand beneath your toes and the palm trees lining the scorching hot tar roads, their shadows stretching long and thin like sleepy cats in the afternoon sun. The salt-kissed air wraps around you, sticky and warm, a gentle reminder that time moves slower here. Or maybe it doesn’t move at all. 

That’s the thing about California. A time capsule—sun, sand and sky.

June, July, August, Summer melts in your mouth like a sticky popsicle, one into the next, so quick you forget what it tastes like before it’s even passed.

No matter where you are in the world, what waves you're chasing, whether it be in Oceania, the Pacific, the Atlantic, summer melts, fickle and eager.

You’ve learnt to love it while it lasts.

“Another fish and chips!” One of the waitress staff calls from the front—Bunny’s Seafood Diner has been around for as long as you can remember, a weathered little gem perched off the coast of Corral Beach, Malibu. A quick and convenient right turn off the PCH, it’s a lighthouse for road-tripping families and sunburned surfers chasing their next ride.

You flip the fryer around your wrist with a practised flourish, “On it!” You call back, before you dip the metal back in the bubbling oil, the familiar sizzle of golden fries accompanying the bustle of the late afternoon rush. The kitchen smells of salt and grease and the faint tang of fresh-caught fish, a scent so familiar it clings to your skin like a second layer.

Claire breezes past with lazy grace, bumping her hip against yours. “Heading to the surf after?” she asks, her grin as wide as the beach outside, like her mouth was made for holding sweet oranges on hot summer days. She’s balancing a seafood basket in one hand and a plate of fries in the other, weaving through the bustle with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

“How’s the forecast looking?” You ask back instead, tossing the crispy fries into a basket lined with deli paper. 

“High tide in twenty,” Claire winks over her shoulder at you, side-stepping a counter corner like it’s second nature. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

You can’t deny that does sound perfect. After a shift as long as the one you’ve worked today, a surf might be all you need to feel alive again. You look back up at the foggy old clock on the wall—ten minutes left, five if you can sweet-talk your manager. You end up counting the minutes in your head, that familiar itch to feel the sand under your feet and the sun on your skin insatiable. 

By the time the clock hits four, you’re halfway out the door, ready to trade the smell of fried seafood for the briny tang of the ocean instead. Claire is hot on your heels, boards tucked under both your arms as she chases you across the tar road that burns under your bare feet, down the splintering boardwalk, and onto the powdered-sugar sands of Corral Beach.

The sun has already dipped far past it’s zenith, and the world feels washed in gold. Golden rays stretch out across shimmering waters, painting streaks of honey over the horizon, the heat settling into a balmy hum that sticks to your skin in a way you can only love.

You follow the shaded path of sycamore trees until the beach opens up to surfer’s paradise—a long stretch of sand, waves that swell and crash, aching to be carved into by hungry surfers. The path curves past a weathered wooden bulletin board, been there as long as you can remember, and you think it might be older than Bunny’s, if that’s even possible. 

“Wait!” Claire stops in her tracks, and you are helpless but to comply. Your eyes stay glued longingly to the beach while Claire’s squint at the array of flyers pinned up—some faded, some fresh. There’s a yoga class, a missing dog poster, and the usual surf report stapled to the corner, its ink smudged from damp fingers. But her eyes zero in on something bright and bold and new. 

“Here we go.” She plucks a flyer off the board, turning it toward you like she’s struck gold. The words Corral Beach Annual Surf Comp are printed in big, blocky letters, accompanied by a grainy photo of a surfer carving into a wave.

“Oh, no,” you groan, already shaking your head.

“Oh, yes,” Claire says, a grin spreading across her face.

Claire’s been singing the same song since you were fifteen and cutting through waves better than most kids your age here on Corral Beach. That you should be out there winning trophies and medals and 10k cheques instead of cleaning out the back of the greasy old fryer’s in Bunny’s. 

“C’mon, you have to do it!” She bugs on, waving the flyer around like some magic wand. 

You laugh, ducking under her arm as she tries to push it into your face. “Claire, come on.”

“I’m serious!” she insists, jogging to catch up with you as you head toward the water. “You’re out here every day. You’ve got the moves, the skill—everything they’re looking for.”

It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. You’ve been surfing since before you could walk. You’d grown up right here on Corral Beach, knew these waves better than yourself. You’d watched your parents chase waves like it was their religion—Bali, Costa Rica, Australia, it was their entire life. Something they loved that was inevitable for you to love too. 

“I’m just not the competition type,” you shrug, gaze drifting out to the waves curling in the distance. It’s not that you don’t want to—well, okay, maybe it is. The idea of standing out there, under the scrutiny of judges, crowds, and strangers, feels about as foreign as the first time you stepped onto a board. Surfing, to you, is about as religious as it is to your parents. An outlet, an art form, the ocean calms your restless soul when you need it most. Putting a score to something like that just doesn’t feel right.

“You’re one of the best surfers out here.” Claire presses, she does it so effortlessly. Poking and prodding, always enough but never so much as to push you over the edge. “Half the people in those comps are just there for a shot at a new wetsuit.”

You meet Claire’s gaze, hesitate, the memory of your dad paddling out at dawn or your mom teaching you how to duck dive flickering in your mind. “It’s not about that. My parents taught me how to surf before they taught me how to say mom and dad. They’d enter comps now and then, but it was never about winning. It was about the waves, the adventure.”

“And you don’t think that’s in you too?” Claire asks, raising an eyebrow as she shields her eyes against the sun.

“Maybe it is,” you say finally. “But that’s their story, not mine.”

Claire’s gaze softens for all of a second before she snorts, shoving your shoulder with her own. “You’re so full of it. You’ve got more talent in your pinky than most people out there. Just think about it, okay? It could be fun.”

You do nothing of the sort.

The second your feet are in the water, you forget all about the comp, all about your job and any other worries on your mind. Salt water seems to have that sort of effect on you. Wasting no time, both you and Claire paddle past the surf, straddling your boards in the ocean, watching as the other surfers before you take off one by one with each new wave that rolls in.

It doesn't take long before the first wave in a gorgeous set comes in, Claire’s all but primed for it. She takes off, gets into position, and pops up on her board, carving into it like it’s breathing. You follow suit as the next one comes in, and just like that, you fall into the rhythm of the ocean.

Wave after wave, you don’t stop until the sun is cotton candy pink, purple, gold. Most of the other surfers have dispersed by now, and Claire’s traded shredding the bigger waves for wading through the calm waters with her back pressed against the flat of her board. 

You, on the other hand, feel like fate is decidedly on your side. You watch as another set rolls in, the first crashing just out of reach. It peels exactly as you’d hoped, slowly to the right, so when the next one rolls in right after, you paddle with it, catch the feeling of the tide underneath you, and like it's simply second nature, get to your feet.

This is where you feel most alive. There is not a second to spare for the other noise in your head, not about the past nor the future nor anything in between other than right here and now. Nothing but the instinctual insistence of how much longer can you stay on? How much longer can you keep your balance? Lean left, right, forward. Better, longer, more, more, more.

And when you’ve finally completed your balancing act, you dance up to the nose, hovering there on the tip of your board, arms out to steady yourself like sails catching wind, and then you close your eyes and let the crash of the wave topple you off.

It’s only once you’ve resurfaced, board nowhere to be seen, that you realise you didn’t feel the familiar tug of the leash around your ankle. By the time you drag yourself to shore, breath heavy and hair clinging to your face, you see it—the measly cord trailing behind you, frayed and snapped clean.

You huff a sigh, not surprised. It had been old crap for a while now. So had the board, but it carried enough summers in its scars to mean something. A history you weren’t quite ready to part with.

Claire’s already gathering her things by the time you meet her on the sand, shaking out her towel and tossing it into her worn tote bag.

“What happened to your board?” she asks, her tone casual, but her raised brow suggests she’s caught the fraying leash.

You lift your ankle and let the cord dangle, the sad state of it all the explanation she needs.

She winces, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Ouch. Guess it’s finally time for a new one?”

It’s only when you’re halfway up the beach that you spot it again. Your board? Your board!

It’s leaning lazily against the base of a lifeguard tower, looking as though it had simply wandered off and decided to wait for you all this while. Relief blooms in your chest, and you call to Claire that you’ll catch up.

It’s only when you’re closer that you notice him.

He’s standing by the lifeguard tower, a red rescue can slung casually over his shoulder. Blonde hair catches the light, tousled and damp like he’s been in the water himself. His broad shoulders are framed by the white-and-red uniform shirt that looks a little too crisp for someone who spends their day in the sun.

You can tell he’s new. There’s a hesitation in the way he stands, like he’s trying to look comfortable in a place he hasn’t quite claimed yet. But there’s something magnetic about him, the way he surveys the beach with quiet curiosity, like he’s soaking in every detail.

And you don’t mean to stare, but you’re caught in the moment, the way he looks like he belongs there despite it all, carved from the same sun and salt as the beach itself.

You’re still staring when his eyes meet yours.

They’re blue, impossibly so, the kind of blue that reminds you of the water when it’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, the kind of blue you could fall into and forget how to breathe. His mouth quirks into a smile—easy, natural, like he’s been doing it all his life.

For a heartbeat, the world shifts, tilts ever so slightly, like the two of you are caught in some half-remembered dream. Something stirs in your chest, familiar yet unnameable, like déjà vu soaked in sunlight. You freeze, caught like a fish on a line, just before his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he lifts a hand in a casual wave.

“Hey,” he calls out, his voice carries over the sound of the waves, warm and low, and you think there’s a hint of the coast in it—just not this one.

You blink, salt-sticky and sun-drunk, realizing belatedly that you’re still rooted to the spot. “Hey,” you manage, shifting your weight on your feet.

He doesn’t move, but his attention is all yours now, quiet and steady, as though nothing else on the beach exists, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Nice ride out there,” he says, nodding toward the water, his voice dipped in easy admiration. “That last wave—you made it look easy.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, unplanned but genuine, a flush to your cheeks at the notion of being watched and noticed. You hope he mistakes it for sunburn. “Easy? You sure you weren’t watching someone else?”

“Nope,” he says, the smile widening just a fraction. “Definitely you. The board gave it away.” He says, nodding towards the board that’s still propped against the lifeguard tower like a loyal dog.

“Ah,” you say, realising. “So it was you.”

He shrugs, sweet and boyish in his sincerity. “Figured it deserved better than drifting out to sea.”

You glance down at your battered shortboard, the paint long faded from years of sun and surf. The edges are chipped, and the wax is uneven, but it feels like a part of you. “Thanks,” you say, meaning it. “Guess I owe you one.”

And before you can really think it through, the words escape you all at once. “You surf?”

“Not like that,” he hums, tilting his head toward the waves. Not like you. “Still trying to figure out how to make it look as easy.”

“That’s how it starts,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips despite yourself. “You’ll get there.”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “We’ll see. I’m mostly here for this,” he hefts the rescue can with a crooked smile. “Started lifeguard training last week. Figured I’d better get to know the locals.”

“Locals, huh?” You arch a brow, a subtle quirk to your lips. “And I’m one of those?”

“Definitely,” he grins, his voice sure now, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like this is where you belong.”

The words hang in the air, sweet and sticky like the heat of the day. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“Well,” you manage, recovering with a nod toward the tower. “Welcome to Corral Beach. Try not to let it chew you up and spit you out.”

He laughs then, and it’s warm, golden—like sunlight filtering through the trees. “I’ll do my best.”

He steps back, making space for you to collect your board, though his gaze lingers, like he’s reluctant to go but knows he should. 

“See you around?” he asks, the question carrying a hopeful edge.

“Maybe,” you say, the word feeling light and easy as you turn toward the parking lot.

You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes linger, and it leaves a quiet sort of thrill in your chest, like the first rush of catching a wave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3