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dreamwritesimagines · 8 months ago

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Sunshine [6] - Middle of the Night

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Drunk calls can lead to sweet moments.

Word Count: 3500

CW: Violence, explicit language, mentions of sex, drinking, getting drunk, throwing up

Series Masterlist

To be completely honest, getting drunk was not in the plans tonight.

You were supposed to have one drink and go home but in your defense your best friend had tricked you with that two for one deal and now you were on your fifth cocktail, giggling at the story of her latest date.

“Listen, if you like him, I can totally normalize him living with his ex for you,” you told her and she made a face.

“How?”

“The rental market is in shambles.”

She let out a laugh, then shook her head.

“Nope.”

“Capitalism is fucking all of us—”

“We’re not doing that,” she said. “I mean how would you feel if Logan was living with his ex?”

“Logan hasn’t asked me out,” you pointed out. “Which is more reason to believe he doesn’t like me like that.”

“The guy maimed three people for you!”

“It could’ve been a friendly gesture!”

She threw her head back. “You’re not serious.”

You shrugged your shoulders, then downed your drink and motioned for another one.

“Listen,” you said, your mind all fuzzy. “Do I want Logan? Yes. Do I dream about us living happily ever after? Yes. Do I have very detailed fantasies about him breaking my bed? Also yes. But we don’t—”

“I’d just like to remind you that while you don’t have enough money to buy a new bed,” she interfered. “I will buy you a new one if you break it while the hot lumberjack is fucking your brains out.”

“Thank you, you’re a true friend,” you said solemnly as the waitress brought you your cocktail and you thanked her, then turned to Julie. “Jamie wants him to be terrible in bed so that I’ll snap out of this.”

“Doubt it,” she said. “The guy has been around since the mid-1800s, I’d assume he has some experience.”

You tilted your head, then gasped.

“Oh my God!” you said, reaching out to grab her arm over the table, almost knocking over her glass but she caught it before her drink could spill on the table. “What if Jamie is right?”

“I literally just said—”

“No, he was alive in mid-1800s!” you said, making her frown.

“Yeah?”

“What if he is like Edward Cullen and waiting for marriage?”

“That man is a whore!” Julie snapped, flailing her hands. “I’ve heard the way he speaks to you, he’s a slut—there’s no fucking way. He’ll break your bed any day now.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh. “To repeat, he hasn’t made a move.”

“To repeat, I think maiming three guys for you counts as making a move.”

You sucked on the straw of your cocktail, the happy warmth of alcohol buzzing in your head.

“So you think he likes me back?”

“I’m pretty sure he likes you back.”

You grabbed some popcorn from the bowl on the table.

“Yeah well,” you said. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Why don’t you ask him out?”

You pulled your brows together. “I can’t do that Julie!”

“Why not?” she asked. “Is it the 1800s? Will people call you a harlot in the town square?”

“No!” you said. “No it’s just…”

“When was the last time you got laid?”

“That has nothing to with the situation,” you said and took a huge sip of your cocktail, making her grin.

“Remind me, when was it?”

“It’s been some time.”

“So why aren’t you climbing Logan like a tree?”

“I’m trying!” you whined and she motioned at you.

“Drink your cocktail. The whole thing.”

You nodded and downed your drink, your insides getting even warmer as you put your glass on the table. Julie grinned, and pushed your phone in your direction.

“Now call him.”

“Julie!”

“Just ask him out!” she said. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“He could hang up on me.”

“He’s not gonna hang up on you,” she said. “Listen, that guy has been picking you up from work, calling you princess, saving you from creeps and sniffing your hair...”

“We’re not so sure about the last part.”

“Yes we are,” she said, pointing a finger at you. “Call him. You’ll be too much of a chicken to ask him out when you’re sober, so do it when you’re drunk.”

You let out a whine, then took the phone into your hands, heaving a sigh.

“What if I’m not his type?”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Somebody really needs to fuck you in front of a mirror.”

You scrunched up your face. “Oh I could never do that.”

“You should, it’s fun,” she said and nodded at the phone in your hand. “Call him.”

“But—”

“Do you want to fuck him, yes or no?”

“I want us to live happily ever after!” you said and paused for a second. “And yeah I want to fuck him. A lot. Day and night, multiple positions.”

“Call him.”

You took a deep breath, then nodded to yourself.

“I’ll be back,” you said and stood up from the chair, stumbling as the room spun around you but you grabbed the back of the chair and sat down again. “Shit, I’m too drunk.”

“It’s not that loud here,” she said. “You don’t have to go outside.”

“Okay,” you said and found Logan’s name, then touched it and took the phone to your ear, your heart pacing in your chest. You drummed your fingernails on the table, frowning to yourself, then lowered the phone.

“He’s not answering,” you said and ended the call, then turned to Julie. “Maybe he’s busy or something?”

“Yeah, didn’t you say they went on missions?”

“That’s what I heard,” you said and heaved a sigh. “Oh well. It was worth a shot.”

Julie shrugged her shoulders.

“Yeah,” she said and thought for a moment. “We should get shots.”

You gasped, and clapped your hands together.

“Yeah!” you said. “Yeah let’s get shots!”

Since Julie’s place was closer, you had split the taxi fee and dropped her off first before the taxi took you to your place. As it turned out, the shots were a bad idea because you had to rush to the bathroom to throw up as soon as you stepped foot into your apartment, but after you brushed your teeth and washed your face, you were still not sleepy.

On the contrary, you were pretty energetic.

…And hungry.

Starving, actually.

You hummed to yourself as you opened the fridge, then tilted your head. Nothing in your fridge looked good enough, so you grabbed your phone to order, but then scoffed when you saw the delivery fee.

“Absolutely not,” you murmured and grabbed your jacket to put it on, then grabbed your keys before walking out of the apartment. The buzz of the alcohol was still in your system despite you throwing up, so you hopped down the stairs and stepped out of the apartment.

Walking did help the nausea and your head spinning, and you were just passing by a shop when the fish tank caught your eye, making you stop in your steps.

Fish.

Interesting.

You stared at the shop window, nearly hypnotized by the lively colors and the fish swimming in the huge fish tank behind the glass but snapped out of it when your phone started vibrating in your pocket.

Logan.

“Oh fuck,” you muttered to yourself as you stared at the name flashing on the screen, your breath hitching. “Oh fuck, oh fuck…”

You took a deep breath, and touched the screen, then took the phone to your ears, your heart pacing in your chest.

“Hey!” you said, your voice going a pitch higher. “Um, what’s up?”

“Hi princess,” he said, his deep voice making you bite at your lip. “Didn’t hear you call, sorry about that.”

“No problem,” you said with a giggle. “Jesus, fish are pretty. Did you know they were pretty? I didn’t really pay attention to them but—oh my God. I’m so buying Theo fish.”

“What?”

“No seriously, he wanted it, and these things are tiny and it’s not that hard to take care of fish, is it? I mean it can’t be harder than taking care of orchids, Nik bought some for me and those things are goddamn suicidal, I tell you.”

“…Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy,” you corrected him as you fished your gloss out of your purse to apply it, staring at the window. “Tipsy-ish? This store is open right? Yeah, I see someone inside—”

“Hold on, you’re drunk and outside?” he asked. “Alone?”

“Yeah but it’s fine,” you said. “I stepped outside for some fresh air and I’m gonna get food but I got distracted by this aquarium—I’ll buy two fish and then put one of those fake trees and stuff into the tank—”

“Stay put, I’ll be there.”

“You don’t even know where I am though?” you said, looking around the street. “I’m close to my apartment but like I said, I need to eat something and Theo needs fish—”

“I’ll follow your scent, stay put,” he said and hung up, making you hum, and then put the phone into your pocket and entered the shop to smile at the owner.

“Good evening sir,” you said. “I need one orange and one white fish please. My son will name them Cheeto and Popcorn.”

Logan found you as you were leaving the fast food place, holding the paper bag full of French fries tight with the small fish tank tucked in your other arm. You put the paper bag on the lid on the tank as the roar of the motorcycle made you lift your head and you looked over your shoulder.

Jesus Christ, he was too hot.

You could swear there were flying hearts circling your head as he got off the motorcycle and made his way to you, his herculean figure making you sigh before you looked up at his handsome face, your heartbeat getting faster.

“Hi sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him, still hugging the tank to your chest. “Hi. You’re very handsome.”

That made the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smile before he tilted his head.

“How much did you drink, again?”

“Um…” you bit inside your cheek, looking up at the dark sky to calculate in your head. “Six cocktails and a couple of shots. The shots were Julie’s idea though.”

“Right.”

“Hold this,” you said, pushing the tank into his arms before grabbing the paper bag to open it. “Ugh, I’m starving! Are you hungry?”

“Nope,” he said, still smiling. “Go ahead.”

You hummed a song to yourself as you dug into the fries, and cleared your throat, trying to focus.

“You didn’t have to drive all the way here,” you said. “My place isn’t far.”

“Mm hm, and you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” you corrected him as you chewed on the fries with him walking beside you. “I swear to God, potatoes are the best vegetable to grace this earth—what were you doing when I called? Am I keeping you from something?”

“Nope,” he said. “I was walking around the halls to make sure everything was alright, I didn’t take my phone with me. How about you? Fun night?”

“So much fun!” you said as you popped a couple of fries into your mouth. “Julie is seeing this guy—well, they slept together, and apparently he’s still living with his ex and it’s like a huge red flag for her, but seriously the rents are insane nowadays so I don’t—Logan, what are your thoughts on premarital sex?”

That made his head whip around and he stared at you while you calmly chewed on the fries, waiting for his answer.

“…Huge fan of it?” he said after a beat and you nodded your head.

“Same here,” you said as you started walking again. “Did you—um, so do you count as Victorian or Georgian? I always mix those two up for some reason.”

He pulled his brows together. “What?”

“I watch a lot of period movies, I think yearning is the most romantic thing in the entire world, that hand scene in Pride and Prejudice changed me as a person,” you said as you reached into the paper bag to pull out more fries. “Um, I have a lot of questions for you and I know you’re this cool and mysterious guy so you can just say yes or no.”

He stifled a laugh. “Sure thing, hit me.”

“Did anyone give you their handkerchief?”

“No.”

You gasped. “No one gave you their handkerchief? What a bunch of assholes!”

“I had other priorities in mind during those times, sweetheart.”

“Yearning is a priority, Logan,” you said wistfully. “Next question, were you ever accidentally engaged?”

“How does one get accidentally engaged?”

“People see you talking to each other without a chaperone.”

“What?” he asked with a grimace. “I don’t—no.”

“No wonder why you like modern times better, now that I think about it,” you murmured as you looked into the bag, then heaved a sigh when you saw only a couple of fries in it. You grabbed them and threw them into your mouth, then scrunched up the paper bag to throw it into the nearest trash can. “Do you like Cheeto and Popcorn?”

Logan pulled his brows together. “Come again?”

“The fish!” you pointed at the small fish tank he was holding in one hand and he looked down at it, then chuckled.

“Right,” he said. “They look nice, sweetheart.”

“Right? Theo will be very happy, and—is there any rules against pets at the school? Because he will want to take them there.”

“We can bend the rules a little for him, it’s fine,” he said, making you smile at him brightly.

“Aw thank you!” you said as you licked your lips, then looked around before turning to Logan. “Logan?”

His eyes held a soft light in them. “Hm?”

“Can I see your claws?”

He frowned slightly but unsheathed his claws. “Why? I don’t see any threats, do you—”

He was cut off when you held onto his arm to lift his hand a little to see the blur reflection of your face on the metal, then dabbed at your lip gloss that had smudged a little with the tip of your finger. You could feel Logan staring at you so you lifted your gaze for a moment.

“What?”

“…You—you know I’ve hurt a lot of people with them, right?”

“And now you’re helping me fix my makeup with them,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Things can be of multiuse.”

He didn’t comment on it as you rubbed your lips together, then dropped his hand to beam at him. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” he managed to say with a small chuckle. “You are something else, you know that?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” you said happily but before you could thank him again, you noticed two guys staring at him, no doubt because of the claws. You could feel the sudden rush of anger sparking to life as you narrowed your eyes at them.

“What?” you snapped, making them snap out of the haze, exchanging glances. Logan raised his brows, his lips twitching as if he was amused. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” one of them said. “Just claws—”

“Yeah, so?” you asked him as you took a step towards him but Logan put his hand over the back of your neck, gently pulling you back, looking like he was trying his hardest to keep a straight face and not burst into laughter as the guy stepped back. “What, do you wanna fight or something?”

“…No?”

“Then fucking act like it, how about that?”

“Your girl is aggressive, bro.”

“That she is,” Logan said, rubbing his thumb over the back of your neck. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“It’s rude to stare, okay?” you told them over your shoulder as you started walking beside Logan. “No seriously like, didn’t your mom teach you anything? Call her, let’s see what she’ll say about you staring at strangers!”

Logan pursed his lips together to control the chuckle vibrating in his chest before he cleared his throat.

“Unbelievable,” you grumbled. “No seriously, even Theo knows not to stare at people and he still believes in Santa! That’s no excuse, what the fuck was that? You should’ve let me kick his ass!”

“I think you scared them off enough.”

“Good!”

“Do you always look for fights when you’re drunk?”

“I’m tipsy and I have zero tolerance for disrespect, Logan,” you pointed out. “I mean honestly, who raised these boys?”

Logan bit back a smile, then nodded in the direction of your building.

“Come on,” he said and you pulled out your keys, but then dropped them with a gasp. Logan picked them up, then opened the building’s door for you.

“It’s kind of like a handkerchief situation when you think about it,” you said happily as you climbed the stairs. If you weren’t so drunk, you would’ve noticed earlier that he was in fact in your building but it only dawned on you when you stopped in front of your apartment, then held your breath.

“Logan?” you asked, your heart beating faster at the possibility. “Would you like to come in?”

“I’ll just make sure you actually go to bed and not wander off to the street completely drunk,” he told you and you pouted your lips as he opened your door for you.

Stepping into your apartment, you yawned and looked over your shoulder as he closed the door behind him, then held up the fish tank.

“Where do you want to put it?”

“The kitchen is fine,” you said, pointing at the kitchen and he made his way to the kitchen while you swayed on your steps, making your way to your bedroom to fling yourself on the bed, kicking off your shoes. You heard the sound of water running before the footsteps came closer and you sat up in the bed, tucking your legs under you. Logan entered your bedroom, his hazel gaze focusing on you for a moment before he shook his head slightly and handed you the huge glass of water.

“Drink it.”

“Oh I’m not thirsty.”

“Drink it,” he repeated and you heaved a sigh, then took a sip of it before lowering the glass to your lap.

“I’m pretty sure those cocktails will knock you out but off the chance that you wake up still drunk, I need you to promise me—” Logan started but a tiny lint on the skirt of your dress caught your attention, making you distracted. You pulled at it with a frown but felt Logan tilt your chin up so that you could look up at him.

“Eyes on me princess, look at me.”

You could feel the warmth spreading through you as your eyes met his, pleasant goosebumps rising on your arms as you blinked up at him in adoration.

“Your voice is very deep,” you murmured and he smiled slightly.

“Did you hear a word I said?”

You thought for a moment, then shook your head.

“Don’t wander off to the street if you wake up in the middle of the night,” he said. “I need to get back to the institute but—”

“Or you could stay?” you asked, your voice soft in the quiet, dimly lit room and a shadow moved behind his hazel gaze, making your heart skip a beat. You knew he knew what you meant, and hope filled your system, making you feel nearly lightheaded at the possibility of him feeling half of the fire running through your veins.

You could swear there was some sort of invisible lighting crackling between you, making your breath catch in your throat as he traced your bottom lip with his thumb, making your eyes flutter close for a second before you looked up at him again.

“Logan…”

“That is not happening when you’re drunk, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and you pulled your brows together.

“It could.”

“It won’t.”

You bit inside your cheek, blinking up at him and he frowned as if trying to pull himself together. His knuckles brushed over your cheekbone softly before he withdrew his hand, then leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head, making you heave a sigh.

“Call me when you wake up tomorrow,” he said before he pulled back, then walked out of the room.

You heard the front door open, then close and you let out a whine, then let yourself fall back on the bed, pressing your fingertips on your lips. A giggle you couldn’t stop climbed up your throat and you lowered your hand, then took off your dress to throw it to somewhere in the room before grabbing the covers to pull them over your head, a huge smile curling your lips as you closed your eyes, sleep pulling you into its warmth.

7 - Heat Wave

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan wolverine #logan x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #james howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan x you #james logan howlett

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allfearstofallto · 1 month ago

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I feel like I've been away for so long but I was reading through some of your childe/Ajax content and I was thinking he would love a darling being parental or good with kids. Like i know he would love to have a little family tucked away

- 🍓

THE WORST THING YOU CAN DO IN FRONT OF CHILDE IS BE DOTING AND KIND, I STG.

with that being said-

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Babysitter! Reader

Three big eyed, red headed children. That's what you were left with. Freckled faces and missing teeth, big smiles and fat cheeks. Their parents were leaving on a trip and even though the adored their young so much, they told you with exasperated words that they were desperate for a break. You'd be paid handsomely, with a room tucked in the back of their humble home, and of course, eat what ever you like from their stock. Just, watch the children please.

The kids were no angels. Not quite little devils yet, but they were well behaved, but a tad bit too excitable. One had a habit of wandering off. The other, liked to climb, nearly giving you a heart attack when you saw him making his way to the room of the house from a very thin tree branch, and the one girl was into playing pranks. Take your eyes off of one and the other was already wreaking havoc. It didn't take you long to understand why their parents were so desperate for just a few days of silent peace.

A knock on the door caught your attention as you made dinner. Snezhnaya was freezing constantly and in the days since you'd been there, you'd grown accustomed to making soups. The children loved it as well. With one of them under your arms and another running around your feet in an attempt to trip you, you opened the heavy, wooden door and came face to face with orange hair, freckles, and a playful smile. Only this one was taller. Much, much taller.

"Brother!" The children cheered in unison, rushing into his arms and knocking him over from the sheer force of their apparent adoration from the man. He fell back gracelessly into the snow, and the clamored on top of him, not even giving him the chance to get back up. You'd attempt to help him, if not for his laughter beneath the little pile of children and ice.

"Manners," the man playful scolded them through boughts of laughter, while squeezing the girls plump cheeks, "You shouldn't act this way in front of company."

While still standing on the ground, he gestured to you, finally locking eyes with you. His, as blue as his siblings, felt so colorless in comparison to the childlike wonder that filled his siblings. He lifted himself up with ease, showing his true strength as the children dangled off of him like little monkeys, holding tightly as he approached you. The man, removing his glove, held his hand out to you, thin fingers red at the tips from the cold.

"Ajax," his name was followed by a charming smile.

A firm shake was your response, "I'm the babysitter."

"Babysitter," he repeated and you nodded. Ajax looked down at the children still clinging tightly to his clothing, "Is she any good?"

His question was followed by a choir of praise, all happening at once, with each child saying something different, yet kind. You felt your cheeks flush from the compliments, looking away bashfully, maybe that's why you didn't notice the little smirk that played at his lips.

He carried the children indoors with ease, a testament to his strength, before tossing them down onto the couch, earning him fits of giggles. You'd think that a brother would care more for his siblings, ones that he presumably hadn't seen in a while, yet his attention was back on you in an instant. You who had remembered dinner still on the stove, rushed to the kitchen to stir the pot, blissfully unaware of his presence. He stood there, back against the doorway, arms crossed as he just watched you, taking in every on of your practiced movements as you tasted and seasoned the food.

"And you can cook too?" He finally said, then he took a few sniffs of the air. It smelled of the home cooked meal, and you in that apron, so cute and sweet, was the best part of it all.

"I can do a bit," you replied, still trying to seem humble in front of what was essentially a stranger. The parents had mentioned their older children most of which had long since moved out and gone their own way. You supposed that this was the son who traveled for work, the one who would pop by from time to time with gifts and toys for his beloved younger siblings.

"Nonsense, dinner smells amazing," hs picked up one of the rolls you baked from the tabled and practically marked in the softness, "I'm surprised your husband would allow something so precious out of the home. I would never make you work day in your life."

You giggled at what you assumed was a joke, only to see that there wasn't even a hint of a smile on his face, if anything, this was the most deathly serious he'd looked since you met him.

"No husband," you corrected, "And I don't mind the work, I love children."

You watched as he cocked an eyebrow, "Do you?"

You response was a nod. Above you were all the bowls, upon reaching to grab one, you felt something firm and warm press against your back. Ajax, barely had to lift his arm to bring the bowls down, it seemed like nothing to a man of his height. Yet, even after he'd completed the task, he kept you caged between his large frame and the cold counter.

"Maybe a boyfriend, then?" He questioned with a tilt of his head. Your hands reached to grab the bowls from him, but he snatched them away before you could, the smirk on his face telling you that he had no intentions of handing them over until you answered.

"No. I don't have a boyfriend," the bowls were promptly placed into your hands the second the last syllable left your lips.

"How fortunate," Ajax hummed once more.

At the sound of silverware clattering while you se the table, the children rushed in, past their brother and at their seat at the table. Their loud chatter filled the room and their immediate antics took your attention away from Ajax. But, from the corner, he watched as you placed their napkins on their laps, dishes up their food, and assisted them in eating their meals.

Upon finally taking his place at the table, Ajax looked absolutely smitten. Although you were too focused on the way the small children were avoiding the vegetables in their soup to notice. It seemed as though even the way you scolded them, your voice firm, but compassionate, was making him grow even more infactuated with you.

A man who always longed for children of his own, he saw his future with you. Not his siblings at the table, but his own young being fed and doted on by your tender hands. He let out a longing sigh before taking a bite of his own food, closing his eyes in bliss at the taste. Yes, you were truly perfect, weren't you?

#mai<3 answers #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin yandere childe x reader #yandere childe x you #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #male yandere x reader #🍓 anon

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jupiterpiss · 13 days ago

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jupiterpiss my beloved, lemme see the toxic ex remmick post🙏🏻🙏🏻

It’s long.

Warnings: Briefly proof read. Sorry if there are any mistakes. This took a shit ton while and it’s long as hell too. Gore.. GOREEEE PEOPLE. Animals are harmed, some graphic detail of mutations and death. Blood mentioned, spit play. Lots of spit.. he licks you. All over. Reader tries to be cool and insult him but it literally fails. Also cause she’s partially lying. FEM READER. Pussy smacking.. yeah u read that right. Remmick threatens to kill children and members of readers family. He’s really mean here. Mention of curses! P in v. Porn WITH plot. Yeah. Uhhh I think that’s it. Can’t remember where.. but reader is kinda acknowledged to be poc? I think? Somewhere I wrote that but I can’t remember.. so if it’s not there, then just ignore this tag.

It’s the beginning of July when he comes back. When the heat is slowly climbing, held at a pleasant warmth in the beginnings of summer. Not too harsh but not too chill, just enough to sleep with the sheets on.

Although your bed remains cold, has yet to be comforted by the warmth of your skin, yet to cushion itself around your weight.

Instead, the rocking chair on your porch holds your frame. Coddles you, as your it’s child. Protected away in its wood bindings, softly rocking you back and forth.

Between your point and middle finger rests a cigarette, the smoke of it blowing lightly in the soft breeze, swirling around before disappearing into the dark, or lingering around the porch light you got on. Something to keep you awake, comforted. Just as the chair.

You’ve been doing this for a while now, sitting outside, smoking. It was a horrible habit, something picked up just a few months ago. Not too long after you met the man you keep waiting on.

It was actually due to him you even started, that you actually liked the taste of the cigarette, the breeze and roll of the smoke curling in your lungs before blowing it out. It got rid of the shake in your hands, the anxious tap of your foot. Eased you.

It also worked as a distraction, a tactic used to lie to yourself. That yes, you’re only out here for a smoke, only out here to whind down for the night. That you’re not waiting for him, not waiting to see if he’ll show. With his crooked teeth and cocky attitude that seems to fail.

The chair groans, creaks loud as you get out of it, as if it’s calling out to you, mourning the loss of you. The wood of the porch cries just as loudly, louder than it usually does. As if it’s calling for something, crying out the tears and calls you can’t bring yourself to do.

You’re halfway through the door when you feel it. That quiet. The pull of something old, a thread connecting you to the dead, yanked tightly around his finger as if he’s your puppeteer. It’s maybe why you pause, stay.

Then, turn, slowly, as if you could feel it. Feel him.

In the far distance are two little orbs, bright red. Too tall to be a mammal but too short to be an owl in a tree. You stay still, will yourself to not blink. That if you do, he’ll show up. Be a shit ton closer.. and then you’ll have to deal with him.

His hunger. Love. Whatever else that lingers in his bones.

A minute passes, and due to basic human instinct you blink. Once, twice. Each time he gets closer until he lingers just off the porch, by about an inch.

Only then he speaks, when he’s under the shadow of the porch light, gives a small, “Hey baby.”

You stare in disbelief. Perplexed. As if his existence is something other worldly.. which it could be. As if him coming back never occurred to you. It did, several times, but each time he entered differently.

Louder. Meaner maybe. Maybe he would come crying, or hell, even with some new broad. Maybe even a whole ‘pack’ he went out to create. Something.

Not this. Him, casual, as if he didn’t disappear for three weeks. All happy smiles and a lustful gaze.

He doesn’t take the silence very well, can’t, deciding to fill it with random conversation, “was hard to find ya’, at first. Thought you would be back with em’ family of yours. But this is nice-“ he points a finger at your house, towards the door that remains halfway open with your body halfway in, facing him.

“Liked to see my girl independent. Always knew you worked hard. Hell, Went outta yer way to get us a house.. now we really can get crackin on the whole family thing, huh?”

“Where the fuck were you.”

His smile immediately drops, and he flinches at your words. Liked you smacked him.

“Well.. now that ain’t no way to greet a lover-“

You cut him off, not in the mood for his banter, “Where the fuck were you, Remmick?”

“Baby.. I was out. Getting food.”

You tilt your head at him, but it’s less of a naive curiosity, more of a way to show your anger. The offence of his actions.

“For almost a fuckin month?”

It sounds like he winces, you can’t be too sure, but with how his shoulders tense, and the way he trips over his words says enough.

“I-wh- lo-look. Look. I was out.. gettin’ food. And I heard the most.. baby.. when I say this voice was god damn beautiful.. I mean-“ he gives a light scoff.

Your eyes squint, and he straightens, “you should’ve heard it. You would understand. It was like the voice of.. of the angels. And I could see em’”

Your jaw clenches, tight, the muscles tense, “see who.”

“Ancestors. The dead.. the- the buried. And the alive. The future. Everything. His voice-“

“His?”

“Sammy,” he quickly clarifies, like a name covers any confusion, “His voice broke the tether. Broke that bound.”

He shakes his head, slow. As if reminiscing on the memory, the life brought on by ‘Sammy’s’ voice. He gives a low hum.

“I couldn’t let that go.”

Dread. Yucky, gross dread washed over you. You hate how this story is going, don’t like how he’s still shaking his head, eyes no longer on you but lost on something else.

Lost on the memory.

He looks like he’s mourning.. and you feel like vomiting.

“Remmick.”

He gives a small hum, eyes still stuck in the corner of the door frame.

“What did you do?” You whisper.

He doesn’t wait long to answer, “tried to get him. Couldn’t. Damn near killed everyone just to do it, though.”

The bluntness of his words, of what he did doesn’t seem to surprise you. He’s always been like that, always been forward with his intentions and words.

Doesn’t mean it didn’t crack something in you. Something deep, a dam waiting to break free.

“He’s a preacher boy. Spoke of God. Sounded like him too when he sang. Should’ve heard him in that Juke joint-“

Your heart plummets.

Falls. Hits the fucking ground and splatters everywhere. It takes everything in you not to make it noticed, not at first.

You heard about that, the whole joint that went missing, only left the Klan and one body to show for in the morning.

Guns were splayed out on the floors, a car on fire was found not to far, and the bodies. Several of em’, all belonging to the Klan. Their wives said otherwise, said there was no such thing, how could there be. Said that it was the one body that didn’t belong to them that did this. Killed their husbands unmercifully.

No one in the community believed it. White folks did, but no one else.

Among the chaos of the scene lied a man with a name no one spoke of, was afraid to. Smoke. Whispered among people, out from a mouth and into an ear cupped behind a hand. Just mentioning him got people in trouble.

But even then.. no one knew what happened to everyone else.

Children left to be orphans and spouses left widowed. The rumours pinned it on smoke, said he took everyone in there too. Some said the Klan did all that. Others said something of a mob.

But the blood. The blood. It was slathered all over, coated the fucking walls from top to bottom. There were trails of hands, feet, looked like someone painted with it. And the boy. The boy. Now you remember. He was said to have claw marks on him, clothes soaked in blood and hand shaky around a guitar. A broken one, not even something full. Hardly spoke, too shaken and scared to even mutter a full sentence.

Left soon after. Didn’t stick around long to see what would be made of the situation.

Your mother hummed low when she told you, said, “The devil is near. Always is.”

You prayed it just wasn’t him. That someone else among the dead did that.

Well ain’t that a fuckin joke.

Your voice comes out croaky, broken. Something that rips out your throat and into his hands.

It sounds like grief, “You did that.”

He snaps out of his daze then. Looks at you, really looks. Takes in the horror on your face, the way you no longer are half way out but now fully in, hand on the door ready to shut it.

Shut him out. He fumbles, brows furrowed together and mouth frowning, “Baby… honey listen-“

“No. No.” You shake your head, “No. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He takes a step up the porch, cautious. Slow, as if approaching a wild animal, “whatcha talkin bout?”

“I shouldn’t have let you in. Around.”

Another step, his hand slowly moves up, trying to reach out, “Baby.”

“I danced too close. Forgotten myself.”

His voice goes low. Muttered, desperate to comfort but no life.. no humanity to do so, “We all do that from time to time. All that matters is movin on.. being together. That.. that was-“

“My ma was right.”

Remmick pauses. You give a deep exhale, “I let the devil in.”

“I- no,” he cocks his head, face disapproving, “I ain’t no devil. Just a man. Your man. Your love.”

He places a hand on his chest, rubs just over the space of his once beating heart. It looks like he’s trying to will it awake, kick it back into working again with the way he lightly taps his chest.

It doesn’t matter much , dead or alive. You decide that then.

Decide that your naivety couldn’t excuse this, been letting this run on to long. Thought you could fix the situation, live with the fact that he forges on the blood of the unsuspecting. Live with the fact that he’s more monster than human now.

If he ever was human. You decide then that you must rid the sickness living near.

“I don’t want this anymore.”

Everything halts. The breeze no longer blows, the crickets quiet. Even the light of the porch flickers.

“What.”

“You ain’t invited in. Nor will you ever be.. I don’t want you coming around anymore.”

“I- are-“

You watch him flinch, eye twitching and mouth opening and closing. You think you broke him.

Eventually, he finds the words, though their shaky while they come out, “I know this is.. this is scary but it wasn’t anything in anger or hatred. I ain’t like that.”

“You teared into him. Ripped his fuckin face.. killed his fuckin friends. You drained the life outta’ there.”

He doesn’t seem to enjoy that imagery, almost looks disgusted by it. Even then, he pleads his case.

“I just wanted them to be family. To be saved. They deserved a life of creation, of unity. This is a world of hate and I was Savin them from it.”

“By killin em.” You correct.

He sneers, “savin. Savin em. I killed their body but not their spirit, not their soul. They got to be one with each other a shit ton longer than what life was givin em.”

Bullshit.

“Well ain’t that a lie. I don’t see em here now. Hell even then.. they can’t do shit now. Not what we can. Can’t be around their own folks anymore.. can’t even see a fuckin sunset, Remmick!”

He doesn’t wince, doesn’t flinch. He stays still, completely still. His face is stern, all humor and concern dropped, washed away with something else you can’t quite point out.

But his eyes flicker again. Red. That says enough.

“All you do is take. That’s the only thing you’ll ever do.” You sniffle, fingers going to wrap around the handle of the door again, “Don’t come round’ anymore. Or I swear, I’ll make you regret it.”

And you slam it shut.

—

It first started with the crops.

Everyone noticed then. They hardly grew, hardly soaked up the sun. The dirt, it was bared of nutrients, sucked clean. As if it was rotten, dying from the inside out.

Only the lucky few, which you could hardly call them lucky, had their crops only last a week before they wilted. At first, they thought it was an infection of some kind. Perhaps the soil carried something, or a crop gone bad.. infected everything else. Some said it was animal, others said bugs. The ones that borrow deep in the mud, rip the crops to shreds from down below.

There was really no clear sign of what it was. What caused this rot. Fingers were pointed, of course. Land owners, workers, black or white. Everyone targeted each other, blamed each other for the diseases that spread across their land. Blamed the soil, the clouds, the weather. Every single speckle in the sky.

There was no clear indication of what was wrong. You didn’t know. Couldn’t.

Not when there were spoken pasts of dying crops, of dying lands. People perishing under famines and rot. Depressing.. but not supernatural. Some of the townsfolk spoke of how this was meant to happen, how it was something that was destined. No land remained untouched by sin, not forever, it just so happened to be their time. The crops would fail, it was natural.

But there was something tight in your throat. Something that tugged deep in your stomach, pulled at your spine. You didn’t want to say what it was. No quite. Not if you were uncertain.

The crops remained dead for the rest of the season, but it slowly became the least of your problems. It remained a lingering warning, a sign. Something whispered in the wind but not quite heard, just a ring that faintly echoed in your ears.

There was other means of resources still left over, the life stalk, the water. Such and such. Most families had goats, cows, horses. Still well. Still alive.

Your father, despite his own concerns, tended to brush off old wise tales. Was never one for folklore, nor gossip, “We still got ‘em’ cows.. ain’t gonna die anytime soon. Just outta’ wheat is all.. we’ll go on.”

It wasn’t long before he ate up his words, because soon after the cows began to rot too. Their wombs at least. Your family only had one, but some folks had two. Or three. It was expected that they would give birth during the summer, and a new herd could be formed, an extension of some sort that the town could benefit from.

But.. they just kept coming out wrong. Not deformed.. couldn’t even call it that. They just..

Some came out with no limbs, some no mouth, others had far too many torsos. Or even in the worse cases some came out hollow, no guts, no organs. Nothing. Just a dead heart.

It was midway through summer, the July heat choking you, the sun blazing down at all hours of the day, not one point had it been cold. The cow began its birth at noon, and by two p.m everyone in the family had gathered around the half baked carcass of a supposed cow.

It didn’t have a back end, didn’t have a head. Only two legs, and a torso. Not even.

And the fear. The horror, the pure fucking terror on your family’s face marked a change.

This wasn’t an infection. It was hatred.

Only then you knew it was Remmick.

But whether you came to that realization now or not, if ever, Remmick really didn’t give a damn. Nor did he stop. But it became less broad, his attacks. His infection. It slowly started to affect less of the townsfolk and just your family. Just you.

The cow was murdered a week later. sucked completely dry. The goat, the only one you had, was pissing blood a day later. Small red dots among its pee, shaking as if it was scared shitless. It didn’t take long for it to also be drained of its life soon after.

Your mother called you over to the house, along with your other siblings who no longer resided there, sat you all down.

Her face was scrunched tight, as if she had tasted something sour, foul. Something wrong. Your father simply stood behind her, jaw set tight, hand steady on her shoulder as she sat in front of him. Comfort, or support. Perhaps both.

“Which one of y’all been dancin’ with the devil, hm?”

You all stayed silent. Your eye twitched, and as she could feel the twitch herself, as if her skin was yours and yours hers, one, she snapped her eyes towards you. The floor creaked under your uneven shuffle, weighing from one foot to another.

“Hm? What have I told y’all? Since birth? Don’t.” She shook her head, “don’t give into pleasures you don’t understand. Don’t give the devil an inch, he will take a mile. Don’t!-“ she slammed her hand down onto the table. Everyone flinched, aside from your father, “Give into the devil! What have I said!”

The room was silent. Tense. No one moved, it felt as if no one was breathing. Her anger consumed the room, sucked the life out of it.

“Look at what you have done. Look! You think he’ll leave now? He’s marked us! Marked! I won’t ask who.. I won’t need to. You’ve damned us.. and that’s-“ she cuts off, giving a low hum, shaking her head.

“That’s enough.”

She stared at you, silent. You think she knows, with how harsh her glare is. And maybe she does, maybe she always had an inkling that you were the one to do this, that you always were going to be the one to do this. Like it’s written in your blood, birthed from the ground of hatred and sorrow, dancing with the devil as if he’s family.

And he was. At one point— not even.

He is. He wears the brand of your mark, made of your comfort and soft words. Love. Felt the warmth of your body, both clothed and naked, been whispered the gentle promises of something more. Something kind, something that digs deep in his chest and forces that dead heart of his to beat.

The promise that he can always come back. That this is home. He’s home.

It’s why he stands outside your home now, in the darkness, eyes red and smirk loose. He waits outside, knows it’s only you that resides in your home, all the way out here in the wilderness and dirt.

His smile only widens when you crack open the door, pissed off. But if he focuses hard enough, sniffs the air a bit harder, deeper, he can smell the traces of your fear. That prickle of sweat nipping at your neck, the shiver you hide by partially hiding your frame behind the door.

“Hey darlin’, long time no see.”

You immediately sneer at him, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He puts up his hands, “watcha mean? I just came on down to visit.. ain’t do nun yet-“

“Fuck off with that. I ain’t a god damn fool, Remmick.”

He watches as you scoff, stares as you look away, off into the night. He stays silent.

“You’re killing the land. My land, my home.”

You don’t look at him, not yet. There’s not much to see in the dark, hardly any shapes or structures to really gawk at. But the shadows of the night seem more comforting than his harsh gaze, the one that digs and pulls back all your flesh. Bares your heart for him, to him.

You feel your eyes grow wet, but are quick to blink away any tears. There was no use in crying in front of him.

“You’re fuckin’ terrorizing everything, everyone. You—“ you shake your head, looking down at the wood, rotting as well. You hardly noticed, just days ago it was fine, strong, but it seems with his presence it festers with sickness. Wilts. Just like the crops.

It’s a horrid sight, makes your gut twist. It’s not even graphic, not like the cow or the crops or any of that. But it twists inside you, forces you to look up at him, “spreadin’ your fuckin’ disease… why-“

He cuts you off, “you know why.”

That shut you up. You have half the mind, the instinct, to look away. But you don’t, or rather can’t, because every time you do there’s something else dying.

And.. he’s right.

You do know. Jesus Christ of fucking course you do. But it feels yucky to say out loud, to say you are the reasoning this is happening. You did this.

Just as your ma said, you brought the devil in.. and got pissed he decided to stay.

He allows the silence to linger for a few more moments, watches you shift uncomfortably under the weight of your own sorrows. It’s only when a frown starts to take place on your lips that his voice tugs you back out of your spiralling thoughts, “I ain’t doing this for fun. This ain’t no afternoon past time— curses like these take will power, I’ll tell ya that.”

Then there’s silence, deafening silence, again. Not even the wind breezes by. The wood, creaky and groaned loud before, remains still. Remmick stares, and you stare right back.

A silent challenge of some sort. You two do that often, stare. See who blinks first in the quiet, who cracks first. It usually happens during arguments, but it occurred once during a love confession.

When you were far too stubborn to give in, and he was far too open to let you shut him out.

“You don’t get to do that.”

He tilts his head, “do what?”

“Blame me. Blame me for your own fucked up thing. That ain’t my fault-“

“But it is. Sorta. I mean.. shit, baby, I did all this—“ he moves then, just sways, back and forth, puts his arms out. As if showing off his work, the dead rotten land that lies before you and him.

“For you. All this. Just to show how much you hurt me.” He stopped swaying, opting to put both his hands against his chest, just over his heart, the one that remains silent.

The sneer is gone, filled with disgust now. Anger. Something boiling low in your stomach and clawing its way up your spine, into your throat. It feels like his claws, funnily enough, as if he’s working through you. And maybe he is.

“But I can change that. I can forgive the hurt. I will change that… if you just, lemme on in.” He nods his head towards the door, eyes briefly looking into the space inside your home, the space that was his.

“We can talk it out,” his eyes flicker back to you, the light on your porch reflecting off of them like a cat’s, “unless you gotta’ another means to figuring things out. You know I don’t complain.”

“Jesus Christ-“

“He ain’t around.. but you’ll be sure asking for him once I’m in there-“

“Are you fuckin-“

“We can get to fuckin.”

You snap, “Remmick!”

He doesn’t shut up, doesn’t really know how to, but he gets in close, places a hand on the doorframe, looks up real slow and says, “I miss you. I want you back.. and I want you to want me back. I know you do.”

You shift an inch away from the door frame, “You really think I’m just gonna’ move past this?”

He gives a small hum, like he’s in thought. That hardly lasts long before he tilts his head again, small frown in place before shrugging, “I’m Savin’ you, darlin, savin’ yer’ land. I would sure hope so.. if it all truly means somethin to you, then ya’.”

You blink at him, once, twice, in disbelief. He makes it out as if he’s the saviour in this situation, as if he’s the knight in armour.. not the beast that’s brought the terror upon everyone. Upon you. You would smack him if it didn’t bring the possibility of being bitten.

He doesn’t let you comment, again, deciding to guide the conversation, “Honey.. I want you to understand somethin’. I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said I would linger, that I would fight for you. I’m killin your crops, the cows, goats… you think I’ll stop?”

He slowly shakes his head, giving a small tsk as if he’s scolding a child. Scolding you for not realizing his presence will remain, a ghost among the living.

“No baby. This remains.. unless you lemme on in there. Lemme apologize, nice and soft. Slow. Just how I make love to ya’.”

It’s then that you snort, a noise that makes him flinch. His brows furrow, yours narrow, “you ain’t nice when you make love. Hell, you don’t even know how to be slow.”

His teeth shine in the light, bright and but not sharp, not yet at least. But his mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, something you hardly can care for, cutting him off before he can even begin.

“You ain’t nice then, you ain’t nice now. And honestly… this is hardly love.”

That seems to brush him the wrong way.

His eyes narrow, offended, as if you made fun of his mother and told him to blow off his father. Which to Remmick.. it basically translated to the same thing.

Fuck off and die.

“The fuck you mean this ain’t love, woman? If there’s one fuckin thing about this situation.. is that it is. Hard, cold love. The fuck is wrong with you.”

You sneer again, “you’re killin everything I love, asshole-“

“Oh for fucks sakes.. and exactly why do you think I did that? You hurt me, broke all the fuckin’ promises you said you’ll keep.. and I dealt with that. Dealt with it fine, but to excuse me of not loving you? That’s fuckin evil.”

You stare at him in confusion, perplexed by his contradictions, “clearly you’re not dealing with it well.. don’t need to fuckin’ guess that, I could just walk outside and see all the dead shit you caused.”

He nods, again, slow. Though it seems like a lightbulb went off. A small click.

He backs away from the door only by an inch, puts a hand on his hip, “well then.. come on out. Show me exactly how I’m not dealing well.” He frames it as if he actually wants you to show him, shakes his head low and all, as if he really doesn’t have a clue.

Stupid motherfucker.

“Remmick.”

He perks up, “Hm? Yeah, baby?”

“Get the fuck off my porch.”

You go to slam the door.

He immediately yelps, “I’ll kill em.”

You catch the door before it fully shuts, rip it back open to reveal him with a stern face. Jaw set, eyes narrowed.

He repeats himself, “I’ll kill em. The life stock. All of em. Rip them to fuckin’ shreds, force y’all to scatter for food.”

He watches you take in his face, his features, his eyes. Watches you search for any evidence of him lying.

Your shoulders drop when you can’t find it.

“You’re gonna starve us. That it?”

“Not starve.. I know y’all got other means of food.. just in town though… far, far off into town.” He shoots a thumb behind his back, pointing in the direction of said town. Your gaze doesn’t wander away.

You consider him, for a moment. Stay silent as you look over him. The way he seems proud of himself, of his threats. The way he seems this is love.

Your voice cracks as you whisper, “Why can’t you just go.”

You don’t repeat yourself when he gives a small hm, just stand there and stare. Eyes glossy, small divet between your brows where they furrow.

“That’ll mean leavin’ you. Can’t do that now, right? Sides’… you miss me.”

Your response comes out quick, too quick. Practiced. “No.”

He immediately smiles, “yeah… yeah you do. Don’t lie.”

You hate how easy he can see through each answer, but even now, with him so close and so all knowing, you respond quick again.

Never could learn your lesson. “I’m not.”

“Baby.. honey, this is cute an’ all but it’s dumb how yer’ tryin so hard. Come on.. I mean what is this really?” He gets off the door frame again, hands back on his hips, “I’m gonna’ come in eventually.. don’t matter how. Whether that now or fifty years from ere’, I’m coming in. Just make this easy.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, the same tongue his eyes catch on, a low groan leaving him.

You ignore it.

“Fuck you. I don’t what delusion your livin in.. but it ain’t sure gonna’ happen. So how bout you.. Eat shit and die, Remmick. Keep fuckin round and I’ll get the Choctaw a little note on where your resting.”

It’s a low , low blow. Hell.. not only is it childish but just straight wrong. You have no clue where he lives, if he even has a home to begin with. He could very well be homeless. Must be given all the time he has to curse crops and cast spells on people.

That and he’s dead.

Still.

“Well baby, that just mean.”

He gives a faux pout. You think of shooting him then, there. Right in the forehead. Too bad you don’t got your gun on you.

“Yeah? Well, you’re being fuckin cruel. Now do me a favour, and fuck off.”

He hardly gets a word in before you shut the door.

—

Maybe slamming the door on an ancient vampire’s face wasn’t the best. Maybe you should’ve reconsidered exactly what that would entail for him to do. What anger he would have left over.

It’s that very night that he kills all the life stalk. Doesn’t even suck them dry, just completely rips them apart. Eats them. Tears them from the outside in.

It’s your neighbour that breaks the news, sees you early in the morning, passing by their home. It’s the blood that’s slathered over their clothes, their face scrunched and their eyes wet with tears. It’s only then when you stop and ask what happened.

They only shake their head, eyes low, before muttering, “the devil got to em’. Killed ‘em’ all.”

You stay for an hour or two, helping clean all the blood. Helping put the bodies away. You have to, can’t go about your day without doing it. Without feeling that festering guilt run deep in your bones. Eventually you become drenched in it, there’s so much dunked into the floor, dragged across the walls. It looks like he hardly even sucked the blood. Looked like hardly even fed off them.. just killed them cause he knew it would hurt the townsfolk. Would hurt you, and your family.

You plan to take a bath, the sweat and blood starting to irritate your skin, make it all itchy. You keep scratching all over, scaratchinb at your neck as you prepare some water to bathe in.

You’re hardly paying attention to it, gaze away from the water that pours out. Don’t look when you pour it into the tub, not until you dip your hand in, and bring it back out to see red.

Blood red.

Your throat catches on a gasp, coming out a small whimper as you slowly rub off the blood onto your clothes. Short gasps come out with it, panicked. Loud. Each one more shallow than the other, faster and faster in tune with your heartbeat that seems to spike in its rhythm.

The entire tub is coated in what looks to be blood, thick blood. As if someone just slit their throat and decided to die there. It smells foul, like rot itself. Like death.

You go to the kitchen, partially jogging. You think you’re going to vomit but you swallow it back, but only a gallon of saliva takes over your mouth that’s thick and stringy that you force yourself to also swallow.

The faucet comes to life when you flick it on. but instead of pouring out water, it chokes out chunks of blood. Thicker than the one in tub. You shut it off immediately.

You’re not exactly sure how long you’ve stood there, by the kitchen, hands gripped tight in fists as they rest against the wood of your table. Not sure how long you’ve been combating an anxiety attack, or how long you’ve been sniffling back mucus after hanging your head down for so long.

You do know that your legs are achy, spine screaming in discomfort after being arched for so long, hating how you don’t stand to your full height. Your body keeps swaying slightly, as if trying to cue you to sit down but you don’t listen. Ignore it. Ignore the blood that still coats your sink, and tub. Dont pay attention to the way the blood slowly dries and then chips off your nails.

You’re not sure how long you’ve stood there until you hear a knock. Two slow reps, as if someone is calling out to you, calling for you, and less about the door. Less about signalling their arrival, because they already know you’re aware of their presence. Aware of the shiver that you also ignored, the shiver that shook your bones and forced its way into your lungs.

Upon opening the door, you’re immediately graced with the sight of a smiling white man.

Your white man.

His smile widens as he takes in the state of you. Bloody, sweaty and tired. There’s blood coated all over the front of your clothes, which he can assume is also on the back as well, and from your feet to just below your nose is blood. Slathered and sprayed all over, coated everywhere because you couldn’t stop wiping your face, willing the tears away.

“Awh baby, look at that. Look at you,” his gaze slowly trails from your feet to your face, slow. Taking in the sight like he’s drinking water.

“Figured you saw the little gift I left behind, huh?”

He smiles, big. Cocky. Happy with himself, with the sight of how ruined and bloody and gross you look. You feel your anger sink its claws back in, take hold of you.

“This is how you plan to get me back? Huh? Fuckin killin everything, becoming an obsessive, fuckin weirdo? That’s what you're doing to get my attention, that’s the plan to get back home! The fuck is the matter with you!”

He stands there, not stunned. No. But amused. Just slightly, hidden behind the glare he givens, deep within his flesh.

It’s troubling, makes your nervous, makes you shout out, “Just leave me the fuck alone, Remmick!”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. He watches you with keen eyes, mouth slightly agape. Like you just told him some of the most perplexing information known to man. At some point you think you’ve actually stunted him, forced him to rethink the situation. Then after a bit it becomes annoying, at one point you think he’ll just stand there saying and doing nothing. Like a god damn statue.

But then he gives a slow blink, one, two and then three of them. He nods his head, slowly. As if taking it in, understanding it.

Agreeing.

“Yeah… yeah okay.”

You move back a bit, confused, eye him suspiciously, “okay?”

He nods again, “yeah okay. I’ll leave you be.. actually-“ he places a finger onto his lips, traces of a smirk lingering of his lips, “I think everyone will.. yer’ family.. they still be livin down in that one house you invited me into, right?”

The smirk slowly grows on his face, no longer hidden, doesn’t need to hide it when you slowly pick up what exactly he’s putting down. The cogs quick to fill in the gap.

Motherfucke-

“You wouldn’t fuckin dare.”

He snorts, “oh I would. You know I would.. hell, yer daddy, he still got that shake in his hands? Yer ma still got the bad ear? Ya know..” he sucks his teeth, “I wonder how long it’ll take for them to recognize the sounds of their little ones cries,” he cocks his head at you then, “think yer daddy will fight me off in time?”

You damn near almost fly out of the fuckin house, almost grab at him, but it’s when your arm is almost fully out, body half way through the opening that you pause.

No. Rip yourself back into place, force yourself to remain inside.

Because just out of the corner of your eye, ever so faintly you could’ve missed it without the light on, you see the way his claws on one hand are fully out. Glint under the light. long and sharp, looks like small hooks on his fingers. He gives a small surprised laugh.

“Oh.. well, almost got cha’ there, sugar. Yer’ fuckin quick, I’ll give ya that.”

Your eyes flicker from his hand to his face, then back to his hand that slowly retracts his claws back in. You shiver.

“Stay the fuck away from my family.”

He licks his lips, as if the mere mention of your family was intriguing to his hunger, “mm.. I’ll stay away.. if you get yer’ fine ass self outta’ that house.”

A small ‘eugh’ leaves you, lip curling up as you shake your head, “that ain’t fuckin happening.”

He rolls his eyes upon your response, hands back on his hips, fidgeting with the clasps of his belt, “well then.. better start makin calls to that family of yers, say some last I love you’s before they leave.”

Annoying. That what this was becoming. Him and his threats. And you couldn’t even slam the door shut because you were certain he would kill em. It was just— it was annoying. And fucking terrifying. And he won’t leave.. and, and, and—

“God.. you fuckin messy piece of shit, son of a b-“

He perks up, like a dog, even takes a step closer to the entrance again, “messy?”

That catches him off guard, as if the rest of the sentence made sense until then, “I ain’t messy. This..” he points out his pointer finger, shaking it around, signaling to your house, you, the situation.

“This ain’t messy. But it can be.. just you wait. You really want shit to get messy.. oh baby.. it’ll get fuckin worse if you want it.”

“If I want? If I?” You point to yourself, brows raised, “I. Like this is fuckin up to me-“

“Yes!” He shouts. Temper rising. You flinch. He doesn’t care, keeps going, “yes of fucking course it’s up to you! All of this is! Jesus Christ— you’re gettin on my fucking nerves. I’m threatin your fuckin family! I’ve already taken your land, and the fucking cows and whatever else you fuckin have and still! Still! You can’t fuckin see how this is up to you! Still!”

His hands no longer rest on his hips, instead out on either side of him, up in the air, as if proclaiming this not to you but to the sky above. But God knows who he’s speaking to, knows in the way he only has looked at you this entire interaction, blue eyes washed away with red, staring. Always staring. This time they hold more anger than anything.. and something else. Something that makes your stomach turn.

Longing.

Still, even with that there, tugging at him, his anger lashes out.

“Really, I’m startin to think you don’t care bout’ yer family, not enough to save em’, let alone yourself.”

It’s not necessarily cruel, really he’s just saying parts of the truth. His own form of the truth. You have no doubt in your mind he truly believes that, despite his own manipulative nature, and the lengths he goes to basically bully you, you truly believe he thinks that.

And that almost hurts more.

You shove that feeling down, “Remmick.. be honest. Completely honest.. did you really think this was gonna’ last?” You tilt your head at him, set your lips into a straight line.

You’re closer now, hand back onto the door, just close enough to see all the freckles painted across his skin, but far enough to not let him in. He blinks, goes to say something, but hardly begins before your stringing along your sentence.

“Hm? Think this was gonna work out? That we were gonna’ be happy and completely fine, never to face the consequences of this unnatural connection?”

He buts in then, “Oh hey now hol’ on— this ain’t unnatural-“

You put up your pointer finger, nowhere near close to his face but close enough to cut him off, “it is. You know it. The fucking earth knows it.. I mean.. Even if I take you back. Even if. What then? Hm? I’ll grow old and die.. we can never be out together. Hell, can never grow together, never have a family! Never do shit! How long did you think that was gonna last?”

“We would figure it out. Always do— just cause it ain’t natural, hell a shit ton of stuff ain’t natural if you think about it. Cars? Ain’t natural. Fuckin—“ he points to the porch oil lamp, “ain’t natural. Those clothes ain’t natural, but you’re sayin just cause we are fuckin and loving, the earth and god above is gonna rain terror on us?” He squints his eyes in confusion, turning his body slightly as he looks you up and down, as if the idea itself was offensive. But you know he’s mocking you.

That demanor quickly drops when you quickly nod your head, “yes. It’s exactly that.”

His lip twitches, small sneer before his face scrunches together into something hurt. A piercing pain he can’t quite get rid of, not as long as you bend away from him.

“Well ain’t that something.” He trails off, looking towards the corner of the door frame again, lost in thought. You watch the way his eyes flicker, watch him flicker through his own brain, pin down something else to say. Something else to threat.

He comes up short. But he talks anyway, “well.. I ain’t leavin. Not tonight. And I’ll wait till that sun comes up.. and even then, shit, who knows, I’ll bury myself under your fuckin house and come back,” his eyes slowly trail back over to you, “or I can kill yer kin. All of em. Hell.. might just do fuckin both, night’s still young. And you ain’t going anywhere.”

He shrugs, as if this was a normal conversation about what time he’s planning to go to the store or some shit. You don’t know, but there’s no empathy. None you can find.

He tilts his head down, forces himself into your view as you look down, away from him, and that just won’t do.

“In or out.”

Your chest heaves, rising and falling. Fast. Heart pounding. Hard, so fucking hard against your chest you think you may black out. But you can’t, can’t when you're staring at him, can’t when you watch the way his expression falls into something horrible. A teasing smile, a playful wink as you glare at him.

He asks again, “in or out.”

“Shut up.” You whisper, foot tapping against the floor as you think. That pulls his attention down, a small snort leaving him as he watches the soft rhythmic tapping of your foot.

“Tic- tic-“

“Just shut the fu-“ the words down on your tongue, trailing off into the wind, in one ear and out the other as he mimics the same tapping, but with his hands on the wood of the doorframe he now leans against. Both hands against the frame, body just inches away from the threshold.

He sings it this time, an off key tone, “I-nnnn or ou-“

He doesn’t finish.

“In.”

His eyes flicker up, surprised. Like he actually wasn’t expecting you to say it. That shock doesn’t last long though, lips pulling away to reveal a strong set of teeth, a row of sharp jaggered edges that will cut deep. Have cut deep.

“Right on.”

—

He isn’t nice. Not at all.

He practically hauls you up, slams himself into you before he’s grabbing you up into his arms, slamming the door shut with his heel.

You feel yourself slam into your wall, a small squeak hardly leaving your lips before he’s shoving his tongue into your mouth. He groans like an animal caught in heat, his hands trailing over you so quick, so rough it forces the fabric of your night wear to tear in some places. The small rip of fabric against nails heard, but ignored by the both of you.

He doesn’t stick against your lips long, only there to taste the saliva that pools in your mouth and the blood that sticks against your teeth. He practically whimpers upon tasting the metallic twinge caught between your gums, nudges his nose against your cheek as he breaks the kiss.

“I could eat you alive.” It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. One he whispers against your cheek before he’s shoving his face into your neck.

You expect a bite then, the tear of sharp teeth and the gurgle of blood.. but you don’t get that. Not yet. Instead, he flicks his tongue out to lick the blood that’s there, going from just under your jaw to your collarbone. He practically makes out with your skin, traces his tongue over the soft flesh before nipping at it, then back to licking.

It’s only when you give a small whine he focuses back to your mouth, not kissing, but breathes against you. Takes in your air, just to breathe it back to you.

Then, “you still got those panties I like?”

You nod.

“Wearin em?”

You nod again. The sound that comes out of him sounds painful, like it gutted and clawed its way out, straight agony. One would think an animal just got shot, but really it’s just him. He places you back down onto the floor, but keeps you pinned to the wall with his own body, knees cracking as he slumps down onto the wood.

He’s breathing heavy, chest rising and falling so rapidly you think he’s about to collapse— despite the fact he practically already did. But just between your thighs. He doesn’t fall again, far too busy ripping the fabric of your nightgown, despite the fact it flowed off you, it seemed to be too much in the way for him to keep intact. Not that it wasn’t ripped already.

After some shuffling, and tearing, he makes it to his sanctuary.. one of the many reasons why he harassed you to begin with. There, your beyond soaked panties, practically see through if you place a light to them. He slumps again, this time against your thighs, resting his head as he gives a painful groan.

You glance down, confused by exactly what he’s whining about, only to see him whispering random words against your skin.

It’s only until you hear the small call of your name from his lips that you realize he’s begging. No.. praying. No.. you’re really not sure. Your name is jumbled with a bunch of ‘pleases’ and words you can’t quite understand.

Foreign. Not for him…but for you. A silent promise, maybe.

Nonetheless, you grow antsy, annoyed. He’s come all this way.. to beg, he could’ve done that outside.

“Remmick-“ he nods, “what are you doing?”

He looks up then, eyes heavy and mouth in a gentle frown, “appreciating you.”

You can only nod, slowly, more or less still confused. Perhaps not only by him.. but this whole ordeal. By this rapid change from point A to point fucking D. Still.. his whining didn't help much.

His gaze goes back down, to between your legs, a look of awe on his face. He doesn’t wait for you to continue, doesn’t care to, not when he’s trailing his fingers over your flesh and taking down the last fabric separating you from him.

He moans again.

The light catches just right on your flesh, coats it in a soft hue, and reflects the slick just right. Back into his sight, back into his hunger. He hardly waits before he’s darting his tongue out, and gives a light lick over your slick. A small one, hesitant almost. Oddly enough, as if he couldn’t bare taking this one thing, despite how far he’s come to get it.

But it’s with this small lick, one that doesn’t even arise a gasp from you, just a small tilt of the head as you continue to look down at him, that gets him going. Makes him groan, deep and low in his chest.

He tears the rest of your undergarment off, tattered and tossed to the side despite his own claim of it being his favourite.

He doesn’t allow you time to react before he’s muttering a small, “come ere’,” and grabs at you, coaxing you down onto the floor with him, prompted against the wall. Once your ass meets the floorboards, he doesn’t waste any time in grabbing hold of both your legs and putting them over his shoulders, hardly paying any mind to the act. Like second nature. Like a habit.

And given how often he does it, you think it’s come to be truly a mindless act. Almost as mindless as the gasp that leaves you when he spits on your pussy, hand giving a light smack to the outside of your thigh in response.

“Fuckin missed you.. look at ya’, basically cryin for me. She treating you right?” He nods towards you, but his gaze is stuck on your pussy.

Your brows furrow, “are you-“

He shushes you, giving a small shake of the head, “quiet, I’m talkin to someone real special.”

You give a shallow breath, and despite your confusion, you keep quiet. Even keep your breathing quiet, as if you’ll actually hear your autonomy speak back to him.. but he nods along as if it does. Traces his gaze over the expanse of your inner thighs and between them, even gives a small hm.

“Didn’t think so.. been neglectin you..” he shuffles closer, laying on his stomach now, rests his face close enough that you can feel his breath against your clit. “Don’t worry tho.. I’m ere’ now, be all better, promise,” and with that he dives in.

Licks from your opening to your clit, setting a steady pace. Down, up, circle, down, up, circle—

Its until he’s to the m that you realize he’s spelling out his name, tracing it along with your clit before gradually licking down to your entrance, where he begins the next m.

One of your hand’s hold tight in his hair, grip so fucking tense it makes you half worried that you might be tearing out his hair. Your other hand rests on the floor, clenching and unclenching. Scraping against the wood, you’re certain if you go hard enough your fingernails will start to break, or the wood will.

You feel one of his hands slip down off your thigh, sneaking it beside his mouth. He spread you open to him, the air cool against your entrance, clit twitching as he lightly coos.

“Fuckin.. shit-“ he goes back down, and you practically yelp when you feel his tongue enter you. You clench down on the muscle, hips knocking against him, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. The heat of it, the rhythm of ‘in and out and in’ a similar pattern to earlier, though he doesn’t trace his name. Just fucks you with his mouth, slowly. Moans along with you, almost like he can feel your pleasure, his own hips knocking against the floor desperate for friction. Anything.

He eats you like a man starved, like the entrance of your pussy is an open wound he’s teared into your flesh, feasting upon you like it’s his last meal.

And you let him. Have to, each time you push, to give yourself room, to let yourself a moment of breath, he doesn’t budge. Hardly moves, only groans, slightly distracted before continuing.

You whine out his name, pushing at his shoulders again, telling him to calm down. To relax.

Instead, to spite you, he shakes his head side to side, quick. It’s.. nasty. Gross. You don’t even say anything, can’t even insult him for the action, just watch slightly disgusted and quiet. But he doesn’t allow you enough time to react to the fact he basically just motorboated you, distracts you by doubling down. He shoves more of his weight onto you, forcing you off the wall and onto the ground, where he presses you uncomfortably close. A mating press of some sort.

One that makes you breath funny and his tongue sink deeper into your gummy walls that clench around the pink muscle. He ain’t slow, just like you said. He flicks his tongue fast, over your clit before prodding into your hole before going back up. Like he can’t decide what to do, and it fucking pains you. Pulls out whiny moans, eyes barely able to focus on him given how often they roll back.

He eventually pulls away, a pause to his torture. To his worship. It doesn’t last long, that small pocket of relief from overstimulation, not long before he spits another wet glob of saliva onto your folds. Although, He doesn’t rub it in like he usually would, no, he gives a harsh smack. Right against your clit.

And just as he hoped, you yelp. Loud. Flinch harder against the contact, hips jerkin up that are forced back down.

“Calm down,” he scolds, tsking.

He gives another harsh smack, tsking again when you flinch. Makes it out to be a you issue for reacting rather than him smacking your pussy like nothing.

“Flinchin like I’m gonna hurt ya..” he shakes his head, eyes downcasted, gaze stuck on the way your pussy clenched around nothing.

“You’re smacking me.. I’m gonna flinch-“ his eyes flick up, brows twitching into a furrow before he’s landing another smack against you. Hard.

You yelp again.

“Don’t be rude,” he keeps his hand over you, doesn’t move it until you break the stare he holds, tilting your head away. Only then he starts to gently rub, his hand working in a circle right over your bundle of nerves. He gets off his stomach and onto his knees, just hovering over you, hand soaked in your wetness as he works you over.

slowly, the pace in which his hand works builds, his eyes keen on the way you twitch and flinch under him, the way your thighs try to close but given he’s in the way, it’s useless. Watches as you clench around nothing, wetness practically seeping out of you, onto the floor. He watches, and waits. For that build, that fall. The climb before the climax, the way you gently jerk your hips against him, head thrown back and away from his gaze, bottom lip pulled tight between your teeth.

He waits for it. The eventual beg, the one he keeps his ears open for. That soft whisper you do, a gentle sigh that rolls off your tongue.

He waits.

You eventually break, unaware of his little game, “please.”

He doesn’t slow, not at first, just watches as you try to mouth out your words again, desperate, “please.”

“Hm? What was that, darlin?” He tilts his head. You whine again.

“Please..please—“

He buts in, “please.. what? Can’t read yer mind”

“Let me cum.. please.”

There’s a devastating long pause, where he just continues. Doesn’t acknowledge you, doesn’t give an hm or snarky remarks. You know better, he’s got good ears despite how fucking old he is, so you know he very well heard you.. he’s just being a dick. A dick you would want to bounce on, but he ain’t letting you yet.

You ask again, real sweet this time, pet name and all, “Baby.. please, please let me cum.”

He ignores you.

Instead, when you're just on the cusp, legs twitching and mouth open, moans pitchy and loud while you strain yourself to hold off your orgasm, he pulls away.

And that damn near breaks you, “fuck! Please.. please don’t- why- don’t-“ you got to reach for his hand, a big fucking no no, but you’re desperate. Desperate to get his hand back on you, desperate for him to fuck you.

He smacks it away, “don’t,” but that doesn’t stir him away, doesn’t even warrant any proper punishment he would usually do. The ones where he doesn’t fuck you on dick at all for the night, just snacks your ass and forces you to count each one before finger fucking you.

Really.. he’s desperate too. Has been for several nights now. His hand is tired of taking care of him, and his dick aches to be inside. He moves off you, hands gripping at your thighs as he does so, forcing you closer to him as he drags you across the floor by an inch or two.

Your hands work on pulling down the suspenders that are clung tight to him, hardly getting them down in time before his hands are working on getting his zipper down.

It’s not long before he’s prodding at you, just gracing your entrance, so close that if you rock your hips against him once, the tip will slip in.

But his hands have a death grip on you, keeping you in place and stuck under him. Doesn’t want you moving before he does, can’t allow you when he’s slightly hungry for something else that coats you.

The blood. Still clinging onto you, no longer wet by dry, flaking off onto the floor in places, still slathered across you face and down the rest of you. It’s only slightly wet against your chest, where he licked earlier.

You think he’s going in for a kiss with the way he slowly bring himself forward, eyes hungry and irises red. He might bite, actually, once you consider how hard he’s breathing.

But no. He doesn’t do either. His tongue is wet and rough against you as he licks across your face. From your cheek to your nose, over the bridge of your nose and over to the other cheek.

You push at his chest, “Jesus— Remmick!”

He doesn’t budge, licking at your ear, “just wanna’ taste, that’s all.”

Your face scrunches in disgust as drool drips off his chin onto your cheek, and when he shuffles a bit, going to lick your other ear, more drool drips onto your mouth.

It’s not that you have swapped spit, you have several times, but it’s the fact he won’t stop licking you like a damn dog. Nipping at your ears, gripping at your jaw as he licks at your cheek, licks the tip of your nose all the way to the top just below your forehead. You’re coated in his saliva. In him. And he’s not even inside yet.

You try to push him again, “You’re drowning me-“

He gives a small groan, nothing more. Doesn’t care if you sputter or happily moan, doesn’t matter when he’s cleaning up his mess. His baby needs to be clean, deserves to be.

But as you wiggle and try to get him to stop, his free hand snakes down to between the both of you, grabbing at his dick and giving a shallow thrust into his hand, tapping just against your folds. You whimper, try to look down but the hand on your jaw stops you.

Only then he pulls away, just to look at you. Take you in. Take in the way your cheeks are red and wet, the way his saliva is slowly drying on you and your lips are slightly bruised from him nipping at them.

Takes in the soft look of your features, of your eyes, nose that’s also wet. Licked clean now. Takes that all in as he slaps his dick against the top of your pussy.

Knocking. “Can I come in?”

Grins when you give a small snort, “Yeah.”

Both of you gasp upon him entering. He doesn’t push in all in one swoop, no. He savours it, always has, always will. This is the only time he goes slow, when your walls are clenched tight around him, and his dick weeps pre cum into your gummy walls.

He likes to drag it out, go inch by inch. First the tip, then he waits for you to grow impatient before he goes another inch. He waits until you open your mouth to say something, when you're about to tell him off. Then, he pushes in again. He finds it entertaining, the way the words die on your tongue and you give a devastating sigh, brows furrowed as your mouth drops open. He loves that. Shutting you up with just his length alone.

Makes him feel special. Knows only he can do that.

“That good?” He whispers, breathing on your lips. You nod, “yuh huh.”

He smacks your thigh, “bet it fuckin is.”

Again, he pushes in, another inch, but he doesn’t keep it there. He drags it back out , all the way until the tip hardly remains inside you, and he plans to just slip in half way.

But it’s when you give a small whimper, and your hand moves to his neck, where you lightly squeeze, he throws that plan out the window. He slams all the way in, and you practically scream.

Groans right with you and holds your hips right against him, dick fully in and kept there. You arch your back, head knocked back as you rise against the floor, hand slipping off his neck. He catches your hand, right as it slips down his chest and places his hand on top. Pats it twice.

He grinds against you, knocking the tip against that spongy bit inside you, making your legs lock around his hips. The floorboards creak under both of your weight, louder and louder as his pace grows. It’s clumsy, at first, neither of you able to stop humping and grinding against each other. Each time you knock against him, he drags out, and each time he slams in, you push out.

It’s frustrating. Not in sync, at all. Makes him mutter out a string of curses, his grip tightening on your hips but neither of you have the strength to stop, can’t stop. you have to force yourself to meet his hips in time, force yourself into a steady rhythm with him. It’s only when you have a steady pace that he grows more desperate, hands clawing at you, dragging up and down over your nightwear, ripping small tears into it.

He becomes more encouraging as well, praises flowing out, “Yeah.. yeah there ya go, fuck— so fuckin wet, ya hear that,” he shuts up, lets you hear the squlench of your pussy and the soft smacking of his skin against yours. You whine, “Jesus.. yeah- yeah, don’t stop.”

“Oh I ain’t. Never gonna’, never leaving either, ain’t gonna let you kick me out,” he gives a small nod, “gonna have to fuckin rip me out ere’, move- fuck- move.. real far to.. to get away from me.” His speech slurs towards the end, dragged out and messy.

Just as before, he drags your thighs up further, goes as far to slide his arms under the curve of your leg and prompts your ass off the floor. He leans up, resting on his knees and pushes down into you. The new angle makes him go deeper, if that was even possible. Makes him touch an area that you are certain no one else could ever touch, your toes curling and pussy fluttering around him.

You don’t even realize you're drooling until you feel him lean over and lick it up, mixing it with his own before swallowing it down.

“Fuckin love the way you taste,” he mutters, voice raspy and low, “fuckin love you.”

There’s a pull in your stomach, not something made of dread, but something sweeter. Burns deep in your flesh, small butterflies flapping around as your nerves flare, nervous despite the fact he is quite literally inside you.

He slowly drops you back down, one arm slipping out from under your leg and hand trailing up to your throat, where he lightly moves your head to the side, baring your throat to him.

His nose nudges against your pulse point. He takes a deep whiff, his lungs fully expanding, taking you all in. He lets out a shuddered breath, “say it back.”

You stay quiet, far too gone to know what the hell he’s talking about. He gives your cheek a light smack, “say it back.”

“Mmm.. shit- say what?”

“That you love me.”

He gives a hard thrust then, hits just fucking right. Tip ramming against your g spot, fucking you dumb and quiet, your body hardly having the strength to even give out a moan. But he doesn’t care, nips hard at you when you don’t say anything.

You manage to croak out, “I love you.”

Then, pressure. Hot, white pressure searing against your neck. Teeth prick at you, and it feels like pure agony. Rips you away from the pleasure of his dick ramming into you and shoves you head first into pain. It doesn’t even amplify the pleasure, doesn’t do shit.

You scream, but it’s gurgled by blood, neck pumping it out in spurts that coat his awaiting mouth.

He doesn’t comfort you through it, not at first. Not yet. He just sucks it down, swallows it in large gulps, the sound so loud and prominent it brings tears to your eyes.

It’s only when you mutter his name, croaked and raspy that he starts to lightly brush his thumb back and forth against your cheek, hand placed just under your jaw.

He drinks it down like it’s his last meal. Drinks it with the same desperation he fucks you in.

With a mouth full of blood, pooling over his lips, dripping down his neck and onto the floor, “yer good, I’m here. Yer safe.”

Ain’t that fucking ironic.

“Rem-“ he shushes you.

“It’s all good.. just let it happen, let it wash over you.”

He’s no longer thrusting into you, just keeps himself deep inside. Still. Not completely, he twitches, but doesn’t move either. Gave up on trying to distract you.

“Yer good.. we’ll be good. Together, one. That’s exciting, huh?”

He smiles, big. Genuinely happy. You don’t have any energy to shake your head. He goes back down to drink more, “this is exciting. Now we’ll never be apart.”

He drinks from you happily, and it’s the sound of ripped flesh and blood seeping out that you die to.

At least he has you forever.

#idk what to tell ya #remmick #this took a WHILE. whoops #remmick x female reader #Remmick smut #kinda gross.. idk.#bros spitting bars insults and threats

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poohsources · 2 months ago

Text

🐝 * ― 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

❛ you will not fall. i will not allow it. ❜ ❛ i could torch him if you like. but you do seem attached. ❜ ❛ you're making us look bad. stop it. ❜ ❛ i chose him for his inability to relent. ❜ ❛ at least i didn't let you fall to your death. ❜ ❛ but i will not run. i wouldn't be standing here if i'd quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome. ❜ ❛ the right way isn't the only way. ❜ ❛ justice is not always merciful. ❜ ❛ the reason we'll never be anything more than friends isn't because of your rules. it's because you have no faith in me. ❜ ❛ i'm used to functioning in pain, asshole. are you? ❜ ❛ in the darkest moments, it is our light that shines the brightest. ❜ ❛ fear is not the enemy, but rather the catalyst for growth and bravery. ❜ ❛ the only limits we have are the ones we set for ourselves. ❜ ❛ courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it head-on. ❜ ❛ going for blood today, are we, [name]? ❜ ❛ i don't deserve you. but i'm going to keep you all the same. ❜ ❛ there's nowhere in existence you could go that i wouldn't find you, [name]. ❜ ❛ you look all frail and breakable, but you're really a violent little thing, aren't you? ❜ ❛ defenseless women have never been my type. ❜ ❛ even when i'm not with you, there's only you. ❜ ❛ there is no me without you. ❜ ❛ i've been yours for longer than you could ever imagine. ❜ ❛ i know exactly who and what you are, [name]. ❜ ❛ we're all broken in some way, but that doesn't mean we can't find beauty in the cracks. ❜ ❛ if i get my hands on you, really, honestly get my hands on you, i don't know if i'll be able to stop. ❜ ❛ she exists and i get turned on. i've come to accept that particular truth over the last year. ❜ ❛ fuck, i'm never going to get enough of you, am i? ❜ ❛ not that i wouldn't climb the man like a tree if presented with the right set of circumstances. ❜ ❛ let me guess, you could smell my perfume. isn't that what always gives the heroine away in books? ❜ ❛ do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? it would be faster. ❜ ❛ hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. it steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs - on the probabilites. ❜ ❛ you can't make me fall in love with you and then die. ❜ ❛ none of this is worth it without you. ❜ ❛ i'm so wildly in love with you that i can't imagine what my life would look like without you in it. and i probably shouldn't have said that, but if we're doing this, then we're starting from a place of complete honesty. ❜ ❛ you never considered that it was you i couldn't stay away from? ❜ ❛ you turned oranges into a weapon, [name]? ❜ ❛ you're going to be the death of me. ❜ ❛ have you always been this tall? ❜ ❛ no one stays friends forever, [name]. eventually those closest to us become our enemies in some way, even if it's through well-intentioned love or apathy, or if we live long enough to become their villains. ❜ ❛ i need you to survive this, even if i hate that i still love you. ❜

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay meme #book sentence starters #book starters #sentence starters #rph #type: meme

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apricot-blossomss · 4 months ago

Note

anything with apollo's fear that-sometimes-comes-out-when-he's-angry of reader fearing him??? 🫶🏻

I think this is the perfect definition of making a thing out of it 🫣

☛ when your village's crops are failing, they think a sacrifice might appeal to the gods' mercy- only, they haven't taken your lovers deadly rage into account

☛ apollo x mortal!f!reader; sfw; cw: violence, death (not the reader's); wc: 7k

You let the flour rinse through your fingers, watching the fine dust swirl in the dim light. The window was wide open, enabling you to cherish the last whiffs of fresh air. Long and heavy lay the summer upon your small town, bending people's backs as sweat dripped down their temples. Fortunately for you, you were no farmhand- not that farming had much of a point these days. For weeks now, your village’s crops had been failing. The river, too, was running dry, and out in the fields, you could make out a group of children running off to fetch water a few towns over. Desperate attempts to keep some of the crops alive to avoid mass starvation.

The dough was soft beneath your palms, sticky with honey, and the smell of baking bread wrapped around you like a comfort. You had an advantage over those now begging on the streets- a divine lover who wouldn't have you endure a day of hunger. What he did not know, however, was that you shared his gifts with your fellow townspeople, resulting in you climbing into bed with a growling stomach, but a light heart.

You hummed to yourself, kneading the dough until your arms ached, careful to avoid it getting on your dress. It was too nice a dress for baking. A dress for quiet afternoons, a dress for meeting your lover beneath the pine trees. A dress for better times. But he had announced his visit through signs, and you had dolled yourself up properly to meet him. The last time he'd appeared, golden and radiant as he was, he'd pressed a kiss to your brow and told you to be patient. That rain would eventually bless your village. But you weren't a god, so you could only hope and pray.

That was when you heard it. Faint at first- a dull thud against wood, a voice raised, carried by the wind through your window. You couldn't make out the words, but the tone seemed aggressive. You paused, hands still coated in flour, and approached the window to listen. Smaller brawls about food and water were no rare occurrence these days. But the noise swelled, and you could make out the thudding of many footsteps, the shouting of voices growing louder. Drawing closer.

Dark premonition tightened into a coil in your chest- this was no small brawl, it sounded like the whole village had banded together, approaching this scarcely inhabited outskirt. Nervosity clawing at your insides, you cleaned your hands with a towel and walked towards the door to inquire about the noise. But before you could even reach it, there was a knock. And another. Loud bangs, mirroring the heavy pounding in your chest. Then, a commanding voice sounded through the wood of the door. “Open up, now!”

Your fingers shook with apprehension as you turned the doorknob and opened the door. You were greeted to a sea of faces and chants. Most of them you recognized, and you looked around in helpless confusion at them. But their expressions were twisted into hateful rage, one that you could not explain to yourself.

But before you could make an inquiry, the man who must have knocked on your door, a temple guard, judging by his uniform, obscured your sight by stepping in front of you. He towered over you, much taller than you, and his eyes glinted with a sadistic sort of irony. “Well, well,” he said to himself, eyes raking over your figure. “What a shame.” Without a warning, his hand shot out and wrapped itself around your upper arm in a grip so tight it made you wince. His fingers dug painfully into the meat of your biceps, so hard it would surely leave bruises. He yanked you from your home entrance and into the awaiting hands of the masses.

You stumbled into a curling snake pit of hands, grabbing at you, ripping your clothes, yanking at your limbs. Any sounds of protests, all of your confused questions were drowned out by a flood of screams, chants and yells. Desperate for support, you clung to the baker who you sold your breads to. But, with an almost disgusted look, he pushed you off and against one of the soldiers. Someone fisted your hair and yanked you in no particular direction, and when you cried out in pain, the masses laughed.

You were helpless, and completely disoriented. Dragged around and pushed from one to the other, the world blurred before your waking eye, until your head hit the ground with a painful thud. You scrambled to your feet, but the moment you had found some footing, the hands grabbed at your dress and yanked you. Their pull was irresistible, the voices swelled into a loud chant your ears didn't comprehend. It was too much. Too much pain, too much noise, too much movement. You wanted to fall to your knees and pray, beg for an explanation for this nightmare, but your body was like that of a puppet, strings cut and ripped around by violent hands.

Overwhelmed, all you could to was whisper his name under your breath, again and again. It was no prayer, no ode, no cry for help. It was simply that his name was the only sound that would make it past your lips, as if it was the only one you knew. The only thing tethering you to the world as you lost the ground beneath your feet.

Your cries for an explanation, for help, were ignored as the solider who had knocked on your door got a hold of your upper arms and dragged you down the road, barely letting you walk on your own. As you looked around, through the mist of tears clouding your vision, you could make out people following you or watching the angry procession from their doors and windows. Slowly, you began to understand.

When you stumbled, the soldier ripped you up violently and hit you across the face. The harsh slap made your head spin as your cheek burned. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, and your tongue traced your lip to find it busted. A new string of tears spilled out of your eyes, eliciting hollers and new yells from the crowd that derived great pleasure from your pain.

Only the ground beneath you turning from stamped earth to cobblestone announced to you that you had reached the city square. Under the cheers of the crowd, you were pushed towards the center and onto your knees. With a painful thud, they met the ground, scraping against the hard, uneven stone.

Your village elders had assembled in the center. As you were being dragged before them, they looked up from a discussion they were having; frail old men holding too much power, and glaring down at you as you lay in the dirt at their feet, shaking and sobbing. Your whispers of your god’s name went unnoticed, swallowed by the people’s shouts and chants. Only when one of the elders, a man called Zephyros, stepped forward and raised his hand did the noise gradually subside.

When he called your name, you raised your head shakily, looking into hard, unforgiving eyes. “Pharmakis. You stand accused of dark witchcraft, of destroying our crops and drying our rivers with the goal of starving our city. How do you plead?” (Pharmakis = "witch")

“I didn't do anything!” you cried out, tears and dirt running down your face as the soldier’s grip on you tightened. “Please- why would I do something like that? I am no witch!” Desperation laced your voice, felt heavy on your tongue, as you searched for the right words with dire need. Words to calm their anger, dispel their doubts. But the only thing they seemed to have no doubt about was your guilt.

“You remain the only one untouched by this catastrophe, that has been taking children, animals, and people alike! Your neck remains adorned by jewelry. How did you get it, by baking bread?” A humorless laugh left his lips as angry whispers broke out around you. Someone threw a necklace at your feet- they must have taken it from your home, you recognized it in an instant. As all your jewelry, Apollo had made you take and wear it against your initial protests that it was too much, too good for you. Wide eyed, you stared at the gold as it reflected the sun’s light.

“Your spells have cursed us and enriched you!” Hissed Zephyros, looking down upon your trembling figure, “your greed has angered the gods.”

“Please!” you cried out over a new swelling of shouts. “If I had offended the gods, why would they grace me with fortune and riches?”

“Shut your mouth!” Seethed Zephyros, turning to the crowd and raising his voice so it bellowed all over the city square. “The gods are angry because of her! She’s been seen in the fields at dawn, whispering to the soil. The earth rots under her hands, and the rivers dry in her shadow. A witch, poisoning our village from within!” New tears formed in your eyes, the hopelessness of the situation dawning on you when the people chanted for your death sentence. “The sun turns harsh, the rain refuses to fall- this is her doing. She consorts with dark spirits, cursing our land while we starve. How else do you explain our suffering?”

The words fell upon you like stones, and with your hands twisted behind your back, you were unable to shield yourself from the vile accusations they inflicted upon you like beatings with a harsh stick. They stung- you belonged to this village, you had lived here your whole life, waved a good morning to the same people who were now calling for your execution. Always had you made an effort to provide for those in need, to strike up a friendly conversation with those who were hopeless, had worked in the temple, sold on the market, been at the heart of their community. All that, now thrown out the window as if it meant nothing- it stung more than the harsh fingers digging into your shoulder did.

Your chest tightened as you looked up into their faces, twisted with fear and anger. Looking for a scapegoat. The same faces that had smiled at you warmly, now so hostile, now calling for your demise. Your breath came out in shallow puffs as your heart pounded loud enough to drown out the words the elders spat now, only words sticking out to you. “Pharmakis” “Traitor” “Gods’ ire”. You searched their faces for something- reason, mercy - but all you found was fear, expertly disguised by their hypocritical righteousness. The people you'd prayed for now looked at you as if you were a monster.

“Φοῖβε, ἀγάπη μου… βοήθει μοι…” (“Phoebus, my love… help me…”) you whimpered, lowering your head and squeezing your eyes shut as the desperation and hopelessness overwhelmed you. “Ἀπόλλων, μὴ μὲ ἐγκαταλείπῃς…” (“Apollo, do not abandon me…”). But he didn't come. No ray of sunshine, no glow of reassurance, no soft touch of safety, only the cold stone beneath your aching knees, the painful grip on your shoulder and the harsh words of accusation thrumming against your ears.

Suddenly, the elders fell silent and the crowds' shouts subsided into a low whisper. When you looked up, you were greeted to the sight of a hooded figure emerging from the closed lines of the soldiers. The simpel audacity to interfere with an elders sermon strook them all with silence- the people were props to cheer and fight for them, to applaud them. Not to raise their voice.

But he did- the hooded stranger spoke to the elders, and his voice was smooth and steady as he did. “I am a seer, a holy priest of Apollo. I come only with the most well-meaning advice, and it is dire. I have seen it in the stars, the behavior of the birds: a warning.” He pointed at you and you instinctively shrunk under his pointed finger. “Harming this woman will not save you. In fact, it will condemn you.”

A breathless silence layed heavy on your shoulders, pressing them down as a spark of hope danced inside your chest. Seers were people of the greatest renown in your rural community, religious readers, believed to be speaking to the gods themselves. Apollo, of course, had told you with a smile that most of them were swindlers, his warm fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he explained that only a few were blessed by his divine gift.

“A seer?” sneered elder Argyros after recovering from the shock of someone talking back to him. As the richest man in the village, he was used to people cowering before him. The stranger made no such attempts however, standing still as the elders eyes scrutinized him. “Or just another fool who's been charmed by her sorcery?”

“I am warning you,” the strangers voice sounded, much calmer. In spite of his old cloak and humble attire, he stood upright and his words were made of molten gold. “The sun watches, even now. His light sees everything. And if you spill her blood, it will burn you to ash.”

Your heart beat in your chest as you looked up at the man. Could he be saying the truth? Would Apollo be angry, maybe even grieving if you died? His love for you had always seemed so sincere.

“How can you be so sure it is her who has angered the gods?” asked the seer sharply, turning to the crowd. “Perhaps, the one who displeased them is among your highest ranks.” Turning to the elders once more, his eyes bore into those of elder Zephyros. “You haven't been treating your guests very well, have you, elder Zephyros? The gods value hospitality very highly. In fact, this whole council has treated its guests with a lack of respect and hence brought on themselves their own demise!”

“We don't need omens from a stranger,” elder Xanthos spat defensively, face turning both red and white at the same time. “We need blood to satisfy the gods. If Apollo were angry, he would have struck us down already. Maybe this is what he wants.”

The stranger opened his mouth, seemingly to protest, but elder Zephyros shut him up by pointing a finger at him. “Guards, seize this charlatan!” His eyes held a dangerous glint as they returned to your broken figure. “Take the girl to Apollo’s temple. I will prove to you all that Apollo would rather bless than curse us for this sacrifice!”

Before you could comprehend his words properly, you were seized by the arms and ripped up violently. The steadily growing crowd followed behind and around you as the guards dragged you to the gates of Apollos temple, which was located near the city square. The most glorious and beautiful sight your small city had to offer. The place held some of your most treasured memories. The first time you'd talked to him. He'd appeared to you in the disguise of a mortal man as you were parting before his altar.

“Please,” you whispered to god’s giant marble statue, unaware of the presence looming behind you. It was a warm summer night, the whole town was already asleep- safe for the harlots, the thief's, and you. “Please,” you whispered again, “Just a sign. Anything.”

“What if this sign was another person?”

Even in your sitting position, you spun around so fast that it scraped your knees. Upon seeing the young man lean so casually against one of the holy pillars, you scrambled to your feet, smoothing out your skirt and frowning at him, at his relaxed smirk. “You shouldn't eavesdrop on prayers.”

Though a teasing smirk graced his lips, the young man’s eyes held a certain, almost disarming warmth. “I wasn't eavesdropping. You spoke loud enough for even a god to hear.”

“You have an awfully bold tongue for a worshipper,” you remarked with narrowed eyes, folding your arms over your chest. If you had known you’d meet a man today, would be alone in a room with him, you’d have worn a less revealing dress.

The man let out a soft laugh and pushed himself off the pillar, taking a step towards you. “I’m not here to worship.” Your lisp opened in inquiry, brows furrowed, but he cut you off before you could even speak, eyes clinging to the marble statue. “You talk to that statue like it's alive.”

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “Maybe I have more faith than you do.”

His lips curled into a grin that was irresistible, even in his mortal form. Eyes locking onto yours, you could hear your breath hitch in your throat- and could have sworn he had heard it too, because his grin only widened as he took another step towards you, so casually it could have been by chance. “Or maybe, you like talking to men who don't talk back.”

With a scoff, you averted your face to hide your smile from him. This mysterious stranger was making you extremely flustered. “If that's true, I have no reason to talk to you, do I?” He laughed in response, and your head snapped up at the sound. His laugh sounded like a melody, like a sudden outburst of creative talent. It didn't quite match his voice, in a way that could have been unsettling. But the look of amusement on his face was too warm, too reassuring, too kind.

You scolded yourself for these thoughts- they were inappropriate for someone like you, especially seeing as you had just met this guy in the dead of night in an otherwise empty temple. At the same time, it was the place you felt safest- no one would dare dishonor it through violence, would they? The god would strike them down.

The stranger had reached your side with his languid, slow steps and turned to follow your gaze, eyes wandering over the statue, the altar. There was something like amusement in his eyes, and you quickly averted yours when you realized you were staring. How embarrassing. The strangers lips twitched. “What if Apollo isn't worth your prayers?” He asked into the silence that had settled upon you.

With a startled gasp, you whipped your head around at him, eyes darting around nervously. As if one could hide such impunity in the god's own temple. This man had to be doomed. “How dare you say that in his temple?” you snapped, scrutinizing him with your glare.

Unimpressed by your outburst, he chuckled. “Just a thought. What if he's vain and selfish?”

With a frown, you turned back to the altar. “Even if he is,” you said in a sharp voice, emphasizing the ‘if’, “he still brings light to the world.” You gave him a challenging look that he returned with a look of veiled awe- or maybe you were just imagining things. “Do you?”

The stranger let another soft laugh fall from his lips, but this time, he lowered his head and you thought you saw the lightest of pink tints adorning his cheeks. “Maybe not,” he admitted, locking eyes with with you and giving you a look heavy with something indescipherable. “But you certainly do.”

Something slamming into the side of your face ripped your out of your reminiscent memories. Something was dripping off your jaw, and you realized someone had thrown a tomato at you. Spitting out the juices that tasted like lead on your tongue, you tried to avoid other projectiles thrown at you, but you couldn't miss them all. Some unknown substance soaked the skirt of your dress and mocking whistles emerged when they turned it see-through in places. You felt sick, your head was spinning, your ears thrumming and your vision blurring.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see people lining the house fronts. Not all were shouting and chanting. Many of their faces were averted. They were the ones you would chat with on sunny days, you would share your breath with, who would invite you over for a drink to make friendly conversation. Yet now, they didn't even look at you, turned away, as you were violently shoved towards the temple. None of them lifted a finger to help, none spoke up on your behalf. They all just stood there.

Only the elders and soldiers followed the ones dragging you into the temple. The noisy crowd stayed outside, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Gates wide open, you were thrown against the altar, making you cry out in pain. Rough hands grabbed you and hoisted you onto the marble, then grabbed your collar from behind and ripped your dress open. With a strangled, teaerful gasp you attempted to cover yourself, feeling sick at the way some of the elders ran their tongues over their lips. A few of the soldiers sniggered, but not the one who now held you down.

The priest stepped forward from amongst the elders. For one mad moment, you hoped he would spare you- he had always been grateful for your efforts in the temple, even though you were no priestess. But he didn't spare your dirty, trembling body a glance, opting to turn to the council and raising his hands in prayer. “O great Apollo, lord of light and prophecy, we offer you this life in repentance. Let her blood cleanse our land, and may your mercy restore our fields.”

He gave the guard holding you in place a curt nod and suddenly, you felt something cold press against your throat. Gasping, you realized it was the cold edge of a blade digging into the skin of your neck. A sharp pain cursed through you when you squirmed, fear clouding your senses, and a trickle of blood ran down your skin. You shivered, new tears spilling from your eyes. If only you had seen him one more time, if only you had known it had been the last moment- you would have savored his touch so much more, captured the sound of his voice in your heart, the molten gold of his eyes. Why had you never told him you loved him back?

The priest returned from his sermon, and you could feel death drawing closer. Coldness spread, from the blade against your throat down to your fingertips, freezing your heart as if rushed through the fatal beats that would be its last. You couldn't help the sobs bubbling out of your throat. This was no graceful way to die. Shaking, crying, dirty and desperately holding your dress up. At least Apollo didn't have to see you like this. It would break his heart.

“In the name of the immortal gods, we cast out this child of ruin,” called the priest and the soldier tightened his grip on you. “May her death appease your anger, and may your favor shine upon us once more, lifting us upon-”

Suddenly, he broke off, but you weren't sure why. Your head was clouded with your raging panic, the prospect of certain death. But then, you could make out a figure making their way through the huddle of elders, and their indignant gasps when he stepped before the altar, facing them. You recognized the shabby clothes. It was the seer who had advocated for you.

“We forbid this insolence-” hissed one of the elders, but he seemed to choke on his own words, suddenly falling to his knees and clutching his throat. The air seemed to shift. It shuddered and trembled around you, like it was radiating in waves off of something- someone. The hood slipped off the seers head, and in that very instant, a wave of heat rippled through the air, warping all light. There was no mortal man standing before you anymore. The hooded man was gone, burned away in an instant, and in his place stood something too radiant, too vast, too terrible to be contained in human form.

Golden light spilled from his skin like molten fire, his very presence warping the world around him, like he didn't belong in it. Otherworldly. Heavenly. Godly. His eyes were no longer shadowed by the hood, no longer softened by moral pretense. They blazed with the fury of a dying sun, searing into the huddled elders with a heat that made them recoil. With a round of gasps and cries of shock, they fell to their knees, cowering before the man you had thought most about on this cursed day. Apollo.

The laurel wreath resting on his golden locks shimmered, a crown of gold and flame, and when he spoke, his voice was no longer bound by human restraint. It rolled through the temple like thunder, shaking the stone, splitting the air, making the ground itself tremble beneath them. “You dare,” he said, his voice thrumming in your ears as you stared at him. The elders quivered and cried as they pressed their faces onto the cold marble, but Apollo only sent them a disgusted look before turning to you.

His eyes, ablaze with ancient fury, softened slightly when he took in your shaken figure, your wide, teary eyes. The soldier that was holding you immediately retracted, and you, still dizzy and frozen with shock, threatened to crash into the hard marble of the altar.

But he was there in an instant, hands almost burning on your skin as he held you, as carefully as if you were made of glass. His eyes flickered over you frantically, darkening when they skimmed over the bruises and your hands clawing at your dress to hold it up, focusing on the trickle of blood down your neck. An eerie quiet lay on the room, multiplied by the sheer might of his presence.

“A- Apollo?” you asked, voice shaking, laced with disbelief. Could it really be him? Could you really be safe? When he normally visited you, he looked much simpler, if that was possible for something as eye-catching as him.

His voice was soft as his palm ran over your hair, as if he was trying to prove to himself that you were here, breathing, warm, alive. “It’s me, darling,” he assured you, but behind his calm facade, his voice was taut with restrained rage. “It's me.”

Stupidly, your eyes burned with tears once more, only this time it was tears of relief. You drew in a shaky breath and nodded frantically, fingers trembling as they touched his, needing to feel him against your skin. He was too ethereal to be true. “They-,” you whimpered, choking on your tears. “They were going to- I thought-” Your voice broke off and he drew calming circles on the skin of your arm.

You hadn't thought it possible, but the god’s voice broke when he whispered to you. “I know. I know what they did. What they almost took from me.” Towards the end of the sentence, his voice transformed into a low growl that made some of the elders wince.

His expression twisted into one of pure hatred as he softly layed you down on his altar and turned his attention to them. His fingers trailed lazily across the altar’s edge as he paced, the stone blackening and smoking beneath his touch. He didn't look at the elders as they whimpered and begged- not at first.

He smiled at their fear, a terrible, gleaming thing, as if he was savoring it. “You dare raise a knife to her throat?” he asked, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “Here? On my altar? I have watched men wage wars in my name, have seen empires rise and crumble beneath my gaze. And yet, it is here- here, in this wretched little village- that I find the greatest insult of all.”

Slowly, he stepped down the stairs to the altar, towards their kneeling figures. Apollo moved like a predator- slow, deliberate, each step echoing like a war drum. His golden eyes blazed with fury, burning too bright to look at for long, and the air shimmered around him, as if the very world recoiled from his wrath. “Tell me,” he drawled, “did your fields rot because of her? Or because you are lazy, foolish and undeserving of the gods' gifts?” He halted his steps when he reached elder Zephyros. The old man trembled under the weight of his divine gaze. “Answer,” the god commanded and the elder flinched as if he had hit him.

“B- because of our sin, my lord,” he managed to stutter out, and Apollo scoffed. As he walked past him, Zephyros breathed a sigh of relief. But Apollo soon stopped behind another elder, lowering himself until his lips were just beside the man’s ear. “Kneel lower,” he breathed, and the man collapsed, forehead pressed into the dirt sobbing. Looking at him as if he was something bad smelling he stepped in, Apollo raised himself and let his gaze sweep over their figures, crouching impossibly lower in fear. “I have lit your fields with gold and warmed your skin with light, and this is your gratitude? To carve a blade into the one I love?"

In spite of their terrified state, there was a collective whisper among the elders. As the realization dawned on them, some directed their widened eyes at you, as if begging you for mercy, but Apollo stepped in front of them, shielding you from their fearful gaze. “We- we misunderstood your signs, Lord Apollo!” called the priest, who seemed to be the most courageous of all. Or maybe, he thought being a priest of his would earn him a forgiving touch. “Please forgive us!”

Apollo laughed a cruel laugh that made a shiver run down your spine. It was a horrible sound, his melodic voice twisted into something so utterly terrifying yet still pleasing to the ear in the most self-destructive of ways. "I sent you signs. I gave you commands. I testified before you. But your greed and your ignorance were too strong."

His gaze cut through their frantic apologies like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. "My Lord Apollo,” one elder managed to utter, “we didn't know she was dear to you! We never would have-" Apollo tilted his head, slow and almost curious, before stepping closer- so close the man choked on his words and collapsed to the ground. You flinched when the dull thud echoed around the room, as did his fellow elders, but none made a move to help him.

Apollo stretched out a hand, and a golden flame flickered to life in his palm- beautiful, deadly. He let it hover there as he walked, a silent threat, the fire casting jagged shadows across their terrified faces. "Ah, now you kneel. Now you grovel. I wonder, did she do the same? When you dragged her to this altar, did she beg?" The lot of them averted their faces, shieding themselves from his barely contained fury, as if that would protect them. "You look at me with fear in your eyes,” he said in an almost mocking tone, though it was humorless and cold. “Why? Is this not what you wanted? A sign from your god?"

Apollo stopped his paces to look around, his eyes scanning their cowering figures. He began circling the elders like a lion playing with dying prey, the faint trace of a smile curling his mouth, but there was no warmth in it- only cruelty, only fury barely held in check. "Look at you. Pathetic. Crawling to your knees like insects the moment your prey turns into a lion. I should let the sun forget this place. Let your crops wither. Let your rivers dry. Let the world never remember your name. Do you know how many temples l've watched crumble? How many cities l've watched rot? One would mean nothing to me. And yet, even now, even as you tremble... you don't understand the danger you are in."

One of the elders caught your eye, his gaze mad with fear. Probably mirroring your own just moments prior when he had called for your execution. “ἱκέτις!” (Spoken hiketis, translated to the one we beg) he called pleadingly, “we beg you- soften his heart, spare us!”

Apollo’s gaze snapped to the elder and he stepped forward. The man flinched and let out a short whimper. “You dare speak to her?” Apollos voice was a low snarl. “You? Who pressed a blade to her throat and called it devotion?” He leaned down, his voice softening to something far more dangerous. “Direct another word at her, make her shed another tear for you, I will turn your fields into ash myself. You are not fit to speak her name, let alone defile my alter with her blood. She is worth more than all of you combined. The sound of her breath matters more than your entire village. When she cried, I heard her. When she bled, I felt it. When she whispered my name, I came."

The priest sobbed into his own, knotted hands, not daring to direct his gaze at his god. “We only wanted to restore balance! We thought a sacrifice-”

But Apollo cut him off with a snarl. “A sacrifice? Tell me, when your harvest failed, did you cut your own throat? Did you offer your life? No? How strange." Hate was laced into every tone of his voice as he rose and slowly walked back up the steps, his gaze still firmly locked on them. "I could make your bones glow with fire. Turn you into torches to light my way. Shall I teach you what true suffering is? Shall I let you taste what you so eagerly prepared for her? Perhaps I should deliver you to my sister, let the beasts have you. Let the wolves rip the flesh from your bones while the crows pluck at your eyes."

“Please!” elder Xanthos cried in utter desperation, tears streaming down his webbed cheeks. “Mercy!”

But the plea only elicited a cold laugh from your god. "You beg me for mercy with the same mouth that condemned her? I will not be merciful. Not for this."

Apollo lifted his hand, and fire bloomed in his palm- not wild and chaotic, but controlled, precise, as if each flicker of flame carried the weight of his will. The golden light swelled, casting jagged shadows as the elders screamed, their bodies consumed in an instant. He didn’t turn to watch them burn. Instead, he stepped in front of you, his broad frame blocking the sight of their writhing silhouettes. The glow of the flames haloed around him, but not a trace of heat reached your skin. His hand hovered just above your cheek, trembling with the remnants of his fury, yet when he finally touched you, his fingers were impossibly gentle.

You were shaking all over, thoughts racing, eyes squeezed shut, as you wished you could drown out the sounds of their fiery deaths. Alas, the glow subsided, and when you threw a cautious look over Apollo’s shoulder, you saw they had been reduced to ash. “Shh,” he said, but despite the calming sound, when you looked up at him, his eyes were still ablaze with fury. His soft lips pressed a kiss onto your temple before he moved towards the door- fast, determined. But you couldn't let him.

Despite the weakness in your knees, you managed to catch up to him before he reached the entrance gates. Before them, the village people had lowered themselves onto their knees, witnesses to their elders destruction and fearfully awaiting their fate. But you couldn't have that- in spite of the pain they had caused you, they were still your people. You knew you should have felt anger, but it had subsided and given way to pity. So you stepped before Apollo, clutching the remaining fabric of your dress over your chest in an attempt to retain some dignity.

Your heart skipped a beat when you looked into his eyes- brimming with fury, with godly wrath. You had never seen him like this- only ever experienced him as a gentle lover, his soft touches and teasing smiles, his kind reassurances and his hand holding yours as he made you feel better than any mortal man ever could have. Never like this. You almost didn't recognize him. Apollo looked deadly. Scary, even to you. Your breath constricted in your throat, but you forced the words out. “Please, Apollo,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “don't hurt them. I beg you. Haven't they suffered enough?"

He simply stared at you, as if he couldn't believe the words had left your mouth. Part of you didn't either. His voice was sharp when he spoke, and you suppressed a shudder. “They cheered as they dragged you to the altar. They watched you bleed. And you ask for their lives?" His voice had risen to a harsh snarl and when he reached out for you, you flinched. You couldn't help it, it was a natural mortal instinct, this close to unshielded divinity.

But his brows furrowed at your action, and when he spoke, his voice was hollow, his gaze devastated. “Are you afraid of me?” His eyes flickered over your expression, saw right through you, and you found yourself unable to hide your true feelings from him. Drawing a shaky breath, you hesitantly glanced up at him. "I saw what you did to them... I've never seen you like that." Your voice was so small it was barely audible, but he, of course, could make out the words, and they seemed to hit him like a brick wall.

Taking a step back, his eyes darkened with grief. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, the remnants of his wrath still simmering beneath his golden skin like embers refusing to die. "I would set the world on fire for you. Do you not understand that?"

“I know,” you said, voice shaking, and in your desperation, you fell to your knees before him, clutching the torn fabric of your dress to your chest, words tumbling from your mouth in frantic, broken pleas. “Please, Apollo, let them go. I can't bear this.”

This village, these people, were all you had ever known, all you had loved. Even though they hadn't lifted a finger to help you, had cheered your public humiliation, you could not be responsible for their deaths- it would forever haunt you. The elders dying you were okay with, they were a corrupt lot of old men who'd salvitated at the sight of your ripped dress and ordered your death despite their own greed. But in your eyes, the villagers were innocent- not in his, though.

Apollo watched you, stricken, his expression caught somewhere between rage and devastation. His hands- hands that had held you like you were something holy- curled into trembling fists at his sides. He knelt before you slowly, carefully, like he was approaching something fragile and wild. The god who had just brought such lethal destruction now looked terrified to so much as breathe wrong in your presence. But there was a terrible, aching violence in the way he shook, his divinity still thrumming through the air like a storm that hadn’t passed. “Don’t,” he rasped, voice raw, stepping toward you. When you flinched, a sound escaped him - something wounded, something desperate. “Don’t look at me like that.”

When you looked up, you were shocked to find tears brimming in his eyes, drops of gold. You hadn't known gods could cry. But in spite of his grief, his rage was still palpable and his voice dripped with venom when his gaze flickered over the kneeling townspeople. “They applauded your suffering. They deserve to choke on their guilt.”

“You're better than this!” you sobbed, reaching out to take his hands.

At first, they were stiff in yours, before his fingers interlaced with yours and he tilted his head at you, his rage somewhat taken over by an intense sadness. “No,” he said, voice faltering, “You are better. I am a god. I am not kind.” His rage hadn’t faded- not fully. It lingered just beneath his skin, a seething thing barely leashed. But it was the sight of you bowing to him, begging like a supplicant, that finally broke him. “Stand up,” he whispered, voice fractured. “You don’t kneel for me. Not you.”

“You are kind,” you disagreed with him, giving into his pull and letting him lift you to your feet, your legs barely carrying your weight. “You are to me.”

Slowly, as if every touch could set you off, Apollo lowered his head and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to your head. Beneath your fingertips, you could feel his rage subsiding slowly. He let out a shaky breath against your hair and you leaned your head against him, exhaustion settling on every single one of your bones. “Please,” you whispered, knowing you almost had him. “Can we just go?” You swallowed heavily. “Just… anywhere?”

“Ἀγαπητή," (Agapētē = Beloved) he sighed, and some of the tension seemed to seep out of him, the flickering blaze in his eyes calming. “Forgive me,” he pleaded, and you stiffened as his tone turned into that of a desperate beggar. “Don't fear me, my love, don't flinch away from my touch.”

“I don't,” you breathed against him. He was stabilizing your whole body weight by now, but he didn't seem to mind. His arms only tightened around your waist. “I could never.”

It was all too much- the sensations of the day, the lingering heat, the gruesome sight of the elders burning, and now hundreds of eyes boring into you as Apollo held you gently, so unlike the way he'd threatened their lives. You were the only thing that could calm a storm like this, like him. “I love you,” was the last thing you managed to whisper before exhaustion overtook you and sleep pressed down your eyelids. He must have caught you when you slumped against him, because you felt like you were flying and heard his voice in your ear:

“I'm taking you home, sunshine.”

#greek mythology #greek gods #greek gods x reader #greek mythology x reader #apollo x reader #apollo #apollo x you #apollo x mortal reader #apollo fluff #apollo x fem! reader

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innerfare · 7 months ago

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Apologizing To You

Summary: How do they apologize to you? (Similar to Fighting and Making Up but oh well.)

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

Luffy:

You thought it would be more difficult to get Luffy to apologize considering he’s not above bickering and arguing and can be so freaking stubborn. But the thing is, Luffy’s emotional intelligence is through the roof and he always senses when you’re really hurting. That being said, he thinks it’s important for you to say so, so he won’t just do it. If you ask, though, he won’t hesitate. He might even grin and ask you why you took so long.

Zoro:

For the most part, he’s not one to apologize. He’s incredibly stubborn and doesn’t let those words leave his lips easily, to the point you’ve had several arguments that were far bigger than they should have been. He’s a stubborn bastard, and he’s very proud. He’s also opposed to giving gifts as an apology as he thinks that cheapens it. When he does feel the need to apologize, he’ll do so verbally and quite simply (and privately, for his pride); he would really never do anything to you that would require anything beyond that.

Sanji:

You need only ask. Sanji would do anything for you, even swallow his pride. In fact, he’s so quick to apologize, he sometimes tries to speed run the process and might even get his feelings a little hurt if he’s ready to apologize but you’re not ready to accept it yet, but he’s mature enough not to let that turn into another fight. He’s also one to show up outside your window with a bouquet of flowers or another gift to sweeten the deal. He’ll apologize even if you were in the wrong just to jumpstart the making up process.

Ace:

Arguing is tough for him, but so is apologizing- not necessarily because he’s too proud to admit when he’s wrong, but because he’s too scared. He fears admitting that he was wrong will cause you to leave him, and this insecurity can be difficult to navigate. He usually ends up shutting you out rather than rushing over to you to apologize, but once you do approach him, usually offering something to eat as a peace offering, he’ll quickly accept fault and apologize for anything and everything.

Sabo:

Such a sweetheart but also competitive. You’re the only one (except his brothers, maybe) who knows just how attentive and caring Sabo can be, a far cry from the reckless young man who never seems to listen to a word anyone says, and you’re most likely to experience it after a fight. The two of you have a chosen spot- a pink peach tree on Momoiro Island- and it’s usually Sabo who finds himself waiting there (let’s face it, he’s more likely to say something insensitive than you are). He usually apologizes with a sheepish grin and a peach he plucked from the tree.

Law:

Attempting to wring an apology out of him is no good. He has to do it in his own time, and he will, usually no more than two or three days. He prefers to do it under the cover of darkness, without any eyes watching or ears listening except yours, climbing into bed beside you and muttering an apology into your ear, pressing warm kisses into your hand until you melt and are receptive enough to forgive him. Also not opposed to writing an apology on a scrap of paper and slipping it into the book you’ve been reading because he communicates much better that way.

Kid:

Really not one for heartfelt apologies. Also not one to notice he did something wrong. Eventually he’ll notice you’re upset, but only because you haven’t been sitting in his workshop as much, and kicked him when he rolled on top of you in his sleep. But he’s at a complete loss as to why and ends up snapping at you over it. When you tell him what’s wrong, he’ll grunt out an apology and probably propose you work out your frustration on him in a way that’s enjoyable for you both.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #ace x reader #law x reader #sabo x reader #zoro x reader #portgas d ace x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #eustass kid x reader #captain kid x reader #trafalgar law x reader

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anisangeldust · 6 months ago

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Santa, Baby ❆𝜗𝜚

Summary: After being stumped on a gift for your boyfriend, Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker, you settle on a safe favorite of his.

Pairing: dilf!Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader

Warnings: Implied age gap (Anakin is 35 and reader is 18), lap dance, smut, oral (m receiving), mating press, mentions of breeding, smutty descriptions !!

A/N: Happy holidays! All the love and magic for all of you! May you all have the bestest day ꨄ

Santa baby..

Slip a sable under the tree, for me

Been an awful good girl,

Santa baby..

What do you get for a man that has everything?

7 year olds are easy to shop for, Leia was head over heels for he giant wookie stuffed toy, and Luke wouldn’t shut up about the ‘training saber’ he unwrapped that morning, children were easy to please, but a man?

What did you get someone who was almost double your age? A watch? He didn’t need that, it was useless for how often he changed planets with different time zones. Cologne? He had that, new parts for tinkering? He had those too, a new glove for his prosthetic hand? That was too cheap.

When you decided to just ask what he wanted, despite wanting it to be a surprise and feeling a touch of shame that you didn’t know your boyfriend well enough, the conversation went as good as you’d expect:

“I don’t want anything babe” his buttery voice insisted, strong hands rubbing your back and his baby blues full of warmth.

You sighed “all couples say they don’t want anything, I’m getting you a gift. Tell me what you want.” You insisted, kissing his cheek.

Anakin let out a deep, hearty chuckle. “I have you, I have the little ones, they love you like you’re their mother, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. I don’t need a gift.” He reiterated, his hand moving from your back to your rear, playfully squeezing.

That comment: “I have you, I have everything I’ve ever wanted” gave you an idea, you’d be his present. If he didn’t want anything new, perhaps something revamped would be the move?

It wasn’t difficult to get Luke and Leia asleep, they had crashed hard from the inane amount of sugar they ingested. After gently forehead kisses to each of them, and soft goodnights, you closeted their door and went to your bedroom you shared with Anakin.

“Merry Christmas Ani..” you kiss him gently and he holds you gently while kissing you back

“Merry Christmas baby girl” he coos and rubs his hands up your sides, a lustful look drinking behind the cobalt clouds of his eyes.

You giggle gently, pulling away. “I have a gift for you..” you murmur and climb off his lap, gesturing to a Cody chair by your bed “sit..” you smile.

Anakins brows shoot up “oh? I thought I said no gifts?” He teases but complies, siting down and looking at you.

“It’s not completely a gift.. more a.. zhuzh..” you wink and disappear into the bathroom.

Only a few minutes later do you emerge, flipping on a speaker to the familiar tune “Santa, baby” and sexily strutting over to your sitting boyfriend, clad in red lingerie and a Santa hat, complete with red lipstick and red stockings.

Anakin lets out a low, wolf whistle “whewww baby. What is this?” He leans back and pats his lap. Once you sit down on his thigh he tries to hold your waist, only for you to swat his hand away and pin his wrists behind him. Though he could easily get out, he chose to play along and refrain from laying his hands on you.

“Shh.. let me give you a show..” you coo and arch your back, standing up and wiggling your chest in his face. Allowing the white trim to brush his nose before you step back and squat down, slowly lifting up with your hands on his knees, wiggling your hips again.

The familiar song faded out as you climbed on your knees infront of him. Nuzzling one of this thighs and kissing his pants “you can touch now..” you purr gently. He takes no time for hesitation, immediately yanking off the pure hat and tangling his hands in your hair.

“Mmmhh.. baby..” he groans and spreads his legs allowing you to pull off his pants, he watches the fabric slide off to reveal the hard bulge in his boxers “you’re so fucking beautiful..” he groans and pulls you forward to his crotch.

Your lips meet the hardness of his bulge and you kiss it, feeling it twitch and grow under your lips. Slipping your fingers under the elastic of his boxers and slipping them down, his hard cock springing free of its cloth confines. The tip leaking pearl and standing stiff. Trimmed pubes leading to heavy balls and upwards was his toned abdomen.

“Is this all for me?” You tease and suck lightly on his baby pink tip. He tried to pull you down and you resist, moving instead down his shaft to suckle on his aching sack, the motion making him growl and shake.

“Fuck yes.. all for you baby girl, always for you..” he grunts then tangles his hands in your hair, tugging on your scalp. “Gods.. fuck me.. always so good” he rolls his eyes back. The groans louder as you finally take him into your mouth, letting your slobber lube your hand so you can pump what you can’t take. Your tongue traces the bulging vein Yang runs under his cock head, swirling it and catching all his leaking pre before going back down.

“Mmpohh…” he tenses “fuck fuck fuck.. I’m.. ohhmm..” he takes control and face fucks you, hips lifting up to meet your face, hands tangled in your hair, he was enjoying this more than any blowjob he’d ever been given. There was a moment of chocked silence as Anakin came down your throat, beads of sweat running down to his eyebrows, eyes pinched close and brows furrowed.

As soon as he came down from that high, you made eye contact and swallowed his whole load, letting the little bit that dripped from your mouth to be scooped up by your tongue. “Merry Christmas daddy..” you tease and he groans “get the fuck over here” he growls and stands up, pulling you up and throwing you on the bed.

Anakin kisses up your thighs and nips at the conjunction between your thighs and hips “fuck me babygirl..” he coos “so good with the little ones, makes me wanna give you one of our own” he growls before ripping off your panties with his teeth, tearing the delicate lace.

“Oh! Mm.. please.. give me a baby.. make me full..” you spread your legs, allowing him to see the wetness of your cunt. You pull your knees to your chest and your puffy, pink clit pops out from between your glistening folds.

Your boyfriend tugs his cock a few times, using the thumb on his other hands to tease your sensitive bud “I’ll give you a fucking baby.. I’ll pump you full of my cum..” he promises as he folds you in half and bullies his cock into your cunt “I’ll make you so full your forget what it’s like to be.. empty..” he grunts and starts to pump his thick, heavy cock into your puffy pussy.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck!” You groan and bite your finger, trying to refrain from waking up Luke and Leia. Each thrust leaves a sticky squelch behind, the sound and smell of your combined arousal is like Anakins personal heroin, each jiggle of your tits, every choked sob that leaves your mouth, it’s all Anakin will ever need.

“Cum, fucking cream all over my cock, you’re already clenching me so good.. let me feel you cum” he demands and slaps your folds a few times. Pinching your clit ever so slightly.

You listen almost instantly, your back arching and a loud whimper escaping your throat, cunt fluttering around his invasive manhood. Anakin isn’t far behind, shorting his hot and sticky load into your womb, making sure to fuck it against your cervix, making sure to take advantage of your little fertile body.

As soon as the sexual haze lifts off the room, Anakin turned back into your loving and doting boyfriend. “Oh baby.. did I hurt you?” He lifts you up and lays you on his chest “that was so good, you did so good..” he coos gently and you nuzzle him “mhm.. I’m okay.. ‘m perfect..” you assure him.

He lets out a comforting sigh and nods “so perfect.. my perfect girl.. my most wonderful Christmas present..” he kisses you softly “Merry Christmas doll..”

You lean into it “Merry Christmas, daddy.”

#anisangeldust #˚₊‧꒰ა Angel writes! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin smut #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #x reader #x reader smut #sw anakin #anakin fanfiction #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen #Hayden Christensen x reader

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gyuuberryy · 9 months ago

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a tailored connection

pairing: designer!sunghoon x muse!reader

synopsis: sunghoon, a talented designer, has always harboured feelings for his longtime friend, you. when he invites you to be his muse, the sessions are charged with a tension that neither of you can ignore. as sunghoon’s compliments and intimate moments reveal deeper feelings, a surprising twist shakes your world. with your engagement to someone else looming and sunghoon grappling with his emotions, both of you face a turning point that will challenge everything you thought you knew about love and friendship.

genre: friends to lovers, both are fools in love

warnings: looot of tension, angst!! , kissing, crying, not really proofread

note: aaand with this royally yours comes to an end, i had a great time writing it! where can i get a man who makes me dresses like this :( i hope you enjoy reading this<3

word count: 16.8k

royally yours masterlist | prev:jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

the sound of laughter echoes through the village streets, a memory woven into the fabric of your childhood. sunghoon had always been there, his presence as familiar to you as the sky above. you grew up side by side—first as playmates, then as something more complicated, though neither of you had the words for it yet.

it started with simple things. the way he’d hold out his hand to help you over the stones in the river, his grip firm but gentle. the way he’d always save the last piece of the bread he bought for lunch, handing it to you with a shy grin. and the way he’d linger just a bit longer when you hugged him goodbye, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid to let go.

you were never apart for long, always finding reasons to be in each other’s company. as children, you’d run wild through the village, a pair of inseparable companions. the streets had been your playground, the trees your hideout, and the open fields your kingdom.

sunghoon was the one who taught you how to climb trees, his long limbs making it look easy as he scrambled up the tallest one in the village square. you’d followed him then, determined to keep up with him no matter what, your competitive spirit something he both teased and admired.

“come on, you can do it,” he’d called down to you one day, perched on a sturdy branch high above, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’m not leaving you behind.”

“i’m not going to be left behind,” you’d retorted, climbing faster, though your hands were trembling. you didn’t want to admit it, but heights terrified you.

sunghoon had seen through you, though, like he always did. when you reached the top, his hand had shot out to steady you, his touch reassuring. “see? i told you,” he said, smiling in that soft way that always made you feel warm inside.

that was how it always was—sunghoon pushing you to be braver, to go further, but always there to catch you if you stumbled.

as you grew older, the carefree days of your childhood evolved into something quieter, but no less meaningful. sunghoon’s passion for design began to bloom, his sketchbook always tucked under his arm, filled with dresses, cloaks, and the kind of ornate embroidery that would make any noble gasp. he’d spend hours at the village tailor’s shop, learning from the master tailor, and you’d sit in the corner, watching him work, admiring the way his hands moved with precision and care.

“why don’t you just play outside like the other girls?” the old tailor would often ask you, shaking his head with a smile. “this place is no fun for someone your age.”

you’d always smile back, knowing full well why you stayed. “i don’t mind. besides, i like watching sunghoon.”

sunghoon would look up from his work then, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “she’s my best critic,” he’d say, as if that explained everything.

but it wasn’t just about watching him work. there was something in the quiet moments between you, in the way you understood each other without having to say a word. he would sketch something and glance up, catching your eye, and you’d know exactly what he was thinking. he didn’t have to say it.

the bond between you deepened with every passing year, though the village seemed blind to it. to everyone else, you were just friends, nothing more. but there were moments—fleeting, subtle—when you felt something stirring between you, something neither of you dared to speak aloud.

it wasn’t until one late afternoon, when the two of you were sitting under the large oak tree at the edge of the village, that you truly realised how much he meant to you.

the summer sun cast a golden glow over the fields, the breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers. you were both quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company. sunghoon had his sketchbook open on his lap, his charcoal pencil moving lazily across the page. you were watching him, as you often did, wondering what it would be like to have your portrait sketched by him. would he see you differently if he looked at you that way? would the feelings you’d kept locked inside for so long show on your face?

“what are you drawing this time?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence. it was always your way of trying to sneak a glimpse into the world that sunghoon poured into his designs.

he looked up, startled from his thoughts, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. “just... a dress,” he said, and though it sounded like a simple answer, there was a softness in his voice that made you curious.

“a dress?” you echoed, smiling. “for who?”

“for... no one in particular,” he murmured, closing the book before you could peek at it. “just an idea.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “you’ve been spending a lot of time on these designs lately. are you preparing for something big?”

he shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about... making something new. something different. i don’t want to just follow the same old patterns forever.”

you nodded, understanding. sunghoon had always been ambitious, but his talent had begun to outgrow the small village you lived in. you knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to leave—venture into the capital or even beyond to showcase his work.

“whatever it is, you’ll be amazing at it,” you said, your voice steady, though your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving.

he glanced at you then, his expression unreadable. “you really think so?”

“of course,” you replied without hesitation. “i’ve always believed in you.”

the words felt heavier than they should have, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. sunghoon’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes, but just as quickly, he looked away, his fingers nervously tapping the cover of his sketchbook.

“i couldn’t have come this far without you,” he said, his voice quiet. “you’ve always been there for me.”

you smiled softly, nudging him with your shoulder. “that’s what friends are for, right?”

but even as you said it, the word “friends” felt inadequate—too small to hold the depth of what you felt for him. and though you couldn’t say it aloud, you wondered if sunghoon felt the same.

as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the fields, the two of you sat in silence, side by side. in the fading light, everything felt suspended—like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

but neither of you moved, and the unspoken feelings between you remained just that—unspoken.

for now.

the day had started like any other. you were making your way through the village, the familiar sights and sounds surrounding you—children running through the streets, merchants shouting their daily specials, and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. but today, something felt different. there was an odd flutter in your stomach, though you couldn’t quite place why. perhaps it was because you were heading to sunghoon’s workshop, as you often did, or perhaps it was something else.

his shop had grown over the years, its modest space now brimming with elegant fabrics and mannequins draped in partially finished garments. sunghoon had worked tirelessly, his name slowly gaining recognition beyond the village, though he remained humble about his achievements. it had become a routine for you to visit him, to sit in the corner while he worked, offering your thoughts or simply watching the magic unfold under his skilled hands.

when you arrived, the door was slightly ajar, and you pushed it open to find sunghoon standing at his worktable, deep in thought. his back was turned to you, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the window and casting a soft glow around him. he was focused, hunched over a sketch, his pencil moving in rapid strokes, as if he were chasing some fleeting inspiration.

you stepped inside quietly, not wanting to disturb him. he was always at his best when he was lost in his work—his mind far away from the village, immersed in a world of silk and satin, seams and stitches. but even in those moments, it wasn’t uncommon for him to sense your presence before you spoke.

today, though, he was more distracted than usual. he didn’t notice you until you were almost beside him, peeking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his newest creation. “what’s this one?” you asked lightly, hoping not to startle him.

he jumped slightly, straightening up and turning to face you, a small smile forming on his lips when he saw it was you. “you’re early.”

you raised an eyebrow. “am i interrupting?”

“no, not at all,” he said, closing the sketchbook and setting it aside. “i was just... thinking.”

“you do that a lot,” you teased, leaning against the edge of the worktable. “what’s on your mind today?”

for a moment, he didn’t answer. his gaze drifted toward the window, his fingers playing absentmindedly with the hem of a piece of fabric. you could see there was something weighing on him, but sunghoon had always been the type to choose his words carefully, never speaking until he was sure of what he wanted to say.

finally, he turned back to you, his expression serious but soft. “i’ve been working on something new. something important.”

you crossed your arms, intrigued. “i figured as much. you’ve been spending even more time here than usual. what is it? a new collection?”

“not exactly,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “it’s... different this time. i want to create something that’s truly mine, something that will set me apart. but to do that, i need help.”

you blinked, surprised. sunghoon rarely asked for help, especially when it came to his designs. “help? from me?”

he nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. “i want you to be my muse.”

the words hung in the air between you, heavier than you’d expected. muse. it wasn’t just a word—it was a role that carried meaning. in a way, you’d always been part of sunghoon’s creative process, offering suggestions or simply being there to share in his successes and frustrations. but this... this was something else entirely.

you shifted your weight, suddenly feeling a little unsure. “a muse? what do you mean?”

“i mean...” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “i’ve been designing dresses, outfits for people i’ve never even met. but none of them feel personal. none of them feel real. i want to create something that speaks to me, and to do that, i need someone who inspires me. someone i know. someone... like you.”

your breath caught in your throat. the way he said it, the way his eyes lingered on you—it was impossible to ignore the meaning behind his words. he wasn’t just asking you to be part of his work; he was asking you to be at the centre of it. to be the person he looked at, thought about, dreamed about while he created. and that idea stirred something inside you that you hadn’t been prepared for.

“i don’t know if i’d make a very good muse,” you said, trying to laugh it off, though your heart was racing.

sunghoon stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “you’re perfect for it. you’ve always been perfect.”

the air between you shifted, growing warmer, heavier with tension. it wasn’t the first time he’d complimented you—he was always kind, always thoughtful—but this felt different. his words weren’t casual or lighthearted. they carried weight, an unspoken truth that had been building between you for years.

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your throat tightening. being his muse meant more than just standing still while he draped fabric around you. it meant letting him see you, really see you, in ways that no one else ever had. it felt intimate, like a part of you would be etched into every piece he made.

“what would that mean for us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon blinked, startled by the question. “what do you mean?”

“you and i,” you clarified, feeling the weight of the words. “if i agree... won’t it change things between us?”

for a long moment, sunghoon didn’t speak. he seemed to consider your words, his eyes searching your face as if trying to decipher your feelings. finally, he took a deep breath, stepping even closer, so close now that you could feel the warmth of his body. “maybe it will,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “but maybe it’s already changed. maybe it’s been different for a long time.”

his words hit you like a wave, the truth in them undeniable. he was right. things had changed—slowly, quietly—but neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it. until now.

your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his confession settling over you like a blanket. you could feel the tension between you, crackling like the air before a storm. there was something fragile, something precious hanging between you, and the slightest word or movement could shatter it.

but then, without thinking, you made your decision.

“i’ll do it,” you said, your voice barely audible, but firm.

sunghoon’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and relief passing across his face. “you will?”

you nodded, your gaze never leaving his. “yes. i’ll be your muse.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken feelings that had been buried for so long. and then, slowly, sunghoon’s lips curved into the softest smile—a smile that reached his eyes and made something inside you melt.

“thank you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it felt as if time stood still. you were acutely aware of how close he was, how much more intimate things had become between you in just a few short minutes.

you smiled back, though your heart was pounding. “i think it’ll be fun.”

sunghoon laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and the tension between you seemed to ease, just a little. but even as you both fell into a more comfortable silence, you knew that things between you had changed. there was no going back now.

the sun was beginning to set as you made your way to sunghoon’s shop, a soft, golden glow spreading across the village. it had been only a few days since you agreed to be his muse, but the weight of that decision still lingered in your mind. there was a sense of anticipation, an underlying current of excitement that thrummed through you, but also an edge of nervousness that you couldn’t shake.

you had always been comfortable around sunghoon, but this felt different. it wasn’t just visiting a friend; you were stepping into a role that felt intimate in ways you hadn’t quite expected. and you knew that once you crossed the threshold of his workshop today, something between you would shift again.

when you arrived, sunghoon was already waiting. the door was propped open, and you could hear the faint sounds of rustling fabric and the occasional scratch of his pencil against paper. you hesitated for a moment at the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

sunghoon looked up as soon as you entered, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “you came,” he said, sounding almost relieved.

“of course i did,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light despite the quickening of your pulse. “i’m your muse now, remember?”

his smile widened just a little, and he motioned for you to come in. “right. my muse.”

the word still felt strange on your tongue, and hearing him say it made something flutter in your chest. you glanced around the room, noticing that he had cleared some space near the large windows where the light poured in. rolls of fabric were neatly arranged, sketchbooks stacked nearby, and a dress form stood at the centre, waiting to be draped with something new.

you stepped closer, feeling the warmth of the sunlight against your skin, but also the weight of sunghoon’s gaze on you. his eyes followed your every movement, a soft intensity in them that made the space between you feel smaller, more charged.

“so, where do we start?” you asked, forcing a smile to break the tension that was building in the room.

sunghoon set down his pencil and moved to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reached for a roll of fabric. “i was thinking we’d start by figuring out what you like. i want to design something that feels like you—not just any dress, but one that you’d wear and feel... beautiful in.”

the way he said the word beautiful made your stomach flip. you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the way his voice lingered on the compliment.

“what i like?” you repeated, frowning slightly. “i’m not sure. i mean, i’ve never really thought about it.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you with a small smile. “you’ve never thought about what you like in dresses? after all this time of coming here and watching me work?”

you laughed, a little nervous. “i guess i’ve always been more interested in what you were making for other people.”

“well,” he said, his voice softening, “now it’s time to think about what’s right for you.”

he moved closer, picking up a few pieces of fabric and holding them up to the light. “what do you think of these? what colours feel like you?”

you eyed the fabrics he held—a deep emerald green, a soft blush pink, and a striking midnight blue. each one seemed to carry a different weight, a different mood, and the idea of choosing one for yourself felt strangely personal.

“i’m not sure,” you admitted, reaching out to touch the green fabric. “i’ve always liked green, but... i don’t know if it suits me.”

sunghoon tilted his head, his eyes flickering over you, as if he were studying you in a way he hadn’t before. “it suits you,” he said quietly, the certainty in his voice catching you off guard. “it brings out your eyes. but so would the blue.”

you blinked, surprised by the compliment. sunghoon wasn’t one to flatter people needlessly, especially not you. his compliments usually came in the form of casual remarks, offhand observations about how a colour might work or how you carried yourself in a certain style. but this—this was different. there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you now, that felt far more intimate.

you felt your face grow warm under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. “you think so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i know so,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “you have a way of making things look better just by wearing them. it’s not just about the dress—it’s about how you wear it.”

the room seemed to shrink, the air between you growing heavier with each passing second. you hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to speak so plainly, so openly. sunghoon had always been composed, professional, even around you. but now, there was something more vulnerable in the way he spoke, something unguarded.

you cleared your throat, trying to break the moment before it became too much. “well, what about styles then? i’ve always liked simpler designs. nothing too extravagant.”

sunghoon nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still lingering on you, as if he were trying to memorise every detail of your expression. “simple suits you,” he murmured. “but there’s something about you that deserves more. something elegant.”

“elegant?” you echoed, unsure of where this was coming from.

“mm,” he hummed, reaching for his sketchbook. “you’ve always carried yourself with a kind of grace—like you don’t even realise how beautiful you are.”

your breath hitched. you stared at him, your heart pounding louder in your chest as his words hung in the air between you. this wasn’t just a compliment—it was something else. something deeper. and the realisation of it hit you like a wave.

sunghoon, too, seemed to realise the weight of what he’d just said. he quickly looked away, focusing on his sketchbook as if he could take the words back by drowning them in his work. “i didn’t mean to... i mean...”

you stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. you had never thought of yourself the way sunghoon was describing you now, and the fact that he saw you like this—it was overwhelming. you could feel the tension crackling between you, the unspoken feelings that had always lingered beneath the surface suddenly threatening to rise.

“i just... think you should have something that shows who you are,” sunghoon continued, his voice quieter now, more careful. “not just as my muse, but as you. something that makes people stop and see you the way i do.”

your pulse quickened at his words, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak. the way he was looking at you now, with an intensity you hadn’t seen before, made it feel like the walls of the workshop were closing in.

you glanced down, trying to focus on the fabric in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingered. “sunghoon... i don’t know what to say.”

he shook his head, stepping back slightly as if to give you space. “you don’t have to say anything. i just... i want you to feel beautiful in whatever i make for you. that’s all.”

there was a long pause, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of fabric as you ran your fingers over the green material again. your mind was spinning, your heart racing, and yet you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through you at his words. it wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he saw you, the way he always had.

finally, you looked up, meeting his gaze once more. “i trust you, sunghoon. i always have.”

his eyes softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “good,” he said quietly. “because i promise, whatever we create together, it’s going to be something unforgettable.”

the light from the late afternoon sun bathed sunghoon’s workshop in a golden hue, casting long shadows that stretched across the room. you stood near the centre, nervously smoothing the fabric of your dress as sunghoon readied his tools. he had done this countless times—measuring clients for garments—but somehow, this felt different. more intimate. more real.

“alright,” he said, his voice a little too casual as he approached with a measuring tape in hand. “this won’t take long.”

you nodded, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched him move closer. sunghoon had always been meticulous when it came to his work, his hands sure and steady, but today there was a faint tremor in them as he unspooled the tape.

“so, uh,” he began, his gaze flickering between your face and the tape in his hands. “we’ll start with your shoulders. just... relax.”

you forced a smile, though the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. “i’m relaxed.”

he shot you a look that said he wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue. he stepped behind you, and you could feel his presence—warm, steady—just inches away. the fabric of your dress shifted slightly as he gently placed the tape around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your skin ever so lightly. the contact sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried your best to suppress it.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the measuring tape as he adjusted it. you could feel your heart beating faster, your pulse quickening with each passing second. sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed to be holding his breath, as if he were just as aware of the closeness as you were.

“alright,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, more focused. “now your waist.”

he stepped around to face you, his gaze briefly meeting yours before dropping to the tape in his hands. his movements were careful, almost hesitant, as he crouched slightly, bringing the tape around your waist. you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as his fingers brushed the sides of your dress, the heat of his touch lingering longer than it should have.

the proximity, the feel of his hands so close to you—it was almost too much. you bit your lip, fighting the urge to fidget under his intense concentration. sunghoon had always been calm, composed, but now there was an unmistakable tension in the air, a subtle awkwardness that made your heart race even faster.

he straightened up, pulling the tape taut as he noted your measurements. “i... uh,” he began, clearing his throat slightly, “i’ll need to get your bust next.”

you blinked, feeling your face grow warm. “oh. right.”

it wasn’t as if you hadn’t expected it—this was part of the process, after all—but somehow the idea of sunghoon taking that particular measurement felt... different. the room seemed smaller, the air thicker as you watched him struggle to keep his composure.

his hand hovered for a moment, clearly unsure of what to do. “i—uh,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “just... hold still.”

you nodded, though you could feel the flush rising to your cheeks as he brought the tape around your chest, his fingers brushing the fabric of your dress with the lightest touch. his face was close now—closer than it had ever been—his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, heavy with the unspoken desires that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. his fingers fumbled slightly as he adjusted the tape, and for a brief moment, his hand brushed against your skin, sending a shock of electricity through you.

you inhaled sharply, your breath hitching at the unexpected contact, and sunghoon froze. his eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and startled, as if he hadn’t meant to let the moment slip.

“sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t mean to...”

“it’s fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

but he didn’t move away. his hand remained where it was, the heat of his palm radiating through the fabric. you could feel every inch of him—every breath, every subtle movement—and the closeness was dizzying. there was something in his eyes, something unspoken, that made your pulse race even faster.

you swallowed hard, your voice barely steady as you spoke. “sunghoon...”

he blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and quickly stepped back, dropping the measuring tape as if it had burned him. “i—i think that’s enough for now,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck again, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “i’ve got what i need.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “are you sure? i mean, if you need more measurements—”

“no!” he said, perhaps a little too quickly, then cleared his throat. “i mean, no. we’re good. i’ve got everything.”

the tension between you was palpable, thick and heavy, but neither of you knew how to break it. sunghoon busied himself with gathering the tape and jotting down notes, though his movements were jerky, his usual calm demeanour nowhere to be found.

you watched him, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest. there was an awkwardness, yes, but also something else—something that had been building between you for a long time, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over.

finally, sunghoon spoke again, though his voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “you know,” he said, not meeting your eyes, “you really do have... perfect proportions.”

your heart skipped a beat, his words catching you completely off guard. “what?”

he cleared his throat, rubbing his neck awkwardly once more. “i mean... for the dress,” he added quickly, as if trying to backtrack. “you have a really... balanced figure. for tailoring, i mean.”

you blinked, taken aback by the sudden compliment, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it. the way his voice softened, the way he fidgeted under your gaze, as if he were revealing more than he intended.

“i... thanks?” you managed, feeling your cheeks burn with a mix of surprise and awkwardness.

sunghoon gave you a tight-lipped smile, clearly as flustered as you were. “yeah. no problem.”

the silence that followed was thick and heavy, both of you too aware of the tension that had settled over the room like a heavy blanket. sunghoon quickly turned away, busying himself with his sketches, but the weight of the moment lingered in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart, but you knew—no matter how much you both tried to pretend otherwise—something between you had shifted. and neither of you were quite ready to confront it yet.

the days following that first measurement session seemed to blur together, each one filled with quiet moments, shared glances, and unspoken words that hung heavy in the air. sunghoon had thrown himself into the design, sketching feverishly as if creating your dress had become not just his project, but his obsession. every stroke of his pencil seemed deliberate, every detail in the fabric a reflection of how closely he had studied you—not just your body, but you as a person.

the workshop had become a second home to you, and you found yourself spending more and more time there as the dress took shape. each day, you would come in, greeted by the soft sounds of scissors slicing through fabric and the rhythmic hum of sunghoon’s needle as he stitched delicate patterns. his focus was unbreakable, yet there was always that moment when he would pause, look at you, and give a small, almost shy smile, as if he still couldn’t believe you were there, helping him create something so personal.

the tension between you grew thicker with every passing day. it was as if the fabric sunghoon was weaving was also binding the two of you together in ways neither of you had expected. there were the long stretches of silence, where the only sound was the soft brush of fabric against your skin as he worked, and then there were the moments when his hand would linger just a little too long as he adjusted the fit of a sleeve or pinned the hem of a skirt.

each session brought a new creation—a new dress, a new style. it had become almost routine: he would sketch out his ideas, asking for your thoughts on the design, and then you would model the fabric as he draped it over you, pinning it into place before moving on to the next step. but no matter how professional sunghoon tried to keep things, there was always that spark of something more lurking beneath the surface.

one afternoon, as you stood in the centre of the room, sunghoon paced around you, scrutinising the latest dress he had draped over your frame. this one was softer than the others, a light cream-coloured gown with delicate embroidery along the bodice. you could feel the weight of his gaze as he circled you, studying every fold, every contour, as if he were memorising the shape of you through the fabric.

“what do you think?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady, his eyes focused entirely on you.

you glanced down at the dress, running your fingers over the soft fabric. “it’s beautiful,” you murmured. “you’ve really outdone yourself.”

sunghoon didn’t respond right away. instead, he stepped closer, his brow furrowing slightly as he adjusted the neckline of the gown. his fingers grazed your collarbone as he worked, sending a shiver through you. he seemed to hesitate, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, before he cleared his throat and stepped back.

“i’m trying to capture... something,” he said, his voice trailing off as he picked up his pencil and notepad, scribbling down a few notes. “something that feels... like you.”

you blinked, surprised by his words. “like me?”

he nodded, not looking up from his notes. “it’s not just about the dress. it’s about how you move, how you carry yourself. i want to create something that feels like it belongs to you. not just any dress, but... your dress.”

there it was again—that intensity in his words, the way he seemed to see you in ways no one else ever had. you weren’t sure how to respond, so you simply nodded, letting the moment settle between you.

the sessions continued like this over the next two weeks, each one more charged than the last. sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching new designs late into the night, and every day you would return to see the progress he had made. he would greet you with that familiar smile, sometimes shy, sometimes teasing, and you would fall into the rhythm of your muse-and-artist routine.

but there was something else growing between you, something neither of you could ignore. each time sunghoon draped a new fabric over your shoulders, each time his fingers brushed your skin as he measured or adjusted the fit, the unspoken tension between you deepened. his compliments, once casual and light, became more thoughtful, more personal.

one day, as he worked on the finishing touches of a new gown—a soft lavender dress with delicate lace trimming—he paused, glancing at you from across the room. “you know,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “i’ve always known you were beautiful.”

you froze, your heart skipping a beat at his sudden confession. he didn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on the hem of the dress as he stitched. “i just... i don’t think i’ve ever told you that,” he continued, his voice almost hesitant.

the words hung in the air, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. sunghoon had always been complimentary in his own way—praising your grace or your proportions for the sake of his designs—but this was different. there was something raw, something vulnerable in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“sunghoon,” you began, but he quickly shook his head, cutting you off before you could continue.

“i’m not saying it for any reason,” he said quickly, his hands still busy with his stitching. “i just... i think it’s something you should know. you’re more than just a muse to me.”

your breath caught in your throat. the weight of his words was impossible to ignore now, the line between friend and something more growing blurrier with each passing day.

you watched him work, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the task at hand. the quiet intimacy of the moment settled around you like a soft cloak, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else existed outside of this room—just you, sunghoon, and the delicate threads of connection that were slowly being woven together.

by the time he finished the lavender dress, the air between you had shifted once again. there was no denying the feelings that had been bubbling beneath the surface for so long, but neither of you were ready to confront them. not yet.

“i think it’s done,” sunghoon said quietly, stepping back to admire the dress.

you turned, catching his eye for a brief moment before looking away, the tension between you still thick and unresolved.

“it’s perfect,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

sunghoon nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turned back to his sketches, his hands already moving toward the next design. but as he worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted once again, pulling you both closer to the inevitable.

the day sunghoon finally called you to his workshop to try on the completed dress, your heartbeat quickened with anticipation. you had witnessed pieces of the gown as it came together—folds of fabric, tiny swirls of embroidery—but you hadn’t yet seen the masterpiece in its entirety. now, standing at the doorway, you felt a fluttering mix of nerves and excitement, an invisible pull drawing you into sunghoon’s world once more.

as you stepped inside, you found sunghoon waiting, his face a picture of quiet intensity. he nodded toward the mannequin where the dress hung, his eyes unreadable but somehow deeper, darker than usual, as if holding back something unspoken.

when your gaze finally landed on the dress, your breath caught in your throat.

it was breathtaking.

the gown was nothing short of exquisite—lavender silk flowed like water from the bodice down to the floor, shimmering under the afternoon light that streamed through the windows. the neckline was delicately embroidered, the threads so fine they seemed like whispers etched into the fabric, while lace fluttered over the sleeves, giving the piece an ethereal, almost dream-like quality. the entire dress exuded elegance, but more than that, it felt like you—a reflection of something so deeply personal that you almost couldn’t believe sunghoon had captured it.

you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the gown. “sunghoon... i don’t even know what to say,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the edge of the fabric. “it’s perfect.”

he remained silent, watching you with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down your spine. his gaze didn’t waver as you admired the dress, his expression unreadable but brimming with something just beneath the surface.

“try it on,” he finally said, his voice low and steady, though there was a note of something raw in it.

nodding, you carefully took the dress from the mannequin and disappeared behind the changing screen, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. the fabric felt cool against your skin as you slipped into the gown, the weight of the silk settling around your body like it had been made just for you—which, of course, it had.

the dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the bodice fitting snugly while the skirt fanned out into a soft cascade of fabric. you ran your hands down the front, smoothing the delicate lace as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. it was perfect—no, more than perfect. it was everything you had dreamed of.

but there was one problem. as you reached behind your back to tie the strings that secured the dress, you quickly realised they were positioned just out of your reach. you stretched and fumbled, trying to catch the ties, but it was no use. frustration bubbled inside you, and after a few more futile attempts, you sighed in defeat.

“sunghoon?” your voice was hesitant, your cheeks warming as you called for his help.

“yes?” he replied, his voice soft but nearby.

“i... i can’t tie the strings on my own. could you—could you help me?” your request was almost timid, aware of the intimacy it required, but there was no other option.

a pause followed, but then you heard his footsteps approaching. he came closer, and the air between you seemed to shift, charged with a kind of tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“of course,” sunghoon said quietly. his voice had taken on a softer tone, one that sent a quiet thrill through you as you stood there, waiting, feeling the heat of his presence behind you.

you turned your back to him, exposing the bare skin between the open edges of the dress. the silence that followed was thick, palpable, as his fingers grazed the strings, brushing against your skin in the process. his touch was featherlight, but each accidental contact sent small jolts through you, your senses heightened by the proximity, the intimacy of the moment.

sunghoon worked with slow, deliberate care, pulling the strings through the loops at your back. his fingertips continued to brush your skin, his movements precise but betraying the tension in the way his breath seemed to catch when his hands touched you. you could feel his closeness—the heat radiating from his body, his steady breath that almost matched the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

in the mirror directly in front of you, you watched his expression as he tied the delicate knots. his brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, but there was something else, something simmering beneath the surface. his lips parted ever so slightly, his eyes darkening as they traced the movement of his hands against your skin. you couldn’t stop staring at him, watching the way his fingers worked, almost trembling as they lingered on your body longer than necessary.

your pulse quickened, your breath coming out a little too shallow, and you wondered if he could feel the way your muscles tensed under his touch. it was impossible to ignore the tension—something unspoken, something that had been building between you for weeks, was about to break.

“there,” sunghoon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. his hands remained on your waist, resting lightly against the fabric as though he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

you swallowed hard, watching him through the mirror. the look on his face wasn’t just one of pride in his work—it was something far deeper. his gaze softened as he admired the way the dress fit you, his fingers tightening slightly against your waist. “you look... beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “it suits you perfectly. is it comfortable?”

the words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the hushed tone, the way his eyes never left yours in the reflection—made your heart race. you nodded, unable to form words, still lost in the haze of the moment.

“it’s perfect,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

sunghoon’s hands stayed where they were, his touch sending a heat through you that was impossible to ignore. your eyes met his in the mirror, the intensity between you crackling like a flame barely held back. his grip on your waist tightened just a little, his fingers pressing into the fabric as though he were anchoring himself.

for a moment, everything froze. the workshop, the world outside—none of it seemed to matter. all that existed was the way he was looking at you, the way his breath hitched as he stood so close. his fingers brushed against your waist, just under the edge of the fabric, grazing the skin there ever so slightly.

then you turned around, and suddenly, the space between you was gone.

you were standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, your chest brushing against his as you moved. his eyes darted to your lips, then back up to your gaze, conflicted but full of want. the air was thick with tension, so much that you could hardly breathe, and then, without warning, sunghoon’s restraint snapped.

he kissed you.

the kiss was swift, almost frantic, as if he’d been holding it back for too long. his lips pressed against yours with a kind of hunger that sent shockwaves through your body, stealing your breath. one of his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, while the other remained at your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of the dress as though he were afraid you’d slip away. the kiss deepened, your senses overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth against yours, the way his hands held you like he’d never let go.

your mind spun in a whirlwind of sensation. the kiss was impulsive, raw, filled with all the feelings he had been holding back for so long. you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—all you could do was respond, kissing him back with the same intensity, the same desperate need that had been growing between you for weeks.

but then, reality crashed down.

sunghoon pulled back, his eyes wide with shock and regret, his breath ragged as he stared at you. “i—” his voice faltered, his hand still lingering on your waist, trembling slightly. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i didn’t mean to—”

you were just as dazed, your heart still pounding, your lips still tingling from the kiss. “it’s... it’s okay,” you said, though the words felt hollow. the kiss had left you reeling, and you weren’t sure what to think, what to feel.

sunghoon’s expression twisted with regret, his hands falling away from your waist as he stepped back. “we shouldn’t have—” he shook his head, his face pale. “i crossed a line.”

you swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you shift into something heavier, something filled with confusion and guilt. “maybe we should forget this happened,” you whispered, though the weight of the kiss still lingered in the air.

he nodded, his expression tight, though the pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “yeah. let’s... forget it.”

but neither of you could. the kiss, the way his hands had held you, the way your heart had raced—it was etched into the fabric of your friendship now, impossible to untangle.

word had spread quickly about sunghoon's exceptional craftsmanship. it began with whispers among the town’s elite, impressed with the stunning gown he had created for you, and soon, nobles from far and wide were flocking to his workshop, eager to have their own garments custom-made by his skilled hands. what had once been a modest business now thrived under the weight of new orders, with sunghoon’s talent finally receiving the recognition it deserved.

every day the workshop buzzed with activity—fine fabrics and intricate patterns sprawled across every surface, and sunghoon worked tirelessly, sketching designs, selecting fabrics, and stitching together dreams. you often found yourself there, as his muse, watching as he brought these creations to life, offering input or simply keeping him company through the long hours. his success was yours to share, and you couldn’t have been more proud.

one day, a letter arrived from the royal palace itself. the princess had heard of sunghoon’s work and requested him personally to craft a gown for her upcoming ball. the letter was written in elegant script on fine parchment, a formal request for his presence at the palace to discuss the details of the gown. when he read it aloud to you, you could hardly contain your excitement.

“sunghoon, this is incredible!” you exclaimed, beaming at him as he held the letter in his hands. his eyes shone with a mixture of pride and disbelief, as though he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

“it’s surreal,” he admitted, glancing at you with a smile that warmed you from the inside out. “i never thought i’d be making dresses for royalty.”

“you deserve it,” you said earnestly, feeling your heart swell with admiration for him. “you’ve worked so hard, and now everyone can see just how talented you are.”

sunghoon’s smile faltered for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes as he looked at you. “i couldn’t have done it without you,” he said softly. there was a weight to his words, a depth of feeling that you felt but couldn’t quite name. your heart skipped a beat, but before you could respond, he turned away, folding the letter carefully.

the trip to the palace was an experience neither of you would forget. the sprawling estate, the opulence of the interiors, the sense of awe that filled you as you walked through the grand halls—it was like stepping into another world. sunghoon had been invited to meet with the princess and discuss her gown, and as his muse and close friend, you accompanied him.

the princess was gracious and kind, and she spoke with sunghoon about the design she envisioned, praising his previous work. throughout the conversation, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, watching the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, his artistic mind already turning over the details of the gown in his head. it was hard not to feel a swell of pride, knowing you had played a part in his journey to this moment.

afterward, when the order had been placed and the royal commission secured, sunghoon suggested you both celebrate the occasion.

the restaurant was warm and cosy, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, far removed from the grandeur of the palace. the two of you had shared many meals together over the years, but tonight felt different. the weight of sunghoon’s newfound success hung in the air between you, the knowledge that his life—your lives—were changing in ways you hadn’t fully anticipated.

you sat across from him, toasting to his success with glasses of wine, laughter bubbling up as you reminisced about old times. “do you remember the time we tried to make that dress for my cousin’s wedding, and the fabric tore right before the ceremony?” you said, laughing as you recalled the chaos.

sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head. “how could i forget? i thought i was finished as a tailor before i even started.”

“but you saved it in the end,” you said, your smile softening as you looked at him. “you’ve always had this way of making things beautiful, even when they seem impossible.”

his laughter faded, and for a moment, there was a lingering silence between you. his gaze met yours, and the atmosphere seemed to shift—something unspoken hung between you, thick and heavy like the summer air. the warmth from the wine and the closeness of the moment made it difficult to focus on anything else but him—the way the candlelight flickered against his features, the way his eyes softened when they lingered on you just a little too long.

he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “you know, this success… it’s more than i ever thought possible. and i don’t think i could have done it without you by my side.”

his words struck a chord deep within you, the intensity in his eyes making your breath hitch. there it was again—that undercurrent of something more, something that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to break free.

your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned in slightly, your faces just inches apart. the air between you crackled with anticipation, the proximity sending sparks down your spine. you could feel the warmth of his breath, the space between you narrowing with every passing second. your eyes locked, and in that moment, it felt like the world had fallen away.

the moment stretched on, and you could feel your heart racing, your pulse thundering in your ears. he was so close now, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that all it would take was one small movement, one tiny step forward, and—

“i’m getting married,” you blurted out, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

sunghoon froze, his eyes widening in shock. the spell between you shattered, and you immediately regretted speaking, but there was no taking it back now. the air between you went cold, and you felt your stomach drop as the weight of your announcement settled over the table like a heavy blanket.

“what?” his voice was low, strained, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard.

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “my parents... they’ve arranged a marriage for me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m engaged.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stared at you, his expression unreadable, though you could see the flicker of pain in his eyes. his jaw clenched slightly, his hand tightening around his glass as if he were trying to steady himself.

“when?” he finally asked, his voice tight, controlled.

“the date hasn’t been set yet,” you admitted, feeling your throat tighten with guilt. “but... soon.”

sunghoon sat back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the table. for a long moment, he didn’t say anything, the silence between you stretching into something unbearable. you could see the conflict in his eyes—the hurt, the frustration, the confusion. the tension that had been building between you for weeks, months even, was now thick with an unspoken finality.

finally, he looked up at you, his eyes dark and clouded with emotion. “congratulations,” he said quietly, though the word felt hollow, like it had been ripped from him unwillingly.

your heart sank, a wave of disappointment washing over you. you had expected... well, you didn’t know what you had expected. for him to fight for you, maybe, to protest or say something that would change everything. but instead, all you got was a distant, polite congratulations.

“sunghoon—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“i’m happy for you,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed his true feelings. “i’m sure he’s a good man.”

the words stung, more than you had anticipated, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep ache in your chest. this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. but what could you say? you were engaged, and he... he was congratulating you, just as any friend would.

“yeah,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “thanks.”

but neither of you was happy, and you both knew it.

the walk back home felt heavier than usual. the excitement and easy flow of conversation that had filled the night seemed to dissipate into an awkward, thick silence. sunghoon walked beside you, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, eyes focused on the road ahead. normally, you’d both talk about everything and nothing—jokes, shared memories, or the latest designs he had been working on. but tonight, every step felt strained, as if the unspoken words were choking both of you.

you could feel the weight of what had happened at the restaurant still hanging between you, as if the tension you hadn’t acted on had only grown with your admission. sunghoon had insisted on walking you home, just as he always did, though the usual warmth in the gesture felt distant now. neither of you had tried to break the silence, though you kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of your eye.

his face was unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line as he walked with an unusual stiffness. you wanted to say something, to break the thick silence, but no words came. the engagement had changed everything between you, and you hated how powerless it made you feel. there was a dull ache in your chest as you watched him struggle with the weight of emotions he clearly wasn’t ready to share.

when your house came into view, you slowed your steps, almost wishing the walk could last just a little longer. but it didn’t. you reached your doorstep, and just as you were about to thank sunghoon for the walk, the door swung open.

your mother appeared, her face lighting up the moment she saw the two of you standing there. “sunghoon! what a surprise!” she exclaimed warmly, stepping out and pulling him into an embrace before he could protest. “you look so well!”

sunghoon smiled politely, though you could tell he was caught off guard by her enthusiasm. “good evening, ma’am. i was just walking your daughter home.”

your mother beamed, glancing at you with that knowing look of hers. “he always does, doesn’t he?” she teased lightly. “such a good boy.”

“mama...” you muttered, feeling embarrassed.

but your mother wasn’t finished. “come in, come in! you can’t just leave him standing outside like that,” she scolded, ushering sunghoon into the house before either of you could object. you shot him an apologetic look, but he waved it off with a small smile as he followed her inside.

the warmth of your home enveloped you both, the familiar scent of dinner lingering in the air. your father was sitting by the fire, and when he saw sunghoon, his face brightened. “ah, there’s the young tailor everyone’s talking about! come, sit with us.”

sunghoon looked between you and your parents, clearly not wanting to intrude, but it was hard to refuse the hospitality of your family. you watched as he settled into one of the chairs near the fire, his polite smile fixed in place, though you could sense the unease in his posture.

your mother sat beside him, clasping his hands in hers as she looked at him with pride. “sunghoon, i’ve heard such incredible things about your work lately. everyone is talking about you, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

you could see the discomfort in his eyes as your mother’s words began to feel more like a reminder of the distance between you. he offered her a tight smile. “thank you. it’s been... unexpected.”

“and well deserved!” your father chimed in. “we always knew you’d make something of yourself, ever since you were little.”

your mother nodded eagerly, her gaze softening as she looked at him fondly. “we’ve seen you grow up alongside our daughter, sunghoon. you two have always been so close... practically inseparable.”

you stiffened at the words, knowing what was coming next.

“which is why,” your mother continued, glancing at you briefly before turning back to sunghoon, “it’s been so hard for her, this whole engagement business.”

your stomach twisted. the topic you had been dreading was now out in the open, and you didn’t miss the way sunghoon’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. he was trying to stay composed, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes was unmistakable.

“she’s protested quite a bit, hasn’t she?” your mother added, her tone half-amused, half-concerned.

sunghoon’s eyes darted toward you, his surprise evident. you could see the confusion in his expression as he processed your mother’s words. you hadn’t said yes to the engagement? not fully? he had assumed you had accepted it without question, but now...

you averted your gaze, feeling your cheeks flush under the weight of both his and your parents’ attention. you hadn’t exactly fought against the engagement with much force either. it was an unspoken understanding between you and your family that the marriage would happen eventually, even if your heart wasn’t fully in it. but now, seeing sunghoon’s expression shift, you could see the conflict in his eyes.

your mother continued on, oblivious to the tension now thick in the air. “it’s just nerves, of course. every girl feels a bit uncertain before a big step like this.” she smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “she’ll come around.”

you wanted to protest, to say something that would dispel the awkward silence stretching between you and sunghoon, but the words caught in your throat. instead, your mother’s next words hit like a hammer, unknowingly driving the wedge deeper.

“actually,” she began, her voice suddenly filled with excitement, “we were hoping you could help us with something, sunghoon.”

he blinked, taken aback by her tone. “of course, ma’am. what is it?”

“well,” she said, glancing at you with a grin, “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?”

the room felt as if it had dropped several degrees, the weight of her request pressing down on all of you. you felt your stomach churn, a sinking feeling of dread settling in. you hadn’t expected this—he hadn’t expected this. you watched as sunghoon’s expression faltered for the briefest moment, his composure slipping as the full impact of your mother’s words hit him.

make your wedding dress. your wedding dress.

he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’d be honored,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

your mother clapped her hands together, beaming with delight. “oh, that’s wonderful! i knew we could count on you, sunghoon.”

he stood up then, a sudden stiffness in his movements. “thank you for your kindness,” he said, his voice more formal now. “but it’s late, and i should be going.”

your mother stood as well, ushering him toward the door with a fond smile. “of course, of course. but we must meet soon to discuss the dress!”

sunghoon nodded, his gaze avoiding yours as he headed for the door. you followed behind in silence, the heaviness between you both suffocating.

at the doorstep, he paused, his hand resting on the doorframe as he turned to face you one last time. there was something broken in his expression, a quiet sadness that you couldn’t quite place. for a moment, it seemed as if he might say something—something real, something raw—but then, he simply nodded.

“good night,” he whispered, before turning and walking away.

as you watched him disappear into the night, your heart ached with the words left unsaid, the feelings unspoken, and the love you both were too afraid to fight for.

as sunghoon walked through the dimly lit streets, the cool night air did little to ease the storm brewing inside him. each step echoed in the stillness, but his mind was anything but calm. the evening had turned from tense excitement into a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.

he replayed your mother’s words over and over in his mind: “who better to make our daughter’s wedding dress than the most talented designer in town?” the words had cut deeper than any blade, the cruel irony of it all making his heart twist painfully. he had dreamed of crafting something beautiful for you, yes, but never like this. not for someone else’s wedding. not for the marriage that would take you away from him.

sunghoon clenched his fists, his knuckles white as his nails bit into his palms. a marriage. to someone else. he could barely picture it, the idea so foreign and painful that it seemed absurd. but the reality was right there, looming in front of him like an unstoppable force. he had always known that this day would come. you were from a noble family, destined to marry someone of status. and him? he was a tailor, nothing more. his growing reputation in town meant little in comparison to the weight of your family’s expectations.

it’s for the best, he told himself, over and over, like a mantra he hoped would dull the pain. your life with that man—whoever he was—would be easier, more secure. you’d live the life you were meant to lead, filled with luxury, stability, and everything a noblewoman deserved. sunghoon had nothing to offer in comparison. even with his recent success, his craft could never provide you with the life that an arranged marriage could.

sunghoon’s pace quickened, the weight of his emotions making it harder to breathe. his mind whirled with a painful realization: it’s better this way. he had no right to confess his feelings to you now. no right to complicate your life any further. you were getting married, and he had to respect that. confessing his love wouldn’t change anything—it would only hurt you more, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the cause of your pain.

he thought of the way you had looked at him tonight, how your eyes had softened when you admitted that you hadn’t agreed to the marriage yet. the flicker of hope that had briefly ignited in his chest had been swiftly extinguished by the cold voice of reason. you deserved better than him, better than a life filled with uncertainty and struggle. and even though it tore him apart inside, sunghoon knew he had to let you go.

she’ll be happier without me. the thought twisted like a knife in his heart, but he held onto it like a lifeline. it was easier to believe that than to face the truth—that he was simply too afraid. too afraid to fight for you, too afraid of what loving you truly meant. because if he did confess, if he asked you to choose him, what then? you would have to give up your life of comfort, your family’s support, and the future they had planned for you. and what if you regretted that decision later? what if he couldn’t be enough for you?

no. he wouldn’t let that happen. he couldn’t risk it.

by the time sunghoon reached his workshop, his heart was heavy with the decision he had made. he stepped inside, the familiar smell of fabric and wood filling the space around him, but it no longer brought him any comfort. he stood in the dim light, surrounded by the tools of his trade—the very things that had brought him success—and felt nothing but emptiness.

he wouldn’t confess. he couldn’t.

because he loved you too much to ask you to settle for less.

the tension between you and sunghoon hung in the air like a thick fog, clouding everything you had once held dear.

he avoided you, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. each passing day, you found yourself hoping—desperately—that he would come to you, that he would say something to stop the impending wedding. but instead, sunghoon pretended to be okay. he carried on with his work, his life, as if the confession hadn’t happened. as if you hadn’t bared your soul to him and he hadn’t done the same. he buried his emotions, putting on that same calm, controlled front, and it drove you mad.

he wouldn’t fight for you.

your heart ached with the realisation, and it became painfully clear during the next few days that sunghoon had no intention of changing the course of things. the silence between you both was unbearable, the distance growing wider with each passing moment. and just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, your parents made it worse.

they scheduled an appointment with sunghoon for the most painful task yet: designing your wedding dress.

the irony of it was too cruel. sunghoon, the man who knew every inch of you, who had memorised your shape, your measurements, who had held you so intimately in his arms, was now tasked with crafting the gown you would wear as you married someone else. it was the final blow, the final insult, to a relationship that had been ripped apart by circumstances you couldn’t control.

when the day of the appointment arrived, you found yourself standing outside his workshop, dread pooling in your stomach. you didn’t want to go inside. you didn’t want to face him, not after everything that had happened, and certainly not for this.

with a deep breath, you pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar space that now felt cold and foreign. sunghoon was already there, standing by his work table with rolls of fabric laid out in front of him, but the usual warmth in his eyes was absent. he looked up when you entered, his expression neutral, professional. he greeted you with a small nod.

“let’s get started,” he said, his voice low, as if he too was trying to suppress the emotions that lingered just beneath the surface.

you could barely look at him. the air was thick with tension, and you forced yourself to speak, though your voice came out flat, distant.

“i don’t even know why i’m here,” you muttered, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “this is just… a formality.”

sunghoon’s eyes flickered briefly with something—hurt, maybe—but he masked it quickly. “your parents want you to have the perfect dress. it’s important to them.”

the atmosphere inside sunghoon’s workshop felt suffocating. you sat rigidly on a small chair, staring at the neatly folded fabrics in front of you while sunghoon prepared his tools. everything about the moment felt forced, mechanical, nothing like the ease and flow of your previous sessions together. you didn’t want to be there. and you were making it painfully clear.

sunghoon turned to face you, holding a few sketches in his hand, his face expressionless. but you could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken pain that lingered between you both. he wasn’t the same, and neither were you.

“so,” he began, keeping his voice calm and professional, “do you have any preferences for the neckline? maybe something you’ve always liked?”

you shrugged, not even looking up at him. “don’t know. don’t care.”

his brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, nodding as if that response was perfectly normal. he glanced down at the sketches again, adjusting the paper. “okay… how about the fabric? i was thinking something soft, maybe silk? or—”

“whatever,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “doesn’t matter.”

sunghoon paused, his eyes lingering on you for a moment. you could feel his gaze, heavy with concern, but you refused to meet it. you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how hurt you were, how badly you wanted him to say something, anything, that would change this.

he sighed quietly, turning back to his worktable. “i just want to make sure it’s perfect for you,” he said softly, his voice gentle but strained. “this is an important day…”

you clenched your jaw, the words digging into your heart like shards of glass. an important day? for who? certainly not for you. he kept talking about the wedding as if it were inevitable, as if you were excited about it, and it made your blood boil.

“what about the waistline?” he asked again, forcing the conversation to continue. “something fitted, or maybe a bit more relaxed?”

“i don’t care,” you replied tersely, your tone sharp. “you’re the expert, right? just do whatever.”

the silence that followed was deafening. sunghoon stood still for a moment, his hands resting on the fabrics, his back to you. you saw the slight slump in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the table just a little too tightly, and for a second, you almost regretted your words.

but the frustration bubbling inside you wouldn’t let up. you had come here hoping, praying, that he would give you a reason to stop the wedding, that he would fight for you. instead, you were sitting here discussing necklines and fabric as if everything was perfectly fine, as if you weren’t on the verge of losing everything.

he turned back around, this time holding a measuring tape. “let’s… start with your measurements,” he said, his voice sounding tired, defeated.

you stood up reluctantly, moving toward him, your movements stiff and reluctant. you stood there in the middle of the room, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest.

sunghoon stepped closer, the tape measure in his hands, and for a moment, you both stood in silence, the tension between you thick and suffocating. his proximity felt overwhelming, but this time, it wasn’t filled with the same spark as before. instead, it was heavy, burdened with all the things you both refused to say.

he hesitated for a second before gently wrapping the tape around your waist. his fingers brushed lightly against your skin, but there was no tenderness in the touch. it was robotic, methodical, like he was forcing himself to distance every part of him from you.

“what about the sleeves?” he asked quietly, trying to fill the silence. “long or short?”

“whatever,” you snapped. “it doesn’t matter. none of this matters.”

sunghoon froze for a moment, his hands stilling against your waist. the silence stretched between you, thick with unresolved tension, before he pulled away, the tape measure slipping from his fingers. he turned to face you, his expression strained, frustration and confusion swirling in his eyes.

“what’s going on with you?” he finally asked, his voice low but firm. “why are you acting like this?”

you stared at him, your chest heaving with a mix of anger and sorrow. his question was the breaking point, the floodgates that had been holding everything back bursting open all at once.

“why am i acting like this?” you repeated, your voice trembling with emotion. “because you’re standing here, pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not!”

sunghoon’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

“this dress… this wedding… none of it matters to me!” you continued, your voice growing louder with every word. “i don’t want this. i never wanted this. and you know it, sunghoon. you know it better than anyone!”

he opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. the words kept pouring out, all the frustration and pain you had been bottling up for weeks finally spilling over.

“i’ve been waiting for you to say something, to do something—anything—that would make me stop this wedding. but you’ve just been standing there, acting like this is what i want when you know it isn’t!” your voice cracked, your hands trembling at your sides. “why won’t you say anything? why won’t you fight for me?”

sunghoon stared at you, the weight of your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. he looked down, his shoulders sagging as if the burden of everything you had just said was too much to bear.

“i… i thought this was what you wanted,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i thought you deserved someone better than me. someone who could give you everything i can’t.”

you felt your heart clench painfully in your chest, the ache of his words almost unbearable. “that’s not for you to decide!” you shot back, your voice breaking. “you think i care about any of that? i don’t. i never did. the only thing i care about is you.”

the silence that followed was thick with raw emotion. sunghoon stood there, his expression torn, his hands trembling at his sides. he looked like he wanted to say something, like he was finally ready to fight, but the fear in his eyes held him back.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i’m so sorry.”

the apology shattered whatever was left of your composure. you turned away, not able to stand the sight of him any longer.

“i don’t want to wear a wedding dress if it’s not for you,” you said quietly, tears brimming in your eyes. you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced yourself to leave, your heart breaking with every step you took toward the door.

sunghoon didn’t try to stop you. he just stood there, broken, as you walked out of his life.

it was the dead of night, the streets shrouded in silence, broken only by the soft crunch of your hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t. not when you had finally made your decision. with nothing but the small bags clutched in your hands, you walked with purpose, heart pounding as you made your way toward sunghoon’s home.

the weight of the evening air pressed against your skin, thick with the lingering tension that had been suffocating you for days. since that fateful conversation at his workshop, the ache in your chest had only deepened, every moment spent away from him gnawing at you. there was no escaping it. you couldn’t go through with the marriage. not when you knew where your heart truly lay.

the small house loomed ahead, a single dim light flickering from the window, signalling that sunghoon was still awake. your pulse quickened, the gravity of what you were about to do hitting you all at once. you were throwing away everything—your family’s expectations, your arranged marriage, the life you had been destined to live—all for him. and yet, none of it scared you.

because sunghoon was worth it. he was the only thing you wanted.

you reached the door, your breath shallow as you hesitated for a split second, your heart hammering in your chest. then, without another thought, you raised your hand and knocked.

a few moments passed, the silence inside the house dragging on like an eternity before you heard soft footsteps approaching. the door creaked open, revealing sunghoon standing there, his hair tousled, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw you standing there, drenched in moonlight, with your bags in hand.

“y/n?” his voice was laced with confusion, concern flickering across his features as he glanced between you and the bags at your side. “what are you—what’s going on?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stepped forward, crossing the threshold into his home without invitation, leaving him to close the door behind you. the room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows across the familiar space where so much of your time together had unfolded. it felt both comforting and surreal to be here now, on the brink of something monumental.

“i couldn’t do it,” you said at last, your voice barely a whisper but filled with determination. “i couldn’t marry him, sunghoon.”

he stood there, frozen, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what do you mean? the wedding—it’s—”

“i don’t want to marry him,” you interrupted, turning to face him fully, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made your heart race. “i don’t want any of this. the wedding, the life my parents planned for me—it’s not what i want. it’s never been what i wanted.”

sunghoon’s breath hitched, his confusion deepening, but you could see the glimmer of hope slowly dawning in his eyes. “then… what are you saying?”

you dropped your bags to the floor and stepped closer to him, the raw emotion swirling inside you finally breaking free. “what i’m saying is that i’m here, right now, because i’m choosing you, sunghoon. all i’ve ever wanted is you. i thought—i hoped—you’d feel the same. but you never said anything. and i can’t keep waiting.”

his eyes widened, a storm of emotions flashing across his face. he looked torn between disbelief and longing, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out.

“i know you think i deserve better,” you continued, your voice growing more urgent, your hands trembling slightly as you reached out to him, “but i don’t care about that. i don’t care about anything except you. all i wanted—all i ever wanted—was for you to tell me you felt the same. to fight for me.”

sunghoon swallowed thickly, his eyes locked on yours, and for the first time since you had shown up, he looked utterly vulnerable. “i do… i do feel the same, y/n. i’ve always felt the same. but i thought—” his voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “i thought you’d be better off without me. i was afraid i’d ruin your life if i held you back from everything you deserve.”

you shook your head fiercely, your heart pounding. “you’re wrong. you never would have ruined anything. the only thing that’s been ruining me is the thought of losing you.”

tears welled up in his eyes, his composure crumbling as the weight of his emotions finally caught up to him. he took a step closer, his hands reaching out to gently cup your face. his touch was warm, familiar, filled with the tenderness that had been missing for so long.

“y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “i don’t deserve you… but i can’t let you go.”

your breath caught in your throat as the distance between you vanished. his hands trembled slightly against your skin, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. you could feel the raw need, the longing that had been suppressed for too long, finally coming to the surface.

“then don’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “don’t let me go, sunghoon. i love you. i’ve always loved you. and i’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.”

the words seemed to unlock something in him. without another second of hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, passionate kiss that spoke of all the years of pent-up desire and unspoken feelings between you. it was everything you had hoped for, everything you had longed for—pure, unfiltered love.

when he finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes still closed, as if savouring the moment.

“run away with me,” you whispered, your hands still tangled in his shirt. “we can leave this place, start a new life. i don’t care where we go as long as i’m with you.”

sunghoon opened his eyes, searching yours for any hint of doubt, but all he saw was determination—love. a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped him, his fingers tracing the lines of your face as if committing them to memory.

“are you sure?” he asked, his voice shaking. “are you really sure about this?”

you smiled, leaning into his touch, your heart swelling with the certainty of your decision. “i’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

sunghoon closed his eyes again, pulling you into a tight embrace, as if afraid to let go. “i love you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw with emotion. “i’ve always loved you.”

tears of relief and joy welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. this was what you had been waiting for. this was all you ever needed.

“we’ll leave tonight,” he whispered, his voice resolute. “we’ll start over, just the two of us.”

you nodded, a smile breaking through the tears as you felt the weight of the world lifting from your shoulders. this was your new beginning. your future with sunghoon, the one you had always dreamed of.

and together, you knew you could face whatever came next.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting its pale glow over the winding road that stretched out before you and sunghoon. the cool night air clung to your skin as you both moved in silence, hearts pounding in unison as you left the only life you had ever known behind. with each step, the weight of your decision lifted, replaced by a thrill that sent shivers down your spine.

you glanced over at sunghoon, his face illuminated by the moonlight, a mix of determination and exhilaration playing on his features. his hand gripped yours tightly, as if afraid to let go, as if letting go would mean losing you forever. neither of you had spoken much since leaving his house, but the unspoken understanding between you was stronger than ever.

the path ahead was unknown, but that no longer frightened you. in fact, it excited you.

as you crested the hill that overlooked your town, you both stopped for a moment, turning to take in the view one last time. the place where you had grown up, where your families lived, where your life had been planned out for you—it all felt so distant now, like a world you were no longer part of.

you turned to sunghoon, a soft smile tugging at your lips despite the enormity of what you were doing. “so… where are we going?”

he turned to look at you, his eyes filled with that familiar spark of ambition you had always admired. “there’s a city,” he began, his voice low and steady. “a place i’ve always dreamed of going. it’s known for fashion, for artisans, for people like me who want to make a name for themselves.”

you could see the excitement dancing in his eyes, the dream he had always kept close to his heart. “i’ve heard of it,” you said, your smile growing. “you’re talking about sorina, aren’t you?”

he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “yes. it’s always been my dream to open my own studio there. to create something that’s entirely mine. but… i never thought i’d actually go. i didn’t think i’d have the chance.”

your heart swelled with pride and affection as you looked at him. “well, now you do,” you said softly. “and you’re not going alone.”

his expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you—really looked at you, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening. then, with a quiet laugh, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “i don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

you smiled against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. “you’re wrong. you’re everything i deserve.”

with one final glance at the town behind you, the two of you turned and began your journey to sorina, the city of dreams. the road ahead was long, but the promise of a new life with sunghoon made every step feel lighter. the thought of him creating masterpieces, of you being by his side as his muse, filled you with a hope you had never known.

and as the two of you settled into your new life in sorina, that peace only grew. sunghoon’s dreams were coming to life with every stitch, every sketch. he was thriving in a way that you had always known he could, and you were there to see it all. your role as his muse was more than a job or a title—it was the culmination of your deep connection, your bond that had grown through years of friendship and love unspoken.

there were moments when the thought of your parents crossed your mind. the guilt of running away lingered in the back of your heart at times, knowing how much they had hoped for you to marry into the match they had chosen. you wondered if they were angry, disappointed, or hurt by your decision. but as days turned into weeks, those worries faded. you knew your parents—they loved you too much to hold on to their disappointment forever.

"i’m sure they’ll forgive me," you said one evening, resting your head on sunghoon's shoulder as you both watched the busy city streets from your studio. "they’ll come to understand… eventually."

sunghoon looked at you, his eyes searching your face for any signs of doubt. “you really think so?”

you nodded, smiling softly. “i know they will. they’ve always wanted me to be happy. and when they see how happy we are… when they see all you’ve achieved, they’ll realise we made the right choice.”

he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “i hope so,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with warmth. “i just want you to have everything you deserve. i want them to see that.”

“they will,” you reassured him, your voice soft but firm. “they’ve known you all your life, sunghoon. they know how hard you’ve worked. they’ll see why i chose you. why we chose each other.”

sunghoon’s lips curved into a small smile, one that made your heart flutter. “we’ll make a life together that’s worth showing them. one day, when they see what we’ve built, they’ll understand.”

and deep down, you knew he was right. your parents loved you, and in time, they would see the joy that your life with sunghoon brought you. they would forgive the abrupt departure, the wedding that never was. because while it wasn’t the life they had envisioned for you, it was the one you had always dreamed of.

as sunghoon’s studio grew, and as the two of you thrived in sorina, you no longer felt the weight of your decision. you had chosen love over duty, dreams over expectations. and in the end, you knew it would all work out. one day, when the time was right, you would return to your parents—not as the daughter who had run away, but as the woman who had found her happiness.

for now, though, the life you had built with sunghoon was everything you had ever wanted. the city of fashion, the thriving studio, the man you loved—it was more than enough.

and with every stitch sunghoon sewed, every dress he designed, you were reminded that you had made the right choice. together, you had found your place in the world. and you had no doubt that the people you loved most would come to understand that too.

BONUS SCENE !

in sorina, life had unfolded beautifully, and not just for sunghoon. the city may have been known for fashion, but it was also a hub of opportunity for anyone willing to carve out their own path—and you had done just that.

while sunghoon spent his days sketching and tailoring in his studio, you found your own passion and footing in the city. before long, you’d built something of your own—a modest business in jewellery making, a craft you had dabbled in back home but now took seriously. the bustling markets of sorina were filled with artisans from every walk of life, and soon your intricately designed pieces caught the eye of locals and visitors alike.

at first, it was a hobby. a way to pass the time while sunghoon worked. but it didn’t take long for you to gain recognition. your designs, delicate yet bold, paired perfectly with the high-end garments sunghoon was crafting. your pieces began to complement his work, and you both realised the potential of collaborating together—not just in love but in business.

the two of you often worked late into the night, your small workbench tucked in the corner of his studio. sunghoon would be bent over his latest creation, needles and thread in hand, while you arranged shimmering stones and metals into intricate patterns.

“you know,” sunghoon said one evening, breaking the comfortable silence between you, “we’re going to need a bigger space soon.”

you looked up from your work, raising an eyebrow. “why’s that?”

he smirked, nodding toward the scattered jewellery and sketches of new designs littering the floor. “because you’re taking over my studio, that’s why.”

you chuckled, shaking your head as you placed a bracelet you’d been working on down on the table. “i think we both know you’re the one taking up all the space. these fabrics are everywhere.”

“touché,” he replied with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “but i’m serious. your business is growing. people are asking for your pieces specifically now. you’ve got clients lined up at the door. we can’t keep pretending this is just a side gig.”

you shrugged, but your smile betrayed your pride. “maybe. but it’s not like i’m doing this on my own. you’ve helped me a lot. half of the clients only know about my jewellery because it’s paired with your designs.”

sunghoon shook his head. “no. they come for you. you’ve worked hard to get here. don’t downplay that.”

his words warmed your heart, and you leaned back in your chair, watching him for a moment. “i guess we’ve both come a long way, haven’t we?”

he met your gaze, the familiar spark of affection lighting up his eyes. “more than i ever imagined.”

as the weeks passed, the collaboration between your jewellery and sunghoon’s garments became the talk of the city. nobles and royals who ordered dresses from sunghoon began requesting matching jewellery pieces from you. soon, you were no longer just sunghoon’s muse or his partner—you were an established name in your own right.

at events and gatherings, whispers of “have you seen her designs?” filled the halls, your name mentioned alongside sunghoon’s, but never overshadowed by it. the partnership between the two of you was equal, balanced by your mutual respect and admiration for one another’s talents. while sunghoon’s studio flourished, so did your own reputation. you set up a small stall in the heart of the city, your jewellery catching the sunlight and drawing the attention of passersby. with each new order, you found yourself standing more confidently in this new life you had built.

one evening, as the two of you sat in the now-expanded studio, reviewing orders and discussing the future, sunghoon turned to you, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“so, what’s next for you? you’ve got clients begging for your work, you’re practically a household name now,” he teased, nudging you gently. “maybe it’s time you open your own studio, too?”

you smiled, considering his words. “maybe. i’ve been thinking about it, actually.”

sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “oh? you’ve got plans you’re not telling me?”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “no, nothing concrete. but i do think it’s time i take things to the next level. i want to expand, maybe hire a few apprentices. i don’t want to just make jewellery—i want to teach others how to do it, too. there’s a lot of talent in this city that deserves to be nurtured.”

he looked at you with such pride in his eyes, it made your heart swell. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you shrugged, trying to downplay your excitement. “i’m just doing what i love.”

“and you’re damn good at it,” he said firmly. “don’t forget that.”

it wasn’t long before you made that dream a reality. you secured a space in one of the city’s artisan districts, a small but beautiful shop where you could sell your creations and train apprentices in the art of jewellery making. the shop was an extension of yourself—chic, elegant, and full of the creativity that had always been a part of you.

soon, your shop became as well-known as sunghoon’s studio. the two of you were often talked about together, not as a couple who had run away from their old lives, but as two individuals who had built something remarkable side by side.

every piece of jewellery you created had its own story, just as every dress sunghoon designed had its own flair. and while you both supported each other’s work, neither of you relied solely on the other to define your success.

the life you had built together in sorina was not just about love—it was about the dreams you had both nurtured and the independence you cherished. you were more than sunghoon’s muse. you were a creator, a designer, a businesswoman in your own right.

as the sun set over sorina, casting a warm, golden glow across the city, you stood at the threshold of your jewelry shop, taking in the scene before you. the streets were alive with people bustling between vendors, artisans displaying their wares, and musicians playing softly in the distance. your heart swelled with contentment as you looked out over the life you had built, not just for yourself, but alongside sunghoon.

the sound of footsteps broke you from your thoughts, and you turned just in time to see him approaching. his face was illuminated by the setting sun, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he drew closer. even after all this time, your heart still skipped a beat whenever you saw him. there was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence, the kindness in his eyes, that always made you feel safe and cherished.

"busy day?" he asked, his voice low and familiar as he stopped in front of you, his gaze warm.

you nodded, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. "busier than usual. i think word is spreading faster than i expected. what about you? how’s the studio?"

he chuckled, glancing back toward his own shop down the street. "same here. we might need to start hiring more help."

you laughed softly, and the two of you stood there for a moment, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere around you. the city was beautiful in the fading light, and for a brief second, everything felt perfect. but then sunghoon shifted slightly, his eyes locking with yours, and you saw something deeper flicker in them—something that had never fully disappeared.

without a word, he reached out, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a little too long. the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension that had only grown stronger over the months.

“you’ve got a speck of something,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more intimate. “right here.”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as his fingers lightly grazed your skin. “thanks,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice.

sunghoon didn’t pull away immediately. instead, he stayed close, his eyes never leaving yours. there was something different in his gaze tonight—something tender, yet intense. and as you looked back at him, you felt the weight of all the moments you’d shared, the quiet yearning that had simmered between you since the day you’d arrived in this city together.

“do you ever think about… everything?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the stillness. he didn’t have to explain further. you both knew exactly what he meant.

you swallowed hard, your heart racing. “i do,” you admitted quietly. “every day.”

his hand slipped down to your waist, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. but when you didn’t pull away, he drew you in closer, until your bodies were nearly touching, the warmth of his chest radiating against yours. you could feel the rise and fall of his breath, and it was intoxicating.

“i never imagined…” sunghoon’s voice was barely a whisper now, his lips close to your ear, sending another wave of shivers down your spine. “that we’d end up here. together.”

you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you took in his scent—so familiar and comforting. “me neither.”

for a long moment, you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither of you daring to move or speak. the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you, suspended in time.

and then, without warning, sunghoon pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up with his fingers, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him like they’d been held back for far too long. “i’ve always loved you.”

your heart stopped, the confession hanging in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. you had known it, felt it, but hearing the words out loud still sent a rush of emotion through you.

“i love you too,” you replied softly, the words coming out as naturally as breathing.

sunghoon smiled—a slow, tender smile that reached his eyes. and before you knew it, he was leaning in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly grew more passionate. it was as if all the years of longing, of unspoken feelings and missed opportunities, had finally culminated in this moment.

you melted into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. his lips were warm and gentle, yet insistent, and you could feel the depth of his emotions in every touch. the world spun around you, but all you could focus on was him—the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, sunghoon rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the evening.

“i don’t want to wait anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we’ve waited long enough.”

you nodded, your heart swelling with a sense of certainty you hadn’t felt in a long time. “neither do i.”

you smiled, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over you. the future felt bright, and for the first time, you could see it clearly—both of you, side by side, not just as lovers but as equals. you were no longer running away from the life you didn’t want. instead, you were running toward the life you had built together, filled with love, passion, and the promise of a beautiful tomorrow.

you weren’t just sunghoon’s muse. you weren’t just a girl who had fallen in love. you were a woman who had taken control of her destiny, and now, with sunghoon by your side, you were ready for whatever the future held.

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

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#ady 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀...👩🏻‍💻.ᐟ #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fics #sunghoon oneshots #kpop fics #enhypen royal au

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