#blue ball-like flower
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ive been playing cuphead (its hard and im bad at it but i Am progressing just very slowly) and you can switch freely between cuphead and mugman. theres no technical difference other than which little guy you are. so i was switching between them every now and then for a while but i was Always mugman when i won something. it started feeling like part of me was missing whenever i wasnt mugman. i mentioned this to my sister and she was like well yeah. of course mugman would be your character. and im like whys that. she didnt know but was insistent on that fact. i feel like something in my soul has connected me to this little mug dude and i dont know why
#hes blue and i like him. hes just a little guy#ive succeeded at the flower hell platform level. the frogs. the vegetables. and the slime ball guy#i am so so close to defeating the flower but i havent gotten it yet
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the jailbird (2)
prisoner!simon 'ghost' riley
part 1 | original text post
cw: (former) prisoner!simon, civilian!reader, romance & fluff, smut, size kink, sane and consensual, roleplay, rough sex, spanking, bondage & gags, tattoo kink, dom!simon, sub!reader
bunny says: love the fic? leave a comment! really love the fic? suggest your own! reblogs are encouraged!
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living with an ex-convict was interesting. he still woke up at the crack of dawn, and as a result you were up too. he didn't know where anything was in your apartment, he hated that he had to wake you up but he didn't know where the spoons were.
you were happy to help him and spend some extra time together before you went to work. the more you were around him, the more you realized how big he was compared to you.
even his hands were much larger than yours. he loved to wrap you up in his arms and hold you while you were making yourself some breakfast. those strong tattooed arms around your middle as you flipped eggs.
sometimes he'd bury his face in your neck and visibly relaxed. he was still dealing with his fair share of trauma from the previous events of his life. and while it often left him stressed, he found comfort in you.
"you're my anchor, love." he said within the first week of his return to society.
you simply smiled and tried not to blush too hard as you said, "well, si. i'll happily be your anchor, as long as your mine."
"you're anchor, your rock, your foot solider, your lover." he said as he kept his gaze on you. since he had been living with you, you found his expression had softened a little. he could relax here.
"my husband." you reached out for him. he took your hand and kissed the top of it before he held it for a moment then returned it to you.
simon had a long road ahead of him, being on the inside for so long was going to cause some problems. but, he knew even if he had nothing. he had you.
it was almost five months into living together and he managed to get an interview working in small parts manufacturing. while it was tedious, they didn't need to look at his criminal record. which greatly excited him.
when he came home from the interview, he told you that it went well. that they seemed to like his dedication and were impressed when he mentioned his time in the military. he said, "got the whole 'thank you for your service'." as he held you and kissed you deeply.
it felt like your little lives were coming together. but the one thing you hated to admit to yourself. you sort of had a dark side, it wasn't anything too aggressive or 'evil'. you thought that simon was the perfect boyfriend, he'd never hurt a hair on your head.
but the idea of being with a criminal sort of had a sexy ring to it. to be with the bad boy. you almost felt embarrassed to admit it when he'd come home with flowers for you, or when he smiled at you. or when he held your hand when you went out. with you he got to be a person with love.
deep down you wanted to know the depths of your boyfriend. you wanted to know what a man like him, with his skill set, was capable of. you wanted it to burn, ache and hurt.
it took a lot of courage, you communicated with your boyfriend about a little make believe. while hesitant at first, he slowly started to warm up to the idea. you knew he was open to it when he came home from one, actually the first day at his job, with a bundle of bondage rope.
"the blue looks good on you." he remarked as he finished tying you up on the bed. he had your arms behind your back with you on your side and one leg tied to the bed post.
you looked at him, those eyes of yours were so alluring. you tried to move your leg but was stuck to the bed. he smiled down at you and tapped the ball gag in your mouth.
"but it doesn't matter what you want. right?' he asked, "i've searched a long time for you. you're not an easy woman to catch." he got between your legs, and hiked one leg over his shoulder as he started to aggressively lick your cunt. it was already dripping from the act of him tying you up.
there was no escape for you, even if you somehow got out of the bondage. he was almost twice the size of you and could do some damage if he wanted to.
you squirmed and whimpered around the ball gag as he took long, hard licks against your clit. he wanted to make sure his girl was wet enough for his large cock.
"maybe i should breed ya. bring you back to the boys all fat with my brats.' he purred, "i don't think they can throw ya in the can if you're pregnant. but who knows, you got pregnant by a thief." he continued to lick your sweet cunt. he was in heaven.
he really was so much bigger than you. he overpowered you, he could keep you down and fuck you until he had his fill, and there was nothing you could do about it. you were bound and gagged like a good girl.
he kept at it, he even teased your hole with his thick fingers until you were squirming more with your moans getting louder. he slapped your ass and gave you a stern look over your pussy. he gripped your leg over his shoulder. "shut up." he growled, "i don't need ya causin' a scene. i'd hate to go back to prison because you can't keep your trap shut up."
you hole clenched and he chuckled. he patted where he smacked and grabbed at the flesh before he went back to his feast between your legs. it didn't take long before the slick between your thighs got all over his face.
he pulled away and sat up on his knees. he stared down at you with your thigh wrapped around his waist. he was going to fuck you at a weird angle, but it was the only way he could keep his little prize tied up. he wiped is face, "you are the best thing i've caught." he said, "stolen a lotta loose change, but they're nothin' to the sweet taste of your cunt." he got his cock out his sweatpants and started to rub it against your slick pussy. he let out a harsh sigh from the sensation, "they should be keepin' ya behind the vault door." the tip slipped in for a moment and you clenched around it.
you whimpered and tried to pushed yourself down on his cock, but it was hard to do that when you were so tied up, he pushed the hair out of your eyes, your leftover wetness got on your cheek from his movements.
"but, you need to know." he said, "you're mine to do whatever to. your mommy and daddy aren't gonna save ya. you fell in love with a bad man and now you're lettin' him fuck your cunt raw. what's gonna happen at christmas when you're all swollen with my brats. riley boys are lil hell raisers." he went back to rubbing his cock up against your slit, "you'll be mine forever. my little prize. i should've taken ya a long time ago. just snatched ya up off the train. keep ya to myself." his tongue was getting loose from the buzz of pleasure in his brain.
you whimpered around the gag and almost cried out when he slipped his large cock into you easily. you felt it in your guts and his pace was much more brutal than the other times you've made love. that was the difference, you made love before. this was dirty, primal sex between a criminal and his captive.
the sounds of sex filled the air, paired with simon's heavy breathing. his heart was thumping steadily as he pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he loomed over you as he drilled himself into you. you were a comfortably tight fit around his cock.
you dug your nails into your palms from the immense pleasure and yelped when he slapped your ass. you whimpered when he leaned further into you to get closer into your personal space. his pace was brutal and it excited you.
"i'm a bad man." he said lowly, his voice close to your ear, "my worst crime is tainting such a precious angel." he held onto your calf as he bent your hips the closer he got. his voice was hot, "fill ya right up, make sure no other man has a chance to get ya knocked up." his tattooed hand went to your stomach which he gave a small rub, "my girl carryin' my boys."
your eyes almost rolled back from the heat in your body. you were almost drooling around the rubber gag in your mouth. it was dirty, it was filth. if anyone saw the state you were in, they would be shocked!
your head felt full of lust, you felt your lover so close to him. you knew despite the roughness and the harsh words, the entire scenario was safe. you knew you could get out of this if you needed to. but it wasn't getting to be too much, it was just enough.
the wetness between your legs and the flips in your stomach only excited you. to have such a large man be so domineering. it made you feel small in a good way. it was almost like being bound made you feel protected.
that you could lay yourself over to him and he'd cherish you. even if you were his little 'prize' for the evening. the hottest part was the pace at which his cock was battering your womb.
you whimpered against your gag and felt the heat rush through you. you held onto your palms as best as you could with your arms bound. the entire situation left you spinning, there was no wonder that orgasm crept up on you so easily.
with a loud moan around your gag, you climaxed around his cock. the tightness of your cunt mid-orgasm milked his cock till he was seeing stars. he came inside of you, his seed hit against the back of your womb.
the feeling of being able to do so left him a little slack-jawed. but he kept it together, even if his cheeks were flushed. when he finished, he slowly pulled out and started to untie you. his hands were shaky from the after effects of his orgasm.
he took the gag out of your mouth and pulled you in for a kiss when he finished untying you. he fell into bed with you and laid on top of the covers with you. he held you gently and kissed your face. he gave you gentle praise as he kept you in his arms.
when he looked at you, all was right in the world. you held onto him and pressed kisses against his face. after care consisted of tea and a small snack followed by a shower together, where he washed every part of you.
even though you were capable of doing it yourself, you still appreciated how detail orientated he was in the manner of getting you clean. little did you know that biology was working its magic and simon's seed found home in your cervix.
you better hope that the line about the riley boys being hellions was untrue or you'd have your hands full. it didn't help that when simon's hand grazed your stomach as he washed you that you blushed and tucked yourself closer to him.
mama riley did have a ring to it.
#jailhouse rock au#bunny writes#call of duty#reader insert#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty smut#simon ghost riley#ghost call of duty#call of duty x reader#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost smut#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#prison au#call of duty fanfic
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40's baby Bucky & baby Reader, Present Bucky x Reader, all the flufff, a lil angst but it just adds to the fluff, promise
Bucky sat under the tree with a very prominent pout on his chubby face, his arms crossed against his chest with his brows pulled together. He wasn't happy. Not one bit. Not after his favorite ball was kicked over a fence by the other neighborhood boys.
"Bucky, do you want to play with me?" You toddled over to your best friend hoping to lift his spirits after seeing him so grumpy only to be met with a huff.
"No! Go play with Stevie instead. Leave me alone!" He frowned, brushing you off and turning his back at you to sulk facing the tree instead.
"But-
"I don't want to play with you" Bucky grumbled. Your bottom lip wobbled, dropping your shoulders as you walked off and sat by yourself under some shade on your porch. You didn't have many friends being the youngest and only little girl on your street; Bucky and Steve being the only two who included you in their games.
"Bucky's mean" You picked up one of your dolls, setting her up beside you while you toyed with a wild flowers, doing your best to keep from sniffling after he shooed you away. You knew he was upset but you wanted to make him feel better!
Of course it didn't take long for Bucky to feel bad, peeking over to see your fallen face sitting all alone on the steps of your house, eyes wet with tears which you were desperately blinking back. He got a bad feeling in his little pudgy belly, knowing he wasn't very nice to you. He knew his ma wouldn't be very happy if she heard how he'd spoken to you, especially after you were just trying to brighten his mood. He got up from his place on the grass, nicking a few flowers from his garden before shuffling over to you only to be met with your now grumpy face, crossing your arms and turning away just like he did.
"I'm sorry y/n" Bucky came and plopped beside you, moving the doll away, while clutching onto a few pink tulips. You didn't respond, still mad at him for being mean to you when you'd done nothing wrong. "C'mon jellybean, pwease?"
His baby blues were shining bright as he gave you his best puppy eyes, hoping you'd forgive him. You felt a giddy at the name he called you, one he'd given you because he thought you were sweet like one. You turned to face him while he gave you a shy little smile, placing the flowers onto your lap.
"I brought you flowers" He stated proudly, happy at the giggle you let out, setting them aside before tugging at his hand to run off and play.
-
"Y'promise you'll come back?" your eyes were wet with tears again although you were now 20 years older and the chubby boy you grew up with had grown into a very handsome soldier. He stood before you in his clean and pressed uniform, his face shaven, hair neatly cropped.
"Of course doll" He whispered affectionately, letting his thumbs swipe across your cheeks, kissing away the tears that fell. "I'll always come back to you jellybean"
"You better" You sniffled, standing on your toes to chase more of his lips as he pressed them to yours, his hands wrapping around your waist, picking you up with ease.
"M'gonna come right back to you, safe n'sound" He held you for as long as he could, rocking you close to his chest while you fought back a sob, giving him a brave smile instead.
"I love you Jamie"
"I love you jellybean"
That was the last time you saw him.
-
"This is a bad idea"
"When have I ever had a bad idea" Tony scoffed, continuing to tinker with his quantum portal while Bruce looked over numbers.
"It's not stable enough Tony, if we send someone through this, they could get stuck in an alternate timeline or we could end up changing the future-
"Yea, yea, stop worrying, hand me that spanner"
Bruce sighed, handing over the tool while contemplating on the safest way to test the machine. It wasn't ready to handle anyone actually travelling through time but at the very least they could potentially open portals to the past.
"We gotta put in a location to see if this works-how about-" Tony contemplated on a location, his eyes growing wide with excitement when he spotted Steve's diary that he'd left behind in the lab, "Let's see if Captain has any interesting places from the 40's"
"Why wouldn't you just see if we could get to the compound garden" Bruce groaned while Tony flipped through the pages, typing in an address that had been scribbled in. It was from a list of places Steve wanted to visit again from when he was a child, the address of the person listed under friends. There was only one other person listed there other than Bucky.
"Alright, call the others, let's see if this baby works"
"You're going to get us all killed" Bruce shook his head while calling for everyone to come to the lab. By now everyone was used to Tony's antics; the only one who was genuinely giddy with excitement was surprisingly Bucky. One thing he'd always loved was science; even his stoic expression couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye every time he got to see another Stark experiment.
"Glad you all made it. Now, thanks to Cap, we're going to see if we can open a portal that travels back to the 1940's. I suggest you all stand back since I haven't actually tested this before"
"Why are you like this" Nat snorted while Tony waved her off, pushing a few more buttons before hitting start. Bucky watched from the safe sidelines of the lab as the machine began to vibrate, a low buzz growing louder until a portal roared to life that lead to the inside of someone's home. Bucky and Steve were both stunned from shock seeing a flash of a very familiar living room for no longer than a second before the whole thing closed with a bang and a large puff of smoke in its place.
"Well done Mr. Playboy billionaire dumbass" Sam wheezed while the team was left coughing, the room cloudy as the loud buzz began to dull. "What was the location you even put in-
Sam stopped talking midway when he heard another voice coughing followed by mumbling coming from the place where the portal closed. The smoke hadn't yet dissipated but the shadow of a person was slowly becoming visible. Everyone froze when they realized there was someone on the platform, wondering who could've been sucked through.
"Bruce, turn on the fan-" Bruce hit the lab fan which pulled helped with the smoke revealing a young woman in a flower printed dress. An apron was still tied around her waist, flour streaked across her cheeks, a rolling pin still in her hand. "What the-
"JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES"
Bucky thought he was going to collapse as soon as he saw who was on the platform, his heart fluttering madly in his chest. He couldn't control the blush that crept up on his cheeks, butterflies bursting in his tummy, just as they did all those years ago. The young woman stormed up to the soldier, face full of fury as her palm smacked his cheek (Not hard enough to actually hurt him of course).
"HOW DARE YOU"
Everyone else in the lab silently congregated to one side watching curiously though Steve was still utterly frozen seeing-
"Y-y/n? Doll?"
"Don't you doll me" you whacked his arm with your rolling pin, huffing when it clanged back after hitting metal. That didn't seem to faze you as you switched and hit the other arm instead, making Bucky yelp. "You lied!"
You dropped your makeshift weapon to the floor, moving your hands to your hips instead, looking up and down at the man you loved with your entire heart, the man who you mourned for years after you were told he was dead. He looked much different from when you'd last seen him, the most obvious difference being an entirely new arm. His cheeks were scruffy and it was clear some form of time travel had taken place but none of that mattered. None of that mattered when the love of your life was standing right there, alive and well.
"Oh baby, no-
"Absolutely not Barnes" you huffed at the pet name he gave you, crossing your arms over your chest and Bucky thought he'd melt into an absolute puddle at the sight. He was thrown back to when you were both no more than 4 years old, with a cute little frown on your face whenever you'd get upset. "You left! I thought you-I thought you died!"
The sound of your voice cracking broke Bucky's heart, his hands itching to wrap you up and pull you close to his chest the way you loved. He could see your eyes twinkle with tears threatening to spill out while you rapidly tried to blink them away. You chewed on your bottom lip to keep from wobbling and it only made Bucky yearn to hold you and never let go.
"Sweetheart please, I didn't mean to leave you doll, I promise" He stepped closer to you, hesitantly reaching out to take your hand in his, not feeling the slightest bit conscious about his metal arm. The coolness of his hand calmed your racing heart while you sniffled, still refusing to meet his eyes as you stared down at your feet instead.
The day you'd been told he'd never come back had been the worst day of your life. You wept for months on end, losing the man you were waiting to marry. The only person you'd been in love with since you were 4 years old.
Seeing you standing there before him stirred feelings in Bucky h never thought he'd feel again. Having a home. A beautiful wife. Little chubby babies. All with his dream girl he'd loved all his life. There wasn't a day that had gone by where he didn't think about her. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance again but here you were, dusted in flour like you always were whenever you were in the kitchen, in a pretty dress he loved so much, fighting your cries after desperately missing him. He softly cupped your cheeks, swiping away at your tears, his forehead coming down to softly rest against yours. He smiled through watery eyes at your stubborn nature, still keeping your arms crossed while his nose bumped with yours.
"Jellybean" Bucky whispered, your heart melting at the name, swallowing the lump in your throat, "Please? I-I'll- I'll bring you flowers" He said with a shaky voice, nearly toppling over when you flung yourself into his arms. He caught you, squeezing you right back and lifting you off the floor to cradle you nice and tight before pulling back to smash his lips against yours. The collective sniffles and whistles from the team were drowned out by your soft giggles and warm lips.
"I missed you so much" you buried your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the one that comforted yo the most.
"You have no idea how much I missed you jellybean, never letting you go again"
"Terminator, you wanna introduce us?" Tony was the first to speak up, not so subtly wiping away at his eyes while Bucky continued to look at you with heard eyes, introducing you to everyone. You could only wrap your head around so much at a time but nothing truly mattered now that you were back with your soldier.
And of course your other best friend.
"Steve" You giggled as Steve lifted you up with ease into a tight hug, grinning at his two friends finally getting the life they deserved together.
Seriously imagine how sickeningly cute these two would be. Bucky is so excited to teach you all about the future. He gets to show you how to use all the new technology around the compound. He's so naughty about it too, teasingly telling you he'd be happy to help you in the shower if there's any questions you has about water temperature.
He doesn't waste any time with asking to marry you. Its everything you've ever dreamed of and more considering Tony took the bill and ran. Bucky can't put into words how happy he is finally getting the life he thought was ripped from his hands.
On your wedding night, Bucky spends hours loving on you like there's no tomorrow which is why a few months later, your belly is swollen with your first baby. Bucky is thankful for the future because as excited as he is to start a family, he's scared shitless something could happen to his jellybean.
"Bucky, I'm fine-
"Absolutely not, why are you up Jellybean, go sit down, I'll bring breakfast to you"
"I can still walk y'know-
"Nope. You stay right there, don't move mama, just rest"
When you do have to move around, he's there holding your baby bump, feeling giddy over becoming a dad. He can't wait to meet his little baby that he's made with his dream girl.
After his son is born, he waits for your body to heal but no ones surprised to see you with a new bump not too long after.
Two baby boys are no match for all the avengers but they all happily share their god father and god mother duties.
Your third is a little girl and she's going to be spoiled by everyone.
Somewhere along the way, you get a white fluffy cat.
Bucky's life has never been better.
#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#fluff#marvel fluff#marvel fanfics#marvel fanfiction#marvel fanfic#bucky barnes fan fiction#bucky barnes fan fic#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky fan fic#bucky fan fiction#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes fandom#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky barns x you#bucky barnes x fanfic#bucky barnes x f reader#bucky barnes x freader#bucky barnes x fluff#bucky x you#bucky x fluff#bucky angst
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hii! I hope youre doing well ^^ n I have a request!
Fatherhood Gojo, Yuta and Suguru (separate) seeing their daughter have a love interest
let’s say the daughter is like 4-5, just started school with a strong start, one day when they come to pick up their kid— they see a boy that’s also 4-5, giving their daughter flowers or something, how would they react?
(I can imagine mother!reader being delighted at the sight, gojo being dramatic, Yuta being stressed out, and Suguru having a polite smile but yet clenching his fist LMFAO)
“I WILL THROW HANDS AT ANYONE EVEN A KID"
— gojo, sukuna, and suguru seeing their five year old daughter with a love interest (f!reader)
a/n: here you go go <33 i am so sorry bae that I couldn't include yuuta 😭
GOJO SATORU:
your daughter is naturally charismatic.
satoru wholeheartedly believes that it is something she has inherited from him.
you disagree because you can’t remember anybody who remained friends with satoru after actually talking to him, aside from those forced to, of course.
now another thing that satoru believes is that said charisma is a double-edged sword. from one side, his daughter is able to make friends quickly which gives him a piece of mind.
on the other side, the thing that makes his vein pop is the fact that filthy dirt-covered boys approach her.
he thought he had solved that problem when he scared away that last kid during her ballet class , but it seems there are always people who are competing for her heart.
he didn’t expect to run into one today though, especially not one blatantly gifting her a bouquet in front of the school gates.
the kid is a blushing mess as he gives the bouquet to her, and your daughter is nothing less than ecstatic. she jumps around, really happy with her bouquet and squealing about how pretty it is.
the little boy smiles timidly as he fidgets with the hem of his shirt, mumbling something that satoru can’t be bothered to care about.
the only things occupying his mind are two: the kid who dares to even speak to his daughter and you with your cute smile because you’re happy for her.
so, he arranges things as he prioritizes him.
he presses one big smooch to your cheek and squishes you in an ever so love-filled hug.
then he proceeds to make his way to deal with the kid who is making moves on his little baby.
he towers behind the boy, and before his little girl greets him, satoru carries the kid from his scruff and throws him in the ball pit conveniently placed beside him.
the kid screams as he falls into the ball-filled abyss.
hurriedly, he gathers his daughter in his arms and showers her with kisses. he nuzzles his nose into her cheek, “how was your day, honey?”
“it was so nice, papa!” she says happily them gets out the bouquet she was given, “and I even got this bouquet!”
“oh, really?” he hums as he takes the bouquet from her hands into his. he inspects it, distaste filling his expression.
you walk to him with a little pep in your step and place your hand around his shoulder, while you kiss your daughter’s cheek.
she squeals a delightful, “mama!” and throws herself into your arms.
you guys quickly get caught in your own conversations, not noticing satoru quickly releasing his technique blue at the poor bouquet making it effectively disappear from existence.
another day saved.
RYOMEN SUKUNA:
being the daughter of ryomen sukuna had its perks.
people strayed away and kept their distance. however, your daughter was a natural sweetheart—ironic considering her father but anyway.
that meant that little boys around estate had a tiny little crush on her which they would never act upon since they do want to continue living.
of course, there is an exception to the norm.
and that exception came in the form of a little servant boy presenting your daughter with a bunch of flowers that he had plucked himself.
your daughter was taken back, and she got flustered but accepted the flowers, nonetheless. on the other hand, you were watching from the side lines and were cheering both her and the boy on.
it was an innocent little gesture between kids. no harm done, so there was no need for—
“what the hell is this?”
you feel your husband’s menacing aura, before you hear his words. you turn to him and rest your hands on his chest and say, “d/n got flowers! isn’t that cute?”
“I can see that,” he grumbles, pinching your cheek in annoyance then directing his gaze to the kids, “but why the hell is a little good-for-nothing servant approaching my daughter? in fact, these servants should not be allowed to talk to her so casually.”
“sukuna, it’s not that big of a deal. just let them be,” you huff, “it’s not like she will fall in love with him, and he will convince her to overthrow you when they’re older.”
your husband stays quiet for a few moments. the man looks like he is actually considering the scenario that you just suggested.
and judging by him slowly approaching the kids, sukuna is going to go with the “better safe than sorry” approach.
you quickly run after him and jump on his back, “love, love, I was joking! please don’t kill him!”
sukuna groans, “and why should I listen to you?”
“cause you love me, and I love you? and we’re husband and wife, y’know?” you smile nervously, and he sets you down, so he can look you in the eye.
“I don’t love you,” he states.
“so I don’t love you?” you inquire.
he smirks, “no, that’s different. you’re obviously infatuated by me.”
“no, loving you is an effect of you loving me, so according to you,” you turn your back to him, “I don’t love you.”
he is about to retort when he feels something holding onto his leg. he looks down, and he sees his daughter beaming up at him.
she raises the flowers as high as she could and chirps, “dad, I got these flowers!”
sukuna’s eyes snap to where the kid was and finds no one. he fled, and he didn’t get to memorize his face. he slowly turns his face to you, and you stand there smirking at him.
he quirks an eyebrow at you, “oh? well, I will deal with you later tonight.”
GETO SUGURU:
you were busy watching over your daughter playing with her playdate. the little boy was your neighbour’s son, and, in general, he was good company.
the boy was polite and knew how to treat your little girl right. similarly, your little girl cherishes him very much and always rambles about him at dinner.
now, initially, suguru was okay with it.
he thought that maybe she was excited about her playdate and that it would eventually wear off, but then she started talking about him every single day since she met him.
suguru prides himself on being rational and collected. he wouldn’t stoop down to a level that gojo would. gojo was a manchild, but suguru? suguru is a grown man, a husband, and a father.
so, no, he won’t do anything to the boy.
and he certainly isn’t rushing to the playdate location, so he can stop the boy from making his daughter talk about him more.
one of his curses was watching the kids, and said curse picked up on the boy sneaking a flower behind his back. suguru concluded that he was definitely going to give it to her.
your husband finally arrives, handing you your ice cream and kissing the top of your head, “your ice cream, just how you like it, love.”
“aww, thank you, suguru,” you say as you hug him and pepper his face with kisses. suguru gets lost in your affection, forgetting about his supposed mission.
it’s not until that he notices the boy’s parents standing with the two kids that he remembers it.
“how about we go and see what the kids are up to?” he asks you, a bit urgently, and you nod, knowing what your husband is thinking.
it’s lowkey funny.
the boy’s mother takes notice of you two approaching, “oh hello mr and mrs geto!”
“hello miss c/n! are the kids getting along well?” you smile while patting your daughter’s head.
the mother giggles, “more than well, in fact. our little boy has given little d/n a flower today!”
from the corner of your eye, you can see your husband’s smile tighten and his face get stiffer and stiffer by the second.
you take his hand into your own and slowly rub it with your thumb. it does little to calm him down.
he claps his hand lightly and steps in front of the parents and says kindly, “please take your little shi—”
he feels you kick his foot from the back and quickly corrects his wording, “please distance your ki—”
you discreetly stomp on his foot, and he tries his hardest to keep his smile. he sighs defeated and hangs his head low, defeated as he mumbles, “have a nice day.”
you nod in satisfaction, and your daughter giggles.
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ෆ delicate
ෆ matthew riddle x hufflepuff! shy! reader
ෆ summary: the one in which Matthew can’t leave such a beautiful girl crying alone in a dress like that.
ෆ warnings: English translated from google (please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes), alteration of the history of mattheo and tom (tom is not voldemort but an potions teacher like snape).
ෆ notes: i just love shy!reader so much, im sorry if all my one shots are all with shy or hufflepuff reader, IM JUST A GIRL
𖦹
Parties have never really been your favorite way to spend time, loud music and dancing until your feet hurt in the middle of many strangers, not really your tipe of thing.
But a prom was so different, the music was slow, and the dresses, the delicate makeup, even more the winter ball, with the decorations in light shades of blue and white, was a dream.
Especially when you had someone to spend the night, a date, but maybe for lack of popularity, you hadn’t gotten a pair for tonight, your circle of friends was extremely limited, but if you did not have a pair it was not for lack of desire.
Since the prom was announced, you dreamed of being invited by none other than Cedric Digory.
He was tall, kind, sweet, confident, and extremely outgoing, always surrounded by his friends, but you weren’t special for having the attention picked up by Digory, half the girls of your year also dreamed the same thing as you, on being asked to be his date on the romantic night of the winter dance, unfortunately, you and Cedric, although you’ve interacted a few times - just a few little conversations he pulled during class, or little smiles as you passed each other in the hallway - you were very different, he was extremely confident and liked the attention, you did not.
In the little conversations you shared with him, you believed that those glances and those smiles had a greater meaning, maybe you forgot that he was just polite, or you knew but liked to pretend not, because the feeling was good, of being seen, of someone enjoying holding a conversation, and as much as you didn’t talk so much, he liked your words spoken in a low tone of quiet, or you thought he liked it.
the weeks passed and nothing came, not an owl or a letter, not even a flower, so your hopes were lost, as much as you had heard through the corridors that Cedric Digory had no pair and was considering going alone to the winter ball.
…
With only a few minutes left until the beginning of the prom, you were lying on the bed, wet hair tied in a towel with a robe around your body, looking at the ceiling with your hands resting one on top of the other in the region of your chest.
the room smelled like shampoo and the fragrance of the strawberry liquid soap you shared in the bathroom with your roommates.
"Come on, you need to go!" Lizzie, your closest friend, and roommate says excited, you and she used to make plans for a long time about this dance together. "We've been talking about it for so long, just for you to give up because of Cedric?"
She talks to you while tiing her hair delicately in a built-in braid, her yellow dress contrasting with her brown eyes and blonde hair.
"Oh Liz, you don't understand..." you whine "I don't have a pair, you at least go with someone nice."
"If that's the problem, you know I can leave Oliver dancing alone while we dance together." she rolls her eyes playfully and says excitedly, she looks at you through the mirror, you turn your face so that yours looks to meet, you smile softly at her.
"Don't do that." you say and giggles lightly.
You turn your head up again and sigh.
"All right, I’ll go..." You give yourself defeated and hear a lively scream from Liz, sit on the bed with your legs crossed.
She finishes the braid in her hair and finally turns to you looking for approval.
"do i look good?" She asks making an exaggerated pose with her hands on her waist and a smile from ear to ear.
She had a long yellow dress with several details of embroidered white flowers, and her blonde hair was in a single built-in braid with some messy strands giving her a stripped air, a yellow heel on her feet.
You smile at her and answer with a giggle "You look beautiful Liz, I'm sure Oliver will fall in love with you once again!"
Her smile changes to a shy smile and she looks at herself in the mirror again.
"I'm going to ask one of the girls to do my makeup, I hope that when I get back you'll be very ready for us to go!" She says excited and takes her makeup case, it is white with kittens and pink tulips and fits in the palm of her hand.
You suppress a smile with your lips and nod your head agreeing.
As soon as she leaves the dorm you get out of bed and go to the shared vanity, you sit on the wooden chair looking at your reflection in the mirror.
So you did your best to feel beautiful enough to go to the ball, dried your hair, and made a small braid on each side, a white bow holding them together, a light makeup on your face with a little glitter marking your eyes, and some golden accessories.
You get up from the vanity and walk to the full-length mirror that was on the door of the big wardrobe you shared with Lizzie.
The dress was hanging right next to the mirror, she went to her heels it was a shade of pearly white and made all of silk, it was beautiful, and you have been dreaming of it for so long.
You take it by the hanger and gently dress it with you back to the mirror, after fixing your hair and accessories, you turn to the mirror again and the view enchants you, feeling so beautiful, the dress had fallen so well on your body and your makeup, along with the simple hairstyle that made you so delicate.
Soon you hear the door open and turn quickly.
Lizzie gasped with an admired smile on her face and approached you quickly.
"You look won-der-ful!" She holds your hand and makes you do a little spin, a slight blush of shyness arrives on your cheeks while you give a soft giggle.
She releases from your hand and goes to the chair where two purses are hanging, one in a yellow and white tone and the other all white with small details in golden, she takes your lip gloss on top of the vanity and puts it inside the white purse, along with a mascara and a pink lip moisturizer that she puts in the yellow one, Going to you, she extends the white and you take it and put it on your shoulder.
"Let's go... the girls told me that Oliver is already waiting for me downstairs!" She says excited, ready to leave the dorm.
…
The great hall was splendid, in a whole shade of dark blue, the false sky with small and bright stars, the music was lively but still calm, couples were dancing in the center and some other people and groups of friends on the decorated tables.
You entered right behind Oliver and Lizzie, enjoying the place.
You sat at a table together where you shared a small talk to pass the time, as far as you could no longer ignore the passionate looks that Olive sent to her best friend and decided to leave them alone for a few minutes.
"I'm going to get something to drink, I'll be right back..." you asked excuse me getting up from the table with a gentle smile on her lips, Liz reciprocated shyly before giving all her attention to the brunette next to her.
Following up to a large table that was full of appetizers and different types of drinks, you took a red plastic cup and filled it with strawberry punch, from afar you could see Lizzie and olive sharing laughter, so you decided it was better to stay there for a while.
you got distracted looking down at your fingers while playing with the golden rings there, so distracted that you didn’t hear or notice when a tall brown boy came up to your side.
"Hey! you here!" Cedric said excitedly coming to your side with a little tap on your shoulder.
your eyes widened in surprise at the sudden presence of the boy, you turned to him with a small glance at his hand on your shoulder, visibly shy.
your heart began to beat faster in your chest and suddenly your throat was dry and your head could not find words to answer the boy with such beautiful eyes.
"Cedric... hi" you were louder than usual on account of the music playing, a small smile on your lips.
"You look good." he says in a charming tone approaching you, he passes by your side as he approaches the table behind you.
your cheeks are flushed with the comment and you don't know how to answer so you just chuckle shyly and admire him as he looks at the table.
"Thank you." you wanted to say that he looked good too but the words don’t seem to want to leave your mouth.
He serves himself in a red plastic cup just like yours, you watch him as he takes a gray canteen out of his suit pocket and baptizes the drink in the cup, you look at him and he seems not to notice, you look away at the couples dancing in the center of the Great hall.
He leans against your side, an arm leaning on the table behind your back without touching you, you suppress your lips, nervous with his proximity, playing with your rings again you swear you can feel your heart almost jumping from your chest.
He lifts the canteen as if offering you some of the whiskey he kept in his suit.
"Do you drink?" he asks with a gentle smile as if asking a casual question.
you look around nervous to see if any teacher is looking at you, which fortunately is not.
"No, but thank you." you gently refuse with a shy smile, he nods and hides the canteen on his suit again.
Now it’s his turn to watch the couples dancing in the center of the prom, a huge jealousy hitting his chest as he sees Cho Chang dancing in the arms of another boy.
You don’t follow his gaze, still playing your rings, the silence starts to bother you when he suddenly catches your hand, you look at him surprised, kinda bothered by the sudden touch.
"Do you want to dance?" he asks with an almost nervous smile.
suddenly you were speechless again, he wanted to dance? with you?
you nodded looking a little bit more lively, a big smile popping up on your lips.
was playing a song you didn’t know as Cedric took you to the center of the Great Hall, his hand resting on your waist.
you danced in a funny sync, but for you, everything seemed perfect. At least until you realize that Cedric wasn’t even paying attention to you.
you exclaimed softly in pain as he stepped on a finger as you danced, stopping for a few seconds.
He suddenly takes his eyes off something he was staring at behind you and looks at you surprised, then gives a little look at your foot, realizing his mistake.
"Oh, sorry, really sorry, I swear I’m not that bad normally" he apologizes with a nervous expression.
You can only nod your head and agree with a fake smile realizing that he doesn’t even care to look at you while apologizing, you follow his gaze and find none other than Cho Chang dancing and laughing with some other Corvinal boy.
You look away before he notices, and look down at your feet, gathering the courage to give an excuse to leave, he seems to notice.
"hey... you all right?" he asks with a gentle little smile and pretending to be worried.
So you look up at him, and you realize that he wasn’t trying to hurt you, of course, it was a little rude to treat you as a second choice, but it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t have feelings for you.
You sigh quietly “im sorry, cedric, i gotta go”
You don’t wait for an answer and get rid of his arms without looking at him because you know if he asks looking in your eyes you would stay.
Passing the couples dancing together you run a firm step out of the Great Hall, hoping to be alone for a while.
The thought of coming to the prom alone was beginning to look pathetic in your head, you should have stayed in your dorm.
you pass through the corridor of the stairs and follow to the courtyard, a bubble of anguish forming in your throat, along with the burning in the tip of your nose, indicating the will to cry.
You always used to cry for silly things, as simple as they were, like the end of a romantic book, or a sad movie, sometimes happiness, sometimes anger.
Now you felt pathetic, for not having a pair and having been made second choice, a mixture of sadness and upset formed the tears in the corner of your eyes.
You leaned on the stone wall, your hands covering your eyes to prevent more tears from falling.
the sound of you back on the stone wall catches Matthew attention, he looks back and would not have noticed that you were crying if not for the hand in your eyes, you sobbed silently.
He lets the cigarette smoke out of his mouth still holding it between his lips if he mentally asks if he should ask you what was happening or should sneak out while you hadn’t noticed his presence.
He analyzes your whole body, from the white Maryjane on your feet to the jewelry you wore on your neck, before sighing softly and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, his night was so boring that he needed a distraction.
Matthew also did not have a prom date, but not for lack of choice, nor would he come to this dance considered ridiculous in his vision, refused one or two dates saying that he would not attend, unfortunately, Lorenzo, one of his best friends, convinced him to stay at least a few minutes before disappearing with his escort, Matthew tired of being alone decided to go out to smoke without being caught by some of the teachers, he planned to finish and climb back to his dorm.
His plans were ruined.
You feel the smell of cigarettes and the presence next to you and take your hand out of your eyes to look at Matthew next to you, your cheeks red by crying, and now the shame of being caught crying, matching with the tip of your nose also reddish and your eyes glowing with tears.
He looks at you and then realizes why your dress is white, was to match your angelic appearance, he notes mentally to thank Lorenzo later for forcing him to come.
"hi." he whispers with a neutral expression, not so serious but also not smiling.
"Hi?" you whisper, yet come out as a question.
You wipe the corner of your eyes, looking elsewhere than him, still ashamed of being caught crying over something so silly.
"Why aren’t you at the prom?" he asks as if you’re not crying, without asking your name as if you already know each other.
Uncertain of what to say, because you did not want to open up to a stranger, especially when the unknown was the son of the frightening professor of potions, Tom Riddle.
"I... found it boring." you whisper shyly, your hands playing with the heart pendant of your necklace.
"so boring that it made you want to cry? what a coincidence, me too, I just wiped my tears." he says with a serious tone but visibly joking.
You let out a giggle realizing that he took your lie, forgetting what had just happened.
"All right, it’s just a silly motive."
"Will you tell me you don’t have someone to dance with?" he asks with a giggle as if he’s joking.
"I haven’t." Your smile falls and you look at your own feet.
He tilts his head to look at your face, not believing that someone so beautiful and dressed so well is crying for not having someone to dance with.
"you’re lying."
"I’m not." you whisper uncertainly and he giggles out of disbelief.
After a few seconds in silence, he puts the cigarette in his mouth again, and from a puff, you watch as he releases the smoke between his lips and takes the cigarette out of his mouth again.
The cold began to bother you, your hands rose and your arms crossed above your chest in search of heat, he notices and comes a little closer, not so much not to scare you.
"Was it someone who made you cry?" he asks quietly, alternating between looking at you and the cigarette on his fingers.
"yes."
"your boyfriend?"
"No." you reply, feeling foolish again, for crying over a boy who isn’t even your boyfriend. "It’s silly."
He stares at you as he leans his head against a stone wall, your eyes still sparkling from tears as you look at your shoe, he notes that the tears lightly blurred your mascara.
He lifts his fingers to the tip of your eyes and passes his thumb over the stain carefully, you look at him uncertain with the proximity, your cheeks turning pink again, and he smiles noticing you blushing with the touch.
"was stained" he clarifies
"with mascara?" he nods agreeing, the cold starting to bother him too.
"Don’t you want to come in? It’s getting cold in here, and you’re out of coat." He whispers, putting his cigarette out on the wall behind him, before throwing it on the floor, wet from the rain earlier.
"I think I’ll go back to my dorm." you whisper letting your hands slip to the side of your body.
"Oh no you can’t leave," he says quickly, thinking of some reason to make you stay, not knowing that you didn’t need much because you hadn’t yet learned to say no, as much as it was someone unknown.
"I can’t?" you ask confused
"No... because... I wanted you to dance with me." he says at once without thinking, dancing? he didn’t dance, what had gone through his head?
His voice comes out neutral but he curses himself mentally, he did not want you to leave but he also did not want to dance.
"Do you want to dance with me?" you blush and suppress a smirk, he sighs without knowing how to answer.
"Yes." No, he doesn’t.
you smile with the words that come out of his lips.
Ok, maybe he wants, just a little.
"Okay." you smile shyly, looking at him slightly flushed, he looks between your glossy lips and your eyes shining.
He accompanies you to the Great hall again, making silly comments to keep you distracted, you thank him mentally.
"I don’t have a pair either, nor is it that bad right?" he says as you arrive.
"not much" you respond softly
a song ends when you arrive, and one of your favorite songs starts playing.
You take a deep breath and your smile increases, you start to think that the universe was trying to make you sad just to make you happy again.
Matthew has his hand on your waist while guiding you to the center of the Great Hall, which did not have as many couples as before, Fade Into You played in the background while the lights changed to a dark blue tone.
Your chests were glued and you were smaller than him, he can smell the floral smell of your shampoo, and then he takes a deep breath discreetly to feel it better.
You look up at him shyly, not knowing what to say to end the silence.
I wanna hold the hand Inside you
you whisper something quietly to him
I wanna take the breath thats true
"Sorry, I didn’t catch that" he whispers so just you can hear and bends down a little to hear you better, your bodies still dancing in sync truly perfect.
I look to you and i see nothing
you stand on tiptoe, your hand on his shoulder as you say in his ear "Thank you" It is still low but he could hear why you said it in his ear this time.
i look to you to see the truth
He had no idea what you were thanking him for, and neither did you.
You live your life, you go in shadows
"oh no, I should thank you." He whispers back to you, he talks louder, and he doesn’t have to say it in your ear, but he does it anyway.
You’ll come apart and you'll go blind
you shiver with his hoarse voice in your ear as he smiles at your reaction, realizing that maybe he likes to see you blush, even if the blue light is in the way.
Some kind of night into your darkness
he leaves a kiss on your neck next to your ear before he looks up again, his action making your heart race, you had never received this much attention from some boy.
Colors your eyes with what is not there
you smile shyly and he reciprocates before looking up around, you lower your head, and lean on his shoulder, while your bodies dance slowly, his hand that was previously intertwined with yours loose and goes down to your waist, his hand that was once intertwined with yours loose and descends to your waist, his arms hold you there, on his chest, your own hands follow his movements and climb to his neck, the silence began to get comfortable.
Fade into you
Stranger, you never knew
Fade into you
#mattheo riddle#slytherpuff#slytherin x hufflepuff#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo x you#mattheoxreader#harry potter#matthew riddle
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colour me in: seven | jjk (m)
Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader
➳ rating: 18+
➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut
➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D
➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁
➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33
➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍
SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST
MASTERLIST | WIPs
In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.
You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.
But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.
Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.
Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.
In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.
Wrecking you right where everything began.
Monday
The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.
Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.
Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.
Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.
A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.
You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…
As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.
For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.
He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.
You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.
A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.
The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.
Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.
Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.
A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”
You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”
“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”
You smile again. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”
“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”
You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.
“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”
“And it comes from the heart, too.”
“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”
You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.
The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.
But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.
And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.
But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.
You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.
“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”
“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”
You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”
“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”
You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.
“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”
You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”
“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”
The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.
Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.
Even now, you’re drowning in it.
Well, until you’re not.
Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.
Only, he seems to interpret it differently.
“Aren’t you eating anymore?”
Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.
Because…
While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.
And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.
So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”
“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”
Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.
You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.
You mutter, “I’m sorry.”
Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.
But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.
“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—
“Fridge?”
An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”
You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.
The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.
So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.
You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”
“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”
“Yeah, but still.”
Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.
Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”
A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”
“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”
“…What did?”
“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”
“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”
“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”
“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”
He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.
And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”
His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.
Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough.
His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…
“You’re mad,” you conclude.
He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”
Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.
But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.
This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.
You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”
Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”
“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”
…What?
The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.
Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”
“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”
“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”
“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”
…Huh.
You wait.
Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”
Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.
You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re not being serious.”
“Maybe.”
You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…
“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”
Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—
“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”
Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?
Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”
And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”
“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”
“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”
He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.
“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”
“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”
“So you can drop it as you please?”
“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”
You groan.
“And if I want to—”
“It’ll just escalat—”
“Dude, I—”
And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.
But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—
“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”
The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.
So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”
But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.
Tuesday
You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.
Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.
Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.
With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.
Perhaps he does, too.
Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.
It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.
And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.
But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.
Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.
Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.
“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”
“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.
Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.
“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”
You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.
Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”
“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”
From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”
Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”
Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.
Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.
You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.
Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.
“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should’ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”
When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”
Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”
“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”
Hmm…
You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.
You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.
You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.
If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.
Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.
Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.
But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.
Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.
“Stop it.”
“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.
“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”
“Why?”
“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”
Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”
“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”
You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”
“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”
“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”
You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”
To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”
“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”
You blow a raspberry.
Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.
You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”
“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”
So untrue.
Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.
You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.
“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”
“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”
“I just don’t say it.”
“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”
Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”
But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”
Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.
In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.
But not here, not right now.
Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”
“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”
“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”
“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.
“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”
Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.
As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”
Everything.
“Nothing,” you say.
“…You wanna go?”
You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.
You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”
And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.
Still are.
You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?
As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.
Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.
You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.
Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.
And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.
Guess it’s your fault this time.
Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.
His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.
“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”
You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.
He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”
But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—
Press the lightest kiss against.
Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.
He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.
WEDNESDAY
The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.
It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.
The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.
And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.
The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.
But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.
Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”
The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”
And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”
“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”
You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.
The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.
THURSDAY
“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”
Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.
So you walk faster. Then he does, too.
He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”
“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”
“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”
He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.
So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.
The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.
One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.
Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.
You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.
Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.
But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.
You sigh.
“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.
“You should go then.”
“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”
You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”
“What?”
“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”
His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.
And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?
You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.
“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”
In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.
You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.
Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”
You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.
Right?
Wrong.
“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”
“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”
“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”
You look at his sculpted side profile.
You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.
But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.
So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.
The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.
You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.
Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.
Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”
“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”
“Well, eyes are important.”
The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.
You smile.
Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.
At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.
But then… there are moments when you see it.
Like now.
The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.
Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”
Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.
“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”
“Odd.”
“…Why?”
“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”
A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.
His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.
For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.
Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.
A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription.
And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.
You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.
Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.
You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.
“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”
He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”
“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”
You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”
Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”
Ah. Well.
You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…
“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”
Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”
“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”
“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”
“I’ll remind you then.”
The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.
“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”
The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”
He always does that. Remind you of your meds.
Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.
He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.
You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”
“Lemme look.”
He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”
And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”
“What?”
He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”
“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”
Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.
One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.
You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.
“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.
But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”
You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”
“Sure am.”
“Mhm. …My big girl?”
“Gross. Shut up.”
The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.
You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.
FRIDAY
The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.
Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.
Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.
Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.
He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.
If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.
He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.
When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.
He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.
“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”
His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.
You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.
A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.
A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.
An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep.
He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.
Because…
Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.
And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.”
SATURDAY
You remember to unclench your jaw.
The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.
This cannot be.
There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.
It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.
Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.
This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?
No.
You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.
Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.
The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—
A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.
Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.
You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.
“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”
As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”
“Wh—”
Oh. Shit.
You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.
Ughhhh.
You’re terrible.
Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”
When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”
“I swear… It’s not my fault.”
It’s not an excuse; not a lie.
He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.
Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”
You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”
“Shit, really? What now?”
You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.
Only somewhat reasonable, though.
Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”
You blink.
Then ask, “What?”
“You called him here?”
“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.
She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”
Per—
What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.
“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”
From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”
“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”
Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.
As everyone is, you suppose. But.
“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.
She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”
Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”
To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”
Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.
But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.
Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”
“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”
Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.
None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.
As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”
You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”
“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”
“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”
“Would it help you?”
He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”
“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”
You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.
“Oh, I… Jungko—”
Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”
“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”
Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?
“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”
Oh oh. You feel bad.
Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.
But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”
You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.
The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.
That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.
At least, for a couple minutes.
Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.
From afar, he’s leering at you.
Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.
Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.
For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.
Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”
You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”
“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”
“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”
Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.
A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.
But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.
He doesn’t usually look like that…
“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.
This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.
Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”
He looks different. Why does he look different?
“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.
Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.
And you, still baffled, smile.
Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?
As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.
Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.
And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.
The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.
When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.
Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.
Lip ring.
Whose idea…
“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.
Juri flinches, asking, “What?”
“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”
You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…
“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.
“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”
“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”
You’re seeing it, alright.
The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.
Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.
Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?
You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.
And he looks so goddamn good.
Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.
All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.
You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.
Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.
Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.
Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.
Fuck.
You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.
And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.
A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”
“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”
You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.
But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.
“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”
“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”
You bite your lip. You know.
You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.
The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.
This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.
New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.
God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.
A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.
He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”
You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”
When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”
He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room.
You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.
And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.
He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.
The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.
A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.
He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”
You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.
Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.
You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”
Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”
“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”
“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”
You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.
“What?” you ask.
“Nevermind.”
“Don’t be mean.”
“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”
You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.
No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.
But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.
Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.
“Right,” is all you say.
“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”
“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.
He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”
“Okay.”
The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.
And then, “Are you jealous?”
“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”
You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.
“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”
Okay. Jerk.
At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.
You know him.
He’s so annoying.
“No,” you repeat.
“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”
“Hmm?”
“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”
No.
But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.
“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”
Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”
Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.
“Yes.”
And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.
“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”
“Shut the fuck up, you just—”
He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.
You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.
Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.
You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”
You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”
“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”
You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”
“Mhh. Maybe I should.”
“Maybe…”
And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.
He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”
Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.
His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he’s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.
Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.
You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.
His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.
No bra.
He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.
Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.
And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.
Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.
You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.
Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.
The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.
He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.
Fully in your senses.
Ugh. Fuck.
And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.
In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.
Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.
But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—
“What?” he asks.
It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.
He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”
Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”
“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”
You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.
But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.
You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—
“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”
He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.
You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”
Oof.
If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.
SUNDAY
Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.
The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.
When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.
That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.
He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”
Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.
It’s been far too many days to still dwell.
But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.
Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.
Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.
Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.
You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.
And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”
It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”
“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”
“The milkshake, too.”
He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”
You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”
“Okay. Hope that stays.”
His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.
They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.
He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.
The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.
A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.
But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.
Fuck. Home is too far away.
So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.
“No,” you answer.
“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”
Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.
“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.
“You sure?”
Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.
Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.
And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.
But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.
The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.
Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.
“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.
The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.
You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.
“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”
But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”
“Not now.”
“But—”
“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”
Holy shit.
This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.
“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”
“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”
Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.
Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.
What the fuck.
You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”
“You’ll talk to me if I do?”
“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”
You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.
“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”
He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.
It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.
It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.
But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.
You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.
The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”
“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”
Unbelievable.
You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.
“Was it, yeah? You just—”
You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.
“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”
“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”
“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”
“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”
And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.
When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.
You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.
He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?
But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.
Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.
“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”
Oh. He’s mad.
His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.
There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.
But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”
“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”
“I—”
“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”
Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.
But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.
He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”
He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.
When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.
You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.
“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.
“I don’t know.”
With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”
He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.
But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.
“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”
The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.
“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”
But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.
You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.
“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.
His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.
“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”
And that’s it. That’s literally it.
He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.
Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.
And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”
“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”
He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.
Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”
“What thing?”
Ugh.
“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”
He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”
“Well? Dude, you looked…”
“What?”
“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”
Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.
“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”
“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”
“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”
Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.
Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”
“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”
“Why so?”
“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”
“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”
“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”
“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
“…Right.”
His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.
Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.
And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.
“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”
“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”
You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”
You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.
His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—
You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.
“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”
You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.
The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.
So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”
“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”
“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”
He waits.
“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”
“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”
“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”
Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.
Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.
And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.
Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.
So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.
You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.
Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.
More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”
For you.
You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.
You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.
“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”
He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.
Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.
“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”
“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.
“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”
Well. Fuck.
If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.
You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.
“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”
That’s it, that’s it.
It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.
You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.
The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.
But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.
Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”
Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”
“Couch?”
You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?
Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.
So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.
“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.
You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.
You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.
But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.
Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.
His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.
“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.
It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”
“You promise?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Well…
You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.
And then… just to test…
He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.
As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”
“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”
You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.
Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”
“Not like you, though…”
He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.
And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.
He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…
“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.
Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.
The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.
And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.
“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.
He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.
Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.
Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.
Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.
“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.
It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.
They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.
It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…
Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.
He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.
But for now, this is enough.
The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.
You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.
That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.
“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”
“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”
He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”
“Do your worst—”
One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.
But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.
He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.
“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”
“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”
He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”
But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.
Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.
“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.
The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.
Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.
Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”
Huh.
Well. Damn.
Because…
At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive.
But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”
And you do.
Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.
Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.
“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”
His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.
How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?
Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.
When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.
You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.
Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.
He must be perceiving it all, too.
Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”
—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…
Ramming his cock into your mouth.
You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.
Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.
But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.
“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”
You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything?
He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.
And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.
Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.
The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.
And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.
Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.
And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”
“…What?”
But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.
“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”
“Do it, fucking coward.”
…And just like that, he moves back.
tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3
#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#bts smut#bts fluff#jeongguk smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts x reader#bts x you#bts imagines#bts fic#jungkook scenario#jeon jungkook smut#thebtswritersclub#jungkook fic#jungkook imagines#jungkook
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what it’s like to bring the jjk boys to…have dinner with your family!
ft. fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, geto suguru, ijichi kyotaka, inumaki toge, itadori yuji, kamo choso, kamo noritoshi, mahito, muta kokichi, nanami kento, okkotsu yuta, panda, ryomen sukuna, todo aoi, yaga masamichi, yoshino junpei, zenin naoya
warnings: not all of these are romantic! reader is lowkey desi coded in some of them. reader is mentioned to have a brother, dogs, aunts/uncles, and cousins in some of them. reader slanders like 75% of the characters. honestly the characters might be ooc too i wrote this two years ago for fun and giggles and just found it again and wanted to post. also tw naoya!
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI
Literally perfect
Your parents love him
Your dogs love him
You love him
Was kind of quiet at first but settled in eventually and opened up a bit
Was still kind of reserved but that’s to be expected from him
Your mother found it sweet that he tried to hide behind you when your uncles started interrogating getting to know him
He let your younger cousins play with his shikigami so that your dogs could get a break from being bothered
Really liked the salad your mother made and asked for the recipe
1000/10
FUSHIGURO TOJI
Actually not too bad
Was polite enough and liked the food
Showed your parents pictures of Megumi as a baby
They were suitably impressed
Your cousin asked him where he goes to the gym
He told him he doesn’t believe in gyms (thinks they’re oppressive institutions designed to disadvantage the poor?)
Did give him a discount code for some random protein powder that he’s sponsored by though
Asked your parents to donate to his charity
They were happy to do so and thought it was amazing that he has a charity
You decided not to tell them that his “charity” is literally just his bank account
4/10 for scamming your family
GOJO SATORU
Solid 7/10
Goofs around a lot but he did come so he gets points for that
Your parents hated him at first but then he showed them the album of cute Megumi pictures he has saved on his phone and they switched up
“He’s so responsible for raising a kid so young! And it’s not even his!”
Bullshit
He does NOT raise Megumi and you were the one who sent him half of those pictures
Demoted to a 6/10 just for that but at least your parents like him
Also the fact that he had an album was cute
Somehow managed to keep the dirty jokes to a minimum
Your brother kept making fun of his eyes being so blue so halfway through he had to switch the glasses out for the blindfold
Surprisingly high spice tolerance
GETO SUGURU
Honestly really a fun guy!
Actually brought his own dish to the dinner??
AND IT WAS GOOD????
Your mother wants you two to get married now
Asked if he could take some leftovers back for Mimiko and Nanako
Which was very considerate of him actually
Your mother told him he didn’t have to return the dishes she packed the food in
Let your brother win at Scrabble
Listened to your mother talk about the auntie drama
Apparently he’s going to start putting coconut oil in his hair now
Your parents are going to adopt him and kick you out
9/10 would’ve been higher but he didn’t beat your brother’s ass at Scrabble (he wanted to “make a good impression”)
IJICHI KYOTAKA
Similar to Nanami in that he and your father got along really well
Your brother called him “goofy”
He had to go to the bathroom and cry after that
He did compose himself and came back to eat
Can handle spicy food quite well
Complimented your mother’s cooking
Brought flowers as a thank you for the dinner
Was super sweet and grateful to be invited at all
11/10 would definitely invite him again
INUMAKI TOGE
Everyone was really excited to meet him
Let your cousins play with his hair and do his make up and paint his nails
Was your partner for Charades and you two won by a LOT
Kept sneaking treats to your dogs
Your mother ordered seafood for him because he could only speak in rice ball ingredients and she thought he really wanted salmon
He did eat it though
He would be a 10/10 but he accidentally used his Cursed Speech on your aunt so 8/10
ITADORI YUJI
Somehow lit the grill on fire
Managed to put it out but he did lose his eyebrows in the process unfortunately
Looked stupid without eyebrows
Spent most of his time hanging out with the little kids
Your family actually really liked him though
He’s too sweet to dislike
Helped wash the dishes and did not break any
7/10 because you almost had to call the fire department
KAMO CHOSO
Showed up an hour late
Was friendly but kinda nervous and awkward at first
Loved the food
He and your brother are best friends now
Genuinely he gets along better with your brother than with you
Impressed your father with his history knowledge
3/10 was too perfect and now your parents keep asking why you’re not more like him
KAMO NORITOSHI
He hates kids
Spent the entire first half running away from your cousins
Once he finally escaped he got along great with the adults
They really liked how responsible and mature he is
Thought it was impressive that he’s going to be the clan head
Your aunt told you that he was a keeper and you should “marry for money, hope for love”
Started crying when your mother asked him if she could hang up his jacket for him
It reminded him of his own mother who he was forced to leave as a kid
All of your aunts have unofficially adopted him now due to his tragic backstory
Deserves 10/10 just for being relatively normal
MAHITO
-892378/10 your parents couldn’t see him because he’s a curse
He was very happy to hear that and nearly destroyed your house
You had to call Geto halfway through to chase him off
Your family was thrilled to see Geto again though so at least there’s that??
MUTA KOKICHI
Sent a robot in his place obviously
Everyone wanted to know why you brought a robot to dinner
They thought you had hit a new low
You had to explain that Mechamaru was basically his body because of how weak his actual body was
Nobody believed you
-3/10 he was nice but it was overall a humiliating experience
NANAMI KENTO
Cannot eat anything spicy
Started tearing up at the appetizers alone
Had a massive stomach ache afterwards and his face was red for like twenty minutes
Your father liked talking to him about business and the economy and shit
Did not get scared when asked about his plans for the future
Actually has plans for the future
Your brother is kind of gay for him tbh (??) and threatened to marry him if you don’t
10/10 because he still finished everything on his plate so he didn’t seem rude even though he was lowkey dying
OKKOTSU YUTA
Tried his best
Your dogs tried to leave with him because they liked him so much
He brought gifts from Africa for your entire family
Did stop a toddler from getting kidnapped
Is physically really good at grilling but emotionally cannot handle the stress
Had a mental breakdown when you asked for a vegetable burger
Made the discovery that he really likes corn and proceeded to eat all of the corn you had bought for the night so nobody else got any
Summoned Rika and allowed your cousins to use her as their dress up doll
Rika was very nice and enjoyed the experience
She wants to be a fashion model now
2/10 he burnt your vegetable burger and you were really looking forward to having some corn
PANDA
Is a panda
Your younger cousins thought he was adorable
You got asked multiple times if he was a furry
5/10 he was only invited because he had nothing else to do and you had to chase him with a hose beforehand because he refused to bathe
RYOMEN SUKUNA
-1244129/10
An asshole but what’s new
Told your family to “go back to where you came from”
Degraded your parents
Degraded you
Degraded everyone really
You got into a fight with him and Gojo had to intervene
Did ask for one of your mother’s recipes so he could get Uraume to cook it for him
She did not give it to him
TODO AOI
See you thought this would be hell on earth
But it wasn’t???
Played with your dogs
Carried your cousins around on his shoulders
Your uncles were impressed by his muscles
He saved a kitten that was stuck in a tree
Did not ask a single person about their type in women
Annihilated everyone in Wii Sports Resort
Absolutely sucked at Just Dance though
He thought he was too manly for the wrist strap but then he threw the remote into the TV while playing Wii bowling and it broke
6/10 he said he’d pay for a new one
YAGA MASAMICHI
Literally your boss
Only invited him because you wanted a raise
He liked the food
Exchanged sewing tips with your mother
200/10 you got the raise
YOSHINO JUNPEI
Really cool!
Gave everyone good movie recommendations
Someone gave him a baby to hold and he nearly dropped it
Burnt his hand on the grill
Found your uncles’ shitty jokes funny so they all liked him
He was decent at debating with everyone and having intellectual conversations even though he cried whenever someone disagreed with him too harshly
Your parents were very dismayed to see the cigarette burn scars on his face
Your mother told him he could always come to your house if he needed to
4/10 because he almost gave a baby brain damage
ZENIN NAOYA
Told your parents about your sex life
Called your mother “woman”
Your cousins have a crush on him solely based on his looks
He thinks he has a harem now
0/10 they are all like 13 years old
#megumi x reader#toji x reader#gojo x reader#geto x reader#ijichi x reader#inumaki x reader#itadori x reader#choso x reader#noritoshi x reader#mahito x reader#mechamaru x reader#kokichi x reader#nanami x reader#yuuta x reader#panda x reader#sukuna x reader#todo x reader#yaga x reader#junpei x reader#naoya x reader#tw naoya#reader insert#headcanons#m1ckeyb3rry writes#this is actually so dumb#LMAO#various x reader
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-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ emotionally unavailable
⊹ character(s) - gepard landau, jing yuan, sampo koski
⊹ word count - 3.3k
⊹ notes - gn!reader (sampo, gepard), fem!reader (jing yuan, you're referred to as 'lady'), reader is emotionally constipated or just kinda stoic as the title suggests, I guess you could say tsundere?? mostly fluff -w-
⊹ part 2 here!
sorry for the delay on new writing!! honestly I've had a bit to do around the house and the inspiration hasn't been inspiring Σ(;Φ ω Φ) if you want to send in a request, feel free! I could use some new ideas ♡(ﾐ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﻌ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﾐ)ﾉ thanks for the support!
⊹ Gepard Landau
You honestly didn't have much to think about the Captain of the Silvermane Guards.
Aside from the due respect and mild admiration that just about everyone in Belobog held for him and his military group, you didn't have much else to say. The two of you had never even spoken.
The only connection you could possibly have to him was via his sister, Serval Landau. She was your friend (a tentative word for your situation, you surmise) and would often have him over at her store.
You also tended to lounge about the Neverwinter Workshop ("hanging out", Serval would call it, but you begged to differ), but you had never really paid him much mind, and you assumed he had paid you the same.
Serval's favorite nickname for you is "lounging stray" due to the way you came in and out as you pleased, staying only for food and rest when it was available.
The most you recall interacting with the imposing man was a hesitant wave when he had entered the shop while Serval was out.
After all, it would have been quite rude to completely ignore him—though, honestly, you never cared much for politeness, so you had always mulled that incident over in your head. Why had you greeted him?
About a week later, you were mildly surprised to see a bouquet of flowers in Serval's hands from Eversummer Florist.
It wasn't exactly an unusual assumption to make that the down-to-earth rock-and-roll enthusiast would have her share of admirers, but they were typically more forthcoming with their affections from what you'd observed.
But then, upon spotting you, she promptly shoved them into your arms, announcing that they had been addressed to you, not her.
You hadn't felt your face shift that much in years, nor had you ever experienced that level of shock before.
"Looks like someone has a secret admirer," Serval touted, tuning her guitar on the side with a smirk playing on her lips. Her tone was drawn out, knowing, as if this were some elaborate prank she was in on.
"Wow, Ball Peonies, even? What an expensive spread! Lucky Y/N!"
You didn't even spare her a glance as you took your usual seat in her workshop, thumbing one of the petals with mildly intrigued contemplation.
In your rush to lounge about the workshop and ignore your friend's loud teasing, you failed to notice Gepard at his sister's side, nor the way his ears turned red and he hurried to hush Serval.
"I don't get it," you murmured at last, both siblings' heads whipping over to you. "I don't talk to anyone. Except you, that is."
"Well, I didn't send them. Sorry, my little stray, but as much as I adore you, it's not in that way!"
You gave Serval an unamused raise of your brow, then huffed, mumbling a 'whatever' as you lay on the windowsill in the corner of the shop.
However, that pair of blue eyes sneakily noted that your attention was still taken with the flowers, far from your usual routine of pulling out your phone to scroll.
Eventually, you held them on your chest, deigning to stare out the window as you began drifting off into a half-conscious nap. Your rest, however, was awoken by the sound of loud whispering. Serval noticed the unimpressed look on your face and laughed, clapping her hands together before patting Gepard on the back, who looked thoroughly embarrassed. His face was bright red.
"Well, I gotta head out and run some errands! Keep Y/N company for me, huh, Geppie? They can get lonely."
You chose to ignore that last bit, raising your hand and waving at your friend who practically flew out the door.
An awkward silence settled over the room, which miffed you a bit. What did you have to feel awkward about? This had happened before with other people.
Even then, you weren't keen on breaking it. It seemed the Captain had other plans, though.
"Um..." Gepard spoke up from across the workshop, standing just a bit uncomfortably as he shifted from foot to foot. You glanced over your shoulder at him from where you lay, waiting for him to speak. "Sorry about Serval. She can be a bit much."
"I know," you replied simply, unable to meet his eye for some reason. "I'm in here a lot."
"I know," Gepard echoed. Then, his face went back to tomato-red. "Um, I mean, I see you around a lot in here whenever I visit. Not that I'm intentionally staring at you, or anything of that sort! I just notice—"
"It's okay, I got what you meant."
"Right! Right." The Captain shut himself up, thorough mortification making its way back to his face as he scratched the back of his neck. "S-Sorry, uh, for rambling."
"It's fine."
Well, this was getting painful.
You stunned yourself momentarily when you opened your mouth to speak back first.
"So, uh... How's being Captain and everything?" you murmured, almost too quiet for Gepard to hear. When he realized you had spoken first, his face brightened just a bit, though he still appeared to be fighting the humiliation off his face from his earlier verbal blunder.
"Well, how much would you like to hear about?"
You shrugged. "Anything, I guess. Got any cool stories from the front lines?"
The blonde man smiled, taking the chance to tentatively move closer, pulling over Serval's stool and taking a seat.
"Well..."
About ten minutes later, Serval had decided to spare her poor brother from any more awkwardness, completely sure that the workshop would be thick with silence due to his bashfulness and your nonchalance.
To her surprise, though, she heard muffled voices from within. Serval opened the door as carefully and quietly as she could, peeking her head in just enough to see a sight she never thought she'd see.
You were smiling, even laughing a bit, engaging in conversation about Gepard's duties and your own daily activities (even if there were little of those) from your place on the sill. Her brother seemed to be enjoying himself too, gesturing with his hands as he talked up his own underlings' achievements in battle.
The eldest Landau watched for only a moment longer before shutting the door softly.
"I should go get something to eat... give them a little space."
⊹ Jing Yuan
You liked to call your relationship to the General of the Luofu strictly professional at most.
To call it anything more, in your mind, would be disrespect of the highest order to the man who has defended the fleet for centuries.
Besides, you didn't know if you were exactly capable of anything beyond that. Even your limited friends agreed that you were just about as stoic as one could get.
You frequently heard of their debates with other workers within the Seat of Divine Foresight even as you worked—who was more difficult to approach, you or the General himself?
You scoffed to yourself whenever your so-called "friends" argued that you were, in fact, harder to speak to.
What's so wrong with being professional? If anything, you should be telling them off for gossiping in the workplace.
Still, you couldn't exactly argue with them.
Being the right-hand of the General was enough for you to learn his mannerisms even over a short time, though now, after serving at his side for several decades, you could confidently say he was far less intimidating than everyone made him out to be.
Not that you cared, of course. Strictly professional, you told yourself. His mannerisms had nothing to do with you unless they affected work.
Even with your indifference, though, the General was being... odd lately.
Jing Yuan let out an unabashed yawn as he slumped into his chair, tugging at his hair as he polished off the last of his paperwork.
For once, you thought to yourself with a huff of amusement, going through your own papers at an impressive speed. Read, approve or deny, sign, move on.
Considering he hadn't skimped on his own work, there was no real reason for you to be giving yourself early onset carpal tunnel as you typically did, but you figured it would be best to finish the work as soon as possible anyhow.
It meant less work tomorrow, the day after, and the day after that, for not only you but the other Luofu staff as well.
"...ey."
Your brain tuned out all other noise as you moved past yet another proposal, flicking to the next page of your increasingly shrinking stack.
"Lady Y/N. Hello?"
You ignored the growling within your stomach. After this is done, you thought to yourself, I'll treat myself to a meal at home.
"Lady Y/N."
You jumped nearly ten feet out of your seat at the low voice whispering in your ear, clapping a hand over the side of your head as red-hot mortification set in. You glanced to your side to spot the culprit—none other than your General, Jing Yuan.
Had he just whispered into your ear?! The feeling of his warm breath still lingered.
"General!" you shouted, taking a deep breath as you tried to reel back your attitude and present yourself with decorum, as always. "I am working on these proposals, so if you could please refrain from pulling pranks, it would be much appreciated."
Jing Yuan gave you a wry smile, raising his hands innocently.
"Is part of your job description not answering to me?" he asked unfeignedly, golden eyes twinkling. "I called your name about ten times."
"Well, yes, but..." You raised a brow a moment later. "Surely not ten. I heard my name a total of twice."
"So you were listening." You heaved a sigh. Ever stubborn, he was. "Does that mean you were consciously ignoring me? My, the gall, Lady Y/N."
"Not at all, General," you assured. "Only absorbed in my duties. Now, do you need something of me?"
Jing Yuan tapped his chin, settling into the seat next to you and stretching out. He didn't get too comfortable, though, you discerned. Was he planning to head out for the night?
"Well, yes, I suppose I do. I'm sure you'll only listen if it's a direct order from me, after all."
"Of course, General. I am at your beck and call." He chose to ignore the edge of sarcasm in your voice as you resumed your proposals, trying to finish as many as you could before he announced his task.
"Lady Y/N, I'd be delighted if you would join me for a meal. Anywhere of your choosing, and it will be my treat."
"Right, of course. It will be done, General," you mused half-heartedly, before your froze in your tracks, hand stilling midway through a signature. "...Wh—"
"Fantastic. Then I will await you at the door," Jing Yuan smiled again, and you felt yourself welling up with exasperation at the cockiness displayed in it. "Please don't keep me waiting too long, Lady Y/N. Those proposals can always wait one more day, but I am short on time myself."
You were about ready to protest, dropping your pen as you nearly rose to your feet. Your face was hot.
"General, I—!"
"You wouldn't think of backing out after agreeing so openly, would you?" the white-haired man teased, and then, after contemplating for a moment, he held out a hand. "In fact, why don't we depart right now? Just so I can be sure you won't get absorbed in doing more advance work."
He had completely trapped you. You furrowed your brow in disbelief, and then heaved a deep, long sigh. Finally, after leaving him to stand and await your decision for just a few moments longer, you took his hand.
"Very well. But General, if I may..."
"Of course, my dear."
You flushed again, but remained steadfast in your words.
"To make up for this trickery, please do not skip out on your paperwork again."
Jing Yuan's low, rumbly laughter caused you to look away, lest your feelings show on your face. He still did not let go of your hand.
"I suppose that is only fair. You have a deal, Lady Y/N."
⊹ Sampo Koski
You would be completely remiss to allow anyone to refer to you and Sampo as acquaintances, much less friends.
Although the two of you had grown up fairly close, he allowed you no clemency from his constant scams.
It turned into more of a game for him as time passed, though—your natural stoicism and good head on your shoulders didn't allow any of his jabs or tricks to pull through.
That was perhaps what kept him stuck like glue to your side all these years, though... The fact that you were the one person he couldn't quite swindle.
Not that he actually wanted to, anyhow.
As much as Sampo was a slimy businessman in the eyes of pretty much everyone, he didn't seek a profit from someone as close as you. Well, not unless he did you a favor first, of course, but that's basic reciprocation.
You, on the other hand, found yourself perplexed as of late.
Sure, you had known Sampo for practically your whole life, but getting close to someone or being close by birth didn't make you any less inclined to cut them off if they interfered with your life to a degree that you found to be annoying.
You enjoyed the predictable, the mundanity of your daily life working as a trainee doctor under Natasha. You didn't need anyone in your life who might throw a wrench into the ordinary you currently enjoyed.
So why was Sampo the exception?
It was a fairly typical, ordinary, boring evening when you walked into the clinic—12am sharp, just as Natasha had requested of you. You were frankly quite lucky that she didn't ask more of you, but you supposed she was already pushing her own ability to ask favors of you by requesting you watch the overnight patients while she rested.
You didn't mind, of course. You'd always been a bit of a night owl, especially with the somewhat perpetual darkness of the Underworld thanks to Belobog looming over top of you.
Not to mention, you and Sampo had always spent most of your time together in the evenings anyways, the nighttime routine well suited to both of your sleeping schedules.
You felt a twinge of annoyance shoot through you at the thought of the blue haired man, and quickly placed a hand to your forehead between bandage changings for the patient on the table.
There he was again. Sampo, Sampo, Sampo!
Though you could usually push him out of your mind without a second thought, it was beyond you why he was suddenly popping into your brain more nowadays.
Sometimes it was a mere, 'I wonder what Sampo is up to right now. Not more trouble, I hope.'
Sometimes it was something more bordering worry, and those passing thoughts irritated you the most. What did you care? If he got hurt, it would likely be justified in the wake of one of his scams.
You could rationalize those ideas with the notion of not wanting more work at the clinic should he get injured, but even that was weak. Sampo deigned to avoid Natasha for his own wounds, not wanting to burden the leader of Wildfire, likely more out of fear than actual selflessness.
Still, though—
"Heeeey, Y/N! Miss me?"
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
"What do you want, Koski?" Your tone was flat, not even sparing him a glance as you moved to your next patient. Changing bandages again, a simple routine that could hopefully keep your mind occupied this time.
"So cold..." You could hear the beginnings of a pout on his lips, finding yourself sighing irritably. "I came to see you, after all!"
Your hands paused for a moment, stilling. A minute tremble in his voice. You whipped your head around to focus your sharp eyes on him, and he winced back, his typical happy-go-lucky smile faltering.
"H-Hey, what's the matter? Helping Miss Nat out with some late night patients aga—"
"Show me," you ordered, finishing the bandage you were currently on and standing up, moving towards Sampo with your arms crossed. He backed up, hands raised in surrender.
"Whaddya mean, I'm— Ouch!"
The conman couldn't help the yelp he let out when his back made contact with the wall, wincing painfully as his wound hit the hard surface. You raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Shirt off, Sampo Koski. Now."
"Woah, woah, at least take me to dinner first!"
Your glare worsened into something stormy as you pointed at the chair nearby.
"Sit down, shirt off, now. Don't make me repeat myself again."
With the face of a wounded puppy, Sampo slunk over to the chair, doing as you asked. He hissed through his teeth as the cloth of his outerwear dragged against the wound, the layers giving way to a deep trio of gashes on the skin of his back. Even with all your medical training, you found yourself cringing at the sight.
"So, Doc, what's the prognosis?" the man laughed weakly, still trying with his jokes even through his pain.
When you remained quiet, his smile fell, and he turned to look at you. If it were anyone else, you might've mistaken that frown for concern.
"Y/N? You... okay?"
"Be quiet," you huffed out at last, grabbing your rolling table of medical supplies and bringing it around, pulling out a chair as you began to inspect the wounds. "What was it this time?"
"Ah, you know, same old, same old! Just some disgruntled robots, not too keen on letting me make a profit with their buddy's parts!"
"You're an idiot."
The usual Sampo would've shot back with some witty or flirty one-liner that was sure to earn him a smack over the head, but when he heard the slight tremble to your voice, he decided it'd be best to keep his mouth shut for now.
"This'll sting. Don't shout, or you'll wake the other patients."
He bit his lip, expecting a harsh serving of antiseptic, but your hands were... gentler this time. You tenderly cleaned the wound with a water-soaked cloth, and though it did sting a bit, it was far nicer than your usual tough treatments from the ire he earned getting injured all the time.
Soon after, he felt you gently patting the wound down with a soft towel, bandages following soon after that you reached around his torso to wrap around him.
Then, you reached for the pack of painkillers.
Sampo was quick to laugh nervously, pushing the pack away when you held it out to him along with a glass of water.
"Hey, hey! Thanks, Y/N, but I really shouldn't be using Miss Natasha's painkillers. Besides, with how sweetly and tenderly you just patched me up, I'm feeling better already!" he fake-swooned, clasping his hands together like a maiden in love to ham up his act.
You were far from impressed.
"You're a bad liar, Sampo Koski," you scoffed, shoving the water and pills past his defensive hands. "Take it. I can't convince you to stay here and actually rest for a change, so it's the least you can do."
When he still looked apprehensive, you swallowed your pride, lowering your gaze and averting your eyes as your face went just the tiniest bit pink.
"...For me."
Sampo honestly thought he misheard you for a moment, but he finally, hesitantly, took the medicine you offered. You led him over to the door, and he laughed breathlessly, finally giving you another smile as he shrugged his shirt and coat back on.
"All right, all right. I'll get out of your hair, and take these. Just for you."
The conman cackled and ran all the way down the alleyways as you shouted after him, fist raised. Once he had disappeared, though, you let it fall to your side, sighing again.
This time, there was a hint of fondness... but that was something else you would be remiss to admit to.
#honkai#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr x reader#honkai x reader#honkai star rail x reader#sampo koski#jing yuan#jingyuan#sampo#gepard#gepard landau#gepard x reader#sampo x reader#jing yuan x reader#jingyuan x reader
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These Violent Delights | An Eris Vanserra story
Summary: At a ball in Hewn City, you meet your match in Eris Vanserra
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader (brief mentions of Azriel x reader)
Word Count: 7.6k
Previously called If I Can’t Have Love, I Want Power. I changed the name to adapt if from a one shot into a series.
You had been born on a night like this, you think. The storm-streaked clouds line the heavens like flowering hydrangeas as they dissolve into a black abyss and the moonlight shines like pearls on the water where the horizon meets the Sidra.
Storm-streaked they had called you.
When you were a little girl, your father had told you that you had come into this world in the same way as the old Gods had. Born from the merciless depths of some unknowable blue-darkness; cruel and beautiful, and fearless.
Now fear is all you know.
The crack of forked white lightening against the darkening horizon pushes you further into introspective thought. The visions come with the quiet; flashes of silver and gold and the icy embrace of the water. That infernal cauldron and what it had taken from. It haunts you, even in dreaming.
Of late, the days seem to pass in a state of perpetual purgatory, marred by memories and the water– an unforgiving tempest that tears through you.
The water cleanses but it also devastates.
Your father had once called you water; the salt and the sea.
You had always wondered what that meant.
But here you stand-- a storm incarnate; volatile, half-wild and isolating. And who can become the water without inheriting its violence, or its loneliness?
The feeling of harsh violet eyes on you is enough to drag you gaze from your spot near the balcony and the storm as it rages outside.
“Are you ready, Nesta?” Rhysand’s voice is velvet night as it reverberates around the small waiting room.
A chill runs down your spine when you catch his eyes, glinting and violet in the dim light. You regard Nesta cooly as she tilts her chin upwards.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Nesta’s eyes are lined with kohl and looking at her is like looking into the eye of a storm.
She always had an austere kind of beauty that left you speechless.
Rhysand only nods simply before taking Feyre’s arm and approaching the large doorway. Nesta and Elain fall into rank behind them with practiced ease. It is you who hovers awkwardly in the background for a moment before taking your place in the middle of the formation. A solitary figure amongst them.
You swallow thickly and you catch the lingering scent of a night chilled mist as you bristle. A whisper of night wraps itself around you like a cold comfort. These days his scent seems to follow you like a shadow; though, you suppose when you’ve spent every night this week wrapped around him, trying to drown out your own thoughts, there is bound to be a trace of him that lingers there.
At last, the towering doors to the throne room yawned open.
The throne room is lined with black candles and evergreen wreaths frame the doorway, and moonflowers climb up the high, onyx pillars like ivy. And on each side of the aisles there were two magnificent banquet tables, piled high with food enough to feed a city. Though it was not to be touched without express permission from the High Lord.
A ripple of dark power reverberates through the mountain as The High Lord and Lady enter the throne room. You swear you feel the mountain wail in their presence. It is a powerful thing and you feel something within yourself begin to stir with it.
A cold rage as it makes a home in your chest.
The courtiers pale as they approach, parting like the tide as their High Lord and High Lady brush through them, crowned in silver crystals and garbed in midnight black robes.
Rhysand looks beautiful you think as your eyes find him in the procession-- he stands tall against you all, his hair perfectly quaffed and the rich scent of mandarin and night-blooming jasmine seems to follow him.
All that pales in comparison to Feyre; the dress she wears is like tangible shadow. Gossamer thin silk and tulle that glitters with flecks of silver starlight, all gathered about her waist with a thin belt that accentuates the swell of her stomach.
The room beholds her with baited breath; a sense of awe and ire.
She looks like the visage of some ancient Goddess of the moon; pale and beautiful in the silvery light.
You sense a shift in the air as they approach the dias and Rhysand’s shoulders tense; he is a picture of male pride. There is a dangerous quality to it that chills you to the bone. A cold violence that feels almost kindred to you. Feyre’s full red lips part and she smiles until it seems to dampen Rhys’s anger as he reaches for her as they climb the steps of the onyx dias.
Keir’s face is twisted in a half-grimace, somewhere between astonishment and anguish. Behind him the Eris Vanserra remains fixed in place, his face set in a painfully neutral expression as he regards the High Lord and Lady.
Motion from behind you beckons you to move as Nesta and Elain fall into step with you and begin to pace the length of the aisle and approach the dias.
All three of you are dressed in Night Court black. A symbol of your place amongst the royal family. A warning of the dark power which you all possessed. Stolen and gifted from that cauldron. A reminder of your value. It is a carefully rehearsed routine as Nesta takes her place between you both, the flare of her skirts bushing against the marble floor with each long stride. You and Elain flank her sides like two wraiths.
Elain looks sallow in black, you think as you catch her eyes. A poor initiation of the coldness you wear so well etched onto her beautiful face and steely determination in her dark, rich eyes.
Nesta outshines you all tonight-- her golden hair braided into a crown atop her head and a delicate crown glints in the lantern light, slender spikes jutting forward in a dark corona. Her wicked eyes glinted like cobalt in the light. She’s dressed all in black. The gown itself is skin tight and embroidered with intricate silver brocade, twisting vines and moonflowers adorn the velvet bodice, tracing the curve of her breasts and sinking low, to her navel where the silver thread gathers about a sapphire that matches the crystals on her crown.
Nesta is a cruel beauty; enough to bring a God to his knees.
And Cassian looks about ready to sink to his knees before her as you regard him on the dias.
Nestas moves with a feline grace, expressive and smirking as she takes her place between Cassian and Elain on the platform.
Feyre and Rhysand sink into their thrones with a measured grace and from your stop between Elain and Azriel you can see all the eyes in the room as they flit from one member of the Inner Circle to the next.
But it is the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra that you meet in the gathering crowd. He offers you a courteous nod and the ghost of a smirk graces his full lips and you send a scathing look in his direction in return.
You hope he feels the bitter sting of your coldness as your eyes try to find anything else in the throne room to focus on.
Azriel rolls on the balls of his feet as the silence settles in the room and he inches so close to you that you feel the scarred pads of his fingers brush the exposed skin of your back.
“You look good in black,” his voice is impossibly quiet, almost inaudible as he dips low enough that he is speaking into the shell of your ear.
A cold chill runs up the length of your spine.
“Thank you, Shadowsinger,” You say simply, a feral smile on your lips as you bare your teeth to him.
A laugh sharp and cruel rings through you and Azriel’s hand tangles in the lengths of your hair tugging sharply.
“You are most welcome,” Azriel agrees, his voice is like shadow and wind as it graces your ears “most welcome indeed.”
Azriel steps back into line as Rhysand stands to address the crowd.
Your own spine straightens as though it is muscle memory by now. Obedience. To bend and break as the High Lord and Lady saw fit.
Rhysand looks like Night Triumphant as he regards his uncle with a strange union of cruelty and cordiality. Recently Rhys and Feyre had softened slightly with the people of Hewn City. Keir in particular. They can’t afford to isolate him from court politics-- in case the need arises for his Darkbringers to fight again. Hence the fact Rhysand even abides his presence at all. Rhysand’s cruel gaze lingers just a touch too long though. A careful reminder of the fate he’ll earn if he ever decided to go against Rhys.
It’s been months since you’ve been to Hewn City, longer since you involved yourself in court politics. Longer still, since any whispers of the Trove or Briallyn reached you. Though you aren’t naive enough to believe it is over.
None of the Inner Circle are.
That is why you find yourself in Hewn City tonight. Swathed in the sallow light, and painted like a pretty whore; all red lips and dark eyes, with trembling hands, wanting nothing more than to be back in that little cabin with your sisters by your side-- as you were when you were girls.
Feyre rises to her feet to join Rhys and she addresses the crowd, “May the blessings of the Winter Solstice be upon you.”
The crowd seems to hum in acknowledgement and then they bow in a show of deference.
Or blind obedience.
Your eyes meet the strange amber gaze of Eris Vanserra once more, and it is you he looks at when he kneels.
Keir slinks forward, offering your sister a low bow, “Allow me to extend my congratulations, High Lady.” His voice drips with false flattery as he dips his chin in a show of esteem.
Eris Vanserra moves like a predator as he stalks forward, offering your sister a devastating, cultivated smile that feels almost authentic. “And allow me to extend my sincerest wishes, on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court.”
Rhysand’s mouth curls into a wicked half smile, his eyes darken to an amethyst color as she speaks “I’m sure your father will be most pleased for us.”
The implication that hands in the air is a dangerous one and you can feel the color drain from you at the terse exchange. A few more beast of silence and--
“Music,” The High Lord calls out and the orchestra from behind the mezzanine begins to play lightly, the sounds of lyres and harps ring through the air.
Feyre once again addresses the crown, every inch the High Lady, “Go--eat--enjoy.” The crowd of silent courtiers disperse throughout the room as they aim to take their places at the tables.
Each banquet table is piled high with an obscene amount of food and you find yourself feeling ashamed of the blatant opulence before you. When once you had nothing. Now you live without wanting. It makes you feel ashamed. How your old self would resent this wasteful indulgence.
Turning away from the feasting courtiers you turn inwards towards the thrones on the dias.
Now only Eris and Keir remain standing before the High Lord and Lady. You notice how neither of the men has deigned to acknowledge Morrigan’s presence behind the thrones. She looks ethereal and savage as she smirks down at them, her lips look as though they are stained wine red.
Blood red, you think.
The Illyrain’s at either side of you and your sisters look more like beasts carved into the dark stone of the mountain than anything else. Azriel and Cassian are clad in black armor, each adorned in ruby and sapphire to match their siphons that glow faintly in the low light. The brothers look as though they are the visage of some Gods of old; statuesque and hard-faced as they regard the Autumn Prince.
Cassian in particular looks like he might invoke some of that ancient power to stop Eris from dancing with Nesta tonight. He had not objected but, how could he? Rhys was his brother and his High Lord. Obedience is easier than the alternative.
And the fate of The Night Court-- his home-- could rest on Eris’ alliance. So he will bite his tongue in the knowledge that what Eris offers is a chance at defeating Briallyn and Koschei.
From your spot you watch the Autumn Prince with piqued curiosity. He will not stop looking at you and it is infuriating.
It brings a cold anger bubbling to the skin's surface; all biting fury and icy violence.
The conversation between Keir and Rhys seems to come to a natural end and the lull in the conversation has the whole room falling into silence, waiting for their next order. Like puppets.
And your sister the puppet master, pulling the strings as she commands, her voice like thunder at midnight, “Dance--”.
The courtiers like a midnight sea part and pair off in swathes of dark silk and velvet. Even Keir retreats into the crowd and pairs off with a dark haired female.
Eris turns on his heels, the wrap of his riding boots against the floor echo through your head.
“Before you join in the merriment, Eris,” Rhy’s voice is a velvet drawl as he presents a long black box, “I’d like to present you with your Solstice gift.”
You swallow hard and step forward. Procuring the box from Rhysand you press forward, one long stride that brings you face to face with the Autumn Prince and for the first time you truly look at him.
A night-kissed wind envelops the pair of you, enough to wrap behind Eris blocking the dias from view of the dancing courtiers.
Eris Vanserra is devastating; he has a cruel sort of beauty, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones that look sharp enough to cut into you, but his eyes are soft and unwavering. He is a strange juxtaposition.
Eris arches a brow at Rhysand and you flip open the carved lid of the box. Eris stiffens, his voice low and dangerous.
“What is this?” he asks, somewhere between disbelief and wariness.
“A present,” Rhysand clarifies and you catch a glimpse of ruby and gold on the hilt of the dagger.
You refrain from grimacing at the truth you are confronted with. Rhysand and your sister want to sell off Nesta like a broodmare and her Made weapons with her.
A truly beautiful piece. And dangerous too.
Like Eris, something in you calls.
Eris’ hand hovers over the open box and he sucks in a sharp breath.
“You sense its power, then?” Feyre asks voice dripping with a sense of smugness that does not suit her in the slightest.
Eris nods carefully, his eyes flicking to the High Lord and Lady before finding yours again.
“There’s flame in it,” he says, hand still hovering over the weapon. As if something in him senses its true power. He closes the lid abruptly. “Why give it to me?”
Feyre smiles lightly and shrugs, “You’re our ally.”
Feyre rests a protective hand over the swell of her stomach, “You face enemies that exist outside of the usual rules of magic. It’s only fair to grant you a weapon that operates outside of those rules too.”
You stand transfixed by the twitch of his jaw and the bob of his throat as he considers her words.
“It is truly made then?” He asks, carefully. His eyes never leave yours and it is your voice that answers his question.
“It is, My Lord.” your voice comes out all cold and gravelly, unlike yourself.
Rhysand speaks again though the beating of your heart renders him almost mute, “From my personal collection. An heirloom of sorts.”
“All this time,” Eris’ voice is dark and thoughtful, “ all these years you possessed a Made weapon and you kept it hidden.”
“Even during the war,” Eris says more to himself than anyone else.
There is a dangerous sense of anger and skepticism in the air as Eris examines the weapon again, his hand once more runs over the length of the dagger, his fingers barely ghosting the cool metal.
“Don’t take our generosity for granted,” Feyre offers in warning, her voice quiet and threatening.
Eris stills and nods in acknowledgement. He extends a smile that looks courteous enough to be genuine and once more allows his finger to run over the smooth length of the blade. “Thank you,”
“Might I leave it in your safekeeping while I dance, My Lady?” Eris’s voice seems distant and far away and it takes a moment for you to realize that he is speaking directly to you.
You look at him coldly, unable to muster the warmth of genuine affection when he is looking at you like that. It is infuriating. That someone so cruel might also be so insufferably handsome.
“Yes, My Lord.”
Feyre nods to Rhys and Eris in acknowledgement and against your better judgment you let your eyes linger over the graceful curve of his calves and up over the contours of his muscled thighs, all the way up over the broad expanse of his chest and finally becoming entangled in the unbound curls of copper hair as he sweeps it over his shoulder.
Devilishly and devastatingly handsome. Sun-blood handsome.
Feyre’s soft lilt brings you back to reality as she says “Use it well, Lord.”
Your sister's smile curves into a soft smile at Eris and extends a hand to him, “Ordinarily I would ask you to dance, but my condition has left me quite unwell.” Feyre makes a show of looking between the two sisters who stand in line with Cassian and Azriel.
Elain, at least, has the good grace to give the impression of seeming interested. Nesta though looks bored. As though she is only half listening. As though they hadn’t just given away the dagger she’d Made.
Perhaps it was the way that Nesta’s grey eyes had drifted away from the dancing sea of courtiers, or the forlorn look on Cassian’s face as he stood on the dias, but either way it made you realize something. That maybe the Illyrian General meant more to Nesta than she would ever let on. More than that dagger-- more than magic or power or court politics.
Feyre notes the direction of Nesta’s stare and then looks between you and Eris. The corners of her lips twitch in nervous anticipation as her eyes settle on you.
“My lovely sister shall take my place.” Feyre nods to you and for a moment you let the icy wrath in your stare settle over her before dipping your head to her.
Eris’ throat bobs as you assess him with that same cold gaze. A slender hand takes the Made dagger from you and you hold out a hand to him.
He extends a sculpted arm out to you, his large hand wrapping around you as you yield to him. His long, deft fingers brush against yours; his skin is warm to the touch and even in the pallid light it is clear and pale, with golden hues that compliment the warm depths of his eyes. Your chest grows taut and you feel emotion course through you with the force of a raging tempest.
You loose a breathy gasp and for a moment you exist somewhere outside of yourself. You hear Eris’ voice, a warm, low timbre as he utters your name. He offers you his arm as you descend from your spot on the onyx dias. The sound of your slippers echo in the silent chamber. Eris’s face is set in a painfully neutral expression and you try your hardest to mirror it. Hoping he will not see the storm raging inside of you. You think of Nesta and the way she moves with such thoughtful grace and so you copy it; your chin tilted high and each step becomes a glide as you reach the edge of the marble dance floor.
The eyes of the courtiers fall onto you.
You feel the heat of Eris stare as it burns into the side of your face-- you feel a pair of violet eyes on you too. A cold chill spreads through you when his talons scrape dangerously and then you see him in your mind's eye. What a dangerous turn of events.
Dangerous? You had never considered yourself as something dangerous.
Nesta might have seduced Eris, but you will bring him to his knees. Rhysand’s cold tenor rattles around your mind and for a moment you see him standing at the precipice of a cliff as the storm rolls in, and the jagged rocks below look like the opening of a Helmouth.
There is no doubt that Nesta is more beautiful. With a feline sort of beauty; long legs and a graceful neck, all angular and steely eyed. Nesta had inherited the aristocratic sort of beauty that your mother possessed. You had always been half-wild, unapproachable and--
Well, it is your mother’s voice that resounds in your head, of two sisters one is always the dancer and one the watcher.
Tonight the roles reverse as you take your place in the middle of the dance floor. You will bring him to his knees.
You catch Azriel’s eye as the instrumental music fades into momentary silence. From his spot on the dias he looks like a dark God; and he looks like he might just tear Eris to blood ribbons when his hand wraps around your waist.
Eris brings you so close to him that you're pressed against him and as the harp begins to play, high and sweet, he smiles softly at you. As if the notes of music wrap around you, you raise your palm to his flat and open, an invitation if he has even seen one.
The low stringed instruments usher in the music like a coming storm, a summons to the dance in a rushing of music, like water. You remind yourself to smile wickedly at Eris as he slides a broad hand over the curves and divots of your waist and hips. You lift your head high and, looking up into his perfect face you bare your teeth to him. All ruby red lips and pearls and he smiles so wickedly that you’re not sure who is supposed to be seducing who.
Those strange amber eyes-- so haunting in the faelight.
The harps and lyres sing so beautifully in the air and when the violins begin to play, it feels like a siren song in the air. A beckoning. As your body moves with the ebb and flow of the dancing tide.
Eris leads you into the waltz, he moves with practiced ease. He knows every note, every trough and swell of the music, each nuance and note.
Nesta would outdance you everytime. This you know. She moves like the music becomes her. And in so many ways it does. Her body bends to the will of the orchestral sound, and it bends to her too.
So you will have to play it differently.
The music sweeps you up in it’s tide, and as the music swells you decide to surrender yourself to the water. Let it wash all over you. Your body, once rigid and taut, goes pliant in Eris’ arms. You let the orchestral sound drown out your doubts and give yourself over to it. To him. His fingers ghost the line of your spine and he pushes you further still, against him. So close that you feel your heartbeat in tandem and your body bends to his will.
It is easier to bend than to break.
Better to relinquish control than have it taken from you.
Eris’ eyes widen and soften then-- as if he feels it too-- you feel his hands loosen before tightening again around you. Somehow different now. Somehow, strangely, comforting.
He moves with such grace and skill, his body reacts to every fluttering note and pause in the music. And the whole time his eyes are on you. And you can’t look away. The dark, warm depths of his eyes like a slow-burning fire that consumes all in its wake.
You find the faces of your family in the crowd and you see that their normally composed demeanor seems to have shifted, their eyes wide and jaws slack as you move with the tide.
Tonight you are the storm and the fire will bend to you.
You will bring him to his knees, you think. As the music washes over you.
Has there ever been such a haunting and mournful sound in all the world? Your name falling from Eris’mouth perhaps.
The snippets of the music Nesta had described to you, from her memory of the Veritas, paled in comparison. It flows and swims around you, filling you like water, and if you let it, it could be enough to drown you. To sink into the depths of the high-arching song.
Eris smiles again when you fall into step with him so effortlessly, like you are an extension of him.
One soul in two bodies.
His broad hand tightens over the flare of your hip, his fingers flexing before digging into the malleable flesh. The smile you give him feels much too vulnerable and genuine to bring you any sort of comfort.
Eris' amber eyes shine with feral delight and you see yourself reflected in his eyes; you look like sin personified. The dark material of your dress gathers about your waist, held in place only by velvet ribbon and a few embroidered onyx crystals. The deep cut of the dress is so low that it bares the ample curve of your breasts and your strain to catch your breath because of how tight the dress has been laced.
The person you see in Eris’eyes looks like the incarnation of some ancient deity; dark and cold, and cruel. And beautiful.
Eris’ broad hand spreads across the middle of your back, pressed firm between your shoulder blades and you burn beneath him. As the music lulls and flutters his gaze locks onto yours and flame simmers in those dark topaz eyes and a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. Cat-like and feral as he dips you low, supporting your weight in his arms. His face comes to hover over yours and you’re transfixed by his unyielding stare.
Beautiful and haunting eyes.
One hand is wrapped around his neck and the other you bring to touch his cheek with the tenderness of someone who has never truly been touched. His face falters and something akin to raw vulnerability flashes in his eyes.
Bring him to his knees.
In one swift movement Eris sweeps you so that you are standing upright, pressed so close to his chest that you feel each groove and divot of his sculpted chest. You place that same hand over his blazing heart and as the music filters into stunned silence, Eris eyes you with feral delight.
For a moment, as the heaving in your chest subsides you allow yourself to remain in his tender grasp. His fingers ghosting the curve of you hip and the small of your back, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the skin there.
The faces of the courtiers turn upon you.
You, this once-human female, barely out of girlhood, who had been thrust into this world of dark power and politics.
Who stood before them now, coloured in the murky green hues of Hewn City.
Storm-streaked girl.
It is like being born again and the mountain trembles in your wake.
The eyes of your High Lord and Lady land on you and Eris at the foot of the dias. Rhysand rises in his seat and his violet eyes meet yours and something wicked and enchanting flashes in them. Feyre regards you with a wild smile and she laughs before tipping her head to you in acknowledgement.
And in a show of secret defiance you plunge into the deepest curtsey you can manage; your chest still rising and falling with a dramatic flare, and your skirts pool around you like inky shadows as you sink low onto the marble. You dip your chin ever so slightly, never quite breaking eye contact with the cruel violet gaze that assesses you with a dangerous glint.
A laugh of dark joy bursts from Eris beside you who in turn, offers his own small bow before capturing you again in his firm hold as the orchestra begins to play again.
Your mother had always wanted a Prince for Nesta, and yet, here you were-- beautiful, cruel and merciless, with the Autumn Prince sinking into the cold depths of your eyes.
Everyone who has ever loved you has underestimated you. But looking into Eris’ eyes you see something kindred to you.
You will bring them all to their knees.
Eris' amber eyes gleam with want as he takes you in again and you loose a shaky breath as he leads you into the next dance.
The music is soft and light, the strings sing a song so aching and mournful that you feel once again overcome with it. All of your violent coldness, all that biting fury, rendered a useless ruse as the music becomes you.
Eris might be the monster they all say he is, but looking at him now, in the soft light, you see something else.
“Trust Rhysand to keep such a beautiful creature to himself.” Eris’ amber eyes study you carefully.
You school your face to remain neutral, with just a touch of scorn as you bite back.
“If beauty is all you can see, My Lord” You say, your voice dark and taunting, “I fear you have missed the point entirely.”
“Intelligent too,” Eris chuckles darkly and wraps a wisp of your unbound hair around his forefinger, “and dangerous.”
You don’t deign to reply though Eris continues his assessment of you, his eyes trailing over you, afire with dark promise.
“I’ve seen you before though,” Eris asks as he steps into the next part of the song, “haven’t I?”
His eyes narrow on you and you think back to the last time you saw Eris Vanserra.
“At the High Lords meeting,” You say quietly, your voice thick with shame as you recall the meeting some months back.
You had been little more than a wraith then, when the dreams of drowning in that cauldron plagued you nightly, a girl gulping on a woman’s grief. Now those dreams only come with the coming of a storm. A warning or some ill-fated omen.
“The time since the way has changed you.” It is not a question but a statement.
You don’t smile at him like you should. Instead you meet Eris’ burning stare with a measured look of your own, “For the better, I hope?”
Eris thinks for a moment, as if looking for the right words to express his meaning.
“You are a Goddess.” he says slyly gesturing to the dress as the skirts brush against him, baring the slit in the thigh to him.
“Then kneel to me.” You say, not missing a beat as Eris laughs wickedly and brings his mouth to hover over the shell of your ear.
“It seems you came to play the game tonight, afterall.” Eris says, his voice a low murmur in your ear.
He spins you again, quick and violent before you crash back into him again, “don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”
“But I should believe you?” You ask, arching a brow to the cruel prince.
“You shouldn’t believe anyone here, Little fox.” Eris tips his head towards the dias where Mor watches the pair of you from her spot besides the High Lord and Lady.
“The Morrigan knows the truth,” Eris insists, “though she has never revealed it.”
“Why?” You ask curiously.
“Because she is afraid of it.” Eris’ voice is tempered and quiet and he casts the Inner Circle a look of his own, “they all are.”
Your mouth twitches with the ghost of a smirk as you press yourself further into him, “You don’t do yourself any favors with this mask you wear.”
“Don’t I? I’ve managed to ally myself to this court, under constant threat of being discovered by my father-- do you have any idea what he’d do to me if he found out, Little fox?” Eris asks, the fire within him lighting and flickering in his amber eyes. “I ally myself with this court, I offer aid when I can, I placate Rhysand with ceremonies and shows of deference. Why do you think that is?”
Eris dips you again and the fan on his unbound hair brushes against your bare shoulders.
“Because there’s something in it for you.” It isn’t a matter of question. You know it to be true and you see it in the way that Eris regards you with a mixture of fondness and caution.
“Because there is something in it for me,” Eris confirms, “and tell me, what is in it for me?”
“What is it that you want, My Lord?” You ask, fluttering dark lashes at him and the music swells.
“What is Rhysand offering?” Eris counters and leads you further into the center of the floor.
“Nothing that I have the power to grant you.”
Eris laughs, the sound like silk on your skin and you shiver as he brings his lips to graze your ear, “I very much doubt that, Little fox?”
You swallow thickly and a surge of dark power pricks at your skin. You let him see it; all that cold rage, and the violence of the sea.
Eris' face twists but not from fear and a strange look of reverence shines in his eyes.
The waltz comes to a close and as the music fades into the chatter of the courtiers he whispers into your ear once more.
“They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you are something else entirely.” His breath is hot and sacred on your neck, and a broad hand strokes the bare skin of your back and you find yourself arching into him.
Eris takes a step back from you, holding your hand above your head and turning you slowly as his eyes roam the curves and contours of your body, “You are wasted in the Night Court,”
“Truly wasted.” His voice is a low whistle as you stop in front of him now.
“And where might I be used more effectively, My Lord?”
Eris chuckles again but before he can answer--
“Get your hands off her, Eris.” Azriel’s voice is like cold death that cuts through the spell that Eris has you under. His wrath comes off him in waves that crash against you, halting your movements.
The dancing sea around you seems to cease to move as Eris and Azriel lock eyes.
Eris straightens his back and he closes his hand over yours-- gently, almost protectively-- and he locks his eyes onto Azriel.
Hazel and amber meet and shadow and light seem to dance in the air. The courtiers wait with baited breath.
“I don’t take orders from the likes of you, Shadowsinger.”
You stifle a snarl as you look at Azriel. Who does he think he is? He has no claim over you. He had made that much clear when you started this thing. A means to an end. A placeholder for another sister.
“Am I to understand that you’d like to dance, Azriel?” You ask cooly, trying not to let your violet rage show in the darkness of your eyes.
“Yes.” His voice is insistent and thick with jealousy and the promise of violence.
Before you can pull yourself from Eris’ protective grip, Azriel is tugging on your wrist and bringing you into his side.
Eris bares his teeth to Azriel and fire dances in those strange amber eyes. “Go sit at your master’s feet, dog.”
Azriel laughs darkly and his shadows become a violent wisp of dark that wraps itself around you in a possessive manner.
You swallow down the shame that you feel when Eris looks at you -- like all the power you had just moments ago has been ripped away from you, and now you are just another piece on the board to be bought and sold as your High Lord saw fit.
A pretty whore, painted like some dark Goddess.
You band an arm across Azriel’s chest as he lunges forward in a flurry of movement.
“It’s alright,” you offer Eris an apologetic smile, “I’ve taken too much of your time already.” You say diplomatically, taking Azriel’s hand in your own and pulling away from Eris.
Feyre and Rhysand had given up one of Nesta’s Made daggers in the name of Eris’ continued alliance, surely, one interrupted dance will not jeopardize it.
Eris offers you a taut smile and he bows his head to you, “Very well then, we’ll play later, Little Fox.”
Eris doesn’t so much as acknowledge Azriel as he ventures towards the dias again.
Azriel holds you in place, one hand wrapped around your shoulders and he searches you as if looking for signs of injury. His touch is cold and biting.
“Happy now?” you roll your eyes at him.
Azriel stares coldly at you, his face set like stone, as if carved into the dark stone of the mountain, “not in the slightest.”
You glance hesitantly over his shoulder and see Rhysand and Feyre each sharing a look of subtle fury. Azriel will no doubt be on the receiving end of a mental lashing. If Azriel has cost them this alliance it comes down on you too-
“He touched you and I-,” Azriel’s voice is weighted and serious at the same time you speak out.
“Whatever has passed between us,” you say gesturing between you and him, “it has to end, Azriel.”
If Azriel felt anything at all but cold indifference his face does not show it.
“Because of Eris?” Azriel asks incredulously, his tone full of venom.
“No, of course not,” You say truthfully, “because we are fools to think this will ever be enough.”
A beat of silence lingers in the air between you.
“For either of us.”
Azriel takes a moment to think about it and you see the recognition flash in his darkening hazel eyes, he looks over his shoulder in Elain’s direction. Carefully, measured, he looks at you again.
“You want Elain.” You say matter of factly, even with a hint of sadness, “don’t deny it-- and I…” your voice trails into nothing. An errant whisper of power.
“And what do you want?” Azriel asks, his voice once dark and cruel is something akin to familial.
“I’m not sure yet.” you say thoughtfully, looking back to the dias where everyone regards you and Azriel warily.
Azriel softens and he lets go of your arms and hides his scarred fingertips in the pockets of his dark colored tunic. He runs a hand over his face in regret and looses a shaky breath before laughing again.
“Rhys is going to fucking slaughter me.” Azriel says and you laugh quietly, muttering in agreement as you link arms with his and lead him through the dancing sea of courtiers to the wine table.
Azriel takes a goblet in each hand and offers one to you. The wine is dark and red and stains your lips like blood. The taste is woody and spiced, it tastes a little like Autumn. Azriel leans into the onyx pillar and angles himself away from the prying eyes of the courtiers as they dance.
You’re at his side and move so that his body obstructs the view of Rhysand and Feyre, shunning their ire.
“How pissed do you think they’ll be?” You ask grimly.
“With you?” Azriel asks, cocking a brow in confusion. You only nod and wait for him to continue. Azriel swallows a large mouthful of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of a scarred hand “not at all, you did them a favor-- practically had Eris on his knees.”
“Good.” You meet his eyes and for the first time tonight you feel as though you might just have something to offer.
“Be careful with Eris,” Azriel says gently, his hand on your arm, “not everything he says is to be trusted.”
“But I can trust you?” You ask, thinking back to what Eris had said earlier in the evening.
“Always.” Azriel says.
The orchestral music comes to a dramatic close and you see Nesta and Cassian dancing happily in the crowds. Elain remains on the dias and you catch her eyes as she watches you and Azriel with careful, wide eyes.
“Come on, Shadowsinger,” You say defiantly, pushing yourself from the onyx pillar, “time to face the High Lord.”
Azreil huffs indignantly and pushes away from the pillar, abandoning his goblet and stalking his way to Elain’s side on the dias. She smiles softly at him and you see some of the tension in Azriel’s shoulders dissolve into nothing but a contented ease.
You approach the dias with a quiet reproach and as you meet Feyre’s eyes she croons at you, her smile is once of a brilliant radiant light that spills from her. A stark contrast to the cold darkness that you carry so well.
Eris' voice is dark and serious as you approach The High Lord, his jaw tightens when Rhysand regards him with a cool violet gaze.
“I have my reasons.”
You’re not entirely sure what they’re talking about and when you take your place next to Feyre she places a hand on your arm in comfort. Though it does nothing to settle the acid churning in your stomach nor the storm that is raging inside of you.
“Care to share those reasons with us?” Rhysand asks, picking at an errant thread on his beautiful dark tunic.
For a moment his eyes glaze over, muted violet as he speaks mind to mind with the Autumn Prince.
Rhysand’s lips twitch lightly and you can see that whatever words passed between him and Eris has pleased him greatly-- at least given him the upper hand so that he doesn’t feel threatened but Eris’ commanding presence.
Eris steps forwards again and adds, “Bestides, it is a bonus of course, that in doing so, I would be getting what has been owed to me even since my betrothal to Morrigan.”
Rhysand studies Eris and then casts a fleeting glance along the line to you, standing dutifully at Feyre’s side.
Like the docile, and obedient sister he wants you to be.
A conduit of his dark power. A piece to be played in this game of power and politics.
“Anything I want-- anything at all, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me it all in exchange for the Archeron girl as your wife?”
Azriel, still somewhat territorial, lets loose a low growl that rumbles like thunder through the air.
Eris doesn’t deign to even look in his direction-- instead those haunting amber eyes linger on you. His eyes are soft and dark, burning into yours, and you find yourself caught in the unyielding, all consuming fire that is Eris Vanserra.
Eris turns back to Rhysand. “Not as far as my heir, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against the human queen? You’ll have them, and anything else you might ask of me.”
“Just for her?” Azriel’s voice is cutting and suspicious as he hones in on Eris Vanserra.
“The girl, and, when the time comes, you’ll aid me in seizing the Autumn Throne from my father.” Eris adds, his eyes shine with that slow-burning fire, “and then you’ll have all the armies you desire.”
Rhysand and Feyre share a look of pure delight, irreverent to anyone else but you see it for what it is. Feral delight at their victory.
“I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”
I said bring him to his knees, darling. What dark magic is this? What have you done to him? Rhysand’s voice is like night-kissed air in your mind.
Feyre’s laugh rings through you like birdsong and you can’t help the satisfied smirk that curls onto your lips.
You’re about to speak when you catch Eris’ eyes; those strange amber eyes. And then you feel it.
A bond that grows taut and reverberates through the hall, like a ripple of power and a golden thread bridges the distance between your body and his.
“Mate?” Eris’ voice strains with the weight of it, and you feel like light goes all through you, as though you are little more than a shadow or a memory as you allow yourself to sink into the dark waters that live within your mind's eye. “My mate.”
Your name breaks apart in his mouth and in a flash of violet and murky blue you’re greeted by the storm as it breaks over Velaris. On the horizon, dark and ominous as it approaches. You reach the balcony and wade out into the violent night, waiting for the storm to stake its claim to you.
You were born on a night like this, you tell yourself. Like the Gods of old; born from the storms and the seas, to withstand the hardships of this world. To be cruel and merciless and beautiful.
You whisper it, until you feel that bond in your chest grow taut, strained with the distance between you. And as Eris’ emotions run like water into you, for the first time in a long time you allow yourself to feel.
To yield to the storm as it breaks against you with all the force of a great tempest.
#eris x reader#eris x you#eris vanserra x reader#eris vanserra x you#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris fic#eris headcanons#pro eris vanserra#eris vandaddy#acotar#acotar x reader#acotar fanfiction#acotar smut#acotar fanfic#azriel x you#azriel x reader
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Would it be possible if you could do a g!p wandanat x female reader with sex pollen?? Its okay if you cant, just an idea if you have nothing else to write🫣🤭
Blue glow - WandaNat
DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY
Summary: Curiosity and alien flowers work wonders.
Pairing: G!PWandaNat × fem!R
Warnings:NSWF,SMUT SMUT SMUT, handjob, blowjob, breeding kink, threesome, cockwarming, dirty talk, after care
DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES
Word count: 1.7k
AN: hi anon! I’m glad to see my first request thank you! honestly, until that moment I didn’t know what sex pollen is and I had to turn to google lmao
"What is that?." You asked looking at the strange plant in the pot. "Have you decided to take up gardening? Tony, I thought you weren't old enough to act like my grandma." You stop laughing when the man looks at you sternly, apparently not appreciating the jokes about his age. “This, by the way, is a plant unknown to science (at least on Earth), which I personally grew from seeds strictly for research and not what you just said.” “Okay let’s say it’s like this, let me take a closer does it smell like something?” You also kept a couple of cacti in your room at the Avengers headquarters, which recently bloomed by the way. As soon as you stood up and approached to the pot, a man blocked your way. “Are you crazy, what did I just say? Don’t touch this thing, I don’t know if it’s poisonous or not.” You looked at him sternly and muttered under your breath so that he could also hear, “You said not to touch, not to smell.” The attempt failed.
late Friday evening. Everyone went to their rooms or left the headquarters altogether. There was silence everywhere, only the sounds of Wanda’s steps were heard somewhere in the corridor. The woman had almost reached her destination when she saw some kind of blue glow in the darkness, “What the fuck...”. She came closer and examined some kind of plant that vaguely resembled a flycatcher, but with more spherical “traps.” Then she suddenly remembered...
“Y/N, Natasha, come here let’s hurry up. Y/N, you told me about something in Tony’s office. Check it out, Natasha take a look too.” Apparently the witch was very impressed by the flower, because she excitedly pulled both of you by the hands towards the light source. And where did she get this passion for flora…
“Wanda, we were already getting ready to go to bed, what did you see there?” Nat suddenly fell silent, looking at the strange light. “Did you seriously drag me out of bed for this succulent or what is this?!” She clearly did not share the witch's interest. “Oh, you’re right, this is the flower I told you about. Tony takes such good care of it, and apparently it’s...bloomed? Let’s take a closer and look, it’s cool,” Nat rolled her eyes but followed you two. You raised your face to the flower, wanting to look at it, when suddenly... the ball of the bud opened releasing pollen into the air, apparently from which the light came.
There is absolutely everything around in this stuff, you can hear Natasha’s exclamations: “Don’t breathe in this, it can be poisonous. Damn it, I told you not to come here.” The three of you cough, covering your faces, and go out into the corridor, shaking yourself and each other from the remaining dust. “Now you make me need to take a shower again.” The woman grumbles something else while Wanda calms her down, you also want to answer, but suddenly this feeling comes.
If there was a mirror in front of you right now, you could appreciate how quickly your pupils are dilating, as if you were a drug addict on a high (technically you were), beads of sweat are rolling off your forehead and this pulsation between your legs is as if you were given a dose of an aphrodisiac multiplied by five times. Oh no this is definitely not normal, you need to tell Wanda and Natasha what is happening apparently because of this cute glowing flower. While you were in your thoughts you didn't notice how the swearing died down and both women also noticed the changes.
When you turned your head, you saw two women looking at you with hunger and tents in their pants. Your mouth watered at the sight of the obvious bulge on both of your girlfriends and you impatiently walked over to Wanda, clinging to her like a lifeline. "Oh God, I don't know what it is, but I need you both so bad." Natasha came up from behind, pressing her rock-hard dick to your ass, her arms wrapped around your waist and the redhead’s whisper was heard in your ear. "Oh don't worry baby you'll get what you want.Damn I'm going to die if I don't fill your pretty pussy at least twice. What do you think Wanda?"
You feel the soft material of the sheets as they throw you on the bed, watching as they take off their clothes and look at you as if you were their prey. Your own panties are already hopelessly ruined, lub flows down your thighs at the sight of your girlfriends.
You quickly take of your clothes after which Nat takes you in her arms, pressing a kiss on your lips, you feel her cock poking into your stomach and dripping with pre-cum. Wanda, meanwhile stands behind stroking her length at this spectacle. "Mmm..Nat please." You rock your hips to rub against her cock, but you are suddenly pulled to your feet and forced to your knees.
"No no, first you're going to take every inch of my dick into your mouth, baby." The tip of her cock pressed against your lips and you obediently open your mouth and shake your head along entire length. Wanda can’t just watch anymore and comes up to you, takes your hand and places it on her pulsating length. "Come on baby, jerk off Wanda you can't leave either of us needy. Damn Wanda her mouth feels so good around me. That's such a good cocksucker." You move your hand and rub your thumb over Wanda's sensitive red tip as she begins to rock into your hand. Tears well up in your eyes when Natasha grabs your hair and shuts your mouth. Wanda helps you jerk her off and grins, “What is it baby girl? Is Nat’s dick too big for you? You’re so beautiful, now I want to cum all over your face.”
Natasha began to shamelessly fuck your mouth, running after her orgasm, the head of her dick hitting the back wall of your throat every time. "That's itmbaby, I'm going to cum in your beautiful fucking mouth and you'll swallow every drop. Wanda, are you close? Cum with me." Your hand was thrown away so that Wanda could jerk herself off, cumming all over your face, ropes of Natasha's cum hit your throat and you breathed through your nose as you swallowed every drop as you were told.
You took a deep breath as the redhead pulled out of your mouth and wiped Wanda's release off your face. When you were lifted from the floor, a small puddle of your arousal remained on it, your legs did not obey and your knees were red. You were already dripping and the pitiful whining and pleas left your mouth without hindrance. “Please it hurts so much, I need you to fuck me so bad.”
"What do you think Wanda, I think she deserves to have you fill her pussy." The witch got off with a simple nod as her two strong hands forced you onto all fours on the bed, allowing her to position herself behind you so she could start pounding into you without warning. "God Nat, her pussy was made for my cock, so greedy and tight. You need to see how well she takes me." Nat, meanwhile, spat on her hand for extra lub and stroked her red sensitive tip, appreciating how good the two of you looked. The long-awaited feeling of filling and Wanda’s quick thrusts drove you crazy, you put your hand under you, stimulating your swollen clit. "Yes yes thank you thank you so good fuck I'm gonna cum can I cum?" You know that with the tip of Wanda’s cock deliciously hitting that nice spot inside you, you wouldn’t last long, and having received approval, a minute later the orgasm hit you with incredible force. "Oh yes Y/N you squeeze my cock so well. Oh my God, cum for me like that, cum all over my length." The witch praised you.
You were turned over again and your back touched the cool sheets. Wanda pounding into you hearing a cute whine from your mouth, "Too sensitive. It's too much." "Oh baby girl you can take it. I need to filled this tight pussy so badly. You want my cum inside don't you? Do you love this cock?" "Yes yes I love so fucking much!". Natasha continued to jerk herself off when a cute little idea popped into her head that she only bothered to tell the witch about. The women looked at each other and Wanda nodded in approval of the plan.
The witch's thrusts became faster and she exploded, releasing her load inside you. “Oh yeah baby fuck take all my cum!” The feeling of fullness and how good it was, was the only thing you could think about. Wanda, meanwhile, pulled out of you, giving way to the redhead. Natasha turned you around, taking you by the hips and jerking off her cock, she stuck only the tip inside you, filling you even more. "Oh fuck fuck I'm so full fuck Natasha!" “That’s it my little greedy girl, I know you love it when I fill you up .” The only sounds in the room were heavy sighs and Nat's little whining as she pulled out and looked at the beautiful picture in front of her.
You were lying on your shared bed, Wanda took napkins from the nightstand and carefully wiped all the liquids from your thighs, kissing you and telling you how good you are and how much she loves you. When the witch finished, Natasha threw a robe over your naked body, picked you up, kissing your cheeks and carried you to the bathroom so they could both take care of you the way you truly deserve.
Sitting in a hot bubble bath, you asked, “How do we tell Tony about the pollen effect of his science experiment?”
#natasha x reader#wanda fanfic#wanda maximoff x reader#wandanat#wanda maximoff imagine#natasha romanoff#natasha x you#wanda x you#wandanat x reader#natasha x y/n#natasha romanoff x reader
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To your rescue
Lauren Hemp x Charles!Reader
summary~ You get into an argument with your girlfriend. You’re stubborn, and Lauren is too, but luckily another Charles is there to help.
Being Niamh Charles’ little sister you were meant to be a footballer too. You grew up playing all sorts of sports with your older sister. Your household was very competitive, not just sports, card games too and that’s what got you to where you are now.
Niamh always had your back. She joked and complained a bit about you whenever you were with her. But you knew she spoke highly of you to others. Your bond had grown even stronger through your shared love for football.
Niamh ended up playing for Chelsea where as you ended up at another blue club, Manchester City. You got to play with your sister’s bestfriend Lauren.
Lauren is a very interesting person. And that might’ve been what got you to love her so much. Nobody really knew what was going on in that head of hers, if there was even anything going on at all.
You honestly don’t remember when they started to be friends but Lauren was always near. Niamh and Lauren were always together, it was like they could know what the other was thinking without even saying anything.
Lauren was already part of the family by the time you started dating. No matter how many hints you gave her, she didn’t seem to notice them, Lauren was absolutely oblivious to them.
You’d absolutely had it by the time you admitted your feelings out loud. You had taken her out to a coffee shop after training, it wasn’t commen for you to get some alone time with her.
You sat her down after ordering and got straight to the point. “Lauren i really like you and i’d love to go on a real date sometime.” you told her.
Lauren was a bit shocked at your confession. “Uuh okay, yeah same.” she answered.
You had to laugh a little at that. She didn’t expect it but it didn’t necessarily surprise her either. But as fast as your question was answered she went to another subject.
Lauren didn’t have to think much about accepting your offer. She had talked about you a few times too many to your sister. Niamh caught on and asked Lauren about it. She may not have realised she was in love with you but when Niamh asked her it all clicked. She has loved you for longer than she knew.
Niamh was okay with it and there was nothing stopping her but she just didn’t have the balls to ask you out and she didn’t know if you liked her anyway.
But god was she happy you asked her, otherwise this would never have gotten any further than longing stares.
If you hadn’t asked her you wouldn’t be in a longterm relationship, footballing together, living with each other and loving each other so openly and passionately.
And if you’d ask what Niamh thought about your relationship she always said ‘Lauren was always like family now she’s just officially family’.
lauren_hemp
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niamhcharles17 is that my watch?
↳ y/ncharles no it’s not, mine just looks like yours
↳ niamhcharles17 so it is mine
↳ y/ncharles nooooo just looks the saammee
sandy_maciver pookies
maryfowlerrr 💗💗💗
kerstin_casparij winning best matching couple award 🥇
↳ lauren_hemp thank you thank you 🤭
hempo11 ugghh i love them sm
mancitehh2020 they’re the cutest fr
You and Lauren never really have arguments, if there were any they were tiny. Those arguments were about what show to watch or what chocolate to buy and you’d just end up buying two different chocolate bars. There was always an easy solution.
But now it was about something important. You needed a new couch in your shared home and Lauren thought a mustard coloured one would look good. In your eyes this was fugly, yeah you said fugly and Lauren was beyond offended.
“Lau, baby i just don’t think a yellow couch would look good in our home. It just doesn’t match anything babe.” you pleaded with her.
“Yeah it does! Look, we have mustard in our fridge and yellow flowers!” she tried to convince you.
“Come on, that doesn’t even count!” you told her annoyed.
“I’ve let you pick out almost anything in the house, i just want the yellow couch.” Lauren said irritated.
“That’s not even true! We’ve done half half plus the couch is like a big deal, we can’t just buy one that doesn’t match anything Lauren.” you started to get a bit angry at Lauren. Why couldn’t she get that the couch would look so ugly with the rest of your furniture.
“Whatever.” Lauren said coldly and walked out of the front door.
You knew she went to your sister, she always goes to your sister. But right now it seemed like the right move, Lauren was never so upset about anything and it bothered you that you were the reason.
It was 10pm and Lauren still wasn’t home. The argument was really getting to you. You had texted Lauren about ten times but she didn’t answer any. Was she really that mad at you?
You just needed to know Lauren was okay and safe so you texted your sister.
you
is Lauren with you? You don’t have to tell me anything, just wanna know if she’s safe
charles #2
yeah, she’s safe
You texted ‘i love you’ to your girlfriend. That was really all you needed before you went to bed.
You woke up at 2am by your bedroom door opening. You turned your bedside lamp on and rubbed your eyes to your girlfriend standing in the door opening. Lauren held a bouquet of flowers in her hands and a little sad smile displayed on her face.
Looking at the ground Lauren broke the silence. “I have flowers for you.. because i’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. You can have your couch if you want.” your girlfriend apologised.
There grew a little smile on your face too. “Thank you Lau, i’m sorry too. Come cuddle with me please.” you asked her with your best puppy eyes.
The English forward gave in and crawled into bed with you. You clicked the light off and Lauren spooned you from behind, her face in your neck and your limbs tangled into each other.
You let out a happy sigh and closed your eyes.
“Do you really not want the yellow couch though?” Lauren asked tiredly.
“No baby, we can do something colourful just not yellow, okay?” you tried to negotiate with your girlfriend.
“That’s okay. I love you.”
“I love you too Hemps”
lauren_hemp, y/ncharles
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niamhcharles17 happy to be your relationship therapist 😘
↳ y/ncharles knew i chose the right sister, she even came home with a bouquet of my favourite flowers
↳ niamhcharles17 you didn’t exactly choose me but yeah what can i say, best sister of the year award incoming??
↳ lauren_hemp stop bragging
leahwilliamsonn who’s your interieur designerrrr
↳ y/ncharles all me and a tiny bit hempo
↳ leahwilliamsonn when can i hire you
esme.morgan love birds 🦢
citysfaves11 they’re soooo cutee
l1ionnesses2022 best football couple
#niamh charles#niamh charles x reader#lauren hemp#lauren hemp x reader#woso fanfics#woso community#woso x reader#engwnt#woso one shot#woso imagine#woso
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࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔
living a farmer's life with wanda
𐙚 wanda would start off every morning by brushing your hair. then you'd go off and feed your little bunnies.
𐙚 you were so adorable, the best part of wanda's morning was seeing how much joy your little pets brought to you.
𐙚 another thing which brought wanda joy was going flower picking with you. she'd dress the two of you in sundresses, braid your hair and put bows in them. god you looked so cute like that.
𐙚 the way your eyes would perk up when she found your favorite blue flower. or how'd you close your eyes, bring the flowers to your nose and just take in it's scent.
𐙚 one particular morning, wanda woke you up with blueberry pancakes, which was also your favorite. you woke up to her mixing the pancake batter.
𐙚 you were so darn sleepy, practically balling your fists towards your eyes. "ah. ah. ah." wanda shook her head, putting the bowl with mix down. she gently grabbed your hands and hummed softly.
𐙚 you took this as a sign to koala bear wrap yourself over her. she let out a quiet chuckle and brought her lips towards your forehead.
𐙚 which is what led you to your current situation. wanda had gone to the market and your tummy started to growl. wanda left you a note while you were asleep, saying she'd headed to the market because you were out of bread.
𐙚 you were not at all a good chef like wanda was. covered in flour from when the bag exploded on you and not knowing wanda's recipe, you were doomed from the start.
𐙚 the door knob rattled. oh no, wanda was home. she couldn't see you like this, you ran to your shared bedroom.
𐙚 'babydoll?" wanda spoke, her eyes scanning the room for you. she left the grocerys down by the door and her eyes met the mess you left in the kitchen. ah, now she sees what happened.
𐙚 she follows your flour footprints which led to the bedroom. "hey bunny, i'm back. are you hungry? did mommy forget to make you food before she left?" wanda tried to coax you out of the room.
𐙚 you sighed, opening the door. "oh baby... want mama to help you get cleaned up then fix you a bite to eat? does that sound good, my sweet girl?" wanda cooed, bringing a thumb up to your cheek. It swiped the layer of flour left on your cheek.
wanda's masterlist
#wanda x reader#wanda x you#wanda maximoff#mommy wanda#wanda maximoff x you#wanda x y/n#wanda marvel#wanda maximoff fanfiction#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maxmoff x y/n#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximommy#wanda maximilf#wanda mcu#wanda maximoff fluff#wanda maximoff fic#wanda maximoff fanart#scarlet witch#the scarlet witch#wanda fluff#scarlet witch x reader#scarlet witch x you#Wanda 616#616 wanda maximoff#earth 616#marvel 616#uni: 616#marvel fic#marvel x reader#marvel x you
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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Thirteen
Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader
Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.
Warnings: Canon typical violence. A walk through Velaris turns for the worse and the secrets of The Book are finally revealed...
The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist
Masterlist of Masterlists
It would seem I was wrong. It does not take much for Bethsevah Mordeigh to turn.
I should be ashamed, but the more often Thanatos keeps coming back, the more I come to like him. Make no mistake, he’s as dangerous and volatile as a starving animal, but compared to his siblings he’s a saint.
I saw him kill a male yesterday. One who stumbled upon our hidden ceremony and threatened to come back with Koschei’s army and crush us and the Mother beneath his boot.
But with a snap of Thanatos’s fingers the nameless fae was gone. Gone in a gust of red wind that smelled and tasted like metal. And Thanatos looked stronger for it. His pale skin stopped being so translucent. His hair looked a touch darker, so dark it swallowed all light. A piece cut away from the fabric of the world.
Death is his food. Him and his siblings feed on it and crave it like nothing else.
Except for me.
Thanatos says he craves me. And I think I believe him. I think I’m beginning to crave him too.
Gwyn froze when the mountain’s door slid back. Azriel stood outside Cagniv Library with a bouquet of salt-white water lilies clutched in one hand and pale blue tulips in the other.
“Azriel,” you smiled brightly, the last word you’d meant to speak to Gwyn dying on your lips. “What’re you doing here?”
The midday sun beat down on the face of the mountain, shortening the shadows around your feet.
“I was coming from the House of Wind and was hoping you’d take a long walk home with me. These are for you.” He held out the tulips. “And for you.” He held out the lilies for Gwyn, which she accepted after a brief moment of hesitance.
Azriel looked… lighter. His shadows were stronger than ever, clinging to his body like a second scent, but his eyes held a fondness and love for you that Gwyn had never seen before. Not when he was looking at Mor, not when he was looking at Elain… not when he was looking at her. It was so obvious to Gwyn’s eyes, she was amazed you hadn’t caught on yet. You just looked at the flowers with a touch of color flooding your cheeks. Bashful and uncertain of how to accept such a gift.
“Thank you.” You touched the velvety petals between your fingers as though they might crumble if you weren’t gentle.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Azriel looked at Gwyn, that small smile of his faltering and then growing once more when Gwyn nodded her head. It was a silent acknowledgement. A quiet understanding that didn’t completely escape your notice.
I’m not happy with you. Gwyn’s eyes spoke. But I understand. Her teal eyes flashed protectively. Don’t fuck this up.
“I assume I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” Gwyn smirked at you and nudged her shoulder with your own, feeling the soft give of her skin and the strength in her arms.
“Where else would I be?”
“At home. Sleeping.”
“Pffft. Sleep is for the weak.”
“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Az. Now shoo.” Gwyn waved you off, watching as you took the arm that Azriel offered and made your way down the smooth steps of the mountain back to the city.
You bowed your heads together, lips barely moving and cutting out two dark silhouettes in the air. Azriel must have said something funny because your gentle laugh carried itself on the wind, weaving into the air like silver thread. Gwyn couldn’t help but smile at you.
If she knew what was about to happen, she would have never let you leave the library.
“They’re in love.”
Azriel looked sideways at you, catching the sweet scent of your hair as you leaned against him. The Palace of Hoof and Leaf buzzed with quiet energy, the air tinged with the scent of sugar from the confectionary booths.
“Who?”
“Beth and Thanatos.”
The book rocked against your hip, matching the beat of you and Azriel’s steps as you walked through the cobblestone marketplace. Lanterns hung unlit from the arches above, bobbing on wire like the bubbles that a pair of hawk-winged children were blowing from the steps of a peach-stone apartment. The girl, blue-eyed and red-haired, nudged the boy, pointing at the Shadowsinger with something like awe. Azriel offered them a faint smile and a few tendrils of his shadows licked at their feet as they scampered away with laughter. It was just a game to them after all.
“I didn’t think he was capable of love,” Azriel noted.
He thought back to the memories you’d unearthed with your powers and of the violent ways Thanatos had inched his way into Beth’s life. Wherever he lingered, death followed. But so far as you knew, he was also incredibly protective of Beth and the other priestesses. They’d benefited from his presence even if they were unnerved by it. He’d kept them hidden from Koschei.
“Beth didn’t think so either.” You flinched when one of the marketplace hawkers held his hand out to you. He didn’t shout like the others and seemed grieved when you stepped back into the folds of Azriel’s wings. He opened his sticky fist palm up to the sky revealing a handful of neat caramel candies wrapped in wax paper.
“For the miss.”
Y/n looked at Azriel, who only nodded with a smile.
“Thank you.” You gingerly took them from him, taking a moment to admire the light brown of the confectioner’s eyes, like burnt sugar, and the wisps of candy floss clinging to his shirt like loose threads.
He didn’t resume his shouting until you were a good distance away, deep voice bellowing out over the square that his wares were made fresh that morning. You unwrapped one of the candies and stuck it in your mouth, sighing as it turned around on your tongue, slowly melting. Azriel took one of the candies you offered, but tucked it into his pocket when you turned your head to inspect the baskets of spices laid out on the sidewall.
“But he keeps staying with her. Keeps warning her of Koschei’s movements so she and her fellow priestesses can stay hidden. He… he cares for her. Or at least Beth seems to think so. The information — the story — is more pleasant than I could have hoped for, and I’m eternally grateful she doesn’t go in depth about their activities—”
Azriel chuckled. “So it’s not like one of Nesta’s books.”
“Thank the Mother no. But it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out how to defeat Koschei. She doesn’t even talk about Koschei or the priestesses much. Only Thanatos. It’s just a love story.”
“Love stories are never just that though. They’re probably the most powerful things in the universe. Look at Rhysand and Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. I don’t think we’d be where we are now if not for their love for one another. The things they were willing to do to protect what they cared about.”
“Do you ever wish you had that?” You dared to ask. “That kind of love? A mate?” Azriel turned to look at you, eyes filled with more cryptic meaning than you could ever imagine unraveling. There was hope, longing, grief, and a slew of other emotions. Their weight seemed to press in on you, but you didn’t feel overwhelmed.
“All the time,” he whispered. Then he smiled, staring down at where your arm was linked to his. “Do you?”
You turned away almost bitterly. “I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.”
“I would disagree.”
You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you settled on silence. Luckily for you, silence with Azriel never felt uncomfortable.
“If your shadows keep taking them, I’m going to forget how many I’ve selected.”
“I see no problem with this,” Azriel shrugged and continued to follow you around the bookshop. It had stuck out to you immediately on your long walk back to the River House. A squat, two-story townhouse with charmingly chipped white paint laid over sturdy brick and sage green shutters. Candles winked in the afternoon light pressed up against window sills where two fat ginger cats lay purring in the sun. The dark, woodsy interior dripped with books, leather notebooks, and automatic writing pens that hovered over thick pages like butterflies. “We have space in the house.”
“It’s less about space and more about how much I’ve spent.” Your fingers brushed the next book on the shelf and its deep purple binding.
Oh that one’s interesting — a romance between a Spring Court nymph and a Dundarian knife maker filled with adventure, lust, longing, and found family.
You’d no sooner plucked it from the shelf before shadows crowded your hands, whisking it off to whatever ether Azriel kept them hidden in. He wrote the name of the book on a sheaf of paper, his handwriting neat and simple.
You turned on him, arms folded over your chest. “You can’t keep doing that.”
“You are not to spend a copper of your own money here. Rhysand and Feyre’s orders. Just put it on the House’s credit. Rhysand’s already added you.”
“They put me on their credit?” You balked even thinking about the money you’d been given access to.
Azriel nodded. “Consider it repayment.”
“Repayment for what? I haven’t done anything.”
Azriel looked at you quietly, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re the reason I still have a sister-in-law and a niece. You’re the reason we now have a name to investigate and are one step closer to defeating Koschei. You’re the reason the Godswoods and the Gallows haven’t been stolen from yet and a number of Librarians still have their lives. Do I need to continue?”
You thought through what he said. It was true that Helion’s intervention in the Godswoods and the Gallows had been effective. No deaths had been reported since then, but it didn’t make you feel any safer. A snake was still a snake, even when camouflaged.
“Only two of those things matter to the Night Court. Helion owes me for the latter.”
“Then you can have him contact the banks and transfer the sums.” Azriel’s eyes twinkled with mischie. You went to snatch the paper out of his hands, but all he had to do was raise his arm to the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips. You jumped up, one hand firm on his shoulder for leverage, but it was no use. He was too damned tall.
You stood on the tips of your toes to get closer to eye level with Azriel. His eyes flickered down to your lips, the shapes they made as you quietly said, “Thank you.”
You lingered in the stacks for a few moments longer, nervously asked the shop owner to put the list of books on the High Lord and High Lady’s tab — which she did with a warm smile — and then made your way back outside. The bell hanging above the doorway jingled happily, the wood burned sign saying Come back soon! Love, Jessebell.
You trailed ahead of him down the street. Every sign, every shop window display, every street sign — you drank them in like you were ravenous.
Azriel felt Rhys’s presence drift in the outskirts of his mind, and without hesitation, he let him in.
Where are you? What’s taking so long?
Nearly to the Sidra. I brought her to Jessebell’s.
That explains your lateness. Rhys paused. She must have loved that.
Azriel smiled inwardly. She did. She really did.
A female with weathered, dark skin and flowers sprouting from her ears stopped you on the street and although your first instinct was to recoil, you relaxed when she only lifted up a deep black tulip in her textured hands. The wilting flower straightened up when you kissed one of the petals as instructed and the gentle laugh that followed had Azriel’s heart soaring.
Well make sure you get here in time for dinner. I want as many of our family members under my roof as possible.
Is this an ask, or a command?
Don’t make me use my High Lord voice on you.
Azriel rolled his eyes with a smile. I am absolutely trembling. Do you use that tone of voice on Nyx?
He felt as much as heard Rhys’s laughter. Enjoy your time with Y/n, but come back soon. Mor is looking to get her hands on your mate. Mother help us all.
Rhys cut the connection and Azriel was free to admire you once more.
You cradled the bouquet he’d given you in your arms, light reflecting off the petals and casting a faint blue glow on your face as you chatted with the florist. Your smile, which had started out forced and nervous, was slipping into something more relaxed. When the female laughed merrily and touched your wrist, you didn’t flinch.
Dark tendrils of night curled around his ears and Azriel felt a shiver trail down his spine.
Behind you. His shadows whispered. The boy needs help. There’s something wrong with him.
The boy startled back when Azriel turned towards him, tripping over a nick in the cobblestones and landing with a wince on his palms. Glassy pale eyes stared up, wide and terrified. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt and his white-blond hair was a mess of curls flecked with grey, like he’d been rolling around in dust. Pale pink and blue veins rose to the surface of his green-tinged skin, sickly and unnerving. He looked like a corpse on puppet strings.
Azriel looked around, but no one was searching for the little boy. No yelps belonging to scared parents. No calls from a sibling.
“Shadowsinger, sir?” Even his voice sounded sickly, like his vocal chords were disintegrating in his throat.
Azriel immediately dropped to his knees and slid his hands behind his back. “What’s happened, little one? What’s wrong?” His voice was smooth and gentle.
He was too busy thinking that his boy was younger than Nyx, too busy ordering his shadows out to search for the boy’s parents that he didn’t think twice about the lingering stench of blood clinging to the boy’s shoes or the faint pain beginning to grow behind his hazel eyes.
The boy looked around furtively while wringing his grubby hands, and then leaned close to whisper in Azriel’s ear. His pale eyes narrowed in concentration.
“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a black tulip before.”
“It’s a little secret of mine. You need to get the seed and soil just right.” The female brushed her waist length hair over her shoulder. The knotted strands had the thick, coarse texture of seafarer’s rope, as aged and wise as the rest of her. When you held the flower back out for her to take she shook her head.
“For you, my dear. I have dozens more and I think it would attract more business if you wore it around today. A beautiful creature like you must get lots of attention.”
You knew she was probably just saying these things to get your business, but you couldn’t help the spark of joy the compliments gave you. She helped tuck the flower into the braids of your hair and you felt the petals kiss the tips of your left ear.
“Say.” The female leaned in like she was about to share a secret. “If you aren’t already taken, I have a niece who’d love to have a pretty girl like you on her arm.”
Your blush deepened and you found yourself stammering, “That’s very kind, but I don't-I don’t-'' You glanced up the street. Azriel was kneeling on the ground, head bent down to a small child. You only caught the wisps of white, candy floss hair over Azriel’s broad shoulders.
The female traced the path of your gaze and sighed. “Ahhhhh. I see.” There was a triumphant look in her eyes, even as she said, “Shame. But I’ll still give you my niece’s name if you don’t mind.”
Your eyes snapped away from Azriel’s and you smiled in embarrassment. “Oh, we’re not—”
“Henna.”
You stepped back. Panic froze the blood in your veins and you felt pinpricks traveling up your body, stabbing your heart and your mind. You could see her now. Her silver hair fanned out around her. Her broken body. Her bloodied eye socket, dark and empty.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” You had to have heard her incorrectly. Your head was pounding but you pushed back on your mental wards, shoring up your defenses until the feeling passed.
The female tilted her head to the side. Her eyes were as milky and glassy as pearls. “Does the name mean anything to you, dear?”
You took another step back and the female stepped forward. Her eyes seemed to clear then and her brows furrowed in concentration and pain. She lunged forward, tearing away at your clothes and knocking the flowers of your hands as she begged. “Help me. The boy. He’s inside—HELP ME!”
You surged back, crumpling to the ground under her heavy weight as she continued to pull and claw.
She’d been restocking the back room when the dirty little boy and the tailor showed up in the alleyway. He still carried that bolt of fabric under the crook of his arm. He took out a knife, orange eyes flashing and slit his throat from ear to ear while the little boy watched. Smiling.
“LET GO!” You kicked out, ramming your knee up and into the soft flesh of her stomach like you’d seen Emerie do to Cassian, but you lacked her strength and technique. The female wheezed but didn’t let go, even as others came to try and pry her off of you. Their voices were frantic, trying to calm you down, but they were the voices and hands of strangers.
“AZ!” You screamed, feeling the female sink her nails into your arm.
There was an ugly tearing sound and the cool touch of wind at your chest. Your robes were ripped apart under her rough hands and her eyes narrowed in on your belt and the chain that connected to the book. She bucked off a cherub-faced female with a blow to her nose and blood splashed over your cheek.
“Help me. Please. Oh… oh gods.” She grabbed at the book, but the chain glowed iron hot in her hands. The smell of burning scorched your nose as the magic did what it was meant to do. Nothing could break that chain. Not unless you willed it. Not while you were still alive.
“Oh gods. Oh gods help me. I’m so sorry.” There were tears streaming down her face, tracing the canyons and valleys of her skin. She threw off the fae clamoring around you both and ran with jerky, uncoordinated leaps back into her flower shop. She snatched the gardening shears off the windowsill where she’d been trimming her hydrangea bushes. She wept and shook her head, mouth struggling to open and scream as she held the shears up high and then drove them into her neck.
The scene took a long time to filter through the haze of panic and disbelief.
“Az… Az… Az—AZRIEL!” Your shrill scream pierced through the air. You scrambled away from everyone. Stones shaved away the skin of your knees, your palms. The tattered silk of your robes trailed behind you. “Don’t touch me!” You shrieked at the male who tried grabbing your arm, soft voice whispering.
He wasn’t the one you wanted.
“AZRIEL!”
The female dropped to her knees, hands clutching her throat as blood poured out in bubbly, gurgling spurts. The candy pink strips of her apron turned a wet, sticky black as she crawled back towards the door.
“Oh gods… Please,” she wheezed, wet and agonized, before collapsing face down on the floor. Motionless.
You staggered to your feet twisting away from everyone crowding around you.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t!”
“Miss you must sit. Please—”
“Let me help—”
“Are you hurt? What’s—”
“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!”
Screams. The sound of doors slamming shut. Locks turning. Commanding barks calling for a healer. Calling for the High Lord and the High Lady. Calling for the Shadowsinger to help.
Azriel was still kneeling in front of that boy and no matter how many times you called his name and pushed through the crowd of people now rushing up and down the streets in a frenzy, he didn’t get up. He didn’t look at you. You may as well have not existed.
You finally reached him, narrowly missing being run over by a satyr who seemed to have gotten the wrong impression about which direction to sprint in. Every clip clop of his hooves shot through you.
“Az.”
Why hadn’t… Why hadn’t he helped you?
“Az.”
Why hadn’t he come when you called?
The Shadowsinger rose. One hand grabbed the hilt of Truth Teller and the malicious blade sang as it was unleashed. The shadows that normally hovered about him like mist were gone. They were all around you now, tugging you in the opposite direction towards the Sidra. They pleaded for you to run, but you couldn’t understand them.
Something was deeply, deeply wrong.
“Az.” You begged and grabbed hold of his hand. “Please. You’re scaring me.”
Truth Teller shot out and pain radiated up your arm as the blade cut neatly through your clothes and sliced open your skin. You tripped backward, landing with a thud on the street that rattled your bones. Your sleeve turned dark with blood.
You whimpered, holding your ruined arm up to your chest. There was no feeling in Azriel’s eyes. No flicker of recognition. None of that warmth and kindness you were so accustomed to. Just a menacing, silent form towering over you and blocking out the sun.
A pale boy stood by Azriel’s side with ice chip eyes and rectangular pupils. He grinned brightly and the stretch of his waxy cheeks was too tight. Too forced. He shouldn’t have been alive. He-he—
Andrian.
You’d seen him in Henna’s memory. You’d heard the snap of his neck beneath Koschei’s hands. Even now the boy was bent awkwardly, his head left in a perpetual tilt that should have looked charming and inquisitive but instead made you want to retch.
Andrian smiled at you then plastered a practiced look of horror on his face before running away with tears streaming down his cheeks, shouting for his mother. A burly male grabbed his shoulders, alarm on his face as he hoisted Andrian into his arms and disappeared into the crowd. Because who wouldn’t stoop down to help a fragile little boy? Who would dare suspect that the daemati that had roamed the Day Court’s halls and slithered his way into Velaris was a child?
Azriel gripped you by the front of your ruined clothes, hosting you up in the air. Your feet kicked uselessly and grabbed onto Azriel’s arm, trying to alleviate the choking pressure of his hand so close to your neck.
“No. Azriel please. It’s me,” you whimpered. “It’s me.”
There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. There and gone. So brief you wondered if you’d imagined it.
His left hand parted the tatters of your robes, and you flinched when his fingers brushed against your hip before settling on the chain that kept the book tied to you.
Panic seized your soul.
You’d been chipping away at the book’s secrets for months and you couldn’t let Azriel — couldn’t let Koschei — get his hands on it. Not without you knowing what it was that made Beth’s story so special.
You flung a hand out, feeling the leather of the book beneath your fingertips like it was your own skin. Your magic called out to the book, desperate and powerful and familiar, and the barriers it possessed to hide its secrets melted away at your beckoning. You poured every inch of your power into it even as Azriel’s lips turned down in an ugly frown that didn’t belong on his face.
Your eyes turned to gold, bright as the sun as you basked in the knowledge flooding your mind with the force of a tsunami. You didn’t hold anything back. Not this time.
You were so lost in the book — in the emotions and memories wrapping around your mind, sharp and brighter than the light of a thousand suns — that you didn’t feel it when Azriel gripped that golden chain. The metal flared, a high-pitched ring piercing the air as it snapped in two, giving way to Azriel’s power. Nothing should have broken it. And yet there it was dangling from your waist.
You did feel it when he broke your wrist.
When he forced the book from your grasp.
And then stabbed you in the stomach.
Cassian and Nesta winnowed to the street and watched in horror as your body was dropped to the ground. Your head cracked the pavement, hands twitching palms up at your sides.
Nesta shrieked. The sound was harrowing. The mourning, dying screams of an animal.
She charged forward, twin blades flashing in her hands, and silver light shot out of her chest, crashing into Azriel’s shields and forcing him back twenty feet. He gritted his teeth. The rubber soles of his shoes skidded and burned.
Cassian collapsed on his knees beside you, peeling off his leather jacket and wrapping it around your head and neck to keep it in place.
“Shit.” His hands came away bloody. RHYS! FEYRE! He screamed into the corners of his mind, hoping they’d hear. GET HERE NOW!
“Thanatos.” Your voice was weak.
“It’s Cass. Hey, keep your eyes on me ok.” He pressed his hands against your stomach, wings flared out to protect you from the cold burn of Nesta’s power as she went toe to toe with The Shadowsinger. Magic sizzled in the air, raising the hair on the back of Cassian’s neck like a lightning strike waiting to happen. Blood pooled over his hands, thick and dark. “Eyes open,” he commanded, “On me.”
Your eyes were open, and glowing strangely, but you weren’t staring at Cassian. No. You were miles outside of your body.
“The Bone Carver. That’s it.”
“Eyes on me, Y/n. Eyes on me.”
“Thanatos,” your hand twitched, “The Bone Carver. That’s how she did it.”
Nesta screamed, flying overhead in a burst of blue light that had her back slamming into one of the marketplace towers. The white marble cracked viciously and Nesta dropped to the ground, dazed and distracted as blood dripped out from her nose.
“NESTA!” Cassian roared, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as Azriel waited at the bottom of the street.
The Shadowsinger muttered something dark and revolting beneath his breath. Ancient, powerful words that were whispered in his mind. He held onto the book in his hands as it lit up in flames and then blew the ashes into the wind that would carry them all the way to Andrian’s master.
Koschei.
The call of her mate sharpened her senses and Nesta rolled onto her feet, calling her weapons back into her hands and leveling a glare at Azriel that would have killed a lesser male on the spot.
She was Nesta fucking Archeron.
Lady Death.
Queen of Queens.
And she would be damned if she let Azriel hurt her or anyone else.
“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Az,” she growled.
She’d been holding back before. She’d been holding back a long while. But no more of that. The power she let out burst through Velaris with light brighter than a dying star, crackling with an energy that knocked Azriel off his feet and sent him crashing into the river wall with a sickening crack that shattered the bones in his arm, his leg, and his wings.
Rhys appeared at his side, violet eyes wide open in shock. He could feel the magic suffocating his brother’s consciousness, burying him so deep there was almost nothing left but anger behind his whiskey-brown eyes.
Rhysand grabbed the sides of his head, shoving his way into Azriel’s mind even while he fought back. Rhys flinched when one of Azriel’s knives nicked his temple, drawing blood that dripped down onto his velvet dinner jacket and floated on the dense material like dew drops.
“Stop. This isn’t you, Az.”
Azriel seethed, teeth bared and bloody. He spit in Rhysand’s face and he winced. Rhysand would never be able to forgive himself for what he did next. But someone had burrowed themselves into Azriel’s mind so thoroughly, so viciously, that in that moment, it was the only thing Rhys could think to do.
Rhysand’s talons dragged down on Azriel’s mental walls so viciously he screamed as they were torn to pieces. He dug in with brutal efficiency. Reaching, tearing, clawing to catch the curl of power that had infected Azriel’s mind before it could do any more damage. He latched onto its slithery, silver body and wrenched it out of Azriel’s consciousness.
When I find you. You’re as good as dead. Rhysand promised.
The daemati slunk away with a giddiness that sent a shiver through The High Lord’s bones.
Azriel slumped, weak and boneless, against his brother’s shoulder. Sweat beaded his brow and he shook, blinking the saltiness out of his eyes. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. His bones were broken. His wings twisted. There was a raging headache that a hundred shots of vodka paled in comparison to.
But it was his hands that horrified him most. Red and slippery.
His breath shook.
He couldn’t… he couldn’t remember… what….
His eyes shot to Rhys, then up the street where he could make out Feyre, Cass, and Nesta huddled over your still body. The bond sat deep within him pulsing with terror and pain.
“Rhys.” His voice broke. Rhysand angled his body to hide you from view, but it was too late. Azriel was panicking now, body trembling uncontrollably. “What happened?”
Rhysand said nothing. His eyes shined with horror.
“What did I do? Rhys, what did I do?!”
“Cass. Cassian, I’ve got her.”
His hands were shaking. There was so much blood. The smell burned his nose and made him want to throw up his lunch. Feyre covered his hands with her own, peeling them away sticky and red from Y/n’s stomach.
Light flooded out from Feyre’s palms, warm and lovely and Cassian and Nesta breathed a sigh of relief as the flow of red slowed and then stopped, flesh knitting itself back together.
“It’s ok. You’ll be ok.” Nesta’s words were commanding as she held your neck and head still.
Your eyes searched the empty sky, seeing and unseeing. Then your hands shot up, grasping Feyre’s shoulders and digging in deep enough to leave bruises. Your eyes were wide, staring at her with an intensity that spoke of a thousand years. An unfathomable wealth of knowledge that should have crushed you beneath its weight.
“Y/n it’s ok,” she murmured gently, pushing more power into your body, willing you to heal faster.
“Look. Feyre you need to look,” your voice was thick. Wet. Blood coated the inside of your mouth bitter and metallic.
“I’m looking. Y/n, you hit your head. It’s going to be ok. You hear me? It’s going to be ok.”
“You need to look,” you said once more.
You trailed a bloody, weak hand down Feyre’s arm and pulled her fingers up to your temple, tapping once. Twice.
Without any more direction, she slipped into your mind and gasped.
Feyre stood in a pool of mist, white fingers reaching up her legs and splintering outwards before they changed direction and started to climb up into the darkness like trees. Or rather… like bookshelves. The mist formed stacks that disappeared into the distance, endless hallways and shelves that wound around each other. Chaotic and orderly at the same time.
She could feel your presence beside her. Or rather she was you. In that moment she felt the raging winds of your power, hot and ravenous. It wrapped around you, tugging you to and fro like that uncontrollable lurch when you stand too close to the cliff’s edge. The call of the void.
She needed to answer that call the same way you did whenever you used your powers, because somewhere in the halls of your mind stood the knowledge you’d worked so hard to obtain. The truth of how it was Bethsevah Mordeigh was able to trap Koschei, and how to end it once and for all.
Feyre let your magic pull her in the right direction. In the mist she stumbled upon the final memories you’d absorbed from the book before it had blown away in the wind.
Bethsevah wept, “No. No. No. I won’t,” shoving away the reed thin body that held her so close. Thanatos grasped her face in his pale hands, begging her to listen to him even as she shook her head frantically. “I won’t do it.”
“You must. Bethsevah, you must.” His pitch black eyes winked with starlight… or maybe it was his tears.
This world and its people had changed him. He could feel it in his bones. Something very deep and cruel within him had been twisted into something sacred. Something that toed the line of kindness.
Koschei thought it was this element that made fae and humans beneath the three of them. They were supposed to be pure. Powerful. Handing out life and taking it away like the gods they were. But now Thanatos knew better. Now he knew exactly what it was that made Koschei and Stryga worse than even him — they would never be able to care for anyone. Not the way he cared for Bethsevah. Not the way he cared for the world she loved.
“I won’t do it,” she growled.
“Then they’ll die,” he said, with a tone of finality that could only belong to a death god. “Everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you care about. I know my brother. Koschei craves attention and devotion above all else. He won’t let you worship your Mother. He won’t stop until you all kneel or until you’re ashes in the wind. Beth—” He wrenched her hands back from where she covered her eyes, refusing to even look at him.
He tucked his crooked finger beneath her chin, coaxing her gaze up. Together they were storm clouds blanketing an eternal night. A lightning strike — brief and chaotic and electrifying.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” she whispered, steel laced in her soft voice, “You don’t know what you’re offering.”
He smiled, sad and simple. “I know exactly what I’m offering up.”
“Once I lock you in The Prison, I won’t be able to let you out. No one will. You’ll be trapped there for eternity.” She shivered, closing her eyes. She wouldn’t wish that fate upon her worst enemy, but her mate? She shook her head.
“I know.”
“No, you—”
“I have seen the first fall of snow on a new world. I have seen entire cities leveled to dust with no survivors. I’ve lived thousands of years. I understand.”
“We’ll find a way. Kosch—”
“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, “Back at the cabin? You were made to ruin me, Beth. And I will let you do it a million times over. Without hesitation.”
You and Feyre felt Beth’s pain as acutely as if you shared the same heart.
“I wish she hadn’t done it,” Beth whispered, “I wish the Mother had never created me to be your mate.”
“I don’t.” Thanatos leaned his forehead against Beth’s and got lost in her. “There is no other way, Bethsevah.” He kept saying her name, like just speaking the word and feeling the shapes it took in his mouth would prolong the time they had together. Would tie them together more surely than the bond that burned in their chests.
She felt the battleground slip beneath her feet and no amount of power, no amount of willpower, could change it.
He brushed back her hair and trailed one of his slender fingers down the curve of her cheek ending one teardrop’s race to her chin. “Mating bonds are powerful things, Beth. Your magic — your blood — and yours alone will be able to cut through my defenses and sever me from my power. I want you to take it and lock me away. Once my magic is yours, Stryga won’t be able to see you coming and you’ll be able to take her power as well. So long as you leave Koschei for last it may just be enough power to rid him from this earth once and for all.”
“You’d have me do this. Destroy you and your family. This is what you want?”
Thanatos hesitated. “I am not a good male. But this… this will have to be enough. This is what I want, Bethsevah. For you and your family to live. To be happy and safe.”
“I won’t be happy, “ she said, eyes now flat and dull as the silver coins they placed over the dead, “I won’t take anyone else.”
“I want you to,” he begged, “I want you to marry and to have children. I want you to grow your family so that one day, if I ever do make it out of that Prison, I’ll still see pieces and memories of you roaming this earth. That’s all I want, Bethsevah, and it’s already more than I deserve.”
“I’ll find a way,” Beth promised. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I swear it.”
“Don’t make any bargains with me.” He smiled sadly, thumb wiping away at her cheeks, “That’s what got us into this mess.”
Finally she laughed, just a little. “I don’t regret it.”
“Neither do I.”
The memory froze. A moment in time trapped like a beetle in amber.
A hand grabbed Feyre by her shoulders and swung her around. You stood there cloaked in pale, golden light, your eyes shining like copper coins. When you opened your mouth, you spoke in Beth’s voice.
Thanatos told me that magic runs in blood — familiar, same. But mates are different. Powerful. Their magic can protect one another. Identify one another across space and across time. But they can also turn on each other viciously. A lock and a key. Madness and salvation.
What I could destroy in Thanatos, I stood a chance at destroying in his siblings.
Your face fell, hauntingly beautiful in the glow of your powers.
But I couldn’t do it. Not in the way he asked. I took his power. I locked him in that Prison. I bound Stryga to her cabin in the woods. But I didn’t kill Koschei when I should have. When the power of three gods was coursing through my veins and stripping me down to my bones, when I had enough light within me to see the birth and death of stars and the face of the Mother, I couldn’t do it.
I thought I would be capable of destroying Koschei and freeing Thanatos, but I couldn’t do either. I had only enough sanity left to take that power and bury it somewhere Koschei couldn’t touch. To trap him on the lake where he can live in madness knowing his magic is so close by and yet locked away. Unreachable.
I’ve done my part. I’ve had my children. I’ve left my mark on the world, great and terrible as it is. If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood.
And if you have any love for me at all, find a way to release Thanatos. That is what I ask of you.
Bethsevah’s calls had never been answered, at least not by her children. You knew this much in your heart. Thanatos — The Bone Carver — had freed himself thousands of years later only to die beneath the Cauldron’s power.
You whispered a silent prayer to the Mother. You hoped the Bone Carver was at peace now. Now that he must be with his Beth.
Azriel was screaming your name, broken cries cutting through the quiet of the marketplace. You’d never thought him capable of such a wretched noise.
The High Lady sat shock still above you with tears streaming down her face. Grey eyes glistening.
<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->
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Author's Note:
I apologize if you thought I'd forgotten about the plot with Koschei and was just writing cute, fluffy scenes between our favorite Librarian and our favorite Batboy. But you also should've remembered that I burned this girl's house down and had her kill a another character in self defense so... this was coming... sorry...
This is by far the chapter I've been most nervous about posting because it's where I start to tie together all the weird loose threads that have been accumulating throughout this story so I am very much open to feedback on how I can do things better and on how I can make things clearer moving forward. Or! If you thought I did a good job and are intrigued, I'd appreciate it if you let me know that too!
But anyway thanks for reading 😅.
#azriel x reader#azriel x y/n#azriel x you#azriel x reader slowburn#azriel shadowsinger#the shadowsinger and the inkbird#acotar fanfiction#acotar#azriel x reader angst
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BE MY MUSE
synopsis: "paint me like one of your fontaine girls..."
featuring: navia, clorinde, furina, lynette
rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)
warnings: artist! reader, sub! afab fem reader (navia, clorinde, furina), dom! afab fem reader (lynette), voyeurism, mast.urbation, not full on smut but it is heavily implied, cunnilingus (reader giving), fing.ering, degradation (furina), praise, teasing, sensual touching, might be ooc.
art credits: blue period
NAVIA
Navia chuckles to herself as the last piece of clothing is discarded on the floor. Her slim, feminine, body perched elegantly against the satin sheets of the cushion, basking effortlessly in the dayglow of Fontaine’s sun like the Goddess she seemed to be. You swallowed your mouth dry. Taken aback with how ethereal she looked in the moment as her golden locks framed her face like a portrait hung in your gallery.
Navia purses her lips together, a curious, yet amused smirk causing a heart to form at her mouth. She chuckled, a prick of heat burning at your insides.
“Never seen a woman naked before?” She smiles, nude body all on display with no shame whatsoever. She was the one who had asked you to paint her, after all, of course she wouldn’t be embarrassed. It was her request…
“I have.” You quickly retorted back, gripping the stem of your brush with a tighter hand. “…Just not as exquisite as you.”
Her cheeks pinkened at your honesty, before she quickly covered it up with a smile.
“You flatter me, Artist,” she giggles, leaning back in her seat to leave all her assets on display. “Tell me then, does my request to paint me nude, make you nervous?”
She hugs herself to squish her breasts together, a sight that has you clearing your throat and looking away nervously. “Of course not, I’ve done commissions of all bodies. Clothed, and nude.”
Navia smirks at this.
“Then…is it normal for the Artist to get so flustered over her muse?”
There’s an essence of mischief in her tone. It has you clutching your paintbrush with strength similar to that of a stress ball. “I am not…flustered.” You say in a gritty tone, avoiding her bright blue eyes as you start to mark out the lines of her figure. “Let’s just move on with the painting. Please, get in a position that pleases you, my lady.”
Another smirk. That didn’t seem good.
“Like this?” Navia taunts with pleasure, lying back against her seat and leaving everything out for you to witness. You swallowed again, eyes wandering over her smooth, supple, chest. Areolas a pretty, puffy, pink color that stiffened the more she exposed them to the drafty air.
“Ah…that’s good.” You say with a stiff mumble. “Are you alright with staying like that for an hour or so?”
“Hm, perhaps not.” Navia tuts with fake afterthought. “I think I’ll choose a different position.”
She suddenly spreads her legs a bit wider, a gasp catching in the back of your throat as your eyes landed on the flower that sat between Navia’s legs. It was cleanly shaven —not waxed, but you could tell she had shaved before your appointment— and soft from the way she pressed against one of the folds. She flashed you a suggestive grin, before giggling at the sight of you all enamored by her pussy.
“Are you going to start painting soon?” Navia asks in a delighted tone. “Before you begin, let me just…” She suddenly dips one of her fingers into her cunt and sighs, a breathy moan leaving her lips. “There, all done…”
If you were blushing before, you were a lava cake by now. Navia could practically see the steam coming out from your face, and she chuckles before circling her clit with her thumb. “I guess a woman has never toyed with herself in front of you, hm?” She groans, slowly rubbing circles around her clit until she’s wet enough to appear glistening. “Are you embarrassed?”
You shook your head no. Clearly enamored by the sight of the Spina di arousal president masturbating in front of you. “Was this your goal the whole time? To…taunt me with your body?”
Navia laughs at this and shakes her head no, “Of course not, mon amour.” She uses two fingers to spread her two walls apart. “I want you to touch me.”
Almost like a song, you were drawn to where she was seated, dropping your brush to the ground and forgetting about the painting entirely. Navia smiles tenderly at the way you follow her command, pushing you down until you are kneeled by her feet like a priestess worshiping her divinity. “I was thinking the portrait could be from a different point of view,” She mutters under her breath. “It’s important for the Artist to commit it to memory…”
Combing her fingers through your hair, she slowly pushes your face into her folds and gasps, head tilted back in ecstasy, while your tongue begins to taste what heaven feels like.
“Ah…”
CLORINDE
The intimidating, Champion Duelist of Fontaine was currently lying sprawled out against your couch with her muscular body out on display. Amongst the obvious parts of her body that caught your attention, her muscles were what drew you in, as the Champion Duelist had rough, toned scars lining her chest from years of dangerous battle.
As an Artist, you were infatuated. Using the tip of your brush to stroke each line on her abs and highlight every curve of her legs. Which, mind you, we’re chiseled to perfection under the lamp side lighting of your room.
“…Thank you for taking the time to…paint me.” Clorinde whispers under a husky breath. “Especially considering the…circumstances…”
She blushes slightly at her position. Rough, calloused body proving a beautiful muse for you to work on as you’ve had the honor of painting Clorinde’s body nude. (Courtesy of her request)
“It’s no problem, Captain Clorinde.” You say in a professional tone, trying to ignore the ache between your legs when you see her thigh flex its toned structure. “I have done this countless times. You are in the hands of an expert.”
The Duelist smiles softly at your reassurance, deciding to sit up from the sofa.
“Miss Clorinde, I’m not done yet—”
“Could you come over for a moment?” She speaks in a low tone, catching you off guard with how smooth she was being. “Just for a moment. I want to see your hands.”
“…My hands?” You chewed your lip for a moment before getting up from your seat and walking over to the couch. Clorinde leaning back and letting all her muscles move with precision. “Yes, your hands,” she murmurs ever so huskily, reaching over to cup your wrist. “I want to look at them…”
You felt the rough, battle-worn calluses of her fingertips wrap around your hand and pull you closer. An intimate, quiet moment falling between you two, as Clorinde bites her lip and examines the calluses of your own battles.
“Such soft hands, yet they hold their own roughness from your artwork,” the Captain murmurs, almost as if she were enamored by just the sight of you. (She was)
“Captain Clorinde, please…” you laugh shyly. “You speak of me like I’m the art. I’m merely just the artist.”
She growls a little at that statement and shakes her head no. “I may be your muse at the moment, but I can’t help but wish to see you nude in my place.”
In that moment, you find yourself seated on the lap of the very naked Champion Duelist, who has helped herself with teasing you under the leggings of your clothes. You can’t help but agree to every little thing she does, as she begins nibbling against your neck to leave her own works of art.
“I’d like to try a hand at painting myself,” she murmurs hotly into your ear, “Care to be my canvas, Artist?”
You can’t find it in yourself to say no. Shakily nodding your head as she begins to rub circles against your clit with her strong, calloused, fingers.
“That’s a good girl.”
FURINA
Furina chuckles amusingly at the sight of Fontaine’s world renown artist currently hiding behind her easel. The archon herself was used to people kneeling before her, but she found entertainment in the way the cute, bashful artist she hired to commission was too nervous to look her in the eye. “What’s wrong, young artist…” Furina chuckles wickedly, “Are you really that shocked at your archon’s pure beauty?”
She crosses one leg over the other, her nude figure perched confidently by a table as she takes a sip of tea like usual. The way she was acting around you made you think she was doing this on purpose.
“I…you are beautiful indeed, my archon,” you respond to her nervously. “I just didn’t expect for you to disrobe so quickly.”
Furina sneers at the way you fidget so anxiously, tipping her teacup down to the point you worried it might spill. “Aren’t you an artist?” She chuckles behind her hand, “An artist who specializes in nude paintings as well. Tell me, does the sight of your beloved archon all skimmed down to her nudity really bother you that much?”
“No, of course not!” You quickly retort defensively. “It’s just quite a shocker to have your archon disrobe in front of you so…quickly.”
You bite your lip and look away. “You got out of your clothes quicker than I could get out my paints…”
Furina laughs hysterically at your quiet little stammer before running a hand over the smoothness of her thighs. “Oh…you’re just too cute…” she sputters under her laughs. “I definitely made the right choice in choosing you…”
She leans back against the chair and bites one of her manicured nails. That stuck up, haughty smile prickling you with annoyance as your archon seemed to treat this as a game. “You should be grateful I even asked you to paint me at all,” she snickers before uncrossing her legs. “You have the blessing of seeing Focalors’ body in the flesh.”
Your throat tightened at the sight of her legs now spread wide for you to see just how wet she was beneath her clothes. According to what you saw, she had been dripping for a while, but hid it well due to how she crossed her legs while seated right in front of you.
“M-Miss Furina…I…” your cheeks burned and you couldn’t look away.
“I…I…what?” She smirked mockingly at your stutter and teases you even more by pinching one of her nipples. The sight alone causes a burning ache between your legs, and you couldn’t help but stare entranced at the way she squeezed her own breast. “Go on, spit it out. If you say the right thing, I might just let you touch me yourself.”
“Pardon!?”
“Oh, don’t be so modest,” she snaps her finger and beckons you over. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me so hungrily? What a pervert you are, dear Artist…”
The way she wags her finger at you almost has you on your hands and knees, crawling towards her like you were being pulled on a leash. Furina is delighted at the sight, looking joyous as she gives you a proper show of spreading her pussy lips even wider. Her slick, dripping essence cascading down the milky white thighs of your archon, and looking like the perfect muse for you to commit to memory.
“I want to see just how lithe an Artist’s fingers are,” Furina tuts, degradingly tapping your nose before propping you up to become face to face with her cunt. “Impress me, then perhaps I can give you an extra tip for a job well done.”
“But Miss Furina, your painting…”
“Silence.” She pulls you up by the hair and sneers. “This is a much better use for your hands, hm?”
LYNETTE
Lynette was definitely on the shyer side when she asked to become your muse. She had always admired your artwork, silently wishing that one day, she could take the place of one of your nude paintings, basking in an ethereal afterglow of your brushstrokes, as she wanted to be the center of your attention. (And only your attention)
You were surprised, needless to say, when the quiet magician’s assistant asked you after her show to become your muse. Even more surprised when she silently requested for it to be a nude drawing. Though you masked your surprise quite well, a small part of you was curious to see the beautiful body of the mysterious magician’s assistant, as she was very secretive with her personal life to the point not a lot of people knew about her.
You took up the commission, currently setting up your easel and waiting for Lynette to disrobe from her clothing. A comfortable silence falling between you two, before the sound of fabric hitting the floor caught your attention.
“…I’m ready.” Lynette spoke quietly, causing you to peek out from behind your canvas.
The cat woman was currently perched atop your couch in her full, nude, glory. Chest perky from the way the cold air hit her nipples, along with the smooth, supple skin of her back arched beautiful against the satin cushions. Her ears flattened in slight embarrassment from being in such a provocative situation, yet you couldn’t take her eyes off her as she was just so breathtakingly beautiful.
“Oh, how sweet…” you murmur with a smile, caught in awe with how stunning Lynette is. “Get in a comfortable position for me, will you? You’ll have to stay like that for an hour or two.”
Her ears flattened even more and she nodded, stiffly moving so that her body was sitting upright in a rather erect position. She looked quite firm and…not relaxed at all, placing her hands on her knees and sitting as if she were waiting for her appointment at the doctor’s office.
“…Oh dear,” you chuckled a bit at the way she was sitting. “That position is a bit too stiff for my liking. Here, let me help you.”
Setting your paint sets down, you walked over closer to where Lynette sat and saw her visibly tense up. You frowned a little at her discomfort and raised your hands in the air. “Don’t worry, I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t want me to. I’m just going to lightly guide your body to a more comfortable position.”
You smiled warmly at her and saw her ears twitch with acceptance. Slowly, she lets you guide her body down to lie on the couch, your eyes locked on hers and causing a small blush to adorn the cat woman’s pale cheeks.
“…Thank you,” Lynette whispers, her voice soft as she gazes up at you with longing. “I am a bit…embarrassed, however.”
“There is no need to be embarrassed,” you chuckle comfortingly, patting her head like you would with a cat. “The human body is beautiful, and yours is just as exquisite as any of the other muses I’ve had the pleasure of painting.”
She blushes softly at the way you call her body beautiful, and Lynette lets out a soft little purr of pleasure under your pets. “Can you…help me relax a little?” She asks in a quieter voice, almost embarrassed with her request. “My body is too tense. I need my muscles to…relax…”
You smile softly at the way she paws at your hand and slowly drags it downwards. Your fingers lightly stroking down her neck, her chest, her stomach, before finally reaching the twitching ache of her walls beneath you.
“Here?” You ask with a certain tenderness, lightly pushing against her clit like a button.
“Yes…!” Lynette whimpers, grasping onto your back with her nails. “Right there…”
#navia smut#navia x reader#clorinde smut#clorinde x reader#furina smut#furina x reader#focalors smut#focalors x reader#lynette smut#lynette x reader#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin women smut#genshin women x reader#genshin imagines
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tw - fem!reader, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, prolonged imprisonment.
“Mistress prisoner?”
There was a knock, the sound of hoofed feet shuffling against a tile floor. You shrunk into yourself, suddenly thankful you’d chosen to take such a claustrophobic linen closet to seek refuge in, that Neuvillette’s awful gowns provided so much fabric for you to bury yourself in.
“Mistress prisoner? Are you alright?”
Another knock, a round of hushed whispering. Clearly, he’d sent more than one, this time.
“Should we get a healer for you, mistress?”
You swore under your breath, burying your face in your knees. Curse your bleeding heart.
Slowly, taking pains to wipe the lingering tears from your cheeks without wrinkling the fine silk of your sleeve, you pushed yourself to your feet. He was a bastard of a man, an underhanded thief masquerading as the living embodiment of justice, but tragically, Neuvillette had caught on to the only weakness you had in this palace of unearned punishments and hollow promises. You would be able to bear it if he thought of you as a petulant child, too stubborn to accept his protection or his love, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be quite so heartless when it came to the melusines.
You pulled the door open, resting your shoulder against the frame. He’d sent three, this time – all wearing modified garde uniforms and none standing taller than your waist. They were clustered close together, but as you emerged, the centermost girl stepped forward, this one totting pastel pink skin and curling horns and cheeks you’d give anything to squeeze. “We spoke with Monsieur Neuvillette,” she started, clearly shy despite having appointed herself as the leader of their little group. When she paused, her gaze fell away from yours, dropping to her feet. “He said you wouldn’t mind if we asked why you don’t want to attend the opera with us, tonight.”
Oh, you were going to throttle that old man.
You forced yourself to smile. No part of you wanted to be seen in public with your captor, to hear onlookers praise his kindness, his willingness to care for even the most irredeemable of criminals while knowing he wouldn’t make it past the first aria before finding some reason to pull you into some unused dressing room and abuse his authority yet again. But, explaining the length of your hatred to the creatures he showed so much fondness toward would be like trying to tell a child that their favorite candy was the source of their aching cavities. You were better off saving your breath. “Neuvillette didn’t mention that you’d be coming with us.”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.” It was the blue one, this time – with flowers dotted across her arms and legs and a tone so meek, it was all you could do not to take her into your arms and promise her that you’d go to as many operas as she could stand to attend. “He said it’d help to raise your spirits.”
You let out a soft coo, crouching down to their height. “It was a very sweet idea,” you said, fighting not to melt at the sight of their little, doe-like noses and big, star-filled eyes. “And I very much appreciate that you three would care enough to try and cheer me up. It’s only…”
You paused, clicked your tongue. Predictably, the third member of their little trio (who had yet to uncross her arms or drop her adorably pointed glare) chimed in. “What is it? We don’t have all day, y’know.”
“Well, I might not be at my best, but Monsieur Neuvillette’s been awfully lonely lately too.” Lonely – that was one way to put it. It was hard to imagine he’d even be capable of feeling anything so fundamentally human. “I’m afraid, if I’m having so much fun with all of you, he might feel a little left out. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to do that to him, can’t you?”
There was a round of nodding heads, of words of affirmation. The leader piped up first, both hands balled into fists and wide eyes bright with a resilient spark. “We won’t let Monsieur Neuvillette get lonely!”
“We won’t leave his side!”
“We’ll stick to him like glue!”
With a breath of a laugh, you pulled the little trio into your arms and press a kiss into the tops of their heads. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, girls. I’ll see you at the opera house tonight, and remember–“
This time, you didn’t have to fake your smile.
“Don’t let Neuvillette go a moment without your delightful company.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere genshin impact#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#genshin impact imagines#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin imagines#yandere genshin x you#neuvilette x reader#yandere neuvillette#yanderecore#yancore
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“Let the light in, at your back door yelling cause I wanna come in”
“Heyyy, hey! I know you can hear me, just open the door already” His voice is slurred and pathetic, he’s drunk again, likely so under the influence he could hardly stumble his way to your back door.
“I know I’ma bad guy but everybody makes mistakes right?” He lets out a long sigh, slumping against the door as his back drags down the weak wood. If he had to wait until your pity kicked in then he would. He had a better chance since it was raining and he got soaked. He knows you’d feel like shit leaving him outside.
You hated when he did this, got almost black out drunk and banged on your door, front or back it was one of them at least once a week. He still wasn’t over you for completely blocking him after cheating on you, and somehow he thinks he still has a chance.
He’s brought flowers, chocolates, gifts, everything of the sort to get you to forgive him but none of it is going to wear you down, not even the expensive and limited game console that you haven’t ripped out its packaging.
It’s not going to work.
“I’m really sorry..” He sobs, practically scratching at the door for a response, you’ve been so quiet and you usually reply about 5 minutes after his 4th apology. Should he cry more? Would it work if he rubbed his eyes to make them look red and puffy?
Oh, for fucks sake.
The door creaks open, he almost falls back after pressing all his weight against the door.
“Just get in to change and warm up and then your gone, got it?”
“G-got it!!” He scrambled to get up and discard of the empty bottle of alcohol he had drank, trying to look more presentable infront of you, if that was even possible when he was sobbing for your attention not too long ago.
“I uh- I can make dinner again.. lemme change and I’ll cook you something” He looks up at you with his pathetic blue eyes before emptying his pockets to make sure he wouldn’t throw anything valuable to wash along with your clothing.
You hated his eyes, how light and blue they were, and the way his stupid brown lashes complemented them so nicely. You hated everything about him.
“Please..?” He insists, pretty pink lips in a pout after noticing your silence.
“Yeah.. whatever, just go change before I change my mind” You wave him away, which is a successfully tactic to get him to quickly run upstairs and change, and definitely not sniff your dirty laundry while pocketing a few.
You let out a long sigh, sitting down with your hand clasping your forehead. When were you gonna get the balls to get rid of him?
#yxami’s yam#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#male yandere#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#crazy yandere#stalker yandere#creep yandere#yandere creep#yandere x gn reader#yandere x gender neutral reader#yandere ex x reader#Yandere ex
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