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nctsworld · 4 months

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golden hour

SUMMARY | in which you make love with mark in a tent during the golden hour. // part of the connection series

WARNINGS | sexual content, (lovey) pwp, unprotected sex, brief impregnation fetish (breeding kink), some praise kink, oral sex (m and f receiving)

RATING | explicit

AUTHOR'S NOTE | inspirations are (besides the connection teaser vid and pics) jvke's golden hour, mark's golden hour, and this picture i stumbled upon

TAGLIST | @neocitycafe @sehunniepot

NORTH

North is home, where you left behind for this short road trip down the coast of California with the love of your life.

During this trip, home every night has temporarily been your two-person sized tent being dragged around to different campsites.

This stop is more arid than others, with many rocks and cacti surrounding the ecosystem rather than grass and trees. Because of that and it being an off-peak period in the beginning of spring, it is likely why this campsite has no one else besides the two of you.

Although it takes some time, Mark and you finally finish pitching the tent and setting up the inside around the late afternoon. At this point, you mutually decide to take advantage of the area's solitude.

North of your bodies is also where it all starts.

Mark and you are lip-locked between initial smiles and giggles. The oncoming sunset's rays beam through the translucent tent, creating a natural, ethereal glow around each other's faces.

There's no hurry. Mark usually doesn't hurry his kissing with you; he likes to savour every moment he can—each groan exchanged, each dip of his tongue into your mouth, and each suck you grant to his plump bottom lip.

But at some point, kissing each other's lips just isn't enough to satiate your desires.

EAST

East is where everything rises.

Passion ascends as his mouth swerves away from yours, and instead captures the right side of your neck. You gasp sharply, eyes fluttering due to the power of that one spot. It's overwhelming, so much that it makes your knees buckle. You're grateful you're sitting on the ground with your sleeping bags laid out comfortably to catch you at the ready.

You return the favour by kissing places that make him weak—the constellation of moles on his face and neck, that one particular section behind his right ear, and right above his clavicle.

He hotly moans in your ear, letting his hands take a mind of their own. Your waist, thighs, and ass are his to squeeze, his to grip roughly. In turn, your hands latch onto Mark's rugged frame and back, admiring the firmness and contours in each muscle. Then, you begin lifting up his white tee, feeling up his fit stomach.

And at this point, because you're now straddling him, you feel his rising desire blatantly against yours.

Clothes are tossed aside to an area of the tent. Mark, now only in his underwear, aids you in stripping every piece from you, except for your panties.

SOUTH

Without a doubt, the absolute sweetest things happen in the south.

Mark roams downward your body as you lay flat, displayed beautifully in front of him. Your lover lives up to his name, marking you with gentle kisses over your goosebumped skin. It's due to the slight bite of the breeze that enters the tent.

The sun dives further into the horizon, and your being is now enveloped in the golden hour of the hues of red and gold meshing in the sky and radiating over the Earth.

When he reaches your breasts, he imparts small licks upon your hardened tips, along with kneading and thumbing them throughout. Arching your back, you shiver, more so from his aching teasing than the breeze.

Further south, he traverses and his mouth leaves love upon your stomach before he spreads your thighs apart. He lays on his abdomen, his legs positioned awkwardly as a result of the tent's size, but all the while manageable and comfortable enough to continue.

He snakes his arms around your legs, staring up at you with his shiny, starry eyes. Mark chastely kisses your inner thighs, revering the softness of your skin, then kisses you once over your soaked panties. With that mere move, it causes you to lift your hips up in want.

Impishly, he chuckles and pulls aside the fabric to give one slow, extended lick from your centre to your clit. You gasp at the sensation, but Mark is addicted to teasing you. After he drags your underwear off, he simply continues to innocently kisses your thighs. A whine expels from you as you're about to protest, but then he dives in without warning.

Dulcet whimpers fill the air besides the rustling of the tent and the occasional sound of faraway birds. Mark prides in himself in times like this, having you prettily on display and breaking you down. You're all his to have and to hold—all for him to drink and devour to his heart's content.

Not only does he skillfully lap his tongue against your folds, but he sinks it deep into you and thumbs your clit simultaneously. Your fingers' hold tighten onto his hair the more he plays and unfurls you at the seams.

Noticing your body being keyed up by your tight hair gripping and hip thrashing, he takes you to another plane when he slips two fingers in and tongues your bundle of nerves, scissoring you into madness.

After letting you come down from your high, he pulls away and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, giving you his signature tender smile with glistening lips before it quickly fades into a sinful smirk. Just like that, with one look and a couple of minutes to catch your breath, you're ready to have more fun.

Often in the confines of your bedroom, Mark likes to stand by the bed when he watches you take him into your pretty mouth. Due to the tent's spatial constraints, he's gotten used to shimmying off his boxers and opting to do a standing kneel on your sleeping bags instead.

He strokes himself, preparing for what's to come. Inching nearer in a cat-like position with your ass up in the air, you instinctively jut out your tongue, wetting your mouth at the ready, and fixate on his desire gracing you with its presence.

At first, you stroke with him with your hand on top of his, but then he eventually slips it away and lets you do your magic.

We're back to kissing, but all attention is on his length, from the base to the tip. You dab your tongue at his tip leaking with precum, evidently worked up from before. A dab becomes two, then three, and when his tip is wrapped by your mouth, Mark dispels a high-pitched moan. All of his entirety is quickly loved by you.

Amidst the head bobbing, you ensure to also swipe at the underside of his cock, licking at a particular vein that always entices you when you're on your knees for him.

At some point, he raises an arm behind his head while the other weaves through your hair. With his possession still in your mouth, you glance up at him. Although half-lidded, he stares back intently, maneuvering your hair out of your eyes and bunches the rest into a makeshift ponytail.

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, eyes still trained on you.

Although you would never disregard his praise, you don't need him to tell you you're doing well based on how he grasps harder at the root of your hair and from the trickling of choppy, higher moans that compete with your lewd slopping.

Since you don't want it to end just yet, you draw back soon after. Giving him a sugary fleeting kiss, you then go on all fours in front of him. Taking his sopping desire, all thanks to you, he rubs himself against your folds, then eases into you.

You cry out in pleasure, and adjust to his fullness inside of you. Mark goes at a measured pace—fast enough that it gets you to the edge quicker, but slow enough to make you feel all his inches. Out of habit, you press the back of your hand against your mouth, muffling yourself.

“Don’t hold yourself back, baby,” he murmurs. “We’re all alone out here.”

You nod thoughtlessly and comply, dropping your hand. It's an uncommon feeling to let yourself go, but you relax and try your best. Your soft moans elevate and gain traction in volume with each movement against your body.

“That’s it,” Mark says, reaching forward to caress your hair and sliding his touch downward to the small of your back. “That’s my girl.”

Preening in the praise, you moan gutturally in response. The deep sensations enrapture you, blooming to every point of your body. Exerting the pleasure, you fall face-forward into your pillow and bunch some of it beside your head.

He continues to pound into you, groaning, “Love it so much when you moan for me...”

A few moments later, your lover pulls you up by the arms, bringing your body almost parallel to his and picks up the pace. In this position, it's not as buried, but it's still just as satisfying, being filled with his cock like this.

When he slows the pace down, he releases you, having you land on your arms again. Kissing your shoulder from behind, he pants beside your ear, “Do you wanna switch it up?”

You shake your head. “Don’t care”—at an unexpected thrust, you gasp sharply—“just want you.”

Turning your head to face him, he follows-up with an ardent kiss. Despite him holding you by your chin, it's more delicate than you expect, unlike the sex so far. Mark takes a few moments to remind you how, no matter how crude it can be, sex with him will always be laced with love.

The sunset continues to fade as he removes himself from you and lovingly pats your hips, signifying you to turn around. Facing him now, you spread your legs once again for him, and you giggle as he drags you closer to him in one smooth move. He grins with his hair sticking to his perspired forehead, and once again, he lines up with your centre before gliding into your perfection.

In tandem, both parties' eyes tremble at the sensation. He fills you deliciously; for him, you squeeze around him like a vice he never wants to detach from. Hands are dragging along everywhere on each other's skin. Lips crash into the other's, then his to your breasts and yours to his shoulder. You're soon tied chest to chest, hearts racing in synchronicity.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mark mumbles into your neck. “Love seeing you like this for me.”

He lightly slaps the side of your thigh, causing you to moan further into his ear. Despite not wanting to, he opts to tear away from you. Readjusting your bodies, he draws you closer by a tight yank of your thigh, bottoming himself out in your crevice and uses his other hand to rub your clit.

He's on a mission to take you to the stars.

“Tell me when you’re close.”

It doesn't take long for you to get there with how long this has been going on, nor with how skillful he is.

“Look at me, beautiful. Open your eyes,” he orders, his voice dripping with carnal assertiveness. “Look at me as I fill you up.”

You obey, snapping your eyes wide open, about to watch him come undone inside of you. You're transfixed on the point where you intersect, where he disappears so deeply in you.

But then, in a split second, you force yourself to stare down your love. Looking up at him, relishing in his pre-climactic image, you're on the verge of screaming, almost as if you're dying from the pleasure. His breathes come quicker, his facial features twisting. However, he dares not to shut his eyes, wanting to see you fulfill his command until the end of his surmise.

“That’s my good girl, such a good girl…”

A beautiful low, drawn-out moan emits, and ecstasy permeates through the air, intermixed with the much needed cool breeze. Mark's hips jerk, then stiffen as he spills into you, painting your walls with his thick load.

WEST

And in the west, the sun finally sets almost to completion. The golden hour sinking away into the purple and pink hues of the spring sky.

A sliver of the last light peeks through the tent's opening and lands directly over your face, the last of the golden hour saying hello and good-bye.

With your respective sleeping bags covering some parts of your bare bodies, Mark tenderly swipes his thumb over your sun-touched cheek, admiring his angel of light that always leads him home. Just like Polaris in the night sky, you’ll always shine and guide his way back home.

You two eventually eat some prepackaged sandwiches for dinner in the comfort of your tent, but not until he kisses your temple and pulls you in for a tight hug, whispering sweet nothings and running his fingers through your hair until the sky becomes completely pitch black.

#mark lee x reader #mark lee smut #mark lee fluff #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #yn brainrot

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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This Is What You Deserve (Daemon x Reader)

Look man you don't choose when the smut will come to you, it just does. This was requested by anon and @ladystrongofharrenhall which I feel the need to apologise cause it like barely is what you requested, if you feel like you don’t like it please let me know and we can figure out something else for me to write for you.

“The dowager lady of Harrenhall, (y/n) Strong with her son and heir Arryan Strong”

The man introduced the lady dressed in all black that stood before the iron throne with a toddler holding her hand that was dressed in deep blue, a spitting image of his father, soft curls fell directly on his face and eyes that had stolen the color right out of the deep sea.

The lady bowed before the king that had invited her to court after the incident that had occurred in Harrenhall, within the night she had lost her husband and good father, both of them gave their lives to save her and her son, now she was in kings landing for the first time since her wedding.

“My king, it is very thoughtful of you to invite me to your court”

“Nonsense, your husband was one of the most trusted men within the gold cloaks and his father was a good friend of mine, last time I saw you you were dressed in all white”

“A lot has changed since then I am afraid”

“Indeed, I grief for the loss you have suffered, I summoned you to offer you a place in my court, under my protection, your born family has been an ally since the beginning, your son will be my cupbearer and will receive the same education as every noble boy and you can live within the castle as the queens' companion”

“Your honor me, your grace, it gladdens my heart that you thought of us amongst the countless matters that demand the kings' attention”

(Y/n) had learned from a very young age that a lady was to act a certain way, she had just lost the earth from underneath her feet, left with a son in her arms and a scandal on her back that she had to shield him from, she could feel every pair of eyes on her back, all of them like crows that waited for a sign of weakness, she would not give them that satisfaction, not today, not ever.

“The servants will lead you to your chamber, I believe your travel is quite long”

“Indeed, thank you, my king”

“My king”

Sweet Arryans voice was heard as he bowed in unison with his mother, a boy of 4 years of age, he was (y/n)s sun and moon, anything and everything she did she did it to make sure his future is secured and his present time is as happy as it could be amongst the chaos.

“My boy”

“Mother!”

Little Arryan ran to his mother and hugged her as tightly as his little arms could although he could not completely wrap them around (y/n)s hips since this was the height that he was.

(Y/n) scooped up her son to check for any injuries or some type of harm, (y/n) had attempted to stay calm and calculated in front of the court, however, imagine her surprise when she left her little boy with Baela and Rhaena to play together and when she came back Baela told her that their father Daemon had taken Arryan up on Caraxes.

“You looked tiny from up there”

“I did, didn’t I? Let’s go inside now”

“You are welcome, I am sure that was a moment the child will never forget”

(Y/n) was fuming, Daemon had approached her a few morrows ago to offer his condolences, being a widower himself he could indenting the struggle and pressure she was under, at the time she faintly smiled and curtsied to thank him.

Now (y/n)s eyes threw a dagger and her lips were a thin line, how dare he so arrogantly demand a thank you for putting her child in danger? Arryan wasn't a Targaryen, nor was he a kin to Daemon, the possibility of Caraxes to harm the child was huge.

“Baela, take Arryan inside, I shall be with you in a moment”

Her voice grew cold, and the surroundings were resembling of a cloud closing in and overshadowing the sun, like a warning of a strong that gathered around Daemon's head who seemed clueless of the warning signs that he is daughters picked up so easily that got them almost running away from themselves

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who gave you the authority to take my son up on that beast with you?”

“You should feel flattered, he is one of the few people that get to say that they have gone up on a dragon”

“I know that your family likes to frown down upon us from your mighty dragons but listen to me well, my son is the future lord of Harrenhall and the carries my born name of Featherdall, we were the biggest army Aegon the conqueror had on his side when he took over the seven kingdoms, so the next time you even think of coming around me and my son with your high and mighty attitude I would advise you to think how well would it go for you if you angered the house that put you up on that throne, got it?”

Daemon was stunned, he just stared at the lady that stood before him with her breath heavy and audible enough for everyone to feel her fury, she wasn’t a dragon but Daemon swore he could see fire in her hues, no one had dared to speak to the rogue prince this way, still there she was, commanding him and keeping her head up high, not an ounce of doubt or fear in sight.

“Yes, my lady”

“That’s what I thought”

“Alright my love, let me tuck you in”

“Momma, can I go up to the dragon again?”

“I am not sure sweetling, the prince is a busy man”

“But he said he will find time whenever I want”

“Did you like the dragon that much?”

“Uh-huh, you said Papa is up in the sky, I wanted for him to see me better”

(Y/n) was speechless, tears welling up in her eyes at the doting explanation her son had given her, she could detect the joy the little boy had experienced that day, she had not seen him this happy since Harwin was alive.

“Go to bed now, I will ask Prince Daemon on the morrow”

“Thank you, momma, goodnight”

“Goodnight my love”

Regret took over her body and soul like poison, she lost composure and talked back to a royal, she did not even take a minute to think of how did Arryan end up on the dragon, (y/n) had switched to defense mode the moment she saw the humongous animal land and did not care of anything else besides that her child could have been harmed.

Daemon could not find sleep, he tossed and turned for hours but his mind was occupied with playing (y/n)s speech over again instead of leaving him to rest, she was fuming however there was something in the way she looked at him, at the trembling tone of her voice that Daemon could empathize with… grief.

It was almost like the Gods had orchestrated it, leaving them restless and wandering in the gardens with the encounter that had a sour taste in their mouths.

Daemon was the one that noticed her figure sitting down on the bench, a silk cape covering her as her hair was down instead of a tight undo like it was in the morning, he chose to remain silent as he approached slowly and sat next to her, (y/n) did not turn to look at the prince, something told her exactly whom it was.

“I am sorry, I should have not talked to you that way, it was entirely inappropriate”

“You were defending your child, I should have asked permission to take him with me. I understand why you lost your temper”

“Sometimes I dream of putting him in a bubble, to keep him from… harm”

Her voice cracked once more, at that little word so many emotions were hidden, love, fear, anger, confusion, Daemon looked at her side profile while the moonlight caressed her cheeks, the difference of expression between the lady he met in daylight was tremendous, she had lived every day in agony but painted a smile for her son, now he could see the true cracks.

“Why did you come back to kings Landing? Harrenhal might have been better?”

“The king summoned us, Harwin and I had never presented our son to the court, now I had to make sure he was established as the future lord of the house strong”

“Did you love him? Harwin”

“Deeply, he treated me with kindness and respect”

“I don’t know how much respect did he show to your wedlock, especially with all the whispers that surrounded his name”

“Harwin was a wonderful man, I lost three children before we had Arryan, my father told him that he would understand if Harwin wished to leave our marriage, still he stood by me and loved me”

“Is that what love is to you? A man sticking at your side while he has other children”

“I will not let you taint my dead husbands' name, I have already apologized why are you trying to get me riled up again?”

“I’m not”

(Y/n) scoffed at Daemon's protest and got up so she can get some distance from him, her back was now facing him and Daemon realized he was pressing down on a wound that was still tender, it was not his place to question their marriage since he has two on his back.

“I just, you are a young lady you certainly deserve more than the bare minimum?”

“Bare minimum? Are you even aware of what most women have to put up with when it comes to their husbands? Beatings, embarrassment, constant pregnancies, bastards, public belittling, Harwin treated me with care, he was sweet and offered me much more than any woman could ever wish for”

“He fucked Rhaenyra”

The harsh slap against Daemon's cheek was heard loudly around the garden, even (y/n) was taken back by her action, she did not understand why he kept pressuring her, like a knife that he had stabbed her with and now he kept twisting it around, Harwin was nowhere near perfect but there was a level of understanding between them, he kept her away from the dramatics and carefree enough, why was Daemon kept nitpicking at her?

Daemon's eyes grew wide, it stung but it did not hurt him, was most shocking, they both gawked at one another waiting for someone to do or say something, maybe it was (y/n)s sudden rush of emotion that compelled him to do the same or just him being compulsive, whatever it was that took over it was strong enough to push her against the nearest wall and plant the most passionate kiss (y/n) had ever experienced, at first she froze still the heat that radiated from his hands as they roamed her body and the strength his kiss held sweetened the moment and she closed her eyes, in a way one would say she surrendered.

“This is what you deserve”

Daemon growled as the kisses went down from her lips to the nape of her neck, Harwin was a sweet lover, his touch was soft, and (y/n) was taken care of, however (y/n) could see that it lacked in passion, he did not yearn for her, it was just another way to show her that he loved her.

“We could get caught”

“Not if you are quiet”

That would have been a piece of wonderful advice had he not made it so difficult by thrusting intensely, she whimpered from pleasure while her nails dug deep into his skin and drew blood, she even bit her lip to the point of bleeding to prevent herself from letting the whole keep know how much she was enjoying this, she had never felt what it was like to be craved, wanted, needed even, Harwin loved her still his body did not weaken at the sight of her nakedness nor did his hues darkened during their sacred bedding.

Daemon's eyes were as dark as the deep waters of the ocean, his grip on her waist was ironlike, and his body collided with hers while she hoisted up her leg to his waist for more access and comfortability, the match was resembling the concept of throwing fire to gasoline.

“Please Daemon”

“You sound so pretty when you beg”

Both of them were out of breath but kept pushing, their bodies acted like they knew each other for years, that this was a normal day for them, they instinctively were conscious of how the other liked to be touched, kissed, gazed upon, it was addicting, it was (y/n)s first time of feeling like the queen of the world and Daemons first time that he wanted to over-perform, to fill every need and tend to her every desire.

“Hush”

He shushed her when a yield escaped her lips as she reached her end, he kissed her once more as she moaned in his mouth, his pace slowed and both of their bodies relaxed when they rode the pleasure at the very last wave of it.

“Do you now understand what I meant when I said that you were getting the bare minimum?”

Daemon whispered in her ear before he left a kiss on her cheek, her face glowing and wet from droplets.

“Yes”

“You are burning up”

(Y/n) was sweating profusely, although Daemon wanted to take a good look at her, to remember the moment that a faint smile decorated her lips as she grew tired but her body was relaxed as it was used to the very bit of its powers, Daemon softly blew some air at the side of her neck to cool her, though all it did was compel her body to grow goosebumps and shake.

“Stop, it tickles, you are no better either, you are a sweaty mess”

“The sweat of a champion, anyone that would even glance at you would see how content you are”

“And you are not? You are still inside of me”

“I must admit, it is like a nice warm hug”

(Y/n) pushed him off at the cheeky comparison making him giggle, she fixed her dress to hide most of the damage while Daemon pulled his trousers up and buttoned up the shirt with the few buttons that were left since (y/n) had ripped it open.

“We must go”

“I will collect Arryan on the morrow after I break my fast”

“And who told you you could do that?”

“No one, I assumed I get privileges when you were holding on to me for dear life whilst I-“

“Alright alright, I will see you on the morrow”

Requests are open!

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midnightarcheress · 5 days

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Simon thinks he could live like this.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: nothing he's just down bad 7 | gold rush masterlist.

“are you insane?!” Daniel shouts, slamming the door behind him and stomping his feet towards Simon with a menacing look, “you think you can just move her around like this?”

“she wasn’t safe in that house, this is for her protection,” he answers promptly, crossing his arms and taking a step in front of you, covering your frame from the irate man. if he could, he’d land a punch on his face in no time, not caring that technically he’s his boss.

“yeah? and you simply have to be here with her, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. you watch the scene unfold from behind Simon, brows knitted together and bottom lip nearly bleeding from biting too much. he’d managed to momentarily tranquillize you, bring you back to earth after the terrifying panic state, but the anxiety kept simmering underneath your skin, just waiting for another chance to take over your body.

“the shitty security system you put in her house wasn’t enough to prevent the bastard from intrudin’, the bloody alarm didn’t even go off,” he retorts, eyes shooting daggers straight ahead, “so yeah, i’m gonna stay with her for as long as it’s necessary. contract says to protect her, doesn’t it?”

the two of them stay quiet, a silent staring competition on Daniel’s side, a mere warning on Simon’s side. he won’t budge, won’t allow you to go back to that house, hand you on a silver platter to the grim reaper hiding behind letters and eerie messages.

Dan leans on his side to look at you, ignoring the mass of a man in front of him. “are you sure about this?” his tone is strangely soft, like a switch flipped in his mind, all anger vanishing. you nod, offering him a small smile that does a poor job of concealing how nervous you are about the situation. he purses his lips, taking one last glance at Simon’s unwavering posture before sighing in defeat.

it’s been two weeks since the mirror message that led Simon into comforting you, and two weeks since he had to control his own panic, trying his best not to spiral. it had been a while since he shared a living space, so staying with you feels like a dream that he’s constantly afraid of turning into a nightmare by saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, or even thinking about what’s happening.

the safe house Price arranged is far from the size you’re used to, being at least three times smaller than your own house. but to his surprise, again, your reaction to it contradicts his expectations. it could just be you being a phenomenal actress, covering your resentment behind a beaming smile, but you seemed to have grown accustomed to his presence easily, didn’t protest once, never lamented the loss of luxury and privacy.

he wanted to deny the feeling, shove it deep down in his brain and lock the safe, but it was nice, the domesticity of it all. it was nice learning little details about your routine; how you only get out of bed the second time your alarm rings; how you’re definitely not a morning person, judging by the gruff good morning you mumble when you slide to the counter stool; how you love trying new recipes and quietly dance in the kitchen, freezing when you notice him watching you; or how you’re always carrying something to read, it being a book or a script.

it was nice making you coffee in the morning and seeing you rub your sleepy eyes, nice hearing you humming a song in the shower, nice catching a glimpse of you in lingerie when you forget to lock your bedroom door, nearly making him choke in his own spit by the sight of the small tattoo on your hip. is it a star? a flower?

he felt like he was playing house with you. a game where you’re his loving wife and he’s a devoted husband, where he could feed his delusions, live everything he was convinced he’d never have in this lifetime. inside those walls, he could do it all, except the one thing he longed the most – touch you. kiss the top of your head when you’re baking in the kitchen, run his fingers through your hair when you’re curled up on the couch, feel your soft skin under his fingertips when you lay in bed, bend you over the table when you pass by him in skimpy pyjama shorts.

“do you... wanna watch a movie?” you ask, remote in hand and head leaned back on the sofa, chewing the inside of your cheek and attentively glaring at the television. he tilts to the side, stirring his thoughts away and taking in the view of your features illuminated by the bright lights coming from the screen. it was easy to get lost in how beautiful you were, a magical creature brought to earth to bewitch him.

your head suddenly shifts to where he’s sitting, and it hits him that you’re still expecting an answer. fuck. “uh, yeah, sure.” he mumbles, snapping back to the telly, swallowing the desires his throat dared to spill.

later that day, Simon steps onto the front porch for a much-needed nicotine fix, dark blues painting the sky as the last rays of sunlight vanish from the horizon. he hates the burning sensation of the smoke in his lungs, but always craves the lightheadedness and dopamine flush in his veins, no matter how many years it takes from his life.

“god!” you jump, looking behind you and putting a hand over your chest to steady your rapid heartbeat, “you really are a ghost, aren’t you?” a chuckle falls from your lips after the startle, travelling the air like a lullaby, and he ignores the flutter in his chest that happens whenever you laugh.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” you shrug and turn back to your initial position, sitting on the steps and watching the crunchy tree leaves dancing in the breeze. he follows your gaze to the front lawn, bringing a cigarette from the pack to his lips, debating if he should truly smoke with you in there. you never complained, but he’s caught you frowning at the thin cardboard a few times around the house, so he decides not to light it.

“can i ask you something?” you blurt out, lifting your chin to face him, eyes searching for his, and his head dips, irises focusing on yours. one brow raises at your sudden curiosity and he nods, back propped against the column, waiting, “why Ghost?”

his jaw tenses, gaze shifting from you to the carton in his hands. the ever-dreaded question. “dunno. just a nickname.” lie. he couldn’t tell you how everything was taken from him and he faked his death years ago; how he truly became the ghost of man. you don’t deserve to be burdened with that knowledge, so it is just a nickname.

he looks back to you, gauging if you bought his deflection or not. you’re still focused on him, vision flicking at every crease of his expression, waiting for any falter, but it doesn’t come. “you can call me Simon.”

the thin line of your lips breaks into a smile, cheeks rising and making his heart skip a beat. so much for easy detachment, “okay, Simon.”

the way i still have at least ten parts of this story in my outline but i'm so unmotivated to write it :(

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undiscovered-horizon · 11 months

Text

In Emerald Hearts, Emerald Minds - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[mentions of unwanted advances + suggested groping + suggestive/sexual (consensual) themes]

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

SUMMARY: When Vasily asks you to forget his half-brother and marry him instead, you escape the Little Palace along Alina. Nikolai realizes something strange is going on when Kaz mentions seeing a similar emerald ring on the woman that came with the Sun Summoner. With how much you and Nikolai have been running in circles to find each other, the reunion aboard Volkvolny feels almost fated.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.6k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

It feels like the Winter Fete has been going on forever. The champagne keeps on being poured, the guests keep on dancing and the circus acts just keep on performing as though tomorrow is a mere mirage, a concept of a certain time period that never actually comes. Inside those walls of gold and marble, the misery devouring all of Ravka seems like nothing beyond a mad nightmare - something so removed from reality, it’s hilarious in its ridiculousness. Everyone is so carefree and happy you almost take their joy as your own.

Almost.

The orchestra begins playing Waltz of the Flowers and you feel your throat tighten. Despite doing your best not to, your mind relives that fateful night when everything changed. For the longest time, you’d been claiming that the change was for the better but now, standing alone for another year in a row and watching the dashing aristocrats spin to the music, you’re not so sure anymore.

“You really need to stop doing this,” Nikolai says firmly. Although his tone is decisive and clearly unwilling to accept defiance, a pronounced hint of amusement lives between his words - a thread of light-heartedness, one might say.

Your eyebrows gently furrow. “Doing what?”

“Smiling at me like that. Any longer and I might ask you to marry me.”

It feels like you’re about to burst at the seams. Trying to contain your emotions, and failing at it quite horribly, you bite your lower lip. “I might say yes.”

“Where have you gone, Kolya?” you whisper under your breath. The gloss of vacancy covering your eyes blurs the dancing bodies into one mass of faceless strangers. But it also makes you not notice someone approaching you.

“I find it quite admirable.”

Vasily’s voice startles you. To your now-gone relief, you didn’t have the displeasure of running into him all evening - until now. If you were to list all of the things about the older Lantsov son that makes your skin crawl, you’d be done by the time another Winter Fete is organized. The top of the list, however, deserves to be mentioned as it’s an inseparable part of your every interaction with the prince: he’s quite adamant and crude in his desire to be more than just a future brother-in-law to you.

“Excuse me?” you stutter out.

That patronizing look on his face is now accompanied by a cocky half-grin as he realizes he caught you off-guard. “Your devotion to my brother. For all we know, he might be already dead, Saints’ protect him.”

“Don’t even say that!” you hiss at him. Right after, you look around to check whether one of the guests has noticed your unpleasant exchange.

Despite what you’ve just said, you know he’s right. There’s no way you can be sure that your Kolya is either dead or alive. Perhaps this is the detail further ripping your heart apart - you don’t know anything about his fate; you’re mourning, although you’re yet to see the coffin. You haven’t for a few years now and each passing month of silence only made court gossip more cruel and bold.

“All I’m saying, dearest,” Vasily begins quietly as his hand drags along your arm, “is that the moment the news of Nikolai’s death reaches the Grand Palace, you’ll be thrown out. On the other hand, I can make you the Queen of Ravka. And unlike my brother, I won’t disappear off the face of the Earth and forget about his beloved lady.”

The word of endearment is dripping with sarcasm as it leaves his chapped lips. His breath reeks of alcohol and you unknowingly turn your head away. Vasily seems to think you’re about to leave his side, so his hand tightly grips your arm. The hold is almost bruising. He yanks you even closer towards himself.

“Kolya hasn’t forgotten about me,” you say in a shaky voice. Maybe he’s not as foolish as he appears and Vasily is genuinely trying to break you down.

The prince studies your face for a moment, definitely noticing how shaken you are. His eyes have the strangest glint to them - something between desire and contempt. “Is that so?” he barely stifles a grim laugh. “He would have written you a letter if that were true, no?”

Tears sting your eyes. Vasily is certainly smarter, or at least more cruel, than he lets on. He knows exactly what to say to get into your head. It’s a startling difference between him and Nikolai - only one of them does what he can to keep a smile on your face. Well, did.

His dirty, rough hand grabs your chin. Vasily forces you to look at him, his smile wavers upon noticing your desperation. “Consider your options, зайка,” he purrs out. The prince’s other hand trails your face. “The choice is yours.”

A tear falls down your cheek. You feel it rolling across your skin and you silently hope the guests surrounding you are watching this scene. Then, you lean in even closer to Vasily’s face. The whisper leaves your lips like a viper’s venomous hiss: "I will marry you the day you lay his dead body at my feet."

To your surprise, Vasily drops his hands and takes a step back. Despite the self-assured smile on his face, you can see the fury inside his eyes. “As you wish.” He bows curtly, turns on his heel and marches away, undoubtedly looking for another glass of alcohol and a lady naive enough to warm his bed.

The palace suddenly feels stuffy and overcrowded; the music is too loud, the plethora of smells make your head spin.

Outside. You need to get outside.

Bumping into several guests and mumbling half-coherent apologies, you run through the halls of the Little Palace. When the cold, night air hits your flushed cheeks, only then do you stop. Taking in a deep breath, you can actually feel your thoughts becoming clearer.

With each gust of freezing wind, all the anger and sadness is leaving your shaking body. Vasily just wanted to get a rise out of you and, as much as you don’t want to admit it, he succeeded. Unlike he claims, Nikolai surely is alive. Maybe bruised or sick or not sleeping well but as long as there’s no news about him being dead, he is as alive as one can be. The same starry sky hangs above your and his heads. Perhaps, in this small moment of longing, he’s thinking about you too. Wherever he is.

A tired sigh leaves your lips. You’re about to turn around and go back inside when a silhouette moving in the night catches your attention. The shape is swift although careful like a lizard approaching a fly. You see them looking around before running for another few meters only to hide behind a bush or piece of architecture.

Curious and a little scared, you follow the stranger towards one of the carriages. Quietly, you get close enough to grab their wrist. The shape lets out a gasp and turns around to look at you.

“Alina?!” you whisper. What in Saints’ mercy is she doing? You look at her warm, casual clothes and the bag on her back. “Are you running away?”

“I need to leave,” she answers equally quietly. Her voice as well as her stare is filled with certainty - she’s convinced beyond reasonable doubt this is the right thing to do. “Please, don’t try to stop me.”

You let go of her hand. “Stop you?” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “I’m coming with you.”

“What?” she deadpans. Alina is staring at you with a vacant stare and her mouth slightly agape. Apparently exchanging royal comforts for hay and stolen apples is unthinkable.

“If I have to spend one more day around Vasily, I will murder someone.”

Alina slowly nods her head - she can definitely understand the sentiment. A dimwitted Fjerdan would have more charm than the older prince. But then she squints her eyes, looking at you with a sense of scepticism.

“Out there, there won’t be warm beds and three-course dinners, you know?”

“I know,” you answer with a careless shrug. Loitering and wandering isn’t for ladies of your sort, it’s like throwing a finless fish into a tank with sharks. Despite that, you’re quite convinced the means justify the end, at least in this scenario. “But out there is my Kolya. And I’m done politely waiting for him.”

A shadow of sadness covers her face. If there’s anyone who can understand your plight, it’s her. In fact, she is luckier than you - she saw her lover maybe an hour ago. Pleasant or unpleasant, the meeting confirmed to her that Mal is at least alive. It’s not a privilege you could afford.

“Then let’s go,” she says to you before opening the chest in the back of the carriage. Forgetting all of your etiquette and social standing, you climb into the compartment with her. Towards adventure or death, you’re going somewhere.

“The ring gave you away,” Kaz announces. “It’s too expensive for a bodyguard.”

Jesper knits his eyebrows together, suddenly remembering something. He leans towards Kaz but speaks a little too loudly for the question to be inconspicuous: “Didn’t that girl wear the same-”

When Kaz’s cold glare meets Jesper’s squinted eyes, the dark-skinned man immediately closes his mouth halfway through the question. Both of them sit back as they were but the cat is already out of the bag. Well, not entirely - half of it is peeking out of the metaphorical sack.

Nikolai looks between them with unmissable suspicion. Although he’s heard enough to be aware of the possibility that the Sun Summoner isn’t travelling by herself, this is the first time either of the Crows admits it.

His heart begins to beat slightly quicker: Alina run away from the Little Palace along with another woman and that lady was wearing a royal jewel at the time. As long as Vasily didn’t lose his signet on one of his distasteful escapades, the course of events points to only one person - you. Shoving his restless excitement into the deepest chasms of his heart, Nikolai manages to remain his composure:

“Who was wearing that ring?” The prince-turned-privateer unknowingly fiddles with the heavy jewellery on his finger. Noticing the Crows’ reluctance, he makes them an offer: “If you tell me who you saw wearing an emerald ring, I might, say, give you ten minutes to escape.” Nikolai vaguely gestures to the closed window on his right-hand side.

Kaz knows there’s no point in lying any longer. The man in front of him is not only well-informed but also smarter than he looks, making the Crow wonder whether he also knows the answer to this question but prefers to play some kind of a game. In any event, he’s done his part of the deal and his ex-accomplices are left to their own devices. Additionally, he could really use those ten minutes. “A young woman that accompanied Alina Starkov. High-born, confident, decisive. Not a Grisha as far as I know.”

“Not a Lantsov, obviously,” Jesper chips in.

Brekker’s keen eyes catch the barely noticeable change in Sturmhond’s expression - the corner of his mouth merely stuttered up and down but it is enough to tell Kaz as much as he needs:

“You know her.”

Know her? If Nikolai had a weaker grip on his emotions at the moment, he’d laugh until his stomach and diaphragm hurt and then he’ll burst with laughter once more, unspeakably joyous that he might get to see her sooner than he thought. Yes, he does know her but in the way heart knows blood and lungs know air. She’s the ligament that keeps his bones together, the fibres that construct his muscles, the very blood that runs in his veins. Does the Moon simply know the stars? Do trees know their roots and branches?

But for now, he needs to stay focused.

“Not really,” Sturmhond answers while scrunching his nose. “Many aristocrats wear a ring like that. While I may know of a lot of them, I hardly know anything about them.”

Kaz fights back a mocking half-grin begging to twist his thin lips. “I’d argue that an emerald in Ravka is a rather rare gem.”

“Hers is probably genuine. Mine’s stolen.”

Silence falls between the three men. Nikolai and Kaz are staring each other down, battling in some kind of war of wits and nerves, waiting for the other to give in. Jesper is stealing glances at both of them, feeling the cold tension rise in the air.

Against his deep-seated desire, Kaz doesn’t inquire further about the emeralds or the strange coincidence that the two enigmatic characters wearing them might know each other. He sits back in the chair, his shoulders visibly drop. As much as he’d love to dig deeper, he’d much rather get out of here and reclaim his freedom that is now endangered.

“Well, gentlemen,” Nikolai begins in an upbeat tone, “your ten minutes start now.”

Without saying anything else, he leaves the room. Only then, when the dark, wooden door close behind him, does he let suppressed emotions wash over him. A quiet chuckle brushes past his lips and for a moment even tears sting his eyes. Delight, worry, relief - conflicting sensations merge into one, completely overpowering flame burning inside his chest.

Maybe he doesn’t have the Sun Summoner and he still needs to come up with a plan to catch her but Nikolai hasn’t been this happy for a while now: his солиышко is alright, still making the world brighter and warmer. If he can get to Alina Starkov, he might see her again, although he begins to wonder whether she wishes to see him after all those years of silence and ignorance. But if he can see her, just witness the marvel of her entire being even for one last second, he’ll be cured of the longing and loneliness that has been gnawing at him ever since he left Os Alta.

You’re following the Shu man to what you assume is his captain’s cuddy. The ship creeks and groans under the weight of the crew as well as the power of the waves. The bussing crewmen spare the three of you a glance, only to show disinterest and go back to their duties. It’s a nice change compared to the kerchen ship you travelled on to Novyi Zem, where the captain asked Alina and you to stay under the deck because of the sailors’ superstition. After getting off the ship, it took you a good week to wash out the reek of cured cod from your clothes and hair. Sometimes you still felt like you can smell it in the air, even in the dusty wind sweeping through Novyi Zem.

Your ‘guide’ pushes the door and they swing open with a creak, the list of the ship aiding the motion. Except for the squeaky hinges, probably rusting faster than anyone can manage, Volkvolny is in good shape. In fact, it looks brand new - no mould or woodworms.

“Captain, request for charter,” the stocky stranger announces with a hint of amusement or excitement in his voice. Despite his imposing visage, the Shu man has made a good impression on you but the long sword on his back kept you vigilant against getting too comfortable in his company.

Only when he moves to the side, presenting the three of you to his captain, do you see the face of the infamous Sturmhond.

You want to laugh. In fact, you have to clench your fists to stop yourself from bursting out with laughter. This situation feels like the strangest coincidence that you can think of, which in turn makes you suspect that it’s not a coincidence at all. Because what are the odds?

Nikolai’s face momentarily brightens up when he recognizes you, a new glint lights up his eyes. He looks different than you remember but in all the right ways: his shoulders look broader and his hair is longer, curling in a way that makes him appear more infantile. You remembered him as a handsome man but the Nikolai in front of you is beautiful enough to be considered unreal.

He's staring into you like a deer caught in headlights until Tolya hands him Alina’s unusual means of payment. As Nikolai is turning the piece of jewellery in his fingers, you notice another change: his hands look rougher, definitely scarred from all the adventures you hope you’re yet to hear about.

The blond prince turns his attention back to Alina, Mal and you. “A gold hairpin can get you anywhere. But an emerald ring?” He gestures to you. “It can get you everywhere.”

“It’s not for sale,” you answer, although you know he’s not trying to buy it. After all, he’s the one that gave it to you.

“I don’t want it.” Nikolai shakes his head. Then, a flirty smile appears on his face. “Looks better on you anyway, doll.”

You’re about to respond to his remark when his attention is once again placed on Alina. “Now, Tolya says you’re looking for a charter. Where are we sailing?”

Alina begins the story with ‘the creation of the world’ as your mother used to say: the Little Palace, Darkling, Morozova’s amplifiers and the Fold. Nikolai nods along, never giving away that he’s privy to most of the story. He doesn’t believe in the Sea Whip at first but that’s hardly his fault - not too long ago people wouldn’t believe in the existence of the Sun Summoner and now she’s standing beside you, nervously rubbing her hand. As you have expected from the moment you saw that Nikolai is Sturmhond, he agrees to the insanity of taking up the quest to catch the amplifier.

“Tolya will show you around.” He sends you off. You’re about to follow your friends out of the cuddy when he adds: “You, emerald lady, I’d like to talk to in private.”

Alina gives you a concerned look (‘blink twice if you need help’) but you only smile and nod at her in response. With Mal tugging at her arm, she reluctantly leaves you and Sturmhond alone.

The moment the door closes behind Tolya and your friends, Nikolai runs around his desk towards you, engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. His hand threads through your hair, pushing your head further into the crook of his neck. Even if you tried, there’s no way you can pull away or even move. Taking a deep breath, you smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne but now it’s mixed with the scent of resin, saltwater and seaweed.

Then he pulls away, looking you up and down with burning worry. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? What are you doing here?”

You swear he could be bleeding out on the floor and still he’d be apologizing for staining your clothes. It’s heartwarming that despite the years and evident change in his appearance, Kolya is still Kolya.

A wide smile enters your face. “Looking for a frisky sailor to take me on a voyage filled with indecency, obviously.”

“Well, here he is.” Nikolai points to himself and winks at you. “And he’d really like to know why you’re in Novyi Zem with the Sun Summoner and whats-his-face and not in the Grand Palace in Os Alta.”

You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head gently. “I grew tired, Kolya.” His eyebrows slant upon hearing the exhaustion in your voice. Despite the sheer happiness he feels when you say his name, the concern gnawing at his heart seems to be more powerful. “Years have gone by without you giving me even the tiniest sign that you’re alive and well. And your brother, Saint’s have mercy on him because I won’t, has been adamant about marrying me ever since you left. I told him I will accept his proposal the day he lays your dead body before me.” You make pause, noticing a strange shadow hanging over Nikolai’s face. But he’s not saying anything for a moment, so you finish what you wanted to say: “I had to get away from it all. There’s only so much uncertainty and intruding fingers a lady can take.”

“By the Saints,” he breathes out, “did Vasily lay a hand on you?”

You feel his grip around you tighten but it’s not painful, rather securing. “If you’re asking whether he hit me or forced himself on me, then no, he did not. He did, however, make it abundantly clear what he wants from me. On multiple occasions.”

Nikolai’s face twists in a scowl. The glint that lit up his eyes when he saw you is now gone, exchanged for something dark and unstable. “I’m so sorry, if I knew-”

“I know, love,” you interrupt him. He doesn’t need to announce the ends he’d go to in order to ensure you’re safe and comfortable. Nikolai has never said or done so but you’re fairly convinced he wouldn’t shy away from fistfighting Vasily if he said something less-than-savoury to you. “But neither of us could have known.”

“I promised you’d be safe in Os Alta.”

“And I promised to stay put.” You can’t keep laughter in any longer. You’re not quite sure whether your chuckle is born out of happiness or disbelief. “Now look at us.”

Suddenly, he knits his eyebrows close. At first, you think he’s confused but then the slight rise of his cheeks suggests something closer to contempt or disgust. "Would you actually marry Vasily if he gave you my dead body?"

You can only give him an indifferent shrug. "Maybe?” you ponder aloud. “If you were dead, I would lose all care about what happens to me or with me. In a way, I’d be dead too."

Nikolai takes one of your hands and kisses its fingers. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his warm lips against your skin. “I could never rest in peace knowing how he’s treating you.”

“Having you haunt me would be incomparably better than you just being gone. Everything is better than silence.”

His shoulders slouch. Nikolai looks away from you for a moment, admiring the floor in his cuddy but even this can’t hide his guilt and shame. “I couldn’t have just popped in for a visit. Not anywhere in Ravka.”

"You couldn't even have written me a letter?"

"Someone at the palace would recognize my handwriting. I couldn't risk it."

"Then you could have dictated the letter to one of your crew."

That self-assured, flirty smirk appears again on his face. "And scandalize my crewmen with the things I want to tell you?”

As much as you’ve dearly missed his insufferable humour, at the moment it’s making your skin crawl. “This is a serious conversation, Nikolai,” you state firmly.

“I am serious, солиышко.” The pet name rolls off his tongue with both weight and lightness as though it belongs exclusively to you and no one else can ever claim it as their own. He kisses your hand again but keeps it against his lips for a while longer. Then, he places your fingers on his chest and you can feel the soft thrumming of his heart. “Do you think I never thought about writing to you? That I didn’t stay up at night thinking about what I will tell you when we meet again? Countless letters I have begun only to tear them apart and throw them into the sea or burn them. If some people found out we know each other, you’d be in much greater danger than Darkling following your steps. I’d rather deal with the heartbreak of staying away from you than know I put you in danger because I can’t live without you.”

It brings you a grim sense of comfort that he’s been equally torn as you were over the lack of contact. You never thought about it before but Nikolai must have been worried sick, not knowing whether you’re alright and happy. Has he imagined your plight and misery as often as you did his?

“What did you write in those letters?” you ask in a shaky voice.

“I wrote about how much I miss you, how it physically hurts to consider that you might think I have abandoned you. When I was hungry, cold, tired or sick, only the memories of you made me push on. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare at the sky above me and wonder whether you’re looking at the same stars. I wrote that wherever I go, I see your face. You are in every sunrise and sunset, every flower I see and every fire that warms me.” Nikolai lets go of your fingers, placing both of his hands on either side of your face. The softness in his eyes makes you swoon. “I only wrote the truth,” he says slowly, making sure you understand the weight of his words.

Swallowing back tears, you lean into his warm touch. “My beloved, my heart yearns for you?” you jest in a dramatic voice.

A playful smile creeps back unto his lips. “If only my heart.”

“Gross.”

“You wanted a frisky sailor.”

"You’re a pirate, not a sailor.”

"I’m a privateer,” he drones out the word as though it makes a world of a difference.

"Pirate sounds sexier."

Nikolai gives you a fake frown. “Oh, I definitely am a pirate."

Without thinking twice, he’s kissing you. The sensation is just as comforting as you remember. His soft lips are doting on you, growing needier with each peck as though this is some feverish attempt at making up the lost time.

He pulls away to catch his breath and although you’re panting yourself, you unknowingly chase after him, unwilling to dismiss this carnal desire just yet. Nikolai seems to notice your eagerness - he flashes you a cocky grin and shortly pecks your lips again.

“You crossed Ravka, the Fold and the sea just to find me?” he whispers. His eyes are stuck to your wet, swollen mouth.

“And I’d do it a hundred more times if I had to.”

You exchange a few more hungry kisses, pecking and nipping at each other’s lips, before Nikolai continues the conversation:

“I want to say that I’m flattered but I’d rather not encourage you to do something this stupid and dangerous ever again.”

“Hate to break it to you but you took all the stupid with you.”

He rests his forehead against yours; hot, laboured breaths brush against your flushed cheeks. “I’d like to clarify that I’m not stupid, I just can’t seem to think about anything other than you.”

Nikolai wraps his arms around your waist. In a swift motion, he turns you around and pushes you against the edge of his desk. His strength surprises you when Nikolai effortlessly lifts you and places you atop the table, pushing off maps and navigation essentials. Firm, warm hands are restlessly wandering across your body, unsure where to lay or what to grab.

You gasp quietly when his fingers sneak underneath your shirt. “Is this the indecent part of the voyage, my frisky sailor?”

“By the Saints, I hope so,” he whispers against your lips. Then, he furrows his eyebrows questioningly. “Is that offensive to say around a living Saint?”

“I don’t think Alina heard you.”

His nimble fingers are quickly undoing the buttons on your clothes. “Well, she will hear you in a moment.”

“Gross,” you say with laughter in your voice but the word gets muffled as Nikolai gets back to kissing you again.

Even if the crew did hear you that day, no one dared say a word.

зайка [zay-ka] - bunny (feminine; term of endearment)

солиышко [sol-nee-shko] - little sun (unisex; term of endearment)

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai imagines #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x you #sturmhond #grishaverse

1K notes · View notes

kcrossvine-art · 9 months

Text

Heya folks! Its been a bit, food insecurity is a bitch, but today on the quest of cooking our way through Lord of the Rings we're gonna be making a dish exclusively mentioned in the 2007 MMO-

We will be making a Rohan Pasty!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into a Rohans Pasty?” YOU MIGHT ASKBasics. Meat n potatoes of your meat-in-dough food. .

All-purpose flour

Salt

Baking powder

Vegetable oil

Olive oil

Ground beef

Garlic salt

Ground cumin

Chili powder

Dried oregano

Waxy potato

Garlic

White onion

Egg

"A delicious local pastry filled with beef and potatoes."- LOTRO Rohan is a kingdom of humans in middle-earth, and the description point towards a cornish pasty (yes, pasty not pastry). Oddly enough the image is more of an empanada but you win some you lose some. This heritage informs much of the shape and ingredients of this dish, however we're opting to cook most of the ingredients before adding them in, contrary to going in raw as a cornish pasty calls for. I chose to deviate here because cooking beforehand allows more seasoning to be crammed in. The english hate seasoning.

AND, “what does a Rohans Pasty taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

Tastes like the best pot pie youve had, less soggy

Excellent for an after-rugby/martial arts/soccer dinner

The potatoes are foundational

Despite needing the least work

Pasta salad (cucumber, olives, pepperocini) would pair well as a side

And would also pair well with beer

This meal bears the gold star sticker of not having any major issues! Hooray! Maybe its increased comfortability in the kitchen, or maybe its because of how very simple this one is. Chopped roasted bell pepper might be good in the filling in the future.

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Get the dough ready ahead of time- its mentioned in the recipe below but i also wanted to say a foreword here that it needs to sit in the fridge for a few hours. Just so ya dont get everything out and realise itd take too long for dinner tonight. Speaking of dough, i feel like it could have more flavor added to it. Its bland and although its not part of the tradition of the meal its based off of, cornish meat pasty, it might be nice to add some spices like cumin or black pepper to the flour.

The meal reheats perfect- wrap in papertowl and put it in the microwave for 30 seconds per pasty.

When picking your potatoes make sure theyre "new" potatoes (baby ones) or whichever potato with the least amount of starch you can get. Its important for it to cook inside the pasty that it not have too much lest it get Mushy Bad.

Another thing about its real-life inspo; Cornish pastys were workers food, stuff you could carry into the mines, stuff thatd reheat well. You could hold the crust with your dirty hands and throw it away once you ate the rest. I always feel partial to these foods. Although I'd still eat the dirty crust.

This recipe earns a solid 8/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.)

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Dough Ingredients:

370g all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

74g vegetable oil

240g warm water

Filling Ingredients:

2 tablespoons(ish) olive oil

1 pound ground beef

2 tablespoons tomato paste

Garlic salt to taste

Ground cumin to taste

Chili powder to taste

Dried oregano to taste

5 cloves garlic, minced

1 white onion, diced

Method:

Combine flour, salt and baking powder.

Add oil and water into mixer with dough hook running at medium speed. Mix for 1 minute, stopping several times to scrape the sides of the bowl.

When mixture comes together and begins to form a ball, decrease mixing speed to low. Continue to mix just until dough is smooth.

Take the dough ball, safely wrap it, and transfer to fridge. Let sit for at minimum 2 hours.

For the meat, get a large skillet, and add some olive oil over medium heat. Add the ground beef and garlic salt, cook until the beef is cooked completely.

Drain the beef and set aside.

In the same pan, add the garlic, onions, cumin, chili powder, oregano, and salt.

Cook until the onions are softened but not brown, 10 to 15 minutes. Re-add the beef and cook over low heat for about 5 more minutes.

Back to the dough, transfer dough from fridge to well-floured work surface. Roll into log and divide into 10 equal portions.

Preheat oven to 350f.

Form each piece into a ball and flatten each with a rolling pin.

Add a layer of diced potatos down the middle of the pastys. Add the meat filling to each. Fold the sides of the dough up to seal on top in the middle.

Gently turn the pasty on its side and crimp the edge, alternating a braid pattern. Use knife to cut an "X" shaped slit in the top. Repeat for each pasty.

Place the pastys on a greased baking sheet. Lightly coat each pasty with an eggwash using a basting brush.

Cook for about 50 minutes, or until golden brown, and let cool!

#cross cooks lotr #lotro #the hobbit #lord of the rings #food recipe

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luveline · 9 months

Note

tiny baby blurb of rockstar!remus and new to the band!reader just dealing with everything together if that's okay!

thank u for ur request ♡ fem!reader

"What are they doing?"

Remus steps up to the window beside you, looking down at the crowd as it flows forward like a crashing wave. Sirius and James are small as grains of rice from so far below, but they are unmistakably themselves.

"I hope they get trampled."

"We'd be missing half the band," you argue.

"We could make it work. We're good like that."

You lean into his side tentatively, wanting to know what he'll do. His hand comes up immediately to curve over your shoulder, his forearm pressed to your shoulder blade. He presses his cheek to the top of your head, the distinct smell of his chamomile cologne awakening with his movements.

It's as calming as his touch.

Remus, through everything, has been by your side. Physically and emotionally. His hand warms a path from the hill of your shoulder to the straight column of your neck, his lips touching your temple as he asks, "You okay, dove?"

Things have been hectic lately, mainly tonight. The hotel room behind you is an explosion of clothes; jackets and shirts and a hundred pairs of trousers strewn about. There are socks on the TV stand, your clean underwear tipped and toed aside by the bottom of your bed. Remus promised to help you tidy up before this distraction, and you're wondering if he'd help you tidy up the mess in your head, if you asked.

"I think I'm really tired," you confess quietly.

Remus does kiss you, then, on the top of your head. It has your pulse roaring to life like a motor with its pull cord yanked out. It wouldn't shock you if they looked at your heart and found it spinning in circles. Yet he's always so casual about touching you, like it doesn't wobble the earth on its axis for him as it does you, so you try not to react. You're content to be doted on by him if doting is all it is.

But you'd like a little more than that, too.

"We'll clear off the bed and sleep."

See, what's that? He's offering to get into bed with you?

You pick at the caulking around the window. With the sun shining from an angle as it sets, gold light crawls up your arms. If you look into the diamond of shadow in the corner, you can see your two faces reflected. You look morosely exhausted. Remus looks handsomely concerned, half his face hidden where he's turned his cheek to your skin. His hand roams across your shoulder to the right most side, a half hug.

"Is it a different kind of tired?" he asks gently.

"I'm okay." You feel better the longer he touches you. He worries a lot about how you're coping under the pressure of the band, but he doesn't need to. "You know, I can do this, but only because you're with me."

"That's not true, is it?" he asks, pulling your face into his neck for a quick squeeze.

Remus' hand rubs a rougher pattern into the top of your arm before he separates from you, leaving you to miss the heat and security of his touch.

"You don't need me to do this. You forget how impressive you are. Now come and help me put this away," he says.

You tear away from the window and the last lingering effects of his hug. "Can't you do it for me?" you joke, looking down at him where he's kneeled to begin folding your trousers. You're so tired that the idea of sitting down with him to put your clothes away feels akin to climbing Mount Everest.

"Not unless you want me looking through your knickers, dove."

You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly much more awake. "I'll do it," you say.

"These ones are cute," he says, reaching for a pair of black ones peeking out from under the bed frame.

You drop to your knees and shove his shoulder, forcing his hand away. "I'll do it!" you repeat, your face burning with embarrassment.

His answering laugh is especially annoying. Annoying and so, so charming.

#rockstar!remus #rockstar!remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

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thatanimeramenchick · 1 month

Text

Yandere Lucifer x Human Sacrifice Reader Pt. 2

Part One

Word count: 2,755

Originally requested by @hazbinlove

---

Your body was still suffering from your injuries when you awoke two days later. While not as intense as before, you could still feel that itching, burning feeling down your entire chest, which was now wrapped in gauze. You were in a soft bed, mind still reeling a little from everything that had happened. If it wasn’t for how sensitive your entire body still felt, you would have written the whole experience off as an ugly nightmare. Yet here you were, somehow still alive. Your first thought was that you must be in the hospital, but the room looked more like a nice apartment room, in line with a hotel suite. Someone must have found you half dead outside after the attack. That odd angelic figure you had seen, it must have been a dream.

That was what you thought as you lay in your uncomfortable position. Not too much longer later, the door opens, and in comes a man that looks vaguely familiar.

He was short, or at least shorter than most men you were accustomed to seeing.

“You’re awake!” he said.

He came into the room, holding a tray filled with breakfast food. You felt your stomach rumble as you saw that is had chocolate covered croissants and a bowl of fruit that looked delicious.

“… who are you?” you asked.

“Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Lucifer,” he said.

“You’re… Lucifer?” you said, shocked.

Instinctively, you try to inch away as this sinks in your mind, but you don’t make it very far, only succeeding in wincing in discomfort. Your body was still fragile from the attack.

“Not what you were expecting?” he asked, with a small smile.

A feeling of fear stirred inside your stomach. This had to be a mistake. A trap. There was no way that this was actually the devil. Unless…

“Am I dead?”

“Dead? Oh, no, quite the opposite!” he said, “Somehow, despite everything that happened to you, your soul is still inside its original body. You’re alive.”

“Then why am I with you?” you asked, hoping that the horror you felt wasn’t too apparent in your voice and face.

“Well I couldn’t very well just leave you out there,” he said, “You were basically being tortured like that. You could have lost your mind that way, repeatedly dying and regenerating.”

You just stared at him in stunned silence for a minute. As you stare at him, you feel your memory aligning with the sight in front of you. You hardly remembered the sight you had seen, you had been in so much pain, but you had seen flashes of flame. A white, red, and gold figure, with an unnaturally eerie light. Was it really possible?

“How do you know about my… thing?” you finally ask.

“Well, the unasked for human “sacrifices” usually don’t survive that kind of stabbing. It seems that someone has put a spell on you,” he said, “It’s a seal of protection. No matter what happens to you, you eventually regenerate. Your body will heal any fatal injury, though, it appears that there are some remnants of the attack. Whoever cast it must not have had a lot of experience and didn’t really know what they were doing.”

The memories of your mothers tear filled yet hopeful eyes rushed back into your mind. Had she…?

“Is there a way to reverse it?” you asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “I suppose I would have to look through my grimoires, but it may take some time for me to look.”

He looks at you thoughtfully.

“You sure you want me to reverse it?” he said, “Most humans would kill to live on earth forever.”

“No. I haven’t even been alive that long, and I already know I never want to experience coming back to life after I die again,” you said.

He puts the tray down next to you on the bed.

“Understandable. I’ve had my own fair share of accidents and long recoveries,” he said, “I know from experience it can be quite unpleasant.”

As if to prove his point, you grimace as you sit up a bit more to eat. Your entire chest feels like it will rip back open if you’re not careful.

“I think you should stay here for a little while,” he said, fingers nearing your face. He stops just short of touching you though as he sees you tense, eventually drawing his hand away and behind his back. An awkward silence permeates the room.

“Anyway, you need time to properly recover after everything that has happened to you,” he said, “Get some proper rest. I’ll leave you to that.”

With that he walks out, closing the door.

---

“I have a little surprise for you.”

You had been bored as you slowly healed. After about a week and a half, you were able to get out of bed, but there wasn’t too much to do. Your “nurse” had provided you with some books to read and puzzles, but other than that, there wasn’t much to do but rest. Though, considering how tired the attack had made you, you supposed you shouldn’t be complaining that much. You were feeling much better now, and the dullness was setting in.

Today though, Lucifer had a certain look in his eyes as he sat on the edge of your bed. He closed his hands together. As he opened them, smoke pealed and a black cat curled out. The pretty little thing which slinked onto the bed and kneaded its paws on the soft fabric. You offer a smile at his attempts to cheer you up. You had to admit that there was a certain charm about him.

“You created that?” you asked.

“Well, technically no,” he said, “I can’t make anything out of nothing. But I may have borrowed him from somewhere else.”

He absently stroked the animal. Squirming a bit, your mind raced. He seemed to be in a decent mood. You had wanted to broach a certain topic in the last day or two, but you weren’t really sure how. You didn’t want to come across as ungrateful and upset him, but he seemed to be in a good mood. Perhaps now was the time.

“Um… so, I’m doing a lot better now,” you said.

“You are,” he said.

“And… I was wondering what you thought about me going back,” you said, “I think I’d be ok.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Unable to handle the awkward silence, you start babbling, rushing words out.

“I think I’d be able to handle it,” you said, “I can walk and take care of myself again. Thank you for all of your help, but I don’t want to bother you any longer.”

“You’re not bothering me at all,” he said, “I wouldn’t worry about that. Besides, I think it’s in your best interest that you stay somewhere where your safe.”

“Yes, but I can’t stay in here forever,” you said, “I don’t belong in here.”

While you had to admit he had been an attentive caretaker, you were tired of seeing the same four walls all the time. You needed to get out of here.

“…Perhaps not,” he said finally looking at you, eyes serious, “But I know that if I let you out of this building, some demon or other will get their hands on you and kill you. Or at least attempt to. And trust me, with the kind of sickos that end up down here, you do not want to end up in the wrong hands with an ability like that and no way to defend yourself. That will not be a fun time for you.”

“Er… I don’t mean out there. Can’t you just bring me back to the surface?” you ask.

He is again quiet for a long moment, a look on his face that you can’t quite place. He drums his fingers against his cane for a minute before sighing.

“Do you truly want to go back though?” he said, “You really think that’s a good idea? I mean, look what they did to you!”

He finally looks at you and waves his hand as if to dismiss your unspoken pleas, suddenly animated.

“You think no ones going to try something like this again?” he said, “That if that group finds out you survived, they’re going to be all huncky dory about it? That maybe they’ll just go ‘Oh, wowy, our little sacrifice went wrong. That’s a shame, let’s try a goat this time!’”

“Not all humans are bad,” you protest, “Plenty of us are good. I mean, you like me well enough.”

He scoffs at your words.

“Sure, I suppose some humans won’t try to take advantage of you, but just like down here, if the wrong one finds out about this little… gift of yours, and your best days on earth will rival some of the worst ones down here! Even well meaning humans might want to dissect you to find a futile way to live on earth forever,” he said.

“So what, you just want me to stay here forever?” you said, trying not to sound hysterical, “In fucking hell?”

“I mean, it’s really not so bad down here, as long as you’re with the right people,” he said, “And you couldn’t have better company. Eh?” You swear you hear a horn honk as he winks at you and shakes his elbow.

His attempt at joking optimism falls flat, with the horn sound making it only seem pathetic. The disappointment you feel must be showing on your face as he eventually sighs again and looks at you with condescending pity. It was the patronizing gaze an adult may give a child who is upset that they can’t have ice cream for dinner or an owner would give a pet that wants to jump out of a moving car.

Silly little thing. I’m sorry you’re so angry, but this is for your own good.

“I’m not a child,” you finally say, which only causes him to chuckle softly.

“No, you are not a child. It’s simply that I’m thousands of years old, and you’re what? In your mid-twenties, I would guess. It’s not as if I have more experience with the world or how humans work,” he said.

You glare at him.

“What? Don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true,” he said, “People with something special to offer tend to only attract the worst kinds of attention. Trust me, I know.”

“And I’m supposed to expect that your intentions are pure?” you said, before you could think better of it.

Rather than anger though, his face contorts to one of hurt.

“F/N, I’m sorry if I’ve ever done anything to give you the impression that I want anything from you,” he said, moving closer to you and resting his hand on yours, “I know you’re not thrilled about this situation, but you were left for dead as a sacrifice. I couldn’t have just let you suffer, it wouldn’t have been right. It’s only proper that I take responsibility for what happened to you.”

You just continue to glare at him, but a part of you hears a degree of reason in his words. You feel some guilt tighten in your chest. Perhaps you were being unreasonable. This only makes you angrier though, at him and yourself. You don’t want to concede to him.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said, “I know what it means to go one and on forever, and there are things that are much, much worse than death. Trust me.”

He’s moved so close to you now that your noses almost touch.

“Please try to understand. I’m doing this because I truly care for you. I would hate it if something happened to you,” he said.

As he speaks, he traces the edge of your chin with his fingers, and you suppress the natural urge you have to pull away. No aggression is in his eyes, only a certain pity and tenderness. He stares into your eyes like this for a moment before unexpectedly, gently and softly, he presses his lips to yours.

Wait, what?

It’s so unexpected that you freeze up in a sort of shock. You don’t even push him off of you, just hold still as he caresses your mouth with his own. Seeming encouraged that you haven’t pulled away, he moves his hand from your chin to your hair, stroking it and guiding it closer to him. It feels… pleasant. Nice. You hadn’t noticed, but at some point he had brought his other hand to your side and was slowly drawing it up your stomach, up to the side of your breast, not touching anything too intimately. Somehow, this felt more forbidden than if he had touched you more sensually. Slowly, you allow yourself to open your mouth, as if to deepen the kiss, and your fingers reach up to his shirt and rest against his chest.

Until you remember that you’re kissing the literal devil.

When that sinks in, you shudder and wretch your face away from him. He looks surprised, but allows you to do so.

“What are you doing?!” you screech.

“Um…”

“What on earth?” you cry out, horrified, “Why did you do that?!”

He looks a bit baffled for a second, “Did you not like it?”

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean- I-I… Don’t do that again!” you said, “I didn’t like it.”

“… All right,” he said, “If you say so.”

You feel your face heat up as you break eye contact for a second, and while he moves away a little, as if to respect your space, you catch a bit of a satisfied light in his eyes at your blushing.

–-

Lucifer ignored the pang of guilt in his gut. It was easy to squish, like an ant beneath his outstretched finger. There for just a second, and then crushed with no hope of resurrecting. He’d had plenty of practice ignoring the things he didn’t want to pay attention to, and this was no different.

You were so naive. To anyone with a hint of demonic knowledge, they would know it would be quite easy for him to remove the spell. With a few exceptions, nearly every curse that was cast could be reversed one way or another, and yours was no different. It would be child’s play for him to remove the spell and return you to your home. He was the king of hell after all.

You didn’t need to know that though.

So long he had lived life alone. He and Lilith had parted ways long ago, and he hadn’t really found anyone else. The hellborn, while at times enticing, lived short lives compared to what he had. They weren’t eternal, and they often fell under the influence of the sinners. Too many times a well meaning demon had been led on a less than savory path.

Even without that problem though, connection was so difficult for him. There was a part of him that almost seemed to disassociate whenever he was around others, even those he cared about. Yet here, with you, things were so easy. You had been literally handed to him as a gift, and your helpless ingenue personality had rekindled the softer, more romantic side of him. Perhaps he was being selfish, keeping you like this, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t recompense for whatever frustrations you were feeling.

Though for now you claimed that you didn’t like him, he could see the embarrassed desire in your eyes. Not that he would humiliate you for it. He would draw that desire out from you until it flowed from you as naturally as a river flows downstream. Already you were kissing him back, even if a bit shyly, and at this rate he was sure that he would soon have you acquiescing to more intimate expressions of his affection.

Yes, you were a little peeved now, but you’d get over it. It wasn’t as if you really knew what you wanted anyway. Humans were so difficult. Give them free will and let them do what they think they want, and they still screw it all up. They were so foolish, falling for delusions and falsehoods so easily. He couldn’t let that happen with you.

#yandere lucifer morningstar #yandere x reader #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #yandere lucifer

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yveaart · 10 months

Text

chaconne

jungwon x reader

genre : smut, dark themes (?)

synopsis : attending a ball as a prestigious lady, you had caught the eye of the prince who had left you in a trance by his dance.

warnings : mdni !!

how were you supposed to go to such balls in this era, incredibly unsafe. an era where people found about creatures lurking the earth drunk in their blood-lust daze, and what's worse was they held a physique of a human.

you grunted as your maids helped you get dressed in your gown, unfortunately you were going through your most hated part— wearing the corset.

"i have no care for such tiny waists when men get to fit their bodies in any sized suits" you fumed.

"milady, it's important for you to wear this, it will hold you and your gown up elegantly" your maid mary replied

"i may just not attend at all, i might be even exposed to those hideous creatures, what do you call them? oh, vampires" you left your snarky remark.

your maid refused to reply as to holding up your gown, it looked immaculate on you, you couldn't deny. your skin looking much paler contrasting to its color, blood red.

your hair was put in a beautiful bun with curls and gold designs on it. your neck holding a beautiful gold necklace that definitely costed a fortune, you were dressed completely and immaculately.

"i must go mary, as much as i do not desire it, take care" you waved your maid as someone assisted you into your carriage.

"i will milady, have fun" she grinned at your frowning face.

the ride to the palace was quite quick, it was a real wonder to you as to why it took quickly for your carriage to be met up with the entrance, where you perhaps early?

you got down holding your mask to your face and tying it behind your head, it had a tall black feather facing the skies, complementing your mask.

a masquerade ball. how exciting.

you mustered up your stance as you were pacing to the front of the big twin doors, the palace guards blew into the trumpets as they followed by opening the doors for you.

the ballroom was full, and they were staring at you.

everyone's eyes were on you, yet you paid no mind to it receding on the stairs as you held your skirts. the people continued on to dance, chaconne. you stepped through the sides of the ballroom, you stared at these people as they danced.

you felt eyes on you, but you don't know where to look. you reached out your hand to the server holding the tray of champagne, you sipped. now what were you supposed to do for the next hours.

someones cape covered your eyes, but just as quickly left your face revealing it's owner's face. the prince. your eyes met with his, it was intense and feline.

"how are you tonight lady park, was the champagne to your liking?" he smiled at you.

"it is quite well my prince" he took your glass as he took a sip.

"it is quite well milady, but perhaps much immaculate when it is from your lips" he smirked as the glass he held passed again to servant who was roaming around clearing dishes.

you were stunned by his boldness, you decided to keep quiet as you weren't sure how to handle such bold statements from the upper-highest class.

a new tune played along the background made the prince smile as he recognized the melodies.

"milady, would you like to join me in a dance?" his eyes staring into you, the mystique of the mask making you want to dive more into knowing him. he held out his hand as his outfit shifted, muscle seen in his sleeve, and his shoulder looking much wider.

the atmosphere outside castle was nothing but bathed by darkness, but inside this palace it was filled with gold filtered illumination, reflecting anything and everything in its reign.

your eyes traced back to the prince's eyes, it was inviting you leaving you dazed as you reached your hand unto his. your skin felt burning as it was against his.

it was like a spell leaving you falling in a endless hole but your feet was left tapping on the marble floor that was indifferently sequencing to the song.

"dance for me, baby" he whispered to your ear when his head leaned into yours. he leaned back and his eyes altered to crimson, you weren't leaving, why were you held back to stay.

"i-i feel like im burning, so hot" you whispered to him, the feeling leaving a distracted but dazed look on your face.

"we can go for fresh air, milady" he suggested as he pulled you after the twirl, leaving the music and the prancing people behind. you both discreetly had left into the airy halls of the palace, the air hitting your skin making you hum.

you reached the open garden, the both of you strolling through the blunt hardness of the ground and shortly trimmed grass, you were left admiring the flowers and pleasingly shaped shrubs, the maintenance was high and kept up with.

the presence of the prince loomed over your body, you felt the heat of his body. the next thing you knew is he held your hand making you face him.

"i wanna show you something, my dear" you did not where the sudden endearment came from, but you were instead intrigued by what he had to show you.

he was a prince, anything could be possible, the fascination of what it could be held you by your neck.

you entered once again the beautiful palace, traced back to the familiar halls but soon led to the elevated floors that were restricted to common people, you entered a double-door room, his majesty's study.

what could he possibly show you? a discovery? an object?

none of those actually.

he showed you photos of the both of you, letters made by him that were for you but never intended to leave these very walls.

"what is this?" you said with pure curiosity, how could it be, he had photos, we had photos.

"this is the very physical copy of my adoration for you, and i want you to keep it" he replied.

"you adore me?" your tone in total disbelief

"i very much do, in you i found love" he said as he clearly tried not to make it sound too cheesy, too unreal, like a lie.

"i found it surprising that you knew me for so long yet you treated me as if you're my servant, even with my title aside, even we are alone" he started

"you never failed to show me who you are, how you lived through your principles, a servant who does not lie and use such honorifics only to fake their praising"

"you lured me at first, with your sweet scent, your blood." your eyes snapped at his figure, could it be?

he chuckled expecting your reaction.

"i am indeed a vampire, and i vow to never have a taste of blood as long as i will ever exist, if i were to live with your love" he said with his voice hushed but stern, seductively luring you with his aura.

you stood up from your seat, placing down the photo-book, pacing towards the prince, the heel of your shoes were heard, thud by thud.

your eyes were already talking as though the conversation was paused, you stopped in front of him, staring at his face, his features highlighted by the moonlight, his eyes carrying the light color of crimson.

"bite me" you whispered, your breath brushing against his face.

he suddenly stepped closer to you, your arms willingly welcoming him, your hands behind his neck, your foreheads touching.

"god, you're so perfect" he panted in need of you.

you spent no time to waste as you presses your lips against his, your faces pushing feeling more needy but the passion was held between the two of you. where the gaps were lessened.

his hands held your face lightly, but his kiss heavy with adoration causing you to step back, your back hitting a double door, you were encased by it because of jungwon trapping you in such space.

your eyes opened seeing his forehead holding a knot, he was greedy for you, of you. his lips pressing onto yours licking and sucking into it, he swore to himself that it was better than blood itself.

you heard a click as jungwon opened the door to his quarters, quickly catching you on your back. he stared at you, he looked hypnotized by kiss as if you sent him under a spell.

your lips can't help but be retracted to the latter, your lips gliding across theirs, the feeling of pressing harder and harder made you moan.

"already? we haven't started yet milady" his voice deep fanning across your face

he laid you on the king-sized bed and took his blazer off, dropping it unto the ground. he continued to undress until he was left with his white polo and trousers.

you couldn't help but stare at his body, his neck exposed his shoulders wide, his physique moist with a layer of sweat.

he then laid on top of you with his elbows up-right to support his weight. you could see his built up form from this view, you held his chest, as you stared into him.

god knows how the person you were when you left the house would react to this, but it didn't matter anymore.

"do you really wanna do this? i could stop now... i don't think i will be able to when we start"

"don't you ever stop love" you shot him the look of neediness.

"i'll be yours, forever" his eyes turned crimson his lips latching upon your neck as his fangs graze upon your skin sheltering the pumping veins you had under it.

his fangs sucked into your skin as lightly as he tried, your blood pouring out to his lips, encased in his plump lips.

he moaned loudly as he pulled away his blood-stained lips stick to yours as he undressed you ripping your confusing corset. you gasped as your blood ran cold, the need for pleasure washing over you.

you sucked the blood that feel on your lips, moaning at the thought that he loved your blood.

he stood up his eyes daring you to do whatever you pleased, you sat upright removing his pants, fully opening his deep maroon dress shirt, the silk soothing your skin.

you made him sit down on the bed, he patiently waited for you, as he always did his whole life.

you stood under the moonlight swiftly brushing your skin on your shoulders making all of your clothing drop. your lover could only gasp at how immaculate you look, and how he was the only one who could ever see you like that.

your lust filled eyes fixated on him as you sat on his lap, your legs placed on either side of him. he sighed at the contact, your warmth— his home.

his feline gaze set upon you, his mouth smirking lightly. he may has been assertive but on his bed you ruled him.

you moved your hips, creating friction with his length

"baby, you're so hard" he could only blush at the comment.

your lips latching on his neck leaving wet kisses and love bites as he moaned relentlessly into your ears. his hands caressing your back.

"i'll want you endlessly" you hushed into his ear as you inserted his length in you, he moaned loudly, his voice pure and deep, you were unsure if it was what you said or what you did, but it has driven your ego.

you sinked fully into it as you started bouncing on top of him, he could only hold and stare at you grunting, admiring you, if there was anything within his eyes it was more than lust, exceeding adoration.

"i love- ugh you, my love. be my wife" he whispered under his loud sighs

you were the only company he could ever need in his endless lifetime.

he was washed with pleasure, his hands gripping the sheets, his dress shirt sliding down his broad arms. he could only burry his head within your breasts. your rhythm making him submit to you.

he swiftly grabbed your body switching his position on top of you.

he thrusted deeper and deeper within you, kissing him once again as his grunts were quieted by its union. you caressed his hair, occasionally pulling on it when you had felt his length hitting a spot inside you that makes you wither from pleasure. you were both painted with sweat and the sound of the union of skin echoed through the room.

his thrusts went harder and harder as you bite on his loose hanging collar trying to suppress your moans. he pulled his upper body away so he could see you under him, writhing in pleasure.

" 'm gonna fill you up so good my love, so you could only be mine"

his pace was going faster and faster as you both reached your orgasm, as you went back to your original position, on top of him.

" no jungwon. you're only mine" you caressed your lips on his neck licking and sucking, this mere action pleasuring him ridiculously, he was only ever sensitive and needy for you. his moans could only agree to your statement.

your lips inseparable for the night. but you wanted to show him another thing that was sweeter than your blood.

the excitement could only make your fangs grow out.

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faeriichaii · 4 months

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There's just inches in between us ~ Thorin x Fem!Reader

A/N: Ok so I just am really obsessed with that one juicy part from the song shameless (I actually don't like the song I just literally listen to that one part on loop) and I immediately thought about Thorin so I guess that's his song now :p Also I literally never have written any kind of smut in my life before so this is totally new 😔😔 I really hope you guys like it!! And have fun 🥰

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: Smut with plot (MDNI), Unprotected sex, Fingering Kinda enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kinda fluff?? ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 4.1k (oops lmao) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: No :) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Amrâlimé ~ My Love ࿐ྂ

Summary: You were the princess of another kingdom, meant to marry none other than the dwarven King Thorin from the lonely mountain. You rarely get the chance to talk to him and decide to visit him the night before the wedding, asking him to give you some attention.

The carriage, you were sitting in was rocking from side to side as you slowly approached your destination. Your hands holding tightly onto the dark green dress you were wearing. Gold details were stitched delicately on the upper half of the garment, making up swirls, as well as flowers. You tried to pretend to be listening to your father, who still was talking about your upcoming marriage. Arranged marriage. Your father set up an arranged marriage between your kingdom and Erebor. The thought of being wed to an unknown man made your stomach churn. “(Y/N) are you listening? This is very important for you to know and accept.” “My king, I apologize for my rudeness but I do not wish to hear anymore about this matter.” You were beyond upset and hurt about the decision your father, the king of Thuiniel, took without even your consent. It’s not like he needed consent. A warning would have been nice. Any kind of sign so you would have known that you will move away from home. So you would have known that you will no longer be a free woman and instead be the wife of another king. So you would have known that you will become a queen to an unknown kingdom.

Your fathers’ eyes mustered you sadly, understanding your attitude towards him. “(Y/N), I know you are hurt and I know you are mad at me, however you yourself know that it will be the best for the kingdom.” The kingdom. During the years, Thuiniel has seen and faced a major number of wars. Most of them went well for you, however nowadays the kingdom is in need of support from anyone they can get. Your two older sisters have been married for years to different parts of Middle-Earth, which resulted in an alliance between these three kingdoms. But even they can’t constantly send support towards Thuiniel. So your father decided to search for another alliance that can give him the resources he needs. And this resulted in you receiving the news just a week prior to the wedding.

A sigh left your lips as you looked out of the small window in the carriage. Trees were lining the path you were traveling on. Your gaze settled on the palace that was built deep into the mountain. “Do you know any important information about Erebor?” You asked your father, eyes still locked on your destination. Normally you would have looked into various books and scrolls in your library before travelling to another kingdom, but the news of your marriage shocked you so immensely, that you already despised everything that had anything to do with it. “Erebor is known for their massive mine, as well as the various jewels and gold they keep deep inside of the mountain.” A hum left your lips as you tried to remember the words you father continued to spill about your future kingdom.

A sudden jolt of the carriage made you realize that you just arrived at your destination. The wooden door opened as a hand was held inside. Your father stood up, took the hand and left you alone in the carriage. You took a deep breath before following your father out of the small compartment. Once outside, you looked around at the trees and the nature surrounding the palace, before focusing on your future home. Home. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue. “King Thorin Oakenshield, it is very nice to make your acquaintance.” Your father said, before bowing down in front of a dwarf. “Let me introduce you to my lovely daughter, princess (Y/N). Your soon-to-be-wife.” Thorin looked at you before giving you a short nod. You bit your tongue, in order to not snap at his attitude towards you. Taking the material of your dress in your hand, you curtsied and whispered a soft ‘It is nice to make your acquaintance’ towards the king.

After the short introduction, you were shown around the castle as well as parts of the mine underground. The king however was not in attendance. Night approached quickly and you excused yourself after dinner to finally get some alone time in your chambers. On your way you stumbled upon the library of Erebor. Deciding to take a peek, you opened the door. Books and scrolls were lining the shelves of the room. A dwarf was in front of one of the shelves, his attention now on you instead of the book in his hands. “You must be our future queen. Welcome to the palace’s library.” He bowed down in front of you. “My name is Balin, how can I help you?” “Please just call me (Y/N). You smiled softly at the nice man. “I was wondering if you have any good books about Erebor? I should have informed myself about the kingdom before my arrival but I had… difficulties.” “Of course (Y/N). Let’s see…” He was walking around the room, taking the ladder attached to the shelf with him. “Ah this should be a good start.” His hands grabbed a thick leather-bound book that has the words ‘History of the lonely Mountain’ in gold etched into it. Taking it in your own hand you thanked him, before leaving and trying to find your chambers once more.

A yawn left your lips as you quietly ate your breakfast. You have read a little more than you would like to admit and totally forgot the time yesterday night. The history written down in the book completely captivating you. Your gaze fell from your father to the other few people who were chatting happily with each other, until your eyes stopped at the man who sat on your right. Your soon-to-be-husband. His hair was braided on each side of his face. You remember reading about some of the customs of dwarven culture and how important their hair (beard included) is to them. You take a sip of the tea that was specifically prepared for you, trying to stifle another yawn.

“Have you not slept enough?” Thorin asks from beside you his voice a slight hint of irritation. Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance at his question. “My apologies my king, I lost track of the time yesterday.” “What have you been reading?” Cutting into the eggs that were served in front of you, you took a big bite. “I have been reading about the History of Erebor. As a future Queen I would like to learn as much about my kingdom as I can.” “How come you did not study about the kingdom before your arrival?” Setting down your cutlery, you looked at him with annoyance. One of his eyebrows was raised as he waited for your answer. Was he mocking you? “I did not have enough time to remember all the details from Erebor. Especially because a certain someone wished for the marriage to happen as soon as possible.” Your father had told you that normally you would have a few months in advance to get to know your husband and roughly around a year for the marriage. However, Thorin apparently requested that the marriage happens as soon as possible, which resulted in the date being set in a month from now on. After hearing the news, you didn’t just simply dislike your husband but despised him. You still were mad at your father after he told you this new information yesterday, however your hate now mostly lay on Thorins shoulders.

The entire table was quiet as the air went heavy around the two of you. “The reason behind the date being set in a month is to ensure the safety of Thuiniel. Another war could be right around the corner and I would not wish to risk another empire be taken over by Orcs while I am getting married.” Anger flickered in his gaze. You continue eating your breakfast, not wanting to fuel the fire by arguing against the king. A sigh escaped your lips as you finally left the dinner room behind you, followed by your father. “(Y/N) we urgently need to talk.” He takes your arm and pulls you into his chambers. “Have you lost your mind?!” He angrily exclaims, flailing his arms around while walking up and down. “Father, I apologize but he just-“ “No! (Y/N) take a moment to think about your actions! Erebor was the best candidate for an alliance with our kingdom. This alliance can ensure the safety for several decades! You, arguing with the king, could result in him not being interested in the marriage anymore and Thuiniel falling into the hands of Orcs!” You bit down on your lip, as your head was lowered in shame. Your eyes focused on your shoes as you listened to your father’s rant.

He takes a deep breath, before walking towards you and taking your arms gently in his hands. “I know you are hurt and scared, but please please think about the wellbeing of Thuiniel.” A sigh left your lips. “I will father.” With that you left his chambers. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you searched the library, in order to take a good book with you and get your mind off of things. Upon entering the room, you could see Thorins back facing the door. Oh no. “Have you already found the scrolls Balin?” He asked, not looking up from the papers in his hands. You shifted from one foot to another as you decided if you should leave or stay. “I apologize my king, but I am not Balin. Listening to your voice, his eyes snapped up from the papers towards you. “How can I help you princess?” Biting down on your lip you thought a moment about what you should say in order to save the little chemistry you should have as the future royal couple. “I wanted to apologize for my behaviour earlier.” At that, Thorin lay his papers down, intently listening on what else you had to say. “I shouldn’t have reacted this way but neither did I expect a wedding announcement last week. I couldn’t prepare myself, neither did I get a proper chance on finding out who I am about to marry. It is a lot that suddenly falls on top of me and so many more things are piling up without a chance to properly think about anything to be honest.” You looked at the dwarf, who started to approach you. His gaze was locked on your eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. “One month will be enough time to get your head sorted through and get used to living in Erebor. We will get to know each other on the way there and you will learn how to be a queen.” He said, trying to reassure you. Gently, he takes your hand in his. Turning your palm upwards, he places something on top, before closing your fingers around it. “I also took the liberty of reading into your kingdom, Thuiniel, and the few customs you have. This is also the reason as to why I wanted the wedding to happen in a month. Your kingdom is in dire need of a strong alliance due to the wars that happened one after another and I can be of help. I never want to witness other kingdoms defeat due to an army of Orcs.” You blinked at the man in front of you, not exactly knowing how to respond to him. A smile stretched over your lips. “Thank you so much Thorin.” You left afterwards, heading towards your chambers. Opening your palm, you saw a small golden ring in your hand. Taking it between your fingers, you took a careful look of it. A green gem was present in the middle. Gold flowers were etched into each side of the gem, while a small diamond sat atop of the green one. The ring almost looked like a golden crown. Putting it on your ring finger you smiled softly. Maybe there was some hope.

The weeks passed in a storm and you got quite accustomed to living in Erebor. During your stay, you also got to know Thorins’ nephews Fili and Kili. Most of your time was spent with them, while they tell you all about how they got to win Erebor back with their uncle and several other dwarves. Balin also gave you some lessons on important things and events to know about Erebor as well as the dwarven culture. He emphasized on the fact that you have to offer Thorin a bead and braid a strand of his hair. “It will signify that he is a married dwarf and found his One.” He once said. One. It has been stuck in your mind for the past week. You wouldn’t call yourself his One. You haven’t even really gotten the chance to get to know him like he told you, so even if you were his One, you wouldn’t know. You did meet him more often than before however; the conversation was always kept to a minimum. The fact that he still is a mysterious man to you makes your heart twist painfully. You even knew Kilis and Filis entire live story by heart after just a week and can barely remember that he is also called Thorin Oakenshield? Unacceptable. And this is the sole reason as to why you are approaching his chambers after another uneventful day of you two only communicating for roughly ten minutes. Sitting on a chair by his desk, he raised an eyebrow at your intrusion.

“I thought I told you that if you needed anything, you can always ask Balin.” A sigh left your lips, as you made yourself comfortable on his bed. “Well Balin is not you now, is he?” Your arms were folded in front of you, gaze never leaving the king. “Listen Thorin, I have had enough. We barely talk with each other and I still only know your name. I don’t know anything about you and it annoys me. We are supposed to get married tomorrow and the only conversations we held was about sleep and our schedule of the day.” An exasperated sigh left his lips. “(Y/N) I really can’t deal with this or with you right now.” “Excuse me?” One of your eyebrows was raised as the words Thorin just muttered reverberate in your head. Anger slowly started to build up inside of you at his uncalled attitude.

“I think one month should have been enough time to get your head sorted through.” You spat at him. His eyes squint together, ready to say more but you cut him off. “You can’t constantly keep pushing me away. We have to share a lifetime together, if you want to or not. Just because you constantly find excuses to leave me behind and continue to do whatever else doesn’t mean-“ “Whatever else? I am trying to safe your kingdom! Your home!” “This is my home!” You yelled at him, face slightly tinted red. Even if you only have been in Erebor for roughly a month, you already accepted and loved it like it was your home. Which it was. “I love Thuiniel, but it is no longer my home. My father sent me here to marry you and get used to living in Erebor. Thuiniel is not as helpless as you make it out to be. My brother is the one in charge while my father is still here, waiting for the marriage to be fulfilled. My brother is capable of taking care of it and even if he needs help, we have other alliances and not just Erebor.” You take a breath to calm yourself down. “As a king you should not just take care of the kingdom but also of the people surrounding you. And for the time being I must admit, you are a bad king to me.” Thorin approaches you with a few quick strides. His hands lowered on each side of your thighs as he leaned into your personal space. “You dare to call me a bad king? Just because I don’t give you the attention you so desperately need?” His hot breath made your cheeks warm up. Eyes wide you stare into his blue ones, that shine with an unknown fire. You were about to say something, however the lump in your throat prevented you from muttering anything.

“You want attention princess? You shall get it.” His hand moved towards your face, pulling you towards his lips. Shocked at the sudden movement you gasped softly. Thorin took this as an invitation and deepened the kiss. You slowly started to relax into his arms, as you wrapped your hands around his neck. Your mind still was a jumbled mess, however your body was in dire need of his touch as well as his warmth.

Untangling your arms from his neck, you moved up the bed, towards the headboard. Thorin followed you, never once breaking the kiss. His warm hand travelling toward your neck, while his other hand grasped onto your thigh. He somehow managed to position himself between your legs. Breaking apart from the kiss, the both of you had to catch your breath, red cheeks and eyes glazed over with a burning passion. “How much of my attention do you want?” Thorin asked, voice slightly deeper than normal. “I wish to have all of it.” Your hand gently held the side of his face, thumb stroking his rosy cheek. Eyes flitting from his eyes to his lips, you leaned towards him, pulling him into another passionate kiss. Tongues were entangling into each other while your fingers played with the strands of his hair. He moved from your lips across your face, towards your neck. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt his teeth sink into the skin beneath your jaw, marking you. His big hands travelled from your waist to your dressed boobs. Moving his head from your neck, he looked at your dress. “Turn around Amrâlimé. So I can undo your dress.” He quickly moved aside, as you turned around and let him unravel the corset. His fingers brushed against your back as you wished they would continue to travel along your body. “Stand up.” He ordered and you willingly complied. The sleeves of the dress travelled down, as the bodice slowly also moved to the floor, until you were only left in your panties.

“My beautiful queen.” He stood up from the bed and pulled you in by your waist. Your hands desperately grasping onto his neck, as he sat down on the plush mattress, making you straddle him. You felt his hard cock rub against the inside of your thigh. A soft moan escaped your lips. You wanted him. You needed him. Thorins hands slowly moved towards your breasts. Taking your nipples between his fingers he rolled them around. You leaned into his touch as you held onto his shoulders for some stability. Pants left your lips as you decided to grind on his cock, desperate for any kind of friction. Thorin let out a grunt, focussing on your left nipple with his left hand, while his lips rapped around the right one. A moan leaving your lips as his tongue flicked over it. After a few seconds he switched sides. The fingers of his right hand left a ghostly trail behind as they moved towards your awaiting core. Pushing your panties aside, his fingers moved through your wet folds.

A chuckle left his lips. “You really love my attention, don’t you?” The only thing you could do was nod, as he drew soft circles on your clit, making you immediately stop your grinding on his clothed dick. “I need a verbal response my queen.” He stopped moving his fingers around, making you whine at the loss. “Yes. Please.” A smirk was present on his lips as he left gentle kisses on your jaw. “Please what?” He teased as he continued to rub small circles. “Thorin I want you. I want your attention please.” As soon as these words left your lips you were thrown on the bed. Your legs were parted as Thorin began to undress himself. You watched his fingers work to undo the buttons of his shirt before pulling it over his head. Sitting up you let your hands travel from his broad shoulders, over his hairy chest and down his abs until they arrived at the happy trail that led to his hard cock. You slowly undid the button on his pants, before pulling them down together with his underwear. His dick sprung free. He was thick and hard, some precum already leaking from his tip. You carefully wrapped your hand around him, making him sigh contentedly at your touch. He felt warm and heavy around your fingers. You couldn’t even close your hand properly at his thickness. Moving your hand up and down slowly you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

“My king, do you crave my attention as much as I crave yours?” You asked him, sweetly tilting your head to the side still holding onto him. “Yes. Yes I do Amrâlimé.” His hands grasped your shoulders, as he pushed you down on the matress. He spread your legs further apart, before taking off your panties and stepping between your legs. Goosebumps spread across your arms as your wet cunt was hit by the cold air. Thorins fingers immediately worked towards your core. You moaned as he let one of his fingers enter you. He pumped his digit inside you a few times before adding another finger. Your hands held onto his biceps as you felt his fingers curl up inside of you. His lips were on yours as he swallowed your desperate and high-pitched moans. The heat in your lower stomach made your toes curl as you slowly felt the familiar sensation approach. Suddenly it all was gone as Thorin pulled his fingers from you. You pouted at him sadly. “I want you to cum on my dick, not on my fingers.” He said, taking his dick in his hands and moving the tip between your folds. “Thorin.” You gasped as he made contact with your swollen clit. “Please.” You begged him. “What do you want my queen?”

His hands were holding you down by the waist, stopping you from moving around anymore. “I want you inside of me please. I want to feel you.” With that, Thorin lined the tip of his cock up with your entrance. Slowly he pushed inside. Your walls tightened around him making him groan out. A gasp escaped your lips at the slight burning sensation of the stretch inside you. He was big and you really felt it. Your hands held him close by his back, as he started to move inside you. Your spongey walls welcoming him in with every thrust he does. Your moans, mixed with his own grunts, echoed from the walls of his chambers. Each thrust made you feel closer to him and closer to heaven. His lips were on yours again, swallowing each sound you make. Warmth spread through your whole body as you felt the knot tighten in your lower regions. Thorin grabbed your thighs and bend them towards your shoulders. Loud moans escaped your lips at the new angle. His cock throbbing inside of you while your walls tightened around him. You knew you were close and so did he. Hence his finger moved toward your swollen clit. “Cum for me my queen. Cum on my dick.” You gasped at his words. The knot in your lower region came undone as you felt the bliss of your orgasm wash over you. Your nails still digging into Thorins back as he increased the speed of his thrusts until you felt his dick twitch before his warm cum filled you up.

After a few moments of still moving inside you he pulled out, making his cum drip out of your hole. He used his thumb to push his cum back into you. You moved your body properly on the bed, before hiding under the covers. Blush still visible. A chuckle left Thorins lips as he joined you under the covers. “This isn’t exactly what I meant earlier.” You mumbled, face still hidden partly by the blanket. He softly put a strand behind your ear, letting his hand stroke your cheek gently. “I promise you, we will have plenty of time to get to know each other. We will learn to love each other and I certainly will learn to give you the attention you need and deserve Amrâlimé.” He planted a soft kiss on your forehead. Maybe the both of you really have the potential to be the missing puzzle pieces for each other. The Ones you need.

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braaan · 11 months

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Indulgence (w/ Hyewon)

male reader & iz*one hyewon

smut, fluff, angst, 3k words

For as long as you’ve known, you’ve been allergic to chocolate.

You’ve had to just trust me through the majority of your childhood, eyebrows knit and eyes misty as other kids tore through gold and silver foil; biting the inside of your mouth bloody instead of hard-earned Halloween candy.

But you’d be lying if you said you’d never indulged.

Under blankets, cloaked in moonlight, secrecy, and sin, you delighted in what you could sneak to bed in your grubby hands.

And for such an innocent sweet, you pieced together that it was as close to tangible a paradox could get. You reveled in how unwrapped, it was equal parts fully solid and simultaneously already melting into your fingerprints; how in taste, it was equal parts acutely bitter and simultaneously sickly sweet; how to your allergies, it was equal parts undoubtedly delectable and simultaneously why you were sweating in the cold and breaking out into bright pink patches across your neck. The symptoms were nothing close to fatal, of course, just enough of an eyesore that the wiser part of you wouldn’t eat it outside.

So: you could have chocolate, just not the optics.

You’ve pieced together enough that the same antithetical pull is what draws you to Kang Hyewon.

See, when you take the newly vacant student counselor position by next-in-line default, you just trust me’d that it’d be an easy job. You were a newly minted senior with college lined up in the fall, and wanted to take your rite of passage freedom to slack off for the rest of the school year. Now, in lieu of that, you had to man a class outfitted to become a makeshift war room for juniors as they summarized, re-summarized, and then re–re-summarized full life stories into 650-word–bite sizes.

And the college essay was not an easy opponent.

Nothing was sacred enough to not be sharpened into a sob story; tightly-wrapped childhood traumas unpacked for college admissions readers to casually pick away at if it meant more of a chance than the next applicant. The whole experience took a pressure cooker to any crumb of anxiety, and it was now your job to help navigate this.

Hyewon was a junior assigned to your group who you got to know in excruciating detail for two reasons. One, she was a slow writer.

The college application was arguably a solved concept. At best, it was a game of madlibs with a very tough audience. Fill in prompts about your childhood, upbringing, and aspirations to an interesting enough degree, fudging details here and there where you can to pull at heartstrings or fluff up the footsteps you want to follow in, score enough points, tick enough boxes, and you’d have a good shot.

But every time without fail, you got to lean back in your chair as Hyewon approached every new question like it was her first. You got to study her tells: how she tucked her lips into a pout, dimpling her chin; wrestled a hair tie out of where it nestled in her wrist; and gathered everything but two obedient strands of hair out of her face into a loose ponytail, only to slowly inch her gaze towards you a little bit later to ask how everyone else answered the question.

And two, you were absolutely head over heels.

Every time you’ve tried to pinpoint exactly what it is about Hyewon that makes your stomach queasy, you end up finding two more things that do.

One of your first leads came from how she seemingly made striking so soft. When she’d catch you in her gaze, Hyewon had a way of zeroing anything else out; like the implication was that the both of you were sharing a single breath, and any more that you took would take away from hers. No dice.

Another answer came from how from the almond curvature in her eyes, the porcelain ridge on her nose, the satisfied crease that nestled between her lips, down to the curve on her chin, it was like Hyewon physically wasn’t made up of any hard angles; like before God put her on Earth to remind everyone what was holy still existed, an angel double-checked his work. No luck there either.

It only took a couple rounds of this for you to make peace with the ambiguity; that some things were best left unanswered.

The tension that stood in stark contrast to all of this was that you, of course, were her goddamn counselor.

There isn’t a lot of graceful space between being forward and manipulative, and it wouldn’t take too disingenuous of a read for someone to question what was behind your relationship. Something about reciprocation and mutual understanding becoming dishonest when your job was literally getting to the core of Hyewon’s deepest motivations and anxieties — it didn’t take a lot of logic to see how much the guise of writing her essays made things oh so convenient.

The entire situation was at best delicate and at worst, spelled hauntingly awkward hometown visits during spring break, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

So: you couldn’t have Kang Hyewon, the optics wouldn’t let you.

And as if you needed more of a reason, Hyewon was quirky.

You see, where other burnt out juniors had journaling or, like, gateway drugs, Hyewon had an affirmations folder. Slotted in the corner of her phone, accessible by a one-tap shortcut, was an application that she kept photos and voice notes-

“To remind me I’m doing well,” she asserts in the middle of a particularly long stretch of you poking fun at it. “You sound like you might’ve needed it considering all this projection.”

“Let’s walk back projection some,” you try and parry, palms raised.

“I mean, I’d be jealous too if I realized I did college applications the wrong way,” she adds, singsongy enough to read sweet but also with enough acid that it lands how you both know she intended. And then: “Why don’t you add to it?”

You pause for a beat, and Hyewon takes the cue, her eyes darting from her laptop keyboard to the look on your face.

“Ew, and not in any of the ways you’re thinking,” she spits. “You know, because you’re helping me secure my future at a great college or whatever. It’ll be sentimental or some shit.”

You try for a response, but the wiser part of you shuts you up. You tap the red button on her screen and leave her something sentimental or some shit.

“You’re doing great, Hyewon.”

For better or worse, this was how the two of you operated: permanently playing high school footsies — loaded, foxy, but finished with enough deniability that you could chalk it up to hormones or puberty. And between the two of you, Hyewon was much better at the game. In your defense, though, she didn’t play by the rules. You’d draw a line in the sand-

i just think this is really cliche, your latest Google Docs comment on her personal statement reads. do you not have any other family stories

And she’d dive headfirst over it-

odd way of getting to know me perv, she replies, before: i don’t like it either. i’ll rewrite!

But you knew you had to continue walking it back.

Call it pretend, call it reputational awareness, call it whatever you want, for one reason or another, you were aware of the very thin line of implication the both of you straddled and were afraid enough to never cross it. Balancing on it, sure — you’d swim behind the buoys all day, but you knew better than to test even just beyond where the waves picked up.

Just as luck would have it, though, it seemed like Hyewon followed a cosmic force your polar opposite. Whether on purpose or blissfully ignorant, it felt like she never looked down at where she was from the line, or even if she knew it existed. But whether like a siren out at sea testing your limits or reciprocating your feelings because she felt the same way, you’d never know.

“I just feel like this entire thing is so dumb,” Hyewon remarks, gesturing with a golden fry that drooped downwards like it was somber about the whole thing, too.

It was finally a Friday, which meant that unlike every other day that week in your marathon of after school essay read-throughs and polishing, you could exhale for a little.

You had just finished a long stretch of final edits for your counseling group and were taking things as slow as possible in hopes of making time move the same. You and Hyewon were parked in your car behind an old church building, under the only lamp that worked. Between the two of you sat an oily paper box on top of your center console, housing a scattering of drive through fries and in lieu of ketchup, a single frosty.

“You and everyone in the country, Hyewon,” you smirk, venturing into the box to find the perfect dipping fry.

She returns you an annoyed kiss of her teeth. “Come on. I mean, seriously. For the past couple of months, it’s just been me and how much I can cut up my identity into palatable answers. How much I can think of the future I’ll create. How much I can look backwards and pull out the motivations behind everything I’ve ever done.”

You stop and look over at her. She’s slouched in the passenger car seat, supported mostly only by the small of her back, with her feet up on your dashboard and in the Hyewon usual: everything in a loose ponytail besides two obedient strands. She’s slightly turned away from you, looking longingly at part of her reflection in the rear-view mirror like the implication was that behind the glass, the other her was happier.

You couldn’t help but sympathize. You wondered where you were a year ago, in her shoes: in the middle of writing essays and imagining how you were going to brand yourself for college.

“It’s cliche,” she prefaces. “But I feel like all this looking forwards and backwards… I’m not allowed to enjoy today, you know? The clubs, the grades, the people — I don’t know if I’m doing anything for the application or because I want to do it.”

When you look back at her again, you’re directly in her gaze.

“Are you excited about college?”

You thumb at the fries at the bottom of the box wistfully, if not to buy yourself some thinking time, at least to cut a little bit through the very expectant silence. But you didn’t have much to ponder; you had an answer loaded a long time ago.

You try to couch it as harmlessly as possible.

“I don’t know,” you start, looking for the words. “I guess I’m excited for the clean slate, right? Something about getting to close this chapter of my life and everything that came with it. The clubs, the grades, the people — being done with things I’ll cringe at in a couple of years and questions I didn’t get the answers to.”

You cautiously try for, and catch her gaze again. There’s a beat where you’re both just staring — it could have been a couple, you’re trying your hardest not to keep count — and the line you’re both teetering on erodes, now paper thin. Your ears are hot, expectant; you’re floating by the buoys and reaching out just past, testing the waters.

Hyewon’s eyes soften and her whole body decompresses with her as she lets out a short sigh.

“Beautiful,” she chides, and it’s back to a face you know: the space where her eyes meet the bridge of her nose pinches, and her lips curl up into a satisfied grin. “Some of your best work, really. Like you’re getting desperate for more spots in the affirmation journal.”

And like you rolled down all the windows at the same time, the moment dissipates into the evening, and you’re washed back onto shore.

You tap the red button on her screen.

“Keep going, Kang Hyewon.”

If you were being honest, there was a lot you learned about optics.

Firstly, they were exhausting to keep up with. Sure, there was a level of tactness that at a baseline was acceptable to expect of other people, but anything beyond that strayed into pushing an agenda.

And secondly, no one ever keeps a guise up in private.

Because every day you got back to the four walls of your room, cloaked in nothing but moonlight, secrecy, and sin, all you could think of was Kang Hyewon.

And you’d be lying if you said you never indulged.

Your hands find the familiar length of your shaft as they always did, and as you rouse your cock awake, your fingers working counterclockwise as your girth responds in kind, you’re coaxed to attention by the permanent picture you have of Hyewon.

Her hair is up in her usual ponytail, and you reach out to brush the two loose strands of hair away from her face and behind her ears as she kneels down to get below you, sitting on her feet. There’s a beat where you’re both just staring, Hyewon shadowing your length, her head cocked to the side. You study the almonds that shaped her eyes, how softly her nose sloped before it peaked, and as you got to the crease between her lips, you didn’t think there existed a better place to start.

You press the head of your cock between Hyewon’s lips and almost like she was protesting your entry, her tongue slid out to meet it. Your thumb teases along the slit in your tip as you imagine Hyewon runs a long line of saliva in between it and down the full length of your shaft and back, her tongue flat and obedient, slow and wandering where it wanted.

Hyewon licked you clean, running her tongue in circles around your length, teasing in response as you stroked up and down.

In your other hand, like you needed it, you instinctively pulled up Hyewon’s profile, the quick strokes and key presses to get there like clockwork, burned into your memory. And as luck would have it, as if all the gods above shined on you at once, in her last selfie, Kang Hyewon poked a fat tongue out at the camera, unassuming, teasing, and throwing your lust into wanton overdrive.

“Fuck,” you rasp, breath hot, barely a whisper. “Hyewon, you’re so good at that.”

“Hyewon, you’re doing so well.”

“You’re doing great, Hyewon.”

Completely engulfed under a blanket, safeguarded by only moonlight, secrecy, and sin, Kang Hyewon indulged in the depths of her affirmations journal. One of her hands sloppily swapped between thumbing the play button on her screen and swiping through its pages, and the other hand buried itself deep in her sweatshorts. Hyewon craned her neck towards her phone, getting as close as she possibly could to the small speaker it sported as she cycled through soundbite after soundbite of your praise for her. Her other hand was busy at work, thumbing the alphabet over her clit as she ran two fingers up and down her needy cunt.

She didn’t need to close her eyes long to imagine what she’d burned into her head over nights of repeating this exact sequence, her mouth drying up, breaths broken into short pants as she felt your hands work their way through her sides like she was chocolate, melting into your fingerprints.

You thumbed lazily at her ribs, caressing the skin under her breasts, taking your time as you completely unwrapped her. The full length of your cock replaced where her fingers busily worked, sliding up and down across her sloppy entrance.

The teasing is unbearable — there’s all this implication, tension, and slow burning in the rubbing between her inner thighs that you’re working with — and Hyewon puts all her energy into looking down at where you are. You catch her in your gaze, and through eyes half-lidded, there’s a beat where you’re both just staring — it could’ve been two, Hyewon was trying her best not to keep count.

“Please,” she tries, barely a whisper in the heat. And as she picks up the rhythm against her clit: “Please put your cock in me.”

Because as much as she craved the real thing — getting with her counselor? Could you imagine the optics?

She taps the button on her screen.

“Keep going, Kang Hyewon.”

---

;)

branfics debut! hope you enjoyed!! thank you @capslocked, @majorblinks, @praeluxius, @ggidolsmuts for pre-reading and just truly setting the standard — literally none of this comes out without the inspiration and LUV i get from being around yall

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #reader insert #idol x male reader #idol x reader #izone smut #hyewon smut

572 notes · View notes

inherdaze · 2 months

Text

heaven surrounds you — yuji itadori

angel yuji x f reader

fluff, strangers to lovers, human/nonhuman, slowish burn

8k words

summary: yuuji, your guardian angel, flirts with the idea of breaking heaven's law to be with you.

Yuji lies, draped at the feet of God.

He presents himself in front of a being that he, along with other angels, cannot ever describe through any human language.

He knows what he’s here for. There’s no use in hiding it– he’s in front of God. And even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t feel the need to hide it anyway. He’ll plead guilty for days on end, knowing what he’s done. No one should beg for forgiveness, for simply loving you.

He loves you.

A voice, a loud but gentle voice, reaches down and into Yuji’s ears. It’s like it comes from inside of his head. No other angel or being that walks the earth can hear it, except for him.

“Yuji,” It rings. It nearly lulls him to sleep. “You know what you’re here for.”

“Yes,” He whispers out.

God does not have a face. And if it does, Yuji has never seen it. But God has a voice, and Yuji thinks that God is smiling right now, just by the sound. It’s soothing, makes him feel better about the punishment he’s about to receive. He doesn’t know what God will make him face in light of loving you, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll greet it with open arms. He’ll never regret what he feels for you.

Devotion. It’s all about his devotion to you.

Yuji lets his eyes slip shut, feels as if the warmth of heaven suffocates him slowly, invading all his senses and clouding his mind. All his memories, all his knowledge- it unravels slowly, like a ball of yarn spilling from its place and undoing itself. He’s losing more and more of it, the thin material slipping right out of his very fingers, but at the very end, he sees you.

You don’t slip away.

He is everywhere, that boy with pink hair.

You don’t know his name– you’re always too shy or shaken up to ask, but he’s always there. He’s behind you in the grocery line when you find you’re just a little too short to pay for everything, so he covers the rest of it for you. He’s there when your car gets stuck in the snow, using all his strength to help you push it (his strength is inhuman, you find out). He’s there to offer you a bandaid when your finger catches on a piece of metal on the subway, there when you spill a drink all over yourself and stain your white shirt at the diner- he’s the one who saves the day, as always, giving you his jacket to cover up. He was the waiter passing by.

You’re in front of the same diner now, his jacket folded neatly in your hands, carrying the scent of fresh lavender. You washed it with the intention to return it to him as soon as possible, and perhaps, catch his name, talk to him a little bit.

When you step in and greet the hostess, who is quick to get you seated, you blurt out a weak Wait! and she freezes in her tracks.

“I’m only here to return this,” You start sheepishly, holding the jacket up. “I didn’t get the waiter’s name, but, he’s really tall and… he has pink hair. I think he’s got some beauty marks under his eyes, too,” Your voice shakes from embarrassment, “That’s all I remember.”

The hostess eyes you carefully. “No one that works here has pink hair, I’m sorry.”

“N-No?” You repeat, feeling your inner hope crumble into pieces. You purse your lips and try to think a little harder… maybe it was the lighting that always made his hair come off as pink? Maybe he was actually blond…

But to be pink every time…

“Ah, um- I think he had blond hair, actually, and uh…” You try to recall any other details that could help.

His necklace.

With every encounter you’ve had with the boy, he was always wearing a dainty gold chain around his neck- it always suited him well, in your opinion. It wasn’t tacky or too flashy, and always neatly tucked into his shirts.

“He wore a gold chain, I think,” You add impulsively, a little too unsure of yourself.

“A blond waiter with beauty marks and a gold chain...” She trails off, then looks behind her shoulder to glance over at all the staff working. “I don’t think anyone here fits that description, but I could go and check, if you like.”

“No! That’s fine, no worries! Maybe he was actually a customer and I just– yeah, yeah that’s all. Thank you so much for your time, though!”

You’re chirping at her like a frazzled bird, face heating up and heart racing intensely from the embarrassing encounter. It wasn’t that bad, but you had to take a few deep breaths after you settled into your car, recovering.

Why can’t I find you?

Yuji knows. He knows you’re on the search for him.

He sees you peeking about, observing every single face you can when you’re out in public. He watches as you try, time and time again, searching through his jacket pockets to find any sort of identification. He saw, and even laughed to himself a little, when you deep cleaned your washer and dryer in hopes that something spilled from the pockets and got lost in the machines.

No dice.

He was, quite literally, impossible to find. And he knew that very well– no one could seek him out, he had to be the one to find you. He’s not even human, so you’re just out of luck.

Or, perhaps you aren’t.

A few weeks have passed since you tried to find that mysterious boy at the diner, and now that you’ve slowly given up, you’re starting to forget about him. You haven’t seen him around, and you haven’t run into any issues that he could possibly save you from, so both his jacket and your memory of him are tucked far, far away, in the corners of a closet you don’t usually open.

That is until the plastic bags holding all your snacks from your corner store run rip open, and all of your goodies spill out onto the sidewalk. You huff out an aggravated, tired sigh as you crouch to scoop everything up and fit it all into your arms to your best ability.

A pair of hands creep into your vision, soft and clean. They wrap around your items on the floor, and for a second, you think this person is going to steal your stuff and run away.

But you look up, and it's him. It’s that flighty, pink haired boy, beauty marks and gold chain and all.

“It’s you!” You sputter, so excited that your things fall from your grasp and tumble back onto the pavement, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “You! The boy! From the diner, and the store, and- and–”

You’re so excited that you cut yourself off, a big smiling gracing your features, and you feel so elated, so excited and literally overjoyed, just the sight of him being so close to you makes you feel like you’ve swallowed a vial of sunlight.

Yuji, on the other hand, feels like there are sirens and alarms going off in his head. He’s read about this in a book, he’s sure, and he’s nearly positive that Gojo taught his class what to do in a case like this (which would be considered a worst-case scenario; for you to recognize him). Angels are supposed to make their appearances quick, easy, and harmless. Only a little amount of words should be exchanged, and then they should go, leaving behind no trace for their human to follow.

Angels are supposed to be in Heaven. Really, Yuji should be in Heaven right now, and instead of him being here to help you scoop everything up, it would’ve been a different stranger, a stranger that Yuji propelled to help you. It shouldn’t be him.

But Yuji has been cast down to Earth by God, claiming it’d be better for him, a more hands-on experience. He can’t go back until the higher ups within the angelic hierarchy decide that Yuji has learned his lesson and is suited to guide and protect from the Heavens. It’s harder when you’re so far away, but he’s been able to catch you in difficult moments now that he’s here, in a somewhat human manifestation of himself.

His brain goes blank. He remains silent, but flashes you a smile.

“Uh,” You cough out, surprised by his lack of communication. “Thank you for helping me pick all of this up,” You start, and then Yuji thinks that it counts as a sort of goodbye, so he starts backing away.

“Wait!” You call out unceremoniously, as if he’s already miles away. “I need… can you help me take all of this stuff back home? And- and I have your jacket, still. It’s… yours. Yeah. And- maybe, since you’ve helped me out so much, you’d be okay with dinner? N-not in a date way, I just… really feel the need to pay you back…”

He’s intrigued, to say the least. He’s never heard someone talk and stutter so much before, besides himself, of course.

Truthfully, he doesn’t need the jacket. He doesn’t need the dinner, either– he’s not entirely human, so it’s not like he gets hungry. But you need his help, and, well, isn’t that the point of all of this?

“Okay,” He finally lets out, sounding a little robotic before he clears his throat and tries again, “Yeah, of course. I’d be happy to help.”

You let out a happy hum before guiding him to your apartment, and the entire time that the two of you walk there, he’s quiet. You’re going on and on about how hard you tried to find him, and how it’s so funny that he’s always there whenever you need help. He laughs nervously at that.

When you ask him about his name, he hesitates for too long. Really, he shouldn’t tell you. He thinks he’s crossing some sort of line– he really shouldn’t tell you.

But then again, it would be heinous if an angel lied, right? He can’t just lie to you. That would probably be worse than telling you his name, he thinks.

“Yuji,” He lets out finally, a little too late. “Sorry, I… spaced out. My name is Yuji.”

“Yuji,” You repeat, giving the name a test trial before you happily give him your name in return.

I already know, he wants to say.

He’s quiet when you both reach your home, quiet as you cook dinner, quiet as you pad around your cozy little apartment. Though he throws you a soft, appreciative smile when you give him back his jacket.

This is the most silent he has ever been in his entire life. There’s too much going on in his head, he’s unsure of what to do and of what to say to you, but it feels like he’s only entrenching himself deeper and deeper into his dilemma as he keeps agreeing with you, letting you take the lead. His life as an angel really, really does depend on all of this. If he breaks a rule (God knows how many he’s already broken– literally), this could be his first and last gig.

Yuji’s broken from his thoughts as you set down a plate of food in front of him; supper, he presumes.

Yuji has never eaten anything in his life. He’s an angel, a heavenly being, he doesn’t need to eat, drink, take a leak or a dump, doesn’t get hot or cold, doesn’t feel pain. He’s not human, as much as he may look like one.

And, from your perspective, you just assume he eats slowly. Your eyes are all focused on your plate as you take your fork and eat, missing the way he’s observing your every move to mimic you.

He takes the fork into his fingers, slowly and sort of clumsily, but is forever thankful that you don’t notice. He’s about to give up and just grip the end of a fork like a child would, wrapping a whole fist around it, but he picks up on it just enough to slide by.

Yuji has never eaten anything in his life. But as he takes a bite of your food, some of it spilling off his fork and right back onto his plate, he thinks he understands why humans eat so much, disregarding the fact that they need it to survive.

Your cooking makes him think of a place he’s never been, gives him a feeling he’s truly never felt before. It’s warm– he knows the food is actually warm– but the feeling itself spreads throughout his chest, and it feels like it’s nearly engulfing his heart. It’s almost like he wants to cry, maybe.

He was created and raised in Heaven, and he has never felt something so, so, so… human. To eat. To enjoy food– to enjoy it enough, to eat more. To feel this warmth, this sort of fullness that’s doing good for his heart.

Needless to say, he wolfs down his plate (as politely as he can).

You’re practically over the moon as he shyly asks for seconds, then scarfs it all down quickly before asking if it’s okay to have a little more. And you just nod eagerly, taking his plate and adding some more. Yuji makes a mental note in his head– he really has to tell Megumi and Nobara about how good food is, once he’s back up there.

The both of you finish up and Yuji finally remembers who he is and what he’s here for. He’s only here to protect you– from afar, of course. Dinner with you made him feel like a housemate, like it was a regular, recurring thing.

It’s getting darker and he’s trying to inch closer and closer towards the door, telling you how much he needs to get home, thinks he left the kitchen light on by accident. It’s a little fib, he knows, but he cannot risk this for any longer.

There’s a soft, repetitive pit pat sound that hits your windows, your ceiling, and the walls outside. It’s so gentle that he doesn’t hear it at first, but within seconds, it’s pouring. It’s so rambunctious, it’s like there’s hundreds of people throwing rocks at your building, and when you peek out your window to see how bad the rain is, the street is flooded.

You pull back from the window, looking at Yuji sheepishly. “It’s really bad out there, so, if you want… I mean… you can stay until the rain passes…. I’d hate for you to get caught out there.”

His eyebrows raise.

Is this a test? Is it all a test?

The timing seems a little too coincidental, and if he could, Yuji’d look up at your ceiling (imagining it was God) and give a proper scowl.

He has a difficult time declining all your offers as you smoothen out your sofa, draping blankets and pillows all over to make the space more comfortable for him. You do it silently, eagerly, excited to treat someone who has saved you so many times. He senses it from you, your genuine hospitality and kindness.

It’s getting darker. You can only see the outline of his figure in the living room as you bid him goodnight, tell him to sleep well before you slip into your bedroom.

While Yuji lays on his back, hands folded beneath his head, he cannot help but think about how much the roles have reversed this time.

Yuji’s confession reaches you in your sleep, through your dreams.

You’re back at the diner. You’re sitting in a booth, Yuji sitting across from you. He’s adorned in a white gown and golden robe, with a soft, circular glow around his head.

You can’t see yourself, can’t look down at yourself, but you feel a comfortable feeling on your shoulders, your arms. You’re wearing his jacket.

Yuji smiles to himself, eyes avoiding yours as his fingers fumble with an empty straw wrapper.

“I have something to tell you,” He starts quietly.

“Yeah,” You say with disbelief, but your voice comes off as amused. “Yeah. I think you do.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. What he must tell you has already been conveyed.

You think, in your dream, that there’s a lot to unpack. But it’s like Yuji communicates with you silently, slipping his words into your mind until you understand. It almost feels like as soon as the dream began to play out in your mind, you already knew of the secret he carried. It’s a deep-seated knowledge that nearly feels like you’ve been born with it.

The two of you are quiet as your food arrives, as you eat. This time, Yuji doesn’t need to watch and learn from you. He intrinsically knows how to handle a plate, how to eat.

It’s funny, you think, somewhere in the realm of your dream. It’s funny to see Yuji, an angel, fit a huge burger in between his hands, taking a reckless bite. There’s ketchup at the corner of his lips. He doesn’t move very gracefully for an angel.

When the two of you are done, he rests his palms on the table and pushes himself up to stand.

“I have to go now,” He says.

You want to speak up, want to tell him to wait, to stay. But it’s like your mouth is sealed shut, because you can only hear yourself pleading in your mind for him not to leave as you silently watch him slip into the dark corners of your vision. Your heart aches, because you so desperately want to tell him to stay, even just a little bit longer, but you stay quiet.

And just like that, he’s gone. He’s left you again.

The feeling of him leaving shakes you up enough to wake you up. But it’s a peaceful awakening– you're not sweating, gasping, or panicking for air. You simply blink your eyes open, greeted by the rising sun and soft songbirds. He leaves you with a sense of peace and curiosity, as he always has.

You softly step into your hallway, peeking into the living room, checking if he’s there.

He is. He’s up and folding all the blankets you gave him the night before, fluffing your pillows and sorting them neatly on the cushions of your couch.

You make your presence known with a gentle clear of your throat, and he whirls around to meet you. Yuji smiles at you, admiring you in your sleepy state.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” You croak, eyes landing on his dainty little chain. He sees you focusing on it. You both know what it is.

He’s positive that his message got to you. He coughs and smooths over his shirt before tucking his hands behind himself like a shy schoolboy.

“I have to go now,” He says, again.

This isn’t your dream. This isn’t your dream, so you will yourself to move forward and speak, because you know that you will likely never see him again like this if you let him leave.

It’s a selfish, selfish thing. A human thing.

“You can’t,” You start, reaching forward to hold his arm, but a sudden fear strikes your heart and you let your hand fall. You’re not sure if you can touch him. Yuji’s gaze softens when he sees it.

“I must,” He says simply, though he doesn’t move. He watches your features wash over with some sort of grief, a sort of longing as if he’s already gone, like you’re letting yourself feel it now so that you don’t have to face it later.

“Yuji,” You start again, voice so gentle and tender. The tone of it makes him freeze up, makes him reminiscent of something he has only felt in Heaven. The way you say his name brings him a feeling of prayer, somehow sounding so similar to an angel's whisper of Dear God.

“Stay,” You plead softly.

“Watch over me.” A prayer, he thinks again.

Yuji finds that he cannot deny your request. He is, after all, here on Earth for the sole purpose of protecting you.

Living with Yuji by your side is like raising a toddler. It’s teaching him how technology works, telling him the stove is hot, showing him how to use different kitchen utensils. And in return, you learn from him as well. You see light in his eyes, feel kindness from his heart, tenderness in the entirety of his being that is pure, untouched by humanity. He has no hidden motives. There’s nothing that he must keep from you. He’s unabashedly expressive and warm and like a beam of light that resides next to you on your creaky couch.

You give him little lessons about the human world. He shows you unadulterated warmth.

Yuji is filled to the brim with curiosity, and sometimes, you’re nervous that he may burst at the seams. His wonder has a chokehold on him, and on you, too. Everywhere that you take him, he’s pointing things out, asking what certain ads and newspapers and commercials mean. He’s a stranger to pop culture, to history, to the world climate.

You ask him, one day– only slightly irritated by his pestering nature– how come he doesn’t know any of this. You thought that angels may be just as all-knowing as God is; how is it that he has been assigned to keep a human safe, with little to no knowledge on the world a human lives in?

His answer comes out sheepish, almost ashamed. He plays with his napkin, folding it over and pressing it flat. “In Heaven, there’s kinda this idea that- that–” He cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek as his hands freeze their movements, like his mind is recalculating.

“There’s this idea that humans live in a tainted world. There is no benefit from learning about it, and I think… I think some angels are afraid that if we learn about it, we will bring that poisoned world into Heaven.”

You only hum in acknowledgment, in understanding. Your heart softens like water being poured over dry, packed up soil, and you feel something unfurl within you. A want, or perhaps more of a need, to show Yuji that mortal life is not all that bad, is planted in you. And despite the obvious gap between you two– a heavenly being and a human, sinful by nature– you’re sure that maybe you can be his beam of light, too.

And so, with your tender heart, you let Yuji pester and question you all he wants. You let him point out things very obviously (and maybe a little bit embarrassingly) out in public, let him peer over your shoulder as you read the news, let him catch up on documentaries and shows that inherently teach him more about the world while you’re gone at work, thus letting him get ahead of you. And when he’s apologetic, you tell him it’s okay, and then the both of you play the media from start to finish again. He never gets tired. Never of the world, of learning, of you.

Yuji has learned a plethora of things during his stay with you. Through reading, watching, observing– he’s learned slang, history, gestures, culture; but above all, he has learned that he does not know what love is.

Yuji thought that he knew what love is like. Angels feel love, but it’s different from what he’s seen ever since he came down to earth.

The love that angels carry is the kind that is unwavering, it never dies out, though it is not as intense as the love that Yuji has begun to see. It’s a feeling that every single angel is innately born with– a love for humanity, a love for God. There are no intimate ties or pretty feelings, but it is a love that is known, like an unspoken law. He feels love for you, feels love for people; wants to protect you, guide others, keep everyone safe and keep the peace. That’s what Yuji calls love.

But as Yuji becomes more familiar with human nature and behavior, he cannot help but feel like he’s clueless when it comes to love. He sees relationships, family, small acts of what he thinks is real love occurring between them.

He sees people splitting food in half and into sections to share with others. He sees people with matching bracelets, rings, necklaces. He sees people translating what others are saying so that their loved one can understand. He sees people linking pinkies, sees people on the subway whispering to each other and snickering to themselves, sees children clinging onto their parents. He sees people splayed out on the grass, surrounded by blankets and baskets and plenty of food. He sees true, real, love.

Yuji learns, through time, that he doesn’t know love. Not up close and personal, anyway. He hasn’t felt it, and he knows surely that his love for humanity is not the same type of love that people share amongst the ones they know. It’s different.

So at every waking moment, Yuji tries to see if there is love in the things you do. He watches when you cook, thinks if you’re chopping up the vegetables with love. When you laugh at one of his questions, he wonders if there is love behind it. When you read a book and lean over to him, pointing to a specific line that you think he would like, he wonders, is that love? In the mornings, as he spots the little sticky notes and instructions that you leave for him on the fridge, he asks himself if it is an act of love. There’s a dull itch that resides somewhere in his chest– somewhere that he struggles pinpointing himself– an itch that yearns to know how you love.

He wants to know, and he wants to try.

One evening, after you’ve finished making dinner, the two of you sit across from each other as you eat. Yuji keeps throwing you glances as you munch quietly before leaning over the table and bringing his plate over yours.

Wordlessly, he uses his fork to push some of his food onto your plate.

You freeze, eyes overlooking him.

“Are… are you full?”

He shakes his head before eating more food from his plate. “No. I can’t get full.”

“Then… what’s… what’s this about?”

“I wanted to share with you.”

“Share with me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re utterly confused, eyes flittering from your plate and back up to his face over and over again. He isn’t suppressing a laugh, he doesn’t look guilty as if he’s pulling a funny little prank like the ones he’s seen on your social media.

“There’s more food in the pan, Yuji,” You start, “You didn’t have to give me yours. There’s plenty left… I could’ve gotten some myself.”

You’re missing the point, he thinks.

You clear your throat. “Did you… not like it?”

“No!” He bursts, leaning over the table again, hand reaching out only slightly as if you’ll dissolve away within a matter of seconds. “No– no, I mean, I did like it– I just thought I could share. I thought sharing was nice. A nice thing to do.”

He wants to tell you that he thinks sharing is an act of love, but he bites his tongue and sinks back into his chair.

You smile softly at his words, then give a little hum.

“Thank you, Yuji.”

He looks at you from beneath his lashes, catches the sight of you eating the food that came from his plate. And although his plan didn’t go exactly how he wanted, and the message flew over your head, he thinks this is enough.

You and Yuji spend a rainy night inside watching movies and trying out new shows.

The thunder outside is a little muffled as you pick a show, tossing the remote somewhere onto the couch cushion next to you. The entire apartment is dark, save for the flash of lights and images on the TV screen.

The show starts off strong– it introduces the main character, then within a few minutes, shows the character going out for a spunky night and, of course, escalates into a sex scene.

You feel like you’re 16 and watching an explicit scene with your parents. Your eyes avoid the screen and you cough, making it obvious that you’re searching for the remote somewhere in the dark, muttering something about how in-your-face the show is.

But when you glance at Yuji, he’s focused on the screen, confusion and maybe even a little bit of discomfort on his face. He’s quiet, splotches of dark blues and reds reflecting across his face until he finally speaks up, voice soft, “That’s not out of love, is it?”

You turn back to face the screen, eyes locking on one of the characters writhing on the bed.

“Um,” You start, evaluating the situation. “No. It’s- it’s not out of love.”

He gives a gentle hum with a nod before falling quiet again.

You sound far away as you laugh nervously and catch the remote in your hands, fast forwarding the scene till it’s over. The images become blurry to Yuji as he unfocuses, mind caught up in the act of doing things without love being the motive. There’s a newfound awareness that resides in his mind, in his heart, that there are so many things out there that might be lacking love.

He refrains from looking towards you.

He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

Yuji denied it at first. But God is all-knowing, all-seeing.

Yuji loved you just as much as he loved anyone else– he loved everyone. Yet, as the two of you spent more time together, there was just something that rested heavy in the back of his mind that he could not come to terms with. He thought he never would. He thought, maybe, if he tried hard enough, that God would not make him face it either.

It was a feeling. A feeling that grew from that one particular itch in his chest– a feeling that followed him around, crept down his back, up around his neck and mouth until he was at a loss for words whenever he looked at you.

He knew he was in trouble when he spotted his friend, tousled black hair and small golden chain circling around his wrist at the grocery store. Fate is unstoppable.

You had asked Yuji to come grocery shopping with you so that he could pick out what he wanted to eat for the week. He couldn't do anything but agree. But, Yuji thinks that even if he had disagreed, Megumi still would've found him.

While you're looking over your rumpled little grocery list, Yuji swallows the lump in his throat so that his nervousness doesn’t seep through his voice. “How ‘bout I, uh, go get the things I want real quick? I’ll meet you back in the produce section.”

There’s a short silence as you look up from your list and into his eyes, registering what he said. He cuts you off before you can even start, “I won’t take long.”

I’ll come back, I promise.

He thinks he played it off smooth, thinks you won’t notice the way his finger is strung onto his golden chain as he drags it back and forth. You’ve never seen him touch his ‘halo’, ever. You know him too well at this point, and even coming to terms with that fact has your chest swelling with something unspeakable.

“Okay,” Is all you say, soft and tender like you want to tell him you hope he’s okay. Just the tone of your voice has him short circuiting, hesitating to step back and leave you all alone in front of the chips display.

He lingers for a moment, eyes full with an emotion you think might be similar to what blooms in your ribcage. And then he’s backing away, turning around to head off and fetch what he wants, and even though he’s only walking away from you in a grocery store, you can’t help but feel like there’s something more to it. He’s bound to walk away at some point. As you push your cart to the pasta aisle, you really think about how he has been crafted by God and you are not the match for him.

Yuji approaches Megumi a few aisles down, knowing he’d trail off there– an angel’s intuition. He walks towards him with a sort of drag in his step.

“Hey, Megs,” He starts casually, eyeing the boy in human form. Yuji's lips quirk up as he reads over Megumi’s t-shirt.

“Didn’t know you, uh, liked The Cure.”

Megumi clenches his jaw.

“You need to come back.”

Yuji tries playing dumb, eyes scanning over the shelves of food like he’s going to pick something out, like Megumi is an old college friend he happened to cross paths with in the store, like there’s no deeper meaning to the situation. He tries to play dumb like a human does. Megumi thinks, for a second, that Yuji does play the role of a human pretty well.

He wouldn't ever tell him that, though.

“Come back?” Yuji asks lightheartedly, as if the sight of Megumi and his greeting sentence didn't make him feel scared for his life.

It would be one thing if God confronted Yuji on a one-on-one basis. If God were to be the first to move its chess piece, waiting for the move Yuji will make in return.

But God is peering down at Yuji from the other side of the chessboard, beckoning him to start the play. It’s all in Yuji’s hands, now.

Yuji now knows that his inner dilemma regarding you has been cast out into Heaven like it’s some sort of soap opera, similar to the ones he watches with you. He’d feel much better if only God knew- but Megumi knows. And if Megumi knows, then so does Nobara. And if the both of them know, then it’s more than likely that every angel he’s ever brushed past is aware of the situation.

He knows that Megumi has come to save him out of fear. It was Megumi’s choice to touch down on the Earth and track down his best friend to save him before it was too late. And the thought of that, too, made Yuji feel something he’s not sure he’s ever felt before– queasy.

Like heavy goop spun in the center of his stomach slowly, tantalizingly.

“You’ve been here for far too long,” Megumi starts, eyes narrowing, “In that place for too long.”

“Place?” Yuji snips back, expression ridden with irritation as Megumi lets the words leave his lips with only a little bit of disgust.

“It’s not just some place, Megs,” Yuji defends.

“It’s my—” Home.

“Your what?” His friend pushes, eyebrows raising to encourage him. He knows that once Yuji says it, his fate is sealed and he’d be pulled away from you forever.

“It’s nothing,” he quickly decides, retracting from his previous statement as his attitude dissolves. “I’ll go back, soon.”

“Soon.”

“Yes, soon,” Yuji says exasperatedly, tired of Megumi pushing him into a confession that would change both your life and his. “I’m going back,” he repeats to reassure Megumi, and maybe to reassure himself as well. If he were to be honest, he hadn’t really thought about when he’d head back to Heaven. He never thought about it after you had asked him to stay.

“Okay,” Megumi says with hesitance, like he doesn’t believe his friend.

And out of spite, he adds, “Don’t go falling for that– that human, Yuji. Come back home.”

Megumi turns on his heel and walks away, rounding the corner of the aisle, and as much as Yuji wants to follow after him and give him the lecture of his life– the they’re different lecture– he knows the boy is already gone. If he wanted to track him down, he’d have to chase him down in Heaven.

At home.

Yuji mentally reminds himself where his home is, where it’s always been, but his heart knows better.

When he catches up with you, seeking you out in the produce section, a sudden feeling of serenity washes over him, gently and slowly as his eyes focus on you. He gets the feeling that it’s okay– it’s okay that God knows, that Megumi knows, that the entirety of Heaven knows that he has overstayed his welcome. Because although the Earth may reject him, and the Heavens will pull with tooth and nail to get him back, you will always be there. You’ll be there– waiting in the produce aisle, picking veggies. You’ll be at home, cooking up something he mentioned he liked. You’ll be at the bookshop, sorting out different books you think might help him in understanding the human world a little more.

Perhaps, you’ll be there, welcoming him with love?

You bring him back to Earth with a soft little hey, almost like you’re shy. Yuji thinks that he can think about all of that later. For now, he can focus on you. He dumps all of the things he said he’d get into the cart as he tries to smoothly, flirtatiously shoot out a “Hey yourself.”

It makes you laugh. Quietly, given that the both of you are in the middle of the store, but you laugh.

And, Yeah, Yuji thinks. Maybe you’ll be there to greet him with love.

Time is running out, and Yuji is getting desperate.

He knows that he doesn’t have an actual time limit, knows that there is no specific hour and minute that he must go back to Heaven– but he knows that the longer he drags this out, the more painful his punishment will be. He has strayed from God’s word, from his original purpose, as now his entire life revolves around you, and more recently, loving you.

The boy is torn.

Day in and day out, he shows his love to you in ways he thinks you’ll understand. He’s learned enough from his little observations to try and practice, to convey his feelings for you. His heart is set on you. All he wants is to make that clear.

He’d like to hold your hand more often– and not just when you’re guiding him through a crowd, or leading him to a store. He wants to hold your hand simply because he can. Wants to hold your hand on the couch, in the subway, across the dinner table. And he does. He’s shy at first, looking at you for any sign of discomfort, but he gets his green light and holds your hand. Whenever. Just because he can. Because he wants to.

He shares his food with you (again). Helps you comb your hair. Tries to help you pick which outfit you should wear for a picnic. Offers to carry you when your feet get tired from all that walking and exploring (you’re too shy to take up the offer, so instead, you lean against him completely as you walk and he steadies you). Wipes the crumbs off your lips. Sometimes, he even thinks about picking them off with his own lips– or maybe his tongue? Eats the candy you don’t like, so that you don't have to toss it all away and waste it. Holds both of your hands between his hands when they're cold. Helps you put lotion on your back on the days that you’re especially tired and don't wanna reach. His face gets warm as he does this, your bare back exposed to him as you press a towel to your front and wrap one around your lower body. Gives you space when you ask, and bundles up with you on the couch if you ask.

With every single one of these things, he’s telling you that he loves you. And at first, as he became more responsive, open and touchy, you thought your mind was only playing tricks on you. You thought that he was only mimicking what he saw on TV and what he learned about the world. You only thought he was doing these things to appear more human.

But, he just is. He’s human– or, almost human. He wants to be human enough to be with you.

You realize this tonight, as he helps you brush your hair out after a shower. You were already tired from a stressful day at work, and as you arrived home to Yuji you mumbled that you'd skip dinner and just go to sleep. But he caught you before you could dive into the comfort of your bed, pulling you closer into him as he mumbled into your hair to let him help you take care of yourself.

You were drained, nearly falling asleep in the shower as the warm water kissed your skin, lulling you. It took forever to move– to scrub, to rinse, to clean your hair. A tired part of your heart wanted to ask Yuji for help, but a sensible corner of your mind told you that you probably shouldn't.

Not that you were uncomfortable with the idea, but a part of you was nervous– what would he say, what would he think? Would he think you’re showing him a tainted world, trying to muddle his light by asking him to step in and help? To let this angel see you undressed, touch your bare skin, let you slump against him in the heat.

Lazily, you managed to get clean and turn off the shower.

Yuji hears your muffled voice call for him from the bathroom. He’s a little nervous, perhaps the good kind of nervous, as he approaches the bathroom.

You open the door and it's a little foggy, the heat clouding you both and giving you a little bit of a glow. You smile sheepishly up at him and he can only blush back, a warm feeling sneaking up his spine, over his shoulders and down his chest.

“Can you…” You start, gesturing towards the bottle of pretty scented lotion on the bathroom counter. “Can you help me? And… my hair, too…”

You sound so sleepy. Yuji just wants to wrap you up in his arms and sleep beside you.

He sits you down on the toilet, warming up the cream between his hands before running his palms down your arms, around your shoulders. He notices your towel dropping lower and lower down your chest and makes sure not to look.

He sits on his knees and kneads the lotion onto your legs, making you laugh when he slathers it all over your feet. You apologize for giggling and twitching but then playfully remind him You’re my angel after all, you must look over me. It's not a demand, only some gentle banter, but Yuji thinks (and is too nervous to voice) that he would take care of you regardless. Angel, human, demon– he would watch over you time and time again.

You get up and turn around so that he can help moisturize as much of your upper back as he can, swallowing nervously as your towel slips lower and lower. And before it can travel dangerously low, before he thinks he feels his temperature rising, before he can comment on just exactly how hot the bathroom is (which would be a first– he’s not very sensitive to temperature) you’re weakly skipping into your room to slip on some pajamas.

You're not gone for long, coming back so he can help you with your hair.

The mirror starts clearing up, steam fading away as he carefully runs a comb through the damp strands, careful to not yank on your head and to make sure the bristles don't bite at your ears. You’re reading the back of soap bottle label to keep your thoughts occupied, to keep you from thinking about how nice this is, to keep you from thinking about how much you love this, how much you love him—

Yuji quietly announces that he’s finished, and out of some newfound courage, he circles around to face you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

The both of you freeze, the moment feeling far too intimate and normal and right, like the two of you belong together.

He steps back, sort of dumbfounded by his own actions, opening his mouth to apologize. He tries to come up with an excuse fast, thinks of playing dumb and telling you he saw it in a movie and thought maybe he should try, as if he doesn't know the meaning behind such an action.

But you only smile bashfully at him, take his hand in yours, and tell him, “Let’s go sleep.”

After all, you knew that he knew what it meant.

It’s the first time that Yuji has ever laid in the same bed as you, and it pains him. It pains him because you look so comfortable, clinging onto his arm, and he knows he cannot stay. His little silent love confession earlier had spoken for itself. He knows he can't push it off for any longer, knows that he must reap what he sows. Carefully, he pries you off of himself, stopping his movement for a moment to get one last look at you. And he thinks, well, it wouldn't hurt to do it one more time, right? Since he’s going to face punishment, may as well do it anyway.

Yuji smiles at your sleeping form, leans forward, and kisses the top of your forehead. His voice is cracked and dry as he weakly mutters an I love you against your skin, another confession that’ll reach you in your dream tonight.

He makes his way out of your bedroom and plants himself in the living room, in front of the couch. Yuji kneels, elbows resting on the couch cushions as he shuts his eyes and prays. He prays, and prays, and prays– and then he’s gone.

The living room is quiet, and empty. You’re alone in your apartment again.

And Yuji lies, draped at the feet of God.

Yuji confesses, unabashedly, to his creator.

He loves you. He loves you in the way that humans do. He tells God nervously that he loves you in a way that he’s not sure he’s supposed to, but he does, anyway.

And through confession, God is forgiving.

Yuji's not sure what’s going to happen. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to know. He doesn't want to think about it– about his actions, about God, about what’s coming for him. Even if and when (he suspects) he faces pain, he just wants to think about you.

His mind feels muddy and weird and every single memory he has becomes warbled, and he's grabbing at his hair and cradling his head at the feet of God. He’s not sure what's happening, and then, he’s not exactly sure where he is. But his silent wish is granted, because as all these things he knows start fading away, he sees you clearly. He sees you, you, and you, and his heart feels so happy. And he stays happy, even as he feels like he’s tripping and spiraling into some sort of darkness.

It’s dark. He’s quiet. He’s asleep.

Yuji wakes but doesn't open his eyes, tries to think about what's going on. There are clear images and memories of you upfront in his mind, but all of his other memories seem distant and hard to grasp, like an oncoming sneeze that never releases. Flashes of light, of people he thinks he knows… he’s not sure. Scruffy black hair, short and smooth orange hair. Robes, gowns, soft cushioning on the ground that nearly feels like clouds….. he can't put his finger on it.

When he opens his eyes, he’s laying on a couch in a living room. Your living room, he realizes. He scrambles to get up, to situate himself, and when he sees you sleepily creep out of your room, he dashes towards you.

Within seconds, his hands are all over you, awkward and clumsy, unsure of where to stay until you guide them to cup your cheeks. His lips are on yours, and he’s leaning into you so intensely that you have to grab onto his biceps to balance yourself. You sigh into the kiss, happily so.

Everything clicks for him. He knows he’s meant to be here. He’s got this faded idea, some faded memory that regards him being different than you, but he wastes no time to dwell on it now. He can think and talk about it later.

You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and then kiss some more. He’s devouring you– kissing you slow, then kissing you fast, then peppering kisses all over your face. He’s no longer afraid to try out everything he’s seen.

When he finally pulls away to let the both of you breathe (for some reason, he feels his lungs begging for air– an unfamiliar feeling) you laugh shakily, on the verge of asking him heaps of questions.

But then his stomach rumbles. It rumbles, something that you're sure has never happened before, and Yuji says so naturally like he’s felt it his whole entire life, “God– I’m so hungry.”

The two of you cook, then eat, then kiss some more. He gets up a few times to pee. Later on, he burps shyly into his curled up hand. He tells you he’s a little cold, asks you to come over and let him hold you (for the sake of warming up).

And you know– you know, with all your heart, that he’s yours. He’s yours for forever, for however long the two of you will live.

Later on that night, you thank the Heavens.

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