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#when I wish he was able to take care of himself in spite

blueish-bird · 4 months

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Chainsaw Man is about self-destruction. It’s about self-destruction as a means of reclaiming your autonomy in an environment where you are consistently denied it. Chainsaw Man is about denial of autonomy. Chainsaw Man is about how, when you are in an environment where you are denied your own autonomy, you learn to view interpersonal relationships as interactions you have no control over unless you find a means of controlling the other members of that relationship — whether that be through methods of fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. Chainsaw Man is about how denial of autonomy is framed as love. Chainsaw Man is about how love that denies autonomy is violence.

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 1 #csm part 2 #guess who just read the new chapter #going to write a ‘society of the spectacle’ type book except it’s just exploring the themes in csm #I love repetition #my csm thoughts #my csm analysis #meposting #autonomy #self-destruction #seeing Denji consistently turn his saws on himself in part 2 hurts ough #maladaptive coping mechanisms yk #destroy yourself to destroy those who hurt you #when I wish he was able to take care of himself in spite #but the situation he’s in.. doesn’t rly allow him to do that #csm denji #csm 152

187 notes · View notes

captain-joongz · 1 month

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Space for two

Pairing: demon!Kim Taehyung x f!reader

Genre: smut, both angsty and fluffy, dark themes, positive ending, historical au (maybe like 18/early 19th century Joseon)

Summary: Trapped in a marriage arranged by our families, married to a cold, uncaring man and taking care of a farm in the middle of nowhere, I had sunken to the lowest lows. Aware of my husband's gambling habits and love for brothels that often kept him from home, I'd gotten used to the feeling of falling asleep in a cold, empty bed. But that changed one day, when an uninvited guest made himself quite at home and brought with him warm touches and scorching dreams. Gentleness coming from the one least expected may just be the push into the right direction.

Word count: 25.4k

Warnings: some dark themes, demon Taetae (he's a sweetie though), he's messing with the reader a little tho, he does have some slight yandere vibes, themes of depression and loneliness, infidelity, a shitty husband, some themes and mentions of domestic violence and verbal abuse (at one point the husband grabs her by the hair, throws stuff around the house), mentions of death and murder

NSFW warnings: slightly dubcon-ish (at first he visits her dreams), reader is inexperienced and embarrassed, slight innocence/corruption kink if you squint really hard, wet dreams, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, making out, handjob, unprotected sex (it's joseon :// you be careful out there), some slight breeding kink, half clothed sex

A/N: super late but finally here!! i'm sorry for all the delays, but this just kept getting longer and longer and i had to juggle it between schoolwork, but i hope it is worth the wait! this is actually based on a korean folklore story of prince cheoyong, which i explain in the end notes so i don't spoil anything hehe

I was preparing the food in silence, the only sounds in the room the clanking of my knife on the cutting board and slight bubbling in the pot over the fire. It was winter and so I kept the doors leading to the yard closed, but I still heard the thuds of my husband chopping firewood, the dull thumps of the wood hitting the ground, the swish of his axe in the air.

I was already well used to this, to the silence of this place.

It was a quiet that could only come from unhappiness and spite, the kind that made you feel lonely and desolate, knowing the only other person around rather chose to not speak than engage with you. It was what I had come to know very well in here.

I had found myself married quite abruptly. It was a little over a year ago, when a messenger from the Ryu family of the neighbouring village arrived at our door. My father accepted him, but didn’t speak of what the meeting was about, which raised some suspicions between the women of the family. I was the second child of the family and the eldest of the daughters, and way past the age when women of my standing usually married. It felt like we all knew what it would come to.

My unmarried status was a bit of a controversial story around these parts.

I wouldn’t call our family exactly disgraced, but we weren’t at the full glory the Kangs used to stand at, back in the days of my great great great great-grandfather, who built the family into a considerable fortune, but whose grandson to the family’s great embarrassment failed the gwageo examinations several times and couldn’t secure an official position. The family had tried to bribe their way into the office, but the local official came from a family that had been feuding with ours for a few generations, over something that was no doubt petty and no longer relevant. He basked in the desperation of our family and wished for nothing more than to see them crash and burn, thus if we couldn’t secure a position through the examinations, he wouldn’t allow any bribery in order to destroy our clan.

The embarrassment continued as neither his son, nor his grandson were able to pass the qwageo and our family was stripped of our title. We had been living on the rapidly thinning fortune, trying to keep some sort of decorum, but feeling the full force of shame the other inhabitants from our area showed towards us. To them, we were pathetic. Just some thirty years ago we were strolling through these streets as if we owned them and now, disgraced and quickly running out of options, here we were – on the same level as them.

My father was able to break the family curse by starting a successful shop with trinkets, toys and other useful little devices, which allowed us to stay afloat money-wise, but cast us further into shame, considering our family had once been part of the yangban class and thus weren’t supposed to work. Even if disgraced, rules applied to us, and we were a great embarrassment to those who we used to call friends and allies.

The curse was further broken when father in his quite advanced age managed to pass the gwageo and got a spot in local office. He pushed my younger brothers into studies, as his pride never took this situation lightly. He was brought up to be an aristocrat, but here he was, working his days away like a commoner. In the end, his obsession was fruitful when two of my three brothers also passed their examinations and entered into civil duty, one striving for the office and one for the military service. The middle son, who struggled with his studies, was put in charge of the shop where he excelled.

As such, we were suddenly catapulted back into our previous standing, after several generations of disgrace, after struggling financially and fighting for survival every month, we were back to walking the streets with our chins held high, wrapped from head to toe in silk.

And that’s where the controversy about my marriage started.

As most young people, I had been promised and engaged to a young boy from a different neighbouring village. Due to the fact that we lost our title, I couldn’t strive for marriage withing the yangban class – after all, social standing was inherited after the mother, so I couldn’t be more than a concubine since I would curse my child with low social status. But that would be a hit to my father’s pride. Therefore he rather engaged me to a son of a lower middle class trader. To them, I was someone of a better status as they had never received a title, and my family would expand their funds.

But then several things happened all almost at once.

We regained our status, thus our marriage in my father’s eyes was no longer appropriate, even though finding someone from the yangban who would want me to marry their son would be nigh impossible. He demanded the breaking of the engagement, which was something the society looked down upon, especially since he had sealed the deal years ago. The two families started feuding, the trader now even more eager to secure me for them, and my father with his regained confidence insisting upon marriage to someone “of our class”. And during this time, the boy fell ill and promptly died.

Since we were engaged, I now was to be considered his widow even though we hadn’t had our wedding, but my father insisted that the engagement was broken off and I had no such obligation. The trader of course claimed the complete opposite and demanded we go through with everything as was arranged. The people in the area, even if they followed the drama between the two families closely and listened to gossip religiously, they themselves couldn’t tell who was telling the truth. Our engagement had been in place for years, but it was also widely known that my father has changed his mind and demanded for the wedding to be off.

In the eyes of some I was free to marry, but some viewed me as a young widow, a ghost bride, and thus I couldn’t find another husband unless I wanted to bring huge shame on the family and reap cosmic consequences. But most simply disliked my father for his underhanded tactics and newfound arrogance.

But this situation had made the question of my marriage impossible to solve. It was already unlikely that a match of my father’s expectations would be willing to take me as a first wife and honour me as such, since the yangbans looked down on us heavily, and now I had become tarnished goods in the eyes of potential suitors. My family still tried desperately to pawn me off to someone, but we had turned into a huge joke between the families in the area and I was doomed. Some even started to view me as a cursed woman, touched by black magic, that would bring death to any man who would want to marry me, and that was a final nail in the coffin of my marriage.

But my father wouldn’t give up so easily. He still had something that many desired enough to risk a curse on their family – money and power.

Thus, when the messenger had come and father refused to divulge any information about the nature of the meeting, the wives and daughters that had amassed in our house over the years all whispered about a potential engagement. I thought it was possible, but it was probably for one of my younger sisters. I was wrong.

The Ryu family used to be a powerful local aristocracy, but over the last few generations they had fallen considerably. Their disgrace wasn’t as openly talked about as ours, even though they were the centre of some mean-spirited jokes, however they had one powerful advantage. They didn’t lose their title, just most of their money. While their children still could live their lives telling everyone they were yangbans, they didn’t have the money to uphold the lifestyle. Only one of their sons had an office and it wasn’t enough to keep the whole extended family afloat. There were rumours of gambling, addiction and unwise spending, which were the most probable factors in their fall.

They knew no one self-respecting would marry their children, who were all pushed into working for their livelihood, and they couldn’t marry under their standing lest the children lose their status. That’s when they came up with the bright idea to get into talks with our family.

My father didn’t waste any time. For him, this was perfect – the right class, family with still some respect left intact, he had enough money, so he didn’t mind striking a business deal with the mostly impoverished family and I was used to working, as I had also grown up before our rise. It was just the perfect deal.

From the moment I had first heard about it, it was barely two months before I found myself fully engaged and a week away from a wedding to a man I’d never met before. He was the second son; he had a house on the foot of the mountain a little further away from the town that was the heart of this area. It would take some travelling, but still remained close enough to keep close ties.

Our wedding ceremony was brief and awkward, a lot of stilted conversation and pretend joy, while my mother and sisters all gathered around me in silent support. I saw their sad and worried eyes, the graveness of their usually more cheerful voices, the barely masked sympathy they looked at me with when I interacted with my stone-faced husband. Marriage was something I had since long made peace with, after all it is what every woman has to face at some point in her life, so I had just squeezed their hands and smiled at them gently, whispered words of assurance and prepared myself for the long journey to my new home.

I had soon found out he was a cold quiet man, rough and unhappy. Most of the time he wouldn’t address me with much more than grumbling complaints, cross when I tried to speak to him, when I asked him questions or requested something to be bought, turning away from me and rather spending time tending to his house and to his animals.

I was suddenly confined to a few rooms within an unwelcoming dark house, knitting or sewing or cooking, trying to lose myself in the mindless tasks of caring for a man and a household instead of dwelling on the growing despair in the pit of my stomach. Since then the situation between us has considerably worsened, but I found that the angrier he grew with me, the less he wanted to see me and the more he avoided me, which had begun to bring me relief. I was lonely and I did feel abandoned, but it was better than surviving in the same room as him.

I had gotten used to the air of gloom hanging over this dwelling.

My hand reached over for another carrot and found none, and I startled myself out of reminiscing. The vegetables were cut and the stew was boiling vigorously, so I busied myself with finishing. The sounds of chopping wood have ceased and I could no longer hear any traces of my husband’s presence.

Curious, I opened the door and peeked outside. The bitter coldness of the air immediately bit into my face and I shuddered, my body shocked by the sudden freezing temperatures when it was so warm from the kitchen fire. Looking over the yard, I didn’t see the hulking form of the man I’d come to live with, but I did see his fresh footprints in the snow leading towards the pig sty. Satisfied I walked back in and closed the door again. Rubbing my hands on my arms and cheeks I hurried back to the pot to warm up.

Soon the sun would go down and night would fall, so he was tending to the pigs for the last time tonight, making sure they had everything, which gave me a little more time to finish up dinner.

Some maybe half hour later the door finally opened roughly and he made his way in wordlessly. There were wet footprints on the floor left behind and a puddle was slowly gathering as melted snow dripped from his coat. I bit my tongue and said nothing, just pulled out the table and started setting it for dinner.

No words were traded and yet the atmosphere chilled considerably, the mood dropping low along with the sun on the horizon. We sat down, we ate in silence. Once he was done, he again got up, put a fresh coat on and was out of the door before I could even wish him a good night.

I used to ask where he was going, but there was no longer any need for that. He spent his evenings and nights in the same place every day, it was a habit that must have started a little before our betrothal. He had found himself some new friends from the town, friends that very happily spent most of their time playing cards, smoking opium, drinking and crawling from brothel to brothel.

Around the time of our wedding, he only joined them a few nights of the week and usually came back in the middle of the night. Back then I saw it as a problem and oftentimes tried to dissuade him from throwing away money this way. His family lost all they had because their young lord lived this exact lifestyle, it was foolish for him to fall down the same trap, but it was a frequent cause of arguments between us and the more I pushed for him to not go out and spend so much money, the more he wanted to. Gradually he went more often, came back later, until I had started waking up to an untouched, unslept in bed.

But I do have to admit that nowadays I saw it more as a relief that he never spent his nights home, even if that meant our already hard-to-come-by money was being thrown out the window like it was nothing. I’d come to prefer spending time alone.

I cleaned up after dinner and started preparing myself for bed. The ritual of changing clothes, brushing out my hair and smoothing out the bedding on the mats was helping me calm down every evening, but tonight I couldn’t find rest for some reason. While I sat on the floor and carefully brushed my hair, the house felt chillier than usual and I kept hearing soft creaks from the outside as if someone was walking around on the porch. It’s just the wind and the frost, it must be.

Unsettled I lost the battle with myself and went to look out into the yard. The moment I got near the door, suddenly a gust of chilling wind bust the door open and I screamed with shock, covering my naked arms to shield them from the frost. Immediately I jumped towards the door to close it back up, not before looking out into the yard and the forest beyond the walls of our house. There was a full moon hanging over us in the night sky and its light allowed me to see everything with startling ease, casting an eerie silver glow over the murmuring trees. I quickly shut the door and sat back down to help my heart calm down, as it was beating so hard I feared it might tear right out of my ribcage.

After I laid down, it took me a long moment to settle down enough for sleep to start licking at my consciousness. I kept startling myself with every crack and every hum of the wind outside and the fright from before still coursed through my veins, making me shiver and trying to persuade me there was something wicked hiding behind the darkness, lurking in every corner and waiting for an unguarded moment.

But somewhere along the way I did nod off and when I woke up in the morning, I was certain the strong arms that at some point found their way around my waist and pulled me into a warm wide chest were nothing more than a dream. An embarrassing dream that just spoke of my sombre solitude.

In the first months of our marriage, much to my chagrin, Minhwan practiced his marital rights almost nightly. Some nights he would return late from his outings with friends and immediately roll over on me and demand I submit. I did of course, it was expected of me and I was well aware of that. I had been taught that.

But over the course of several months, the frequency of such encounters lessened as I wasn’t getting pregnant, until we no longer even spoke to each other and his side of the bed became permanently unoccupied.

Of course, there was a simple, and really the only, reason for my introduction into this family – a child. A son. That was the end-goal of this union and the purpose for my existence in their eyes. After I had failed to fall pregnant despite months of effort, the man I married who already wasn’t very kind to me slowly turned into someone crueller, angrier. I could see the frustration taking over him until he completely lost himself in the rage at my uselessness.

He couldn’t divorce me, even though my inability to bear him an heir would be a legitimate reason. His family was already teetering on the edge of respectability, and this would make them the laughing stock of the town, since they definitely wouldn’t be able to find him another bride. That was because of the other issue. Money. They bought me with what last they had left and if divorced they would not only lose my father’s protection and financial help, but also wouldn’t be able to scrounge up enough money to buy another woman, if they even found one that was willing.

Minhwan knew that, knew that he couldn’t get rid of me, and even though his status would allow him to take a second wife or even a concubine, he couldn’t afford them. What little he had he gambled away and spent on girls in the red district; and not much was left for actually running the household and keeping us alive. No self-respecting family would let their daughter enter a family like that and women who were after money and status wouldn’t find anything here. And if he had an illegitimate son from a kisaeng, he could hardly bring it here and claim him as an heir, his father would never let him disgrace the bloodline like that.

Thus in his eyes I was worse than useless. I was his doom, a wasted effort that only pushed him further down and he no doubt felt that the best thing I could do for him was to die, so he could remarry. That’s why I preferred when he didn’t return home for the nights. Living alongside such pure hatred was draining.

When I was sitting by the mirror in the morning, I had just heard him return home. I opened the door a crack and peeked outside, just catching his eye as he was changing into fresher clothes. He held the contact for a few beats of my wild heart and then looked away.

“Breakfast?” he asked gruffly, not even forming a full sentence, while still looking away from me. I followed his gaze and found it stuck to the door leading into kitchen. I sighed quietly, making sure he couldn’t hear me lest he gets angry with my insolence.

“I will prepare it in a second,” was my short answer. He wasn’t interested in hearing anything more, the less I said the better. Thus my morning routine had to be cut short. Walking past him, I was suddenly bombarded with the smell of smoke, stale alcohol and cheap perfume and powder. The stench was a bit too strong for my queasy morning stomach and I felt it roll a few times, threatening to spill even though it was empty. I subtly covered my nose and busied myself into the kitchen smelling pleasantly of food and spices. This room has become my refuge. I knew he wouldn’t overstep here, this was my domain and I felt at least a semblance of power in here.

As distracted as I was, I kept finding my tools in places where I didn’t leave them in. I would turn around and suddenly my spoon would be laying two paces further into the room then I remembered leaving it. I told myself I was just tired, I was feeling unnerved by my husband’s hulking presence on the doorstep of the room, watching me prepare porridge as if fearing I’d poison him if he’d look away for a moment, I was still flustered by my dreams and nervous from the scare the night before. Surely it was that.

That day I spent mostly inside, sitting by a dying fire trying to mend broken and torn clothes, worn thin by hard labour and years of wear, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unsettlement that has been plaguing me since yesterday’s evening.

By the time the night fell and Minhwan left again, I found myself quite anxious to be left alone in the cold house, still feeling like a presence was glued to my side, invisible and watching me, but every time I would look over my shoulder, I’d find an empty room. Before settling down to sleep, I walked out and checked the courtyard again, and just like the previous evening, it was illuminated by a silver light so brightly it was almost shocking.

I looked to the sky and was stunned by the giant full moon hanging over my head. The night was calm, much calmer then yesterday, no wind shaking the trees and the only sound was the distant cawing of a bird. The white snow reflected the night sky and blinded me, but not enough to not notice the stark contrast of pitch black footsteps disrupting the otherwise clean coat over the ground. I could see their path clearly, leaving the house and disappearing behind the gate, and they filled me with gentle sadness. With my mind off of the ghost of a feeling that’s been following me the whole day, I made my way back inside to sleep. But I wasn’t prepared for what the night had prepared for me.

As soon as I closed my eyes and started drifting off, I felt the mat and bedding shifting as another body laid down next to me. I had fully accepted it, not questioning the arms making their way around my waist and pulling me into a warm hug. It felt as a very clear dream, and I found myself fighting to open my eyes to see, but instead chose to sink into the comfortable atmosphere. There was a hum behind me, but the voice was so deep and pressed so close to me it almost felt like a purr. Non-consciously I answered with my own, drifting with the current. I fooled myself into this, so desperately needing to feel a nice touch that I didn’t even want to think about why somewhere deep down I felt alarmed and unsettled at the situation. I buried that away and let the hands run along my sides, basked in the quiet humming somewhere right behind my ear and the warmth it filled me with.

When I woke up in the morning, it was to the sound of a door slamming open and heavy steps and sighs. I was confused for a few moments, subconsciously searching for the comfort I had felt in my sleep, only to be hit with a wave of embarrassment and mortification. I had been dreaming again, imagining inappropriately a stranger’s presence in my bed, hoping for a touch and comfort of man’s hands.

I felt the blush spill over my face just as the door to the bedroom flew open and my husband found my gaze. I saw suspicion in his eyes, most probably not used to seeing me in such a flustered state and questioning what could stand behind it. His eyes shifted subtly over the room as if looking for a hidden lover and in my mind I chuckled. He dragged me away into the woods, and living in the middle of nowhere and not allowed to leave the house without him or an attendant I couldn’t afford, how could I have possibly found a lover? No one came here and I went nowhere, the only company I knew was the animals and a warm fire, a needle and a thread and worn books, I couldn’t take the same liberties he has been taking for a better part of our marriage.

When Minhwan made sure I was completely alone, just as he left me, he looked back to me and asked for breakfast. That broke the strange silence and I was thrown right back into the routine of my normal days.

Over the following few nights, the dream kept coming back to me, but every time the unknown man in my fantasy went a little further. More often than not I found myself waking up with a start, blushing red from head to toe at the daring hands that kept straying more and more south, embarrassed with myself but also not wanting them to stop before I had the chance to experience whatever my subconscious wanted to grant me.

At first, his hands would only lightly caress along my side, as if trying to console me and help me sleep peacefully, while he hummed along some kind of a lullaby behind me. Everything always felt pleasantly fuzzy and I’d come to think of him as my dream guardian. My days, in comparison, felt dull and sad, and I’d found some sort of peace in these dreams.

But soon, the direction started to change. The hands strayed lower onto my thighs, grabbing the flesh lightly and teasingly, or going over my stomach until they were right under where my breasts were. I could feel him pressed closer to me too, his front moulded around my back, shoulders caging me in, the sweet humming slowly turning into something more akin to satisfied purring, causing me to flush red and a rush of excitement to flow through my veins. He always laid behind me and his existence felt like half here half not, but the closer he pushed himself, the more solid his presence was, the warmer I felt in the embrace and the more flustered I woke up.

Clearly, I hadn’t been taking proper care of my body and it was screaming for some sort of attention, there was no other explanation for these embarrassing dreams. The shame I felt from such urges surfacing in this manner was overshadowed only by the pressing loneliness, and I kept telling myself that even if I am a married, proper woman, dreams are dreams, and indulging in them a little wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? So, I let myself slip into sweet sleep every night, anticipating where my mind would take me.

During the day the little slip ups would continue. I would misplace things, find them in completely different places then I’d left them before. Sometimes it felt as if I was losing my mind, that the combination of the strange dreams and my sudden scatteredness meant I was finally feeling the effects of the situation I’d find myself in. But I could swear sometimes I would catch a glimpse of shadow or hear a gust of wind that sounded suspiciously like a laugh when I couldn’t find something. It made me feel even more insane.

The moment I realised what was truly happening came a few days later. Even though I was a little unsettled, I’d grown accustomed to the dreams and I treated them as my little escape, no matter whether I should have been concerned or not. I felt comfort from them and they felt like a dirty secret of mine, something I shouldn’t have been doing but it felt so nice I couldn’t stop myself. My husband spent all his nights god knows where doing god knows what with god knows who, I could allow myself this little thing.

Usually, I would sleep through the night without a problem and in the morning I’d be woken up by Minhwan coming back home and barging into the bedroom to ask for a breakfast, but that night for some reason I was shaken out of my sleep somewhere in the dark hours of the early morning. There was some noise outside, something that sounded like a wolf howl, and it was so close I was almost afraid to check the yard in case there was a wild animal there, but I had to go see whether the rabbits and chickens we were keeping were peaceful, just to be sure.

I moved to get out of the bed, but found an arm around my waist pinning me to another body and keeping me in place. My first instinct was to panic, but quickly that was overridden by utter bottomless embarrassment. What if Minhwan has been returning home earlier than I thought and this whole time my mind only substituted some unknown man in the place of my husband as I was falling asleep? Had I been embarrassing myself in front of him the whole time, dreaming about such immoral things and imagining a stranger’s embrace? But he had never touched me like this, and even when we shared a bed at the beginning of our marriage, he never showed the habit of hugging something while sleeping. He always kept himself to his side and never touched me unless completely necessary, even during marital activities. I couldn’t imagine him slipping quietly into bed in the middle of the night and embracing me so tenderly.

Complicated emotions flooded me, not knowing what to make of this, but in a moment of weakness I fooled myself into thinking this could maybe be a beginning of a better marriage. That was shattered the moment I reached back to gently pat at his thigh to wake him up to go check on the animals. There was some shuffling, the arm tightened around my mid and suddenly I could feel him nosing at the crook of my neck, laying a single long wet kiss there. I froze and flushed, completely flustered and even more confused by the situation. Then he chuckled and ice cold flooded my veins. I felt myself freeze in place, terror keeping me so still I barely even breathed. That wasn’t my husband’s voice. It was deep and velvety, rich like the dark chocolate I’d once gotten the chance to try in the city, completely different from Minhwan’s quiet rough commands.

Fear was making it hard to think, but I knew he realised I was awake based on how stiff I’d gotten, I could hear him quietly breathing and waiting for my reaction. There was certain amusement to him, I didn’t know how I felt it, but somehow I just did, something about him gave off excited anticipation and I imagined a sly smirk stretching his lips as he laid there. Then suddenly as if everything caught up to me, I felt my body jumping into motion, tearing his arm away and flying out of the bed. I grabbed the first thing I could see, which were my shoes, and turned around to try my best in defending myself against this stranger that’s apparently been sneaking into my bed deep into the night.

But the moment my eyes fell on the bed, it was empty. No sign of anyone being there. Frightened out of my mind, I searched the room with my eyes, but it was mostly bare and there wasn’t a place that could hide a man. I knew he was bigger than me, I’d felt him behind me and I was sure he couldn’t have been hiding in the sorry state my bedroom was.

For a moment I just stood there and processed before my knees gave up on me and I slid down to the floor, shoes still tightly clutched in my hands, heart beating out of my chest. I wasn’t going insane. My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. There was something not human in my bed.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night sitting on the bed leaning on the wall and watching the room. My eyes frantically jumped to any movement, even the tiniest flickers of shadows would make my hands twitch, fingers tightening around my slippers, ready to jump out and fight for my life. But nothing happened. The only sounds I could hear were coming from the wind tearing into the walls of the house and messing with the trees and branches outside, and at some point the room was so still I almost felt as if I fell through the cracks into a painting and was now stuck inside.

Thus I had hours to sit there and stew in my fear and humiliation. Whatever the being was, it must have had nefarious intentions, why else would he sneak in like that and make my dreams turn to such depravity? And here I was, fooling myself into thinking it was okay to feel such cravings and giving into them, anticipating them and with bated breath hoping maybe the next night the dream lover will finally cave and touch me in a way I’d barely ever felt in my life. Instead I almost gave myself over to a demon, let him have my body and feed off of my energy, damn my soul and prove that I truly was cursed.

I also had a lot of time to think of my next steps. But what could I really do? I could never tell Minhwan and ask for his help, he’d chase me out as an impure woman. Once I’d tell him the nature of the encounters, he’d accuse me of adultery and use it as an opportunity to get rid of me. If I was returned to my father in such a manner, death would be more welcoming than facing his rage and humiliating the family. Telling him would do more harm than good.

I could buy myself talismans and hide them around the house, but there were many, each of them used for a different ailment. I’d have to visit the village shaman and pay her to exorcise me and our home. I’d have to explain to her the troubles I’ve been having so she could paint me appropriate protective talismans. It was obvious that the being must have been a demon of lust and once I admitted that, the delicious gossip would no doubt spread and I would be as good as dead.

No, I couldn’t tell anyone what was happening. I had to chase him out myself, no matter what it took. Come morning, I was completely exhausted but determined to deal with the situation myself.

When Minhwan barged into the house, pale in complexion and with dark bags under his eyes, I was already preparing the breakfast on the small table, looking similarly dead on my feet. The man’s eyes flitted over me, but he didn’t seem to take notice od my state and only grunted, pleased at not having to wait for food or scream for me to leave the bed.

I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t even notice when he left for the yard, didn’t even have time to process the usual air of coldness and disinterest he brought with him, as I was too preoccupied thinking of the unwelcome guest. The little tricks with misplacing things must have also been him. I felt rage lick at the edge of my mind, suddenly making itself known in such an intensity I surprised myself. I’d fully start to believe I was no longer capable of feeling such strong emotions, but here I was. Thinking of million ways to get back at someone who’s been making a fool of me for his own entertainment for the past weeks.

The next few days were suspiciously uneventful. No more visits, no more “dreams”, even all my tools stayed suspiciously still and didn’t suddenly appear at places they weren’t supposed to be, but I wasn’t a fool. I knew he wouldn’t give up so easily, not to mention I still couldn’t get rid of the feeling of being watched or messed with.

And slowly he had begun giving me subtle hints he was still as present as ever. The books that were put in order, the robe that was waiting for me on by the partition one evening, water refilled in a cup I knew I’d finished. He suddenly switched to being helpful instead of messing with me, but I knew it was all just entertainment to him.

One of the bigger ones was some days later in the evening. I’d taken to walking around the veranda checking on the yard and the forest outside of the yard walls. As usual, there were footsteps in the snow, my husband left them there every night when he left, but that evening there was something different about them. I frowned, trying to discern what about them caught my attention. I leaned over the railing to inspect them closer with a sense of foreboding looming over my head like a silent monument. The moment I realised what it was I gasped and dread and anticipation filled me. The footsteps, they didn’t lead from the house. They led towards the main entrance.

This must be it, I thought to myself. This must be the night.

When I walked back inside, I lingered around each room a little, watching the surroundings like a hawk and expecting him to jump out at me from every corner and every shadow. But the house was still and silent, not even any sounds from outside creeping in. I slowly walked towards the bedroom and found it empty and in the same state as I’d left it. I made it through my little nightly ritual without a hitch, but anxious and expecting something to happen any moment. It didn’t. Lying down in bed, I continued sharply watching the room, but to no avail. Even though I could basically taste the anticipation in the still air of the room, and knew the demon was most definitely watching me back, he didn’t make any move. I fell asleep suddenly, without realising I was even teetering on the edge and when I woke up, I wasn’t sure whether the fingers I felt gently carding through my hair just as I succumbed to sleep were my imagination or not.

He didn’t return abruptly, instead he slowly built it up, as if testing how far I’d let this go. Sometimes he would hand me things when cooking or I would be looking for something only to find it gingerly sitting on the table a few hours later, as if suddenly becoming helpful would make me more accepting of whatever his end goal was and I would let him return like nothing happened.

The problem began when he started leaving flowers for me. The gentle quivering of my heart when I saw a beautiful little flower in bloom laying by my bedside was alarming to me, and I didn’t want such a confusing feeling to enter my life. But I couldn’t help myself.

Without thinking I picked it up and brought it to my nose. It smelled sweetly, almost too ripe, the scent permeating the air and everything around it, making me slightly dizzy. I couldn’t remember when was the last time I received a flower like this, maybe when my little brother was still a child and brought it for me from playing in the fields. Our father scolded him then, for running around with other boys instead of studying, but after that whenever either of us saw the little white blossom, we would giggle at each other, sharing smiles like tiny secrets.

I was startled by a tear sliding down my cheek at the memory, the sudden reminiscing of my family, of the one person I was truly close to before he joined the military and went to Hanyang. He was to be married soon too, already at that age when the promises turn to actions and I couldn’t wait for the spring to come so I could travel for his wedding. I’d met the girl before, she was a shy quiet daughter of a smaller aristocratic family who just recently got their title for their merits. I quite liked her, even if I didn’t get much time with her before leaving.

He was the one person in our family who had a chance of a happy marriage, I hoped he would. No matter what our father tried to create out of him, he was a sensitive boy, full of mischief and laughs. I so desperately wanted his life to turn out better than mine did. Or that his marriage wouldn’t end up like our eldest brother’s did. He had married first, when we still scrounged for money, I remembered going to his wedding as a young maiden and being swept away in the celebrations, wishing for my own wedding with red blushing cheeks as young girls did. His wife was a practical woman, strong and resolute, but kind. They never had much affections between them, but they had an understanding and their marriage functioned well. I believed my brother respected her as a husband should his wife, but I was wrong.

After our title was restored, our father started pushing my brother to divorce her so he could marry a lady from an aristocratic family, but he couldn’t do that. She had given him children and wasn’t causing him any troubles, so a divorce wouldn’t be allowed. So my brother did the next best thing. He married a woman of a high standing and made her his main wife, pushing the first wife into a secondary position in the family and robbing her children of their inheritance of the title. Since then she became quiet and withdrawn, no longer she was allowed to make any decisions and lived only to serve a man that didn’t even look her way anymore, couldn’t even explain to his firstborn son that he no longer would inherit his estate and left her to pick up the ashes and survive such disgrace.

It was terrifying when it happened. While she never showed much gentleness, she always smiled at the children and sometimes would sneak me sweets like I was one of her own, even when I was the second oldest child of the family. My heart bled for her, and I started to fear my own marriage, knowing I would never get any aristocrat’s respect due to our family history. At that time, I had no idea that what would happen to me would be even worse.

I was startled by a sudden touch on my cheek, a finger wiping away the few stray tears falling down while I sat on the ground and stared at the pretty flower. I gasped and tried to flinch away, but another arm snaked around my waist and I could feel his head leaning on my shoulder. He sat behind me once again, like always, holding me as if he didn’t want me to see him.

“Shhhhhh…,” came his deep honeyed voice, whispering in such a gentle way that I could feel a wave of goosebumps hitting me, “I didn’t know it would make you cry.” Against my better judgment, I could feel my body relaxing into his embrace and a few more tears slipping out. He rocked us from side to side, trying to console me, but it was like my dams broke and soon I was sobbing in his arms, pushing my face into his shoulder and clutching the single blossom in my shaky hands.

I couldn’t say when the last time I was held so tenderly by someone was, but it must have been when I was a child still, begging for my mother’s touch any time something happened. I was warm, wrapped into him, and soft. There was a hand in my hair, carding through the locks and caressing me like a lover would. I couldn’t stop the stream of tears and emotions and I felt ashamed and scared. I couldn’t trust him, and it hurt because no one’s ever treated me so softly, but I knew. Knew it might be just a way to get closer to me. So I decided to allow myself this just for a moment.

I let him hold me, listened to him hum some kind of a song I didn’t recognise, let him lull me into a half-asleep state until I was draped over him, boneless and numb. His hands never strayed like before and he seemed to be genuinely trying to console me. In my mind I scolded myself, believed myself pathetic for falling for such tricks and for being so desperate I would let a demon embrace me just to feel some warmth, but outwardly I didn’t let anything show. I was too drained for that.

When I quieted down and just limply hung off of his frame, he must have decided it was time to sleep. He grabbed me and carried me onto the bedding, making sure my head was pushed into his shoulder so I couldn’t look at his face. I found it strange, but had no energy to ask him anything, just letting him manoeuvre us around until we were lying just like we used to before I caught him, on our side with him behind me. Sleep came and claimed me suddenly and out of nowhere, but I found myself strangely comfortable.

When I awoke in the morning, the house was silent and the bed was empty, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Would I have confronted him and demanded answers? Or did I allow myself to be vulnerable around someone that wished for my downfall and now I found myself inappropriately attached? One thing I knew for sure was that I didn’t like thinking about it, and so I got up and went about my day as if nothing had happened. I did find myself wondering what happened to the flower, as it was nowhere to be found, wondering whether it even was real or if I hallucinated it. But after that night, a fresh blossom was waiting by my bedside every evening, leaving me full of complicated confusing emotions. No sight of my demon, though.

“Do you want that?” a gruff voice by my shoulder growled and I barely stopped myself from scowling. The hairpin I had been staring at was suddenly plucked from the table by the eager merchant who understood that question as my husband’s intention to buy it for me. The older man pushed it towards me and started reciting all the reasons why such a lady like me absolutely had to have such a decoration, hoping to pitch it to a loving husband doting on his wife. Unfortunately, his guess was completely wrong.

“How much is it?” I asked towards the merchant, who seemed confused by me talking to him while Minhwan stared daggers into my back. His eyes flitted between us, awkward silence taking over for a few seconds before he stuttered out the price, looking at no one in particular. I went to fish out the amount from my purse, but my hand was stopped by another much bigger and rougher one.

“You don’t need it,” Minhwan said resolutely, voice leaving no space for discussion, “Don’t waste money on useless things.” I gritted my teeth, minutely losing control of my expression as rage swept through me at his statement, but as soon as I saw my husband’s eyes narrow in warning, I schooled myself and pulled from the stall.

“Of course,” I answered with false demureness, shooting the merchant an apologetic smile before ducking my head down and following after Minhwan through the market like the picture of the perfect wife. We walked around for some time, from stall to stall, haggling for vegetables and tools, whatever was needed around the house. Minhwan didn’t like it when I spoke to the vendors, he had me trailing behind him with a veil on or my head demurely ducked down like an obedient wife, and I was to speak only when he asked me something. Thus I spent most of the time in the market saying only “yes, we need it” or “no, I think we still have enough”. I hated it, but there was nothing that could be done.

The ride back to the house was also incredibly tense. I could still feel my husband’s rage at my earlier behaviour and knew that the moment we walk back through the gates of our farm, he’ll have some things to say. So I sighed and waited for the endless journey to finally reach its final destination.

To my shock and unease, nothing came when we walked back into the house, supplies in hands and struggling to pull the baskets through the door. Silence was all that greeted me. Minhwan helped me pull things into the kitchen and then with one last burning hateful stare he walked across the house. I watched him rummage through a chest, pulling out his only other jungchimak he usually wore when outing with his friends. It was the better one, in deep indigo colour, that made him look like a young affluent yangban. I snickered behind my hand and pretended to sort through the different bags and baskets we brought back.

When Minhwan was done changing, he charged out of the door without even a second glance. I looked out of the kitchen door facing into the yard and watched him until the gate slammed shut behind him, then I returned to the task at hand with a sigh. He didn’t do this often, but sometimes when I would make him angry, he just left. Without a word. He likely wouldn’t return until late noon tomorrow morning.

I’d long since given up on trying to stop him when the sun was still high up in the sky, he would still leave, just significantly angrier, which would result in him throwing out more money, so it was better to not get in his way when he wanted to drink, smoke and fuck his frustration away god knows where with the other young men.

I busied myself cleaning around the house and caring for the animals, finishing the work he had left. I found myself gritting my teeth in anger and annoyance as I chopped the firewood, wildly swinging the axe around and taking it out on the logs. When the time to go to sleep came, I was drained, both emotionally and physically, too strung out and tensed to even enjoy my nighttime routine like I usually did.

When I turned to the bed, a single hairpin was lying on the bedding. A beautiful, red, lacquered hairpin with a carving of a flower and a single red gem in the centre. The one I’d been looking at while we were in the town and almost bought to spite Minhwan. A mix of emotions overtook me, the most prominent one being sudden anger. My heart stuttered under the weight of it, the frustration of the day and the past weeks bursting through me in one big eruption.

Our uninvited guest was keeping himself surprisingly scarce after that night I had cried, but kept bringing me flowers. I accepted them with complicated feelings, but I had convinced myself into believing that since they’re already here, since they already have been plucked, it would be cruel of me to not accept them. So, night after night I tucked them away so Minhwan could never find them. I didn’t even know where the demon was getting them, since we were in the middle of a tough winter, but after all, I should care for them all the more, right?

But the hairpin was a step too far. I did not need to be reminded of my shameful behaviour and of the fact that my husband felt it appropriate to blow all his money away but couldn’t spare a single silver to let me buy a hairpin, and definitely not in such a way.

“Okay, come out,” I spoke loudly into the empty room, “We need to talk. This can’t keep happening.” I looked around, but everything stayed silent and still. Then, a soft voice rang out.

“Close your eyes.”

I stood up and crossed my arms defensively, spinning around to try and catch a glimpse of the being.

“Why?” I asked gruffly, speaking to an empty bedroom like a lunatic, “Why do you not want me to see you?”

“I can’t let you see me until you truly want to,” the answer came, the voice just as melodic and soft as it was before, as it was always, and I involuntarily shuddered.

“I do want to see you, right now,” I replied, ticked off. He just wanted to have the upper hand and not face me head on, I was sure of that. There was silence again, seemingly even the wind outside the door quieting down to listen to us, the room unnaturally still.

“You want to scold me,” he answered petulantly after a moment, sounding more like a child. I could hear the pout on his lips, the childlike upset of doing something wrong and not understanding why. My resolve softened a little, but I pulled myself together, determined not to let the demon play me like that. I couldn’t keep letting him get away with everything.

“So you know,” I stated, the anger seeping back into my voice, “You cannot keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” I could hear genuine curiosity in his question, one that filled me with exasperation.

I gestured to the hairpin wildly. “This!” I exclaimed loudly, “The leaving of gifts, the creeping around, nothing of it. Leave while I’m still asking nicely.” Even as the words left my mouth, they felt like an empty threat. What could I possibly do against him? I’d let him go this far, what could I do to stop him now? But he completely ignored the second part and focused solely on the gifts.

“Do you not like them?” there was slight dejection present in his voice, like he didn’t understand why it was such a problem, “I thought you did. You never threw them out.” I cursed my soft heart. I should have never let him get away with bringing me flowers, I shouldn’t have let him get to me like that. I should have been resolute and told him to leave right then, not let him coddle me and embrace me when I felt sad.

I hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to answer. I found myself not wanting to upset him by saying no, falling victim to his sweet demeanour. Again. I groaned with frustration and hit my forehead with my palm.

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” I started a little softer than before, “It’s just embarrassing.”

“Why?” I groaned again. Good lord, this was going to take a while.

“Because…” I stuttered for a moment, the vulnerability of words on my tongue shocking me, “It feels humiliating. My own husband wouldn’t buy it for me and it feels like an insult for a demon to do that.” There was a beat of silence, in which I almost managed to persuade myself that there was never anyone there and I had been talking to myself the whole time, but then he spoke again.

“I didn’t mean to humiliate you,” his voice was quiet, contemplative, “I wanted to make you happy.” That shocked me enough to have me stutter over a few breaths, wildly looking around the room with wide eyes. “W-why?” I managed to squeak out, flabbergasted at such admission.

“It felt like you needed it,” came his simple reply, as if talking about the weather. That statement drained the whole fight out of me, leaving me standing there unsure and confused, filled with shame and wonder at the simplicity of it all.

“What?” I whispered, not really looking for an answer, just voicing out my inner turmoil.

“It felt like you needed it,” he replied a little louder, “You were always so sad. I didn’t like it. You shouldn’t be so sad.” It was such a simple statement and yet it pulled down the walls of my heart and made it flutter. I chided myself for being so easy to fool with a few sweet words, but I couldn’t stop the lightness taking over my heart, the relief bleeding into my every pore.

Someone saw my suffering, I thought to myself. Someone noticed my pain.

“What are you?” I whispered the question into the empty house, but no man stepped out into the light, no shadow moved. He was silent for a moment and then said: “Close your eyes.” And this time I did.

The moment my lids fluttered closed, I could hear slight shuffling of clothing behind me and light footsteps. On instinct I went to turn around, but a hand suddenly tightly covered my eyes, startling me slightly. I jumped a little, pushing myself back straight into his chest, which embarrassingly enough was a position I’d gotten used to over the past weeks. Then a silken ribbon touched my cheek and the hand moved quickly to tie it over my eyes.

“So you don’t try to cut this meeting short,” he explained lightly, voice full of amusement.

“But I do want to see you, is it not enough that I no longer wish to scold you?” I asked, confused by the strange rules.

“You need to desire to see me, truly, with your soul,” he said lowly, voice deepening into the honeyed register I was used to hearing from him and I shuddered lightly, feeling the words trickle down my skin and bite into my very being.

“S-so I can only see you when I want t-to-“ I couldn’t bring myself to finish that thought, the sinful image burning into my brain making me stutter and blush so fiercely I felt as if I burst into flames. I ducked my head, but his chuckle followed me, melting over me. There was no longer any amusement in his voice, now there was something darker and heavier, threatening to consume me from the inside out.

“Smart girl,” he whispered and I couldn’t help the wave of goosebumps that hit my skin when I felt his breath on my ear and neck. The sudden turn from his earlier more innocent voice and words left me confused and flabbergasted, blushing at his newfound confidence. I felt him lean closer into me, nose almost touching the crook of my neck, only to whisper: “Time to sleep.”

Before I could react, he swooped me into his arms and I yelped in surprise, before hiding my face in my hands in embarrassment. He carried me to the bed and very gently laid me there, his hands smoothing down my nightgown and pulling the blanket over us. My face burned, but I stayed silent and let him happily chirp behind me as he pulled me closer to his chest and made himself comfortable.

It felt like years before I fell asleep. I just laid there, feeling his chest move and his breathing deepen until I was sure he was sleeping, but even then I didn’t reach back to untie the ribbon. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust his words. That’s how I finally got pulled under, with my heart trembling with careful hope.

Come morning, something new happened. When I woke up, his strong arms were still wrapped around me and as soon as I started wiggling in his grip, he woke up with a content groan and a big stretch, like a cat. I blushed again, which seemed to become more of a permanent thing in his presence. I went to call out to him to scold him, when I realised something. I didn’t know his name. I haven’t asked him for his name all this time.

“Good morning,” came his morning raspy voice, then he burrowed his face somewhere deeper into the bedding and my hair. The ribbon slipped during the night and with my movement it unravelled onto the pillow, making me freeze slightly. I reached for it, playing with it between my fingers a little, before I spoke to him too.

Good morning...” I trailed off uncertainly, not sure how to ask him his name, “d-demon?” I flushed in embarrassment. Truly perfect, why not just call him a pervert if I was going to be like that? Behind me, the man chuckled and wriggled a little, presumably to make himself more comfortable. I couldn’t believe I let myself lie with a man like that, but it was better to just not think about it.

“Taehyung would be a bit better, but I’ll take it,” he replied nonchalantly, but then suddenly stiffened. Before I could truly register his alarm, the entrance door slammed open and heavy footsteps made their way into the house. I panicked and flew out of the bed, but when I turned to warn Taehyung, I was met with an empty bed. The other half was even made as if nobody slept there.

Seconds later, the doors to the bedroom slid open and my disgruntled husband peeked in. His hair was a mess, his face taunt and white, bloodshot eyes adorned with dark circles underneath. He looked like death itself, the exhaustion seeping out of him in waves, but he still managed to scowl when he laid eyes on me still in my nightgown. I wondered what time it was, but concentrated on schooling my expression and not showing my flustered state, my heart still beating wildly in my chest. He regarded me with slight suspicion in his eyes, but ultimately decided not to comment on it.

“Make me a breakfast,” was all he said and then he disappeared into the house. I glanced at my little vanity sitting in a corner of the room and noticed the hairpin sitting gingerly right in the middle of it. I swiped it away quickly putting it with the flowers, and started getting ready for the day. But the thoughts of Taehyung and his words and behaviour wouldn’t leave me for the rest of the day, plaguing me when I was making breakfast, when I was cleaning up the melted snow Minhwan carried into the house on his shoes and clothes, and embarrassingly enough even when I went to wash up that evening, wondering whether he could see me now too.

The peak of the winter came and went, but the layer of snow stayed thick, blanketed over the world and painting it pure white. I had found myself much fonder of the quietness it brought, how it swallowed all sounds and created a bubble of calm over everything, especially when my husband was gone from the house, which has become more and more frequent. Lately he left earlier and came back later, turning more and more pale with every morning. He didn’t speak to me about what he did, he barely ever spoke at all, but the tension in his shoulders and the troubled angry expression that has made itself home on his face told me that he must have gotten himself into some big trouble. I found myself just as anxious, waiting for him to tell me we would be losing it all because he made a bet or let himself be swindled.

Taehyung, during that time, worked hard on trying to distract me, bringing me little gifts and messing about the house trying to help me. Anytime I would come across clothes that have been rearranged or things that have been cleaned up, but put into the wrong places, I would sigh and jokingly glare around the room, but I couldn’t stop the fluttering of my heart and the fondness that spread through me at hearing his disembodied giggles.

During these evenings he took to covering my mirror, sitting behind me and brushing my hair for me. We would spend this time in comfortable silence, resting against each other and enjoying the simple companionship. It was such an intimate act, like we were lovers taking care of each other, like husband and wife who love each other, I would find myself flustered and blushing, feeling like it was my wedding night all over again. It was such a strong contrast to how tensed and hostile the silence was when my husband was around, that I often shamefully dreamed and pretended that Taehyung was my spouse, that this was a part of our life and our routine. He would caress my hair, my sides, press soft kisses to my shoulders, play with my hands and my fingers, and when we retired for the night, he hugged me tightly, pressing himself into me and making me feel safe and secure.

The longer this went on, the more torn with fervent longing I was, wishing this was my life and not just pity that a passing demon took on me. I was choked up with emotions, the words “stay”, “show yourself to me”, “love me” always on the tip of my tongue, fighting to spill, chest heavy and full like I was about to burst. It hurt. I hurt. I wanted a life I couldn’t have; I wanted a man that would take my soul and leave once he’d gotten what he came for, and I hated myself for it and I hated my life.

Taehyung felt this in me, felt this shift from happiness back into tortured silence, I could feel it in his touch, in how gently his hands and fingers regarded me, how reverent his lips were on the skin of my shoulders and neck, I felt it in his voice whispering praise to me. The desperation to make it all better, the frantic beating of his heart against my back because he feared he did something to upset me. No matter how much I wanted to ease him, the words would just not leave my mouth.

And my body, it betrayed me. It lit up with every touch, heat pumping through my veins with every brush of his lips, I could feel it swirling in my lower belly and oftentimes found myself hoping for his daring hands to explore as they had been doing back then before I caught him. But Taehyung stubbornly never strayed from the safe spots, never returned to his previous antics.

One night when he didn’t show up, I had a lot of time to think about where this was going and how I was dangerously teetering on the edge of improperness. When I sat alone by the bed and worried for him, called out to him and then promptly spiralled into believing he had grown tired of me, the feelings of pain and despair it filled me with shocked me. I missed him. I missed his touch, his presence, his voice. I didn’t want him to leave me. I’d grown attached to him, to a shadow that spoke to me and treated me with gentleness and kindness.

I wanted to see him. I looked at the ribbon lying on my vanity, the one he used every night to cover my eyes so I couldn’t swindle him and peek when he wasn’t paying attention. I wanted it gone.

I wanted. I longed. I needed.

Falling asleep that night was a challenge, I couldn’t find a comfortable position when I suddenly laid alone once again, too used to a warm comforting body behind me. And when tiredness finally overcame me, he visited me in my dreams, his bold hands exploring places that haven’t been tenderly touched before; drawing out sighs out of me, body trembling with unknown pleasure as his fingers dipped between my legs and leisurely moved in little circles over the bundle of nerves. My dream self was moaning and writhing in his arms, begging for him to never stop as the pleasure mounted until it burst out in a bolt of pure ecstasy. I jolted awake, breathing heavily and still shaking from the intense sensations. Startled I realised there was wetness coating my intimate parts and the top of my thighs, the sticky feeling making me blush in embarrassment. My whole body seemed to be tingling from this experience and I couldn’t calm myself down.

“Taehyung?” I called out carefully, checking that he wasn’t around to witness this. When no answer came and the man himself didn’t come out and shown himself, I quickly ran to the vanity to grab the first cloth I found and cleaned myself. My shaky hands couldn’t hold onto anything properly and I couldn’t get my breathing back under control, the experience leaving me full of confusing feelings, longing filled with arousal mixing with shame until I my head was spinning and my chest hurt. After that, I didn’t fall asleep again, instead I sat on the bed and tried to make sense of my own heart.

The only thing that saved me from getting suspicious stares from my husband was that he himself barely looked at me. But it felt different from his usual coldness, he looked haunted and worried, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to even realise anyone else was present. It made me anxious. Whatever he’d gotten himself into, it seemed bad and if it came to it, he’d drag me down with him. For the first time in so long I found myself wishing he’d just talk to me, tell me what was happening so I could stop drowning myself in worry. But I knew that if I had come to him and asked him, he would get angry. So I waited for my life to end with bated breath.

Taehyung returned after two days and acted as if he was never gone, as if he didn’t suddenly disappear without a word and left me spinning, thinking he’d never return. When I heard his voice ring out it the empty house for the first time in so long, I couldn’t stop the tears of relief and he spent the whole evening and night holding me and consoling me, whispering into my ear how he’d never leave again.

More than ever I realised the burning desire coursing through my veins whenever he touched me. I wanted him, like wife should want a husband, and it was getting harder to ignore the way my body responded to him. I wasn’t sure if Taehyung was aware of my plight, if he registered how I seemed to stiffen anytime he pushed me closer to himself, how I held my breath when his arms snaked around my waist, how I shuddered when his hands slipped through my hair when he tied the ribbon over my eyes. I didn’t know if he noticed, but if he did, he didn’t say or do anything. Sometimes he would get closer to me, nose at my neck or play with my ear and then he would suddenly stop, as if he remembered himself, and pull away. And I wanted to scream at him. To not go. To do more.

And the more the situation went south in my marriage, the more I realised that my heart has long since been stolen by a being I haven’t even seen, but whose actions spoke louder than thousand words.

And so I decided to take the situation into my own hands. Or, well, to put it into Taehyung’s hands.

Some nights I would dream about him, even when he laid behind me I just wouldn’t have enough. And in those dreams, he would do the things I desired from him. It felt like my dirty little secret, enjoying him in such way in the privacy of my own mind, but knowing he was there. That he could be witnessing me be improper, could be witnessing my needs resurfacing in this manner. He never showed it, but sometimes I wondered if he knew, if he was waiting to make a move. And it excited me even more. The tension kept thickening, and I boiled, I boiled until one day I just… burst.

I had woken up in the middle of the night, woken up by my own dream as usual, hot and breathless, but just short of release, pent up and frustrated and needy. Taehyung behind me stirred, but his breathing stayed deep and stable, arms minutely tightening before he relaxed again. I felt my wetness seeping down my thighs, squeezing them together on instinct to chase the pulsing and throbbing there, choking out a little whimper and squirming in my place.

That seemed to shake Taehyung out of his sleep, I could hear the shuffling of his clothes, his hand flexing on my belly. He raised his head and murmured something, but I couldn’t hear through the rushing of blood in my ears. I was so aroused my head was almost spinning, my mind zeroing only on getting back to the pleasure I had been feeling. I squirmed in his arms again and whined.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” came his quiet raspy voice by my ear and I could feel goosebumps breaking out over my arms. Without saying anything I reached for one of his hands and pulled it lower, until it laid over my thigh. There was silence behind me and neither of us moved for a moment.

“What?” he whispered again, confusion lacing his voice as he started caressing my thigh, thinking I just needed comfort, “Did you have a nightmare?” I shook my head, frustrated at myself for not being able to get the words out of my mouth, so instead I grabbed his hand again and this time I gently laid it over the very top of my thighs, the tips of his fingers just grazing my intimate area. Taehyung froze for a moment, and I held my breath, fearing his reaction.

But then he released a long breath and his hand moved, grabbing onto my nightgown and slowly pulling it up over my legs. “Are you being naughty?” he asked me playfully and I trembled with anticipation, the searing heat seemingly reaching a crescendo with the promise of his touch. The moment I felt him gently caressing up the naked skin of my thigh, I whimpered again and immediately lifted my leg to grant him access to where I wanted him the most.

Behind me, there was a chuckle, so deep and rumbly I felt it in my bones, satisfied and overjoyed with my eagerness. Taehyung nosed up my shoulder, until I could feel him laying searing wet kisses into the crook of my neck. His hand suddenly shot up back to my knee, grabbing it so he could hook it over his legs and keep me spread. I blushed, but another gush of wetness seeped onto the skin of my thighs at the prospect this finally happening.

“Want to have your pretty little cunt played with, hmm?” Taehyung whispered into my hair, the smirk evident in the smugness of his voice. This was his element, and I ducked my head into my arms, embarrassed by the words and the actions, embarrassed by my body screaming for him. He didn’t seem to need an answer, pleased with my shyness and with how my body responded for me, arching into his touch and begging for more. So he indulged, both himself and me.

His fingers descended between my legs suddenly, shocking a moan out of me as they glided through the wet folds until they settled over the little bundle of nerves. He touched me teasingly, circling it lightly, tapping and pressing on it and then sliding his fingers down to play with my entrance, as if testing how much I would be able to take.

I trembled whole, overflowing with relief, pleasure and burning need for more, spilling out of me on sighs and whimpers. I lost the control of my body as it swayed and arched, pushing into his elusive playful fingers. When my whines took on a more desperate tone, Taehyung finally seemed to be satisfied enough to stop teasing. He started playing me masterfully, fingers drawing tight quick circles on my clit, making me choke on my spit, brain not comprehending the sudden onslaught of sensations.

I found myself hurling towards that edge of ecstasy quicker than I’ve experienced before, my whole body singing under his touch, thrumming with the fulfilment of all the desires that had been piling up over the past weeks.

“Let go whenever you need to, don’t be afraid,” Taehyung whispered to me, voice low and aroused, and I arched with a silent scream as the release overtook me, bursting through my body in a single white flash. Taehyung carried me through it, fingers slowing down but never stopping, little quiet groans leaving him at seeing me blissed out. When the pleasure ebbed away gradually, I pushed his hand away with a quiet whine, feeling too much all at once.

He led me down from the high gently, hands running over my body, over my sides, his voice murmuring loving words into my ear, telling me how lovely I was, how well I did for him. I soaked it all up, preened under his care and attention and loved every moment of it, the fear and insecurity about his intentions taking the backseat for a few calming moments. My body thrummed with the after-shocks of my climax, and I pleasantly floated on the feelings of relief and release.

I was still catching up to my brain, when the words “I want to see you” tumbled out of my mouth. Taehyung’s hand stopped for a moment and then grabbed onto my arm gently. He hummed, non-committally, fingers suddenly teasing again as he lightly dragged them on my arm up and down.

“Do you really?” he whispered sensually, almost purring, and I gasped at the sensation. Before I could reply, he was suddenly gone. I heard him moving around in the room, the sound of his steps, his stable breathing and the light clanking of items as he moved them. I had no idea what he was doing, but when he was satisfied, he returned to me. Taehyung leaned down to me and grasped my arm, pulling me up to stand.

“Get on your feet, darling,” he told me sweetly, the sudden nickname making me blush as if we weren’t just wrapped in each other in such sinful ways. I stood, knees still a little shaky, but managed to hold my weight. I was a little achy, but it was a pleasant and boneless feeling, as if everything had been drained away and all that was left were soft sweet clouds.

Taehyung’s hands left me, and I could hear him stepping away, his heels hitting the wooden floor heavily. I held my breath in anticipation, my hands trembling, my body still confused from the screaming pleasure it was put through just moments ago.

Then, he spoke.

“You can pull the ribbon down.” His voice was smooth, kind and happy. My arms moved as if they had a mind of their own, lifting up to my head to grasp at the ends of the ribbon to pull. When it fell away, at first I was left blinded by the light for a moment. I blinked; eyes hurt from getting flashed with white after so long in the dark. I hurriedly wiped away the few stray tears and gently pressed on my eyelids to alleviate the pressure. When I opened them again, he stood in front of me.

He was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. I gasped as I took him in, the softness of him.

He had long black hair, half done up into a bun at the back of his head. He was dressed in a black cheollik with red hems and pulled together by a silk red string adorned with dark grey jade, and his underclothes were also in black. He was barefoot, standing on my cold wooden bedroom floor like he didn’t feel the chill at all, when I already started shivering in my thin night robes. My eyes shot back to his face. He was ethereally pretty, all sharp edges but still looking so soft and lovely it stole my breath away. Even though his eyes were shockingly blue, I could see the kindness in them, unlike his mouth that was pulled into a mischievous smirk. Just I as I imagined he so often had.

I could see he started nervously fiddling with his sleeves, face flashing with panic and unsureness. He stepped from foot to foot, looking at the ground bashfully, before looking back up at me with wide round eyes full of pure-hearted earnestness.

“What do you think?” he asked, as if I was looking at fruit at the market. He squirmed in his place again and I couldn’t bare to let him believe that I didn’t think he was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. In a few quick strides I crossed the room to him and threw myself into his arms. He caught me, as always, and I had begun believing he always would, and pressed me closer into him. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled him down by his neck and pressed our lips together.

Taehyung caught on quickly, wrapping his arms around me and taking charge, kissing me like a man starved, passionate and hungry and all-consuming, filling my head and my heart with him and only him. I dreaded my husband’s return, because it would mean my little fantasy dream life would dissolve and Taehyung would have to disappear again, but for now I focused on his mouth claiming mine with such fervour it left me breathless.

Seeing Taehyung made things both easier and more difficult. Nothing much changed between us, only now I saw him messing with my things and “helping out” around the house. I heard his endless giggles and sometimes would catch a glimpse of his figure before he disappeared into a different part of the house, and I always trailed behind him and looked for whatever it was he misplaced or swapped.

I found that even though he was visible to me most of the time, he still didn’t talk much, preferring to sit by me and watch me with fond eyes. He would silently take heavy things from my hands and carry them for me, only sending a playful grin my way, or push me away from the cutting board to prepare the ingredients himself with a simple quiet “let me help”. I liked it. Taehyung filled the space with his presence, with kind eyes and gentle laughs and comfortableness I haven’t felt with anyone else. Sometimes laughs would just bubble out of my throat at his antics or at his expressions and I stopped, surprised at my own ability to laugh. I was happy. I felt content.

I loved him, and I knew that. I wanted my life to be like this from now on until the end of time. More and more often I found myself thinking how married life wouldn’t be that bad if my husband was Taehyung, and I blushed at those thoughts, but couldn’t fully fight them away. I imagined him chopping the firewood in the yard (he already did that for me after he saw me with an axe one), taking care of the animals (it wasn’t unusual for him to feed the hens and the pigs after sundown, since Minhwan was already long gone around then) and then coming home to happily eat supper I worked so hard on (he loved my cooking and never failed to compliment me). I loved watching him walking around the farm as if it was him who owned it, him who married me. Him who loved me.

And during the nights… Taehyung was more than happy to dote on me, naughty hands suddenly insatiable once I showed interest, bringing me to the peak of pleasure every morning, wandering around my curves and gently squeezing and loving on every inch he could reach. I melted in his hands, my brain suddenly interested only in how to get him to please me again. But he never moved it further, no matter how much I gently probed, tried to touch him back or insinuated that I would like to do more, he always grasped my hands and pulled me into a tight hug until we ended up falling asleep.

I was confused. I wasn’t a virgin. I knew how it worked between men and women and I trusted him with my body and my pleasure, and I wanted to return it too, learn how to please him too, but he didn’t seem to want that to happen. He would always give me this unsure smile and then hold me all the tighter and I didn’t want to push him.

But while I found my domestic bliss in Taehyung’s presence, it was harshly brought down every time my husband returned home. Even though he’d become strangely withdrawn, he always seemed to fill the house with gloom and uncomfortable tension, choking every spare inch in despair. I was dancing on eggshells around him, trying my hardest not to draw his attention lest he redirects his ire to me.

This explosiveness was also new. He’d been angry at me before, but never like this, never with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands, spewing poison until I was trembling with fear and shame, and then walking out. He would scream at me for the food not being warm, about spilling something on the floor, about not cleaning proficiently enough, and I begun to dread his returns, because he would always smell of alcohol, opium and other vices, and immediately find something to vent on, only to become silent and absent the moment after.

I could see on Taehyung he was worried for me. I wasn’t a fool, I knew he was present and heard everything, I could feel it in his sad tender eyes, in his loving caresses and the little gifts he would leave me. I wanted to assure him that everything was okay, that this was just my life and I had to deal with that, that him being around the house was already making a dreadful reality all the more bearable, but sometimes he just zoned out and I saw the cogs turning in his head, trying to come up with a way to somehow deal with this. But there was nothing that could be done.

While Minhwan spiralled and came home looking worse and worse every day, Taehyung tried his best to raise me up and make me feel better. And I couldn’t be more grateful for that.

One afternoon we were enjoying a particular sunny day, the door to the kitchen cracked open to let in the crisp freezing air, but I couldn’t feel the chill, not with Taehyung plastered to my back. He hung off of me, hugging me and whining playfully, his hands ever so often straying to my thighs or breasts, trying to rile me up while I made broth. I would always slap them away, but I couldn’t hide the blush on my cheeks or the way my body started responding to him and demanding his attention lower.

I was playing with the idea of letting him pleasure me right in the kitchen in the middle of the day, when Taehyung behind me stiffened, arms tightening around me. At first I didn’t register it, but when the sound of snow crunching under someone’s shoes reached my ears, I panicked. Throwing the wooden spoon away I turned and pushed Taehyung away from me.

“Quick, disappear! Minhwan must have returned!” I whispered urgently, almost sobbing with frustration when the dark-haired man just continued standing there as we both listened to the footsteps getting closer. He was looking out the door, his face curious but impassive, as if he didn’t realise the impending doom.

“Taehyung!” I cried out desperately, pushing him away just as the doors slammed opened. I froze and turned to the door, while Taehyung’s arm snaked around my waist and pulled me into his chest. At first I recognised the gesture as protective, but then I realised it was too casual.

I forced myself to see through the panic and registered that in the door stood a complete stranger. He regarded us both with a bored expression, his eyes sliding down my panicked frozen face and then skipping to Taehyung, sneering lightly in a pretend angry manner.

“So this is where you spend your days, I haven’t seen you in forever,” he grumbled a touch whinily and made himself comfortable on one of the seating pillows in the corner. He had elegant gestures and moved about in a graceful manner, he was also dressed in expensive clothes, showing off to everyone his status as a son of a wealthy yangban family. His face was sharp and impassive, but I could see a strange spark of something in his feline eyes.

“Hyung,” Taehyung said cutely and pulled me towards the man in expensive robes, “this is Y/N.” I stared dumbly between the two men, flabbergasted at the situation I had suddenly found myself in. Hyung? Was this another demon?

The man in question nodded towards me, showing polite interest. He looked intimidating, but whenever his eyes jumped to Taehyung, there was softness in them, and his face would suddenly relax and look more human and boyish.

“This is one of my hyungs,” Taehyung said towards me and then leaned closer until he could whisper into my ear: “He’s a tiger spirit.” I gasped lightly and looked at the man. He gave me a goofy toothy grin, his posture loosening as he made himself more comfortable. I slipped into the hostess mode and started offering drinks and food and he indulged happily, even getting Taehyung to take a glass with him. I listened to their gentle teasing for a while, content with watching him be so happy and carefree.

“So if one wants to see your face around these parts, they have to come here, huh?” said the tiger with a little smirk and winked towards me. I giggled and added: “As long as my husband isn’t home.” I immediately blushed, but the feelings of shame I used to feel over this have ebbed away and now I could only feel a little twinge of it as a phantom pain, before I put it away and focused on the men in my presence.

“Oh, I know your husband very well,” the man said, his face turning into a mysterious sharp hungry grin, “He isn’t home very often.” Taehyung tensed behind me, and I glanced at him, before throwing a confused smile at the visitor.

“What do you mean you know my husband well?” I asked, ignoring the way Taehyung’s hands tightened around me. I refused to turn his way, instead focusing my all attention at the dangerous being sat in front of us.

“He plays cards out of his league,” the man stated, eyes glinting with some feral contentment, “He lost a lot of money to a lot of people. An especially big sum to a certain very dangerous man that likes to prowl around those parlours.” It felt as if I was thrown into a freezing water, the panic seizing me at this information. I had known, to a certain extent, that he must have gotten himself into something, but losing in cards and owing money to someone dangerous, that would absolutely destroy my life alongside his. Distressed, I looked to Taehyung, who immediately pushed his hand into my hair in an attempt to comfort me.

“Hyung, stop that,” he scolded the man gently, “Stop scaring her.” I blinked at Taehyung owlishly.

“You knew?” I whispered the question, my heart aching when the dark-haired man looked away with guilt etched into his handsome face.

“I told him,” the older man piped up again, gently inserting himself back into the conversation he himself started, “I happen to have an insight into the situation. Don’t fear, dear, this is between your husband and the forces he messed with.” The vague statement did nothing to ease my anxiety and my eyes flitted between the two men again, but I chose to not say anything anymore. They shared a resolute look, full of determination, and then moved on from the topic.

Mr. Min, as I finally learnt his name, stayed for a better part of the afternoon, only departing once the night fell with only the moon lighting his way. His sharp eyes seemed to glow in the dark and once again I was reminded that he was a spirit of the mountain. I snickered gently at that. Look at me, the cursed widow dining with a demon and a tiger. If the old ladies in my home village knew that, they would lose their minds.

Taehyung wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we watched his friend go, looking at my amusement fondly, but the way his hand squeezed me I could tell he was worried about the conversation we had. I looked at him, truly looked at him, and contemplated whether to bring it up again.

He sensed it, his face turning a little guilty and sheepish again, before turning to me, grabbing both of my shoulders and saying: “Y/N, do you trust me?” Did I? Of course I did. I loved him, I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone. He never failed me, never gave me a reason not to trust him. So I nodded firmly.

“Then know that it will be taken care of,” he stated, voice gentle and kind, “I wouldn’t let this impact you.” I nodded again, looking at him fondly before caving in and seeking the warmth of his embrace. He held me tightly, then and through the night, whispering words of love. I trusted them.

I should have known that this would smudge lines, that me living my little fantasy with Taehyung and him living in the house fully visible would lead to us being careless and slipping. But still, when it happened, I was sorely unprepared for the whirlwind it started.

We depended too much on the belief that Minhwan wouldn’t return home early. He didn’t, in the past weeks. Every morning, I would watch the sun climb pretty high up on the sky before the door slammed open and he trudged in wordlessly demanding food. Taehyung spent the mornings lazily spread out in the bed, stretching like an over-sized cat, grinning at me lazily and watching me get ready for the day. And usually I would be woken up by his gentle hands or kisses, or by the sun shining through to my face, or the cold would make me turn and snuggle deeper into my lover’s arms.

So when I got woken up by a scream, I was shocked and confused to my core. I jerked up into a sitting position, eyes wide open and looking for the source of the commotion, heart beating out of my chest and throat tight. It was a cry of rage, a man’s ire bursting through the quiet comfortable space of early morning.

There was a flash of movement and then suddenly I was being painfully pulled out of the bed by my upper arm. I cried out, legs fighting to get into working order and stop the pain from the uncomfortable angle. Suddenly I was face to face with a seething Minhwan, his face red and bloated, twisted into a grimace of pure primal rage. He grabbed onto both of my shoulders, nails digging into my skin until I feared he would draw blood, shaking me violently.

He screamed something, but I was too tired and shocked to fully comprehend what has happened. Panic started pumping through my veins, my breathing getting out of my control as I choked on the instinctual fear of being met with a man in such an emotional state. He shook me again and I got dizzy. Behind me the bed was empty, but very obviously slept in.

As if wading through a thick fog, I finally realised he must have seen Taehyung in the bed and my knees buckled. He let me fall, let me knock painfully into the wooden floor as he paced around the door. Thoughts going a mile a minute I scrambled to try and come up with something, with anything instead of just sitting there staring dumbly. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, slipping slowly down as my mouth opened and closed. My head hurt, my chest was so tight I could barely breathe and my heart was beating so fast I feared it might just tear right out of my body. I looked at my shaking hands and released a few strained breaths.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Minhwan was suddenly screaming right into my face and I flinched. It was as if a filter lifted off of the world and the sound was suddenly getting to me fully, the thumping of his feet on the floor, his ragged breathing, his enraged mumblings. I stared at him blankly for a moment and in a split second decided to play it the only way I could.

“W-what happened?” I asked quietly, still looking at him with wide confused eyes, movements sluggish. I put a hand to my head, shaking it from side to side. At least I didn’t have to pretend I had a headache.

Minhwan stopped pacing and regarded me with suspicion. Come on, I prayed to myself, I know you must have seen him disappear in front of your eyes. He watched me for a moment, and I made sure to look as disoriented as I could, blinking blearily around and pulling a blanket closer over my rapidly cooling body. The seconds ticked away as he just looked around the room, watched the bed, the doors, as if measuring whether the man could have gotten away around him. He wasn’t saying anything for the longest time, and I felt like I was losing my mind, fearing any moment he’ll decide I was a liar and do god knows what in a fit of rage, but then he looked at me again with eyes filled with more confusion and fear than rage.

“Do you really not know?” he inquired, and his voice was grating to me, rough from speaking and drinking the whole night. I nodded slowly and then asked again: “What happened? Why were you screaming?” His face filled with determination, and he wordlessly walked out of the room. I scrambled to follow after him.

“Where are you going? What’s going on?” I hammered him, looking for a confirmation that I was safe, at least for the moment, but he just silently started fastening his hat back on. Finally, right before walking back out of the door, he turned to me and said: “I’m getting the exorcist.”

The next few hours I spent sitting in the house in panicked silence, wondering what my fate would be beyond this day. What would the shamaness say? How will this go? Do I have to pretend to get exorcised? I tried calling out to Taehyung, but he didn’t respond once. I bit my nails and paced around the house, counting every second ticking by as if waiting for execution.

By the time the door slid open again and stone-faced Minhwan stepped in, my nerves were completely frayed, and I could barely support my own weight on my shaking knees. My head snapped into the direction of the noise, and I saw a man and a woman step inside. The moment their eyes landed on me, they bowed slightly to me, but said nothing and instead followed my husband through the house into the bedroom. I hurriedly trailed after them, shaky hands with nails bitten almost bloody grasping onto my skirt to ground myself at least a little bit.

When I stepped into the room, Minhwan was gesturing to the bed, still unmade as I was too panicked to clean, and explaining what had happened.

“I walked in and saw four feet instead of two,” he said darkly, anger shining through to the surface again, “They were clearly man’s feet. I threw a shoe at him and started screaming, but then he was just gone. He disappeared into thin air. When she woke up, she was disoriented and had no idea what was going on.” I listened to him with a lump in my throat and when they all turned to look at me standing in the door, my knees almost buckled. I hoped that my nervousness would be interpreted as my unawareness, but when the woman’s eyes bore into me with a startling intensity, I couldn’t help but flinch and look down.

She came over to me and an expectant silence fell over the room, all of us collectively holding our breath and waiting for her judgement. She grabbed my chin, not roughly but definitely not gently, and moved my head so that I was looking at her. Her eyes flitted across my face, in search of something. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but I wondered how I must have looked to her. Did I look guilty? Did I look sick? What did she see?

She examined me for a moment and then let me go and stepped back to the man. She looked at him and nodded.

“It is a demon of sickness,” the man spoke, “He was draining your wife’s life energy, eventually saddling her with plague or similar illness. It is good you caught him before he did irreparable damage to her.” I touched my own face, wondering how bad I looked for her to come to the conclusion I was getting drained in such a way, but felt immense relief. Before I caught myself, I swayed, the feelings of anxiety crashing onto me, leaving my body too weak to stay upright. I crashed into the door and barely managed to catch myself before I hit the floor full force. The woman rushed to me and pulled me up, holding onto my arm and helping me stand in a manner she must have believed was comforting.

“Don’t worry, darling, he will not get you,” she whispered in a raspy old voice, “We will take care of this.” I mumbled something out, an insincere thanks, and propped myself up by the door. Instinctively I looked to Minhwan and found him already looking at, eyes coldly assessing me. He was scaring me, I had no idea where I stood with him and what was going through his mind, but I hoped this would buy me some time. I looked back to the floor and started smoothing out my skirts with shaky hands.

“We will get the supplies we’ll need and return tomorrow with the dawn,” the man spoke again, looking mainly to Minhwan, “For tonight, hang garlic and onion around the house. The foul smell will keep the demons away. I will draw you a talisman for your door and main gate, plaster it on the wood and keep it there until we come.” My husband curtly nodded.

The pair started moving towards the door to leave and Minhwan followed them out. I took the time to slide down to the door. I was trying to keep myself calm, but the stressed tears came anyway, rolling down my cheeks and there was nothing I could do to stop them. Once Minhwan returned, I was silently sobbing on the floor, too overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in these few hours.

Minhwan regarded me silently and then moved to the main room, sat by the fireplace and didn’t speak again. I sat there, filled with dread, and waited. Waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to fly off of his handle and do something, but the house was eerily silent. In the end I pulled myself together and moved about my day as if nothing was happening, as if Minhwan wasn’t sitting in the other room counting minutes before sun went down. The uncomfortable atmosphere stretched over us like a suffocating blanket and even though I went with the motions, cooked food and served it, I wasn’t even interested in eating, and neither seemed to be Minhwan.

With dark setting over the dwelling, the moon shining over the snow and creating a silver glow over everything, I found myself anxiously glancing at my husband to see whether he would leave, but he stayed firmly sat. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had to have a talk with Taehyung, confide in him and see what he thinks we should do. I desperately craved his comfort and calming presence, I needed him to hold me and kiss me and whisper about all the things he loved, I needed him to whisk me away into the woods and keep me away from this life I had found myself in.

As I paced around the bedroom nervously, I realised that. I wanted to leave with him. I wanted to flee into his reality and leave my own behind. I needed to talk to Taehyung soon.

The door slid open, and I flinched and instinctively moved a few steps further into the room. Minhwan looked at me, his eyes empty and dark, and then moved to the corner of the room, sitting down and staring soullessly at me.

“Aren’t you going to get ready for bed?” came his gruff voice when I stood there frozen for too long, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I could hear a certain accusation in it and my heart jumped into my throat. Without saying anything, I mechanically moved to my vanity and started brushing my hair while keeping an eye on my husband’s dark form slouched in the corner. His eyes never left me, slowly with every second ticking by filling with more and more pure hatred.

The room felt as if it was freezing, the air so heavy with tension I could taste it on my tongue. I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest, my clammy hands squeezing around the brush.

“I feel quite stupid now, you see,” Minhwan started suddenly, his cold voice startling me. I turned around to look at him, trying to keep my expression neutral but knowing I probably looked truly scared and guilty. He stared at me expectantly, but when I failed to say anything, he continued.

“I saw it,” he simply stated, “the hairpin.” It felt as if time stopped, the blood freezing in my veins with one simple word. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but I ultimately failed to say anything. He knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to the market to buy it myself, there was nothing I could say to excuse that.

“I saw how certain mornings you seemed to be flustered,” he continued quietly, “how you changed, I saw the flowers you tried to hide.” He chuckled darkly, mirthlessly, but stayed sprawled out in the corner, watching me. I sat frozen in front of my vanity, brush still in hand, thoughts going a mile a minute.

“I ignored it, of course,” Minhwan carried on, seemingly okay with being the only one to talk, “I know how hard it is to get here and there’s no one close enough to sneak here like this. But when I went to town for the shamaness, I started remembering these moments. I saw the hairpin in my mind, as clear as day. And it made sense. Whatever he is, you knew about him.” I gulped, but said nothing, staring at my hands. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movements and I looked up startled. Minhwan was now moving towards me, slow and calculated, and dread filled me.

I looked up at him and couldn’t help a few stray tears escaping me. Minhwan watched me coldly, but it was so different than what I was used to from him and it terrified me. This was a different kind of rage, the kind that made people unpredictable, the kind when you know the person is so angry they’ve become calm.

He slowly threaded his hand into my hair, gripping it tightly until I could feel slight pain. He angled my head, watching the tears slide down my face with a scowl. Then he pushed my head away and released my hair, sending me crashing into the vanity. I caught myself on my hands, but the impact still hurt and I whimpered through the tears.

I heard Minhwan moving about the room, thrashing the chest I kept some of my belongings in, tearing through my fine robes and sending little reminders and keepsakes flying through the room and crashing into the floor and the walls. With every crash I flinched again and again, shrinking into myself and slowly slinking into the corner behind my vanity.

Minhwan finally got to what he was looking for – the dried flowers and other little gifts Taehyung has been bringing me. Whatever he got his hands on, he destroyed, tearing the flowers apart or breaking things by throwing them on the floor. I watched him helplessly, now fully sobbing as I witnessed my life being torn apart.

Minhwan paid me no mind, his eyes catching onto something in the chest. He bent over to pull out the object, and I eyed him carefully before I realised what it was. The hairpin. He glanced over at me and when he saw my eyes trained to it, he smirked with such malice it made shiver. He gripped it with both hands and then with a quick gesture broke it in half. Before I could stop myself, I cried out with my hands outstretched going to grab it, grab him, just do anything to stop it from happening, but I couldn’t. Minhwan threw the broken pin on the floor, and I watched the little gem break away and fall through the tiles.

Minhwan walked over to me again and crouched down so he could look at me closer.

“Did he get you pregnant?” he suddenly asked, and it was such an unexpected question it shocked me into silence as I just stared at him dumbly. Then I just slowly shook my head. Minhwan’s face stayed impassive. He just stared at me until I started squirming in my place, my skin crawling with fear and nervousness.

Then he just got up and walked out.

I stayed put, not daring to move from my place, but I strained my ears to hear whatever he was doing. He walked around the main room for a moment and then his footsteps seemed to get further away until I heard the door slide open, slide shut and then silence. I held my breath, waiting for a moment before I allowed myself to decompress, immediately slumping down onto the ground. With the stress rapidly draining from my body, I found myself a shaking crying mess. I crawled over to the chest and grabbed onto whatever destroyed piece of memory I could, cradling them to my chest and desperately hoping that I could mend it, that it would all go away. That I’d wake up in Taehyung’s arms and he’d console me and tell me it was all a bad dream.

I didn’t sleep that night. And Minhwan didn’t return in the morning. The shamaness and her husband came knocking with the dawn and I sat on the porch and expressionlessly watched the main gate rattle and shake under their fists, listened to their raised concerned voices calling to be let in. I was drained, empty and exhausted. I waited until they got tired of it and left, and then I continued sitting there watching the trees move, the sun travel the sky. I could barely feel the frost biting at my fingers, my arms, my face. I could barely feel anything.

For two days, I waited. I sat around the house and watched the walls, walked around the yard and looked outside, into the forest and the trees. Minhwan didn’t return. Taehyung didn’t return. I was completely alone, in the silent house, just wondering whether I was forsaken by both of them, wondering what would happen if neither of them came back.

On the dawn of the third day, I heard footsteps in the yard. My stomach dropped and my heart felt like a piece of ice. Footsteps meant Minhwan. Footsteps meant the end of my life, meant my husband was back and there was no telling what he would do.

I drew the blanket closer to myself and resignedly made my way outside. I would accept whatever was to come. Except the moment I slid the door open, I saw a sheepish Taehyung nervously stepping from foot to foot in our yard. I could only guess how I looked, but when he saw me, he closed the distance between us in a few quick strides, arms immediately pulling me into his chest. I felt my resolve break and desperately clawed at him, pulled him closer, just needing to touch him and make sure he was real and he came back.

He pulled back and I whined, but he took my face into his hands, gazing upon me with tenderness and sadness and despair. His fingers smoothed out the worried lines on my face, touched the puffy cheeks and eyes, gently caressed my face until I could see my vision blurring with unshed tears. Taehyung sighed and bent down to lightly kiss my forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered quietly, his voice like soft caress for my soul after days of loneliness and solitude, and sudden onslaught of emotions hit me like a stone wall. I grabbed onto his robe and looked into his kind beautiful eyes.

“Where were you?” it came out choked on a sob and I couldn’t even wait for his answer before the dam broke and I started crying. Taehyung held me through it, he took me in his arms and carried me inside, petted my back and held my face, whispered to me and it almost felt like a huge déjà vu to the first night I let him get closer to me. He apologised again and again, and I should have pressed for more answers, but I was so relieved he returned, I couldn’t bring myself to ask more.

When I calmed down, Taehyung’s attention was finally drawn to the state of the house. I didn’t clean up the bedroom, I barely even slept, and all the broken things were still lying around. It must have been quite a sight – a broken life, and in the middle of it all, a broken me. But instead of saying anything, he just reached over to grab the remnants of the hairpin. I watched him wordlessly, heart struck with grief at the sight of it, but he played with it for a moment, eyes peeking over at me and grinning mischievously. I returned it shakily, heavy emotions still weighing the corners of my mouth down but I tried, head leaning on his shoulder.

He encased the broken parts of it into his hands and shook them little. I thought nothing of it, watching his hands turn from side to side, expecting this to be just a way to distract me, but when his hands stopped, he uncovered his palm with a grand gesture and I gasped. There, lying on his palm, was the hairpin in one piece, looking as if it’s never been broken.

I immediately went to grab it, but he moved his hand away, keeping it out of my reach. Instead, he grabbed my brush and started slowly brushing out my tangled unkept hair. I let him care for me, I sat there on the floor of my thrashed bedroom, leaned on him and listened to him hum as he played with my hair. When Tae was satisfied with it, he tied my hair with his red ribbon and then pushed in the hairpin.

The fondness in his eyes when he looked over his work warmed my heart, and I relaxed into his embrace.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Taehyung whispered again, “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” I shook my head and tightened my arms around him.

“There was nothing you could have done,” I told him and attempted to smile. I wanted to ease his worries, but I still felt too shaken.

“I should have been here,” Taehyung reiterated, “You needed me, and I failed you.” I squeezed his waist, trying to share comfort to him as he did to me. He looked at me fondly with a little smile, then kissed me gently.

“Where were you?” I asked again, this time much more calmly. Taehyung’s face fell immediately and I expected him not to want to tell me, but with some difficulty he started talking.

“I went to my hyung,” he admitted to me, and I realised there was guilt in his expression, “I asked him to sort something out for me.” I looked at him confused, but his face has turned hard and cold, gazing out of the room. I wanted to ask more, but I couldn’t bring myself to. It didn’t matter now, all that mattered was that he returned.

“We need to leave,” I blurted out suddenly, the calmness leaving my body. I turned on my knees and grabbed onto his clothed shoulders, looking into his eyes with urgency. Taehyung smiled at me and attempted to sit me back down, but I wouldn’t let him. “We really need to leave, before my husband returns,” I continued, the words falling out of me quickly, “I don’t know where he went, he hasn’t returned for a few days, but when he returns I cannot say what he will do.”

Taehyung’s hands pushed onto my shoulders, gentle smile on his face, mouth opening to tell me something, no doubt to calm down, but I jumped in before he got a chance.

“No, you don’t understand Taehyung, he knows,” I whispered urgently, “He knows about us. When he returns… Taehyung, I’m scared of what will happen…” I trailed off, hands flexing and bunching up the fabric of his robes. A few stray tears escaped my eyes, and I was surprised I even had some left in me, after the last few days.

Taehyung gave me a soft smile, hands coming up to hold my face. He gently wiped my tears away and bent down to kiss my forehead, my nose and finally my lips. I watched him, despair mixing with love and fear inside of me, making me feel like I was about to explode. I didn’t know how else explain to him that we weren’t safe here.

“I’m ready to leave,” I whispered again, desperate and broken, “Please Taehyung, I’ll go with you. I’m ready to go. There’s nothing left here.” He said nothing, but caressed my hair, fingers smoothing out the edges of my cold wet face. His eyes were trained on his hands moving on my skin, as if he wasn’t registering what I said at all. I could see in them that he was battling something, lips pursed in a bittersweet smile like they were trying to keep in some awful truths.

My heart gave a few painful pumps before it felt like it stilled completely. My hands fell from him as despair and hurt took over. Suddenly the realisation hit me, the realisation of what this must have been for him. A goodbye. My lips curled around a silent sob, but I couldn’t cry more, there was nothing left inside.

Taehyung noticed my plight and immediately pulled back into him, and I realised why he looked so guilty when we sat down.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” the words barely left my mouth, so quiet they could be barely heard, but Taehyung reacted to them immediately, arms tightening around me.

“No, darling, of course I’m not,” he replied, but I didn’t want to hear more lies, not now and not ever. My own hands balled into fists in my lap.

“Please, tell me the truth,” I said resolutely, looking straight into his eyes that were coloured by confusion at my statement. “What are you talking about?” Taehyung asked, lost and worried. His hands travelled across my shoulders and back, grabbing onto anywhere they could and then passing on as he tried to comfort me without fully knowing what was happening.

“You didn’t respond before,” I told him, and the realisation seemed to hit him almost instantly. “Oh, darling,” he whispered and kissed me softly again, “of course I want you to leave with me. But…” He seemed to struggle there, looking down to his lap guiltily, fingers digging into my shoulders nervously. I grabbed onto his shoulders too and pressed a little closer, until our faces were just a breath away.

“What is it?” I asked, desperate for a resolution, desperate to leave this all behind and go into the woods with him, follow him wherever he’d take me.

“Your husband…” Taehyung started and I tensed at the mention, but I wasn’t prepared for what came out of his mouth next, “he isn’t coming back.” I scrunched my face up in confusion. Taehyung avoided my eyes again, this time looking towards the door with a quiet resolution painted on his face.

“What are you talking about?” I pushed out of my mouth, mind muddled and tongue tied, “Of course he is, and he’ll bring all hell back with him.” Taehyung sighed, hands flexing into my skin.

“Y/N, you don’t understand,” he reiterated, urgency taking over his sweet, honeyed tone, “He isn’t coming back. Ever.” I froze when I finally put together what he had tried to tell me. I wish I could say I was terrified. I wish I could say that I was filled with dread and panic and disgust instead of relief, I wish I could say that I pushed him away, confused and hurt, instead of letting out a shocked laugh, hands immediately searching for his face. I turned him so he’d look at me.

He was painted with shame and guilt, with fear that I would hate him for the implication, so I gently caressed his face and laid a little kiss over his furrowed brows. He closed his eyes, sighing in relief. My heart was beating fast, but I couldn’t tell if it was out of nervousness or joy. I wondered whether that made me a bad person, whether I was cursed after all. But when Taehyung opened his eyes and gave me a toothy grin, it didn’t seem to matter much.

“What did you do?” I asked the question in a hushed whisper, as if discussing my husband’s demise was a thrilling secret just between the two of us. Based on the dark-haired man’s reaction to it he was expecting to hear a horror-struck tone, not the casualness with which I spoke about this matter, but he shook the surprise quick enough.

“Do you remember my hyung? The tiger?” Taehyung begun his explanation, a small smile taking over his face when I nodded in answer, “He was the one your husband owed money to. It was a matter of time before he’d gotten himself reaped, I just called in an early favour.” I frowned slightly at that.

“You mean that my husband was always destined to die?” the question was asked more out of curiosity than concern, but Taehyung still seemed to be a little on edge, fearing my reaction and attempting to gauge my emotional state. Still, he indulged me.

“He was since the moment he decided to play cards against a spirit,” Taehyung explained, “Tigers don’t play for money. We have no need for earthly possessions. But the more the human loses to you, the more under your power they are. With the mounting debt, the spirit only bides his time, terrorising the soul and pushing them into losing more. Then the spirit only waits until they’ve lost the amount of money that could buy their soul, before reaping. Your husband was a lost cause since Yoongi set his eyes on him.” I took in the information slowly, but to me his death was inconsequential now. Taehyung would take me away, I didn’t have to fear being left behind and collected by a family-in-law and living out the rest of my life as a proper widow, a property of my husband’s relatives. With that my only concern was taken care of and I found myself empty of any big reactions regarding his impending sudden demise.

“Do souls have prices, then?” I inquired more, interested in his earlier statement. Taehyung’s eyes sparkled slightly, as if he was delighted I wanted to know more, delighted that I wasn’t mourning, that I didn’t think him a murderer.

“Yes they do,” he answered simply, “a saint would be hard to tempt, the amount would be higher. A tyrant on the other hand, a sinner, they don’t take much.” I hummed quietly, absent-mindedly playing with some of Taehyung’s long hair. It didn’t take much to know which category my husband fell to. Getting my questions answered, I was satisfied to let this subject go. I felt as if a great weight has been lifted off of my shoulders and off of my heart. I found myself cautiously hopeful, looking forward to leaving this house and everything in it behind, letting it rot and fall to the ground and never return. But Taehyung seemed to have something else on his mind still.

“It was me,” he confessed quietly and suddenly, leaving me confused what he meant. He looked at me, gauging my reaction, fingers nervously playing with the edge of my jeogori. “It was me who told hyung to seek him out and tempt him into playing,” the man finally got out and it seemed as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders too.

I said nothing, hands migrating to caress his hair gently, smiling softly, and then getting up. I walked across the room to where my possessions laid strewn across the floor as if they were violently gutted from the insides of the chest. I found a cloth big enough and started piling the most important things inside. Taehyung watched me quietly, unsure of where I stood, still believing I could shun him for this. I smiled at him again when I caught his sad eyes watching my hands move. He returned it, in the same cautiously hopeful way I felt, and I could just think to myself. How perfect. We’re perfect like this.

“I just need to grab a few things and we can go,” I said, giving him a reassuring smile. His returning one was as bright as the sun itself and I felt my drained heart tiredly jumping in joy.

When I gathered everything, he took the bundle from me gently into one of his hands, the other holding mine as I quietly led him out of the cold empty house. Outside, the air was crisp and freezing, but the sun was shining and it filled me with happiness. The snow was sparkling, reflecting the rays of sunlight, blinding me slightly, but I had everything I needed, and it was a beautiful day outside. I squeezed Taehyung’s hand and he returned it.

Once stood in the gate, I turned back to the house wordlessly. I could see through the open doors the mess that was left inside, the state of the bedroom, and the two trails of footsteps leaving forever. Taehyung watched me carefully, making sure I was okay. I nodded at him and he grinned gently. We both turned and walked away.

He led me through the forest, up the mountain path. I’d never been here before, and it seemed that it was a long time since someone else than the demon himself took this path. Briefly I wondered if it even was visible to other people or if it was one of those paths you see once out of the corner of your eyes and then never find it again, even if curiosity kills you from the inside.

Taehyung was walking confidently now, once we crossed the threshold into his world he gained strength and resolve and led me through the trees until we reached a little clearing with a dwelling firmly in the middle of it.

It was smaller than our farm, but it looked much nicer, with little windchimes and colourful decorations hanging from the beam over the porch. Their clanking created a nice ambience in the background and their colourful flashes reflected off of the snow. I smiled fondly at that, feeling at ease.

The house only really had two smaller rooms and a kitchen, but they were filled with books and clothes and paintings. Taehyung seemed to be a lover of arts, his walls full of various pieces varying from flowers to landscapes and portraits. I peeked at them curiously, but Taehyung seemed eager to pull me along until we reached the other room, where a bed was unfolded but untouched. There was a vanity on one side, very similar to the one I had, ready with a brush and another beautiful hairpin sitting next to it, waiting for their owner. I smiled at that, heart filled with so much love it felt like bursting.

Taehyung carefully laid the bundle with my things on the ground and then skipped back over to me, plastering himself to my back, arms possessively coiling around me and lips and nose immediately running over the expanse of the skin at my shoulder and neck. I shuddered lightly, noting his palpable excitement at bringing me to his home.

“This will be our bedroom from now on,” he whispered in a rough voice, laying a series of wet open-mouthed kisses down my shoulder, “This house will become a home.” His hand splayed over my stomach and pushed me more into his form, his heated body melting over me instantly, lips travelling wherever a sliver of skin presented itself to them.

I shuddered lightly, squirming in his arms. I managed to turn to face him and immediately was met with fond eyes full of unshed tears. I grabbed his face and gently pressed our lips together. I meant for the kiss to stay innocent, but Taehyung clearly had a different idea, descending onto me with an urgency of a starving man, lips devouring mine in a hot all-consuming kiss.

I moaned lightly into his mouth, hands tightening in his clothes and subconsciously pulling him closer to me. He used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside my mouth, sighing with content when it met mine and twisted and pushed around each other. He towered over me, with every second bending down a little more, making me arch into the kiss. The dark-haired man was grabbing onto my hips, as strong as a vice, digging fingers into the layers of fabric with such force I still felt his nails biting into my skin. My own hands slowly travelled up, tangling into his hair and wrapping around his neck. When I pulled on the strand lightly, Taehyung sighed into my mouth and pushed us closer together.

My mind was quickly becoming muddled, only thoughts of the man in my arms swimming around in my brain, body heating up rapidly and begging for his attention in the way that he used to give me. And with the way he held onto me and pressed into me, he was in a similar state.

Without interrupting our kiss, Taehyung started slowly sliding down to the floor and pulled me with him. I gasped slightly and finally broke our kiss to breathe and take in the new position, but Tae didn’t get discouraged and continued his path down my jawline and my neck. I had enough mind to breathlessly move my head out of the way and present my neck for him, which made him hum appreciatively, his low deep voice purring into my skin. All I could really do was hold on to him and let the sensations sail me further.

I could feel his hands inching higher, until they were kneading my waist, thumbs slipping under the jeogori and messing with my undergarments. My whole body trembled like a plucked string, desire wreaking havoc on my psyche. I released a shaky sigh and decided to be a little bit braver. I grabbed one of his hands, Taehyung making a little questioning sound in the back of his throat, but didn’t stop his ministrations, and I pushed it towards the bow tying my top together.

Taehyung paused only for a second, eyes searching mine for any kind of hesitation, but I only blushed under his heated gaze, the lust taking over the control of my body and pushing my chest more into his curious hands. He no longer wasted time after that, leaning a bit back and making quick work of the binding and soon he had me sitting in his lap in only my undergarments. My lips found his again, needing to feel his touch more than I needed to breathe oxygen.

With new skin now visible Taehyung seemed to be over the moon, a little content sighs and quiet moans leaving his mouth as his fingers travelled across the expanse of my shoulder blades and my arms. The intensity of the kiss kept increasing, my body confusedly trying to move with the motions and seek even more pleasure. When Taehyung gently bit on my lower lip, my hips jerked forward on their own and I could feel a hardness sliding across my centre. We both gasped, Taehyung’s hands jumping to my hips to stop them, but I felt as if a lighting struck me to my core, pleasure zapping through me on a jolt. I gasped, hips mindlessly chasing after the feeling again. Taehyung separated the kiss on a groan, his head falling to my shoulder, hands now encouraging my hips to move instead of stopping them.

For a moment we just enjoyed each other, mindlessly kissing here, grabbing onto each other and chasing the pleasure, moving against each other. I managed to get Taehyung out of his outer robes too and he was clad only in a thin undershirt that teased a little bit of his collarbones, which I immediately covered in kisses. We didn’t speak and the room was filled with the sounds of shifting clothes and airy little gasps and moans, but I needed more. I needed so much more.

Taehyung’s lips travelled down to the edge of my undergarment, kissing the soft swell teasing my breasts, and I gasped and arched and curved into him, but I could feel the smirk settling on his face as he moved away again. I whined, mind gone and begging for more solid touch, for his hand between my legs and his lips biting into my shoulders.

I pushed onto his shoulders and as Taehyung wasn’t expecting it, he went easily, slight alarm painting his face, but I just grabbed him and pulled his face back to mine. The moment our lips crashed together, I keened, licking into his mouth desperately. The dark-haired man chuckled, but he seemed to take pity on me.

With one hand gently laid on my lower back, he slowly toppled us over until I was lying on the ground with his weight settling gently on top of me, legs tangled and lips intertwined. With a wet smack our lips separated and for a moment we both just looked at each other breathing hard, but then the time and reality caught up to my overheated excited brain and I immediately started tearing at his clothes, untying anything I got my hands on and pushing the fabric away until his whole torso was on display.

I choked on a moan, the desire reigniting within me tenfold. He was beautiful, strong and lean, honey-toned skin blemishless and perfect. Distracted with all the possibilities and my body screaming at me to have the man take me now, take me as soon as possible, my hands wildly flitted over his chest, kneading the skin but not settling anywhere for too long. I decided to pay back the favour and my lips latched onto his neck, making him shudder and moan. I played around lightly, just like he had, kissing anywhere I could, moving south to his pecks and then back up all the way to his ear with wet open-mouthed kisses, revealing just how far gone I was and how needy he made me with his earlier ministrations.

Taehyung buried his face into the crook of my neck, skin rippling with every touch, releasing low groans right into my ear, which made me work even harder. I was ecstatic that I was finally able to touch him too, ecstatic by the prospect of returning the pleasure he had been bestowing me with all these mornings that would have otherwise been cold and lonely.

With that thought in mind, my hands shifted to his hips, at first seemingly just sitting there and holding onto him, but slowly moving downwards, pushing the pants down. Taehyung didn’t seem to notice at first, but once I got low enough to expose the v of his hips and the thicker part of his happy trail, he let out a loud excited groan, body shaking with anticipation.

His lips pressed into my ear. “Do you want to see me? Touch me?” he whispered, voice rough and aroused. I gasped quietly, legs falling open more so that he could settle his hips more comfortably and I could see the moment I finally pushed them low enough, breath held in excitement.

“Yes, please,” I answered in a similarly debauched hushed voice, “please, Taehyung.” His chest rumbled happily, lips busying themselves with biting and kissing into my neck. I must have been absolutely covered with little red and purple bruises and the thought sent a bolt of arousal through me, my body jerking underneath the bigger man.

“Go ahead then, darling,” he said sensually, regaining back a little control. His hips stiffened, allowing me to pull them down the final stretch, releasing his erection. It hit his lower stomach with a tiny noise, the wet tip leaving a little smear of clear liquid there. I clenched on nothing, a gush of wetness suddenly leaving me at the prospect of having him inside of me. He was watching me closely, a wild look on his face, and the more excited I felt, the hungrier he looked.

Then Taehyung pressed his face to mine again, lips caressing the shell of my ear as he whispered: “Do you want it? Do you want my cock, darling?” I nodded, a whimper escaping me, thighs and pussy throbbing with pure burning need. I was so aroused my head was spinning and every thought inside curled around the pleasure this man was providing me with. He clicked his tongue though, and shook his head a little, giving me a playful grin.

“Then you need to say it,” he stated meanly, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Good girls always ask for it.” The way his tongue wrapped around the words good girl made me borderline delirious, back arching and thighs spreading even further, until my hips hurt and I was gasping with the liquid lust coursing through my veins.

“Please!” I whined out again, hands grabbing onto his searing hot skin and attempting to pull him closer, but he didn’t budge.

“No, no, no, darling,” his voice seemed even darker and richer than usual and I was losing my mind on the little rasp, his tongue peeking out to play with the lobe of my ear quickly sending me spinning, “You need to say it.”

“Please, Taehyung,” I choked out, a few tears of frustrated arousal slipping down my cheeks, “I want you.” He smiled, giving me false sense of victory, but still kept his hips away from mine. I whined again, not knowing what else to do.

“I want to hear the words from your mouth, darling,” he stated firmly, “Say ‘Please Taehyung, I want your cock’.” I gasped at his words, the flush on my face deepening despite the lewdness of the situation I already found myself in. My tongue darted out to wet my dried lips and Taehyung’s eyes zeroed in on my mouth, fascinated.

“I want your cock,” I whispered, the arousal pushing me into boldness I’ve never displayed before, “Please, Taehyung, I want your cock so bad.” He groaned and I saw the exact moment his pupils expanded with pure lust and his eyes were overtaken by desire to have me. While his lips crashed to mine, his hand grabbed one of mine and pulled it towards his cock and wrapping it around it.

I squeezed on instinct and Taehyung moaned into me, hips bucking gently. I took a moment to feel him out, just gently ran my hands over the ridges and curves. I could feel the way Taehyung trembled, the way his breathing stuttered on tiny, muted groans, his eyes firmly shut. His hands grabbed onto my thighs and dug into them through the underskirt still half covering me from his eyes.

When I began sliding my hand up and down the shaft, Taehyung’s head once again fell to my shoulder, open mouth pressing into my skin and releasing rugged moans. His hips jerked forward in tiny motions, thrusting lightly into my curled hands. I was content with touching him, but my body also screamed for attention, thighs shaking and muscles in my belly contracting in pleasurable little ripples. I was so wet I could feel my essence sliding down my thighs and my bottom, leaving a little puddle on the bedding under us.

I squeezed around him lightly and he jerked into my hands harder, a debauched groan leaving him. I spasmed, pussy pulsing around nothing, begging to be filled up to the brim, an answering moan leaving my own lips. Taehyung looked at me through half-lidded eyes, reason completely overridden by the need to push himself into my tight wet heat at the clear need depicted on my face, he shuddered again, pre-cum leaking out the red tip of his painfully erect cock.

His hands scrambled to grab my skirt and push it up my legs until it pooled around my stomach, wet pussy exposed to his needy hands. He didn’t waste any time and pulled his fingers through my folds, teasing my clit for a moment and punching out desperate moans out of me, whole body spasming at the sudden onslaught of pleasure cursing through me, but then his fingers hurriedly slid down and pushed inside of me. At the feeling of his fingers getting so easily swallowed up by my wet cunt he groaned, thrusting them in a little and scissoring to make sure I was absolutely ready to take a cock, but both of us were beyond gone with desire.

I was enjoying the feeling of finally having something inside of me, but it didn’t last for long. After a few hurried thrusts of his fingers, Taehyung pulled his hand away and I whined, arching my back, pussy chasing after him. He quickly swatted my hands from his length and lowered his hips until we were pressing into each other, his cock snuggly sliding through my wet folds.

Our breaths were knocked out of us on deep satisfied groans. He moved his hips back and forth a few times, coating himself in my juices to ensure easier slide, and then pushed inside with one firm motion, cock driving inside of me without any resistance, filling me absolutely all the way up on the first thrust. I threw my head back, mouth open on a silent scream, the contentment of finally having him inside me lighting my every nerve on fire and satisfying something deep inside of my core. I trembled, desperately holding onto him as my brain turned to mush with barely anything.

Taehyung was having more trouble staying silent, mouth open and instantly pumping out groans and moans, shaky hands keeping my hips still and desperately trying to stop himself from immediately mindlessly driving into the divine pleasure that was the feeling of being enveloped by my wet tight walls.

I whimpered and squirmed underneath him, grabbing onto him. I wasn’t even fully aware of myself, body and mind consumed by the heavenly feeling of being filled by him.

“Please!” I whined out loud, desperately needing him to finally start doing something, like there was an itch deep inside of me that needed scratching, “Please, give me more!”

Taehyung chuckled above me, trying to stay suave and smooth but I could hear how breathless he was, could feel his hands tightening and loosening on my hips. His hips trembled against mine, jumping with excitement at my words.

He pulled his hips back and slowly slid back in, making us both sigh with content. He kept the pace slow and deep, covering me with his body and claiming my mouth with his while I fell apart on his well-aimed pace. I moaned on every stroke, arching my hips and spreading my thighs to let him hit deeper, pull him in closer.

The slow build up of the pleasure had me losing my mind. I felt like I was getting gradually submerged into boiling water, the heat steadily rising with every thrust filling me with deep primal satisfaction. My hands roamed over Taehyung’s body, appreciating his smooth skin and muscles as they jumped with movement, soaking up Taehyung’s little hick-uped groans when I passed over sensitive areas.

Taehyung changed the angle a little bit and when he pressed all the way inside, his tip pressed into a spot that had me keening loudly underneath him, eyes tightly shut and mouth wide open. My hands instinctively grabbed onto his waist and squeezed, nails digging into his skin, and Taehyung groaned loudly, hips jerking into me roughly, punching out a whiny moan out of me.

That seemed to break us into a frenzy, my hands sliding down his body and grabbing onto his ass, pushing him into me and encouraging his movements. Taehyung happily took the sign and started thrusting faster and harder, filling the room with sounds of our moans and the wet slapping of our hips. I couldn’t stop the sounds spilling out of my mouth, his every stroke hitting deep inside me and lighting my every nerve on fire, stoking the lust and the bliss in pulsing consuming waves.

I felt myself getting close to the peak I was so familiar with from his hands, the sensations drowning me and washing over me in over-powering waves. Taehyung’s moans were reaching crescendo, getting higher and whinier as his hips unfalteringly pounded into me.

“So close, darling,” he croaked with a raspy voice, “going to paint you with my seed, going to fill you to the brim.” I moaned in response, pussy throbbing and clenching around him, sucking him in deeper. I needed us both to peak, I needed it more than air to feel him unwind and release, get consumed with pleasure I provided him with.

“God, just a little more,” I answered to him breathlessly on a pleasured sigh. My hands squeezed his bottom and pushed him a little rougher. His breath hitched, but he changed his pace accordingly, slowing down but snapping his hips into me harder and rougher, making me wail with pleasure.

I felt myself spiralling into the heat, knowing I wouldn’t last too long like this. Above me Taehyung watched me through half-lidded eyes, mouth open and face consumed with raw lust at my blissed-out state. I caught his eyes just seconds before my whole body spasmed and then stilled, climax exploding over me with force that shocked a raspy scream out of me. I blanked out, trembling and overflowing with bliss and ecstasy, legs spasming and toes curling with the sensation of the fire consuming me inside out. It was the best feeling I’ve ever felt, the most intense thing my body has ever gone through, but I loved every second of it. It felt as if all the stress just drained away from my body and was replaced by molten gold.

Taehyung fucked me through the orgasm, and it took him only a few more thrusts before his hips jerked wildly, pleasure mounting until he released deep inside of me with his head thrown back and a long drawn-out moan. I felt his cock throb and pulse inside of me as it spurted his seed, his hips lightly swaying in circles to ride it out, until the boneless weightless feeling set in and he collapsed on top of me.

I was feeling so content, body pleasantly light and thrumming with aftershocks of our shared moment, eyelids heavy with sleep. I felt Taehyung slip out and move away from me, his release running down my legs and making me blush again, but I didn’t have any strength to move or wipe it away, so I just laid there and waited for the man. He returned with a piece of cloth, still just as naked, shooting me a little playful wink when he saw me looking at his body. I turned around, embarrassed, even though we had just enjoyed each other like husband and wife.

I heard his little chuckle, but then the cloth suddenly pressed onto my thighs, making me gasp quietly. Taehyung squeezed my leg in apology and continued cleaning me up. I couldn’t help the little sighs of content leaving me, the warm cloth and his gentle touches filling my heart with love.

When he was done, he threw the piece of cloth away carelessly, before jumping onto the bedding and snuggling up to me. We ended up like we always have, Taehyung holding me from behind, hands pulling me as close to him as I could go, lips and nose pressing into the crook of my neck and into my hair, trilling happily.

I let it gently lull me to sleep, melting into his loving embrace, listening to his content purrs, our bodies moulding perfectly together like it was always meant to happen. I closed my eyes, and welcomed sleep, feeling the most comfortable I’ve been in years.

I couldn’t remember what I was thinking right before I slipped under, but I did with the feeling of just everything being right.

I would be okay. We would be okay.

hope you enjoyed yourself and see you around <3

A/N: the story of prince cheoyong, the son of the dragon king who neglected his wife to which a demon of pestilence took a liking and sneaked into her bed - one day cheoyong returned home and saw four feet sticking out of the bed instead of two, and he chased out the demon with singing and dancing, saving his wife and becoming a guardian god - it was said that no demon or evil spirit could enter a house as long as there was a likeness of cheoyong there, so people bought his portraits or talismans with his face and put them on their door, but i kind of switched the sides hehe

#kpop fic #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop angst #bts fic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader

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even-disco-baby · 2 years

Text

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s expression is difficult to place as he ponders the mural.

THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — “TRUE LOVE IS POSSIBLE ONLY IN THE NEXT WORLD— FOR NEW PEOPLE. IT IS TOO LATE FOR US. WREAK HAVOC ON THE MIDDLE CLASS.”

INLAND EMPIRE — Right on.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — What a slogan! So many layers in so few words. Perfectly crafted to grab one’s attention and keep hold of it for long after you’ve passed by. You wish you’d thought of it.

“Truer words were never spoken.”

“What a fuckin’ bummer, am I right?”

“Not bad, but I like the one we painted in Martinaise better.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “You mean, the one *you* painted,” he says pointedly. “I had nothing to do with that.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — He did like your mural. He’s just never gonna admit it. He’s too committed to the bit.

THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — The words seem to tower over you as you and your partner take them in. Once again, you can’t help but wonder how the Belles Lettres managed to paint this monstrously massive mural without being seen.

VISUAL CALCULUS — Surely there must have been scaffolding involved, or some kind of machinery.

LOGIC — They were seen. Just not by anyone who would disturb their work, or sell them out to the police. Which, if the results of the vote are anything to go by, would be most of the people of Jamrock.

“What do you think about the part about true love, Kim?”

“What do you think about the part about the middle class, Kim?”

“Did you know there was a vote on whether or not to remove the mural?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “We did hear about it back at 57,” he admits. “It’s rare for your district to organize a vote like that. Or any district, for that matter…”

He frowns slightly, peering up at the embracing couple. “I’ll admit, when I heard about it, I had no idea how *big* this thing was. I’m surprised that they voted to keep it. You must be able to see it for miles…”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — Eight stories loud, painted over the corpse of a failed real estate venture. A reminder, a call to action, and a threat, all rolled into one. Constant and inescapable. Oh, yeah. *This* is good stuff.

EMPATHY — It makes the lieutenant uncomfortable.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s the point.

YOU — “How would you have voted?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “I wouldn’t have,” he says drily. “I didn’t live here.”

“All right, fair enough.” (Drop the subject)

“Cmon, Kim. If you *did* live here, which side would you be on?” (Press him)

KIM KITSURAGI — “I don’t know that it’s about taking sides…” His sentence trails as he considers the mural.

PERCEPTION (Sight) — He glances at you for the briefest of moments, and then away. Almost as if he hadn’t meant to do it.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Success] — You make him uncomfortable in much the same way that the mural does. Representative of truths that he doesn’t know what to make of.

There was a time when he dreamt of things like true love. And heroic deeds, and brilliant discoveries, and aerostatic pilots. A home that belonged to him. A table laden with food and crowded with people. The future and the past were polar opposites in his eyes— one a painful collage of loneliness and ostracization, the other a blank canvas, and all the more beautiful for it. It could be anything.

It did not take long for the present to beat it all out of him. And then he blinked, and he was forty-three and alone, having spent twenty years of his life on stubbornness and spite, trying to prove himself to people who didn’t and still don’t care, at the expense of the people that he should have cared for. And he realized it was too late for him.

YOU — Too late for what…?

EMPATHY — To do or be anything different.

KIM KITSURAGI — “…I don’t know,” he finally says. His voice is level, but quiet. “But I can understand why people wanted it to remain.”

He tears his gaze away from the mural at last and looks at you. “What about you? How did you vote?”

YOU — “I can’t remember.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He grimaces slightly. “Right. Sorry…”

“But I think I would have voted for it to go.”

“But I think I would have voted for it to stay.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “That doesn’t surprise me,” he sighs. “I’m sure the part about wreaking havoc on the middle class especially appealed to you.”

“You know it, comrade.”

“No, it was the part about true love being dead.”

“No, it was the part about new people.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He looks at you strangely. “…Oh? What do you make of it?”

“There’s no such thing as new people. We’re all the same, and we’ll always be the same, walking in the same old circles.”

“Fuck the new people and their new world that we’ll never get to see.”

“I think anyone can become a new person if they try. It’s a call to action.”

“Even if it’s too late for us to be new, I think we can still change. And we can still love each other.”

KIM KITSURAGI — He looks for a moment as if he’s going to say something… and then nothing. His lips purse slightly.

EMPATHY [Formidable: Failure] — It’s hard to say what he thinks of your little thesis. Matters of love are tough on him.

COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] — But you get the feeling that *something* is happening within the lieutenant. There’s a crack in the dam that’s widening every day, and he knows it. He’s afraid to let it happen, but he’s equally powerless to stop it.

INLAND EMPIRE — You’re afraid, too. You’re both the same brand of coward.

VOLITION — You’re both a lot of things that you don’t have to be. It’s too late to have never been them. But it’s not too late to stop.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Stopping is precisely what he’s afraid of. He wonders what of himself will be left if he ceases to be *this.*

That’s selfish. We’re both so selfish.

It would be better if we ceased to be anything at all.

Whatever is left, I’ll still love him.

INLAND EMPIRE — How do you know he *wants* your love?

YOU — I don’t know. But he has it, anyway.

THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — A cold wind rushes past you, sending a chill deep into your bones. Unconsciously, you both step closer to each other. Seeking warmth.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #harrykim #kimharry #man idk whatever their tag is #anyway. the next world mural huh.#btw for clarity the cracks in the dam that kim and harry are both afraid of are like.#the realization that they need to stop being cops LSJDHXGXJX #like yeah also the love. but mostly the cop thing. they’re not unrelated i feel #hence why the mural ends with ‘’wreak havoc on the middle class’’

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reemonna · 7 months

Note

HI! Love ur blog. Can I req some nsfw headcanons for Connor Kenway? ;)

Oh dear, this is the first time for me to write a whole nsfw blog and I'm so anxious about it, especially if it's about Connor. I hope I won't disappoint and thank you so much!

!!! (Warning: NSFW / not for minors / +18 content) !!!

NSFW Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor Kenway headcanons

(During the events of AC3)

In spite of his terrifying physique and alarming gazes when he's hunting down an enemy, he can be the softest and most caring creature you'll ever get to know when it comes to him having a physical contact with you

He's so strong and able-bodied, so he can pin you to the wall with both his arms easily and you're here squirming before his huge body

When you're giving him head for the first time he'd be really concerned and anxious the whole time that you might choke. He's fully aware he is that huge

Him having kinks? I don't think so. He's an innocent boy, it's even possible for him not knowing what does the word 'kink' stand for in the first place. He could even ask you about it

"Nó:ronhkwe (love), what does the word 'kink' mean?"

"Where did you hear that from?"

But if he did have kinks, they would be the least risky and hurtful ones. Which means BDSM is a conclusive no for him

Connor is a busy man, he doesn't really have the time to have sexual and romantic relationships, he was once afraid he couldn't give his woman what she deserves. So having you would be his first. Yes, that means he is a virgin

Thus explain why he's shy and probably doesn't know what he's doing in your first time together. But he's a fast learner, with very observant eyes and sharp senses, he will take some mental notes of how to improve and get better by the time. And he definitely does

He's pretty skilled with his hands, according to training and using different weapons and managing them perfectly, so he really knows how to use them well, and he's ready to show you that in other ways than fighting, to play you like a violin, turning you into a sobbing mess

During the whole thing he will ask you some questions from time to time like 'Are you okay with this?', 'Am I doing good?', 'Do you want me to stop?' to let you know that he's wary and willing to make it as comfortable and pleasurable for you as possible

You wouldn't imagine what it's like to do it with him when he's mad about something. He turns into one brutal beast you won't be able to feel your body for a week at least

Once he's done and returns back to his senses, he will regret it immediately and keep on apologising (even if you're not really protesting), making sure you weren't badly hurt

When you're both close enough, he likes to play chasing games with you, tag for an example. He likes watching you from afar, determining your location with his secondary vision, licking his lips and eyeing you in a predatory way, closing the distance between you slowly like a vulture hunting down its prey. That's until he surprises you with a full-of-happiness giggle and hugs you. Holding you tight in a teddy bear way as if he's won his prize, whispering promises of a long blissful night to your ears

He looks like a sculpted statue of a greek god after reaching his climax. With his tired handsome face, pumped lips (more than they actually are), sleepy beautiful half-closed eyes, flushed tanned skin, tiny whines escaping his lips from time to time, sculpted flawless body and a rising and lowering sweaty chest. If he's conscious enough he would have a little wanton smirk on his lips with his eyes fixed upon you

He's the sweetest boy when it comes to the aftercare. He gives away lots of kisses and cuddles, asking you if he did well enough, could even prepare a bath for you to get cleaned up. He doesn't let you make the least effort possible. He takes care of everything himself until he finally lays beside you in bed, pulling you into his lap, fondling your hair tresses and kissing your forehead softly, wishing you sweet dreams

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lady-phasma · 1 year

Text

The Eve of Battle

As Aemond readies himself to go to war you have a quiet moment with him, preparing his hair for battle.

Aemond x gender neutral!reader

Fluff and hair braiding. Soft Aemond with feelings and he talks about them! What? I know right! General audiences. 1k words

You sat behind him on on the high bed. You could only have full access to his hair like this, him on a stool, his long legs stretched out toward the wall, crossed at the ankles. You passed the comb through his hair a few times to pave the way for your fingers.

At first neither of you spoke as he settled his bare shoulders between your thighs, one hand resting lightly on your shin. His other hand fidgeted by his side. He exhaled as your fingers gathered the stray hairs from his forehead. Your fingers grazed over his scar. He stiffened momentarily then relaxed back against your legs.

You parted his hair horizontally from ear to ear. His silky hair flowed around your fingers. You separated the locks for the plait. As you smoothed it against his head you started the braid just a bit lower on the crown of his head than most Targaryen braids. The band for his eye patch had to be flush against his head until he took it off.

When your fingers began their first strokes of the braid, this part tighter than the rest, you murmured a question to him. You knew each other well enough by now that he understood he didn’t have to answer you when your questions were too intimate. And you didn’t take offense. He would answer very rarely at the time and a few times he had answered many days later letting his mind turn his answer over and over.

“Will you come back to me?” you whispered as your finger slid behind his ear passing the locks to your other hand.

“Mmmm.” It wasn’t an answer, he was thinking. His fingers on your leg tightened. You focused on the style of the traditional braiding while he thought. You placed a small leather cord in your lips and separated the very top portion of his hair. You gently tied the leather cord at the base. You let it fall to the side over the back of your hand. The silver shone in the candlelight. The next part of the braid began just underneath. You selected three pieces and smoothed them apart. Before you began you placed another cord between your lips.

Aemond made a small noise, almost a sigh.

“Yes,” he spoke quietly. “When I pray to the Warrior and the Stranger that is one of my prayers.”

Your hands stilled at this reply. Not because you were surprised at the answer but that he answered at all. That was when you understood how truly afraid he was. You pressed your legs tighter against his sides. He moved his arm to rest on your knee, accommodating your closeness. You hummed acknowledgment but dared not speak. You resumed your braiding.

“I hope they are kind but their wisdom far exceeds mine, my love. They will not do what we ask solely because we ask it.” You let your fingers brush over the soft skin behind his ear as the braid moved between your hands. You let them linger only long enough to let him know you were listening. You slowed your ministrations to draw out your time together.

Aemond took a breath and shifted on the stool. He was careful to not move his head. He uncrossed his legs, switching them, and crossing his ankles again. His other hand smoothed his pants on his thigh. You watched as his arm relaxed onto your knee but the fingers of that hand moved across his thumb in an absent, nervous way. You took the cord from your mouth with a free hand.

“When I pray it is for the realm and peace but also to have that peace come swiftly so you return to King’s Landing,” you responded. The braid was becoming smaller as you neared the end. “I wish I could pray for you to never leave. The Crone guides me, gives me hope that wisdom will prevail for those who make the decisions to go to war,” your voice became quieter. “And she gives me hope that you are able to persevere in spite of your fear.” At these words he did sigh.

You leaned back slightly to make room for the length of his braid between you. Instinctively, for balance, you rested your foot against his thigh. Aemond surprised you by sliding the hand from his thigh along your foot to your calf and guided your leg to curl around him. It was awkward at first but when you finished checking that the braid was straight and sat straight once more it felt like your leg was made to fit against him.

You wrapped the leather cord around the small end of the braid a number of times before tying it off. You ran your fingers through the loose hair under the braid, smoothing it over his neck and shoulders. As your fingertips grazed his neck he grabbed your leg and pulled it close as he had done with the other.

Your eyes widened at this uncharacteristic action but enjoyed it immensely. With both hands you gathered the loose hair to the back of his neck, hands now purposefully touching his naked shoulders. Then you straighten the braid in the center, checking your work for stray strands. Lastly, you removed the cord from the separate piece gathered from above his ears. You smoothed it again, centered it above his plait, and tied it again, lower to over the beginning of the braiding.

“Were I to pray now, I would pray that I not leave you even for a moment,” he whispered. His hands smoothed over your shins as he spoke.

You laid the hair down over the braid and smoothed the finished work from his forehead to his back. You leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. Your chest pressed against his back. When you relaxed back he let himself sink against you. Careful not to disturb your hard work you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and brushed your cheek against his. You briefly kissed his scar then rested your cheeks together.

I have another Aemond x gn!reader short fic here

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 months

Note

Speaking of twst events, what are your Top 3 Favourite game events so far? I'm genuinely curious. :'DD

Are there any events you didn't like?

[Referencing this post!]

Mmmm… I think most events are at least okayish? In general, I tend to prefer stories with high stakes or the ones that have some meaningful impact on character development, which are few and far between when it comes to TWST 😅 so their events aren’t typically my thing! You’ll notice that my favorite events in TWST actually do have story and/or character relevance.

That being said!! My favorite events would have to be:

Glorious Masquerade — This is, in my opinion, TWST’s strongest story and best overall event. It stands out against the others by having actual stakes and fully committing to it, as well as does wonders for the SSR trio’s involvement and interests in taking down the Big Bad. This is particularly true of Idia and Malleus. Said Big Bad, Rollo, is also very compelling in his own right.

Wish Upon a Star — Historically, this was the first time we saw the student’s rooms! The story itself introduced us to Star Rogue, which was pivotal to the Shrouds’ childhood (and later becomes relevant again in book 6). It was sweet to see Deuce try so hard to get Idia to come out of his shell, and even sweeter to see how far Idia is willing to push himself for his brother.

Fairy Gala: What If (NOT the first Fairy Gala; this is an important distinction!) — The edge this has over the original is that it is connected to Ortho’s growth as an individual post-book 6. He is able to discover his own take on what “evolution” is. Silver also gets a cool spotlight which demonstrates the pacifist teachings he was imparted with, serving as the bridge between fae and humans. Very pretty clothes and makeup too!!

I also liked:

Happy Beans Day I and II — This was a nice event that gave the whole cast their time to shine without feeling too bloated. It was also fun to see the different strategies and tactics each student employed; it helps show off their characters and problem solving abilities!

Ghost Marriage — I really liked that TWST parodied the fairy tale love stories and romantic events (that Disney and even mobile games in general are typically associated with). Hilarious how each of the guys tried and failed because they’re just silly high school students with no idea how to actually get a date 😂 I’m also biased for any outfit that involves formal wear.

White Rabbit Festival (Queendom of Roses hometown event) — The Alice in Wonderland aesthetic of Clock Town captured my heart 😌 It was also nice to see Deuce prove that he has turned over a new leaf to the townspeople.

The events I didn’t care for are:

Endless Halloween Night — I have very strong beef with the ending and the reasoning given for it 💀 It feels like everyone got gaslit into forgiveness… I also hated how no one held Malleus fully accountable after all the stress they were put through. Easily my most disliked event.

Tamashina Mina (Sunset Savanna hometown event) — Underwhelming ending in spite of the hype building for it. No meaningful payoff for the foreshadowing of Cheka’s guards.

Tsumsted Wonderland I and II — Nothing really happens (other than I guess the Tsums being cute)?? And it doesn’t really make an impact on anything.

Lost in the Book with Stitch — Same issue(s) as the Tsumsted events, except somehow even worse because everyone magically forgets everything they did with Stitch :/ so the experience means nothing in the long term…

Honorable mentions for my dislikes:

All Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles — I hate having to sit around and wait for ingredients and the fact that you can’t cook multiple dishes in one go. The lack of story also makes these events just not worth it for me.

Sam’s New Year Sale(s) and TWST Anniversary — Do these event count as a story event???? They’re just kinda celebratory short interactions, if anything.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #question #notes from the writing raven #Rollo Flamme #Idia Shroud #Ortho Shroud #Deuce Spade #Ignihyde #Malleus Draconia #Silver #Stitch

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luc606 · 1 year

Text

Seven doesn’t understand you. Or, rather, he understands you too well. He knows what it’s like to be stubborn and want the best from people only to be disappointed. He knows what it’s like to wait for something that never comes.

- i just wanted to write about cutting saeyoung's hair don't mind me pairing: Saeyoung/MC (gender neutral 2nd person) canon 707 route timeline read on ao3

Seven doesn’t remember his last haircut. He’s sure he got fed up with his hair falling into his eyes and drove to a random cheap salon. He’s sure he paid in cash, that he tipped plenty, that he barely spoke to the hairdresser. He thinks he might have thought about sending a selfie to the RFA chatroom, but he’s sure that he decided against it. He knows that there were times before, when he was deep in hiding and in work from the agency, where he cut his own hair. He’s learned not to trust himself with it, though.

His last haircut must have been at least a few months ago—before the hacker, the apartment, and the fight with V. Before you.

Seven’s hair has grown unruly, falling into his eyes and obscuring his vision. Deep in his work tracing the hacker, he pushes his bangs back with his headphones like a makeshift headband. He’s sure that he looks ridiculous and hopes that you don’t wake up to see him like this. It doesn’t occur to him that he shouldn’t care what you think of how he looks.

You’re curled up on the couch, asleep. Seven recalls, with some indignation, the declaration you made before staying on the couch. How you accused him of not getting enough rest, how you refused to go to bed until he took a break.

The fight ended in a stalemate and then in soft breaths from the couch beside him. You had fallen asleep, phone in hand, watching him work.

He sighs, rubs his eyes, and removes his headphones. This keeps happening—his thoughts building and building until he finds himself unable to continue working.

Fine. He owes it to you to take a break.

Seven ruffles his hair back into place. He washed it earlier and it air-dried, revealing the little cupid curls that he thinks make him look boyish and cute. The way his red hair coils around the nape of his neck reminds him of how adorable his brother was when they were both little. It also reminds him of the passage of time and of the mother who gave him the curls in the first place. The overall effect is bittersweet, like anything else within reach of Saeyoung Choi.

There’s a slight change in the pattern of your breaths, then Seven sees you shift, dropping your phone to your lap and rubbing sleep from your eyes. Seriously. It’s like you’ve got sixth sense just for him. He hadn’t even made a noise.

“Go back to sleep,” he says, barely a whisper. He doesn’t sell it, though. He wishes you would go all the way to the bed on the other side of the room and curl up out of his sight. Then, at least, maybe he would be able to concentrate.

You make a sound that’s somewhere in-between a groan and a huff. You’re not fully awake yet, but you’re awake enough to be disagreeable.

“Seriously…” Seven rolls his eyes. It’s almost funny, the lengths you’re going to just to spite him. He wishes he had it in him to laugh and call you silly. Caring for him to the point of exhaustion seems completely absurd.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You pick up your phone again, frowning at the screen. It’s nearly four in the morning. You’ve been asleep on the couch for two hours. “You’re taking a break, though.”

In a way, you’ve got what you wanted. Seven is resting his eyes and stretching his neck. You’re probably thinking that it’s better than nothing and counting a tiny win for yourself.

Seven sighs again, fluffing his curls out of his face with a shaking hand. He can’t imagine he’d be able to sleep even if he had the time.

“Is your hair bothering you?” Your voice is softer than usual, more timid. Seven recognizes an unfamiliar trepidation and cringes. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for shouting at you earlier. “You mentioned in the chatroom before…” You trail off, worrying your hands in your lap. “About needing to cut your hair.”

“It’s fine,” Seven says. “Don’t worry about it.” He feels a bit like a robot, programmed to self-isolate. He’s got a limited number of useful phrases; go away, leave me alone, don’t worry about me, I’m fine, let it go…

“I could trim it if you want. It really wouldn’t take long.” You straighten on the couch, squaring your shoulders at him. “It would be easier to work without hair in your eyes.”

As much as Seven wants to turn you down again, he sees the utility of it. His hair really is a nuisance, and the sensory overload of it is impeding his work.

“Fine,” he says, before he can change his mind. “Sure.”

You’re off the couch in an instant, flying to turn the lights in the living room back on. He can tell by the way you hide your face that you’re trying not to look too surprised that he’s accepted your offer. You don’t say anything as you pull a chair into the bathroom and a pair of haircutting scissors out of the sink cabinet. Seven follows, mesmerized by how quickly and effectively you spring into action. It’s like you’re a kitten, leaping from the shadows onto an unsuspecting ball of yarn.

Briefly, Seven wonders whether the haircutting scissors are yours or Rika’s. He’s already decided that it doesn’t matter when you say, “These are mine,” as if you’ve read his mind.

“Do you cut your own hair?” he asks.

You nod. “I trim my own bangs.”

Seven chuckles, a little of his old self coming back to him in his nervousness. “So, I’m in good hands, then?”

When you smile, Seven realizes that he’s missed seeing you at ease. It’s not as though it’s been very long since he’s seen your smile, but, still, he realizes that he’s been longing for it. Even when you’re right in front of him, he can feel the distance he’s put between the two of you. It’s an oppressive feeling of loneliness, like being lost in space with limited oxygen supply.

“Of course,” you say, playfully snipping the air, “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Seven follows your instruction to sit. After some hesitation, he shrugs off his jacket.

“Do you want to…” You trail off, biting your lip, looking worried. Seven is more attuned to your facial expressions now, perhaps overcompensating for how he’s hurt your feelings. He can’t stand thinking that you might be scared of him, even if that’s exactly what he needs you to be. Desire to keep the walls between you in tact is in constant combat with his desire to put you back at ease in his presence.

“Are you okay?” He sounds a bit like you, timid and sugary-sweet. His voice seems to echo with the memory of yours from the past few days. Half of the conversations he’s had with you have begun with your voice asking this same question in the same tone.

He watches you in the bathroom mirror as you nod your head, then shift on the balls of your feet. “Hair gets in your shirt collar.”

“So?”

You duck momentarily out of the frame of the mirror. Your voice behind him is half-hearted, like you’ve run out of steam. “Never mind.”

That’s when he realizes what you mean, and his mind becomes an overheating CPU again, whirring out of his control. He imagines taking off his shirt so that tiny hairs don’t stick to him when they fall. His muscles are a surprise to anyone that knows his habits, so he imagines seeing that surprise on your face. Warmth creeps across his neck at the thought.

“It’s okay. I have other shirts.” He already feels exposed enough without his hoodie, but it’s equal parts freedom and vulnerability. He sits a little taller, as if the weight of the jacket pressed his shoulders down when he wore it. His arms, though, feel stiff and too long without familiar pockets to rest in. He hasn’t made eye-contact with himself in the mirror once, but he knows he looks a little clearer.

“Sure.”

It is in this moment when both of you realize the situation you’re in. You haven’t ever touched him before deliberately. There was one time when your elbow bumped his while you were eating with chopsticks beside him, followed by a hurried apology and a shuffle away. You seem a afraid of your hands being in his hair.

Seven clears his throat and tilts his chin up so that his head is perfectly straight. “I’ll try to keep still.”

“Alright, yeah.“ You take a section of hair at the back of his neck, pinching little cupid curls between two fingers. “Be still.”

The first snip takes away almost nothing at all. Seven can tell that you’re easing into it. Really, he wouldn’t care if you did a bad job. He can only worry about so much at a time, he reckons that a bad trim wouldn’t even be a blip on his radar. The second snip is a little more sure.

Seven has never had an easy time staying still. He’s always bouncing his legs or rocking in his chair or typing imaginary lines of code with his idle fingers. For you, though, and for the sake of his cherry-red curls, he puffs out his chest and counts slow breaths. He keeps his promise, only moving when you direct him to tilt his head one way or another.

You do your best to minimize falling hair as you cut, throwing pieces into the bathroom trashcan instead of letting them fall. Still, Seven can feel little tickles under his collar. He tries to ignore them, along with his rising internal temperature. As well as your hands combing his bangs to one side and then the other, your warm breath against his neck when you lean in to trim beneath his ears. You study him like a sculptor smoothing details into clay, leaning close as you measure pieces of hair against each other, aiming for perfection.

“Do you usually go to a hair salon to get your hair trimmed?”

Seven is startled when you break the silence, but he’s careful not to show it. He takes a breath. “Yeah, it gets away from me, though.”

A lot of things get away from him. For his entire adult life, Seven has been tossed around by the agency and V, treading water all the time. Before, when he still believed Saeran was safe, it hadn’t been so bad to let himself be used. Knowing that it’s all been for nothing, though, Seven finds a new feeling of guilt and loss at having led such a terrible life with nothing to show for it.

“Are you alright?” you ask, for the millionth time in a day. The words seem to fall from your mouth without thought.

Seven frowns, wondering how he could even begin to answer.

“Don’t answer that,” you say. It’s obvious that he’s not alright. “Sorry.”

It’s a mercy when you’re finished. You ruffle his curls one last time and step back. Seven sucks in a breath and slumps against the chair. His shoulders muscles ache from the tension he’s been holding.

“What do you think?” You take a step back and cross your arms.

Seven has to stand to fully see his face in the mirror. Really studying himself like this is something he tends to avoid, but it becomes easier in the moment than looking back at you.

“It looks good,” he says, and he isn’t lying. You’ve only done a utilitarian trim, keeping his normal hairstyle completely in tact, but it looks about as good as a professional haircut. A bit more of his face has been revealed by his bangs being trimmed back, again making him feel simultaneously more vulnerable and more at ease.

You put the scissors back into the bathroom cabinet. It’s clear by the way that you scoot around him to the door that you’re avoiding his eye contact as much as he’s avoiding yours.

“You probably want to shower,” you say, “the little hair pieces…”

“Right, yeah.”

Seven realizes far too late that you’ve tricked him into almost an hour away from his computer. He doesn’t mind, though, because he nearly shudders at the thought of hot water hitting his swimming head and sore back.

You nod, then leave him alone, closing the door as you go.

Out of necessity, Seven uses your shampoo. He scrubs his shoulders with your soap and the steam carrying your scent envelops him like a blanket. The corners of his eyes prick with tears at the foreign tenderness you’ve shown him. Not just in cutting his hair in the middle of the night, but in making sure he’s eaten and slept, in trying to reason with him and being understanding when he’s pushed you away.

Seven never cried as a child. It was important for him to be strong for Saeran, and he didn’t like letting his mom know how he felt, no matter how terrible she was to him. There was power, then, in hiding away. Everything he was able to keep for himself was a luxury.

Until a few days ago, the same principal applied. All of the secrets about his past were like the expensive cars in his garage, tucked away in the dark, completely under his control. Everything was compartmentalized into boxes labeled with his three identities.

He imagines the name tags on them. Luciel, the martyred angel, 707, the secret agent, and Saeyoung… Saeyoung doesn’t need an epitaph. The syllable he shares with a lost brother is enough.

When he finishes showering, he wraps himself in a towel and drops the clothes he was wearing into the hamper. He notices that the hamper is empty, meaning that you secretly did his laundry for him even when he told you not to worry about it. He heaves a half-frustrated-half-adoring sigh.

“Do you feel better?” you ask him when he returns to the living room, wearing a clean pair of black sweatpants and a new red t-shirt. He puts his jacket back on and returns to his place in the corner. You have curled back up on the couch next to his workstation with your phone, tapping away at a text to someone in the RFA app. Seven wonders if you’re telling one of the members about the haircut you’ve given him.

Seven drops down to the floor. His hair is still damp, pieces of it sticking to his ears and his face, but it’s no longer in his eyes or tickling his neck. He feels like a new man. “Yeah.” He unlocks his laptop and picks up right where he’s left off tracing the hacker. “Thanks.”

“You’re going to work more?”

“I have to.”

“Right.”

He watches as you get up and retrieve a spare blanket and one of the pillows from the bed. You set them on the couch and, for a moment, Seven thinks you might demand that he sleep there.

Instead, you settle back into your spot and pull the blanket over you. “If you get tired, take a nap on the bed.”

Seven sees no point in arguing, your tone is so matter-of-fact. He only nods. “Fine. Go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Seven.” You reach out a hand and ruffle his hair. The gesture is so nonchalant that, by the time he’s registered it, your hand is already tucked back into the blanket.

Seven sits there for a moment, listening to your gentle breaths beside him and the soft whir of his laptop’s fan cooling the CPU. He’s in another stalemate with you, exactly where he started.

“Goodnight.”

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kaigarax · 15 days

Text

Winter

Gyutaro x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone like you."

My Dearest,

I wish you could have loved me the way I wanted you to. And I wish I could have loved you the way you deserved.

Yours Truly

---

“Did it hurt when you died?” Gyutaro asks, kneeling down and looking up at you with an amused expression on his sickly looking face.

Your own face, pretty and gentle, smiles gently, “I imagine it hurts at least a little when anyone dies.”

Gyutaro nears you, his amused expression morphing into a sneer, “you didn’t answer my question.”

“I didn’t, did I.”

“Well?” Gyutaro snaps, impatient and harsh.

Your expression remains neutral though the corner of your lips twitch up ever so slightly. If Gyutaro weren’t a demon he’s certain he would’ve missed the ever so slight change in your expression - but because he isn’t a human he doesn’t quite understand why. Not that he would have understood even if he was a human though perhaps if he had been born more normal he might’ve been closer to the mark.

Not that anyone ever did understand you, except for maybe him. And even he seemed to have trouble understanding you on your best days.

You answer with a simple “yes”, acting as if someone asked if you wanted tea instead of the more invasive question that Gyutaro had proposed in the first place.

“Oh.” Gyutaro finds himself surprised by your answer but even more so at his own lack of a reaction. He’s more disappointed than excited. More bored than thrilled.

“So damn much.”

Eventually, when Gyutaro assumes you’ve grown bored of standing, you move towards him and take a seat. Your movements are smoother than he realised. There’s a graceful elegance to the way you move, a little similar to how his sister moves after all the training they put her through when she was young. It’s a practiced flow that’s more artificial than the air going in and out of Gyutaro’s lungs.

You hum quietly to yourself. Just barely loud enough that Gyutaro can hear and he’s sitting right in front of you. The humming is accompanied by an incessant tapping of your fingers into the soft dirt and occasional tap of your foot.

Gyutaro thinks you’re awfully fidgety for a demon. Thinks that there must be something wrong with you because of your inability to sit still. Not that Gyutaro has met a lot of demons that are able to sit still for long periods of time but he doubts that any of them would have been like you. It is quite the contrast to your ladylike behaviour which is why Gyutaro is certain that this mask you’ve insisted on wearing in his presence is nothing but that. A mask. There’s no way that this is your natural state of being.

“You know,” you hum softly, “I grew up by the ocean.”

Gyutaro rolls his eyes, “I don’t care.”

“How mature~” You tease.

Gyutaro sticks his nose up in the air in response not wanting to listen to whatever stupid story you have to tell him. Women always like to tell pointless random stories, don’t they? His sister certainly tells stupid pointless stories all the time but he’ll obviously always listen to her stories. She’s his sister after all.

But everyone else? They’ll find themselves in a not so similar position to his sister if they were to ever test the bounds of his patience. You, perhaps, are the only expectation though through no merit of your own but because Gyutaro understands his place in this world. Understands where he stands in comparison to everyone else and who happens to stand behind you.

There’s nothing all that special about you is there?

You’re not ugly but you’re certainly not as pretty as his sister.

More average than anything else in the eyes of Gyutaro. You seem almost regular if not for the words etched onto your eyes. Gyutaro can’t actually read the words that you’ve had engraved on your eyes but knows for a fact that they make you stand out more than you would have without them. The only reminder that you’re like the rest of them. A cold blooded killer that seeks to continue living in spite of everything else in this world.

Now, all Gyutaro has to do is figure out if that’s a good thing or not. Right now he finds himself leading towards the latter of the two options.

“Anyways, I think you would have liked it,” you say, speaking to him as if he were nothing more than a petulant child in need of a lecture, “the ocean.”

Gyutaro raises a brow, “the ocean?”

“Have you never seen the ocean before?”

Gyutaro shakes his head.

“Sorry,” you hum, “I would’ve assumed that you had seen it with how long you’ve been alive. Though, I suppose you would have no curiosity to see the ocean if you never got the chance to witness such a sight while you were young. That’s, of course, no fault of your own. It’s simply the way that demons are after they’re transformed.”

“The way demons are?”

“Demons cling to everything they were as humans. Which is honestly a little ironic, don’t you think?”

Ironic?

Gyutaro isn’t all too sure what that word means but whatever. It’s probably nothing all that good anyways. You seem to find something funny about the word (and Gyutaro’s willing to bet that it isn’t the sound of the word).

“We’re transformed into demons so that we can transcend everything that we were when we were humans yet cling exactly to everything that we wanted and only enhance everything that we were.” You look almost amused as you stare up at the starry sky above you, “I wasn’t much, as you can see. Not really beautiful or smart. Not really strong or have developed any specific gift that one might expect from a demon.”

“You were weak?”

“Some might argue that I’m still weak.”

Gyutaro shakes his head, “as a human. You were weak as a human?”

“A very fragile thing,” you say, “I spent most of my childhood sick in bed. Staring out at the ocean from an open window wishing to be everything that I wasn’t.”

“So you’re ugly, like me.”

“Hm?” You seem more confused than offended.

Gyutaro refuses to elaborate further. Too focused on the burning flush that rises up to his cheeks as you stare at him from your spot on the floor.

Instead, Gyutaro dares to scooch a little closer to you from his place on the ground. No longer kneeling but sitting on his bum as you had. He doesn’t sit in the same prim and proper form as you and instead props his knees up and rests his head atop of them.

Despite being so different from you Gyutaro feels as if the two of you could be kindred souls.

Like him you had been born with a weak body. Spend most of your life hidden away from the view of the world - watching from an open window that no one else ever dared to look in. It was strangely satisfying to hear the sad stories of someone else. Strangely reassuring in whatever messed up way it was. Though, in Gyutaro’s defense, everything in his life was a little messed up - which would have made the messed up state of mind his normal instead of abnormal as if might’ve been for everyone else.

“Tell me about the ocean.” Gyutaro demands.

You nod, speaking to him softly, “and what about the ocean would you like to know?”

“What is it?”

“Access to a world so far detached from our own.”

“Stupid.”

You raise a delicate brow, “hm?”

“The ocean. It sounds stupid.” Answered Gyutaro.

“I suppose it does,” you smile, “but to me, it’s always been everything.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I don’t have any other choice.”

Gyutaro leans in close to you, no longer caring about your personal space. Well, it wasn’t that Gyutaro actually cared about someone else’s personal space, it was more so that he cared about his own. Unless it was his sister he wasn’t too keen on getting close to another person (or demon) unless it was to inflict pain of some sort.

There was always something much more appealing that came from inflicting pain close up than inflicting it from a distance. But that’s besides the point.

Right now, Gyutaro leaned in real close as if trying to see if you’re real or not. Bringing his face close to yours. A part of him thinks that if he blew hard enough you’d disappear like a pile of dust in the wind.

You’re ugly.

Like him.

There’s also a strange delicateness to you similar to his sister. At first, Gyutaro didn’t understand why he might’ve had such an attachment to a pathetic thing like you but when he compares you to his sister he begins to think that there might be a similarity or two. Like a delicateness that you want to see thrive. A piece of you that entices change in others.

And what are demons, if not change?

You’re also calm. It’s different from most other demons. Actually, it’s different from all demons. Gyutaro hasn’t met all demons but he’s certainly met his fair share of them and he knows for a fact that none of them have a calming presence like you. Demons are, at their roots, predators. Apex predators. Enticing fear and danger by their mere presence alone. But you’re not like that. You’re calm. Not calm in a fall asleep traditional sense but in a strange sort of way.

Being around you almost makes Gyutaro feel like a human and he absolutely hates that. Despite the fact that he leans in closer, as if trying to reclaim his humanity, he hates it. Hates the pathetic little boy he was when he was a human. Hates that you remind him of that part of himself yet leans in towards you nonetheless.

Unlike his sister, Gyutaro is an honest person. He doesn’t need pretty words and lies to get what he wants. In fact, he prefers it that way. Doesn’t mind the fact that he wears his heart on his sleeve. That everyone can see exactly what he’s thinking and feeling. Discretion was never a skill he needed all that much - and honestly was perhaps his only redeeming quality. Now though, Gyutaro finds himself realizing that he’s suddenly caught himself in a lie.

Gyutaro has always considered demons to be creatures of change - or at least that was what he had convinced himself back when he had first changed into such a thing in the first place. What he had told his sister when the two of them first lost their humanity and buried their fangs into the poor innocent soul.

People, or at least all the people Gyutaro had met in his sad pathetic excuse of a life, were all the same.

Constantly stumbling into the same mistakes as one another.

Constantly repeating the same struggles as if there were nothing more to life than exactly what was in front of them.

But people, over time, changed.

Or at least the society around them had changed.

And every once in a while, someone like you would come around. Someone that would bring change to this repetitive and seemingly endless world. People like you were what changed society.

“Do you hate me?” Gyutaro asks, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle. Gyutaro doesn’t even realise that he’s the one that’s said the words until he feels your curious gaze on his own.

Your gaze is surprisingly soft and gentle. Not something that Gyutaro is familiar with. It’s such a foreign look that Gyutaro is tempted to poke you cheek to see if it’s real. He wonders if the look is so foreign to him because he’s so close.

Oh well.

The answer to that question is more thinking than it’s worth.

It’d be much easier for him to just slash at the things in front of him instead of just thinking about it.

Before Gyutaro can come to a conclusion of what to do you tilt your head to the side curiously, looking almost like a cat, “did it hurt when you died?”

“Yes,” Gyutaro nods, “so damn much.”

Fall in love with someone like you.

---

Her: I love you.

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #gyutaro x reader #100 ways to fall in love

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tinyidle · 1 year

Text

February Filth Fest DAY 6: auralism

Sleep Better - KHJ

word goal: 1300

goal accomplished?: yupp; 2.1k

WARNING: smut ofc, fluff, title implies the main kink, asmr (seonghwa is mentioned very very briefly), kissing, cursing, soft-turned-rough sex, teasing, praise kink, groping, foreplay (nipple play, cunniligus, finger f*cking), light pussy slapping, spoon and side-to-side position, soft dom!hongjoong, caring boyfriend!hongjoong, not mentioned but b!g d¡ck hongjoong because why not, sub!reader, physically/sexually sensitive!reader, fem reader, all fiction

before you start to read, think about hongjoong and his voice. think about his lives, especially his more domestic or night lives. then watch or reference to this and this. now incorporate all that into this work. thanks ;)

your boyfriend was ecstatic as he was pulling you by the hand to your shared bedroom, with you almost falling several times while going up the stairs.

"slow down, joong," you laughed, him laughing along with you. love the man, but sometimes he could be too much when it came to showing you something.

the man only slowed down when you both reached the door, opening it and looking around. "i made something for us so you can sleep well tonight."

us? you wondered. "what do you mean?" you asked him.

hongjoong simply smirked, led you to the bed to sit, leaned towards your face and started to kiss you. as much as you wanted an answer to your question, nothing was going to stop you from pulling away now. as the kiss stayed sensuously steady, your clothes were being swiftly discarded one-by-one. the only time hongjoong let you take more than a five seconds' breather was when he took off his confinements.

you now thought of this as the perfect time to go back to your previous dialogue, albeit being more like a q&a. "i asked you a question, hongjoong."

once your boyfriend took off his boxers, he looked up at your confused eyes, his own narrowing in a lustful manner. you watched as his left hand supported his weight on the mattress as the other held a firm grip on his growing erection, slowly pumping himself. you bit your lip as arousal free-flowed out of your core onto the linen bed cover, making you lift yourself up a bit and push the covers back as to not mess them up any further.

hongjoong saw all that you did in spite of him and groaned. "you're so pretty," he stated, as he always did in and out the bedroom. "and what turns you on turns me on." he let go of his semi-hard cock and got up to get something, you being mesmerized by your boyfriend's figure from behind.

when he returned, he had fluffy headphones. "what's that for?" you voiced in barely above a whisper, considering that your own lust clogged your throat of being able to speak without squeaking.

"remember how you said you wanted to get into asmr?" you nodded, surprised that he remembered that small wish you made almost a year ago. you hated the mouth and slimy sounds the asmrtists made, especially when all you wanted to do was sleep. you complained to hongjoong about this only once, but he's thought about it since that day. you love him so much.

he went to the side of the bed and adjusted what looked like microphone equipment and hooked everything technological with each other, plugging a final cord to the wall. "i got seonghwa to help me get familiar with all the types of triggers those asmr people do and-" he placed the headset comfortably over your ears "-along with some research, im going to help you both get asmr and better sleep."

you were about to ask how he would be able to do that until you heard absolutely nothing. noise-cancelling headphones; so good that you couldn't even hear yourself breathe. "joong!" you called out in a fright, even though he was right in front of you.

"im right here baby," he answered you. normally you'd sigh of relief, but the sudden yet comfortable boom of your boyfriend's voice rang in your covered ears, making you shiver. that's how he's going to help you, you thought. by him being your asmrtist. "if you can hear me, tell me what you want," he mused at your legs, seeing need seep out of you from between them.

being quite nervous yet excited, you shakily answered, "please joongie, touch me." you could hear the clear sigh of contentment your boyfriend let out-- one that made more arousal pour out of you.

hongjoong walked around the bedframe until he sat behind you on the king-sized mattress, legs sprawled on each side of your hips. through the headphones you were wearing you could clearly hear him breathing steadily as his hands roamed your arms, exhaling a voiceless groan as his hand made contact with your breasts. you made the same noise. "you have such perfect tits," he praised you as he began peppering soft kisses on your shoulders. "i love them on you."

the stimulation being given to your chest-- the finger pads rolling along your hard nipples, them being squished and massaged by small hands that weren't yours, the occasional jiggle to each mound of flesh-- as well as the added sounds of your boyfriend's suckle-type kisses being amplified by the headpiece you had on proved to be too much your senses of sound and touch. holding onto hongjoong's thighs and digging into them with your nails, you came with a shudder and a moan.

the man behind you chuckled while giving your neck a quick kiss, you yelping from the ticklish action. "my baby couldn't hold it, hmm?" he kept kissing your neck as his hands caressed your stomach and sides, allowing them to revel in the curves he loves so much.

you couldn't help but giggle from the affection you were being received, trying your best to speak as hongjoong playfully riled you up. "you know i cant hold back when you touch me like that," you answered.

"mmh," he said, moving from behind you, slowly pushing you to the bed before leaning down to kiss your chest and stomach all over. "like what?"

your breaths that were just getting labored from laughing so much started to quicken again as you felt your boyfriend kiss downwards to your pelvis. "like-" you moaned aloud as you felt your thighs being nipped at. you stretched yourself flat at the feeling, squirming a bit. "fuck, joong please."

getting up to bring the mic equipment further to further to your body, hongjoong then leaned towards you before sharing a quick peck with you. "you trust me?" he asked.

"of course," you nodded. "with my life."

he chuckled under is breath. "then you'll trust me enough to give you enough pleasure for the night, right my love?"

your eyes filled with the love his eyes gave you. "yes, joongie. pleasure me the way you've planned it, love."

smiling at you, the man eagerly went back to your pelvic area, spreading your thighs to see the glistening area that was your core. "baby's so wet. i bet she's super excited to get what she wants, hmm baby?" he licked a wide stripe up your slit with the sultriest moan one could imagine. "mmh, you taste so fucking good," he mused, mouth muffled full of your cunt, only the sound of shameless slurping and licking filling your ears.

your breath almost stopped upon hearing the sounds of your boyfriend and his sinful tongue working wonders on your clit and opening. "y-yes, joongie. i need it so much," you whined, hands finding a spot on his black hair, continuously tugging as your senses started to get overloaded by the sounds and feel of just a tongue and a voice. one muscle and vocal cord you loved so so much.

and the man caught onto you being overwhelmed, pulling back to give you a slight break. "your moans always make me harder than one should. look," he showed you his soaked leg. "i even came on myself." you giggled at that. "i need to feel my baby first before i lose it again, though. will you let me do that?"

nodding frivolously, he took that as a yes as he smirked. his pointer and middle fingers made contact from your clit to your slit, just barely reaching the spot you wanted him to breach. "you know, baby, one of my favorite things to do to this pussy is not only eat it." he stated. you were about to ask what else it was-- mouth open and all-- until your mouth released one of the most neediest and whiniest moans to exist. at least to you it did; to hongjoong it was music to his ears. "i also love to feel inside it."

his fingers started pumping with a slow and steady pace, honestly, but you were so sensitive that you were whining and gasping in no time. his fingers always knew to curve upwards in a way that would perfectly hit your sweet spot. the 'love spot', as he'd call it.

your slickness and hongjoong's endless praises towards your bud made you go insane, but what broke it all for you was when you felt your boyfriend hook his middle finger in your cunt, curling upwards and slightly tugging forwards, as if fishing for something. fishing for your orgasm, all while staring deep into your glossy eyes. "let go for me, you look so good when you do," he pleaded.

"fuck, joongie!!" you cried out as you nearly squirted, your liquids coming out like a weak waterfall. hongjoong then carefully pulled out his finger, quickly sucking it clean, and then used the same hand to gently tap your clit till overstimulation began to peak through. you heard him congratulate you while you came down from your high. once you went back to normal, you reached out to the man still near your pelvis and kissed him once he was near your lips. you tasted sweet, as he always complimented about you.

hongjoong knew he had one more thing to do in order to make you 'fall asleep'. "lay on your side, love." you kissed his cheek and did just so, facing him. hongjoong spent some time looking at your beauty: your beautiful face, hair, boobs, stomach, hips, pelvis, thighs, legs and feet. then he lifted the leg that was not on the bed up and on his shoulder. "you make me so hard that it fucking hurts sometimes," he slightly confessed, as he told you this all the time.

your mouth once again wnet agape as you felt your boyfriend's thick girth push itself inside your tiny opening. "i- im sorry, joongie," you blindly apologized, so in the moment of you being filled by your favorite thing.

the man shook his head while smiling. "no need to apologize. i get an excuse to fuck this pretty pussy every time it happens." and he was right, as tonight was one of them. he set a pace like he did previously with his fingers, except he mimicked every noise you made, making your face heat up as you heard your boyfriend whine and moan and gasp. "turn around," he instructed as he pulled out.

you turned, back facing him. a gasp came out of you as you felt and heard a loud smack across your bottom. "shit, this ass of yours is to die for. god, i love you." your leg was lifted yet again, but this time hongjoong plunged himself in you, making you cry out. "im gonna fuck you till you cant take it anymore," the man promised before beginning his brutal thrusts inside of you.

boy, did he keep his promise. between fucking you hard, squeezing your ass and boobs with every given second, and sloppily kissing your back and shoulders, what got you most was dirty talk. you were blabbering by now as he was doing it, turning your head to face him. you were looking deep into his eyes as your lip quivered. "look at my baby, so fucking pretty. taking my cock like a good girl." he let one of his hands go down to your clit and started rubbing precisely small circles, causing you to moan louder than you already were. thank goodness the walls were soundproof.

"want to cum? fucking make a mess on my cock?" he taunted.

"yes, yes, yes- fuck!! please joongie! please i want to cum." you pleaded, hand on your own breast as you pushed yourself back onto your boyfriend's piston-moving hips.

hongjoong held you still and started jackhammering into you, making you scream out in unending euphoria. "cum, baby. ill fill you up after."

"yes, fuck yes!!" you chanted, tears falling on the pillow below you as you felt yourself tighten around hongjoong, him still fucking into you a few more times until you felt him shoot inside of you. implants have never felt as good of a plan as now.

you both panted heavily, hands entangled with one another, a stupid smile on both your faces. "i didn't go hard on you right?" hongjoong asked. "i know it was a lot for you since you don't like mouth noises and-"

"i loved it," you confirmed to the worrier as you pulled him out of you and turned around. "and i love you so much. thanks for thinking about me," you said in gratitude as you leaned in to give him a deep, loving, post sex kiss.

hongjoong pulled back after the kiss and smiled at you. "anything for my baby," he said, with both of you going back to kissing. later on he would treat you even better: draw you a bath, massage any tight knots, the usual aftercare works with him. but for now he wanted to just be with you, and you did too.

headphones on the floor and long forgotten.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━

hope you enjoyed! i intended to do only one fic for the feb filth fest but i might look back into the list and do another one; we'll see.

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #february filth fest

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dmasterxd · 2 years

Text

What really makes the Blue Lions such interesting and well-written characters is how they’re bound by trauma. Of course, other houses also have characters who have sad or traumatic backstories, but the Blue Lions is the only one that it applies to the entire house. And it’s always so deeply rooted into the way that these characters act and why they do the things that they do.

Dimitri-Sole survivor of the Tragedy of Duscur. Lost his parents and dear friend. And then developed a severe case of PTSD to the point where he was haunted by illusionary ghosts of his loved ones to get revenge. And constantly fighting against himself to keep his darker tendencies reigned in.

Felix-Lost his older brother in the tragedy. And then growing to hate chivalry and lashing out against it in every way possible, and having to look at chivalrous concepts in the most cynical way to cope with Glenn’s death. Since Glenn himself highly valued chivalry.

Ingrid-Lost her fiancée (and close friend, feel like people forget about this aspect too much tbh) in the tragedy. And since she didn’t see his death and idolized Glenn so much had to force herself to believe that he died in an ideal way and wishing to replicate it herself.

Sylvain-Was already being tormented by his brother on multiple occasions and then lost a close friend and had to watch his other best friends struggle with their grief and trauma to the point of developing self-destructive tendencies. A behavior which he was most likely already exhibiting himself at that point.

Dedue-Lost his parents and sister. Had his race genocided. Has an extreme lack of self-worth due to the prejudice of his people. And accepts all of the hatred thrown at him in spite of him and most of Duscur being innocent because some Duscur people were involved.

Annette-Was abandoned by her father (due to the tragedy) and worked herself to the bone tirelessly for years in pursuit of finding him. To the point where it reaches extremely unhealthy levels. And she has to actively try to take it easy. Because she’s just become so accustomed to it.

Ashe-Lost his birth parents and had to turn to thievery to keep his younger siblings fed. His adoptive older brother was executed for conspiring in the tragedy. And due to Lonato adopting and saving him, Ashe develops an extremely idealistic perspective where he wants to help everyone and believe in the best in everyone, despite how things might seem.

Mercedes-Her father was a terrible person (don’t really want to get into that cause trigger warning stuff). And she and her mother had to escape leaving her little brother behind. Said little brother became a deranged serial killer who was beyond saving. And she has an extremely caring and motherly personality to all of her fellow Lions, probably due to the fact that she wasn’t able to save her brother, which she definitely regrets a lot.

They’re all such extremely broken, traumatized, and flawed individuals. But that’s exactly what makes them so interesting. These characters who’ve already been put through the ringer before the start of the story. And then are challenged even more during the story itself. It’s all the more satisfying when you see them push through together, overcome their flaws, and then end up victorious. The more adversity a character has, the more sweeter it is when they’re finally able to achieve their goals at the end. And that’s why, the Blue Lions are such an interesting and well-rounded house of fantastic characters.

Heck, same thing goes for Rodrigue, Gilbert, and Catherine. But I feel like this post is already too long as it is XD.

TL;DR: The Blue Lions and even Faerghus characters in general are extremely well-written.

#blue lions #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #felix hugo fraldarius #ingrid brandl galatea #sylvain jose gautier #dedue molinaro #annette fantine dominic #ashe ubert #mercedes von martritz #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #three houses #holy kingdom of faerghus

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royal-ruin · 9 months

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red, white, and royal blue fic recs (part 2)

other rwrb fic recs here personal favorites are starred, by the way. everything is complete unless stated otherwise.

five times henry's competency turned alex on and the one time it turned him into a pile of romantic goo by helenblqckthorn (~4k)

Alex has a fucking thing for competency. A competency kink, if he wants to be crude. And it just so happens that his boyfriend is one of the most competent men in England. Well, Alex, he thinks. You sure know how to pick ‘em.

*ever so careful (heartbreak remix) by everwitch (~7k)

Did you know about me and Henry? Henry is a singer in the mega-popular boyband Honey. Alex is an award-winning actor. But before either of them made their claim to fame, they were something else entirely.

so heart-breakingly beautiful

*i see you (your whole heart) by indomitablelove (~7k)

‘I think he’s excellent,’ Arthur says, picking up a knife from the pot of jam to spread over his toast. ‘It’s refreshing to see someone be so unapologetically themselves. I think we need more of that.’ He glances at Henry. ‘I think that everybody should be able to be exactly who they are, without shame.’ Five times Arthur tried to tell Henry he knew (and one time Henry told him).

when i tell you this had me tearing up

*fleeting seconds (wish you would hold me for more) by zellymaybloom (~9k) incomplete

Henry and Alex have a tradition where they kiss on New Years. 5 times they do, 1 time they don't. Henry isn't sure how much it means. OR in a world where Rio doesn't spark a rivalry, but instead a friendship, Alex kisses Henry every year instead of Nora.

more of the boys being completely oblivious (mostly alex ofc)

(baby) don't make me spell it out by extasiswings for letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (~2k)

One night near the end of first semester 1L finals, just a few weeks before the two-year anniversary of their first kiss, Alex finds himself looking up from his desk with its messy piles of color-coded notes and tabbed textbooks to see Henry asleep on the couch, clearly having dozed off waiting for him to come to bed, and unbidden he thinks, God, I’m going to marry this man. It startles him, the spike of adrenaline that floods through him waking him up and bringing the parts of his brain turning over concepts like proximate cause and strict liability to a standstill as he stares at Henry. I want to marry this man.

a must-read. i never get tired of alex's pining. (should clarify, they are dating here)

I'm Fine With My Spite and My Tears (and my beer and my candles) by Megg1223 (~8k)

Henry leaves Alex at the lake house, but Alex doesn't storm Kensington. What happens when they see each other after three months? With the election right around the corner can Alex keep it together enough not to cause another international incident? Alex just needs to get through the night and then he can forget about the boy who broke his heart, but he's finding it increasingly difficult as the night goes on.

tagged with a happy ending, but it is angsty :(

**God Save the Blessed American President Mom by zipadeea (~31k)

["June stopped by at lunch; she showed me a delightful channel called Hallmark, which repeats the same story every hour after they swap one round of white, straight, small-town conventionally beautiful actors for another. It was entertaining.” “June and I used to play a drinking game with those. Take a shot every time someone goes ice skating, sledding, or leaves the big city for their tiny hometown.” “Good lord, you must’ve been sloshed in the first ten minutes.”] --- On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life. Alex gets shot instead.

if you haven't read this, you definitely have to now. be warned it is very angsty though.

#rwrb fanfic #rwrb #rwrb book #rwrb film #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #royal's rwrb fic recs #rwrb fanfiction

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 2 years

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How to Say “I Love You”

Synopsis: Foul Legacy can’t speak, and that’s alright. But for you, he’ll tear down the stars trying.

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Comfort, Fluff Warnings: Mentions of crying, stress, and exhaustion

Requested by @funeraldirectorhutao !!

~ * ~ What is the importance of the term “I love you”? For some, it is something casual; a playful piece of banter thrown back and forth between friends to show affection, platonic and pure. For others, it’s a phrase used to thank one’s family, solidifying bonds that hope to stand strong even under the harshest of storms, or else crumble. For a few, it’s a joke; a scathing remark said in voices dripping with spite and anger, or perhaps the smallest speck of longing. For you, it is a declaration of one’s deepest feelings, feelings that hopefully make you smile warmly instead of biting your tongue in confusion. For you, it’s easy, simple; three words, nothing more, nothing less. A simple phrase you’ll never hear, ever. It never was the right time for Childe to tell you back then, not wanting to crush your heart when he inevitably attempted to destroy the Harbor, your home and whole life. And when he was unable to transform back from his Foul Legacy, his mind was muddled by the changes in his body and the ability to speak was lost. Not to say Childe is silent- he rumbles and coos and trills so often it feels like having a conversation, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just speaking some mysterious Abyssal language, one your human brain can’t even begin to comprehend. You hope he’s telling you that he loves you in that language, because you love him like Teyvat loves the sun. Childe curses himself everyday for not being able to say those three words back, the ones you whisper so often when he’s curled around you, purring and drowsy. He’ll always chirp and croon to you afterwards, but all you know is that he’s happy, not that he’s confessing his undying adoration of you because you speak a language bathed in sun and moonlight while he rasps out something only mages of the infinite Abyssal sea would understand. He can’t even say your name anymore, the name of the person he treasures most. When he was human he relished your name, taking any chance he could to say it with enough warmth to melt all the snow in Snezhnaya. It always made you smile in that soft, gentle way he could never truly master for himself, and just that would be enough to make his bloodthirsty heart grow light with love for you. Those are Childe’s only regrets- not saying your name more often, and not telling you how much you truly meant to him before he was trapped by the weight of the stars in the sky. You always say it’s alright, that you don’t mind in the slightest, but he can see the melancholy beneath your endless supply of smiles. All he can do is hold you close and snuggle into your hair on those days, the days where you’re silent from dusk to midnight and your eyes are clouded and weary, rumbling quietly to soothe your frazzled nerves. He wishes he could do more, he wants it so badly. Wants to make you smile, really smile, on the days you both feel like the world is beginning to crumble at the corners, because when you’re crumbling, Childe’s crumbling, too. And the defender of childhood dreams, protector of his siblings and his family and you, wished so desperately it was born to reality, with trial, error, and love. It’s one of those days again, except today is somehow several times worse. Your hand shakes as you slowly shut the door, keeping your eyes trained on the ground as if looking at anything and anyone would make you spontaneously start crying. You try to keep your emotions under wraps, see- it’s unfair to make others deal with them, especially not your beloved Childe, who cares so much for you and so little for himself. When you’re sad, he’s sad, and vice versa. You can’t bear the thought of him suffering more, it breaks your heart, so on days like this you stay silent, refusing to let treacherous words spill out because with them you’re like an open book. As you walk towards the couch your legs feel like lead; you want nothing more than to collapse on the soft cushions and fall asleep, because perhaps the sun would return if you just block out the night that’s encroaching on your world, at least for a little bit. You slump down onto the couch and toss your bag to the side, hugging a pillow to your chest with a tight enough grip to break stone. Childe perks up when he hears the door close, tilting his head to listen for your footsteps- he’s mistaken birds as your arrival before- and with a delighted chirp leaps up from his place on your bed. He’s practically buzzing with excitement as he rushes over to greet you, but stops short when he sees you hunched over on the couch, shoulders tense and fingers curling into the fabric of the pillow caught in your vice grip. Carefully he approaches you- slow and steady, so you have a chance to ask him to leave if needed- and brushes his claws against your shoulder. You start, flinching violently in surprise, and Childe immediately yanks his hand away with a soft whimper, wings drooping sadly. He turns to leave but feels something pulling gently on his arm, your small, familiar fingers wrapped around one of his talons, holding him like he’s your lifeline. “Please… stay…” So he does. Childe stays with you, pulling you in for a hug and snuggling into the crook of your neck, poking your cheeks gently to make you huff with amusement. Your face is buried in his fluff, your laughter muffled by the copious amounts of lilac fur, but he hears it and purrs, purrs so strongly you feel your entire body shake from the vibrations and you laugh from somewhere deep in your heart, too busy snuggling into Childe’s fluff to notice him staring at you with a gaze full of sweet affection and relief. He nudges the back of his hand against your cheekbone, careful not to scratch you with the pointed edges of his night-colored armor, and you look up curiously, eyes bright and without the hazy exhaustion of before. Childe’s palm tilts your chin slightly and holds it in place, minute trembles running through his fingers and into your skin as he swallows, suddenly nervous. But he’s been practicing, and he’s not going to let this moment go to waste. His other hand resting on the small of your back, Childe inhales, shaking slightly, and says your name. Your mouth falls open, and he says it again. He’s shivering, ever-so-slightly, and it translates to his voice, but oh, he’s crooning your name, over and over again because you’re precious to him, the most treasured person in his life. Your eyes are filled with tears again, but you don’t even care because your smile outshines them all, and Childe coos in delight at your elated expression, bright enough to light up the stars. His voice is like music- different, deeper and more growly, but so undeniably him that you’re thrown back to when you first met him, when you first laid eyes upon that charming, boyish grin and had to hide your own pleased face. Then he leans close to your ear and plonks his chin on your shoulder, arms resting around your waist as he exhales. “I love you.” Childe murmurs, and the sun rises again, splashing colors of gold and pink across your heart as it brings forth the celestial dawn. What is the importance of the term “I love you”? Nothing to some, who live life alone. A casual phrase to others, who are surrounded by family and friends. And everything to you, who loves like sparkling waves foaming on a deep azure sea.

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princeblue · 5 months

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You said something about Sanemi and Genya being perfect narratives for Kokushibo and Yoriichi and the Kamado siblings. I understand the Kamados but care to elaborate about the Kokushibo and Yoriichi one?

Yes I do care too! I’ll try to explain this as best as I can but I have a few different ways I look at the Shinazugawa’s and Tsugikuni’s and their narratives, so.

Kokushibou & Sanemi; two old brothers who were tasked with looking after their younger brother and eventually leading themselves to being cruel to said brothers, Sanemi hides his affection and love behind his vile words and faux hatred of Genya, but still keeps tabs on the boy and thinks to himself his only purpose is protecting Genya. Kokushibou becomes jealous and spiteful and declares he hates Yoriichi which might be true to some extent, but he still cries for his brother and keeps the flute for all those years upon his death, still weakly trying to convince himself and Yoriichi that he hates him (“stop it I hate you” as he thinks of child Yoriichi with the flute.)

Both of these older brothers use hatred, anger, jealously, cruelty to push away their younger brothers despite at the end their display of hatred crumbles away like ash (hah) and their true feelings are revealed, while Kokushibou is much more subtle and possibly up to the reader’s opinion, unlike Sanemi’s, it’s still very there in my opinion.

Yoriichi & Genya: these two are much more straightforward in their narratives methinks, two younger brothers who look at their older brother as if they hung the stars for them. Who remain so wholly good in their lives and display a rare type of genuine kindness, Genya may have strayed from his gentle nature (which he is described at regaining fyi) but with the help of trauma bonding with Tanjirou and Gyomei’s gentle guiding hands he is able to return to it when he could have continued to be so angry and hurtful from having been abandoned, watching his family he slaughtered and safe to assume growing up homeless after Sanemi left him all those years ago, that hardens a person and yet he becomes kind again.

Similarly Yoriichi easily could have been as hurtful and zealous as Kokushibou, he was the child who was born with a “curse” and who was almost killed at birth and was meant to be sent away once of age, he was kicked out of the very organization he helped form by being open minded with a demon and listening to her story, deciding to spare her, and after almost killing Muzan himself.

And yet he remains kind of enough to leave for his BROTHERS sake, to be kind enough that animals flock to him, to be kind enough to fetch a midwife for Tanjirou’s ancestor and pass on his sun breathing moves in the form of a dance to them.

And they are both the reasons for their big brothers falling, for sanemi his ways of fear and anger crumbles away as genya does and for kokushibou, kokushibou finally dies and makes way for michikatsu to see what he has done and become.

Now this one is my favorite, and something I wished the manga could have done.

Kokushibou & Genya; two brothers who were undeniably less talented than their other brother, and yet still found means of being powerful and strong (moon breathing/demon consumption, you can’t tell me that isn’t op asf) and while Kokushibou becomes jealous and angry, Genya still remains kind and loving, even as sanemi nearly pokes his eyes out he still doesn’t blame him and outright defends him from zenitsu, in a way, Genya is what Kokushibou could have been, a loving brother who seeks to help protect his brother and cherish him. And this part is me daydreaming a bit but it would have been fantastic and a moment of character growth on Genya’s part for Kokushibou to take notice of him and notice of genya and Sanemi’s similarities and try to recruit him to the demons by relating with being a brother who was/is less powerful/meaningful than the next brother and Genya saying no I’d never be like you and trade my love for my brother for power.

So that is just kind of how I view each sets of brothers, maybe narratives isn’t the best words but I have spent so much time thinking about them and how they are similar because they’re both my favorite set of siblings in kny and to me the Tsugikuni’s could have easily been the Shinazugawa’s and vice versa. Probably not the best explanation out there but I hope you get what I was gunning for here.

#kokushibou #genya Shinazugawa #Sanemi Shinazugawa #blue rambles #yoriichi tsugikuni #michikatsu tsugikuni #character study #maybe #idk #demon slayer #kny #anon #sorry it took me a while to answer this lol got busy

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barnbridges · 7 months

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tsh hot takes because i want to get cancelled apparently:

it's not that richard projects his feelings for charles onto camilla because she is a woman that skews the perspective on the twins, it is that richard, a homosexual man who hates women, admires camilla, but since he cannot truly carnally desire her, he projects her best traits onto charles. it is charles who is moreso described as an object of desire than camilla, actually.

henry is but a projection of richard's superego heterosexual man self. he doesn't as much desire henry sexually or romantically as he wants to be him, enter his flesh and never leave. the things henry has, from aesthetic to money to people who genuinely like him in spite of his obvious lying and manipulation, are the peak of richard's desires. henry saves richard because richard must make an imaginary friend that will be able and willing to. the "real" henry, the person that richard projects all of these issues into, is the person we meet at the end of the novel, the man who dates camilla and mocks charles' addiction and gardens. he is not completely undesirable to richard, but by far not as linked to him as richard would have liked to believe. the epilogue dream serves as just a reminder that the henry in the first parts of the book (prior to italy, really) has always existed just in le head, bunny's murder is when the fantasy escapes containment and henry diverges from being richard's wish fulfillment.

judy poovey is a great character, but she is by far not a communist or associated with the poor in any meaningful way. judy drives a car more expensive than francis "trust fund" abernathy's with gaudy license plates. she's not "the people" in the way of being poor, she is "the people" in a way of average person at a liberal arts college, who is there on family wealth to pass time and do drugs. same for cloke "my daddy called a lawyer" "i grew up in the corcoran house" rayburn, he is not "the people" or any sort of folk hero way, he is NOT poor in the way richard is. the twins are poorer than cloke or judy. it's a bastardization of the text to say judy is anything anywhere near a folk hero of the communists on campus.

it's a flanderization and a bastardization of the text and donna tartt's interviews to say "julian was behind it all"/"julian ""forced"" them to do it". like most adults in donna tartt's books, julian morrow is a bystander and detached. yes he is important to why the clique choose to do certain things, but i believe it takes away from the narrative and themes to say that everything has been nothing but puppetry and henry has no free will. henry is a fantasy of freedom, a nietzschean superman, his existence is drenched in having the freedom to do anything (because he's rich), think anything (he's smart) and manipulate anyone (because he's alluring), saying oh he was a manipulated meow meow breaks the fantasy into pieces and spits into it. julian is an idol, but like most gods, he only approves or disapproves, he does not get involved in their affairs.

similar to above, but it breaks the plot to say camilla is some manipulative mastermind. camilla takes care of charles for the rest of the epilogue until he forces himself out of the situation, i'm very sure she just does it because she lied about him assaulting her and she does Not at all have an abusive and codependent dynamic with him and is his primary caretaker. not at all. she is just a manipulative bitch who hates him, because ???? fghj it's very richard papen of a lot of the readers to assume that EVERYTHING camilla does is some conspiracy to undermine the men in the book for her personal gain. she's a woman who has been her brother's caretaker all of her life, and has endured his addictions and mood swings for far longer than richard has. we are shown, and told, that it IS a hard choice for her to pick henry (her safety net and her lover) over charles, who is all she has ever known from the moment she was born. she has faced abandonment and death before the plot ever began, and her reaction is not one of indifference, but one of character strength. she is not cold, but resilient in a way richard cannot comprehend a woman to be (they are all whiny airheads and hags, mind you), because she had to be, as an orphan and a caretaker. camilla in the epilogue is just as much of a resilient character as she has been before she ever stepped foot at hampden. her ability to endure and still find some grace for people like richard and francis, who have done nothing for her but betray and belittle her, are to me her defining character traits. she is a kind and loving person, who keeps herself guarded for very rational reasons. it'd be worthless that she rejected richard if he didn't ask her out of a desire to have this kind and loving person by his side and she didn't refuse because she had to take care of henry, charles and her grandmother.

the roses in henry's yard that smell like raspberries ran wild in the epilogue, becoming, you know, brambles.

#personal #coughs #i feel like getting cancelled today i think

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bluemoondust · 1 year

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can you write yandere!klara and yandere!avery realizing each other is a potential rival over the reader and shenanigans ensure? like klara tries to put poison spikes on avery's bed and avery tries to levitate darling away from klara claiming he thought he saw them almost tripping

✧Rivalry✧ — Gym Leader Klara vs Gym Leader Avery

Hoo boy. I wish you best of luck, darling. First of all, these would be highly possessive of you; always wanting your attention or praise. Whether they admit to that or not.

In the beginning, they wanted to deny that they've grown an attachment towards you. It was absolutely preposterous that they would ever have feelings for you! You're the thorn on their side! Well... Not anymore, but you're still their rival! Having these fuzzy, unhealthy feelings means that you have the upper hand, which is what they don't want.

Klara is the first to cave in. She could care less that her love for your was borderline obsessive; all she wants is your attention. So she of course, tries to wrangle it out of you through honey coated words and sweet smiles. She's sure you're not that busy with anything to avoid lil old her, right? Of course not! You're not a dunce after all and you care too much for her to ignore her!

Avery comes right in once he notices Klara's behavior/actions. It's not that hard to notice how much she hovers over you, plus the insistence to train with you no matter the time of day. He isn't a fool, nor someone who will let this slide. It brings a bitter taste in his mouth when he so much as glances your way, only to see Klara near you. Well... Two can play at this game. He manages to be the first to greet you when you approach the Master Dojo every single day, meaning he has dibs on where the two of you will go afterwards. It brings a smirk of triumph on his face knowing that he has more free time with you while Klara has to wait.

There's no way Klara would turn a blind eye. She takes notice immediately what Avery is up to and seethes with jealousy. How dare he! Doesn't he know that you obviously have someone more important to spend time with? Who does he think he is!? Almost on the verge of throwing a fit, Klara quietly hatches a plan to get the psychic type user away from you. Her first thought was to fake an injury so you'd coddle her, but the spite she felt diverted her thoughts to just sabotaging your training session with Avery. He wouldn't be able to battle properly if his team were inflicted with poison. Klara smiles to herself as her rival excuses himself to go heal his pokemon, leaving her to drag you wherever she wants.

This pisses Avery off, because who else would have poison types at hand... Plus, he narrowly avoided a the chance of food poisoning once he realizes a certain someone tampered with his food. How pitiful can this woman be? Certainly you wouldn't want to associate someone with underhanded methods only a dark type would possess. Again, he can't let this whole thing slide, so he throws back what has been throw to him. DEFINITELY will use his psychic abilities to pick you up out of nowhere, claiming you're needed elsewhere. Unbeknownst to you, the two are sending glares at each other.

Oh, and you bet the two have spats whenever you're not around. It ranges form petty insults to... Personal insults. Klara is much more harsh when it comes to the latter, because once it is clearly known that Avery doesn't possess all psychic abilities, that's the weak point she goes for. It gets on Avery's nerves to hear the same things told to him by his family from someone he detests. He does bring up Klara's failure in being a pop sensation, which just causes her to go all out with threats. In short, the two would absolutely use each other's insecurities against one another.

Making the other look bad is also common. Klara always claims that Avery isn't up to snuff at the Dojo or even as a lower division gym leader. She also tells you how uptight and arrogant he is. "Plus, his puns are soooo lame! Everything about him is so lame! But not me, right? I'm super cool to you, right?" Avery, on the other hand, tells you that Klara is an annoyance and that she's only around you for the sake of getting something from you. It's not hard to believe that one day she'd throw you under the bus when the time is right. "I know people like her. She's only around you due to your battle prowess. If you were any one else, she wouldn't give you the time of day. Oh, but of course you still have more reliable individuals such as myself around."

It gets bad. They're both trying to sabotage one another's image, so you'd of course lean more towards the other. They also try not to let their quarreling be known to you. All you're aware of is the two having this sort of rivalry, but just in terms of battling... At some point, they will cave and fight over you while you're around. Maybe you assume it's just for your time, but slowly and surely you realize that the two are extremely serious about taking the other out of the picture.

Also, others should be very wary of them if they so much as try to take your attention away from the two. Dealing with one of them is bad enough, but having the two of them on that person's tail will not end nicely.

#yandere pokemon #yandere pokemon x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere avery #yandere klara #male yandere #female yandere #yandere swsh #yandere swsh x reader

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