#(is this from a prompt? what even is this!)

[morganmnemonic]

I'm thinking of kris repeating berdly's name in shock when you try to tell ralsei that you are going to the festival with berdly of all people. Thinking about the conversations we only get to hear half of, where kris presumably tells ralsei and susie that ralsei and asriel don't look that much alike. Thinking about all the times where kris changes the prompt we give them into something that they'd prefer to say.

Kris talks. They chatter, even, but we as the player don't get to hear it. They don't get a text box. We only ever know that they spoke at all from the reactions of other characters, and even then, we rarely know exactly what was said.

And part of this is that whoever the deltarune narrator is seems intent to pretending like kris doesn't exist. You check the mirror, and it says, "it's only you". Kris plays the piano and it says, "your hands begin moving on their own." If kris speaks without your permission, the narration doesn't acknowledge it at all, committed to the lie that kris doesn't exist beyond their role as our vessel. But that's not what this post is about.

This post is about how it's entirely possible that kris has tried to talk to us when no one else is around. They could have tried to tell us their plan, or begged us not to make certain decisions, or explained that we don't actually need to steal asriel's 5 dollars because they have a piggy bank buried in the front yard. Kris could be asking us questions, or asking us not to look for the bunker password because they have a plan and we should trust them, or asking us to let them sleep a bit longer, and we the soul just carry on the same regardless, their one-sided monologue falling on deaf ears. We would never even know, because of how thoroughly the narrative of deltarune has denied kris a voice.

[pellucid-constellations]

If We Talked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication

a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it. 

The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful. 

After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified. 

It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left. 

You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond. 

You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.

You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.

You were too much. 

Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this. 

You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now. 

“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.” 

When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.” 

You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent. 

You missed kissing him.

When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection. 

If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him. 

“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?” 

Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly. 

Something dropped in your gut. 

“It’s good, sweetheart.” 

You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end. 

You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it. 

“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not. 

“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched. 

Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much. 

Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—

“Please, tell me how to fix this.” 

You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them. 

A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?” 

Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door. 

“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.” 

He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features. 

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth. 

Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.” 

Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed. 

“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation. 

“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…” 

“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache. 

“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.” 

“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle. 

You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch. 

“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.” 

“But I didn’t—” 

“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze. 

A tick of silence passed. 

“You heard me.” 

This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.

“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—” 

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”

You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—” 

“Y/n. What did you hear?”

“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.” 

Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained. 

“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.” 

Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.” 

“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat. 

“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”

The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability. 

You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.

“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ‘bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.” 

“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—” 

“You sent me mail?” you interrupted. 

Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.” 

“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.” 

“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.” 

You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him. 

“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”

[kingkaisen]

Prompt idea: Royal knight Kento or Suguru that falls for the princess they’re protecting

VULCANIA — Kento N.

♛ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑��: the king has given kento nanami one very important task and no say in the matter: protect you, the beloved princess, with his life. however, the knight can’t help but wonder . . . if you ever found yourself in danger, could he protect you? Would he protect you?

♛ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: spicy kissing scene but overall sfw, feral nanami, angst, fluff, major violence, mentions of war, minor character deaths, slight enemies to lovers, brief mention of arranged marriages, geto, gojo, & sukuna make an appearance. this takes place in a mythical world! oh, and animals adore you.

♛ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 10k (sorry, I was having a blast)

♛ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: dividers by @uzmacchiato!

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you.

Truly, he did. He tried.

After all, his bloodline’s only purpose was to shed blood; to die in service of whomever sat on the throne, as well as their spoiled spouse and privileged offspring. 

An unstable, overemotional king would often start a war over a bruised ego and an insatiable thirst for power. And every time — every single time — a king declared war on another nation, be it near or far, members of Kento’s family would die a pointless death on a battlefield.

More land and subjects for the king. Another funeral to attend for Kento.

The Nanamis were widely known as one of the most loyal families within the kingdom of Umarith, born and bred to serve the royals through knighthood.

Therefore, he was prepared for the day he kneeled before the king and received the title of a knight, as he had practically learned how to hold a tiny wooden sword and swing it before he learned his ABCs.

However, what he wasn’t prepared for, was to be less of a new knight — an honorable warrior who maintained order within the villages while protecting the weak until called into battle — and more of a personal bodyguard, one who would be responsible for protecting you, the princess.

“Your Majesty,” Kento Nanami glanced up from the polished ground he kneeled on, locking eyes with the king himself. “With all due respect, protecting the princess sounds like a task that should belong to a knight of a higher ranking than myself. I’m just a newbie.”

“You officially became a knight only a month ago, yes, however, your ancestors served the throne as knights! Your descendants will too! I cannot think of a knight more worthy of protecting my beloved daughter than a Nanami.” The erratic king paused, stepped away from the kneeling warrior, and headed for his gold-lined throne. A sigh escaped his lips as he sat down. “Your father was the first knight to throw himself in front of me when an enemy drew his sword during the Cursed War. I trust that, should the princess ever find herself in danger, you will do the same for her. That is how you were raised! Raised!”

Kento lowered his head. If it wouldn’t send him straight to the dungeons, he would have slammed his gauntlet-covered fist against the king’s jaw.

His father’s death was pointless. Unnecessary. He took a sword to the heart to protect a man who wanted wealth. And here Kento was, kneeling to said man. Kneeling to the man who expected him to do the same thing. Expected. It was expected.

But if the palace was overrun by murderous thieves, or the kingdom found itself in war yet again, or a massive fire-breathing dragon released scorching flames throughout the palace, would Kento save you?

The daughter of the man who was responsible for his father’s demise?

And his uncle’s?

And his suffering mother’s misery?

He didn’t know if he could truly be so selfless. 

Even with a cloud of angered confusion hanging above his head and the burden of being responsible for a royal’s life resting upon his shoulders, he simply stared down at the marble floor, parted his lips, and mumbled, “understood, Your Majesty. I will protect her with my life.”

— ♛ —

The stranger he promised to protect with his life was waiting for him at the other end of the palace.

What an exhausting walk. Kento grew to despise you more and more with every step he took. The servants that lingered behind him had undoubtedly climbed the never-ending grand staircases multiple times a day, but even their faces had grown red, their chests heaving as they waited on you hand and foot.

The endless torment that was knight training — was this all it would amount to? Had he unknowingly been preparing to just climb stairs, nothing more? At least he wasn’t sweating or breathless like the servants who darted back and forth around the castle.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

He was sweating a bit. He could feel the warm droplets accumulating on his forehead, making his loose blonde strands stick to his skin, but it wasn’t from exhaustion.

He was nervous.

When Kento was four and the royals celebrated your birth — which would become an official holiday honored with festivities and balls — it began then. The kingdom-wide worship.

His own mother would tuck him into the straw-filled bed he shared with his siblings.

“Goodnight, my loves,” she’d whisper, kissing their foreheads. “May the Vulcania Princess bring us warmth and bless us all.”

While your father ruled Umarith officially, it was you who mattered most. The Vulcania Princess. The precious gem of the kingdom. Everyone, from the privileged to the peasants, praised your nickname during their prayers before mealtime or before their slumber.

Those with the right amount of gold and the right amount of time traveled for days to fall to their knees before you, begging for you to bless their children or their crops. 

As Kento aged, the curriculum surrounding his education primarily focused on knighthood and the royals. He sat criss-crossed on the floor of his raggedy one-room school that smelt of old wood, and listened to his elderly teacher ramble on, on, and on about you, you, you, her eyes glistening with admiration behind her round glasses. 

The people of Umarith originally attached the name Vulcania to your princess title following your birth, as during that cherished year, the brutalizing cold seasons came to an end, and the warm seasons were the hottest they had ever been in centuries. Sleeping volcanoes were once again active. Creatures of all kinds who sought warmth — even those thought to be extinct due to the prolonged cold weather — would sneak their way into your palace. Flowers bloomed. The hungry were able to grow food once again. The sun shone brighter than ever. 

Before your mother, the queen, passed away, she claimed that your skin was always warm to the touch, as if your soul was aflame. 

Therefore, the people wanted to give you a title that represented a connection to fire, warmth, and passion. 

Kento tried to recall any and all facts he was forcibly taught about you as he approached the double doors of your bedchamber. He had only come to know your appearance through the statues and famous paintings spread throughout the villages, but never before had he sat his eyes on you.

Well, that was all about to change.

Kento raised his fist. As his knuckles tapped three times against the door, he thought about The Statue of the Vulcania Princess — an enormous, intimidating sculpture in the center of his village that touched the sky. 

All at once, as Kento thought about the endless worship be it from humans or animals that followed you everywhere — and as a red-haired servant opened the door and let him inside — it hit Kento that he wasn’t protecting a mere princess.

He was protecting a goddess.

Shit.

The Goddess of Fire was sitting on a lavish sofa in front of a fireplace, that much he could tell from where he stood. It was rather difficult to make out your mysterious features, your extensive bedroom was dark aside from the flickering flames illuminating your face just a bit, and you hadn’t yet turned your head to look at whomever was entering your bedchamber, but even so, Kento ignored the thumping of his heart, cleared his throat, and bowed.

“Your Royal Highness, I-”

“Stop bowing.” 

Kento raised his head slowly. He was careful not to let his face reflect his confusion, offering a blank expression instead.

“We are going to be spending plenty of time together whether we like it or not, so we can do without the formalities. It tends to get annoying.” You paused, as if waiting for him to speak, but it was as if Kento’s mind decided to forgo any prior knowledge of how to formulate words. 

He turned his head to face one of the servants standing against the wall, as if seeking confirmation from the quiet, redheaded young girl that you had, in fact, told him to stop bowing.

“You are my personal knight, yes?” 

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“You’re not very good at following directions, are you?”

“Forgive me. This is the first time I’ve ever been told to act informal with a royal.”

You sighed, leaning back on your sofa, which put more distance between yourself and the flames of your fireplace — It was quite identical to how your father would sigh and lean back in his throne. As if doing nothing and being a pampered royal was oh so hard. Like father, like daughter — and your new position rid Kento of the small details of your features he could see. Now, you were nothing more than a dark figure. 

Just why was your bedroom so dark?

“Come here.”

Metal clanked against metal, filling the silence, as Kento made his way around your sofa and in front of your line of sight, blocking part of your fireplace. The flames that were able to dance around him illuminated him well, and your eyes darted across every feature of the knight standing before you.

“Blonde hair, brown eyes, well-built . . . you’re a Nanami, aren’t you?”

Kento met your question with silence. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t heard your question, because from this short distance, he finally got a somewhat decent look at your face; your mesmerizing, undeniably gorgeous face. 

It all made sense now, why the Vulcania Princess was the one everyone, rich and poor, fell to their knees and prayed to during both their darkest hours and happier times. Why the Vulcania Princess was the one who could end devastating, catastrophic world wars with a couple of mere words. Why the Vulcania Princess had princes and kings from kingdoms near and far eager to start said devastating, catastrophic world wars to wipe out their enemies just for the mere chance of dancing with you at a ball. 

Never before had he seen someone so devastatingly beautiful.

The paintings and statues he had seen of you throughout his entire life failed to capture the glistening stars within your bright eyes, or the smooth, though plump appearance of your skin. Your soft, tempting lips were as enchanting as a love spell all on their own.

“Tell me the truth. Do you hate me?”

Your soft voice snapped Kento out of his daze-like state. His eyes widened for a moment before he regained his composure.

“No. I don’t hate you.”

“You do. I can see it in your eyes. I’d love to know why.” You tilted your head a bit. “Were you hoping for a different career path within knighthood? One more exciting than being a guard dog to a princess? Did you want to be on the front lines during a war, perhaps?”

Kento gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching a bit. Despite the way his body showcased his true feelings, his words tried to convey the opposite. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong first impression, but I-”

“What’s your name? Your first name?”

“Kento.” 

“Kento.” You gave him a gentle smile. It ignited a new flame of infuriation within him. “Be honest with me, Kento. No formalities, no lies. Why do you hate me? Tell me the truth.”

Kento frowned with uncertainty. Answering your question honestly went against every bit of his training, every lesson forced into his body and mind, but could he truly pass up the chance to say his peace? Could he?

“How do I know the truth won’t get me hung?” He asked.

“Rest assured knowing my father chose decapitation as a form of execution.” Your words were met with silence. This, in turn, led you to speak again. “See? You didn’t laugh at my awful joke. People who admire me would have faked a little chuckle, at the very least. So, why do you hate me?”

Kento shifted his feet. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

“I think my curiosity is only natural. I’m sure if someone hated you, you would like to know why.”

“Not if it was a complete stranger.”

“What if it were a stranger who was responsible for your safety? A stranger who was supposed to die for you without hesitation?” You crossed one leg over the other, the silk gown covering your body shifting slightly. “Do you see why I’m desperate to know?”

“That’s why.”

“Hm?”

“That’s why I . . . dislike you. I’m supposed to die for you. Becoming a knight is the fate of all Nanami whether we like it or not. My father was a knight. His father was a knight. My cousins are knights. I am a knight. If I have a son, he’ll become a knight, and he’ll have to watch as I kill and die protecting you royals, because it’s the only way to put food on the table. My father died protecting yours, and I’m sure I’ll die protecting you. I could refuse. I could pick a different career path, but then my mother and my siblings would starve, all because I’d be a disgrace, blacklisted out of every other potential career. Nanamis are expected to become knights, or to rot and die.” Kento glanced down at his heavy hand, covered with armor. “And the pay is quite low.”

“I see.” 

When Kento glanced up at you yet again, he could see the gears in your head turning, your mind taking in every word. But, even so, all you managed to say were those two, simple, meaningless words.

That was the first and last time you and Kento spoke to one another that day.

— ♛ —

TWO WEEKS LATER

One would think that protecting a dear princess who often did nothing more than sit by a fireplace would be an easy task.

One would think.

Over fourteen days in counting had passed since this aggravating honor was bestowed upon him, and one thing he learned was that your presence was indeed enchanting, and all living creatures wanted to enjoy your warmth. More often than not, the knight was pushing starstruck — or, rather, godstruck — subjects away from you that managed to break free from knight-patrolled crowds whenever you left your palace. 

Animals, however, were okay. 

And he learned that the hard way.

“A heads up next time would be nice,” Kento once said, rather breathless, releasing the handle of his sword and letting it fall back into its scabbard. His heart rate hadn’t yet returned to normal.

There you were, sitting on the floor of your private library, stroking the mane of an enormous lion that rested its head in your lap.

As massive as it was, as dangerous as it was, the lion rubbed its head against your gown as if it were pouting. Both it, and you, rolled your eyes at Kento.

“Surely you were told that animals sometimes inhabit the palace to seek out my warmth.”

“I was, but . . .” he paused, blinking in bewilderment. “A lion?”

Your lips pointed downward into a small pout as you stroked the creature, as if to comfort it and say: “It’s okay, I’ll protect you from the big bad knight, it’s okay.”

“This isn’t just any lion. This is my lion. He wandered far from his home when he was only a cub. The poor thing was cold and was hiding in my garden. I found him, raised him, and he comes and goes whenever he pleases. You should apologize to him.”

“Apologize? To a lion?”

“Yes,” your frown deepened, and your eyes found Kento’s. “Can’t you see you hurt his feelings? You pulled your sword out on him.”

“I was trying to do my job and protect you. I didn’t know it-” 

“He.”

Kento released a heavy sigh. Just what sort of nonsense had he gotten himself into? “I didn’t know he was a pet. Are there any other animals I should be aware of? I should consider making a list.”

You scoffed, knowing quite well he was hinting at the sudden appearance of bunnies sitting on his chest when he awakened one morning, just last week.

Three days ago, butterflies were swirling around your head. Four? Three birds — two small, one big — fluttered around you, landing on your hands and shoulders as they pleased.

“May I ask what a lion is doing in the library specifically?” Kento questioned.

Folding your arms across your chest, staring at him as if the answer was rather obvious, you said, “I was reading to him, clearly. Animals enjoy tales just as much as humans and faes.”

Just then, Kento’s eyes flickered over to the open book resting on the floor beside your thigh. He shook his head in disbelief. 

“Right, of course, well,” he awkwardly scratched the side of his head, fingers messing up his blonde strands. “I’m sorry to you, and to the lion.”

Your hand raised; you were motioning him over.

He was hesitant, but Kento kneeled. He couldn’t help but widen his eyes in surprise when you removed one of his armored gloves and grabbed ahold of his hand with your own.

His cheeks burned. Your eyes; they darted up briefly at his reddening cheeks, but you didn’t make a verbal comment. He was rather grateful.

His apparent blushing wasn’t due to the sudden skin-to-skin contact — at least, that’s what he convinced himself — but rather, he viewed you as fragile. Soft. Like the glass of a valuable mirror. And his hands? Well, swinging swords and perfecting the art of combat during years of knight training had left him with scars and calloused fingertips. He viewed himself as rough. Hard. Like sandpaper scratching against uneven metal. 

Your soft hand warmed his rough one as you guided it towards the lion’s mane. Gently, you rested his hand against its thick hair and released it, and Kento found himself missing your warmth.

How odd.

“Apologize properly,” you demanded. You nodded your head down to his hand. Spending all of his time with you had gifted him with the ability to understand your every intention, and with a sigh, Kento stroked the lion’s mane.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reo.”

He looked at you. There was no hint of amusement in your eyes. You were quite serious.

He returned his gaze to the big, pouting lion, and said, “I’m sorry, Reo.”

And with that, Kento left the library — only to stand outside the doors as a guard, of course. As he shut the heavy library doors behind him, he heard you mumble to the lion, “Try to forgive him, Reo. He means well.”

The creature groaned in response.

Kento ran his bare hand across his face. “Did that really just happen?” He thought.

But, a more pressing thought — one more shocking than apologizing to and petting a lion — presented itself within his mind like an intruder. 

“I miss her warmth already.”

— ♛ —

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Greetings to all! Welcome to the Vulcania Princess’s Birthday Ball!” 

Esteemed guests dressed in stunning ballgowns and extravagant tuxedos let their applause fill the enormous ballroom. Oh, was it enormous, with golden and white accents decorating the walls and pillars, and marvelous chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. On the other side of the ballroom, there was an entire orchestra performing on a balcony, only stopping their classical music to hear the king speak.

The king stood beside your throne as he prattled on with greetings and thanks. Kento himself was like a guard dog, standing a little ways behind your throne, eyeing the crowd.

He toned out most of the king’s speech. Most of his guests did as well, but their eyes glowed with admiration — not for him, but for you. After all, it was you, and this evening, you were wearing a puffy, lilac ballgown adorned with flowers, and a bright tiara sat perfectly on your head — every strand of your hair was styled to your liking.

At some point, the king finally stopped talking, and guests continued to mingle and dance. Kento stood back and watched as three well-dressed men approached your throne. Their attire was more sophisticated than that of a standard — albeit wealthy in name or fortune — guest, and Kento gathered that they were princes from other kingdoms.

“Kneel before my daughter!” The king shouted.

It wasn’t customary for princes to kneel to someone of an equal rank, but the three men took a knee in front of your throne with no hesitation.

The king, now satisfied, looked down at you.

“I’ll leave you to it, my dear,” he said before walking off, eager to partake in the refreshments.

“Your Royal Highness,” a man with long, black hair began to speak. “I am Prince Suguru of Ravane, your closest partner in trade. We met briefly during the Fae’s Flower Festival last year. Please, allow me the honor of gifting you three necklaces made with the rarest and finest gemstones that can only be harvested by faes alone, all in exchange for your first dance this evening.”

“Pardon the interruption Your Royal Highness, but,” the man beside him, one with white hair and a boyish grin, suddenly interrupted. “As someone wise enough not to gift you something you own a thousand of, I think I should be the one to have your first dance. And you’re probably wondering why, right? Well . . .”

The man rose to his feet, wrapping his fingers around the handle on top of a tiny crate he had sat beside him. He started to approach the throne. As his feet moved, so did Kento’s. Though he was careful not to interrupt, he was close enough to your throne to make his presence known; a silent warning to the white-haired man: don’t try anything foolish.

The man opened the tiny crate. Suddenly, a small, red creature unsteadily flew out of the open door.

You held out your hands, and it landed there, as if it knew — it knew — that was where it belonged.

“A baby dragon! Oh my goodness,” you grinned down at the animal.

“Prince Satoru of Soulan, my love,” the man winked.

“Home of the dragons. Of course.” The incredibly tiny dragon spun around in two circles before settling down, resting its head on your palm. “And what kind have you gifted to me?”

“Well, in my kingdom, rumor has it that you spend most of your free time sitting in front of your fireplace. I figured there must be some truth to it, considering you’re called the Vulcania Princess and the Goddess of Fire for a reason. Because of that, I think it’s only right for you to own a Flame Dragon. Whaddya think?”

“Damn, giving her the most common type of dragon in your kingdom, huh? Sounds to me like you don’t think she’s worth the effort.”

The interjection came from the third prince, a buff man with pink hair and an unfriendly gaze.

Satoru turned to face him, stepping away from your throne. “Oh my god, get lost, Sukuna. Didn’t your kingdom try to burn hers to the ground, what, two or three years ago? Why are you here to begin with?”

“Something about makin’ peace with your enemies,” the buff prince smirked.

“You’re both being awfully informal in front of the princess. Watch your mouths,” Suguru, now joining in, rose to his feet.

Satoru rolled his blue eyes, mumbling, “I heard that your little kingdom is surviving off of tomatoes or something. Is that why you . . .”

The three bickering princes continued on and on, but you paid them no mind, too preoccupied with the tiny creature in your hands.

Kento leaned down a little ways across your throne.

“Perhaps I should hold on to the dragon for you. It could be dangerous,” he said.

“No way! He’s already bonding with me. Look!” The dragon alternated between crawling on its four legs and fluttering its way up your arm with its tiny, dark red wings. “What should I name him? What should I feed him? I know nothing of raising a dragon. Do you?”

“Afraid not.” He watched the dragon make a bed out of your shoulder, resting against the crook of your neck. “They only taught us how to slay one.”

That statement made you glare up at Kento.

“I won’t hurt him, I promise,” he said defensively, yet gently. “Once he grows, I might be out of a job. He and that lion of yours could protect you better than I ever could.” 

“I have a feeling you could protect me very well, you just refuse to do so.”

Your words caught him by surprise. His disdain for his career was no foreign topic between the two of you, but even so, he hadn’t expected you to bring it up. Not right now. Not like this.

Especially considering that, well, he instinctively found himself doing just that in one way or another. Protecting you.

“I-”

“I understand, Kento. I don’t like the idea of anyone dying for me just as much as you don’t like the idea of dying for someone.” You paused, looking away from him and back at the three, arguing princes. “Let's go for a stroll. I have a feeling these men are about to start fighting one another. I’m not looking forward to picking one to dance with.”

— ♛ —

There was only one place you deemed perfect enough for a stroll: the vast gardens surrounding the palace. Hedge mazes, luscious trees, and colorful, blossoming flowers of all kinds were illuminated by the bright moonlight. Together, you and Kento walked in a comfortable silence.

A little while after passing one of the greenhouses, Kento spoke.

“When I was younger, learning about you royals was just as important as learning how to read or put on armor. I remember what they taught us about you.” “Oh?” You mumbled, though you didn’t give him a look of surprise. “What kind of things did they teach you? Can you recall any of it?”

“Well, for starters, they told us how much you adored spending time in the garden, especially during the warmer months.”

“I don’t see how that knowledge benefits any of you.”

“It doesn’t, but now, I enjoy figuring out what might have been true or false. Clearly, that part was true.” 

A soft smile as gentle as the moonlight appeared on your face.

“What else is there to know about you?” Kento asked. 

Internally, his curiosity puzzled him. Just why did he care? 

He couldn’t explain it, but his heart and soul felt like it was caught in a game of tug-of-war, and the rope was a very thin line between love and hate. Love.

No.

No . . . that couldn’t have been it.

Not for the woman who sat by her fireplace all day. Not for the woman who never had to work a day in her life. Not for the woman whose biggest obstacle in life was deciding which ballgown to wear or which animal to cuddle with.

Not for the woman who was the daughter of the asshole of a king who got his father killed.

Kento tried to grimace at the thought, but that thought brought him no trouble. 

Oh, how he wished it did.

A small, baby fox with large ears dashed out of the shrubbery surrounding the walking path, darting across his foot. 

“Hmm, well,” you paused in thought, paying no mind to the sandy-colored creature that decided to follow you, hopping along with every step you took. The sudden sound of your soft voice snapped Kento out of his pleasant — though he wished they were unpleasant — thoughts. “My tiara makes my head itch. I’ve been told that my taste in music is . . . unique. I secretly add extra spices to my food when the chef isn’t looking. I’m a very sensitive person, believe it or not. It took everything in me not to cry after finding out you, a complete stranger at the time, hated me. Lastly, I have saved and nurtured twenty-seven creatures, and that only includes the ones I claim as pets, not ones I’ve simply befriended on a journey.”

“Were any of them as humongous as that dragon will turn out to be?” Kento asked, pointing to the dragon fast asleep on your shoulder. 

“Can’t say. I’m struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that this tiny creature will grow into a gigantic, fire-breathing being. I’m excited.” You halted your footsteps. The small fox trailing you took the opportunity to climb up the back of your dress, claws digging into the puffy, lilac fabric that adorned your body until it sprawled across your other, free shoulder, but you didn’t seem to mind. It was a tad bit bigger than the dragon, and Kento figured that having two small animals resting on your shoulders couldn’t have been comfortable, but you simply smiled, and greeted the baby fox with, “Hello, sweetheart,” before turning your attention back to Kento. “Anyway, I’m sure my father will oppose the idea of me keeping a dragon. He thinks I’ll be responsible for my own demise.”

“We have our differences, but I might have to agree with the king on that one.”

“Be that as it may, I refuse to let him take little Blaze away from me.”

“Blaze?” Kento raised his eyebrows, stifling the urge to laugh. “I wanted something related to fire in any sort of way. Is it too uncreative? Silly? Should I keep brainstorming? I want to name him something he’ll like.” You gazed off at the stars above, biting your lip, puzzled.

After a moment, you glanced back at Kento, and a small pout grazed your moonlit face. “What? You’re being very unhelpful.”

“Blaze is a perfect-”

“You’re trying to flatter my dear dragon so he won’t set you ablaze when he’s older.” You smiled gently. Kento blinked. You then sighed and continued to stroll through the garden. “We talked about this, Kento. You’re supposed to laugh at my terrible jokes to boost my self-esteem.” 

“What?” Kento cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m pretending that I couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh,” you shook your head. “Just you wait until I teach Blaze how to . . . bite your ankles.”

A genuine, heartfelt laugh escaped Kento. God, how long has it been since he managed to do something like that? It wasn’t anything drastic, nothing more than a somewhat small chuckle, but it occurred to him that, perhaps, he couldn’t remember the last time he was blessed with the chance to truly laugh.

His laugh made your smile brighten — not a gentle, polite smile that he had gotten used to seeing, but a real, full grin that made Kento wonder why the world’s most gifted artists never painted you with such a facial expression.

It was breathtaking.

The stroll resumed for another six minutes. During that time, you and Kento discussed everything from his mother’s favorite meals to make to the new hit play that premiered last week. However, the closer you both ventured towards the entrance to the ballroom, the more your precious smile started to fade.

Kento glanced down at your hands, which fiddled with the necklace around your neck.  

“What troubles you?” He asked.

“You’re wise, so I’m sure you’ve already put the pieces together, you’re great at that I’ve noticed, but . . . this evening, I am not just picking a dance partner, but someone to marry.” You spoke softly. Kento could tell from your tone that this was a bothersome topic for you. “I get to choose, but my choices are limited to those three men. I know how it feels to be born into a role you didn’t ask for. I understand what you’re going through, Kento.”

The knight stopped walking.

As soon as that last sentence slipped from between your glossy lips, Kento’s heart and soul once again felt like it was playing a game of tug-of-war. Love and Hate. And right now, as a wave of anger washed over him, the latter was winning.

“With all due respect,” Kento released a shaky breath. He wouldn’t lose his composure so easily, but he had to speak his mind. He had to. “You don’t know what it’s like. You live a pampered life. Your hands are free from scratches or burns or anything that signifies hard work, and you have never known hunger and loss like I have — hunger and loss that is a direct result of the actions you royals take. I’m sorry you have to pick between three rich, attractive princes who are ready to go to war for you and you find yourself incapable of doing anything more difficult than sitting on a sofa all day, but that in no way compares to . . .” 

He felt his composure slip. His tone was getting dark. Voice was getting harsh. Taking a deep breath, avoiding your gaze all the while, Kento parted his lips, preparing to let an apology slip from between them, then suddenly, you said, “You should take a break. Stay out here a little longer to get some fresh air by yourself. I’ll be fine.” You gave him a sad smile. Pulling the dragon, Blaze, off your shoulder, you held the sleepy creature against your chest, as if seeking its comfort. Though you tried to hide it, your smile couldn’t disguise the glistening hurt within your eyes. You were sensitive. That’s right.

“I should head back inside,” you mumbled. “Everyone will be looking for me.”

“Your Royal Highness, please forgive me. I’m sorry. Not having a say in who you want to spend the rest of your life with is terrible. I don’t know why I . . . please forgive me.” Kento called out, his words sincere, face twisted in anguish, but you continued walking. 

Then suddenly, you paused. He thought that, perhaps, you were reconsidering parting ways with him, that you were going to smile and tell him to drop the formalities, but your momentary falter was just to let the small fox descend your body before you reentered the palace.

The tiny creature ran across the gardens, and you were gone.

— ♛ —

Kento sat on an outdoor bench made of stone. The garden that stretched before him represented you in every way. After all, it was you who brought the very warmth that made the variety of flowers in this garden bloom. Your existence, the flame within you, brought an end to a Cold World; saved the shivering animals and children on the brink of death, blossomed plants that fed the poor and starved, and ended the days of endless freezing. 

Kento was only four when you were born, but, as he sat on the soft cream-colored bench that you undoubtedly picked out yourself, he thought about the faint memory of that day. The day of your birth.

The terrifying blankets of snow and ice melted. Animals thought to be dead and extinct were running, jumping, and hopping about. Fleeting citizens from the western villages crowded the cobblestone streets as a sleeping volcano suddenly awakened. Flowers and plants sprawled spontaneously — his mother, who was pale and shivering as she held on to her children moments before, stepped outside and plucked a fresh grape off a grapevine that had appeared outside of their raggedy cottage.

Suddenly, the rope involved in the game of tug-of-war between his heart and soul had snapped, and it hit him all at once.

Your father was responsible for his father’s death, yes, but you . . . you saved him. You saved his mother.

A bittersweet smile graced Kento’s face. His stomach churned; was it butterflies? Knots? He didn’t know. Perhaps, he’d never come to understand the feelings you evoked within him.

But he knew one thing for certain.

The idea of your beautiful face frowning as tears threatened to fall from your eyes — on your birthday, nevertheless — from the words he spoke made his heart ache.

Kento rose from the bench. Just as he took a step towards the entrance of the ballroom, a sudden force of energy made the ballroom windows shatter. Heat and light filled the sky. The world itself shook as an ear-shattering boom blasted from one side of the palace. 

The knight found himself falling to his knees, as the impact was strong enough to send a shockwave through the garden. His wide eyes witnessed the enormous puff of flames, and part of the palace started to cave in.

Rubble filled the ballroom.

“No. God, no.”

Kento’s legs were numb, but they carried him out of the garden — where frightened animals screeched and ran — and he forced his way inside the ballroom through a broken window. Dark smoke, dust, flames, and never-ending screams of terror filled the air. He coughed, his brown eyes burned which created tears that slipped down his ash-covered face, but he hoisted himself over fallen rubble until he made it to where your throne used to be. 

Now, it was nothing but . . . it was nothing.

His eyes couldn’t make out the mess of debris and flame. The smoke made it difficult to distinguish bodies from stone, but he knew well that before him was that familiar gigantic beast, clawing at the rubble, whimpering. Your beloved lion was searching for you, digging for you. The sight of it gave Kento the devastating confirmation he needed that you were there.

Underneath smoldering embers, a destroyed throne, and pieces of a collapsed ceiling, Kento saw the scraps of a torn lilac ballgown. He ran for it.

Armored hands pulled and pushed away at fallen wreckage so heavy, Kento gritted his teeth due to the pure strain on his body. But, damn it all, he used every bit of his solid muscle to lift, pull, and push, until he saw a bruised, ash-covered leg and heard a weak cry.

Then, all of the debris felt weightless. 

“I’m right here,” Kento called out, careful to keep his voice steady and calm. “I’m coming, just hold on.”

Slowly, your injured, trembling body revealed itself to Kento after he shoved shattered pieces of one of the massive chandeliers. You were face down. As if you were made of glass, fragile, he carefully flipped you over, only to see a scared, but otherwise okay, tiny dragon cradled in your arms.

Your position, and thus, your wounds, told him that you must have shielded it. 

He gritted his teeth. Seeing you like this . . . it was unbearable. Who could have done this?

Kento pulled you into his arms, holding on tightly to your smaller frame.

You whimpered. Blood spewed from your lips, decorating your chin, and Kento pulled you close.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here-”

The ballroom shook again. There was another deafening boom, followed by a wave of piercing screams. Another explosion within the palace. Kento could hear the crackling walls and ceilings, and he knew what that meant.

He folded your body underneath his. Reo, your lion, too placed his body over yours. Kento shielded you with his bigger, armor-covered frame, and more rubble started to collapse. Feeling it fall against his protected backside — god, did it hurt. It hurt like hell. But it wasn’t enough to kill or bury him, so he hooked his arm underneath your knees, his other arm cradling your upper half, and he rose to his feet.

“Stay with me,” he glanced down at you as best as he could through his blurred vision. “I promise I’ll protect you. Just stay with me.”

Your eyes fluttered open. Suddenly, they widened, and you began to turn your head frantically every which way as Kento carried you. He parted his lips to tell you to lie still, assuming that you were falling into a state of panic, but before he could utter a single word, you started to squirm around. You wriggled yourself out of his grasp.

You landed on your feet and started running — or rather, limping — in the opposite direction, breathing erratically with every twist and turn of your head.

“Where are you going? We need to leave, now!” Kento shouted.

In your condition, you couldn’t make it far. All he had to do was reach forward, wrap his arm around your waist, and pull you backwards until your back hit his chest.

“Blaze,” you cried. “ . . . Must’ve dropped him! I can’t . . . can’t find him! And there are people still in here, a-and my animals . . . Reo . . . just let me go!”

He tried to ignore your cries. Saving you was his only priority. It had to be. But, as he went to lift you yet again, another explosion, further away this time, sent a violent vibration throughout the ballroom, and he lost a bit of his balance.

That was enough for you to wiggle free. 

Kento shouted your name, but you paid him no mind. The fires scattered throughout the ballroom wouldn’t hurt you, but the collapsing rubble? It could.

You ran across rubble and shoved your way through panicked, running guests, but alas, through the smoke and ash clouding the air, you made out the tiny red creature amidst the debris, fluttering and shrieking. Your dear, frightened baby dragon was searching for you, calling for your help.

You extended your arms, reaching for him. 

That was when you heard it; it, being an unfamiliar voice, one that shouted, “There’s the princess, fucking take her already, dead or alive!”

Someone was charging at you. The nearby burning fires gave you enough light to make out a masked figure, dressed in black, who clenched a knife between his fists, so ready and eager to drive it into the side of your stomach.

Just as the knife nearly grazed your corset, a sword suddenly pierced through the attacker’s stomach, blood and sharp silver steel poking out of him as the light left his murderous eyes.

The sword was then yanked out of him. 

Kento watched the man he murdered fall to the rubble-covered ground with a thump, then his eyes were on you, quickly scanning your body for any new injuries.

But there was no time for you to thank him. No time for him to grab you and run. 

More masked men with knives and swords drawn started to charge at you both.

“Run,” Kento commanded. 

But it amounted to nothing. The masked men circled you both. There was no escape.

Kento turned slowly, counting them. There were five. Five men he would have to kill.

He sighed, deflecting an oncoming attack with ease, driving his own sword into the guts of yet another man. Though he was actively taking someone’s life, his eyes were on you, watching as two men charged at you without weapons: clearly, their preference was to take you alive.

“Shit,” Kento thought, pulling his sword out of the man. 

Your tiny dragon rapidly flapped its wings, fluttering high enough to latch its small mouth to the ankle of one of your attackers. The victim of the little attack winced, reaching down to his ankle in an attempt to pull him off, but you tried to reach for your baby dragon first.

The other masked man took that opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair. He yanked you. Hard. Your head was already bruised and battered from the initial explosion, and this forced a pained cry out of you. 

Kento heard it. He was in the process of stabbing two other masked men when he heard it. 

He clenched his jaw. He gripped the handle of his sword with such force, he could hear his own knuckles crack.

When the masked man who held you by your hair felt the presence of someone behind him, he turned around. His eyes widened at the sight of that massive knight looming over him, one who was already quite big to begin with, but seemed twice as big now. More like a beast than a human. 

“Get your hands off of her,” Kento warned. 

The man was going to reach for his knife, hold it against your neck, and prattle on with some ultimatum, but Kento didn’t give the man a chance to even gasp at the sight of him before he strategically placed his hands around his head and snapped his neck with an unpleasant crack.

As for the final masked man, between dealing with a pesky little dragon who was biting at him and spitting tiny little bouts of flame at his flesh and that pissed-off giant of a knight making his way towards him, he shouted, “Damn it, to hell with all this!” and tried to run away.

He made it four steps before Kento threw his blood-covered sword like a javelin, and it was launched through the masked man’s chest. 

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Kento leaned down. He gazed at you with the softest, worry-filled brown eyes. His thumb grazed your cheek with an utterly surprising gentleness, considering how brutally he had just murdered several men moments before.

You shrugged. “I’m . . . alive. Thank you, Kento.”

He smiled. 

But as the sound of stomping footsteps approached, Kento rose to his feet. This wasn’t over. Whoever was attacking your kingdom, so desperate to capture you, they weren’t planning on giving up just yet.

Kento walked over to the man he had killed last and pulled his sword from his chest as more masked men charged at him, and he found himself in another battle.

You scooped up your dragon and limped towards a broken window, crawling over a mix of fallen debris and corpses. 

���Go,” you mumbled to Blaze, extending your hands to release the small creature. “Return to me when it’s safe, sweetheart.”

Though he was hesitant, the baby dragon groaned with understanding and fluttered away.

You didn’t have the strength of a knight, nor a hard-working subject. But you didn’t let that stop you from grabbing hold of the collar of a random person  — the first living person you could get your hands on. You dragged the whimpering, injured person towards the window, tripping over your ripped lilac ballgown as you gasped and strained, breathless, but you hoisted the person over the window’s ledge and out of the smokey, collapsing, fire and rubble-filled ballroom.

Thank goodness it was on the first floor of the palace.

You fell to your knees. Your breathing was loud. Strained. Every bone in your body ached. New spouts of fresh blood seeped from your wounds, mixing with the ash and dried blood coating your body, but, even though your heart pounded as if it wanted to give out, you rose to your feet. You moved your hands throughout the rubble, and they landed on a torso. One that was rising and falling with shallow breaths. 

One that was small.

“You’ll be alright, my love. Help will come,” you whispered, though your voice was shaking with uncertainty. 

You cautiously put the child out of the window. Then another person. Then another.

You hoisted one woman over your shoulders. She was a tiny thing, but with your exhausted and bruised body, you were certain you’d struggle to carry a small bag of potatoes. But you recognized this woman’s uniform. Though her youthful face was covered with soot, she was one of your servants — the redheaded one who was always in your bedchamber, tending to your needs. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to check whether or not her chest was rising or falling. You only carried her to another broken window, your knees threatening to buckle, and you pushed her out, hearing a little gentle thud as she hit the shrubbery.

“Please let help come. Please let it come,” you whispered.

There was another vibrating explosion in the distance. Orange flames that could be seen from the windows brightened the ballroom. It knocked you off your feet for a moment, but you regained your footing and grabbed the arm of someone on the ground. You strained as you attempted to pull the person free from the fallen pillar they were stuck under, but there was no use. You collapsed in defeat. 

Their visible body was hard to make out, but you ran your hand across their face until you found their nose. No puff of air hit your finger.

With a defeated sigh, you rose to your feet. It was then that you noticed those lifeless, open eyes. And you recognized that shade of blue.

A shocked gasp escaped you. Reaching down, you closed the eyes of Prince Satoru with trembling, bloodied fingers. “I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry.”

The next several minutes were a blur. 

There you were, using the last of your strength to drag the unconscious, heavily injured body of Prince Suguru across the wreckage, when heavy hands gripped your waist. One second, you were lifted into the air, and in the next, you were being thrown against a fallen, sharp stone. The impact resulted in an explosion of searing pain that was too much for your mind and body to tolerate. You could taste blood.

You were screaming, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything. You could barely see anything — the last thing you caught a glimpse of before slipping into a realm of unconsciousness were the black boots of a masked man walking towards you, and Kento . . . Kento dashing in front of the man’s raised sword, and getting stabbed through a gap in his ruined armor nearest his lower abdomen.

Your surroundings became nothing more than a black abyss, and there was one, final explosion.

— ♛ —

TWO DAYS LATER

He was staring at a familiar ceiling. 

It was brown. Wooden. Raggedy.

As Kento Nanami blinked, blinked, and blinked, it hit him.

He was home.

He sat up in bed, fighting the burst of pain that surged through him from the bandaged wound on his shirtless lower body. When he looked down, there was a familiar, tiny red dragon resting on his thigh.

“You’re awake. That’s great.” The soft voice startled him. Only then, turning his head to the side, did he realize that you were sitting at his bedside. A brown cloak was draped across your head, a choice clearly made to conceal your identity while walking among your subjects.

Or, given the recent events that were coming back to Kento’s memory, bit by bit, it was, perhaps, a choice made to conceal your identity for your own safety.

“How is it that you’re awake and I wasn’t ‘til now?” Kento’s voice was hoarse, and he coughed. “Last I remember, I was the one carrying your unconscious body out of-”

He coughed yet again.

You walked away for a moment and returned with a cup of water.

“Drink this,” you said.

He took it with thanks. As he gulped it down, he recalled the last of what he could remember. 

He took a sword to the stomach to protect you. There was another explosion. The biggest of them all. Part of the ceiling collapsed on the man who stabbed him. The entire ballroom was becoming a sea of falling rubble and flames on a greater scale than before. Kento scooped up your unconscious body and ran, jumped; did whatever he had to do to get across the debris. He used all of his remaining strength to toss you out of the window first. With the ballroom falling apart second by second, he wasn’t certain if he’d have enough time to crawl out of the window and save his own life, but that didn’t matter. 

Your safety came first.

You came first.

He didn’t remember anything after getting you out of that ballroom. He was alive still, but-

“After our medics found you and patched you up, I decided to bring you home. Your mother and I spent the last two days taking care of you. I actually just finished washing your face and brushing your teeth.” You suddenly spoke, as if reading his thoughts. “It wasn’t out of kindness, really. Our hospitals are . . . it’s a nightmare. Thank you for saving me, Kento.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, holding on to the empty cup of water. His thumb tapped rapidly against the side of it, and he frowned. “That attack was a long time coming, wasn’t it?”

Your teary eyes locked with his. You gave him a sad, knowing smile. “Like I said, you’re great at putting the pieces together.”

It all made sense. 

After all, why now did the king insist on you having a personal knight? 

The king must have known that there was a group from another kingdom who wanted to get their hands on the Vulcania Princess, dead or alive. 

Kento rubbed his face out of pure exhaustion.

“Why host a ball when your life is in danger?” Kento questioned. “Greed. That’s it, right? The king couldn’t pass up the chance to receive praise and gifts and kick-start your engagement, even if it meant putting you at risk. What is he thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

Kento allowed the silence to fester. During which, he grabbed ahold of your hand, stroking your soft skin with his rough thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me.” You mumbled, but despite your cold tone, you didn’t pull your hand away from him. “There’s no time to mourn. The kingdom is in shambles. We’re vulnerable. Weak. People are dead, from our kingdom and others. And now? Now I’m queen. How am I supposed to . . .”

There it was, the mourning you tried to swear off.

Tears fell from your eyes. Kento didn’t waste a second before gently moving the sleepy dragon to an empty spot on the bed before swinging his legs off the side, and ignoring the pain as he leaned up and pulled your chair closer to him. He wrapped his arms around you gently — aware of your potential wounds though he couldn’t see them right now — and he pulled you against his bare chest.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t cry in front of anyone.” You pulled away from him, wiping the tears that fell from your right eye, and he stroked away the ones that fell from the left with his thumb.

As he did so, he couldn’t help but let his thumb hover over a deep, healing scratch on your cheek. 

“It’s okay to cry. You’re just a person.” 

“Am I?”

“Of course you are,” his brown eyes gazed into your sad eyes. “You like warm things. Warm drinks, warm weather, warm blankets, fireplaces, fire-breathing dragons . . . you take a walk through your garden when you need to clear your head. Though you’ve never held a sword or a shield, you don’t hesitate to protect others, and not just people who are important to you, but strangers as well, and all kinds of creatures. Your jokes are so awful, they’re funny. You bite your bottom lip when you are lost in thought, and if those thoughts are worrisome, you play with your necklace. You cut people off when they’re speaking, but you don’t do it out of malice, you’re just brilliant, and you already know what someone is going to say. You’re unintentionally ignorant. Quite ignorant. But you try your hardest to overcome it once something is brought to your attention. It was you who ended wars with a simple speech. Recently, you argued for an increase in pay for knights of all ranks, I’m certain of it. And yet, you didn’t tell me, because you don’t feel the need to brag about your good deeds either.” Kento’s thumb hovered over your bottom lip. He whispered, “Hm, maybe . . . maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you aren’t just a person, because I’m certain I’ve never met anyone else like you.”

Amidst the sadness, there was a shimmer of something else within your eyes. A little spark of hope.

“Is that really how you see me? I think . . . this is the first time someone has given me a compliment that has nothing to do with beauty. At least, most of that was a compliment, I think.” You gave a soft smile that stretched the scratch on your cheek. “Wait, did you fail to compliment my beauty because you no longer find me attractive? I couldn’t exactly blame you if that’s the reason.”

“You’re mesmerizing. Inside and out. Your wounds don’t change that. But don’t worry. I’m sure they’re mixing up the strongest healing elixir known to all just for you. Your wounds will exist only as a memory, just you wait.” 

That shimmer of hope within your eyes brightened. Kento wanted nothing more than for it to stay that way, but it couldn’t. Not when your life was still in danger. Not when there were people out there who wanted to hurt you.

Kento placed his hands on either side of his legs and started to push off his bed, but suddenly, your hands shot out, pushing against his thighs and seizing his movements.

“What are you doing?” You asked urgently.

“Trying to leave my bed, if you’ll let me.”

“Have you gone mad? You were stabbed. I won’t let you leave this bed until you’ve recovered fully. Try to leave again and I’ll . . . tell your mother . . . when she returns.”

Kento frowned. “Your life is in danger. I can’t just-”

“It’s not your duty to protect me anymore.”

That frown deepened, his brows furrowed in utter confusion. “What are you saying?” He asked.

You were silent for a moment, but when you spoke yet again, you couldn’t look him in the eye. You didn’t have the nerve. “I'm the ruling monarch now. I call the shots. I’ll pass a law to make it illegal for employers to discriminate against members of certain bloodlines that have decided to stray from the career path chosen by their people.” Your eyes fell on his bandaged abdomen. “In other words, you no longer have to serve as a knight. Go on and enjoy a different career of your choice. In the meantime, I’ll make sure your family is well fed. It’s the least I can do.” 

“No.”

You looked at him, eyebrows shooting up in pure shock. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not leaving you. Not now,” Kento said.

“Kento, there’s no need. There are plenty of other knights who actually want to be knights. They can protect me just fine.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving your side.  I don’t mind dying for you-” 

“Damn it all, Kento, I said no. Look at your condition! Look!”

Your sudden shouting stunned him. Based on the way your tears fell, and your hand clenched and unclenched around nothing, it surprised you too. “That wound of yours is all my fault. I should have left when you told me to. I won’t allow something like this to happen again. I won’t have it.”

“Look at me.” His hand was once again on your face, but not stroking your cheek. This time, his long fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “I won’t have you dying a preventable death because of incompetent knights while I waltz around my village baking bread or sharpening knives.”

“Is this an ego thing?” Do you think you’re the only knight strong enough to protect me?”

Though your question was a serious one, Kento couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “I understand everything about you down to which foot you step with first, but you don’t understand me at all.”

“What do you-”

It was sudden, but Kento was fed up with your lack of understanding. He released your chin, but only to snake his hand around your head and pull you close, closing the gap between you by crashing your lips together. The kiss was warm. Your lips were soft — so damn soft — and he couldn’t help but hold on to you even tighter, melting into the kiss because he needed more. Though his tongue rubbed against yours, though he was breathless, and though it hurt his injured stomach to do so, he still wanted more; one large hand hooked around your thigh, the other against your back, and he pulled you onto his lap.

Your hand pressed against his muscular, broad chest. He swallowed a soft moan that escaped your lips. 

“Kento,” you gave a little whimper.

“I know,” he whispered against your wet lips, the words barely leaving his own lips before he reconnected his mouth to yours. He pulled you against his mouth even harder, made you straddle his lap even tighter, and kissed you with lips and tongue even deeper.

When the kiss ended, Kento looked at your face, your skin softly illuminated by the flickering light from the candles scattered throughout his house. 

“Do you understand now?” He asked softly.

You nodded, then smiled. “I didn’t know that was coming, but I'm glad I brushed your teeth for you.” 

Kento couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh, pressing a kiss against your cheek.

Your fingers played with the blonde hair at the nape of his neck, and he pressed yet another kiss against your jaw, then your neck, all before pulling away.

“Tell me the truth. Do you love me?” He asked, his breath patting against the skin of your collarbone.

“I do, but if you have to ask, then you might not understand me as well as you think you do.” 

Kento pulled away from your neck, but when his eyes met yours, all he saw within your gaze was pure sadness. 

“But, Kento, Umarith finds itself in yet another war, and our enemies won’t give up until they have me-”

“Then let me kill them all for you.”

“Kento,” you frowned.

“Your Majesty,” he gave your chin a quick kiss, his large hand rubbing your thigh. “I mean it. I will save you. I just need you to let me.”

You bit your lip in thought. “Fine, but on one condition. No, two conditions.”

You leaned in; you were so close, he could feel your breath pat against his ear.

“I refuse to be a kindhearted damsel in distress once again. They want to capture or kill me, the Vulcania Princess- or I guess, queen now, because they think it’ll put an end to the brutal snowstorms killing their crops and their people, so I’ve been thinking, since they crave my warmth so badly . . . I should burn their kingdom to the ground. Allow me to fight by your side and do so.”

“And what’s your second condition, Your Majesty?” Kento whispered.

You pulled away from him, staring into his brown eyes. Your warm hands cupped the knight’s face.

“You drop the formalities like I’ve been asking you to,” you paused. “Unless, in due time, you allow me to call you my king.”

Kento couldn’t help but gaze at you with pure astonishment. It was the same look he had in his eyes when he first saw the enormous statue of you in his village. He should have put the pieces together then — that he was nothing more than someone else who worshipped you.

Kento’s lips found yours, once again letting his kisses speak for him. And this kiss told you several things: 

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you.

Truly, he did. He tried.

But in the end, he couldn’t stray from his bloodline’s only purpose to shed blood; to die in service of whomever sat on the throne, but this time around? A Nanami would survive, and Kento would become your cherished spouse and, when the time came, protect your offspring. 

Kento Nanami wanted to hate you, but now, the knight’s soul wanted nothing more than to love you, and kill for you.

♛ — What did you think? Please let me know! Reblogs & comments are appreciated!

♛ — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @thequeenofcurses @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @he11okitty-mari @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib @http-bell

[the-shedevil-writes]

Dog-Fight (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You thought it was just a party. But you soon find out that it was a 'Dogfight'—a cruel contest where the men compete to bring the “ugliest” date they can find. And you were part of the joke. Humiliated and blindsided, you walk out, finding yourself at The Hard Deck. But there you find Bob Floyd. Quiet, kind, and nothing like the man who brought you there. WORD COUNT: 3.6k WARNINGS: Inspired by the movie Dogfight (1991). Emotional hurt/comfort. Reader owns a book store. Fluff! Asking out! Angst with a happy ending. Sorry Marines. NOTES: If ya'll like it, I'll write a part 2- cause I think Bob could confront the marine hehe MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It was all her fault. She shouldn’t have believed a single word coming from that Marine’s mouth. She should’ve figured. When a tall, handsome brunette came into her bookstore, she should’ve sensed the trouble. But instead, she was swept up in the idea that maybe her storybook ending was finally beginning.  

He had talked so smoothly. “Well, a fine lady like you oughta be at a party on a fine Saturday night like this. Not kept up in this stuffy old store.”

She had tried to put up a fight. Say that the store needed to be properly closed… But next thing she knew, she was running upstairs to throw on one of her dresses. She didn’t have many. So she settled for a springtime floral dress and some light makeup.

Well, now she walked down the sidewalk with that light makeup stained down her face. Her floral dress felt like a kid's uniform. The ‘party’ had turned out to be something the Marines call a ‘dogfight’. The man with the ugliest date was to be crowned the victor and win from a collected pool of money. But she didn’t stick around to find out if her date had won or not. Because when she overheard some of the other girls discovering the events' nature in the bathroom, she felt sick to her stomach. 

With a prompt slap to her date, she stormed out of the party and was now walking aimlessly down a beach. She just needed to get away from it all. The ocean waves shushed her thoughts that rattled her head like a shaken box of bees. Was she really that hideous? Did her date win? How could she be naive? 

Even though the night tides had a calming effect, she couldn’t help but get the compact mirror from her purse and check her makeup. Her mascara had run all down her cheeks, and her blush suddenly felt like too much. She combed through her hair with her fingers. It had gotten messy from all the dancing, because honestly, she was having a fun time before being awoken from her blissful ignorance.

Looking up, she noticed warm lights in the near distance. Acoustic guitar played from inside what looked like a beach bar. The sight of it felt like seeing an oasis in the middle of the desert. She wasn’t a heavy drinker in the slightest. But god damn it, after the night she had?

She stumbled through the sand in her heels toward the bar. Looking inside the open doors, it was cozy. There weren’t many patrons since it was getting a little late, and this seemed like the type of place older folks would attend. But even with that, she decided to duck into the bathroom first.

Once she got into the bathroom, she ran to the sink and splashed water on her face. She rubbed her makeup off, a difficult task without makeup wipes or remover. So her fingers instead rubbed her skin raw with nothing but water. She’d rather have a sad red face than look like a rodeo clown. 

Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt this feeling of patheticness bubble up in her gut. Tears brimmed her already swollen eyes. She hiccuped and wiped them away as best as she could. But as she wiped away old tears, new ones formed. She couldn’t bear to look at herself anymore. 

She ran out of the restroom, hiding her face by looking down at the tile floor. But as she came out into the small hallway, she accidentally bumped into someone with a surprised ‘OH!’

“I-I’m sorry-” She stammered out, not even looking at who she bumped into.

“It’s okay.” A gentle male voice said with just the subtlest hint of a midwestern accent.

But before she could look at who owned that pretty voice, she booked it down the hallway and towards the bar. It felt like the whole world was staring holes into her. Even though rationally, nobody was, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Like the walls were suffocating her.

The bartop felt like a checkpoint, and luckily, nobody else was sitting in any of the stools. She practically collapsed into a seat. Catching her breath, she looked up to find an older woman behind the bar. With dark hair and pitying eyes, the bartender made her way over to her. 

“Hey, pretty girl. Rough night?” The bartender said affectionately, like a mother would. The nickname felt incredibly ironic. 

She nodded and hiccuped. “Y-yeah.” 

The bartender took in her disheveled appearance. She came in closer and put her hand on the bar. “Do I need to call for help?” Her eyes widened. “No. No. I’m okay. Just… I’m never letting a Marine take me out ever again.” 

The bartender laughed with bitter relief. 

“Well, they don’t typically come here, lucky for you. Just some Navy pilots since we’re right by Top Gun.” The bartender explained, pouring a rum and Coke, then a glass of water. She slid it over to her. “On the house. Name’s Penny. Holler at me if you need anything else.”

She looked up and nodded in appreciation. “Thank you.” She took a big sip. 

Penny walked away to organize some of the crates under the bar. Leaving her to drink and sulk in peace. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with an exhale. Luckily, the conversation with Penny seemed to distract her just slightly. But her heart still felt heavy. She took another hefty swig. Hopefully, if she made it through this drink fast enough, it would all slam into her fast and lift her spirits.

But then suddenly, from behind her, 

“Are you okay?” That same gentle voice from the hallway.

She swiveled in the stool and turned to connect a face to the voice. A handsome face at that. With wide cobalt blue eyes behind a pair of wire-framed glasses, he looked at her with a sense of genuine concern.

But then she looked down and saw his khaki uniform. Military. Unsure of what. But military. And she had experienced enough humiliation for the night. Fool her once…

“I’m fine.” She turned back around and sipped her drink.

“I saw you in the hallway, and you were crying. So I just wanted to check up on you.” 

“Sorry, you’re barking up the wrong tree, bud.” Woah Jesus, maybe she shouldn’t have chugged that drink so fast.

Penny looked up from the other side of the bar, and her gaze drifted past her shoulders. Towards the man. 

“I-I’m not trying to imply anything-” He stammered, looking between both women, and now she felt a bit of guilt. 

She looked back at him and took in his looks. He was cute, and he held himself surely, but a nervous look covered his face. He didn’t look like the Marine from earlier. He had been sharp and with the face of a movie star. This guy looked like he was from planet Earth, with gentle features. He had the type of face you couldn’t possibly stay mad at.

“I’m sorry-” She choked out, “I’ve just had a rough night.”

“Well, you can talk to me about it if you’d like.” He said, and after a moment he added, “I’m Bob.”

She glared at him skeptically before returning to her drink and seeing Penny not so subtly watching the interaction. The bartender nodded with a comforting smile. Okay, he had Penny’s approval. 

“Y/n.” She said, pulling out the seat next to her.

So-called Bob nodded and sat down in the seat. “I’m sorry you’ve had a bad night.”

She stirred the straw in her water, still hesitant. “Yeah, just… God. I don’t even know where to start.” Closing her eyes, she sighed, unsure of what to admit. 

“Well, what made you start crying?” His voice was so soft compared to the 80s rock music playing on the jukebox and the distant laughter and conversation of the bar. 

Just rip off the band-aid. She needed to admit what happened to somebody before she exploded.

She laughed bitterly, “I was part of a dogfight!”

Tears brewed again in her eyes. But Bob just looked at her with confused furrowed brows. She shook her head at him.

“Come on, you have to know what that is. I’m sure you and your little buddies do it all the time.” She added angrily, “I didn’t know what it was before tonight, but I guess it’s a stupid common ritual.”

There was tense silence as he nodded, trying to follow along, but it was clear he was incredibly confused.

“Dogfight like… like in a jet?” He asked innocently

“What? No? Why would I be in a jet?” 

His brows raised, “Because you… do that in a jet?”

She turned to him now. Maybe he actually didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. But before she could say anything, he added,

“Could you explain to me what you mean?” He asked politely.

God, why’d he have to be so sweet? It kept taking her off guard.

“I got asked out to a party by this Marine tonight, and it turned out to be a competition for… who could bring the ugliest date.” It’d be less embarrassing if someone put a ‘kick me’ sign on her back.

Bob’s face revealed this shocked expression. His eyes grew all wide and his mouth dropped slightly. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what all your buddies are doing tonight, sailor.” She hissed, grabbing her drink and taking a bigger swig. Usually, she’d finish drinks relatively slow, but tonight she had finished a glass in record speed.

“I’m not a Marine. Well, I mean- we’re both Navy. But I’m a Naval Aviator.” He clarified, “I don’t think any of our guys have done something like that… Though it’s not like I get invited to many parties.” 

That made her want to smile, but she refused to let one out. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who would take part in that sort of thing. But it was hard to trust anything coming out of a man’s mouth at the moment. 

“And I don’t know why he’d bring you.” Bob added, “I-I don’t mean to sound like I’m coming on to ya, but you’re pretty.” 

She scoffed. “You don’t gotta lie. Apparently, I’m a dog.”

“No, no-” He shook his head with a little crooked smile, “I mean it. I can’t lie to save my life, and I think you’re pretty.” 

Thank god her face was already red from crying to prevent him from seeing the blush that overcame her. But unfortunately, it didn’t stop him from seeing the tears in her eyes overflowing. She shook her head back at him.

“All the girls there were prettier than me.” She explained, “If that’s the case, then how could I be?” Her voice cracked.

Bob tilted his head with a soft smile, and he leaned forward.

“Because I can guarantee you that none of the girls there were ‘ugly’.” He said, “The only ugly people there were the fellas that I bet have a face only a mother could love.”

That made her laugh through her tears. It was true. The guys there really had the nerve to judge while looking how some of them did. 

“You’re even prettier when you smile,” Bob suddenly said.

Somehow, someway, it didn’t feel like he was trying to get her in bed with him. There was a sense of genuineness behind his tone. 

“And I like your dress.” He added.

She shook her head again, but this time with a small smile. “At least all the other girls wore dresses that didn’t look like they were for Easter mass. I look like a toddler.” 

“No, you don’t. I-I like the flower design.” 

It was clear he didn’t really know how to explain why he liked the dress, and that just made her blush and laugh again. 

“How’d you end up here?” He asked curiously.

She exhaled with a shrug. “I heard some of the girls in the bathroom as they realized what was going on. I… I slapped my date in the face and stormed out. Walked all the way from Third Street to the beach, just a hot mess.”

He pushed her water over to her at that. “That’s a far walk. I’m glad you slapped him.”

The drink buzzed in her head. She sipped her water at the reminder. “I’d be stupid not to.” She sighed.

At that, a few other people dressed in the identical khaki uniform approached him. A man with a moustache patted his back.

“Hey, man. We’re all heading home.” The man said, though it was clear that he and his other friends were looking over at who had stolen Bob’s attention. “Hi.”

“Hi,” She said, awkwardly looking down, not wanting her face to be seen. 

“Guys, this is Y/n.” Bob said surely, “Y/n, this is Rooster. Then these guys are Hangman and Phoenix. They’re my co-workers.”  

It was surprising that Bob was so sure in introducing her. He almost seemed proud to be talking to her, and that made her ears burn hot. The three other aviators said their hellos.

“We’ll see you Monday, man. Get home safe.” Rooster, the mustached one, said, squeezing his shoulder. He sent Bob a wink before leaving. 

Watching them leave, Bob suddenly realized something. “Do you have a way home?” 

Shit. Her eyes widened at the same realization. 

“I-I can drive you. But if you don’t feel comfortable, that’s understandable.” He offered.

She looked at him, then to Penny, unsure. She knocked on the bartop to get her attention. “Does he come here often?” 

“Every Friday with those other guys.” Penny nodded.

“Can I trust him?” 

Penny laughed with an easy grin. “He’s the most trustworthy one. He doesn’t drink. He ain’t stupid. And he keeps to himself for the most part.” 

Bob smiled a little at the praise until she added,

“That’s a threat, Floyd. Don’t break your rep.”

His smile dropped, and he nodded. “I’d never.” 

His nervous voice just made her trust him more. 

“I’ll take you up on that offer, if that’s okay.” She said softly

Walking out to the parking lot, he led her to a baby blue truck. It was rustic and old-fashioned, and it felt reflective of who he was. She was a little confused on why he walked to the passenger side until he opened the door for her.

“Letting me drive?” She joked.

“Absolutely not,” Bob replied wittily.

She giggled and got into his passenger seat. When he shut the door for her, her nerves ran rampant again. Please, god, don’t be a murderer. Please, god, don’t be a murderer. Please god-

He opened the door and got into the driver's side. “Where are you located?”

That had to be a good sign, right? That he was asking?

“The bookstore on Elmer. I live right above it.” She explained

“Got it.” He said before backing out of the parking space. 

As he began to drive, there was a small silence. It felt slightly awkward now as they were virtually strangers in this quiet nighttime drive together. Fortunately, her store wasn’t too far, so if it was a suffocatingly awkward drive, it would be quick.

“You own that store?” Bob asked curiously, breaking the silence.

She nodded. “Yeah. It was my parents, but I took it over so they could retire.”

A little smile took his face as he was lit by the backsplash of the headlights and the traffic lights. He was a pretty man. 

“That’s nice.” He said softly. His voice was so naturally soft. She wondered what he’d sound like if he were angry. He didn’t seem like the type to do that often. “Is that what you wanted to do? Take over the store?”

She nodded again. “It’s great. I get to spend my whole day organizing books, and I get access to the new releases early. People are pretty nice, too. It’s not like food service.” She looked over at him. “Is being a… what’s it called? Naval aviator, what you wanted to do?”

Bob continued to drive as he pursed his lips and nodded. “Yup. Pretty much wanted to fly ever since I was a kid. So I spent my whole life studying, determined to do it somehow, someway.”

He started pulling up to her street, but she wanted to learn more. She wanted to hear more about his job and what exactly he did. Because god knows she knew absolutely nothing about the Navy. 

Her store was hard to miss, considering it was painted a bright purple. The color of the apartment from Friends. A big sign saying KINGS BOOKSHOP was posted on the front. 

“This it?” He asked.

“Yup. Good guess.” 

He laughed and pulled aside to the curb. She sat there for what felt like a moment too long. There was almost no sound except for the soft blow of the air conditioner and the chirping of crickets from outside. 

They both turned to look at each other, and when their eyes met, they looked away quickly with shared nervous chuckles. She undid her seatbelt, forcing herself to get up.

“Thank you. Uh- for everything. Listening to me and taking me home.” She said 

“No problem. I-I hope your night gets better.” He nodded, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

She opened the door and stepped out. “Bye, Bob.” 

“Night, Y/n.” 

She shut the door and walked up to the store doors. Part of her was gnawing to get that man’s number. To ask him to see him again. And when she looked back, she saw his forehead to the wheel… Maybe he’s contemplating the same thing. 

Against her own judgement, she opened the door and went inside.

It was the next day, and she was doing her best to forget about the sweet Navy man who had cheered her up the night before. But she found herself lost in thought. Accidentally misplacing books in the wrong sections. Leading people to the wrong aisles. Forgetting what she was doing in the middle of a task. It was like she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The horrific start to the night before was practically ancient history. She would’ve been miserable, playing the night over and over, if it weren’t for the electric memories with Bob.

She was on the rolling ladder, placing some romance books on the top shelf, when the bell chimed. A customer. She stood on her tiptoes to reach the shelf.

“Welcome in!” She called out. 

Finally getting the book in its place, she climbed down the ladder and looked over to see the man who had been occupying her head the whole day. Bob stood studying the display tables through his glasses. She practically almost gasped at the sight of him wandering in his khaki uniform. Suppressing it, she couldn’t resist the grin that overtook her face.

“Hi.” She bubbled out. 

He looked up and saw her. “Hi.”

They stood at what felt like a standoff, his fingers frozen on the cover of one of the books. She walked over and looked at which display table he had been looking over. Unable to restrain herself from giggling, she looked between him and the group of books.

“Didn’t peg you to be a monster romance guy.” She teased.

He looked at her, confused, then looked down at the table to find some strange-looking covers. Lots of shipwrecked women and werewolves. His eyes widened as he broke out of his daze. 

“Oh, uh- don’t know if that’s my thing.”

“The history books are in the back corner.” She read him… like a book.

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks.” A blush overcame him as she went back to taking books off a cart. She hoped he didn’t notice how her hands had a slight shake to them. Trying to play it cool was proving to be more difficult than she anticipated. 

“I actually just-” Bob started, leading to her head picking up.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask you to lunch. Or-or dinner. Whenever you’re available.” He stammered in his typical bashful tone.

She couldn’t hide the redness in her cheeks and the way her lips curved into a smile. There was no way to play it cool here.

“Like a date?” She asked, holding onto a stack of books.

He nodded eagerly, as if he didn’t clarify, it would never happen. “Yes. Yes, a date. I was killing myself last night for not asking you, but I didn’t want to come onto you during a time where you just needed a friendly face.”

“I-I’d love to.” She choked out, “The shop closes at six if you wanna go out for dinner? Maybe get a few drinks at that bar last night?”

His face lit up at her response. A small, shocked exhale came out of him.

“Yeah, that works.” He nodded. The rapidly approaching silence between them was filled with electricity. He suddenly grabbed a random book. “I wanna buy this too.” 

“You really don’t have to-”

“No, no, I want to! I want to read-” He insisted, then looked at the cover, “Wrecked By Cthulu…” His voice trailed off.

She laughed so hard she could barely breathe. “How about I show you some books you might actually like, then we can go from there?” 

He was too sweet. If that wasn’t apparent already by his behavior the night before. 

“Yes, please.” He nodded.

She beckoned him to follow her, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. It felt entirely strange to be thankful for the horrific night before. If it weren’t for a man making her feel so ugly, she wouldn’t be feeling as pretty as she did with Bob’s eyes following her every move.

[bunni-v1]

I just saw the teasing, but shy / brat taming story. Can I request kinda similar but kinda opposite, MC who is shy and likes to tease but is actually a good girl? 🧡

I personally like to tease, I love seeing them start to lose it because they start to get so turned on but they know they can't do anything about it. (Not in an angry way tho, if that makes sense?) But I'm also very much a good girl, while I very slightly might test boundaries, I live to please. I don't see many stories for us good girls, (also pillow princess stories are quite rare) so if you feel comfortable, I would love to see this version also. 😄

Such a Good Girl~

Necessary marc tag: @cilomarc

🍓I saw this and IMMEDIATELY started brainstorming. Other than when I was writing Cookie Run, this is the fastest I've gotten to a request. Now, It might've taken me a little longer than I wanted to get it done... but shut up. Now I'm not sure how loyal I was to the prompt, I kinda just... got lost while writing. Still, I do hope that it's what you were looking for my love <3

TW: Brat tamer Zayne & Sylus; Mean Xavier; Oral Receiving (Rafayel) & Giving (Caleb); Use of "Good Girl"; BLATANT Caleb favoritism; Grammar Errors

Info: NSFW; Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (separate); Short drabbles

Total Word Count: 6.2k words (individual count listed with character)

MDNI

ZAYNE (1.2k Words)

You don't even remember what you did to get yourself in the position in the first place. Well, you do, but you felt too lightheaded to think about it now. Zayne had you pressed close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and dick nice and snug inside your tight little hole. There was a pressure deep in your stomach that couldn't be relieved without movement, but he refused you the option, hands stilling your hips when they wiggled even a fraction.

Maybe, coming into Zayne's office during work hours in his favorite skirt wasn't the greatest idea you'd had. He was only so patient, especially when it came to you and your teasing. He let you play dumb for a little while, because it made you happy, and it's not like he didn't enjoy seeing the soft curve of your ass in the tight fabric as you waltzed around. It was almost cute the way you played dumb, like you didn't notice the way his eyes trailed after you and his pen stilled occasionally to observe you.

It was only meant to be a cute little game between the two of you, one you didn't expect to yield the results it did. But when he beckoned you over, pulling you between his legs by your hips, your fate was sealed. He had his usual calm expression, but his eyes were alight with need, drinking you in with each rove over your curves. The hands on your hips slid down to your thighs, then back up again, feeling the expanse of soft flesh as if it were his personal comfort.

His eyes find yours when he finally speaks, "Is there a reason you chose this skirt today?"

A little smile crawls up your face, almost shyly, "I thought you might like it."

His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, lifting his chin just slightly in affirmation. His fingers pull you closer by the backs of your thighs, drumming up and up until they rest atop your butt. It's not a science to tell that he's very pleased with your answer, no need for a rigorous degree to read him, he spells it out for you without needing to be asked.

"I do," he hums, kneading your cheeks in his hands, "Were you hoping for a reward?"

Direct and to the point as always, you couldn't hide from him. There was no attempt with the way you flustered, eyes flitting around nervously while you nodded your answer. Far too cute, if you asked him. He tapped your bottom, and like a trained dog, you looked back at him with fluttering lashes.

"If you can be nice and patient, I'll give you what you want," he hums, tilting his head so the light catches in his eyes just so, "You can do that for me, can't you?"

And that's how you'd ended up throwing your legs on either side of him and curling into his neck like a lifeline. You'd cock warmed him before, it wasn't a challenge to sit still and let him work. The stagnant pleasure was something you had come to enjoy, an intimacy that set butterflies free in your stomach every time he offered for you to do it. What was difficult to deal with, though, was the tension in built in your head.

You knew how your night would end, obviously. The issue lay in not knowing when Zayne believed the reward awaiting you was earned. You were always his good girl; you knew you were so well behaved, he told you all the time. There was simply no measure that could properly count when you had behaved well enough for your treat. That was up to Zayne to decide, and it could span from minutes to hours of waiting. That was the fun of it, though.

He would tap his fingers along your sides when the time was getting closer. Physical affection and comfort pick up, as a little warning. You think it's mostly subconscious, more for himself than it was for you. Fingers slide up and down your spine, kisses pressed to the side of your face in reassurance, or arms pulling you just a little closer.

Your nerves jitter in excitement when he sets his pen down, the soft shuffle of papers being moved out of the way, the most exciting sound in the world. Gentle hands pull your face into view, stroking over your warm cheeks as an apology for making you wait so long. You smile at him, leaning into his hands, craving that skin-to-skin contact more than you'd realized.

"You want to move, don't you?" He asks, though it comes out as more of a statement.

Adamantly, your head bobs up and down, "Yes, Sir."

He hums, copying your nodding, "Go ahead then, you've earned it."

Not needing to be told twice, you use his shoulders as leverage to bounce yourself up and down in his lap. Slow and steady motions to start, dragging his length along your walls, taking in each inch of pleasure with delight. All the while, he watches you, making sure you behave like you're meant to. Both of you know you will, you'd never do anything to purposely upset him, but the thought of him watching for little slip-ups gets the heat boiling beneath your skin.

His hands rest on your hips, not helping, just resting patiently. Just in case. You try not to think too hard about it, focusing in on the task you were given. Taking in the comforting feeling of him buried deep inside you, dragging along your walls like he was made to be there. The pleasant squelching sounds filling up his normally quiet office, encouraging you to keep going even though your legs start to burn.

His head leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair, content just watching you use him. His hands squeeze in patterned intervals to further encourage you to chase your high. Quiet, watchful, and entirely taken with you. The flush on his cheeks was more than enough to signal that you were performing exactly as he wanted; there was no need to vocally pronounce it when he made it so obvious to you. Heated gaze committing every little shift in expression to memory, utterly obsessed with the way you fall apart so obediently.

And fall apart you do, movements quickly becoming sloppy. It's too difficult to raise your hips in the same motion over and over, so you've taken to rolling them instead. Your orgasm is quickly building, coiling up your spine and fuzzing up your brain deliciously. You can't cum without permission, though. You don't want to misbehave and face punishment. Luckily, Zayne knows you too well, sensing your need from the way your hips seem to stutter and how you clench in uneven patterns now.

One hand cradles your chin between loving fingers, tilting your face toward his. Those sinful green eyes glimmer with knowing, looking over your flushed face like reading a report. The smallest smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, head tilting to the side in a teasing motion.

"You want to cum?" He hums expectantly, and when you nod he continues, "Go on then, be good, cum for me."

And like magic, like your body has been trained to listen, that coil springs and snaps pleasure through your body. Your orgasm draws a long, low moan from your lips, your body falling forward against his shoulder. Despite the way it tingles from the intensity of the pleasure curling along every nerve, you feel the unmistakable gentle rub of practiced hands along your spine. Coaxing your body to relax into him, easing the heat encasing you just enough to keep you lucid.

Your reward for being so good for him.

XAVIER (1.2k Words)

Xavier loves the way you like to play with him - it's cute how you tentatively poke at him, then hide away the second he questions you. It's a little game he likes to play with you: play dumb and see how far you'll let yourself get before you self-correct your behavior. He doesn't even have to do anything; you give yourself up for him every single time with a flutter of your lashes and a pout.

Just like today, you were testing your limits again, and he was happily playing oblivious. It started with some poking to his cheek and his side, annoying, but nothing he wasn't used to. The way you lit up when he hummed in acknowledgement set a chill down his spine. You didn't stop there, eventually letting your cute little innocent poking evolve into firm grasps. Nowhere too risqué, on his arms or holding his waist as though that was where your hands belonged.

He'd slid his hand over yours at that point, quietly warning you that he was on to you. Not to negate, just to tell, a reminder of who was in charge of whom. You took it as an invitation and worked yourself up to more teasing touches. Featherlight as your hand grazed over his chest and above his thighs, still too good to push further than that. Your intention was clear without needing to go further, though, and it brought Xavier great excitement to see how you shrank back from giving in to your wants.

You didn't have to worry about it, and you knew that fact. Xavier was ready to hand it over to you on a silver platter, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came when your fingers strayed just a little too high up his thigh, not intentionally, but the perfect excuse to grab them firmly. Bringing the hand to his lips, kissing their tips with such devotion, you nearly forget that he'd caught you in the act. Those pretty blue puppy dog eyes darken slightly when he gazes at you, intent clear as day in their sparkle.

"You've been quite playful today, starlight," He mumbles against your skin, "Are you hoping for something from me?"

You fluster immediately, just like he expected you to, because you're so scared of being bad for him. You hate it when he's mad, so you nod obediently. His other hand tilts your head gently, as if it's a suggestion of movement rather than a command. You listen regardless, moving your face as he likes, swallowing when his thumb grazes over your lip. He watches your tongue dart out after it, like you were trying to get a taste of what he left behind. That makes him more of a mess than he'd be willing to admit, breath shaking with his next exhale.

"Don't worry about telling me," He says, moving forward in a swift motion, pressing you to the couch cushions easily, "I already know what you need, just behave and I'll give it to you, okay?"

Another helpless nod, and he is hovering over you like a predator who'd just caught his prey. Sliding your clothes out of his way, not bothering to take anything off fully, far too preoccupied to care about such a trivial matter now. He only makes sure you're wet enough before he pushes inside your tight heat. It takes all his self-control not to moan out loud, mouth finding your neck to distract his brain with a different task for the moment.

He laves at the skin there, soft tongue sending shivers down your spine as it runs along the sensitive spots he's able to find like second nature. He works his way up to the shell of your ear, nipping and kissing along your jaw, buying time for your world to stop spinning before he sends it out of orbit again. You can feel the satisfied smirk against your ear, whining when the ghost of his teeth nibble along it.

"You're already so wet, you took me with no problem," He whispers, wiggling against you for emphasis, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? How naughty, here I thought you were so well behaved."

You tug at his shirt, letting out an annoyed whine. Insistent, defiant, denying the idea that you had misbehaved. You hadn't, after all, he let you do all of it after all. He smiles, pulling back to look at your angry little pout.

"No?" He hums, and you confirm with a nod, "You think you're a good girl?"

You agree, vigorously nodding your head so hard he worries you might give yourself whiplash. Your angry pout makes him want to kiss you stupid, but he holds back on that. Only good girls get that treatment, and he wasn't so sure you'd earned the title yet. Instead, he presses his face close, just a hair's width away. Refusing to kiss you, but allowing you to desire it enough that he can see the need on your face.

"Why don't you prove it, then," He asks, rolling his hips once, "if you cum for me, maybe I'll reconsider my judgment."

With that, he begins his movements, sending your head spinning yet again with the pace he sets. Never one to waste time when he had you laid out so openly beneath him, he pistons himself into your wet heat at a steady but quick rhythm. Each drag manages to hit each spot against your spongy walls perfectly, getting you dizzy within moments of him starting. Your grip on his shirt tightens, using the fabric as a means of bracing yourself against the warmth spreading across your body.

It doesn't do anything for how quickly he manages to get you babbling, knowing your body better than you do. Those deep blue eyes watching you submit yourself willingly, knowing well that you would before he started. You always behaved so well for him; he just liked making you work for his praise. The angry expressions as you fought his accusations off, making him stupidly hot and bothered. Making the way your face absolutely scrunched up and losing itself to the heat of the moment all the more satisfying.

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak, not with how easily he works your body like this. Knowing exactly how to move his hips for you, like it was instinct to get you to fall apart on him. You cry out his name, fingers balling the fabric of his shirt like it would help you somehow. Cute, cute, cute sings inside his head, over and over, like he was losing his mind. He sees the moment the invisible thread in you snaps, and feels it as you grip around him as though trying to drag him down with you.

Instinctively, he comes down to kiss you, giving you your just rewards for being so good for him. The gentle reprieve he gives you makes it all worth it, though.

Mumbling against your moans his soft praises, "Good girl, keep going, give me all you can."

RAFAYEL (1k Words)

The only thing in the world Rafayel likes more than you is your attention. Knowing you're looking at him, having the awareness that you are encapsulated by him makes him happier than he'd be willing to admit to you. Something about the reassurance that you are there, and that you find him as mesmerizing as he does you, helps to calm his raging heart. Quells the burning fire of his yearning to a low simmer, no longer consuming him whole, but warming him from the cold of memories that still haunt him.

That attention of yours was addicting, and you were simply unaware of the effect you had on him. Which is why he felt as though he'd been going through withdrawals all day, a notable lack of your eyes on him driving him nuts. Yes, you were busy and he was oh so understanding of that... but he could only take so much. It was getting to be unfair at this point.

First, you wouldn't let him pull you back into the sheets, scolding him about 'work' and 'responsibility'. You sounded like Thomas, but he didn't complain too much that time, content to watch you get ready; the show was compensation enough. Then, audaciously, you refused to send him any pictures. Wouldn't even amuse the lighthearted flirting, too busy running around being a hero to pause for him. What made it all worse, when you got home, you were 'too tired' and 'just wanted to eat and nap'.

Fine, okay, whatever. He'll make you a tasty, nutrient-full meal and cuddle you on the couch while you talked about your day. He doesn't bring it up again, wouldn't push you when you seem so genuinely exhausted. He can go without for you, he did it for hundreds of years, what's a day?

It's fine until you start to get restless, wiggling about this way and that and pressing into him very intentionally. It clicks when you glance over your shoulder, pouting expectantly. You'd tortured him on purpose, how mean.

He pulls you back, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a smug satisfaction. The ends of his hair tickle your cheek when he pulls you into a deep and insistent kiss, not allowing you the time to catch up. He goes until you're dizzy, wiping away the string of saliva connecting you with that familiar playful smile of his, then it drops.

Annoyance, and that pout you hate to love stare you down, "Tell me, Cutie, were you intent on torturing both of us today?"

You shake your head, ready to deny him, but it catches in your throat. He nudges your nose admonishingly, almost daring you to say no. You'd played your mean little game, and he obeyed your rules, it was time for his reward; And he would be getting it. No matter what.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, "I didn't think I'd get this far."

He huffs, like he doesn't believe you, tracing your lip with his thumb.

"Talk is useless. Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He rumbles out, eyes darkening in his desire.

You drop to your knees like you were being mind-controlled, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He stands at attention, proud and aching for your pretty lips to wrap around him. It makes you feel worse for playing hard to get all day, knowing how he must've been so needy this whole time. Those observant eyes watch you with hardly restrained excitement, twinkling down at you encouragingly.

You slide your thumb over the tip, spreading the pearly pre over it. There's an obscene amount of it, proof of how long he'd been keeping himself together, dripping down your hand. Absent-mindedly, you lean down to lick it up from where it slides down your wrist, following it back to the source. Salty and a little bitter, you ignore the taste for the sheer satisfaction of making him feel good.

You lick up what you spread around, popping the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He curses your name like it were sin itself. Sensitive and desperate. You use it as motivation to take him in, inch by inch, until your throat tickles, then you pull back. Wrapping what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand, beginning languid motions back and forth. Sucking, swirling, pleasing him just how you know he likes.

You want to make it up to him, feeling so bad for teasing him the way you did. You really didn't mean any harm, but from how he was throbbing along your tongue, you know you did. Using your mouth to make it up to him was the least you could do. Apologizing with each hum you send along his shaft, sending your sorry directly through his nervous system.

A hand runs through your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly in reward. Not that you've earned it, but he can't be too mean when you're just so good for him. The prettiest sight he's ever seen, lips wrapped around him while you desperately try to keep eye contact between the fluttering of your lashes. All your attention was his now, and he was happy to hog it all unashamedly, just like you were to suck him off for hours.

He thought about letting you, he thinks you may even deserve the way your knees would sting after the fact, but he can't help but be weak for you. Not when he had a lot more he wanted to get done tonight. The gentlest tug is all it takes for you to pop off him, swallowing up air as though you'd been drowning. He smiles, wiping a little bit of spit running down your chin. His messy little masterpiece.

"You can take all of it, can't you?" He asks, and you nod in a daze, licking your lips.

He allows you to take him again, helping you take more and more down your throat until he's settled there like it's where he belongs. You breathe through your nose, face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to make it up to him. It's so charming, making his heart race and sending the blood right back to his dick.

It's not enough, though; he needs you to look at him.

"Cutie," he hums, and you look up at him, glassy-eyed and desperate for approval. He smirks, "Such a good, obedient girl for me, I think I can forgive you this once if you keep it up."

SYLUS (1.2k Words)

Sylus was a very busy man, something you knew intimately after being with him for so long. Frequently, he was off somewhere in the N109 Zone doing something that you were safer turning a blind eye to than asking about. You'd spend weeks at a time without seeing him, alone in your apartment as you worry needlessly about his well-being. He always came back in perfect condition, smirking at you as though your worry was some pointless thing, teasing you for how much you care.

Being with him was difficult, but ultimately worth it in the long run. The way he took care of you far outweighed the periods where you could not physically have him with you. Though... sexually... You felt your resolve waver just a bit.

You found yourself very pent up in the weeks that he was gone, and there was only so much your fingers or toys could do to satiate the heat that boiled in your tummy. Pictures and videos of your previous times together helped, but also made it worse at the same time. You just wanted him: his warmth, his touch, his taste. Devastatingly addictive, and you felt strung out without him at your side.

You'd send him pictures and videos, hoping he'd return the favor when he gets the chance. Sometimes he'd call you and talk you through it, cooing at you as though you were an insatiable kitty and not his very needy partner. Naturally, given your human nature, you can only handle so long before you start feeling petty.

Normally, you wouldn't deprive yourself when he comes home to you, whispering syrupy sweet words into your ear. Not this time. No, you wanted him to have a taste of how frustrated you would get. Since he seemed to find it oh so funny when you got all needy, let's see how he liked it.

You forgot how patient he was.

He could reasonably wait several millennia, and you were finding that out the hard way. He was a stone wall of impartialness; nothing could shake him, and within a week, you felt your resolve rapidly crumbling. He knew this, of course, he always knew. Yet, he let you play your game without a peep. It only made you more infuriated, need burning in your stomach every time you looked at him, trapped in a prison of your design.

You give in a week and three days into your little facade, frustrated and pent up, and by Astra needing him to do anything for you. He looks up at you like he was expecting your arrival at his office door. You're not aware of the cute little pout on your face, nor the way you nervously fiddle with the hems of his oversized shirt sleeves. And, goodness, he questions himself on how he could possibly hold out for so long when you're just so radiant.

You stop short of his desk, positioning yourself with arms crossed as you glare at him. He regards you with a tilt of his head, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. It's not meant to be intimidating, but it sends a chill up your spine. Fuck he was unfairly sexy, wasn't he? How could you purposely ignore him for some stupid petty pride?

You take a deep breath, sighing out your apology, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" He hums, amusement thickening his voice.

"For avoiding you," you continue, stepping forward like owning up to it, "I was just..."

"Frustrated?" He finishes for you.

In a ridiculously smooth movement, he stands, walks to your side, and gently guides you to his couch. You are lying down across his lap, head propped up by a pillow against the arm, looking up at him with wonder. A large hand rests on your thigh, sliding your skirt to pool around your waist as you prop your knees up. Fingers stop just short of the apex of your thigh, tapping patiently along the soft skin there instead.

"It must be so difficult, being without me for so long," he purrs, "I can only imagine so, since you thought to play such a silly game with me."

You frown, resisting the urge to clench your thighs, "I just wanted you to feel how frustrated I was."

"You think I don't miss you when I'm away?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes like it was an offensive thought.

"Not as much as I miss you," you spit back.

He releases a huff of a laugh, squeezing your thigh, and you realize too late you've fallen into his trap, "Oh really? I suppose not, then. Tell me, though, what exactly do you do when you miss me?"

He knows what you do, of course, and he takes great pleasure in the videos you send. That does not stop him from quickly dipping his fingers into your underwear, finding the wetness pooling there pleasing, "Do you touch yourself like this?"

His fingers, long and slender and precise, swirl over your clit in practiced motions. The movements seem sloppy, but it's far from unintentional. He's mocking you, discarding his usual smoothness for how he imagines your fingers might play with the needy bud.  It's annoyingly accurate, which is why you melt so easily. You missed his touch so badly, unable to move your fingers in the same way he can, far less precise and sure of yourself.

You nod, swallowing hard, "I can't touch myself like you do."

"Poor little kitten," he soothes, mercifully correcting his motions to the tight circles you missed, "Don't worry, I'm here now. I'll touch you as much as you want."

Flimsily, you grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug, "Kiss me, please."

He doesn't waste any time in giving in to your commands, lips finding yours in a slow and passionate kiss that gets you sighing. You had missed him so badly, you were so needy, and now he was kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. Your little game was stupid anyway, the pettiness melting to make way for your desire to please and be pleased.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers dip into your heat, dragging along your walls, reaching far deeper than you could've dreamed. He's skilled with his movements, curling them along the most sensitive spots he'd taken time to memorize. Somehow, knowing your body better than you do. Which is why it's no surprise you cum quickly, orgasm coming without warning and leaving you breathless against his lips.

He's muttering your praises, 'very good', 'that's it', 'perfect', and it only makes you more hazy. How he could be so sweet to you after you were so stupid was beyond you, but you didn't want him to stop. He doesn't, intrinsically knowing what you need without voicing it, and soon you are working through your second consecutive orgasm. Then your third, until you are finally coming down from your high with his steadfast praises ringing through your mind.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"Thank you," He answers, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

CALEB (1.6k Words)

You didn't mean to tease him, honestly. It was innocent. It was always something innocent... until it wasn't. Until you managed to push enough that he decided it wasn't, because there was no way he was rock hard over some harmless little antics of yours. Or, maybe it was the fact that it was so innocent that got him so hot and bothered.

As much as he loathes to admit it, he gets a kick out of defiling you. You call it a kink, he calls it human nature (only for him, though, forbid another man thinks about the things he does.) Regardless, you tease him without meaning to all the time. The comfortableness you feel with each other allows your walls to come down, and unintentionally make something else of his rise. It was a good thing to be so comfortable with your partner, after all, you'd insist. Not realizing what seeing you in nothing but his oversized t-shirt did to his mind.

It drove him wild the way your completely harmless antics managed to 'wake him up' so to speak. He felt like a helpless virgin, which... he sort of was before you, but he figured he'd grow out of that phase eventually. Feels like it only got worse with time, and yet he wouldn't trade it for the world. Content to spend the rest of his days blue balling himself so long as he gets to live that sweet domestic bliss with you.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, working on the breakfast you'd insisted on making for him. Sweet as it was, Caleb was never really one to accept your acts of service without a fight, preferring to be the provider. It was a fight to get him to sit down and relax for once; one of his scarce days off should be spent decompressing, letting you treat him for once. He sat on the couch watching the news for all of ten minutes before he got annoyed and wandered to the kitchen.

He knew better than to get in your space, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a glower. It softens when you send a smirk over your shoulder, brushing off his pouting effortlessly as you glide around his kitchen. It was too cute a sight to stay mad, anyway. His old t-shirt - the one he got from his high school honors program that he couldn't fit into anymore - hardly covers your ass, giving him just the smallest glimpse of your panties each time you reached up or shifted just right.

You shift from foot to foot as you work on the pancakes - apple cinnamon, his own recipe, of course. Hair pulled away so he could see the evidence of your late-night activities peek from just beneath the collar of his shirt. If that wasn't enough to send him into a catatonic state of domesticity, you would look at him every few moments, like you were waiting for him to do something. Sultry little pout tossed over your shoulder, gliding over his bare chest, just over the dick print in his grey sweats, then turning around like you weren't being the biggest tease in the world.

Normally, Caleb would let it slide. Normally, he'd roll off your teasing with a bright smile and a halfhearted scolding. Normally, he had somewhere to be in the morning, so he couldn't afford to give in. Today was not a normal day. Today was a rest day, and what better way to rest than indulging in all the desires he'd purposefully pushed off until now?

He cages you between his arms when you look away, moving a fluffy pancake to the plate set next to you. They looked perfect; you'd followed his recipe exactly. Too bad he wasn't craving pancakes right now, and judging from the way you giggle when his lips graze your shoulder, you weren't either.

"Feeling hungry?" You laugh, reaching a hand back to scratch the base of his skull like he was an overgrown mutt.

One of his hands slides to turn off the stove, then wraps around your hip, pressing you back into his crotch. You feel how hungry he is, poking at your buttocks through the minimal layers of clothing both of you are wearing. Open-mouthed kisses across all exposed flesh he could reach further incriminate him, urging you to give in.

"Starving," he groans.

"Well then," you hum, turning to face him - he doesn't leave your skin for a moment, moving with you, "dig in."

He moans, lifting you up to the counter with a swift heft, spreading you out pretty for him. His lips trace down the fabric of his shirt while his fingers inch it up over your hips, humming satisfied when they find skin to ravish again. He makes a fast trail to your clothed entrance, pressing his nose to the wet fabric and taking a deep whiff. Another groan grumbles out of his chest, and in another moment, he's licking along the slick staining the fabric.

You both moan at the sensation, Caleb's muffled by you and you by your hand. He tugs you closer, tossing your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with your thighs. No escape, not that he had any intention of leaving. He looks up at you, smiling when he notices how you try to hide, eyes darting around the room like that would help you.

Gently, he takes the hand covering your mouth, settling it firmly on his head. He doesn't let go of your wrist until you weave the soft locks through your fingers, scratching at his scalp just like you had earlier. You get an encouraging little smile for it, a soft kiss pressed to your thigh as a reward. His other hand tucking your panties to the side, revealing your hot sticky cunt to him. You clench reflexively when he licks his lips, amethyst eyes finding yours again as he spreads your lips.

Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses your clit. Your mouth falls open because that might just be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. You think you might need a million pictures of the way he looks at you as his lips pucker against the sensitive bud. Unfortunately, you don't get to stare at it for too long, as Caleb is as insatiable as he is in love with you. Eyes falling closed as he brings his tongue across your folds, lapping the juices there up like a thirsty dog.

Your fingers curl tightly into his scalp at the sensation, pressing him closer with a pathetic noise. Somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, addicting to a man like Caleb. His mouth dips down to your entrance, a loud slurping ringing in your ears as he drinks up the juices that leaked out from your needy hole. Tongue working in steady rolls, still not quite experienced, but moving exactly like you needed him to. Your clit does not go neglected, nose nudging against it with his eager movements. His head bobbing excitedly with each shameless slurp, and he really does remind you of a dog like this.

When his tongue plunges as deep as he can get it, you whine out his name, thighs clenching around his head. It slides in far too easily, like it was made to be there, which certainly does something for his ego. You lock your feet behind his back, trying to roll your hips into his uneven rhythm with little success. Not that he needed the help, you were already tumbling over the edge when you lifted your hips the first time. Fucking yourself against his face, elongating your orgasm for as long as he allows you to. And he allows you to for a while, long enough that he's able to force a second one out of you in your frenzy.

Only when you slam your head against the cupboard does he force himself back, concern overpowering his need to eat you out until you can't speak. You whine at him, trying to force him back down, but he isn't having it as he checks you over. He laughs at you when he decides that you're fine, pinching your cheek like you were a petulant child and not his very overstimulated, needy girlfriend.

"You want more? You already came twice, pips." He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

Instead of responding, you press your foot to his hard on, taking great satisfaction at the way he hisses. He catches you by your ankle, tugging your legs open so he can stand between them again. You pull him into a heated kiss, scooting dangerously close to the edge of the counter so you can press into him. You feel his resolve crack instantly, kissing you back like you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

"I need you inside, please," you murmur into the desperate dance of lips on lips.

Without argument, he tugs himself out of his sweats, pressing himself against your heat, "Since you've been so good, I think I can be nice, just this once."

You gasp as the tip slides between your folds, lubricating himself up with a few thrusts, then sliding into your desperate hole with little resistance. The stretch is accompanied by low whispers in your ear, cooing and coaxing you, "Goooood girl, that's right, you take it so well," and "Breathe, princess, I've got you."

By the time you're done with each other, the pancakes are freezing cold, and Caleb decides it's time to start lunch instead. He's cooking this time.

[kdh-tally]

Baby x Reader Headcannons

Prompt : Headcannons of Baby and his Partner.

Author's Note : I might do one of these for each of the Saja Boys and Huntr/x girls. I started with Baby though because he currently has no pairing (and is actually my favourite Saja Boy lol)

You work at a small convenience store somewhere in the Hongdae shopping district. 

Your store is close to one of the popular schools but it’s small so most don’t even notice that there was an actual convenience store there.

One day the bell chimed, alerting you that someone came in.

You looked up from your phone only to come face to face with some cat eyed, blue haired boy. He looked familiar. Kinda like one of the boys on the ramen cups that were flying off shelves (when people actually came into the store).

“Welcome to Y/N’s convenience, what can I get you?”

He tilts his head, as though studying you, and all of a sudden you feel self conscious.

“You have anything spicy here?”

Your eyes widen noticeably in surprise. You didn’t expect his voice to be so deep or rough, especially when he had such a baby face.

Clearing your thoughts, you motioned to the back shelves with your head. “There should be some stuff back there. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask” you nodded before sending him off and leaning back into your seat.

As you opened your social media account, the very first video that popped up had the guy's face on it. “Join the pride,” he smirked at the camera as he stood next to a group of 4 other guys. 

Before you could look into it even more, the guy slammed a thick bottle of jalapeno sauce on the counter. You began to ring him up when he asked, “You wanna hang out?”.

Baby definitely came back the next day and every day after. 

He'd pretend to try new spicy combos, but really he's just standing in the ramen aisle waiting for you to notice him.

When you ask, “Didn’t you come in yesterday?” he just shrugs and responds, “I missed the vibe.”

You didn’t say it out loud, but you fixed your hair the next day before your shift.

He ends up really enjoying your presence, and really enjoying how much he can annoy you.

He’ll “accidentally” knock over the chip display just to hear you sigh and call him a menace.

Would bring you random drinks to “taste test” but makes you guess which is which by sniffing them. 

It was something he had tried on Mystery back in the dorms when Jinu was busy yapping to them about how they would be defeating the hunters. 

He eventually earns what he likes calling ‘behind the counter’ privileges. 

Basically means you allow him into the workers area, and behind the cash register so he doesn’t have to talk to you from across the counter.

He doesn’t do much working though. Mainly just watched youtube on his Ipad.

He always acts like you’re the one flirting with him. 

If you ever blush around him, he has his hands up as though surrendering or calming a rabid animal. “Woah, relax. I’m just here for the spicy chips.”

He calls you “Cashier-nim” for the first two weeks of knowing you, then switches to “pretty thing” whenever he feels like teasing you.

The day you finally found out he was actually THE Baby from Saja Boys, you were mid-bite of your snack and almost choked.

“Wait. You’re famous?”

“Duh.”

“Why are you HERE?”

“You’re here.” he says deadpan.

He once livestreamed from the store without telling you, and suddenly you had a line out the door and business took off.

He likes that you didn’t fangirl or scream when you found out. It makes him feel like a real person.

He also likes how calmly human you are. You’re one of the few that don’t go crazy because of his idol image but also don’t want to kill him. Not that you knew he was a demon anyways.

You’re one of the only people who can see past his teasing and know when he’s actually tired or stressed.

You don’t know why but you're pretty sure it's probably pressure from being an idol or something else.

He’ll sneak into the shop near closing time, hoodie pulled low above his head, hands in pockets, and just sit behind the counter with you while you do restock. No words, just chilling.

If fans ever asked if he was dating anyone, he’d smirk and go, “Maybe.” Not only are the fans shocked but so are the other boys.

They didn’t expect baby of all people to actually fall for a human and not tell them

They insist on meeting you but Baby refuses. He’s so calm about it too. 

Easily avoids all of them and poofs out of the building before they can follow him.

You two don’t do super fancy dates. You’ll walk the streets of Hongdae with spicy corn dogs and bubble tea, trying every new snack he spots.

He loves making you try unnecessarily spicy things just to watch your reactions, knowing you won’t be able to handle them. “C’mon, you survived me. You can survive this.”

He takes horrible selfies with you.

 Tongues out, fake gang signs that make him feel cool (he saw them on tiktok) and captions like “me n my boss lady”

Does he get jealous?

Baby? Nah, not really… Okay fine, a little.

If some schoolboy flirts with you while buying gum, Baby will suddenly “appear” from behind a shelf with 20 spicy ramen cups in his arms like “Pretty thing, help me figure out where to box these up yea?”

He’d dump the cups in your arms so he could take over the cash register and would absolutely glare into the boy's soul as he rings up his order.

The boy leaves.

He would call you things like: 

Cashier-nim : when you first met.

Boss Lady : Whenever you order him around.

Snack : When he tries to resist the urge to bite you. 

Trouble : When he wants to accuse you of flirting with him.

Pretty Thing : To get you flustered

Y/N-ie : Only calls you by your name during quiet and VERY sincere moments.

You call him things like: 

Spice King : You watched him down like 5 ghost peppers with ease.

Little Brat : Whenever he’s being annoying on purpose.

Incompetent toddler : You see the pattern?

Pretty Boy : Only when he’s being sweet.

Baby : It’s literally his name

He would confess to you by leaving a sticky note on the counter that says “Employee discount for boyfriends??”

Though its not super duper straight up, he’s still pretty to the point with it.

When you look up confused, he just winks and says, “I like you. Now say yes before I buy out your whole damn store.”

[distuff]

How about ‘would they be jealous if you were talking to/hanging out with someone for a long time’? Just how would they act with jealousy for all the saja boys, or baby and mystery if u don’t want to do all of the saja boys

Answer: Hello my dear readershi! Thank you for the prompt. As it gives me a tOn of creative freedom lol I hope you'll enjoy what I've created for ya ( ´ ꒳ ` ) Also! arigatou for givin mhe a choice, bUt I'll happily do all of 'em for ya. Note. The person who asked for another jealousy troupe, as well, please note that yours will be posted tomorrow if nothing major comes in between🙌

📍Requests: Please, check my Bio.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Demon Boys' And Others With You

Featuring: Jinu Saja, Abs Saja, Mystery Saja, Romance Saja, Baby Saja Reader: Gender neutral

<><><>

Jinu Saja

🐦‍⬛ So. Let’s get one thing straight. Jinu was not the jealous type. Why bother? I mean really! He’s a demon for crying out loud! He can shift into the most handsome being, conjure up anything he wants with a snap of his fingers if he so much as wished to. He had no reason to be jealous of others - if anything, others should be jealous of him.

🐦‍⬛ So why is it that when you tell him you’ll have to cancel your date because of this “other person”, he feels like… he doesn’t have everything? His silence must have been confirmation for you. Or maybe it was the call from that other person in the background that made you hang up with a quick, “Love you!”

🐦‍⬛ Jinu doesn’t know - nor does he care as much as he cares about the setup in front of him. It took effort to kick the other guys out and get the living room to look the way it did now: pillows spread on the floor, fluffy blankets tossed around, and a perfect mix of warm and cold snacks for your lazy night together. Some random movie was already playing quietly in the background.

🐦‍⬛ It took considerable self-restraint not to set the calling device - “phone,” as humans called it - on fire, or smash it to bits. Instead, he threw it onto the couch with a dramatic groan, scowling at the feeling curling tight in his chest. It felt far too familiar for his liking - a reminder of his pathetic past.

🐦‍⬛ Jinu brushed it off the first time. Whatever. Fine. You had a life outside of him. Who cares! Not him! ... The Tiger and the Magpie gave him unimpressed stares. Or at least, the bird did. Tiger - Jinu hoped - was trying to console him, especially when he slowly walked over… only to pass him without pause and disappear into Jinu’s room. “Ungrateful cat…” Jinu muttered.

🐦‍⬛ The second time? It wasn’t even supposed to be just the two of you. The guys were also there to hang out with the two of you. Jinu refused to acknowledge the tick in his brow when you told him over the “phone” that you’d unexpectedly had to meet up with someone else.

🐦‍⬛ Jinu also pointedly ignored the sidelong glances the others were giving him. Baby looked utterly disinterested in this matter, while the rest tried to hype him up in their own... unique and completely unnecessary ways- Jinu takes it back. Baby wasn’t the asshole this time. Safe to say, when it kept happening, Jinu was starting to seriously consider binding you to him with a demonic contract.

Jinu would’ve congratulated you - for managing to make him think about anything other than his mission or his desire to reclaim his soul. But you weren’t here. Again. It wasn’t like you two didn’t hang out at all anymore... but it was less than what Jinu was used to. With a heavy sigh, Jinu closed his eyes, pressing his forearm against them as he lay sprawled in bed. Who knew what hour it was? Judging from the low hum of the honmoon barrier mingling with the underlying energy of the others, it wasn’t late enough for them to rest. Not that they needed to - but it helped pass the time when there was nothing else to do. Like right now. Right now, when Jinu could - should - be focusing on the reason he was even in the human world to begin with. But he couldn’t. Because every time he tried, his mind circled back to you. To the thought that maybe you’d figured out who - what - he was. That maybe he didn’t have whatever it was you were looking for... and you were seeking it in someone else. “Ridiculous...” he muttered. Unsure if it was aimed at himself or the situation. His thoughts betrayed him, replaying moment after moment with you. His hand reached automatically for Tiger, who had curled up on his stomach and was now purring softly. Comforting. He thought of your first meeting. The first time you went out to dinner and actually made him laugh - really laugh, not the practised kind he’d perfected over centuries. The way you smiled when you were just being you, and how that let him ease into showing bits of himself - shifting between disguise and truth. He remembered introducing you to the others. The way you slowly, but surely easier into his life more. You even hung out with th—

Jinu's eyes snapped open. He shot upright so suddenly that Tiger had to duck off the bed to avoid being smacked in the face. Jinu sat there, eyes blown wide, as a memory slammed into him like a newly turned demon. He hadn’t corrected either of them. You hadn’t been with them at the time - but knowing those idiots? There was no telling when they might’ve run into you without mentioning it and just blurring the same words in front of you. Teasingly or not, Jinu could easily imagine you not taking it well. Could it be…? His eyes narrowed, glowing gold for a brief second before flicking back to black as his ears strained, hearing the phone on his nightstand vibrate seconds before ringing. He glanced at the screen - then instantly answered it, pressing the phone to his ear. Your voice, as beautiful and soothing as always, spilled into the quiet and Jinu felt tension he didn’t even know he was holding unravel inside him. “Jinu~ Why aren’t you sleeping?” He pulled one knee up to rest his elbow on it, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he answered just as gently, “Who says you didn’t wake me up, hmm?” It seemed it was late for a human then. Hearing you laugh and shifting around in the background, Jinu zeroed his attention on you. “Because when you sleep, you sleep, hahaha!” Not true, Jinu thought - but didn’t say. He was wide awake plenty of times. But if pretending to be asleep meant you’d play with his hair longer, he’d do it every time. There was a pause. He could only hear your breathing. And usually, that was enough. It brought him peace. But even across the distance, he could feel your hesitance. A subtle uncertainty within your honmoon signature that made something twist in his chest.

Why are you hesitating… with me?

He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, fingers twitching with the urge to reach for your wavelength through the barrier as the hollowness in his chest thrummed with quiet ache. Before he met you, the void was easier to ignore - insatiable, familiar. But now… even if it wasn’t full, you brought warmth. A soft light that flickered in the emptiness where a soul should have been.

He didn’t want to go back to that empty place. He didn’t want to go back to before you. “Jinu?” you finally said his name, and the hesitation in it made him tense again. He wanted to ask, What is it? He wanted to ask, Are you going to end this? But his thoughts spiralled too fast to settle on just one question. Which was ridiculous. He had nothing to lose and nothing to give you. This whole... arrangement wasn't even there to last... That should’ve made it easier. Should’ve. But did not. Jinu let out a deep breath, realising you wouldn’t continue unless he showed he was listening. Shifting, he lay back on the pillow, gripping the phone tightly. “Yeah?” he finally breathed, ignoring Tiger’s piercing gaze and Magpie’s scrutinising stare from across the room. He expected a lot. Maybe an awkward apology - not that you needed to apologise. He’d never outright said anything was wrong. Maybe you’d tell him you weren’t comfortable anymore. Maybe— That’s why, when your next words came, his eyes widened, and he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Is something wrong?” you asked, unsure and worried. “No—No. Pffft. Nooo—why would you think that?” he said, way too quickly. Even a blind human would’ve known something was off. Another pause. Then a sigh. “Jinu…” you said his name with a tired, warning tone. He grinned shakily, even though you couldn’t see it. “Yeeees?” he drawled, teasing - but you huffed. He could almost see your expression: the smile tugging at your lips, the brow you always raised when he was clearly bullshitting. Then there was silence again. This time, Jinu broke it. With a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagged. Under Tiger’s drilling gaze, Magpie’s quiet judgement, and your pressing silence he finally admitted what had been weighing him down. “You never—” No, that wasn’t right. He inhaled and tried again. “We don’t spend as much time as we used to and I - I can’t help but wonder if… the person you always seem to prefer has something I… don’t.” He couldn’t hide the flush in his cheeks. Embarrassed. But it was either say it or let it rot the short-lived connection that brought him comfort. Thankfully, you didn’t let him stew for long. “Baboya~” you said fondly, and Jinu could hear your smile. “These people are just part of the project I was assigned to.” Jinu blinked. Speechless. “…Project?” he echoed. Barely registering this "person" were "people". You laughed gently. “Yes! Hahaha! I really do apologise. Looks like I forgot to tell you… It’s just hard to focus on all my responsibilities when I’m with you, Jinu. I promise! This time, I won’t bail on you, ’kay?” He felt his face soften into a grin. Something in his chest buzzed - there may be no heart in his core, but he could still feel the growing warmth. He bent forward, clutching his shirt with his free hand, grinning like an idiot. “You better… You don’t want me to steal you right in front of them, do you?” You laughed, probably thinking he was joking. But Jinu wasn’t. Not even a little. Your words reassured him that he was enough - but after everything he’d experienced, he wasn’t going to let anyone take your time meant for him. He wasn’t that reasonable of a “man.”

<><><>

Abs Saja

💪 Abby had no issue with you hanging out with others. He trusted that you had eyes and knew he was a catch - and that you’d tell him if something wasn’t right, just like he bluntly did to you.

💪 Family hangouts? Easy. Abby had no problem showing up and showing off to your relatives even when he was not invited. Friends? Peers? All of that was just background noise - opportunities, really - for him to flex as your partner while the cute little rats around the two of you squealed his praises. It was a win-win.

💪 His eagerness and chill attitude about you being around others, however, was not a green light for you to pull a: “Me and the others are having a slumber party!” - followed by a kiss on the cheek and a swift sprint out of the apartment he shared with the guys.

💪 Abby respected your clever escape, because he knew if you didn’t plan it like a prison break, he would’ve already had you trapped in his arms, hoisted over his shoulder, and dragged off to his room for his required daily dose of nightly cuddles - unbothered by your flailing attempts to escape.

💪 Abby was a demon who couldn't hide his reactions. So when the door shut behind you, his brain was still buffering - trying to piece together what the hell just happened - before his lips pulled into a dramatic pout. He turned to his brothers lounging in the living room and pointed at the door with his thumb in a wordless: Can you believe that?!

💪 Jinu and Romance exchanged a glance while Mystery just shook his head - less in understanding and more in quiet pity. Baby released his lollipop with a loud pop as he looked him over with drooped eyes. “Pathetic.” Then he put his lollipop back and went right back to scribbling in a notebook, no doubt perfecting Jinu’s lyrics again.

It was safe to say Abby didn’t require rest. He didn’t have a heart like humans, meaning he didn’t need rest to produce whatever the blood was formed from for it to function. For demons, sleep was more of a pastime - something to do when there was nothing else going on. But for Abby? There was always something going on. He wasn’t the structured type - he always went with whatever caught his attention or he thought was a great idea to do. However, ever since you entered his life, Abby had developed one routine. You, in his bed, sleeping next to him every night. No exceptions. Until today. Because today, you decided a bunch of squealing meat sticks were more important than him and your shared cuddles. And for what, exactly? A slumber party? What the fuck even was that? Well, he knew now - thanks to Mystery, who had flipped through one of his human books and casually explained that slumber parties were events where humans “bonded” by staying up late, talking… and summoning demons. Which - hello? You already had a demon. Him. Or were you trying to tell him he was supposed to go to that party and fight off some pathetic, low-ranking worm of a demon to prove himself to you? That theory was quickly shut down by Jinu, who waved his arms frantically and made a big “X” with his hands. “No, no,” Jinu said, exasperated. “It’s not that kind of slumber party.” Yes, it was about bonding and talking, he explained - but mostly it was eating snacks, playing games, and then cuddling together before falling asleep. Abby did not like that. Were you saying he wasn’t good enough to cuddle? Not warm enough? Not sturdy enough? He could change forms if you needed him to! All you had to do was say the word - he could be anything for you. All he needed to do was tell you that he was a demon who could- Abby let out a frustrated growl into his pillow, which was currently trapped in a suffocating death grip. The others - excluding Romance, who had flashed him an enthusiastic thumbs-up - had shot him sharp, warning glares the moment he suggested it. Their not-so-subtle way of saying: fucking try it.

He huffed, burying his chin into the pillow that still smelled like both of you. His bored eyes drifted toward the glittering honmoon barrier, pulsing in slow, even waves on the bed. He hated how badly he wanted to devour you - to keep you with him at all times. The craving swelled in his chest as he hugged the pillow tighter. A glimmer of your energy flickered inside the honmoon. Abby’s eyes sharpened. Without realising it, he reached out - his clawed finger sinking into the mattress just inches from the glowing thread of your wavelength. That glimmering crimson pulsed over the faint blue. He grinned. Leaning forward, he easily cast your line into his shadow, the dying blue and vibrant red of your link illuminating his face. His sharper teeth gleamed. Abby growled in approval, "My small, precious human..." he murmured, nuzzling his nose into the line, pressing his cheek against it as your wavelength trembled. Seconds later, the device Jinu called a “phone” began ringing on his nightstand. Lazily rising, Abby leaned over, using one hand to balance himself while the other reached for the phone. The moment he saw your name on the screen, his grin deepened. Satisfaction pulsed through him as he accepted the call. He purposely lowered his voice, making it gravelly - like he’d just woken up. “What’s up...” “Abby?” Your voice was soft, startled, like you were rudely awakened by something. He hummed deeply in response, shifting on the bed so his feet touched the floor. He could hear you moving around in the background too, still disoriented. “Ah—sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you…” “No, no,” he replied gently. “You called. Did something happen?” He added a slight rasp, pretending to wake himself up for you. You yawned, which made him chuckle as he stood and stretched his shoulders, muscles flexing. “No, nothing really. Just… do you think I—” He cut you off smoothly, already halfway to his closet. “Want me to come get you, sweet thing?” There was a pause on your end as he pulled on a random shirt. As soon as he put the phone back to his ear, your answer poured out, soft and almost drowsy. “…Please.” That one word was all he needed. Abby's grin stretched wider. Your voice sounded fuzzy, affected by the pull of the honmoon - probably a side effect of him tampering with it earlier. Nothing dangerous. Just made it a little easier for him. Especially if your wavelength was already weakened by their influence on you.

<><><>

Mystery Saja

🐶 Mystery was the only one among the others who was genuinely curious about the human world - in the way a scientist might be fascinated by their test subjects. A curiosity that wasn’t driven by affection or sentimentality, but by the cold, sharp edge of analysis.

🐶 That same curiosity had granted him rare insight into human behaviour. And comparing it to the era he hailed from? Mystery often wondered if he’d been born on an entirely different planet.

🐶 One of the more puzzling subjects he studied was the human desire to bond. Or more accurately - the innate need to form multiple, meaningful connections with others.

🐶 Okay… but so what? You already had Romance, with whom you could talk endlessly about new trends. Abby, who behaved like an oversized golden retriever, constantly dragging you around the city and showing you places even you - a human who lived around here - didn’t know existed. You had Jinu, who could pass as the most "normal" out of all of them and offered you the kind of grounded interaction humans seemed to crave. And Baby, who teased you endlessly until you smacked him with a pillow and he cackled like it was his reward.

🐶 You even had a good rapport with Tiger and Magpie, who you adored taking on nightly walks on which Mystery tended to tag along.

🐶 And he had given you everything a human partner could possibly want. Warm meals, stimulating conversation, the kind of scorching pleasure that left you trembling - your pleas for more eventually turning into breathless gasps begging him to slow down before you could faint.

🐶 So please. Enlighten him again how meeting these random strays was more important than spending time with him, while he read, and you used him like your personal massage therapist for your feet.

“There are not strays, 'Tery,” you sighed, arms crossed, standing your ground before him. He stood perfectly still, blocking the front door of the apartment he shared with the others. “They’re my cousins.” Mystery blinked once - not that you could see it with his fringe in the way - so he tilted his head slightly instead, the silver earrings on his left ear swaying. “What’s the difference?” You let out a short snort, stepping forward to playfully shove his chest. But Mystery remained unmoved. He couldn’t comprehend how being blood-related made a difference. Related or not, they were still doing the same thing. Taking you away from him. Having to realise that was not a joke, you straightened your posture, running a hand through your hair and said, “Mystery—” Oh no. You said his full name. It wasn't even the real one. It was the name Jinu had given him. And yet, somewhere along the way, it had rooted itself into his core so deeply that hearing it from your lips had a startling effect.

Your closeness was even worse. The way you stood there, just a breath away. The possibility of closing that distance— It made shivers spread under his skin. The corners of his mouth twitched, ears straining to catch each syllable that left your lips. “I’ll be back by 5:20,” you said, voice calm, trying to sound reasonable. “Maybe earlier. I don’t know how long they’ll keep me.” You really were sounding logical. But not to him. Mystery didn’t move. A thick silence settled between you as you stared him down, and he stared back through the veil of hair over his eyes. He relished the way your gaze roamed over him, your brows furrowed with concern. Without saying a word, Mystery reached up and gently smoothed the crease between them with his thumb. Your shoulders dropped. You exhaled. “Fiiine,” you groaned, giving him a look. “You can come with.” Good human, he thought, stepping aside and offering his arm. You looped yours through it without protest, and together you left for the café where your strays - your cousins - were waiting. At the café, Mystery immediately picked up on the subtle awkwardness between the strangers and himself. The two you’d introduced as your cousins kept glancing between him and the curious patrons nearby, who were clearly trying to place his face. Hmm. Maybe this wasn’t about you wanting to get away from him. Maybe you were trying to avoid drawing attention? Not that he cared. He adjusted the cap you'd jammed onto his head before leaving the apartment and relaxed into the chair. Now he could casually tell the others that he’d simply taken the opportunity to do “fan outreach.” Humans adored that kind of thing, didn’t they? Idols doing normal things. Going out for disgusting oil-water - what was it called again? Coffee. Romance had explained it to him once with a flair. Something about chic trend and university aesthetic... Whatever.

Mystery barely stifled a sigh when your male cousin awkwardly introduced himself, followed by your female cousin. After that, the conversation mostly flowed between you and them. Meanwhile, Mystery was simply trying not to spit out the moldy tar water in front of him and onto your cousin’s face. You said it wouldn’t take long - and thankfully, it didn’t. The two cousins had places to be. Finally outside in the fresh air, Mystery nodded at the male who returned it, a polite bow exchange with the female - and then they hugged you one by one, flashing bright smiles as they said goodbye and left behind their stench on your clothes. Mystery watched with idle disinterest… until you turned toward him with a bright smile and started walking. Without missing a beat, he fell into step beside you, his movements effortless. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he slid his arm around your waist, drawing you closer with practiced ease. “'Tery,” you hissed, startled, your head twisting as if to check whether your cousins were still nearby. “What if they—?” Before you could finish, his hand slid up from your waist to your back and finally settled on the back of your neck. He gently tilted your head forward, voice soft and steady, “No worries. They’re already gone.” You checked him for reassurance, and upon seeing his relaxed smile, you finally eased up, trusting him entirely. As you leaned into his side, Mystery kept his hand on the back of your neck - his fingers slowly kneading the base. Casually, he lifted his other hand to fix his hair, as he hooked few fingers under the strands of his fringe, letting them part as he subtly turned his head to the side, revealing one of his eyes. Sky blue, rimmed with glowing gold - until, in a blink, the gold swallowed the colour whole. His pupil narrowed into a sharp horizontal slit as his gaze locked onto your cousins. They were now frozen in place, lingering by the café entrance. He let them see it. The flash of inhuman sharpness in his smile. The knowing glint. He let it linger just long enough for their wavelengths in the honmoon to spike in alarm before he blinked, his eyes returning to their human form as he turned, letting his fringe fall back into place, Without another glance back, he walked leisurely beside you, pleased with the phantom of their fear still dancing at the edge of his senses like static. Mystery drank it all. And oh, how sweet it was.

<><><>

Romance Saja

🌹 Romance would proudly say it aloud: he didn’t understand the word jealousy.

🌹 He’d only first heard of it when he’d tagged along to the human world with the others. Baby had been grumbling about how absurdly jealous their fans could get, muttering it with a dramatic eye-roll. When Romance asked what the word meant, the younger demon had stared at him flatly, gave a shrug, and went back to chewing his gum. He waved him off lazily with, “Ask Fringy, I heard it from those shitty movies he watches. ” That word had piqued Romance’s interest. So, naturally, he went to Mystery as Baby had advised him.

🌹 Mystery didn’t bother answering directly. He simply set aside the book he’d been obsessing over, rising from the couch in one slow, fluid motion. Without a word, he drifted over to his beloved bookshelf - the one Romance secretly admired for its intricate, hand-carved detailing - and retrieved a hefty, leather-bound volume. Returning to him, Mystery opened it on some page, tapped a single word with one painted finger, and said coolly, “Read.”

🌹 Romance blinked at him, raised a brow at the demon's tone, then shrugged and did as told. A moment passed - and then he wheezed out a sudden burst of laughter, clutching his stomach as he tried not to choke on how own spit. Mystery, unfazed, simply straightened. With his usual calmness, he closed the book, returned it to its shelf, and without a single glance back, strolled wordlessly to his room, shutting the door with a soft but final click - leaving Romance in the midst of his hysterical laughter.

🌹 What a ridiculous term! Only self-pitying, bone-dry beings with not an ounce of self-respect could feel "angwy" over something they didn’t have and wished to possess. For what? To feel better?

🌹 Oh, honey~ If you feel miserable without it, you’ll still feel miserable even with it. To Romance, jealousy became just another made-up human excuse - an elegant little lie to mask their fear of revealing their true beauty. Easier to envy others than to honour one’s own shine he guessed.

🌹 He shook his head, the corners of his lips lifting into a pitying smile. Truly pitiful. And that’s exactly what made humans so very entertaining.

It was late into the night, and with nothing better to do - everything already set and ready - Abs had declared a Monopoly match. Now, they were all gathered around the coffee table in the living room. Jinu was subtly stealing from the "bank," deep in debt to Abby, who was somehow winning - though even the big guy himself didn’t seem to realise it. Mystery’s section was the most organised; he had to keep pushing up his fringe, revealing glimpses of his sculpted face and paralysing eyes - eyes Romance often claimed were more brilliant than diamonds - as he squinted at the fine print on the cards, just in case. He didn’t seem to notice Baby quietly stealing from him… again. The youngest demon among them always somehow landing in jail. Romance hoped it wasn't some future sign. He, on the other hand, was also losing, apparently. But he didn’t care. He was far more invested in choosing the more aesthetically pleasing structures on the board that he could buy. They were waiting for Mystery to roll the dice when Romance’s ears twitched at the soft sound of his door opening. He looked up just as you stepped out, dressed in an eye-catching outfit - comfortably casual, yet still striking enough to turn heads and leave people wondering if you were even real. Pride swelled in Romance’s chest. The entire ensemble was one he’d picked out for you. With an approving nod, he turned back to the board. Mystery seemed to be deciding whether to use the card in his hand now or later, causing everyone except Romance to glare at him impatiently. Naturally, the demon was unbothered. Romance heard your footsteps approach and, knowing exactly why, he straightened. Tipping his head back, he smiled just as your gentle fingers lifted his chin and your lips brushed the corner of his mouth. Neither of you paid any mind to the eyes now locked on you - nor to Jinu's dramatic gagging, which earned him a shove from Abby - or the loud pop of gum before Baby scoffed, “Disgusting,” and turned back to the board. Romance wasn’t even sure Mystery could see - his fringe was so rich it was practically a curtain. Not that Romance cared; all his attention was on the angel standing above him.

You smiled softly down at him. “I’ll be out with some of my friends and their acquaintances. Should be back around eleven.” Romance hummed, flashing a dazzling smile. “Enjoy the night, darling. Don’t be cheap on yourself,” he said with a lilting, playful tone, then turned back to the game, perfectly content - though he noted your gaze lingered. When it didn’t shift, and neither did you, he eventually looked up. The other guys had stared at him too - besides Mystery who finally rolled the dice. Romance tilted his head at you, curious. “Yes, love? Something the matter? Do you want to borrow one of my pieces of jewellery, is that it?” he asked earnestly, clearly confused by your startled expression. There was a pause - just the two of you in your own pocket of silence - before you shook your head quickly and gave a hesitant smile. “N-No! No need. Thank you for the offer though,” you said, bowing gratefully before flashing him a radiant grin. “Enjoy your night!” Romance returned it with one of his own, lifting his hand to wave as he watched you leave. “You shall too, my lovely darling!”

<><><>

Baby Saja

🍼 Baby never understood the whole concept of jealousy. He always squinted suspiciously whenever he saw one of those people inside the magic box Jinu told them humans called the “TV.” A box Mystery had grown as attached to as he was to his stupid books.

🍼 With nothing else to do today, Baby had two equally terrible options: Be dragged to some human food chain by Romance and Abby like Jinu had - relegated to “human translator” duty for demons - or sit in his room while Mystery sat through one of him movie marathons on that box, volume turned low... which, for Baby’s hearing, may as well have been blaring at full blast.

🍼 He had zero intention of venturing out alone. No need to provoke the huntresses any more than they already had. They knew what he and the others were, and Baby didn’t feel like fighting - not with his brain still aching from today’s string of stupid shows designed to entertain the masses like they were circus animals. Baby swore Gwi-Ma was punishing him twice for his human sins.

🍼 So, he ended up sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, arms loosely draped over his knees, while Mystery’s attention remained glued to the humans on-screen. The female protagonist had just spotted the male lead talking - laughing, even - with another woman after getting a message from the male that morning that he would be busy. The girl’s face twisted. She marched into the café, called him a player, and dumped his own drink over his head.

🍼 Baby narrowed his eyes, unimpressed, and bit into the lollipop in his mouth. “What the shit...” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at the screen. “Why not just talk to the guy instead of pulling a tantrum like a brat?”

🍼 He leaned back with a grimace. Even as a demon, he was rooting for the male lead to ditch her. “Man... just give up and take the other chick,” he muttered, rotating the lollipop stick slowly between his fingers. “Humans are fascinating...” Mystery said, voice flat and unreadable. Baby snorted, smirking. “Sure they are. Can’t even think rationally.”

🍼 The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up - his instincts prickling. He could feel Mystery’s gaze drilling into him. Unable to ignore it, Baby snapped his head around and glared up at his senior. “What?”. Mystery tilted his head slightly. “We were once humans, too.” Baby scoffed, turning back to the screen. “Yeah, and? Look where our rationality got us,” he muttered, biting down sarcastically on the word.

🍼 With nothing else to add, the two demons lapsed into companionable silence, watching as the male protagonist ran after the girl with the temper tantrum. Baby’s canines lengthened unconsciously, piercing through the candy in his mouth. Pathetic, he thought.

Baby didn’t even know how the fuck he got here. It started with Abby hyping up some “amazing BBQ chain” on the outskirts of the city - and ended with all five of them sitting in one of the private cars, courtesy of the industry that scouted them after that godawful “Soda Pop” song. Baby still shuddered at the memory. That song was a fucking curse. If any lesser demon so much as whispered it near him- He huffed and slouched deeper into his seat, pulling out the "phone". Your chat log stared back at him: a single cat sticker, a cheery “Good morning!” and a short I’ll be busy today. That same moment, Baby had immediately messaged back asking, Busy with what?, reacting to the sticker with a sun emoji. You hadn’t read it yet. “Tch.” Whatever. Baby brushed it off like he brushed off the growing void in his chest - and the saliva pooling in his mouth. The urge to devour your soul was stronger than usual. He figured even his demon body was getting impatient to blend with you already. Soon, he thought, lips quirking into a smile. That was enough to earn a suspicious glance from Abby, who immediately commented that he looked “creepy.” So Baby chucked his phone at his face. It nearly escalated into a full-blown brawl, if not for Mystery and Jinu unleashing just enough demonic aura to force the two of them to sit back down. Baby hated that he couldn’t fight back properly without risking his head getting sliced off. His body would regenerate - eventually -but sitting around bodyless for hours was a major buzzkill. Now, they were trailing behind Mystery, who’d been told to “smell out” the BBQ spot since none of them knew how to use phones beyond the bare minimum. And even that had taken months of trial and error. Romance was banned from dialling the emergency number after he’d used it for every minor inconvenience, so they wouldn't get locked up even before the mission could start. So as they followed the demon bloodhound through the streets, Baby came to a sudden stop. His droopy eyes, widened. He felt it - a faint tremble in the air. Your wavelength. His skin buzzed. Instinctively, his hand reached out to grasp it, only to recoil with a snarl as the huntresses' protection burned his palm.

Fucking nuisance. The fact that you were still untouched by demonic influence - still holding strong even after getting closer to him - set Baby’s teeth on edge. It made him boil. He wanted nothing more than to go head-to-head with those three bitches and rip apart whatever invisible leash was tied around you. All so he could feel your line clinging to him without restraint. While the others continued walking, Baby peeled away from the group, scanning his surroundings. The honeymoon wave meant you were either nearby or you lived on this specific street. And no - he was pretty sure you didn’t live out here. He followed the trace across the road, dodging pedestrians, until he came to a halt. There you were. Sitting inside a café. Laughing. With some rando. You were perched on a bar stool beside them, hands cradling a cup as you spoke, giggled, playfully nudged the other - and received a shove back followed by more laughter. Baby’s lip curled, a low growl escaping him. His eyes narrowed. Is this what that female protagonist felt? Fuck no. He didn’t have pathetic self-pitying thoughts. He was untouchable. He didn’t need validation. He knew he was great. No, what Baby felt wasn’t that flimsy human brand of jealousy. This was something far more primal. An urge. To walk straight through the café doors, wedge himself between you and that leech, threaten them without saying a word, and drag you out of there. Just because your time - your presence - belonged to him. Relaxing into the sensation, Baby smirked to himself. Adjusting the bucket hat shielding some of his features from rabid fans, he casually strolled toward the café. The cashier greeted him. He ignored it. Each step he took was precise. Measured. Confident in a predatory grace wrapped in an attractive human shell. His boots clacked sharply against the wood flooring, but you didn’t hear him. The ambient café noise covered his approach, and your back was turned - attention fully on the leech across from you. The leech, however, did see him. And instead of meeting ordinary human eyes like they had to expect, they met glowing gold, shadowed under the brim of his hat. Pupils slitted in sharp attention. Baby tilted his head, lips peeling into a smile far too wide, sharp canines flashing. The leech flinched hard, nearly falling off the stool. That finally got your attention. You whipped around with an adorable little glare, ready to scold whoever scared your friend- Only to find yourself face to face with Baby. Silver-blue eyes blinked innocently. Calm expression. Head tilted owlishly as if he were the one surprised to see you.

[shouyuus]

sfw; human!jinu au

right but human!au jinu who's kind of a bastard when you first meet him because he was abandoned as a kid or something and is viciously insecure so he tries to keep his distance just to make sure he can never get hurt like that again, because so long as he keeps people at arm's length then they won't have the power to hurt him. uses his looks to fool around a bit in college, is pretty good at sports, so probably on the basketball team, builds up this reputation for being kind of a fuckboy jock, but you could've sworn you've seen him sitting by himself in the library, tucked into the corner table, humming to himself, so quietly that he probably doesn't think anyone can hear.

who meets your eyes sometimes in the dining commons and you can see the facade flicker, just for a moment.

"the library's closing soon."

he jolts awake, jerking up, wincing as his cheek unsticks itself from a page in his music theory textbook. he blinks up at you for a solid three seconds before he gathers himself enough for words --

"-- shit, sorry uh --" he grabs at his papers and books, trying to shove them into his bag even as you drop into the seat next to him, cocking your head as you watch.

"that was a joke," you say, completely straight-faced, "you know that the library doesn't actually close, right?"

jinu freezes; the tips of his ears are a vivid, burning red.

a tiny grin twitches at the corner of your lips.

he turns back to face you, a frown dug deep between his brows.

"and who're you again?"

you reach into your bag and tug out a stack of papers and a red pen. he eyes it with mild curiosity.

"i'm the ta for that music theory class you've been 'auditing' for nearly an entire semester," you answer, jerking your chin towards the textbook still peaking out of his bag.

the heat works it's way into his cheeks till he's red down to the roots of his hair. he clears his throat, grasps for something to say but he comes up empty. so he settles for frowning a bit harder and crossing his arms, staring as you start to mark up the papers.

"you've got a good voice y'know." you don't look up.

jinu jumps so hard his knee bangs into the table. he hisses with pain, curling into the chair as you glance up.

"ow -- fuck!"

you blink at him as he sighs, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"you should just take the class if you want to that badly."

"whatever."

"i mean, i could kick you out," you muse, dropping your eyes back to the papers, "technically, you're not allowed to 'audit' a class for more than the first month but since i'm the one who takes attendance..." you trail off.

jinu scoffs, "right. cool. so what is it? what'dya want? front row seats to the big game next week? abby's number? a date with me?" he smirks.

you cock an eyebrow, "i... think i'll pass... on all the above, thanks. why're you so cagey about taking a music theory class, anyway?"

jinu stares at you for a moment before shrugging, "'s just not... on brand for... someone like me, y'know?"

your eyebrows ascend the planes of your forehead as you deadpan at him. he withers slightly, scratching at the back of his head, tugging on the strings of his hoodie, his eyes flickering across the table like a frantic dragonfly, uncertain of the waters below.

"on... brand?" you prompt.

at this, jinu sighs, slumping back in his seat and casting his eyes towards the ceiling.

"it's just -- the team'd probably -- i dunno -- make fun of me or something if they found out --"

you frown, "who cares about that?"

jinu flicks his eyes at you, "i do -- they're kinda my friends."

"doesn't really sound like friends if you can't even take a music class without them judging you."

jinu rolls his eyes, "yeah well... they're the only friends i've got so."

you resume your grading, "not the only friends."

jinu huffs out a breath, "really? and who else --" but he cuts off as soon as you glance up to meet his eyes.

you watch as his cheeks mottle with color and he chews on his bottom lip. after another churning, thickening silence, he asks --

"why're you doing this?"

you sigh, putting down your pen.

"like i said, you've got a nice voice. and you seem to really like the class. i just think that you'd do well in it, that's all."

"that's... really all?"

you nod. a soft, disbelieving smile ghosts across his lips. it looks strange on him, like his muscles don't quite remember what it's like to do such a thing without an ulterior motive.

his eyes flicker from the papers to your face. the little smile tugs into a much more practiced grin, his eyebrows quirking into his signature smolder.

"so. you gonna gimme the pop quiz questions for class tomorrow morning?"

you rap him on the forehead with your red pen.

"don't push it."

jinu laughs, the sound deep and charming.

"c'mooooon. i thought we were friends, hm?" his smile is devious and wide and altogether way too roguish.

you bite down the heat slowly working it's way up your neck and recompose yourself as you go back to your grading.

"but i could be convinced into helping you study for it. because that's what friends are supposed to do."

jinu's smile flickers for a second before it settles into something a bit softer, a bit sadder, and he nods.

"yeah... yeah, i think i can live with that."

[mattsweethrt]

「 having sex with rockstar!matt on the stage ᵎᵎ 」

smut, exhibitionism, p in v, slight degrading, cursing, pet names

moans and cries echo throughout the arena, matt’s cock pounding into you while he holds your hips steadily.

the second his sound check was over, matt was dragging you from his dressing room out into the openness that was his stage for the night. the lights were all on, the venue fully lit, giving the perfect display of exactly what matt was doing.

he had you laid back on the ground, resting against the steps on stage as he thrusted up into you, your walls squeezing around his thick cock.

“c’mon, angel, i know you can be louder,” matt prompted, his voice low and rough in your ear.

your back arched up off the stairs, pressing into him as you bit down on your lower lip hard, trying to keep the noise low. “everyone’s gonna hear,” you managed to whimper.

a devilish smile spread across matt’s face, his pink lips curling into a smirk. “that’s the point, baby, let ‘em know how good this dick is.”

a loud cry slipped past your parted lips as matt fucked you even harder, his tip repeatedly kissing your cervix. he hit your sweet spot over and over, his pace steady and rough.

matt knew your body, and he knew just what little things made you squirm. his fingers traced softly and teasingly around your clit, the cool metal of his rings agaisnt your skin driving you crazy.

he thrusted in and out of you, his balls slapping hard your cunt while he fucked you deep. he continued to play with your clit gently, making your need for him grow stronger.

“matt,” you gasped, “i need more.”

“do you?” he chuckled, “you’re such a slut you need my cock and my fingers?”

your head bobbed up and down desperately, the knot in your stomach tightening as it threatened to snap any second. your skin was burning with desire, matt’s hand roaming all across your body while his other one rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves.

matt could see you squirming, watching in amusement as he drew you closer to your orgasm, a sinister smirk on his face. “come one sweetheart, cum f’me,” he growled, “wanna see you finish all over me.”

bree’s corner ⸝⸝⸝ i wrote this at 3am this morning and didn’t proof read it so sorry if anything is wrong !! rockstar!matt has my heart he’s so hot

[a99jazzybean]

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened. 

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM. 

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.” 

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed. 

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be. 

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not. 

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works. 

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath. 

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20. 

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate. 

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered. 

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears. 

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job? 

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them. 

“Care to share?” He asked the computer. 

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.” 

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that. 

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge. 

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you. 

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”. 

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much. 

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators. 

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.” 

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting. 

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet. 

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable. 

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush. 

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes. 

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile. 

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.” 

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.” 

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die. 

“Shall we play, then?” 

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips. 

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out. 

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player. 

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red. 

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect. 

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.” 

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?” 

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well. 

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!” 

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16. 

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!” 

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.” 

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in. 

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place. 

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother. 

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it. 

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.  

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring. 

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire. 

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever. 

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on. 

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep. 

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.” 

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look. 

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.” 

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?” 

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.” 

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.” 

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.” 

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own. 

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it. 

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.” 

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body. 

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed. 

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker. 

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?” 

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly. 

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?” 

He nodded sheepishly. 

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.” 

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look. 

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?” 

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.” 

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own. 

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of. 

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver. 

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. 

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims. 

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot. 

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as  he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance’s response. He twitched under you with a whimper. 

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.” 

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else. 

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone. 

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.” 

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling. 

He nodded, blushing furiously. 

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip. 

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing. 

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned. 

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now. 

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die. 

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing. 

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips. 

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out. 

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection. 

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20. 

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”

[mona-risms]

◆ MAIN COURSE: Rumi x boxer!gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: Let's fucking try this AGAIN. Bc for some reason Tumblr decided to be a nasty little shit and post my draft HALF AN HOUR AGO when IT WAS CLEARLY SET TO "SAVE DRAFT" and I was fucking EDITING IT. But whatever I'm nonchalant

So when a boxer is found out to be dating someone, it's like. Basically fine. Whatever you have your own life outside of the ring, good for you. But when an IDOL does it, the entire world explodes. Rumi's most definitely always exasperated about this but also she's not really all that bothered--she likes her privacy (or as much privacy as a K-Pop idol can get anyway) AND she def likes seeing a side to you that only she will ever see :3c

You could just easily walk out after training and grab snacks you know that Rumi (and the others, bc ofc you can't just ignore your girlfriend's two closest people) loves to eat before heading back to the penthouse. You even get them their favourite ramyeon cups cuz why not? Maybe you even text her if she wanted you to pick up anything specific and she says that you don't have to! Before quickly following it up with what she actually wants and then like a sticker, probably of herself for comedic effect LMFAO

While you're doing that and making your way to the penthouse, HUNTR/X are doing a vlive. They probably just kinda have it so like they can just drop in and drop out whenever, so maybe while they're doing it together, Rumi gets your message and she smiles before she can even stop it. Ofc the viewers WILL pick it up and they're like "OH????? WHO GOT YOU SMILING LIKE THAT" to which the trio immediately scramble aka Rumi says she saw little turtles on her feed and sets Zoey off on a tangent bc they all know FULL WELL why Rumi's smiling. She probably drops out a little later to go do her own thing (code for texting you on the other side of the room)

And then 😭 you fucking arrive 😭 completely unaware of the stream going on, esp if you have earbuds on for music and stuff 😭. The lift doors open and out you pop, immediately making a beeline for Rumi at the kitchen section to say hi, to give her the bag of snacks you picked up on the way, to lean in so that you can--

"AAAAAAAH TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF--"

"I'M TRYING--"

You and Rumi immediately jump away from each other before the latter ducked down to hide behind the kitchen counter, taking you down with her.

"Shit," you hissed out quietly, "sorry, I didn't mean to--"

"No, no, it's okay," but Rumi winced at herself before continuing, "well, no, not really, but it's not your fault, okay? I probably should've told you we were doing a vlive. Plus this probably means that—" she raised her volume for the other two members "—WE SHOULD PROBABLY CHANGE THE COUCH FORMATION!"

"FINALLY! Thought it'd never turn off."

"BUT THE COUCH HAS SUCH A NICE VIEW!"

You stood back up, helping Rumi up in the process and wrapping your arms around her, "A nice view of me, apparently. Still, I probably screwed you guys over, didn't I?"

"What? Pshh, naaaah," Zoey waved it off haphazardly, "it's totally fine! I bet they didn't even notice and Bobby's not panicking whatsoever!"

Of course, it's followed by Rumi's ringtone, prompting her to pick it up—Bobby—and answer, "Heeeeey, Bobby, how's--"

"GIRLS, I'M PANICKING! EVERYONE SAW RUMI WITH SOMEONE ELSE AND NOW SOCIAL MEDIA IS ON FIRE WITH THEORIES ABOUT RUMI'S LOVE LIFE!" Bobby's very panicked screaming is then immediately snuffed out when he forces himself to stay calm, "It's okay. I'm okay. There's a reason you pay me 3% and I am going to PROVE--"

The call is immediately terminated with a beep when Mira, who you hadn't even realised had walked over to the kitchen island presses the merciful red 'end call' button, her other hand already making its way to grab at a snack in the plastic bag. "Anyway. Don't even worry about it. Best case scenario, they forget about it. Worst case scenario, they storm you and the internet for answers--"

"Not helping, Mira--"

"--but it's not the end of the world. You either just wait for it to blow over or own it," Mira opened the bag of crisps and took one in her mouth, "which I'd obviously say 'screw them' and own it anyway, but I know the fans can get a bit--"

"--wild?"

"--wild, crazy, all of the above." The tallest member moves back to her original spot on the couch, holding out the bag for Zoey to take some too, "Just let Bobby handle it—not like their face was shown clearly anyway. And if someone comes up too close to be weird about it, [Y/N]'s a boxer for a reason."

A small laugh left your lips as Rumi leaned back into your embrace and tilted her head to press a kiss on your face, further making herself comfortable, "I'd rather not have an assault charge on me."

"And I'd rather not have to visit them in jail," Rumi added.

"Hey, your loss."

Oh to make an entire twt AU about this.....unfortunately I'm lazy ay eff and will absolutely forget about it in like a day or two

I pray you have your socmed notifs off or else there's like an entire ONSLAUGHT of posts in every single postable platform. Kpop twt is on fire and even people outside of it are getting involved, there's like debates and fights like 'WHO JUST CAME INTO THE PENTHOUSE THAT'S NOT MANAGER-NIM👹👹👹👹" vs "let them live wtf yall crazy" and honestly it's really funny to read. Even Rumi finds it a little entertaining bc all this fuss just bc you walked into the frame and brought them snacks. Bobby and co. are trying their best but like. The devil works hard but the fandom works harder yk

And the THEORIES. Not just about what relationship you have w Rumi, but what you were gonna do before Mira and Zoey started screaming and who you even are in the first place. There's actual WARS happening about this, and fans are all on a scale from "omg happy for her" and "WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US". This eventually reaches boxing twt somehow and it gets WORSE when they EVENTUALLY profile-match you LOL

Now YOU don't know peace either as you go outside. Suddenly ticket sales for when you're fighting TRIPLE bc everyone wants to see and bombard the mystery stranger with QUESTIONS about what your link with Rumi is. And before this, Rumi probably watched all your matches asw. Now she can't even do that bc of damage control 😓 and Zoey sends you pics of Rumi sulking during practice bc she's missing a match of yours thanks to the stream (that most likely has been clipped more than 20x now)

Eventually she'll end up getting so tired—especially if this is taking place post-demon reveal—of having to distance herself from you for a while thanks to the whole thing that at some point during a concert, imagine tone of their other songs has a segment like the Saki seat or smth

The arena had boomed with shrieks and cheers and HUNTR/X's music as they went through their setlist with deadly precision. Though you came to wonder why you were told to sit in this specific seat when before, you were often just given any other place to watch them from whenever they performed.

You weren't really given a lot of time to wonder, however, when the music gets to a certain part—one you knew required certain audience participation—but you simply cheered your girls on as your girlfriend made her way to--

Wait.

"Wh--"

You don't even get your words out before Rumi pulled you up, the spotlight pointedly following her just like the other two's line of sight, and pulled you in for a VERY public kiss.

"YES!" "Ugh, finally!"

But even their mid-song exclamations could only barely be heard at the deafening screams of the venue around you as the two of you are blatantly displayed on the jumbotron. Though it's not like you care, not at that particular moment, as you pull her closer to deepen the kiss.. before Rumi eventually pushes you back down on the chair lightly. The jumbotron shows your shared breathless state, along with the idol's unrepentant grin amongst slightly-smeared lipstick that stayed even as she jumped for the hoop that swept her away.

..Yeah, there was no denying anything anymore.

By god, you love this girl.

The internet implodes into itself after taht, with people showing recordings and clips of your public kiss. But honestly neither of you probably care atp 🤷‍♀️ at least you two can go out together and cling on each other without it being a huge question mark anymore. If anything she'll def own it—wearing your clothes and hoodies as she's spotted watching your matches and everything HAHAHA

[wandasaura]

bedtime with mommy wanda

warning(s) — mommy kink, bratting, praise kink, domestic dominance, stuffed animals, soft stern mommy wanda

“But, I’m not sleepy.” You argue, voice quiet, soft. There’s barely any fight left in you at all, but you manage. Somehow you always manage to find the energy to fight against her — at least a little bit; a healthy amount.

Wanda quirks an eyebrow. Her arms are folded over her chest. She’s leaning against the doorframe; nonchalant, composed — not unamused, but far from gleaming with radiance either. “Not sleepy, huh?” She tsks, clicks her tongue against her teeth. Sokovian curls around her vowels. Thick, heavy, comforting.

She’s baiting you. You don’t let yourself see it.

“No.” Your head shakes. Your hands reach out for a matted bunny rabbit that’s seen better days. “I’m not sleepy. Really.”

Your eyes are heavy. They burn, and you’re aware of it. Wanda’s aware of it. You blink at her slowly. Not dazedly, but sleepily. There’s a distinct difference. She makes sure you’re aware of that. Your stare is glassy too. Glazed over. She knows when your jaw twitches you’re fighting back a yawn.

Her head turns. She’d had it tilted before. The very top of her head resting against the entryway to the living room. It’s straight now, not weighted specifically toward either shoulder. Her eyes narrow. The light catches in flyaways she doesn’t care to take. “Did I ask, detka?” Smooth, sultry, prompting. She knows exactly how to get you eating out of the palm of her hand.

“No.” A whisper. Soft, breathy. It floats through the air between you; connects your souls a moment later without pause. “No, you didn’t ask.” You repeat fully, clearly, but it’s still soft. Like butterfly wings. All promise, blind obedience, no will to fight remaining. Wanda likes clarity. She likes knowing you understand. You find a way to give that to her when you can.

“That’s right. I didn’t.” She hums. She messes with the bangs falling over her forehead. They’re wispy right now. They need to be shampooed, blown dry, styled meticulously. Now’s not the time. She prompted you to bed twenty minutes ago. “So what are we going to do?” Another quirked eyebrow, another bold stroke of faded Sokovian.

“Get up?” It’s a question, only because you’re not sure of the answer. You’re not sure of anything that she hasn’t told you explicitly, and you hadn’t been ready or willing to listen the first time she’d spoken so softly and sweetly at you from the hallway.

“Yeah, that’s how we’re going to start.” She hums, not willing to bite, to give into your turn of obedience so quickly. There’s twenty three minutes between when she’d asked you to get up kindly, and when your body actually began to move now. One slip of blind submission will not undo anything at all, no matter how dazed you’re becoming untouched. “Get up.”

“Okay.” The word falls off your lips. It’s all you can think of. Wanda doesn’t push for more. She nods once, and her body turns towards the bathroom.

“Bring Bunny to bed.” She says, perhaps demands. You can’t make sense of it, or convince yourself that there’s fondness there too, so instead you move on numb feet and keep hold of Bunny’s flimsy arm, fingernails caught in the matted cream-colored fur. “Did you hear me?” She changes her tone, even though you follow behind her with a tight grip on Bunny.

“Yes.” You whisper, voice hush, gentle. You’re so utterly soft, so pliant beneath her fingers that haven’t swept across your skin.

Wanda doesn’t bristle. Your softness is cute, sweet, so refreshing after her day, but you were so bratty, so filled with spite and energy that you channeled at her. “So then acknowledge me.” She clips, and your heart skins, but you don’t comment. Your hold on Bunny tightens, yes, but you accept it.

“I’m bringing Bunny.” You tell her, lashes batting, both sleepily and dazedly. You stumble on your feet, caught up in the blur of darkness. A warm hand finds your waist, fingers beneath the hem of your tank top, calloused palm resting on the waistband of your pajama shorts. It’s a claiming hold. An unconscious act of stability. She has you, even if you’d tested her in every way imaginable before you came to your senses.

Wanda hums, and you shake, soft and silent, but she feels it. Her lips pull upward, but she guides you through the motions like you haven’t been redeemed. What you don’t know gives her the upper hand, and she’s inclined to see how you handle this deadlock.

The bathroom is left behind, and Bunny is only slightly damp from when he was forced to sit on the counter as a witness, and your heart is still heavy, and Wanda still remains giving you only the necessary amount of attention to assure you don’t feel abandoned. It’s still cold even when she’s so warm. It still hurts even when there’s no hand coming down in an unforgiving blow.

“Get in bed.” She directs, and you can’t take it anymore. You sink into the sheets, the ones that you’d picked out in the spring, and a pout pulls so tightly at your lips that it almost aches.

“Mommy?” You question, because your head is so floaty, and your belly is so filled with sadness, that it only feels right, and maybe if your head was clearer, you’d recognize this was her goal all along. She needs this too.

“Yes, detka?” She asks, eyebrow raised, body warm as it sinks into the mattress and pulls you in tight and close. Her heart beats unevenly. She’s cool, calm, collected on the outside undeniably, but she’s never truly unaffected when you’re around — close enough to smell, and kiss, and feel so intimately.

Your lip trembles, your hands curl into her t-shirt. “I’m sorry for being a brat?” A question again, because you’ll do anything to get it right this time, to really make up for what you’d done to push her to her limit with you.

“Yeah?” She holds out, keeps strong. Your eyes become wet with glimmering tears that only add to the string, reminding you that you are tired, you’ve been tired since before she’d even called you to bed. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No! I’m not just saying that!” Your head shakes desperately, your hand curls tight around Bunny.

Her expression melts, just slightly, just enough to let you know she understands. “Okay malysh. Close those eyes now.”

There’s nothing left in you. Your eyes close, but your lips still move sleepily. “Okay.” You comply, half-asleep, already so far gone.

“Good girl.” She praises softly, and that’s all it takes to end your night, sleep overcoming you entirely as her arms encase around your waist.

[guzmanstark]

hii :) if you're still taking fic prompts from the intimacy list, I'd love 8 and 36 if it inspires something <3

intimacy prompts - interrupting with a kiss + being pushed against a wall

Eddie is towel-drying the last clean dish when the sound of Buck’s phone alarm blares through the kitchen, sharp and sudden enough to make him jump.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Buck rushes in like a hurricane, lunging for the oven mitt on the counter. “Can you get that? It’s on the, uh, it’s over there.” He gestures vaguely towards his phone with one hand while yanking the oven open with the other. “These babies need exactly twenty minutes or the texture gets all weird.”

Eddie doesn’t comment on all the weird textures he’s had to chew through since Buck decided to take up baking. He clicks off the alarm and steps over to get a closer look at the…scones? He’s pretty sure these are supposed to be scones.

“Do you think these look kind of…off?” Buck asks, scrunching his nose. “I don’t get it. I swear I followed the recipe exactly like last time. How did—”

“Hey,” Eddie says, nudging him with his elbow. “I'm sure they taste great. Cap’s gonna love them.”

Buck exhales at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You know you’re not supposed to call him that, it’s just Bobby now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says. ”My house, my rules.”

“I mean, technically this isn’t really your house, right? You’re just the renter.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? And what does that make you?”

Buck shrugs, unbothered.

”Alright there, Mr. Semantics, anything else I should know while we’re at it?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.” Buck grins. “Okay, come on. We need to run through everything one last time,” he says, already steering Eddie toward the living room.

Eddie tips his head back dramatically. “God forbid I sit down for five minutes after cleaning the entire house.”

“The more you complain, the longer this is gonna take,” Buck warns, reaching for his clipboard. “Okay, starting off with—“ His eyes meet Eddie’s for a second before focusing on the list in his hands. “Banner?”

“You can’t be serious,” Eddie says, eyeing the obnoxiously large WELCOME BACK BOBBY banner that is currently taking up at least half the wall in his (their?) living room.

“Sorry? Don’t think I heard that right.”

Eddie bites back a smile, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I mean, check.”

“The extra chairs from the garage?”

“Check.”

“Great. Appetizers?”

“Salads, dips, mini sandwiches—all checked.”

Buck nods seriously, checking them off before moving to the next item on his list.

Honestly, Eddie should be stressing out about this a little more. Athena trusted them to host—well, ‘trusted’ is a big word, considering they were kind of her last choice, but that’s not the point right now. The point is all their friends are about to be here for Bobby’s big Welcome Back From The Dead party, and Eddie can’t bring himself to stress about any of it. Mostly because he just can’t seem to stop smiling.

He can’t help it. There’s this warm, steady thing blooming in his chest, and he’s not even trying to fight it. He's lucky Buck is way too busy squinting down at his own chicken scratch handwriting to notice. Buck is just so—God—he’s so cute. With his serious face and very important clipboard, pen sticking out the pocket of his denim apron. He’s adorable.

He’s wearing a hoodie even though it’s the middle of the summer, sleeves pushed up to reveal those lovely, toned forearms. And yeah, that’s another thing Eddie’s been letting himself notice lately. He’s been noticing a lot of things about Buck, actually. Like how pretty he is, how he lights up every room just by walking into it, how sometimes Eddie's knees seem to wobble under him when Buck so much as smiles at him.

“Okay, moving on to drinks…”

Eddie is about to answer when Buck’s phone blares to life again.

“Shit,” Buck mutters under his breath, then forces an all too bright: “Hey! Maddie!”

It’s a short call. Eddie can’t make out what Maddie’s saying, but he can see the way dread settles more and more clearly on Buck’s face with each word.

“O-okay Mads, see you all soon!”

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks carefully once Buck hangs up.

“They let her off early. They’re gonna be here in—fuck, what time is it?” He grabs Eddie’s wrist to check his watch, eyes going wide. ”Shit. Fifty-six minutes.”

“Okay, so basically an hour. It’s not that—“

“Are you sure we have enough chairs?” Buck cuts in. He's obviously trying to not sound like he’s freaking out, which—he’s terrible at. Truly awful. Eddie can practically hear the sirens going off in his head.

”Yes. Me and Chris counted them earlier, we’re good,” Eddie says, keeping his voice calm.

“Yeah but-but are you sure?“ And shit. He’s pacing around the room now, clutching the clipboard so hard, Eddie’s afraid it might break in half. “What if Ravi brings a date? Or-or May. Or—“

“Buck.” Eddie steps closer, hands landing on Buck’s shoulders. “Ravi can bring two dates and it’s still gonna be fine. Hell, he can bring three.”

“Yeah, but what if he—“

Eddie never finds out what insane Ravi-date scenario Buck was about to spiral into.

One second he is studying the tight crease in Buck’s forehead, trying desperately to squeeze some comfort into him through his hands, and the next—he’s kissing him. He doesn’t think about it when he does it, just leans in and presses their lips together. It’s chaste. Soft.

“It’s going to be amazing,” Eddie says when he pulls back, voice much steadier than his heartbeat. “You organized the hell out of this thing. They’re gonna love it.”

Eddie gives Buck’s shoulders one last squeeze before clearing his throat and withdrawing his hands to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“We should, uh—“

“I—you kissed me?” Buck says.

The crease in his forehead seems to have deepened, but hey, at least he stopped pacing. That’s something.

“I did,” Eddie says simply. Because, well, he did.

“Is this… allowed?”

“What? Kissing?”

“Yes. No. Sorry.” Buck shakes his head a little. “Just—you kissed me.”

Eddie’s not sure what else he could say to that. But maybe he doesn’t have to say anything at all. Because something in the air between them has shifted. Buck is still looking at him but his expression is softer now. And—was he always standing so close?

Buck opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, then changes his mind and crashes their lips back together.

The clipboard hits the floor with a loud whoosh as Buck’s hands find Eddie’s waist. He drags him in closer to kiss him deeper, filthier. Eddie’s not proud of the noise that escapes him when Buck shoves him back against the nearest wall, right under the stupid banner. Or the one he makes when Buck presses even closer, and Eddie feels the hard outline of his cock against his hip through endless layers of fabric.

“Okay?” Buck asks, pulling back only far enough to get a look at Eddie’s face. He’s panting, breathing right into Eddie’s mouth, which should be gross, except Eddie just finds it incredibly hot.

Eddie nods, tugging at the fabric of Buck’s apron. “This is ridiculous,” he breathes. “You should take it off.”

Buck wastes no time doing exactly as he’s told, pulling the apron over his head and tossing it to the side.

Good boy hovers on the tip of Eddie’s tongue, but he swallows it down. He’ll try it out next time. He’s too busy anyway—grabbing a fistful of Buck’s hoodie and flipping them around so that Buck’s back is pressed to the wall instead of his.

Eddie slides a leg between Buck’s thighs, spreading them slightly. “This is better,” he murmurs against Buck’s lips, rocking his hips forward. He trails open-mouthed kisses from Buck’s mouth down to his chin, his jaw, then his neck.

Buck groans, throwing his head back—only to knock it straight into the wall behind him with a solid thud.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Eddie pulls back, breathless.

Buck’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. “You know—” he chuckles. “I think my best friend might be trying to kill me.”

Eddie breathes out a laugh, dropping his forehead to Buck’s shoulder. “You sure that’s what he’s doing?” He pinches Buck’s side just to make him squirm.

“Positive,” Buck says. “Think it would be safer if we move this to the bedroom.”

“Hm, good thinking. How are we doing on time?”

“Still got—“ Buck grabs Eddie’s wrist again to check. “Forty-two minutes to spare.”

“Forty-two minutes…” Eddie parrots teasingly. “Are you sure that’s enough time?”

“Trust me, I can make it quick,” Buck says, then winces. “That sounded sexier in my head.”

“I don’t know, sounds plenty sexy to me.”

“Yeah?” Buck says, pulling Eddie in by the belt loops. “then you’re about to experience the best three minutes of your life.”

That gets another soft laugh out of Eddie. “Alright cowboy, lead the way.”

[rafeplay]

i don’t want anybody else

ft. rafe cameron x fem!reader

tags. age gap, babysitter reader, obsession i guess, ooc, mommy issues, mentions of slut shaming n misogyny, controlling rafe so nothing new, mentions of rape, angst, character study low-key, mention of smut

note. hai.. finished s4 today. sorry if anything is wrong i literally started the show like 5 days ago i think this is so overdue for my angelic mutual who this fic is dedicated 2… very disjointed towards the end ignore any typos or mistakes ab canon lore LMFAO unedited … feedback n rbs always so appreciated :3 was meant 2 be smut but I got bored LMFAO.. title from genitorturers song..

Having a crush on his childhood babysitter is probably the most normal thing Rafe Cameron has ever done. 

You were fifteen and he was five. You had braces and a pierced nose, and you never really paid attention to Rafe unless he was bleeding or breaking a bone. Which coincidentally he learned to do a lot. He tripped down so many stairs for you. 

You had a boyfriend that he bit for kissing you on his couch. Well. Rafe’s dad’s couch, but that’s, like, the same thing. 

You didn’t get to have a sweet sixteen, but you did come to his sixth birthday party with a fisher-price kitchen set. Rafe found great interest in the plastic knife that came with an airbrushed piece of toast. He asked to marry you after everybody went home and you were tossing paper plates into a garbage bag because his dad asked you to clean up. 

He used his mom’s ring and everything. He wasn’t allowed to touch mom’s stuff, but he did for you—And Sarah, of course it was fucking Sarah, she’s been a snitch since the day she was born, ran off to tattle on him. 

“Aw, Rafey.” You ruffled his hair like a dog. “You’re so sweet.”

Sweet.

He was sweet. 

(Being put in the naughty corner by dad after you left didn’t even ruin his night.)

You were the only consistent thing in his life. The only one that didn’t leave or change or shift affections. You came every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday after school like the sun. You told him his little-boy shampoo smelt good, you didn’t mind when he pulled at your clothes with sticky hands unlike Rose, you didn’t tell dad when he made Sarah cry, and you let him hold your hand, because even back then, he couldn't not be close to you. 

When he was seven one of the older boys at school called you a skank, none of his friends heard, but Rafe did. It rang out in the playground like a gunshot, and for the first time his teachers brought up his ‘anger issues’ and ‘antisocial behaviour’ to Ward. 

After school, you came over, didn’t mention his bruised knuckles or the little pout on his face. 

You just said: “Wanna see something cool?” 

He nodded which prompted you to lift your tank top. 

Rafe covered his eyes, and then he peeked through the gaps in his fingers.

“I’m not showing you my boobs, idiot!” You laughed. “I got my bellybutton pierced.” 

And Rafe, at just seven years old, looked at the offending piece of jewellery and thought: skank like it was a diagnosis. He didn’t really know what it meant, just that the boys at school meant it in a bad way, and that he was feeling a bad thing in his chest like he did when dad let Sarah pick the movie on movie night, like he did when he saw mom in hospital, like he did when dad married Rose. 

The bad feeling he felt after he stole your cheetah-print thong and stashed it in his pillowcase. The bad feeling he felt when he told dad what he saw you doing with that boy in the guest room. The bad feeling he felt when you got fired. He watched through the banisters as Ward gave you a stern talking to and you cried and said sorry a lot.

And then you turned eighteen and you left for college. You didn’t say goodbye. You had a goodbye party, but Rafe wasn’t invited, and he took that very personally. Even when it was explained to him a handful of times that it was for teenagers and grownups. 

Here’s the thing, just because you toss an old toy out, it doesn’t mean you can’t miss it from time to time. And fuck. He missed you everyday for six years. 

Rafe missed you at ten when the new babysitter didn’t have hair as nice as yours or skin as soft and cotton candy-scented as yours. She didn’t let him watch Jeepers Creepers 1 or 2. At eleven when he got sent to the counsellor for drawing boobs in the margins of his schoolbook - they said he had issues with boundaries. At twelve when he wet the bed again and dad looked at him funny. At thirteen when his voice finally broke. He missed you at fourteen when he did his first line off the counter in the boys bathroom, it hurt so much he thought he was dying, his nose was bleeding, and all he wanted was you so he did another line. 

You came home a week later. Older, but not any taller, well-travelled, a tattoo in a foreign language on your hip, a ring on your finger. 

“Holy shit, you’re so big now!” You smiled up at him. “Gosh, you were like up to my hip before, how old are you now? Like thirteen? Fourteen?”

What grade are you in? How’s Sarah? Shit, Wheezie must be like in elementary now, she was a toddler the last time I saw her. You still bad at math? Are you guys still living in the Tannyhill place? 

The whole time you talked Rafe wondered if you would still catch him if he threw himself down a flight of stairs, even at this age, at this size. Would you take care of any self-inflicted splinters? Would you still wipe his ass if he asked? 

“What’s that?” He asked, not impolitely, bluntly, pointing at your shiny ring.

“Oh, this?” You smiled at him again, differently this time, in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. You smiled at everyone when you were younger, mostly boys your age, maybe that’s why it was so easy to call you a skank. “From my fiancé actually—I met him in Thailand, we stayed in the same hostel, he said he'd meet me back here soon, it’s a whole thing.”

He wanted to say something mean. Call your boyfriend a loser, ask if he had a job or a real degree, if he knew how much of a skank you used to be. 

Rafe said none of that, he retreated when his dad came over to greet you, give you a big hug, welcome you home, congratulate you on the engagement. 

“Look at you, god, you got so pretty,” Ward said, like he hadn't kicked you out of his house all those years ago, “lucky, lucky man wherever he is.” 

Wherever he is may he fucking die. May an earthquake or a flood or some natural disaster sweep him into the ocean so he can never find his way back to you. 

Nothing goes Rafe’s way so your fiancé arrived, and he was fucking great. He was a really, really nice guy. Even for a Pogue. He knew how to bartend, he made everyone laugh, and he had cool stories about tropical places. 

You got married three years later. When you had enough money for a wedding. Rafe was seventeen. If he was eighteen maybe it would’ve gone a little differently. 

Rafe Cameron, Kildare County’s most eligible bachelor; pedigree, privileged, and poisoned. Money wouldn’t be a problem with him. 

“I’m so glad you came,” you cooed to Rafe, gave him a great big hug, pet his head. “Rafe asked me to marry him once,” you told your husband, “it was so cute, his ring was even nicer than this one, he got down on one knee and awww—“

It wasn’t a fucking joke. 

Rafe was serious then and serious now. 

By the time Rafe was eighteen, you and your husband were on a ‘break.‘ You took off your ring when you came to the bar all the way over in Figure Eight. You talked to other men. They paid attention to you because you had nice tits, and Rafe would know because he liked them first. He liked them before he even knew why he liked them. 

“Rafe?” You tapped him on the shoulder, he was sweating through his linen button-up. “What are you doing?”

“What?” He blinked at you, glassy-eyed. “Nothing.” 

“Rafe,” you warned like you used to when he wouldn’t go to bed on time, when he climbed on the kitchen counters, “what are you doing?”

Are you using something? Rafe. Look at me now. C’mon. Did you drink or is it something else? You know you shouldn’t be here, right? Who let you in? Rafe, who let you in? Please, tell me.

The lights got too bright, everything was pulsing and burning. “Why do you… Why do you care?” He breathed out, a rivulet of sweat taking the path down his nose, fists balled up by his sides.

“Why do I care?“ Your voice broke in your throat, angry, and maybe a little bit heartbroken. “Rafe, are you kidding me?” You cupped his face and it made him so upset, somerhing inside of him burned as if you’d put his heart in a kiln. “Go home.”

“No,” he scoffed, childish and bitter, elbowing you off of him.

“Rafe, listen—“

“No, you listen.” He shoved you back, got a rush from the way you looked up at him like he’d struck you. “I’m not… I’m not a little kid anymore, okay? You can’t just tell me what to do.”

“You sound a lot like a little kid right now, Rafe,” you bit back, chest rising and falling like you were really mad. 

You were mad at him.

“Well,” Rafe said, blinking hard, “well, I’m not.” 

He was taller now, bigger, older, and he needed you to see it—He needed you to understand that there was nothing that any other man could do to you that he couldn’t do too. Touch you. Fuck you. Love you. Use you. Dump you. Break you. 

“C’mon, let me take you home,” you murmured, placating him with a gentle hand on his back, rubbing back and forth. Muscle memory.

You used to put him to bed that way. 

“What would your dad think if he saw you like this, huh?” You settled him into the passenger seat of your beaten up car, fastened his seatbelt like you used to. He remembered pretending to fall asleep so you would carry him inside. So he could feel and smell and touch you for just a little longer. 

“Don’t care.” Rafe shrugged, sullen, defiant. He looked out the window, jaw tightening. 

The porch lights turned on when you pulled into the drive, and no one was there waiting up for him, no warm family welcome. If Sarah was ten minutes past curfew dad would send out a fucking search party. 

You untied his laces like he was five again, put an arm around his waist when he sagged into you, took him upstairs, sat him on the edge of the bed, got him a glass of water. Like fucking clockwork. Like you were so used to taking care of him—You’d been gone for so long and you still knew what he liked. 

He slumped back into the pillows you fluffed up and caught a glimpse of something he probably wasn’t meant to see in the glow of the lamplight. 

You were bent over grabbing your purse, dress riding up - no underwear at all. The dress was a concern to Rafe in the first place, too sheer, too short—But this—This is when Rafe grasped that truly and honestly you were a skank. 

You didn’t respect yourself, so who was gonna to do it for you? 

It certainly wasn't going to be Rafe. 

“Oh no.” You sprung up, tugged on the hem to do last minute damage control even though he had seen it all and his silence confirmed that. “Oh no, oh god, I’m so sorry.” 

Your eyes were so wide. Mortified. Terrified that he would snitch to his father once again. Get you in trouble for being so lonely and open. 

“Oh, Rafe, god, I’m so—I’m really sorry.” You edged towards him, toeing over that imaginary line when you sat on his bed. “I wasn’t even thinking.” 

Rafe shrugged like his palms weren’t clammy. “You think I haven’t seen one?” One what? A girl? A pussy? A tit? His heart was going a million miles per second. 

“I don’t know! I don’t want to think about that!” You reached your hand out and then retracted it. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m gonna go, you should go to sleep.”

“No,” Rafe said quietly, and then louder, firmer, “no.” He took your hand, squeezed, and then let go of your fingers to grasp your wrist. He didn’t want to hold hands anymore, he wanted to keep you like a balloon, tightening his grip so you didn’t float away. 

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked softly, and see—This is all that was wrong with you. 

You were looking at him like he was still five and scared of monsters under the bed, like he couldn’t sleep without a nightlight. 

“You think…You think I haven’t seen a girl before?” His voice shook as he spoke, a divot forming between his brows as frowned at the lines on your palm. “I’ve seen tons—I’ve, I’ve fucked them all, okay? I could fuck any fucking girl I want—“

“Okay, okay, Rafe, I’m sorry,” you laughed, a little taken aback, still not taking him seriously, trying to defuse his anger, rock him back to sleep by dismissing him, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, but you still are little to me—“ 

“No, no, no, no.” Rafe shook his head frantically, hair falling in his eyes, he took your other wrist, squeezing both of them tight enough to feel your quickening pulse. “Let me speak—Let me fucking speak.”

You blinked at him. Lips parted. Eyes wide. And you must’ve finally got it. That he could do whatever he wanted to you now. He could hold you down, cover your mouth if you tried to scream. 

“I’m not little, I’m not little, I’m not,” he murmured feverishly, “look at me.” 

You looked away so he grabbed your face and when you flinched Rafe found himself liking it. Gave him a better rush than any fucking drug. 

“Look at me,” he repeated lowly, one big hand gripping your jaw so hard it must’ve hurt, “fucking look at me, I’m not little anymore, you know that?” 

You nodded quickly, breathlessly.

“Tell me you know that.” 

“I know, Rafe…” You said meekly. 

Surrendered.

And it sounded so fucking nice. 

You looked so beautiful with your shoulders up by your ears like a spooked cat, fingers twitching in your lap ‘cause you didn’t quite know what to do with them. 

“Good...” Rafe nodded slowly, and then he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Good.” 

He was eighteen and a half when you let him fuck you. You let him push you against the wall and mouth at your throat and you pulled his hair instead of petting it. He groaned so low - all the way in the back of his throat like a dog - it rattled your teeth. 

You’d given up on correcting people anytime they called him your boyfriend by the time he was nineteen. Rafe started showing up everywhere. Work. Your apartment. To the bar. To girls nights. Family events. That way you had to acknowledge him, he wasn’t just a kid you could brush off anymore. 

He’d gotten too big, too loud, being clingy wasn’t cute or charming anymore like it was when he was six. It was ‘fucking creepy’ and ‘obsessive’ apparently. 

Tonight you’re going out for drinks with ‘coworkers’ so naturally Rafe goes and gets in a fight outside Barry’s place with a junkie twice his size. He comes home with a bloody nose and watches you watch him in the bathroom mirror as you put your makeup brush down. 

“What is that?” You sigh, shoulders sagging. Before, taking care of Rafe was your duty, now it’s just a chore.  

“What’s it look like?”

“You got into another fight.” 

“Mm.” He shrugs. “So what?” 

“Hm.” You shrug. “So, I think you’re being a dick—I think you’re fucking...” You trail off, shaking your head. “Clean up and get out, okay?”

Rafe throws his hands in the air. “Say it. Go on. I’m fucking crazy, right?” 

“I didn’t say that, Rafe.” 

“You were gonna say that—I can fuckin’ tell, I’m not, I’m not stupid.” He gets all up in your face, and you’ve gotten so used to it you barely flinch. 

You reach out and brush your thumb over his cheek. He’s five again. “You wanna scream at me, Rafe? You wanna cry? Break something again, baby?” 

He doesn’t answer. Blinks a lot. Breathes too fast. 

“You wanna hit me? Hurt me? Scare me so I never fucking talk to anyone? You want me to stay inside like some fucking prisoner?” You’re talking to him so quietly, softly almost, like he’s just shown you a drawing you’re going to stick to the fridge. “Go ahead, do it.” 

Rafe’s mouth opens like he might. Like he really might do all of it. 

But he doesn’t. 

“Poor baby,” you coo, patting his sweaty cheek, “you’d lose your mind before you let me go.” 

[vasito-de-leche]

Can I request the Saja Boys revealing that they’re demons for the first time to their partner, Reader (separately please!). Instead of being scared of disgusted as they thought Reader would, Reader’s stunned before being excited over the fact, jumping for joy as Reader asks a bunch of questions about their heritage and fawning over their looks. I think I’d be cute, you know, having someone accept them for who they really are instead of some persona they portray!!

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS BABY - "Would You Still Love Me?"

Baby Saja x Reader 2.3k words fluff It's rare for Baby to be serious about anything; so when he asks you to meet him late at night to talk, you can't help but get nervous.

this prompt is one of my faves because i LOVE getting freaky about blorbo's animal/demon/etc traits!

I actually had a few drafts for something similar for Abby and Jinu, so I hope you don't mind me posting a cuter Baby oneshot I whipped up in one sitting instead while I work on the others!

Baby knows the night air is freezing against your skin as yet another cold breeze blows past you, threatening to topple you over at this height. But you’re stubborn, always have been─when presented with the full view of the city from his balcony, in a not so quaint penthouse that he shares with the rest of the band, all you can do is sigh dreamily as you take in the sights. 

There’s a sparkle in your eyes when you gaze into the horizon and all the flickering lights beneath, and he can practically hear your heartbeat from behind the glass door separating both of you, swelling with emotion. He can see the glow of your soul, invisible to the naked eye. 

He wonders if you’ll continue to look so happy and content after what he’s about to confess. 

In one clean motion, he slides the glass door and steps into the night with a small hop, expecting you to hear his arrival. But you don’t, and he opts for his usual antics; Baby taps your right shoulder, before swiftly moving over to your left. He doesn’t bother to suppress his mischievous snickering as you twirl around in confusion, until your eyes land on him.

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Babs. What would’ve you done if I got so scared I ended up jumping off the building?”

“I got another meet and greet tomorrow, so honestly? I’d dive right after you.” 

That earns a smile from you and he leans both arms over the metal railing, resting his head atop while making sure to be within your personal space, bumping into your shoulder. You’re warm, so very warm─compared to him, whose body remains cold even in the hottest months of the year, a direct result of his demonic heritage. Every time you’ve pointed out just how uncomfortably cold his hands are, every time he’s planted his cold feet against your bare skin while you slept, Baby just chuckles and tells you that he just runs cold, that he’s cold-blooded; in truth, he can’t help being a walking dead corpse. 

But you never gave him any shit for that. 

You nudge him ever so slightly, breaking Baby out of a reverie. The way you still try to cuddle into him to leech off some warmth doesn’t go unnoticed, and his expression drops for a moment as he laments his own lack of warmth. His lack of life. 

“What did you want to talk about? Must be serious if you’re making a face like that.” When you try to imitate him, Baby rolls his eyes and tilts his head away, if only to avoid giving you the satisfaction of seeing his smile. 

“Whaaaaaatever, can’t a guy brood a little? I thought everyone was into that type of idol.”

“Trying to take Mystery’s role now, huh?” 

He scoffs in amusement at this. “Mystery? He doesn’t brood, he just sits there and seethes for the entire time! Do you know how hard it is to distract everyone, blinking these baby blues just ‘cause he didn’t feel like blowing a kiss to the public?” 

The banter comes so naturally, Baby finds himself rambling, poking fun at all the little things that irritate him while you poke fun at him for being so whiny, laughing at his reactions. You ask him, time and time again, “Why did you become an idol in the first place?” when he rants at length about his job. He can never give you a straight answer, and tonight is no different. Right away, Baby deflects. 

“Hush, hush, hush. Enough about that! If I wanted to talk shit about work, I’d just talk to Romance. You’re here because I have something very important to ask.” 

“I’m not covering for you again, Jinu got pissed and found out right away last time─” He puts a finger over his lips and hushes you once more, as if silencing a particularly rowdy crowd of fans. The ridiculousness of his antics is entertaining enough for you to cooperate. 

Your patient and happy expression is almost daunting; don’t you know he’s about to forever change the course of your relationship with just a few words? That tonight, you might come out of this building in tears, or worse if any of his bandmates find out he’s broken the rules and revealed himself to a human? The least you could do is look a little less excited to be here with him, making Baby reconsider his plans. He knows he’s fucked up when he feels you hold on to his shaking hand; two of your fingers wrap around his own as a way to comfort him, to encourage him. And he doesn’t need to look you in the eye to confirm this.

In fact, Baby doesn’t have the courage to look at you, not right now. 

He focuses instead on the horizon and the city that you love so much, full of all these people he couldn’t care less about but that your stupidly large heart can’t help but get attached to in all of your human glory. This is a big step, one he wants to take only because of how much you mean to him─you’ve let him into your world, it’s about time he did the same. You’re both equals in his eyes, after all. 

Slowly, Baby opens his mouth. “Would you love me if I was a worm?” 

“Huh?” There is a much lighter tone in your voice, and that’s when he turns around to check your reaction; blinking in confusion, gears turning in your head, looking perfectly caught off guard. His confidence returns now that he’s gained the upper hand of this one-sided powerplay. “I mean, I guess? Do I get to be a worm too or is it just you?” 

“That’s not what I asked─would you still love me if I was a worm?” 

“Hm, yeah. Even if I don’t get to be a worm with you, I’d still love you. Unless you were the slimy type, wait, no, I could keep you in a little cute bag and carry you around with me.” 

Baby grins, throwing his head back as he laughs at your answer. “You’d keep me in a bag? Like a damn chihuahua?!” 

“You bark exactly like one, why not?” 

“Right, okie dokie, I guess I don’t mind as long as the bag is comfy. So the answer is yes?” You nod in confirmation, and Baby starts pacing around the balcony, hands folded cutely behind his back. 

“Duh, of course I─”

He stops, back turned to you. “Great! So would you love me if I was a demon?” 

“Baby, you’re already a demon, I’ve seen you throw a tantrum over─” But your words are cut off as Baby moves with inhuman speed to stand right in front of you, trapping you against the metal railing of the balcony. His eyes shine golden in the moonlight, not round and soft like you’ve known them to be, but sharp and deadly. 

In your silence, the creature in front of you takes the chance to monologue, to fill in the silence and avoid his own thoughts to fester inside his mind─the last thing Baby wants right now is for Gwi-ma to find more dirt on him, more things to hold against him─and he gently rolls up the fluffy sleeves of his pink sweater, revealing the purple glow of those jagged patterns painting his skin. From the tip of his fingers to his forearms and beyond, underneath his clothes. He follows your line of vision, or rather, he guides it; soon enough, you’re looking at the exposed part of his neck, up his jaw and cheeks, and finally to his eyes. 

Everywhere you look is covered in patterns. So many of them. 

He hates the suspense, but he refuses to stumble and go back to your blissful ignorance. His pride and shame won’t allow him to half-ass this moment, and so Baby continues, allowing his sharp teeth to shine through and his skin to take on that familiar sickly blue hue he’s known for centuries. His claws clink as they hit the metal railing, his body now much lighter as the human disguise falls apart. 

A deep, rich purple fog envelops him, turning the soft pastels of his clothes into the deepest shade of black you’ve ever seen, until he’s wearing the proper attire for a demon of his status; a Grim Reaper. Would you still love him after this? After he tells you of all the things he’s done to get here? 

When you still don’t say anything, Baby reaches out a hand towards you as if offering you the chance to touch him and check for yourself. You do. Your fingers slide across his palm, flinching only for a second at the increased coldness of his being, and then towards the deadly razors of his fingertips, the rough texture so unlike anything you’ve ever felt. After that, you grow a bit more bold, now holding onto him and sweeping a thumb across his inner wrist, as if checking for a pulse. There is none. 

“Are these claws …?” Real? Yes. He used to wish for them to disappear, to be the result of a very tiring nightmare, but not anymore. This is him, his true─“...Retractable?”

“What.” 

“You know, like, can you get them in and out at will?”

"No, I know what retractable means!"

You gently prod at the pads of his fingers, looking for any reaction from said claws. You don’t seem to find what you’re looking for, but that does nothing to deter you. In fact, you look even more interested than before.

“Doesn’t seem like it, which means you just have these out all day. Man, that explains all the weird tears on your sweaters. Ooh, it’s super pointy! And these marks? Do they mean anything or are these just for aesthetic? They’re so pretty. And your clothes? I never thought you could pull off an edgy look! The hat is such a good touch.” 

The tables have turned; you’re the one practically pouncing on Baby, while he simply stands there, trying to process your words as you cup his face in your hands. No, you’re tracing the patterns on his cheeks, observing them. Your touch causes them to glow even brighter, the pink much more intense than before.

“And your eyes …” A knot forms in his throat at this unexpected inspection, but you hold him in place. 

For a moment, he feels like he’s about to pass out out of nervousness, but your voice and expression turn soft─he knows that face, he’s seen it so many times. Whenever he pretends to be asleep and you whisper sweet nothings in his ear, only to have him open one eye and tease you for such cutesy and cheesy clichés. When he makes you laugh so hard you snort and forget to breathe, and you have to physically fight him because all he can think about is making you delirious with happiness. He knows what you’re about to say, it’s so easy to guess. And his heart is not ready.

“Baby, you’re beautiful.” 

Is this how it feels to finally get everything he’s ever wanted? To be completely and utterly speechless? Bashful and soon-to-be violent with cuteness aggression, Baby tries to turn his head away from your loving gaze, he closes his eyes in his half-hearted attempt at breaking free, part of him wanting to hear you praise him more and more, another one unable to take the heat. But this only makes him even cuter in your eyes.

“Didn’t you hear me? Demon! I’m a DEMON.” Normally, he’d spell out the word for you in emphasis, but right now, Baby can’t trust himself to know a single thing about spelling when you’re bringing him closer to you, lips planted firmly against his cheek. “Agrrghhhghh─! You’re supposed to be scared! Or at least mildly uncomfortable!” 

“My boyfriend is a demon who can pull off every look ever and you want me to be scared? Does being a demon mean you lose a few braincells or what?” 

When you kiss the corner of his mouth, his patterns flicker for a moment and, for the first time in forever, Baby cannot hear the constant whispering of the underworld in his ear. But he’s much too busy fending you off. “Seriously, aren’t you even a little worried that I might steal your soul?” You pull away for a moment to shoot him an indignant yet playful look, and he immediately wraps both arms around your waist. 

“Aren’t you worried that I might tell the entire world that the Baby Saja is a demon gremlin?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Baby scoffs, the pout so distinct in his voice. 

“See? And I know you would never steal my soul.” He pauses to consider this. You’re right, as always. 

Those demonic instincts of his covet the part of you that he lost─your soul, so bright and alluring, guiding him through the dark─but to simply rob you of it has no merit. Baby wants you to be the one to offer it to him, not out of obligation or fear, but out of devotion and love. If you did that, then maybe he could break free. No, absolutely not. He shakes these thoughts away on the spot. There’s no denying what he is. 

Baby lets out a sound that is somewhere between a whine and a growl, before hiding his face in the crook of your neck, basking in your pulse and warmth. If you love this side of him so much, who is he to keep you away from it? Who’s to say you two can’t rule the underworld together?

“I’d love you too, even if you were a demon like me.” 

“A demon power couple?” You ponder out loud with a hint of teasing, undoing the ribbon that holds his hat in place just so you can plant yet another kiss to the top of his head. “Not sure, the traditional goth vibe looks good on you but … It’s a bit too outdated for me, you know?” 

He chuckles at your joke, his breath tickling your ears. “You should see the fits Jinu wants us to wear for our last concert. Abby’s got a pair of Demonias and a fishnet crop top.” 

“No fucking way.” 

[lemonanddeepspace]

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Summary: Toji finally meets his son for the first time, and he isn't sure what to do.

Warnings: Fluff

Toji’s hands are shaky as he looks down at the little bean. That’s the nickname you gave him the moment you found out about him, and here he is. So frail and weak, Toji can’t hold him yet. What if he hurts the baby?

The man looks at you for reassurance, even when you can barely keep your eyes open. You’re tired.

“It’s okay, Toji.” You tell him, watching as he towers over the bassinet. He cut the umbilical cord but that’s as much as he’s done. He’s never been scared of fucking up like this before. It’s adorable from your point of view. “He’s much stronger than he looks.”

“Yeah, he looks pretty weak.” Toji awkwardly laughs, trying to mask his nerves. You end up chuckling as you prompt yourself up on the bed. You pick up the baby from the bassinet and coo at him. He’s peacefully sleeping.

“He’s just the cutest little bean.” You pitch your voice, looking down at your son. You then look at Toji, softly smiling before asking, “Why don’t you hold him?”

“I’ve never held a baby before.” He confesses, and you laugh yet again. That’s why you’re there to teach him– You also delivered the baby but that’s besides the point. You try to make space for Toji to sit, a difficult task considering his large size; just enough for him to not fall over.

“Come here.” You pat the space beside you, and he furrows his brows before following your order. You hand him the baby without thinking twice, forcing him to finally hold his son. He has no other option but to try now. He stares down at the baby, dumbfounded.

“Make sure to support his head.” You comment, completely missing Toji's lips quiver. You’re adjusting his arms, making sure the baby is held correctly. You’re too focused on the wrong things. You’re missing how Toji falls in love with the little bean.

Toji tries to take a deep breath, remembering that he can’t cry. He can’t be weak, not in front of you. But it’s hard to contain himself right now. Not when he’s finally getting something that he’s waited his whole life for– Something he didn’t even know he wanted.

“He’s so stupidly cute.” You hear his voice break, and you finally look to see the tears that have welled up in his eyes. They’re on the brink of spilling, but he manages to hold them back. He’ll do everything in his power to not cry though the task is increasingly hard.

“Aw, Toji.” You kiss his cheek as a bright smile comes to your lips. Toji’s eyes linger on the bean, in disbelief that this is his life. That little bean is his son.

Your head rests on his shoulder, eyes staring down at the baby. It took an entire day of hard labor, and nine months of discomfort, but your family is family complete.

“What do you want to name him?” You ask.

“Megumi.” He answers, a subtle smile coming to his lips as a singular tear falls. You wipe it away, quickly kissing the spot. It’s perfect– This, the name, everything. He affirms, “Megumi fits him.”