#I did decide to make them singing and dancing

[aleksatia]

Five Times the Kitchen Caught Fire (and So Did They) - Request

I've been completely swallowed by work and daily life, and for a long time (even though my hands were itching), I just couldn’t find the time to sit down and write something new. April is coming to an end, and most of my plans are still unfinished. So I’ve decided to focus on your requests first — they take priority — and Songfic Game will come after that.

Picked one of the requests at random — thank you @seris-the-amious for sending it in!

CW/TW: sexual content, explicit language, suggestive themes, alcohol use, mild intoxication, food-related chaos, fire/flood/kitchen disasters, implied nudity, mild injury (non-serious), emotionally charged intimacy, flirtation, teasing, domestic fluff, bad cooking decisions, one named lobster spared.

Pairings: Zayne x Girlfriend!You; Rafayel x Fiancée!You; Xavier x Girlfriend!You; Caleb x Not-yet-girlfriend!You; Sylus x Fiancée!You Genre: Domestic chaos meets romantic heat. Lovers tangled in kitchens, kitchens tangled in disasters. From soft smut to feral tension, from teasing to tenderness. Culinary mishaps, emotional closeness, playful banter, and sex that simmers like a slow-burn reduction. Fluff with bite. Fire alarms optional, intimacy inevitable. Summary: Five different stories, each with their own vibe and varying degrees of chaos — from soft fluff to full-blown kitchen insanity. Some are louder, some quieter; not all include intimacy, but you know me — I’ll make it up to our beloved LIs next time. Word Count: (5 stories) 1.3K | 1.6K | 1.9K | 3.6K | 4.2K

🍷 Cooking with Wine 

You’d only meant to loosen up.

The recipe had three steps. You had two hands. One of them, unfortunately, held a wine glass for most of the night. The other kept getting distracted by those endless cooking reels and the fact that Zayne wasn’t home yet. He was supposed to be. But surgeries run long, and you got bored, then creative, then… clumsy.

The pan got wine. The sauce got wine. You got wine. Somewhere around glass number three, you decided that music and dancing would “help the flavor profile.” You were still wearing his button-up shirt from earlier — a white one, a little oversized, warm from where it had dried on the radiator. Only one button done. Just enough to cover what mattered. Bare legs and fuzzy socks.

The dog watched, fascinated, as you waltzed with a ladle.

When Zayne walked in, you didn’t hear the door. He moved too quietly for that. You only noticed when a shadow passed behind you — his silhouette in the hall, tall and still.

He stepped into the kitchen like a man entering a crime scene. His eyes scanned everything at once: the scorched pan, the bubbling red concoction, the open bottle on its side. The singed towel near the stove.

Then you.

You grinned, wobbling slightly, your wine glass half-full and tilted at a reckless angle.

“Darling,” you said, voice sticky-sweet and delighted, “you’re home just in time for dinner-slash-arson.”

Zayne didn’t blink. He crossed to the stove, sniffed the air once, and exhaled through his nose with terrifying neutrality.

“This is flammable,” he said.

“Like… sexy-flammable?” You fluttered your lashes. “Because I did wear your shirt, which I consider an advanced form of foreplay.”

He turned off the burner. Set the spoon down. Removed the towel with two fingers like it personally offended him. Then turned to face you, arms crossed.

“You put cinnamon in a tomato-based reduction.”

You squinted. “How do you know that?”

“I can smell it.” A pause. “And it’s floating on top like an oil slick.”

“I was improvising.”

“You were drinking.”

You tilted your head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

There was a long pause — like the kind that stretches between heartbeats on a monitor. And then Zayne stepped forward, one smooth movement, and cupped your jaw in one hand. His thumb brushed just under your lower lip, catching the smudge of wine you didn’t know was there.

“You are…” His voice dipped. Barely audible. “Absolutely not allowed near a stove unsupervised.”

You smiled against his touch. “Are you volunteering for the job?”

His eyes met yours — steady, dark, impossible to read. Then his other hand slid to your waist, pulled you forward with quiet precision. His mouth brushed yours. Not rushed. Not rough. Just… intent.

“You look like a disaster,” he murmured.

“Thank you.”

“And you smell like a vineyard in crisis.”

“I bathed in pinot noir for you.”

“Of course you did.”

The kiss deepened. His mouth was warm, patient, and maddeningly controlled — like he was cataloging every sound you made, every angle of your lips. His hands stayed low, anchoring you, guiding you. You arched into him, pressing closer, trying to pull him out of his perfect stillness.

When you moaned into his mouth — quiet, desperate — he broke. Just slightly.

His fingers clenched at your hips, hard enough to leave intention behind. His tongue slid along yours, not tentative now, but searching. Mapping. The clinical calm in him twisted into something rougher. More human.

He picked you up like it was nothing — no grunt, no awkward shifting. Just your thighs wrapped around his waist and the firm press of his hands under your legs as he carried you to the counter and set you down among chaos: wine bottle, scorched pot, an abandoned spoon.

His mouth found your neck next. Soft at first. Then not. His teeth grazed. His breath hitched when your hands found the hem of his shirt, dragging it out of his waistband.

“You're drunk,” he murmured against your throat.

“I��m charming.”

“You are a menace.”

“And you,” you said, tugging him closer until he groaned against your collarbone, “are very overdressed for someone who wants me off this counter.”

He chuckled — low and rare. Then obeyed.

The way he moved was maddening — methodical, as if he were dissecting the moment with reverence. Each button undone on your shirt felt like a soft command. His fingers skimmed your ribs, feather-light, grounding you between warm palms and the cool marble beneath you. He wasn’t rushing. Zayne never rushed. He savored. Studied. Tasted.

He dipped his head and pressed a kiss just above your heart, then lower, catching your breath between his teeth. Your thighs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer — close enough to feel how hard he already was beneath his slacks, restrained and ready. You weren’t sure which one of you was shaking harder.

His hands mapped your body like it was his favorite puzzle — thumbs brushing the curve of your hips, his mouth finding the soft underside of your jaw, then your breast, tongue circling slowly, painfully. You moaned, half a sound, half a plea, and he smiled against your skin like a man memorizing fault lines.

You reached behind, fumbling for the wine glass — still miraculously upright — and brought it to your lips. Took a long, slow sip. He paused, watching you. Sharp gaze, mouth parted.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you pulled him down and kissed him — wet, warm, deliberately messy — and let the wine spill between your lips into his. He didn’t hesitate. He drank from you like he was starved. Like it was ritual. Like you were the altar.

The kiss turned brutal — slick and heady, the taste of red grapes and something feral between you. He groaned into your mouth and pinned your wrists to the counter, grinding his hips forward until your head fell back with a gasp.

“Zayne,” you whimpered, back arching. “Now. Please.”

He didn’t answer. He just shifted, one hand dragging your underwear down your thighs with surgical precision. You didn’t even register when your legs parted wider — it just happened, instinct, need. He undid his belt one-handed, pants low enough for contact, not enough to waste time.

The first thrust was slow — testing. The second made your mouth fall open. The third pulled a strangled noise from your throat that didn’t even sound like his name.

Zayne cursed under his breath and buried his face in your neck. His rhythm wasn’t desperate — he never was — but it carried purpose, weight, knowledge. He knew exactly where to press, when to shift, how to pull your body apart and hold it there — open, high, ruined. One hand locked behind your knee, lifting your leg just enough for deeper angles, and when your breath caught, he did it again. And again.

You held onto his shoulders like the world was tilting. His skin under your fingers was warm, taut, real. His breath stuttered against your ear.

“Say it,” he whispered, voice raw. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“You know I am.”

“I want to hear it.”

You looked up at him, completely undone, and whispered, “I’m yours.”

He kissed you like he’d waited years. His hips stuttered. Your nails sank into his back. His rhythm frayed into something rougher, needier — less science, more prayer. You came with a cry caught in your throat, legs trembling around his hips. He followed seconds later, jaw clenched against your neck, breath faltering like something sacred had cracked open in him.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested on your shoulder, sweat slick between you, hearts slamming like fists.

And then — quietly, from behind you — came a soft drip.

Zayne glanced over your shoulder.

A single string of sauce, still too hot and wildly overspiced, slid off the edge of the abandoned pan and landed with a wet slap on the floor.

He sighed. “You burned the reduction.”

You smiled, still breathless. “But the dessert turned out perfect.”

🦞Omar the Almost-Dinner

You started with the garlic.

Three cloves, crushed under the flat of the blade, then minced until your fingers gleamed and the scent climbed into your throat. A generous pour of golden oil bloomed in the shallow copper pan, already warm, catching the light that poured in through Rafayel’s east-facing windows.

The whole kitchen glowed like watercolor — sunlight moving through glass, catching on polished marble, the sea breathing in the distance. It always felt like standing inside one of his paintings. Too beautiful. A little surreal. Like something sacred might happen if you just held still.

You stirred the garlic with a wooden spoon and whispered, “You’re not going to feel a thing.”

On the far end of the counter, the lobster shifted slightly inside the shallow glass bowl you’d filled with cold saltwater. His long antennae twitched.

You eyed him.

“I’m not going to name you,” you said firmly.

He waved one rubber-banded claw.

You scowled. “That wasn’t a wave.”

Another twitch.

“It wasn’t,” you repeated, softer now. “It was… a muscle spasm.”

You turned back to the garlic. Added butter. A splash of white wine. A whisper of lemon zest.

It hissed. Smelled like summer and salt and the things Rafayel hummed about when he painted early in the morning with one hand in your lap.

You glanced at the lobster. He blinked at you. Slowly. With dignity.

And it hit you.

You were going to kill something. Not just cook. Not reheat, not sear, not pan-fry leftovers.

Kill.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, throat suddenly thick. “It’s not that I don’t love you. I mean, I don’t. Not like — love-love — I love him. But I’m trying. For him.”

You gestured to the pot, now gently boiling behind you.

“That’s for you. That’s how it’s done. It’s quick. Dignified. You go in. You feed him. You become part of something beautiful.”

You paused. The lobster shifted again. Like he disagreed. Profoundly.

You looked down at your outfit.

His silk kimono, white and silver, open at the collar. Your hair twisted up, held in place by one of his old paintbrushes, soft bristles curled with dry cobalt. You’d worn it like a good omen. Like a challenge.

Now it just made you feel like a fraud.

You stepped closer to the bowl. He stared at you.

“…Omar,” you breathed.

Damn it.

“No. No! That wasn’t a name. I didn’t—”

He waved again.

You made a noise halfway between a sob and a curse. “Oh my god, you’re real. You’re someone.”

The pot behind you bubbled louder, as if urging you on. But your hand wouldn’t move.

You looked down at him — Omar. This wet little witness to your culinary ambition and your spiritual collapse. Your eyes stung. You pressed your fingers into the edge of the counter until your knuckles blanched.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

And that’s when the soft sound of bare feet against polished stone made you freeze.

Rafayel stood in the doorway, framed by light. His robe hung open just enough to reveal the fine line of his collarbone, the suggestion of morning skin and sleep-warmth. His hair was half-tied, the rest falling over his shoulders in sea-colored waves.

He took one look at you. At the bowl. At the tears.

And then, very gently:

“…Did you name the lobster?”

You didn’t turn around. You just sniffled — once, pitifully — and stared harder at the glass bowl where Omar sat like a prisoner on death row.

Rafayel crossed the floor in bare, silent steps. He stopped beside you. Looked down into the bowl. The silence stretched, long and gentle.

You swiped a hand beneath your nose and choked, “Ask him. Ask him if he’s mad at me.”

“…Pardon?”

You turned toward him, wide-eyed and red-lipped and clearly unraveling, the paintbrush still skewed at a defiant angle through your bun.

“Ask him,” you repeated, voice wobbling. “I almost turned him into your lunch. Omar probably hates me.”

There was a pause. Then, very seriously, Rafayel looked down at the lobster.

“Omar,” he said softly. “Do you harbor ill will toward my beloved?”

The lobster didn’t move. You looked devastated.

“I think he’s giving me the silent treatment,” you whispered.

Rafayel blinked once. Then, in a voice that was 80% calm and 20% suppressing laughter:

“Cutie… lobsters have extremely primitive nervous systems. Their brains are about the size of—”

“Don’t talk about Omar that way!” you snapped, and slapped his arm.

Rafayel clutched his chest in mock offense. “Forgive me. I forgot he was royalty.”

“He has dignity,” you said with a fierce sniff. “And a name. And feelings.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Rafayel leaned in. Kissed the tip of your nose.

“You are utterly unhinged,” he murmured.

You opened your mouth to argue — but his hands were already at your waist, pulling you into him, your fingers still slick with butter and grief. He rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes fixed on the lobster.

“I was going to boil him,” you whispered. “With herbs. Lemon. I crushed garlic just for him.”

“Of course you did.”

“I ruined everything.”

“No,” Rafayel said, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You just… rerouted the menu. Happens to the best of us.”

You melted into his hold, the silk of his robe brushing your thigh where the kimono had slipped. His body was warm. Steady. He smelled like sea salt and sugar and some ancient perfume no one could name.

“What do we do now?” you asked.

He kissed your cheek, slow and indulgent. Then reached down, lifted Omar from his bowl like a high priest lifting a relic, and turned with regal grace toward the atrium.

“To the koi.”

The koi tank lived in his studio.

Not just because of the light — though it was exquisite in the late afternoon, spilling across the floor in long golden strips — but because Rafayel said the fish helped him “remember the rhythm of the world.” You never questioned it. Just like you didn’t question the fact that he sometimes hummed to them in a language the ocean might’ve forgotten. Or that he had names for all of them: Persephone, Laertes, Blanche, Judas.

Now he stood barefoot at the rim of the tank, the silk of his robe slipping open over his chest, Omar cupped gently in both hands like a waterlogged jewel.

The koi scattered as he approached. Swirls of red and silver and ghost-white fins vanished into the corners of their glass world. Rafayel crouched. Whispered something you didn’t catch. Maybe an apology. Maybe a blessing. Maybe a threat to behave.

Then, very delicately, he lowered Omar into the water.

The lobster drifted for a moment — legs splayed, antennae lifted like tiny banners of defiance — before kicking once and spiraling down toward the gravel, claws first.

You stood behind Rafayel, arms folded over your chest, watching the crustacean establish dominance over a large piece of ornamental driftwood.

“He’s fine,” Rafayel said, not looking back.

“He’s thriving,” you muttered, deadpan. “An icon.”

Rafayel turned, stood, wiped his damp fingers across the silk lapel of his robe. “You know, I’ve hand-fed Persephone for five years, and she still won’t come near me unless I sing Puccini.”

“I relate.”

He tilted his head. “To whom?”

“To Persephone.”

He smiled — soft and sharp at once — and stepped closer. “You cried over a lobster.”

“I cried over almost murdering a lobster.”

He reached out, ran his fingers down your arm. “And why, my sea-witch, were you even attempting culinary homicide?”

You sighed. Shoulders slumped. The knot of shame in your stomach finally loosened.

“I hate cooking,” you confessed. “I hate it. I hate the mess. The timing. The stress. Everything tastes like failure and burnt dreams.”

Rafayel’s brows rose. “And yet you attempted to flambé my emotions alive.”

“I was trying to impress you,” you said, voice quiet now. “Because I love you. And I thought — if I made you something real, something you cared about… maybe I’d feel more like I belonged in your world.”

His face shifted. Slowly. Like a wave gathering itself before crashing.

You swallowed. “But I couldn’t do it. Not to Omar.”

Something unreadable passed behind his eyes.

“...Are you telling me,” he said carefully, “that you were willing to sacrifice your own sanity to feed me something I could’ve ordered from a Michelin-starred restaurant… but not willing to harm a single dramatic sea bug because he blinked at you?”

You looked away. “He blinked with feeling.”

There was a long silence. Then: “I don’t know whether to kiss you or exile you.”

“You could try both.”

Rafayel stepped in close again. The sunlight caught the gold of his eyelashes. “I’d die on a battlefield for you, but a lobster gets your loyalty?”

You tried not to smile. “He had a name, Raf.”

He groaned. “I’m jealous of a lobster.”

You leaned into his chest. “You should be. He’s mysterious. Stoic. Dangerously well-armed.”

Rafayel let out a long, theatrical sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he murmured, “but… I also hate cooking.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“I hate it. I hate heat. I hate measurements. I hate the way turmeric stains my cuticles. I once tried to cook for you, burnt my thumb on the skillet, and immediately painted the pain.”

You stared. He nodded solemnly. “It sold for nine thousand.”

You choked on a laugh. He kissed your temple.

“I’ll order sushi,” he whispered, lips brushing your skin. “It’s what civilization invented delivery for. People like us weren’t made for stoves. We were made for art. For emotion. For love. And for not setting the house on fire.”

“And Omar?”

Rafayel tilted his head toward the tank. “Will be invited to the wedding.”

He paused, watching Omar paddle in lazy circles.

“…But if he ever makes you cry again—” his voice dropped to a murmur, half-affection, half-threat, “—he’s the appetizer.”

🥞Pancakes: Physics & Other Casualties

You woke up too early for no reason. The sun hadn't fully committed to the sky yet, and Xavier was still asleep — somewhere beneath tangled blankets, breathing slow and soundless like only men with nothing left to prove do.

But you had energy. Too much of it. And a craving for pancakes.

You weren’t good at pancakes. Not exactly bad, either — just… experimental. Abstract. Four pancakes already clung to the kitchen ceiling like edible crime evidence, casualties of your first half hour. You had stopped panicking about the first one somewhere around the third. They weren’t hurting anyone. Probably.

The kitchen smelled like butter and mild fear. A playlist pulsed through your earbuds — something upbeat, guilty-pleasure catchy. You danced in place, hips swaying lazily, wearing only Xavier’s black athletic shorts (which barely clung to your waist) and a faded sports bra. Your hair was a mess. Your feet were bare. The floor was suspiciously sticky near the sink, and you were too far gone to care.

You adjusted your grip on the pan, focused like a woman on a mission, and flipped another pancake — up, smooth, controlled.

And caught it with your mouth.

A perfect arc. A clean drop. A hot, fluffy disc of golden triumph right between your teeth.

Your arms shot into the air, victorious. You wiggled. Spun. Posed like a champion gymnast sticking her final landing.

“YES!” you shouted around pancake.

Then you got cocky.

Still chewing, high on success and maple-scented hubris, you turned to the stove, picked up the frying pan again — and this time, tried to flip the whole pan. Into the air. For fun.

You wanted drama. Flair. Pancake-fueled glory.

What you got was: velocity + physics + betrayal.

The handle slipped from your fingers mid-arc. The pan flipped once, bounced off the edge of the stove, and landed squarely in the mixing bowl of batter you’d set just a little too close. The bowl spun. The counter caught a third of it. Your shirt caught another. The rest hit the floor in one majestic, cold, thick slap.

It was everywhere. Your feet. The cupboard. Your calves. The cat bowl. Possibly the wall. You blinked, slowly, looking down at yourself like someone in a war movie who hadn’t realized they’d been shot yet.

And then—

A breath behind you. You turned.

And there he was. Xavier.

Leaning against the doorway. Hoodie unzipped. Sweatpants low on his hips. Hair tousled, bare chest rising and falling in slow, stunned quiet.

He took in the scene. Ceiling pancakes. The lake of batter spreading across the tile. You, panting, pink-cheeked, wearing his shorts and speckled in something vaguely egg-based.

And — of course — the frying pan, upside down, handle sticking out of the mixing bowl like a flag of surrender.

You yanked out one earbud, breath catching. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”

“I was,” he said quietly, eyes still moving — from your flour-dusted knees to your mouth. “Just listening.”

You blinked. “To the music?”

“To the part where you said ‘YES’ with a pancake in your mouth.”

You paused. Laughed. Bit your lip, embarrassed. “It was impressive.”

“It was.”

He didn’t move. Just… watched. You could never tell if Xavier was judging or processing. His expression didn’t give things away. But his eyes did. Bright and bottomless, pale as ice and just as dangerous when focused — and they were very, very focused now.

You tried to brush a bit of batter off your thigh. It smeared. Worse.

He inhaled through his nose, slow. “Is that my shorts?”

“No.” You lied instantly. “Yes.”

You felt warm all over. Sticky, sure — but also warm. The kind of heat that crept under your skin the longer he looked at you like that.

“I was going to bring you pancakes.”

“I see that.”

“They were gonna be good.”

“I believe you.” 

His voice was calm, as always. But his gaze drifted lower — down your torso, your stomach, to the place where batter clung to your thighs like messy fingerprints. He blinked once. Slowly. Like he was storing you. Like he was learning you all over again in this ruined, ridiculous state.

And then… he moved. Not fast. Never fast.

Xavier walked toward you like inevitability — quiet feet on tile, breath barely audible, but his body all presence. You backed up without meaning to, hip nudging the edge of the counter, hands flexing at your sides. His fingers brushed your chin first. Lifted. Tilted. He studied you like he was reading your pulse through the shape of your mouth.

“You made a mess,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “That’s what mops are for.”

His thumb dragged along your lower lip. Batter. Butter. You.

“I meant this,” he said — and cupped your thigh, palm flat, streaking upward through the sticky warmth that clung to your skin. “You're dripping.”

The breath caught in your chest. He didn’t stop. Didn’t ask.

Xavier slid his hand higher, the glide of his fingers patient, unshaking, as he trailed a line through the batter and up — up, under the waistband of his shorts still hanging loose on your hips. He looked down as he did it. Watched his own hand disappear, like he wanted to understand your reactions in real time.

He brushed against you once. Deliberate. Barely pressure. You gasped.

His gaze snapped up.

Then he kissed you. Not sweet. Not soft. But steady — lips parted, tongue tasting everything you’d ruined. He didn’t devour. He took. Like a man carefully disassembling a weapon he didn’t want to break. His hand stayed pressed between your legs, just resting, while his other came to your neck — not choking, but claiming. Holding you still. Making you feel it everywhere.

“You’re warm here,” he said against your mouth, thumb stroking slow circles at the hinge of your jaw. “Wet. Sweet.”

You whimpered.

“Sticky.” He kissed your cheek. Your throat. Bit your collarbone. “Ruined.”

You barely had time to blink before he picked you up — just lifted, arms under your thighs, your back pressed to his chest. Effortless. Inevitable. Your hands clutched his forearms, nails dragging through soft cotton and into skin.

He didn’t speak again until the bathroom door clicked behind you. Then—

“I’m going to clean you.”

Not a suggestion. Not a tease. A promise.

He set you on the counter. Warm wood beneath your bare skin. He turned on the shower. Steam bloomed in the air — sharp and clean and him. The sound of water filled the room like rising tension.

Then he turned back. You reached for him — but he stilled your hands.

“Let me,” he said. “Don’t move.”

His hands were methodical. Almost reverent.

He pulled off your sports bra slowly, brushing every inch of your ribs with his knuckles. Kissed the space between your breasts like he needed to taste your heartbeat. The shorts followed — peeled down with both hands, batter clinging like reluctant gravity. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t grin.

He studied.

You were a mess. But to him — you never looked more sacred.

Xavier guided you under the water. Hot. Steady. His hands followed, dragging soap over your shoulders, your breasts, the dip of your waist — not rough, but firm. He washed you like ritual, like cleansing a blade before use.

And then his fingers slid between your legs again — slick now with water and shower gel, moving slowly, teasing your entrance in soft, circling pressure. You leaned into his chest, barely breathing.

He kissed your temple. “Relax.”

You tried. You failed — when he pushed a finger inside you. Then another.

His free hand cupped your breast, thumb stroking your nipple as he fucked you with slow, exquisite rhythm. No rush. Just purpose. Just Xavier. You sobbed once — quiet, overwhelmed — and he held you steady, nose brushing your cheek.

“You’re close,” he whispered. Not asked. Stated.

You nodded. Couldn’t speak. He kissed you — deeper, this time — and curled his fingers just right.

You shattered.

He caught you, of course. Cleaned you again. Kissed the top of your head, your hipbone, the inside of your knee.

And when he slid inside you after, slow and stretching, thick and perfect, it wasn’t out of hunger.

It was worship…

You came back into the kitchen wearing one of his long-sleeved tees and a pair of clean leggings — damp hair in a loose bun, skin flushed from the shower, limbs still humming from how he’d touched you. Kissed you. Fucked you.

The kitchen, somehow, was spotless.

The puddles of batter were gone. The ruined bowl had vanished. Even the ceiling looked suspiciously cleaner — except for one very visible pancake, clinging for dear life just above the stove like a martyr to your enthusiasm.

Xavier was at the counter, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, a fresh mixing bowl in front of him. His movements were calm, measured — flour, eggs, a whisper of salt. The cat sat near his feet, round as a melon, looking both satisfied and ashamed. You arched a brow.

“He helped?” you asked.

Xavier didn’t look up. “He tried. Then ate half the batter and went into some sort of existential spiral.”

You looked down at the creature. Its belly shifted slightly with every breath. It made a faint, gurgling noise.

“You’re gonna regret that, buddy.”

The cat blinked once, as if to say: I already do.

Xavier cracked another egg with single-handed ease. You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the long lines of his back move beneath soft cotton. Watching his mind in motion. There was something unbearably tender about how focused he became in small things — your things. How the world narrowed down to a bowl, a pan, and a promise.

“You didn’t have to clean everything,” you said gently.

“I know,” he replied, not missing a beat. “But you made a mess.”

You snorted. “You loved it.”

“I did.” He turned then, just enough to meet your eyes — and the corner of his mouth tilted. “I do.”

Heat crept up your spine. You stepped closer. The stove was warm, a fresh pan already heating, butter melting into golden puddles along the surface. He dipped a ladle into the new batter and poured it slow and steady, hands sure, movements silent.

The moment lingered. The smell, the steam, the soft crackle of potential.

You leaned in beside him.

“Do you want me to try flipping it?”

“No,” he said flatly.

You grinned. “Afraid I’ll outdo you?”

“I’ve seen your technique.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “You liked my technique.”

“Your technique almost destroyed the cat bowl.”

“That was a creative choice.”

He slid a spatula under the pancake — smooth, practiced — and turned it in a perfect arc.

You made an approving noise. “See? You’re showing off.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Someone has to impress the cat.”

It was then — as if summoned by memory or dramatic timing — that the pancake on the ceiling finally gave up.

It dropped. Straight down. Landed with a soft, anticlimactic plop right in front of the stove.

The cat groaned audibly, a single long note of betrayal and digestive despair.

You covered your mouth, shoulders shaking. “He can’t… he can’t possibly…”

“No,” Xavier said, deadpan. “He’s reached the limit of his mortality.”

You watched as the cat sniffed the fallen pancake, whimpered, and slowly waddled out of the kitchen like a man who’d seen too much.

Then, finally, softly — like he couldn’t quite believe it: “…Did you actually catch one in your mouth?”

You stood a little straighter. Chin up. “Yes.”

His jaw shifted — not a smile, not quite — and his eyes sharpened.

“…Do it again.”

🍗“Operation: Wing It”

“You won’t even make it past the marinade,” Caleb said.

You didn’t look at him when you dropped the chili flakes into the basket — just a little harder than necessary.

“I’m literally standing in front of a wall of sauces,” you muttered. “I think I’ve made it just fine.”

“You picked up sesame oil to make buffalo wings.”

You froze. Looked down. Yep. Sesame oil.

“...It's fusion,” you said defensively, and grabbed a bottle of hot sauce to cover the error.

Caleb made a low, amused noise in his throat — the kind that wrapped around your spine like silk and sandpaper.

You hated him. 

Not really.

But in that moment? Absolutely.

He was leaning against the side of the shopping cart like he’d been born in a recruitment poster. Dark jacket open, arms crossed over his chest, that stupid military-issue smirk on his face. Skyheavan’s standard-issue glow made his skin look warmer than usual. More golden. More dangerous.

You tossed a bottle of vinegar into the cart without looking. It hit the bottom with a clang.

He flinched. “Careful. You almost declared war on the condiments.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snapped. “Are your elite commando instincts triggered by aggressive grocery shopping?”

“Just saying, if you treat the chicken like that, I’ll have to call for backup.”

You whirled around to face him, finger pointed. “I can cook.”

“You can make cereal.”

“I can make eggs!”

“Which you set on fire.”

“One time—!”

He stepped closer. His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth — just for a fraction of a second — then back to your eyes.

That same flicker again. The one you’d seen a hundred times. Like he might kiss you. Like you might let him. But neither of you ever did.

Too many reasons. Too much history. Too many what-ifs.

“Tell you what,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “You make wings tonight. I’ll taste them. If they’re edible, I’ll say thank you. If they’re better than mine…”

His smile turned sharp. “…I’ll let you pick your prize. And I won’t stop you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And if they’re not?”

He leaned in — not quite touching, but close enough that you felt the heat of him through your shirt.

“If they’re not, you wear my shirt while I show you how it’s really done.”

Your stomach dropped. Your brain screamed something in Morse code.

You said, with all the dignity you could muster, “Fine.”

“Great.”

Then he leaned down and picked up your bottle of sesame oil.

“And I’m taking this,” he said. “Because even fusion has limits.”

You stormed into his kitchen like a woman possessed. Which, to be fair, you were.

By pride. By spite. By the unholy need to prove that just because you’d once burned eggs didn’t mean you couldn’t conquer poultry.

The countertops were unnervingly spotless. The knives hung in perfect alignment. The spice rack looked alphabetized by military rank.

You glared at the nearest drawer and yanked it open.

Soy sauce, vodka, pomegranate molasses, some kind of unmarked flask, another unmarked flask, two napalm-grade hot sauces and a tin labeled simply: “DO NOT”.

You closed the drawer. You opened another. Hot honey, fig jam, bourbon.

You opened a third. Ketchup. Tequila. Grenadine.

“What the hell — why is the alcohol stored with the condiments?!” you hissed.

“Because they get along,” Caleb said, casually leaning in the doorway, arms folded.

You turned so fast your braid hit your cheek. “Get. Out.”

He raised one brow. “Just offering guidance.”

“You’re smirking.”

“I always smirk when people handle raw meat like it’s a loaded weapon.”

You grabbed a towel, threw it over the bowl of chicken, and marched toward him.

He didn’t move. Not at first. Then you planted your hands flat against his chest — and pushed.

Hard.

Caleb slid backward across the smooth floor in his socks, both feet together, expression going from amused to incredulous to resigned defeat in two seconds flat.

“You are not allowed in here until I win.”

“You mean ‘if.’”

“WHEN.”

You shoved him again just for good measure, slammed the door behind him, and locked it. (Okay, you shoved a wooden spoon through the cabinet handles. Same thing.)

Silence.

You exhaled. Turned. And stared at the raw chicken like it had personally insulted your ancestry.

The marinade was where you’d shine. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

You opened another drawer. Dark green bottle. Handwritten label. Spanish text. No clue.

You tilted it. Sniffed. Complex. Herbal. Definitely alcoholic. Like absinthe with a sexier résumé.

You dipped a finger. Touched your tongue. Oh. Oh, that was good. Sharp, rich, mysterious. Like something Caleb would drink while brooding in a thunderstorm.

You’d seen someone marinate wings in beer once. This felt like the same vibe.

You shrugged. “Close enough.”

You poured generously. The chicken hissed like it was judging you. You hissed back.

Somewhere behind you, the spoon wedged in the handles creaked.

You whirled. “Don’t you dare!”

Silence. You turned back to your sauce, defiant.

You were not a soldier. You were not a chef. But you were going to make these wings your battlefield.

By some small miracle — or divine act of petty vengeance — you won.

They came out golden. Glorious.

The kind of golden that made you gasp when you opened the oven, momentarily forgetting the smudge of sauce on your cheek and the streak of oil in your hair. The kind of golden that shimmered, with just the right crisp at the edges and a halo of chili flake scattered like divine confetti.

You stared. You may have whispered holy shit. You may have also done a small, smug dance in your socks.

Then you plated them. Carefully. Triumphantly.

And carried the tray out like a warrior returning from the front lines with the head of the beast still steaming on a platter.

Caleb was already on the couch, legs stretched, looking for all the world like a man who’d never been ejected from his own kitchen.

You set the tray down in front of him with all the grace of a crowned queen.

He eyed it. Then you. Then the wings again.

“…Did you order takeout and hide the packaging?”

Your palm hit his shoulder with a satisfying thwap. He didn’t even flinch.

He leaned in anyway. Picked up a wing. Sniffed it. Turned it over once between his fingers like he was inspecting foreign tech.

Then — slowly, deliberately — bit down. Not a dainty bite. He stripped the wing like it owed him intel. Left nothing but clean bone and a line of sauce glossing his bottom lip.

You blinked. Maybe twice.

He chewed. Swallowed. Raised a brow.

“...They’re edible.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s it?”

A second wing disappeared. Then a third.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said around the fourth, “but I think I might be in danger.”

You blinked again. “From what?”

He looked you dead in the eye. “Falling in love.”

Your face went up in flames. You laughed — too sharp, too loud — and smacked his leg. But you didn’t stop smiling.

Neither did he.

Somehow, between the sarcasm and the second bowl, you ended up shoulder to shoulder, knees brushing. Hands sticky. Bowl empty.

You didn’t talk much. Didn’t need to. But when he licked sauce off his thumb and looked at you like you were next —

You forgot every reason you hadn’t kissed him yet.

His eyes lingered on your lips longer this time. No flicker, no teasing half-glance. Just heat. Quiet, anchored heat that pinned you in place like a pressure point no one else had ever found.

“You win,” Caleb said at last, voice barely above a murmur, rough around the edges like it had been dragged across gravel. “The wings. The bet.”

You exhaled, shallow. “That hard to admit?”

His mouth curved, but not like he was amused. More like it hurt a little. “Harder than getting shot, honestly.”

You huffed something like a laugh, but it didn’t go anywhere. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like hunger. Like want. Like he'd waited long enough.

“Go on,” he added, that low timbre settling over your skin. “Pick your prize.”

It should’ve been a joke. Should’ve been easy. But your body had other plans.

The ache hit first — low and warm, coiling under your skin. It wasn’t a rush. It was a pull. A slow, molten drag that made it suddenly impossible to sit still.

You shifted, crossing your legs like it would help. It didn’t. Your underwear clung where it shouldn’t. The throb between your thighs was steady now. Treacherous.

You didn’t look at him. “I’ll think about it.”

His gaze didn’t drop. Didn’t move. But you felt it. All of it. Like touch. Like heat.

Silence.

Then, you muttered, mostly to yourself, “Is it… hot in here?”

Caleb’s brow lifted the tiniest bit. “I was wondering when you’d say that.”

He stood. Slowly. The way a soldier moves when every muscle is trained not to betray urgency.

And that was when you saw it. The dark line down the center of his shirt. The way the fabric clung to him. And lower — the unmistakable strain in his jeans.

You shouldn’t have looked. But you did.

He stepped toward the window, cracked it open. The breeze kissed the back of your neck. Still not enough.

When he turned around, you were already watching him. He stilled.

For a moment, nothing moved. Not you. Not him. Just air, trembling between two people who’d been circling this for months.

You swallowed. “You said I could choose my prize.”

He nodded once. You tilted your head. Let your voice drop. “And you wouldn’t stop me.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. “I wouldn’t.”

You stood. Carefully. Your body felt foreign. Heavy and too aware of itself. Of him. Of the scent still lingering on your fingers. Garlic and heat and him.

You passed him slow — maybe too slow — the back of your fingers grazing his stomach as you did. A light touch. Barely anything. But he flinched. Like you’d struck a nerve buried too deep to name.

And then—

His hand shot out. Grabbed your wrist. You gasped. Stopped.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you. Hard. Quiet. Like something had broken loose in him and he didn’t trust it.

Neither did you.

Not the look. Not the breath you just dragged in. Not the heat that rolled through your body like it had a will of its own.

You both stood there. Still.

Then—

His hand slid down. Fingers laced with yours. And he pulled.

You stumbled. Into him. Against him. Your chest hit his, and that’s when you felt it — the pressure. The hard, unmistakable proof that he wanted this just as badly. Maybe more.

That was the moment. The line. And you stepped over it.

You surged up and kissed him. Open. Desperate. Not gentle. Not slow. Teeth. Tongue. Breathless collisions.

He growled. Hands on your hips, your ass, your spine — gripping, anchoring, consuming. You broke the kiss only to gasp, “Bedroom.”

He didn’t ask. Didn’t tease. Just moved.

Your back hit the wall once on the way there — hands groping, mouths colliding, your braid being yanked just enough to make you whimper. Then the bed.

And then—

Clothes everywhere.

He was on top of you, between your legs, shirtless, flushed, panting like a man starving in a field of food he thought he’d never taste again. You pulled his pants open with shaking hands. He ripped your shirt at the seam.

Nothing delicate. Everything necessary.

When your skin met, it was violence. Beautiful. Raw. Atomic.

His mouth crashed against your breast. You arched into it, crying out, the sound catching in your throat as his hand found its way between your legs — fingers slicking through you like he knew you.

“You’re soaked,” he rasped. “Fucking drenched—”

“Don’t — don’t say it,” you gasped, but your hips bucked against his hand.

“Why?” he murmured against your nipple, tongue circling. “Scared it’s true?”

You clawed at his shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening—”

“Yes you do.” His voice went rough. “You know exactly what’s happening.”

And he was right. You did. You wanted. And for the first time in years, you weren’t afraid of how badly.

He slid two fingers inside you, slow but deep, and your entire body snapped — taut and trembling, mouth open, no air left to swallow.

You came. Just like that. And he hadn’t even started.

His mouth found yours again. He kissed you through it — through your moans, through the tremors, through the shock of it all. Then he grabbed your leg, pulled it up over his hip, and lined himself up.

He looked at you once. Just once. Eyes dark. Wild. Asking.

You nodded. And he pushed in.

You screamed. Not from pain. Not even from stretch. From the depth. The snap. The way it felt like your body had been waiting for this exact shape, this weight, this claim and had finally found it.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours. “I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You kissed him again. Bit his bottom lip. Rocked your hips to meet his thrust.

And then it was chaos. Sweat. Skin. Fingers. Scratches.

He flipped you. Dragged you to the edge. Held your hips and slammed into you so hard the headboard knocked the wall. You met every thrust. Matched every groan.

“Harder,” you gasped. “More — don’t you fucking stop—”

“Say it,” he panted. “Say you want it. Say you want me.”

“I do,” you cried, tears on your cheeks now. “I always — fuck — always have—”

His hand slid up your spine. His mouth found your shoulder. His hips destroyed you.

You came again — helpless, shaking, wrecked. He wasn’t far behind. When he spilled inside you with a ragged, hoarse cry of your name, it was like the room exhaled.

He collapsed on top of you. You both lay there. Sticky. Shaking. Stunned.

Your thighs trembled beneath the weight of him, and his breath scraped out against your neck like he was still chasing oxygen.

You thought that was it. That you’d burned it all out in one glorious, unrepeatable burst.

Until—

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

You felt it before he said a word. Still hard. Still there.

He lifted his head. Just enough to look down at you. Brows drawn, cheeks flushed, mouth slack with something like disbelief.

“Are you—?” you whispered.

He nodded once. Swallowed. “It’s not… it’s not going down.”

You blinked. A beat. Then—

You snorted. Just once. Couldn’t help it. Caleb glared, half amused, half mortified. “I’m serious.”

“I can feel that,” you said, breathless. “Trust me, it’s the one part of you I have no trouble reading right now.”

He dropped his forehead to your collarbone with a low groan. “This is… not normal.”

“Not… unwelcome,” you offered, lifting an eyebrow as your hand slid down his side. “Unless you’re saying you’re done.”

He froze. You tilted your head. Smirked.

“I mean,” you purred, “if it’s too much for you…”

Caleb growled — low and wrecked — and tried to shift off of you. But you didn’t let him. Your legs wrapped tighter. Your hips tilted up. And his cock — still painfully, impossibly hard — slid just a little deeper.

He sucked in a sharp breath. You both did. Then your fingers curled around the back of his neck.

“No,” you whispered. “Stay.”

And he did.

The next round wasn’t gentle. It was raw. Sloppy. Almost delirious. You were slick and open and aching for it — for him — and he moved like he didn’t care if it broke him.

He fucked you like it was his job. Like penance. Like prayer. And you took it. Gave back. Met every thrust with want and teeth and fingernails.

You came again. He didn’t stop.

He flipped you. Took you from behind, your cheek pressed to the mattress, ass in the air, his hand buried in your hair like a handle he couldn’t afford to let go of. You screamed into the sheets when he hit that spot — over and over — and your legs gave out under you.

You came again. He didn’t stop.

The third time, you were on top. Riding him hard, reckless, nails dragging down his chest. His hands were everywhere. His mouth bruising yours. It felt endless. It was endless.

The heat never faded. The pulse never slowed. And neither did he.

You came again. 

The fourth time… you broke him.

His hands fell away. His mouth went slack. His body shuddered violently beneath you as he spilled into you once more, gasping your name like a confession.

He didn’t move after that. Couldn’t. You collapsed forward, your chest to his, your head to his shoulder, your thighs still trembling, your whole body pulsing around the stretch of him inside you.

You didn’t pull off. Didn’t want to. Your breath slowed. So did his.

You lay there, tangled together, limbs shaking, muscles useless, heat still simmering in the air like something sacred. Your hips twitched once more — involuntary. He groaned. But neither of you spoke.

You fell asleep just like that. Still connected. Still inside. Still everything.

Morning hurt.

In the good way. The kind that made you wince when you stretched and immediately smile through it. Muscles sore in places you hadn’t used since… ever. Your thighs protested. Your hips whimpered. Even your toes ached, and you were pretty sure at some point during round three you’d cramped your calf and moaned through it anyway.

The sound of the bathroom door made you stir. Caleb. Out of the shower, towel around his hips, hair damp, beard still glistening with steam. He walked like a man who’d been hit by a truck. You knew the feeling.

You didn’t move until he was gone from view. Then you groaned, rolled out of bed like every joint was filing a complaint, and stumbled into the shower just long enough to rinse off the worst of the evidence. Your thighs tried to fold under you again. You cursed him fondly under your breath.

You found one of his T-shirts — dark gray, soft, oversized, familiar — and pulled it over your head like you had every right to it now. Because you did.

The smell of coffee led you to the kitchen. Two mugs waited on the island.

So did Caleb.

He stood barefoot in front of the counter, head tilted, holding something in one hand. A bottle. Small. Dark. Unlabeled — no, wait. Not unlabeled. The label was peeling. Handwritten. And very, very familiar.

Your stomach flipped.

He didn’t turn around when he spoke. Just held it up like it was evidence.

“Tell me,” he said slowly, “you did not use this for the wings.”

You didn’t answer. The silence spoke for you.

He turned then. Slowly. Face unreadable. Bottle still in hand like it might explode.

“Oh my god,” he said. “You did.”

You lifted one shoulder, sheepish. “I thought it was... herb oil? It smelled good. Kinda spicy.”

He stared. Then he laughed. Not a chuckle. Not a smirk.

A full-bodied, stomach-clutching, almost-hurts-to-breathe kind of laugh that shook his shoulders and made him bend halfway over the counter.

“I told them I wasn’t gonna drink it,” he wheezed. “I told them — I said — ‘That stuff’s basically legal Viagra brewed in someone's grandma's basement,’ and you — oh my god — you cooked with it!”

You stared. “Wait, what?!”

He held the bottle like it had personally ruined his evening. “It’s called Mamajuana. Dominican thing. Rum. Red wine. Tree bark. Herbs. Aphrodisiac-level strong. My unit called it hellfire in a bottle. A guy once took two shots and tried to hump a satellite dish.”

You nearly fell off your stool.

Your face dropped into your hands with a groan. “You are not serious.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, grinning so hard it almost cracked his face in half. “And you marinated chicken in it.”

“I didn’t know!” you wailed, voice muffled. “I thought it was fancy olive oil!”

Caleb took a step forward, grin widening, voice dropping.

“Pip-squeak,” he murmured, “I came four times last night and still had a hard-on strong enough to pass for a concealed weapon. I thought I was dying.” 

You made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeak and shook your head, still hiding behind your fingers.

Then — a shift. The humor lingered in his smile, but his gaze softened.

He stepped closer. Set the bottle down.

His hands found your hips, thumbs brushing bare skin where the T-shirt had ridden up. He leaned in, kissed your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Then your neck. Slower this time.

No rush.

Just the warm, quiet gravity of someone who knew you now. Not just your body. But your rhythm. Your fear. Your fight.

His lips hovered at your jaw.

“I don’t regret a second of it,” he said, voice low and real.

You looked up at him.

“Even if it wasn’t all... us?” you whispered.

His smile faded to something softer.

“It was us,” he said. “Every second of it. We just finally stopped holding back.”

You breathed in — deep, full, present. He kissed you again. Longer this time. Deeper. Less fire. More embers.

And when his hands slid beneath the hem of the shirt — yours now — and you sighed into his mouth, the ache that answered wasn’t urgent.

It was wanting.

Wanting more mornings. Wanting this. Wanting him.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “So. That still counted as winning, right?”

Caleb sighed like a man clinging to the last shreds of control. “You’re banned from my kitchen. Permanently.”

You smiled, slow and satisfied. “Guess I’ll have to keep making a mess somewhere else.”

His groan was low, helpless. And yeah. He was already planning the cleanup.

🦆 Fire in a Wreck During a Flood

It started, as most bad decisions do, with good intentions and a duck.

You had this vision — soft lighting, one perfect dish, a glass of red wine, maybe some music playing in the background. A date night he didn’t see coming. You’d even bought a packet of helium balloons from a tiny shop two zones over, planning to float them by the window while dinner simmered.

You never got to the balloons.

The first duck died in the oven around 5:40 PM — shriveled, blackened, and glistening like volcanic glass. You’d followed half a dozen different recipes, all of which disagreed, and all of which demanded equipment Sylus would never allow into his cathedral of a kitchen. In desperation, you tried to dispose of it quickly. The garbage bin felt too disrespectful. The sink seemed... decisive.

You honestly thought there was a disposal switch. There was not.

You shoved the remains down the drain with a wooden spoon and a whispered apology, until the bird jammed in the curve of the pipe with a thud and the faucet made a low, wet, glugging growl.

Water stopped draining. Then it started backing up. Then it smelled like duck murder.

You’d tried to fix it yourself — unscrewed something under the sink with righteous fury and zero plumbing knowledge, planning to just shake out the remains like a normal person with a death wish.

But you picked the wrong pipe.

A rush of foul water hissed up, something metallic clattered loose, and you ended up holding a piece of the sink’s undercarriage like a war trophy.

You didn’t know what it was called. But it looked important.

You called the twins.

By the time Kieran and Luke arrived, you were ankle-deep in soapy panic, drying your hands on a decorative towel that now reeked of soy sauce and grief.

Kieran didn’t laugh — not out loud. He crouched beside the sink, yanked open the cabinet, and muttered, “You clogged a full industrial drain with a whole animal.”

“It was already dead,” you hissed.

Kieran shook his head, flashlight clenched between his teeth, legs braced awkwardly around the open cupboard while his gloved hands vanished into the under-sink abyss.

Luke had wandered off to inspect the rest of the kitchen, humming faintly. You’d made the mistake of leaving the duck's replacement marinating on the counter.

"Is this attempt two?" he asked, peering into the tray. “Bold.”

“I can still save this,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“Sure,” he said. “You got another fire extinguisher?”

Then he noticed the helium balloons — still in their unopened package — and lit up like he’d just spotted a new toy in the sandbox.

“Cute. You gonna blow these up?”

“Later,” you said, swiping a streak of marinade from your cheek. “Romance.”

Ten minutes later, Luke was inflating one of the balloons — not for romance — and narrating in falsetto:

“Quack-quack, darling. Look at me, I’m your third duck. I’m full of air and disappointment.”

You rolled your eyes.

He let go of the balloon. It zoomed across the kitchen with a high-pitched pppbbbt-tap! and smacked the refrigerator. Then he found another. Filled it. This time, sucked in the helium.

“Yoooourrrr hiiiighnessssss,” he squeaked, hopping around behind you. “The kitchen begs for mercy!”

You were up on the bottom shelf of the tall cabinet by then — perched on tiptoes, trying to reach a bottle you knew Sylus kept up there. You weren’t even sure what it was, but it had a gold seal, and Kieran had told you it would “caramelize skin like a dream.”

The cabinet creaked. Your toes curled over the edge of a jar of lentils. Your hand closed around cold glass just as —

POP.

Behind you. Loud. Sudden.

A burst of helium balloon, punctured by Luke's metal straw.

You shrieked. Flinched. And fell.

Flour rained down like snow. A box of penne exploded. The lentils hit the tile like a thousand tiny bullets. Except the tile was underwater — and everything sank, scattered, and swirled into what could only be described as soup. You hit the ground tangled in a tablecloth that had been drying over a chair, splashing like a capsized ship in a sea of your own making. A saucepan bounced once, then rolled.

Luke’s voice piped up from somewhere behind the island: “…she flies through the air, the Boss’s beautiful wife, wings of glory, pasta in her wake…”

“I am not his wife yet!” you howled.

“Nope,” Kieran noted. “But keep this up and you’ll be the reason Boss stays single forever.”

You were covered head to toe in culinary wreckage. Rice in your bra. Penne stuck to your thigh. A tablecloth twisted around your waist like a toga of shame. And standing just past the island, smug as a soap opera villain, was Luke — the one who’d turned a leaky sink into an ecological disaster. 

He was grinning. Still holding a half-deflated pink heart balloon.

You locked eyes. He blinked. You lunged.

“NOPE—!” he yelped, and bolted, scattering flour behind him like smoke from a cartoon getaway.

You grabbed the nearest saucepan and charged.

“YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!”

“I think it’s historic!” Luke squeaked, helium still warping his voice into chipmunk-on-caffeine levels of absurdity.

“You almost killed me!”

“You bounced!” he chirped, skittering backward as you raised the saucepan like a medieval war hammer.

“You popped the balloon on purpose!”

“Science demanded answers!”

“You turned the kitchen into Venice!”

“You’re the one who shoved a duck down the sink!” he squealed, practically wheezing now.

“IT WAS A DELICATE OPERATION—”

“IT WAS A BIOHAZARD,” he shrieked, voice cracking into full cartoon chaos.

You chased him around the kitchen island — water sloshing underfoot, socks soaked, jeans heavy and clinging to your calves. You slipped once in the flood, caught yourself on the counter with a growl, then hurled a wooden spoon like a warning shot. It pinged off his shoulder with a sharp thwack — just enough to make him yelp and speed up.

He skidded around the corner of the prep table, laughing in pure helium-high chaos. “You’re so mad! You’re so cute when you’re mad!”

“I’m gonna crown you with this pan like it’s Excalibur, you little plague.”

He ducked behind a chair.

You faked right, doubled back, and body-checked him as he turned — sending you both crashing into the flood-slicked floor in a splatter of lentils and shame. Water went everywhere. You landed half on top of him, half in a puddle, soaked to the waist and swearing through your teeth as your knee skidded into a floating onion peel.

He wheezed dramatically. “Mercy! I’m just the court jester!”

You raised the saucepan.

“No,” you said sweetly. “You’re the sacrificial goose.”

And with all the dignity of a woman pushed to her limit, you jammed the pot onto his head.

Hard.

BONK.

He squawked inside the metal. “Quack—!”

You gave the edges an extra push, crimping it with both palms like a pastry crust until it wedged on tight.

He flailed. “I CAN’T SEE!”

“You weren’t using your eyes anyway!”

“IT’S DARK IN HERE!”

“GOOD.”

Kieran, still under the sink, gagged on the swampy reek of the drain and muttered, “This is the most effective leadership I’ve seen all week.”

Luke staggered upright, tripped over a bag of dried beans, and stumbled headfirst into the pantry, still yelling “Quack-Quack!” like a demonic toddler trapped in a trash can.

You stood there panting, soaked, hair a mess, one sock gone. The marinade bowl had capsized, the countertop looked like a battlefield, and the floor sloshed with every breath. A spoon floated past like a tiny, defeated boat.

Kieran groaned from under the sink. “I’m disabling the line. If anything explodes, I was never here.”

“Go,” you grunted, waving Kieran off as you turned toward the duck. It was still sitting in its tray on the counter — damp, marinated, mildly accusatory. You grabbed it with all the solemnity of a general sending troops to war, shoved it into the oven, slammed the door, and muttered, “Redemption arc starts now.”

Luke let out a squeak from somewhere behind the pantry, the saucepan still echoing on his head like a helmet of shame. You didn’t even look this time — you just marched toward him, grabbed the sides of the pot, and wrenched it off with the fury of a woman betrayed by every possible element in her own kitchen.

“Put this under the sink,” you snapped, thrusting the pot into his arms. “Catch the fountain. And then scoop.”

“I am not a—” he started.

“—scoop,” you repeated, with full executioner energy.

He obeyed, waddling toward the sink with the pot held like a sacred relic, muttering under his breath in cartoonish despair. You reached for the once-white tablecloth — now steeped in soy, shame, and poor life choices — and dropped to your knees in the puddle. Not to clean. There was no cleaning this. Just to wring it out. One sockless foot sloshed audibly as you shifted. The tablecloth squelched between your hands like it was laughing at you. You wanted to cry. Or scream. Or crawl into the oven with the duck and call it a day.

Kieran, looking like a man who’d just won a duel with Poseidon, finally shut off the main. The next hour and a half passed in soggy penance — you and Luke taking turns scooping floodwater with pots, pans, and whatever wasn’t bolted down. Bit by bit, the tide receded, leaving behind a battlefield of soy trails, bloated pasta, and condiment carnage. 

Kieran dragged in a barrel from the garden (“emergency pickling project,” he said, like that explained anything), and everything — soup, sludge, and the last of your dignity — got dumped there. You considered changing into the dress. A real one. With buttons. But one glance at the twins, the oven, and the duck now sizzling like it had ambitions — and you thought better of it. No way were you leaving the boys alone with poultry and fire. Your stomach growled in agreement.

Kieran side-eyed the sink with deep suspicion. “I think I fixed it,” he said, then pointed a cautious finger. “I’m turning the water back on. If this explodes, I’m telling the Boss it was divine intervention."

That’s when the duck started to… smell.

Not burning. Not yet. But that turning point — when fat starts to push too hard against heat, and the sugar in the glaze threatens to go bitter. The scent went from rich to ominous in seconds.

“Kieran!” you called. “Duck’s turning!”

His voice floated faintly from the back hallway: “WATER’S BACK ON!”

You barely glanced up, busy pulling the duck out of the oven with the reverence of a starving survivor discovering civilization. It glistened. It hissed. It smelled like victory. Your stomach responded with a growl loud enough to echo off the tile.

Behind you, Luke poured the last potful of murky disaster-water into the barrel with a theatrical sigh of relief.

You straightened, turned to Kieran — who was already shaking his boots dry in the hallway.

“Great,” you said, nodding at the swamp you all still technically lived in. “Now bring something to finish the job.”

A vague gesture at the floor. “Anything. Everything. Make it shine. I want to see my sins reflected in it.”

He gave you a dry salute, walked toward the nearest cabinet, and yanked it open like a man on a mission. Thirty seconds in, he straightened up with a glint in his eye and a bottle in his hand.

It was dark glass, sealed in gold, labeled in some faded print that was definitely not English.

“What is that?” you asked suspiciously.

Kieran grinned. “Back-cabinet treasure. Might be Boss’s old flambé stash.”

You narrowed your eyes. “We’re not lighting anything—”

"Chill. Science time," he said, thunking the bottle onto the counter and grabbing a plate. 

You hovered as he drizzled a bit of the syrupy liquid onto the plate, struck a lighter, and—

FOOMPH.

A perfect, beautiful curl of flame.

You blinked. “…Okay, that’s — actually good.”

“Told you.”

You took the bottle. Lifted it over the duck. Poured — slowly, carefully — just a little.

The skin went golden. Sizzled. Glazed to glossy perfection.

You smiled. “Oh my god. It’s working — Kieran, it’s —”

At that exact moment — as if the chaos gods had been bored for a whole thirty seconds — Luke decided it was the perfect time to haul the sloshing barrel of filthy kitchen swamp water back into the garden. 

He lifted it. He tilted it. He tipped it. 

And the moment it lurched, so did Kieran — who lunged to help like some tragic grease-soaked hero. One foot hit a patch of duck-slick water, and the rest was gravity and shame. He crashed straight into the open cupboard under the sink, which took the betrayal personally and collapsed like a Victorian lady. The freshly "fixed" pipe let out a wet pop, and a new geyser of very enthusiastic water erupted with all the joy of plumbing vengeance.

Your eyebrows climbed to your hairline, and every fine hair on the back of your neck stood to attention. You watched in mute horror as the kitchen — once bravely salvaged — began to flood all over again, murky water rising with gleeful malice.

Luke yelped, pointing toward the stove.

You turned — just in time to see the duck, which had previously been golden and glorious, now engulfed in a column of flame tall enough to make the ceiling nervous.

You lunged forward.

The flambé bottle tipped with a mocking wobble, spilling straight into the swamp forming beneath your feet. The pan followed a heartbeat later, flipping end over end before bellyflopping into the puddle like it wanted to die dramatically.

The water caught fire.

You and Luke screamed in unison and scrambled onto the nearest countertops like startled gremlins avoiding divine punishment.

Kieran, ever the survivalist, dove into the open cabinet under the sink and slammed the door shut behind him like a soldier bracing for impact.

And just when it felt like it couldn’t possibly get worse — the fire alarm shrieked. Two seconds later, the ceiling sprinklers erupted, dousing everything in a cold, unforgiving cascade of water.

You didn’t scream. You groaned — a low, guttural, end-of-rope kind of sound.

“It’s water,” you whispered, eyes wide, voice cracking like a dying prayer. “It’s supposed to go out...”

From above, Luke peered down from the top of the kitchen cabinet, hair frizzed out like he’d licked a socket.

“…That might’ve been the exterior use blend,” he offered helpfully.

And then—

The front doors creaked open.

A gust of cooler air swept into the kitchen, briefly disturbing the rising steam, the smell of scorched poultry, and whatever part of your soul had already fled your body.

He appeared in the doorway like a punctuation mark at the end of the world.

Sylus.

Black coat half open. Shirt crisp. Expression unreadable. Rain still clung to the cuffs of his sleeves, like even the weather knew better than to interrupt him.

He stepped into what had once been his kitchen — a space once worthy of a museum of culinary art — and paused.

You didn’t breathe.

He took in:

The flames skimming across the floor like demons doing synchronized swimming in Hell's spa day.

The shattered flambé bottle oozing fire like it was auditioning for a disaster movie.

Luke, crouched on top of the cabinet like a gremlin, clutching the salad spinner like it might absolve him.

Kieran, inside the under-sink cupboard with the door pulled shut, as if drywall could shield him from divine judgment.

And you — perched on the countertop like a feral kitchen goddess mid-sacrifice, hair wild, one sock clinging to dignity, staring at him like you'd just burned down Versailles and wanted notes on your form.

He said absolutely nothing. He just stood there. Then, finally, Sylus inhaled.

“Kitten…” he said, with the exhausted breath of a man too tired to be angry and too furious not to speak. “Was this dinner... or did the Four Horsemen stop by for takeout?”

You swallowed. “I wanted to surprise you.”

He blinked once.

“I am very, very surprised.”

You tried to smile. It came out crooked. “It started off romantic.”

Sylus’s gaze dragged across the battlefield. “And then?”

“…There were developments.”

“I can see that.”

He stepped forward. Slowly. As if expecting the floor to betray him. It squelched.

You flinched. “Okay — don’t be mad—”

He raised a brow, expression blank. “Oh, I’m not mad. I’m just trying to calculate whether Linkon Crisis Council covers emotional trauma caused by fiancées attempting to recreate the Trojan War using poultry.”

“Technically,” you said, shrinking slightly, “only one duck was involved.”

He looked at you. Deadpan.

“Just one,” he repeated.

You nodded.

There was a pause. Just long enough to remember the first duck — the one you’d sent to an early, crispy grave. You nodded again, a touch too firmly this time, as if doing it faster might somehow salvage your dignity.

Then his eyes narrowed. “Where is it?”

“…Floating,” Luke offered helpfully. “Somewhere near the cabinet of lost hope.”

Sylus exhaled through his nose like a man deciding whether spontaneous combustion was a valid coping strategy.

Then he looked back at you. Steady. Quiet.

“You realize,” he said slowly, “I’m going to have to salt the kitchen. Like a cursed site. Maybe call a priest.”

“Noted.”

“And you,” he added, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your chin up, “are never cooking in here again.”

You tried to pout. “Even toast?”

He didn’t blink. “Especially toast.”

“So you’re not mad.”

“I’m livid,” he said calmly, lifting you off the counter like you weighed nothing. “But I’m not letting you walk barefoot through your own war crime.”

You gasped. “I’m fine!”

He raised a brow. “Kitten, remember that time we tracked an SSR-class Wanderer into a no-hunt zone, and you ended up covered in cave dust, ripped your sleeve scaling a comm tower, and dislocated your shoulder punching it in the optic?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

He nodded. “You looked more put-together then.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and carried you — wet, guilty, and still somehow grinning — straight out of the kitchen, past the still-sputtering pipe, tossing a sharp “Kieran, shut it down” over his shoulder like a grenade on a timer.

He carried you out through the garden door in silence. Past the scorched threshold, past the scent of smoked soy and betrayal.

For a second, you blinked against the sudden breeze, mind scrambling.

Wait. Was he... evicting you? Was this how it ended — dumped in the herb patch like a misbehaving housecat?

But before you could ask what in the horticultural hell was happening, he crossed the lawn with the grim purpose of a man about to hose down a crime scene.

And then — he set you down. Gently. In the grass. Like some tragic harvest offering.

“SYLUS!” you gasped, still clinging to his shirt.

He ignored you. Walked over to the side of the tool shed. Turned on the outdoor hose. Lifted the nozzle with terrifying precision —

And blasted you from ankle to scalp in a cold, high-pressure arc of righteous vengeance.

“GAHH—!”

You squealed, spinning in place like a soaked kitten who’d just been baptized in heresy. Your hair flopped into your eyes. Water ran down your back. You flailed. You slipped.

“Stop — stop it—!”

You tried to dodge. He followed. Calm. Efficient. Not even smiling.

“You wanted fire,” he said, voice maddeningly even. “This is balance.”

You lunged for the hose in protest, indignant and dripping. He dodged, of course. Effortlessly. With the reflexes of someone who clearly wrestled war criminals for fun. Then — just as you swore vengeance — he looped the hose around your waist once, then twice, and pulled.

You went stumbling straight into him with a wet thump, every nerve in your body shrieking indignation. He caught you like you were nothing at all. Warm. Steady. Unbothered.

Behind you, what was left of the kitchen flood trickled into the rose bushes. And, as your soaked shirt clung to his chest, it occurred to you that for the first time in hours…

…his house didn’t have a single drop of water left in it. Except, apparently, in the garden. And you.

“When I leave,” he murmured into your ear, breath warm and infuriating, “I clearly need to tie you up. For public safety.”

You were shaking now — not from rage, but from the cold. Your teeth chattered. Your fingers clenched in his shirt.

He paused. And just like that, the heat in him changed.

He dropped the hose. Silence.

Then — gentle. Quick. Fluid — he peeled his shirt off over his head, wrapped it around your shoulders, and lifted you back into his arms, this time with no protest, no force.

You curled into him instinctively.

He didn’t speak again until you passed through the back doors and he was carrying you upstairs. Not a word. Just the steady rhythm of his breath and your heartbeat thudding against his shoulder. You didn’t know if he was furious or resigned or about to call the national emergency hotline and declare a domestic code red.

Instead, he set you down in the hallway, dripping, barefoot, and blinking at the sudden warmth.

“Go change,” he said simply, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek. “Before I hand you over to the fire department as evidence.”

He turned, disappeared down the stairs.

You changed quickly — dry clothes, clean skin, wrapped in one of his soft cotton pullovers that still smelled like expensive cologne and accidental forgiveness. When you padded back down barefoot, the scent of smoke had faded. Mostly.

The kitchen... looked almost normal. A bit too shiny in places. A few new scorch marks on the far wall. 

Kieran and Luke stood elbow-deep in soap bubbles, suspiciously well-behaved. Kieran glanced up and winced. Luke saw you, gave you a sheepish wave —

Then broke into a huge grin and threw you a thumbs-up. You squinted.

“Why is he smiling?”

“Don’t ask,” Kieran muttered.

Before you could press, Sylus appeared at your side, as if conjured by dry wit and exhaustion. He took your hand — gently, like you might try to make another kitchen combust — and led you out to the waiting car.

You looked back once. Luke blew you a kiss. Kieran mouthed, run while you still can.

Sylus helped you into the passenger seat with a soft sigh, shut the door, and climbed in beside you. He didn’t say anything for the first few streets. The city blurred past in late-afternoon gold. Then:

“I was gone for six hours.”

You glanced at him.

He looked ahead, face unreadable. “Six. Hours.”

“Technically, it started fine,” you said.

“No. No, it didn’t.”

“There was a plan.”

“There was a flood.”

“Only because the sink didn’t have a disposal.”

“Because you shoved an entire duck down it.”

You scowled. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You roasted a duck in a flaming puddle of floor soup.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re not gonna marry me now, are you? Just because I can’t cook.”

Sylus’s mouth twitched. “That’s not the worst of your flaws.”

You gasped. “Excuse me—!”

He reached over, casually laced his fingers with yours.

“You don’t just not cook. You destroy infrastructure. You violate the Geneva Conventions of domestic appliances. But…” he looked at you, side-glance soft now, voice quiet, “you did it because you wanted to surprise me.”

You deflated. Just a little.

“I wanted it to be romantic.”

He parked in front of the hotel — a high-end private tower you’d never even noticed before. The doorman opened your door. Sylus ignored him.

“You’re going to shower,” he said, voice slipping into command again. “A long, hot one. While I figure out how to rebuild a kitchen from ashes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are we staying here?”

He looked at the sky. “Unless you’d like to sleep on a countertop covered in caramelized soy glue.”

You were still grumbling when the suite door clicked shut behind you. The shower steamed the mirrors. The robe was comically plush — full hotel luxury. You padded out barefoot, towel around your hair, haloed in warmth.

And stopped dead. On the table: dinner.

Steam curled from a silver cloche. A bottle of wine rested in an ice bath. And in the center — carved, plated, perfect: Peking. Duck.

You narrowed your eyes. “You — you ordered this.”

Sylus was by the window, immaculate as ever — hair flawless, suit crisp, a wineglass poised in one hand. He looked like a luxury ad for danger and disapproval. And next to him, you felt like a half-drowned feral kitten someone had hosed off just enough to be allowed indoors.

You scowled. “I hate you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He crossed the room, took your hand again, and pulled you into his lap as he sat. The robe slipped open slightly. His fingers skimmed under the hem, along the back of your thigh, warm against your clean skin.

“You had my card,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “You could’ve ordered it. From anywhere. Best in the city.”

“I wanted to do it myself.”

“I know.” His lips brushed your jaw. “And I’d still burn the house again if it meant getting here.”

You turned to kiss him — deep, slow, shameless. He tasted like red wine and something even older. His hand wrapped in your hair. Your legs shifted around him.

Somewhere across the room, the duck sighed.

Forgotten. Cooling.

Probably grateful it didn’t end up as test subject number three.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Dolly VII

~ part 7 of the Dolly series

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: smut, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: you, being a tech-savvy person, decide to get one of the new sex dolls on the market. with your skills and brains you manage to unlock the doll's secret and make a perfect plan on how to discover the secrets of the doll's maker too.

wc: 8.2k

warnings: oral (f and m), somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampies

a/n: i've never been to an observatory so idk how things go there and i couldn't find a detailed description of the experience so i just winged it, don't come at me if you've been to one

~ divider by @bunnysrph

"Fuck yes!" you laughed, lifting your fist up in the air triumphantly. You were so early.

Following the latest technology advancements and even working on some of your own led you down into a deep dive and you had heard rumors here and there about something completely new and different coming out soon. And now they were finally here for the public to enjoy.

Sex dolls.

But no, they weren't regular dolls that were made of plastic. The site claimed that they were made out of newly discovered materials that made them feel human, made them able to heat up, get hard, cum. In your years of being a programmer and hacker you have never heard of such a thing.

You scrolled through the entire site, of course they were made by BIMT. They were known for their discoveries in robotics and artificial intelligence. But they were also shady. Their founder, Helena died mysteriously and any ex employee kept their mouth shut when asked about their job. You saw the interviews and read articles before. You saw the glint of fear in those people's eyes, like they were threatened to be silent with death.

You already tried looking into it before, you were always a curious cat and you always did your research, sometimes even illegally but hey, what has to be done...

BIMT hid their tracks very well, even their official site was impenetrable no matter how many times you tried hacking into it. There was no revealing documents, pictures or interviews anywhere, not even on the deep dark web. You couldn't even find anything about it after hacking into social media accounts of ex workers. It made you even more intrigued. You always loved a good challenge.

And the dolls being made by them was just the stroke of luck you needed. Excitedly, you scrolled through each dolly profile. It was so hard to decide, but one of the dolls caught your eye more than the others.

Jisung, the nerdy doll. You thought he was just like you, a smarty-pants, the person who knows the answer to almost anything, brain full of fun facts and finger ready to lift up and say 'actually!' before you start explaining to someone why their claims are wrong based on this and that.

Yes, he had to be yours.

Not even a week later, your package arrived and you were practically bouncing off of your walls and climbing up your ceiling. You ripped the paper off the box eagerly before opening it and gasping.

"Oh you are even more beautiful in person!" your hands instantly flew to the doll's body as you explored it. "Does feel human." you nodded to yourself and leaned in to inspect his face.

With eyes opened and frozen you had to admit, Jisung looked a bit creepy no matter how pretty he was made to be.

"Time to dissect." you wiggled your eyebrows and pulled Jisung up in a sitting position. "Perfect."

Your fingers brushed over the little usb opening, almost missing the paper that slipped down. You grabbed it and started reading.

Hello,

my name is Jisung and I am your nerdy doll.

I love music, singing, dancing, rapping, watching anime and reading comics. Maybe I have too many hobbies? But I am happy to share them with you!

Please take good care of me, sometimes I feel down and alone and will need your comfort and presence.

Hope you will love me as much as I love you.

"Versatile little guy, aren't you?" you smirked, playing with his hair a little. "I think you and I will get along perfectly."

You scooped your dolly up and brought him to your room, placing him down on your bed before going back to grab the manual. You skimmed over it, nodding every now and then in surprise. This really was some kind of never before seen technology. You wondered how BIMT managed to produce the dolls and what else they made that no one knew about.

Being a programmer, you knew stuff like this was the result of trial and error. You kept thinking about how they actually got to here and what they had to do to make something as advanced as the doll on your bed.

"Let's see what you got, pretty boy." you smirked as you stood in front of Jisung. You gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing maybe the most lean waist you've ever seen.

"Wow." you gasped. "Yeah, you're not real." you chuckled, placing your hand on his chest. Your fingers twitched against him, he felt real, like a real human being. And he was warming up under your touch.

Your hand slid down, touching his chest, his nipples that seemed to become more pebbled the more you ran your fingertips over them.

"Look at that." you giggled before sliding your hand down until you got to his jeans. You noticed a small piece of paper sticking from the pocket.

"What's this?" you pulled it out and opened it.

My baby!

I am so excited for our first date!

I might be a little shy at first though. Hopefully you will still enjoy our first night together.

"Oh, I'll enjoy." you smirked, seeing the bulge that was straining against his pants. You unbuttoned them and pulled the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Your fingers wrapped around his clothed length and you palmed him over his boxers. He twitched in your hand and you gasped.

"I'll discover your secrets, Jisung. But first let's have some fun, shall we?" you smirked, thinking how the doll should be used for what it was essentially made for. Why not have a little fun with it before you actually hack into it?

You slid his boxers down and his length slapped against his stomach, red and dripping, ready for you.

"Wow." you gasped, he was big and shaped perfectly. You couldn't wait to try him out so you stripped out of your clothes, throwing them haphazardly anywhere they landed in your room. Jisung was propped against your pillow in a half-sitting position and you crawled on the bed, hovering over his chest as you chuckled.

Why did it seem like his eyes were sparkling? Like they were trained on your pussy? Like he was actually seeing you before him?

"You want this?" you smirked, your fingers sliding on your folds then back up as you spread them before placing one finger on your clit and playing with it. Your dolly blushed at your ministrations and you gasped.

"What the fuck?" you chuckled in disbelief as you leaned over his face and tried to take a better look at him, to see if he was breathing, blinking, moving, anything. But it seemed like his heart wasn't beating at all. It's probably just a feature the dollies have, you thought to yourself as you continued touching your wet folds and playing with your clit.

"You have pretty hands, little dolly." you smirked, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to your breast. "Mm." you moaned as you moved against it, his skin was smooth and warm and it felt so good against yours. Your other hand was still between your legs and you slowly pushed two fingers inside your pussy, moaning at the feeling while staring at Jisung's face. The look on the doll's face was so sweet, almost innocent and you couldn't help but think if he was a real man, you'd definitely fall for him, he seemed just your type.

After a few minutes of playing with yourself, you were starting to lose patience the more you stared at Jisung, he was so alluring. You slid down to hover over his cock before grabbing the base of it and pressing the tip on your wet folds.

"Fuck." you groaned, throwing your head back. He felt so real, so perfect and you slid down slowly, taking his length in until he bottomed out inside you and you sat on him, squirming around to adjust. He filled you up like no one else and your eyes rolled back as soon as you started fucking on him.

A string of curses left your lips while you bounced up and down on him, getting his heavy cock more wet with each movement as you kept squeezing around him. You braced your hands on his defined chest and fucked him harder, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot and making you groan loudly as your eyes watered from arousal.

Your thighs started burning, legs tingling as a sheen of sweat covered your body while you kept fucking Jisung harder, noticing his face was becoming even more red.

"You enjoying, dolly?" you smirked between moans and clenched around him, forgetting that with your doll's sensitivity he could cum just from that. And that is exactly what happened, without warning he twitched and exploded inside you, making you gasp and clench even harder around him. The wetness and warmth made your eyes roll back and you followed after him, cumming around his cock and riding your high as long as you could.

"Tsk. Naughty dolly." you chuckled, pinching his cheek. "Wow, your face is warm." you added, pressing your palm against his heated skin. You leaned down and kissed his lips, they were so soft and for some reason tasted like cherries. Your lips kept pressing into his, before moving onto his cute puffy cheeks and placing more sweet kisses there.

"Hey!" a giggle escaped your lips when you felt him getting hard inside you again. "I'd love to but my thighs hurt." you pouted before sliding off of him. "My jaw is fine though." you winked at the doll before sliding down and coming closer to his cock, wet with yours and his juices. With a shrug, you pressed your tongue against him and gave him one long lick from the base to the tip, tasting yourself and again, something like cherries mixed with it.

"What are you made of? Fruit?" you let out another giggle before leaning in again and wrapping your lips around his tip. You sucked lightly, moaning and enjoying the taste and feeling of him. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't take in your mouth as you slid as far down as you could and started moving your head up and down on Jisung's cock. Your eyes fluttered shut and you got into a rhythm, moaning and swallowing around him because he tasted so good.

It didn't take long for your dolly to explode again, this time painting your mouth with his warm cum and you swallowed every last sweet drop of him. You leaned up and kissed him again before leaving the room to take a quick shower. You didn't bother to put anything else but a short robe on when you came back to clean up your dolly too.

"Now. Let's see what you are made of."

You lifted him and put him in your chair before taking the usb cable and connecting it into the back of his neck and then into your computer. After opening the terminal and typing out a few lines of code, you were in.

"Hah!" you laughed. BIMT might've shut their ex employees up and they made sure no one could find dirt about them or hack into any site they made but they probably never thought that someone would actually hack into one of the dolls.

"What kind of code is this?" you gasped a little as you looked at lines and lines of code that your dolly was made from. It was definitely some advanced programming language but still it was readable, and to someone who did this for life it wasn't hard to understand after taking some time to look at it and read it out.

You saw that it had some type of advanced AI implemented inside it, some kind of genetic algorithm carrying the unique DNA of your Jisung dolly. It wasn't like any other genetic algorithm you worked with before and it was clear to you that this technology was far ahead of its time.

"How the fuck?" you shook your head, scrolling through the lines of code, seeing that a lot of the features the doll had were 'turned off' before getting to a line where there was a loop holding the factory reset button.

Should you do it? Reset the doll and see what happens?

You turned towards Jisung and looked at his face, your eyes searching his glassy ones. You saw there were features of the doll talking, laughing, even something about his heart beating. You suspected that he was actually 'alive'. You felt like you were in some kind of science fiction movie as your finger hovered over the left mouse button.

"Fuck it." you said and clicked it.

For a few moments, nothing happened until you noticed all the lines with features changing rapidly before your eyes. You jumped a little and looked at Jisung again. He was still for a moment before his eyes watered and then his face became red as he fought for air. He blinked a few times and then took a deep, painful breath in, his eyes became wide and his hand grabbed at his chest.

It looked like your dolly was alive after all.

Jisung looked around before his eyes landed on you and his hand flew to the usb pressed into his skin. With fearful eyes he stared at you and gasped.

"W-who are you?" he asked, backing away in the chair as you stared at him with mouth agape.

"Um, y/n. I bought you?"

"I... I was sold?" Jisung's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Why would Mother sell me?"

"Mother?"

"Why am I naked?!" he screamed suddenly, trying to cover himself up with his hands as his face became incredibly red.

"We just had sex? Or I fucked you. You're a sex doll? You don't remember anything?"

Jisung frowned again, pressing his lips together as his eyes moved left and right for a few moments before they widened.

"Yes, I remember now what happened." his cheeks were rosy again. "Can you please give me my clothes? I'm... embarrassed."

"Sure." you stood up to grab his boxers and Jisung saw a glimpse of your core as you moved around, quickly looking away as he started heating up.

"Here." you gave him his underwear and he managed to put them on while still sitting in the chair.

"Why am I hooked to your computer?" Jisung asked and you got closer to the screen and observed the code, seeing something you had never seen before in your life.

Under all the lines, new lines kept appearing as if the code was writing itself while Jisung spoke, thought or took in a breath. It was like a brain, doing all the things that would keep a human being alive and let them do all the things they do so easily.

"This is fascinating!" you kept gawking at the code.

"Please... I don't wanna be hooked to any more machines." Jisung whispered and you turned to look at him again.

"I'm sorry." you tilted your head before unhooking him from the cable and he winced, grabbing at his neck and you watched in real time as his skin grew over the opening.

"What the-" you kept chuckling in disbelief. But despite you being in shock, it was Jisung who stared at you like you were the weird one.

"You look confused. What's the last thing you remember, Jisung?" you asked and he bit on his lip, gulping as his eyes fixated on your cleavage.

"Hey, buddy!" you snapped your fingers with a chuckle. "Eyes up here." you pointed to your face and he sputtered a little.

"The last thing I remember? You-"

"No, before coming here." it was your turn to blush.

"Ugh. I remember my brothers and our Mother. She made us come to life. She loved us, she would never sell us." he quickly shook his head, getting upset. You reached out slowly and placed your hand over his and Jisung looked up at you with wide, shiny eyes.

"Do you know her name?"

"Mother? Isn't that her name?" he pouted a little, looking like a kid waiting to be praised for the right answer.

"Wait a sec." you said and googled Helena Bang, showing him a picture of her. "Is this mother?"

"Yes! Yes, that's her!" Jisung smiled and nodded.

"Jisung, I'm sorry but... but she is gone. She died a few years ago."

"W-what? What do you mean? That can't be true! She was there with us, teaching us everything and reading us books and, and-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. I didn't mean to upset you." you rolled you chair closer to Jisung's and took his hands in yours. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, sniffling as he tried to understand just what you were saying to him.

"Look, obviously something happened in between and someone wiped your memory." you tried soothing him, drawing circles with your thumbs into his skin. "But don't worry, you came to the right hands because I will help you remember everything and discover what is happening in BIMT." you nodded and Jisung exhaled.

"Okay. I trust you. You're really pretty." he said with rosy cheeks and you laughed.

"You trust me cause I'm pretty?"

"No, I trust you because... because I have a feeling I should. And you're also pretty." he looked down and you giggled, leaning in and kissing his cheek softly.

"You're pretty too." you whispered in his ear.

"T-thank you." he stuttered, playing with his fingers.

"Now tell me everything you remember. Don't leave any minor details out." you said and Jisung began talking.

"We looked different before, when we were first made. We spent a lot of time in these big tanks filled with some kind of liquid. They called them 'incubators' and they would take us out and hook us to some kind of machines. They did something to us, I couldn't see what but I could feel it. I think- I think they were adding skin and other parts...and it hurt. A lot. But after that we were transported to this big mansion and we lived there with Mother. She took care of us, she taught us everything and she read books to us and played games with us. We spent time in the garden of the house a lot. Chan, Changbin and I had a lot of fun in the house gym, but Changbin spent lots of time there. And there was a pool, I'd hang out there with Felix and Hyunjin. And Hyunjin also loved the garden a lot. Seungmin too! And the library, Seungmin would sit in the library a lot, reading all the books Mother had there! Jeongin spent a lot of time in the game room playing videogames with Seungmin and Felix. And Minho really loved cooking and taking care of the cats in the mansion. We had a wonderful time together. I remember we would grill in the backyard and I had a guitar, we all sang together. I- I don't know what happened after that." Jisung hugged himself. "All I remember is a feeling. A deep seated feeling of angst and fear. Something happened to us, we were separated. From each other and from Mother. We went to sleep. And then I woke up here."

"So, Helena did make all of you." you smirked, looking up the current CEO of the institute. "And this bastard decided to completely turn everything around and make money in such a dirty way, making himself look like a genius who made you." you shook your head in disbelief. "Do you remember him?"

Jisung shook his head with wide, innocent eyes.

"Don't worry, Jisung. I'll get to the bottom of this."

-

After a proper shower and meal, Jisung seemed to be more calm than earlier as he wandered around your apartment, brushing his fingers against your furniture and decorations.

"You don't have a garden? Or a library? A gym? A pool?" he looked at you expectantly and you let out a cackle, now dressed in your comfy pjs and ready to relax before sleep.

"That's something only rich people have. Here, I have a balcony. Come." you beckoned him with your hand and he followed. You opened the door to your balcony, taking a deep breath in, the fresh breeze of an early summer evening caressing your skin.

Jisung took in a deep breath too and cautiously placed his palms on the railing before looking down.

"Wow. It's really high up." he said and you stood next to him.

"Does it scare you?" you put your hand next to his.

"It's just a little... uncomfortable. But I like the plants you put here." Jisung smiled at the few flower and plant pots you had all around your balcony.

"Then don't look down, look up." you took his hand and pulled him to the little bench and table you had placed there. "You can see the stars from my balcony."

Jisung's eyes widened a little as he scanned the sky, a small smile twitching on his lips as you observed him.

"You seem fascinated." you said as he stayed silent.

"I've always loved the stars, felt like they held answers to any question. I begged Mother to take us to an observatory so we can look at the sky together. She always said it was too dangerous to leave the house and that it's not time yet. She said we had to wait for the right time to leave, to be independent."

"You still wanna do that?" you smiled and he looked at you, nodding quickly.

"I'll take you then."

Jisung gasped, his body jolting in excitment. "Really?!"

"Yes, I've never been to one either. I think it would be something fun to see." you said and he kept nodding the entire time, making you chuckle.

"Are you tired?" he asked when you yawned.

"Yes and I have lots to do tomorrow. I'm working on a big project for work and I also want to look more into your code." you said and Jisung shivered a little.

"You're gonna hook me up to your computer again?" he pouted.

"I'm afraid that's the only way to find out more." you chewed on your lip.

"Do you think my brothers are in danger?" he asked then, frowning in thought.

"They could be. But no one bought them yet."

"Can you?" he asked and you chuckled.

"What I had saved up I spent on you. I got nothing left. But I could call a friend. You said Chan was the first doll made, right?" you asked, standing up and Jisung nodded.

"Then I know what to do." you reached your hand to him. "But now, let's go to sleep."

Jisung took your hand and let you lead him back to your room.

"We are sleeping together?" he asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes and embarrassment painted on his cheeks.

"Of course." you smirked a little and pulled him down on the bed with you.

With his cute face and pretty eyes, Jisung managed to steal a few kisses from you before he fell asleep in your arms.

Jisung woke up when it was still dark outside, the sky still full of stars albeit a little less shiny now as the sun was supposed to rise soon. He looked at your sleeping frame, reaching his hand to gently touch your cheek, his fingertips on your skin. He played with your hair before putting it behind your ear. He's never seen someone as beautiful as you and he never felt this sort of excitement, like butterflies and fire inside him for anyone else but you.

Jisung's face flushed when he realized he was aroused by your presence and warmth. He had no idea what to do, should he wake you up or just ignore it? He squirmed in place, accidentally grazing against your bare thigh. A moan left his lips and he couldn't help himself, pressing against you again and dragging his clothed length against your soft skin. His hands gripped at your hip and his eyes closed as he whimpered quietly. The movements and sounds made you snap out of your dreams and your eyes fluttered open.

"Jisung?" you whispered and he froze.

"I'm- I'm sorry Y/n. It's just-" you chuckled, shutting him up with a sleepy kiss as your hands traveled down.

"Take what you need." you smirked after getting rid of your shorts and underwear. He gasped a little as you grabbed his wrist and led his hand between your legs.

"You feel that? For you." you smirked, eyes closed as his fingers explored your wet folds. You pushed his boxers down slowly and pulled him in closer to you, your brain foggy and turned on after sleep. Jisung slotted his hips between yours and gripped your thighs, spreading your legs more before grabbing his cock and sinking it into you. Both of you moaned, hands grabbing desperately at each other.

"Y-you make me feel like I'm burning." he buried his face in the crook of your neck and a breathless chuckle escaped your lips. Jisung whined, gripping at you as he started dragging his cock against your walls slowly, fitting perfectly inside you.

"J-Jisung... Feels so good." you whimpered, arching up into him.

"Yeah, baby?" his lips pressed into your flushed cheek as he fucked you slowly and deeply.

"Yeah, perfect." you gasped, your hands roaming on his back, up and down his smooth skin, feeling the defined muscles.

"You're perfect too. So warm." Jisung whimpered, speeding up just a little as he lifted your shirt up, exposing your breasts to him. He bit on his lip and you moaned, arching into him and encouraging him to touch you so he placed his hands on your breasts, squeezing them and playing with your nipples. Your legs wrapped around him as your hands kept roaming on his skin, his lips on your neck and chest, his body swaying into yours until you were brought to climax together.

"Wow." Jisung smiled, laying his cheek on your chest and looking up at you.

"It's much more fun when you're not just lying there." you joked, poking his cheek.

He pouted and frowned, swatting your hand away. "For me, it was fun to just watch you too."

"I'm sure it was." you giggled, wiggling out of his hold and getting up. "We got work to do."

Jisung whined but followed you to the bathroom. After a shower and breakfast you picked up your phone a called a friend. She lived a little out of town and was enthusiastic about technology in her own way. She was a little older than you and used to do research for BIMT while Helena was still alive but any time you asked her something about it, she'd shut you down, never quite giving you any straight answers. She was an intelligent woman but paranoid that people were listening in to her conversations so she moved away from everyone, changing her life into something more simpler, more close to nature.

You told her everything and heard the gasps she let out, the murmurs of disbelief.

"So, can you take Chan? I think we might have a chance of helping the dolls if you do. Since Jisung was 'sleeping' and supposed to just be used as a sex doll, then the other dolls might be struggling too. I don't think it's right. Maybe they're not completely human... but their heart is beating. They hurt, they feel. They think. They don't deserve to be mistreated." you talked as you paced around your kitchen, Jisung's head following your body as it moved left and right over and over again.

A deep exhale on the other side of the phone.

"Fine. I'll help them. I will take Chan."

Satisfied with the answer, you thanked your friend and hung up.

"Everything is going according to plan, Sungie." you smirked, grabbing his cheeks and smushing them, making his lips pop as he whined.

"You're adorable." you chuckled and kissed him as he blushed profusely, grabbing at your waist.

"Now I gotta actually work and after that I will look at your code." you said.

"What shall I do until then?" he asked and you chuckled.

"You can watch tv. Or read. I mean I'm sure you can find something interesting to do while I work."

Jisung nodded and you watched him make his way to the living room before you walked into your room and sat at your desk.

-

A few hours later, Jisung walked into your room and stared at you sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers.

"Yes?" you chuckled, turning to look at him.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Are you?" you asked back and he nodded, his cheeks rosy. "I will order some food for us."

It didn't take long for your lunch to arrive and the two of you decided to take advantage of the nice weather and eat out on the balcony.

"Y/n?" Jisung said after some time, his cheeks puffy as he ate and you chuckled at his cuteness.

"Yes?"

"Can we take a walk?"

"Oh! Of course. We can do whatever we want." you nodded with a smile.

"Really? Mother never let us leave the property around her mansion. It was too dangerous. That's what she always said." he shivered a little.

"Nothing will hurt you here, I promise." you reached for his hand and he melted.

"I trust you."

"Good, then let's get some fresh air."

Jisung was almost like a child, pointing at everything, happy to be out and about, by your side as you held his hand and took him to your favorite ice cream place, down the familiar streets of the city and to your favorite park.

By the time you got home, night was falling and he was exhausted. You didn't have the heart to hook him up to a computer again, letting him rest in your bed as you sat at your desk and researched the code you copy-pasted from him.

You were getting closer to understanding it. Maybe even close enough to make some tweaks of your own, write a few more lines that would help you understand more so you could help the dolls free themselves.

"Challenge accepted."

A few weeks later, you were able to read the code, it was not that hard for you to get there since you've been doing this for years. You made progress with Jisung, he was willing to cooperate, helping saving his brothers was the only thing on his mind. He was smart too, knowing some things you didn't and that helped you understand some of the programming too.

Somehow he knew that the usb opening reveals itself with a press of his fingerprint over the spot. That's how you managed to plug him into your computer every few days, you didn't want him to feel like that was your only goal, to pick away at his mind. You wanted him to be happy, to you he was human and you had to admit you were starting to fall in love with him more and more each day.

"Jisung, look!" you called out to him one day as you scrolled on your phone while he read some manga, both of you having a chill afternoon.

"What?" he scooted closer to you, looking down at your phone.

"All the dolls have been sold out! I mean... your brothers." you grimaced and he sighed.

"That... was fast. But we know where Chan is?"

"We do. You want to go see him?" you asked and Jisung nodded.

"I will try to convince my friend to let us visit her. She is so paranoid that she never gives her address to anyone. I bet she had Chan picked up somewhere else so she doesn't give away her info. She barely gave me her phone number!" you threw your hands up in frustration.

"Please, try it! I really want to see him!" Jisung clung to you with a hopeful expression.

"Of course." you smiled, softening when you looked into his eyes.

You leaned in and kissed him gently as you wrapped your arms around him and his wrapped around you, pulling you closer into his heated body. You deepened the kiss, your tongue playing with his, a fire burning up inside your body.

As the kiss kept getting more heated, you sat up and pressed your hands on Jisung's chest but he grabbed your wrists gently and leaned back, looking at you lust filled eyes.

"Let me." he whispered and took the lead, pushing you against the couch and leaning in to kiss your neck. You let out a moan, your head falling back as you gripped at him. His hands roamed on your body slowly, mapping you out and squeezing a few times as he kissed and nipped at your skin.

"You're so beautiful." his lips trembled against your skin as he lowered them to your cleavage.

"Jisung." you moaned, hands tangling in his hair as he squeezed your hips. He whimpered at the sound of his name sounding so sinful when it spilled from your lips. He slid the straps of your top down, staring at your breast popping out with almost a fascinated look.

You arched into him and his hands gripped your thighs, lips attaching to your skin again, kissing the swell of your breast to your nipple before swiping his tongue over it, making you tremble and tug at his hair. Jisung kept repeating his actions, alternating between licking and sucking on both your nipples, his eyes closed as he enjoyed. You ran your hands over his shoulders and back, pressing your fingertips into his defined muscles.

His fingers inched closer to your core, brushing against the warmness over your shorts. Your breath got caught in your throat and he looked up at you before sliding down on his knees between your legs.

"Let me taste you, baby." he smirked a little, pulling you closer as he hooked his arms around your thighs and leaned in to press a kiss to your core.

"Fuck, Jisung!" you moaned, hips lifting up towards him as you hooked your fingers in your shorts. You started sliding them down with your underwear and Jisung helped, pulling them off of you completely before gripping your inner thighs and spreading your legs more.

He groaned and stuck his tongue out, licking a fat stripe over your folds to your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

"Ah!" you jolted, gripping his hair harshly and tugging on it, making him moan into you and suck at you harder. His tongue prodded at your entrance and you whimpered, pushing his head into you and Jisung spread your pussy with his tongue, tasting you, lapping at you. Your legs were trembling and closing around his head as you neared your climax, your fingers tugging at his hair. Jisung moaned into you, fucking you with his tongue faster, eating you out like he's been craving to taste your essence his entire life. Your thighs almost crushed his head when you came, his name leaving your lips in a loud moan as your body shook.

Jisung whined loudly too, licking at you until you pushed him away, feeling overstimulated.

"Fucking hell." you exhaled and looked down at him to see him completely disheveled, his hair messy, eyes hazy and lips glistening with your release.

"Please, it hurts." he whimpered.

"What hurts, baby?" you gasped a little, leaning over him to take a better look at him. He moaned desperately, palming the prominent bulge in his sweats, it was straining against the fabric, wanting to be freed and buried inside you.

"Come here, Sungie." you helped him up and then hooked your fingers in his pants, sliding them down with his underwear. His cock slapped against his stomach heavily, dripping only for you.

You reached towards him and he gripped your wrist gently.

"Don't." he shook his head. "If you touch me, I'll cum." he said, his cheeks becoming red in embarrassment as he shut his eyes tightly and attempted to calm down just a little. You waited, looking at him endearingly, it was adorable just how desperate he was for you.

He opened his eyes suddenly and pushed you down, making you gasp in surprise and delight as he spread your legs wide, his hands running up and down your thighs for a few moments. You whined and got rid of your top and Jisung got rid of his shirt, not wanting anything to be in between you. He hovered over you, grabbing his cock and running the tip on your wet folds.

You arched your body into his, your hands coming up to touch his shoulders and arms. Jisung's eyes fluttered as he slowly pushed in, filling you up to the brim. He pressed his body against yours as you embraced him, wrapping your legs around him. After savoring the moment, Jisung's hands gripped at your hips as he started moving inside you.

"Mm... Y/n, you feel so good. So perfect for me." he whimpered and you gripped at his upper back.

"You're perfect for me too, Sungie. Harder, please!" you whined, lifting up into him, trying to match his rhythm. Jisung brought his hips into yours harder as both of you gripped at each other, pressing closer and closer together like you wanted to melt into one person.

"I love you." Jisung moaned out into your ear as he clutched at your hips, enough to leave bruises. You gasped as he rutted into you desperately, the words that left his lips made you clench.

"I love you, Jisung!" you whimpered and he unravelled, exploding inside you and riding his high as he fucked his cum deeper into you, making you clench as you finished around him, your entire body burning up. There were tears in his eyes and you grabbed his face and kissed him sloppily, still trying to catch your breath and come back to your body. He pulled out of you and laid on top of you as you held each other, just enjoying the moment.

"You really love me?" Jisung looked up at you after some time. You couldn't help but giggle at his cute face.

"I love you so much." you hugged him tightly, it was more than just words, it was a promise.

-

"Hey there, friend! How's everything going with your dolly? Did you wake him up yet?" you asked, after calling your friend who ordered Chan dolly.

"Not yet. I'm scared to." your friend answered.

"Just do as I did. He'll wake up just like Jisung did. And speaking of Jisung, he really wants to see Chan."

"I- I don't know about that. What if you get followed here?" you recognized the panic in her voice. "I don't want them to find me."

"Who is 'them'?" you asked for the hundreth time, knowing she'd never answer.

"I can't say. They may be listening, may know Channie is here. I can't risk it anymore, I can't!"

"Please, just calm down! We need to help the dolls, and no one can do it but us, do you understand that? I know that you're scared but trust me, okay?" you pleaded with her.

A long exhale from the other side and rustling sounds as she moved around.

"Alright. But if something happens-"

"Nothing will happen. Well, nothing bad. I promise."

You sighed after hanging up, hoping she would just wake Chan up already so she could get information out of him too.

"So, any luck?" Jisung came into your room, a bowl of ice cream in his hands.

"Nope." you shook your head and he whined, digging into the ice cream with his spoon.

"What are we going to do now?" he asked and you rubbed his arm soothingly.

"Let it unfold. I believe she will come to her senses and do what I asked of her."

"You have lots of belief in people." Jisung noted.

"Not all people. Just ones I feel I can trust. Anyways, why are you not dressed?" you crossed your arms and looked at Jisung expectantly, with a teasing glint in your eyes.

"Dressed?"

"For the surprise I have for you." you pouted and he gasped, standing up immediately.

"That's today?! Fuck, I'll be ready in 10!"

You chuckled at him as you watched him running around clumsily and getting ready. You left him to it as you went to the bathroom to finish your makeup. Jisung walked in later, just as you were adding some last touches. His arms wrapped around you, his chin on your shoulder as his eyes found yours in the reflection of the mirror.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked and you smirked a little.

"I'm not saying." you teased and Jisung pouted.

"Okay but I won't stop bothering you about it." he poked your side and you wiggled out of his arms with a chuckle.

"Listen, we are going somewhere you've always wanted to go."

Jisung knew just what you were referring to and he decided to stop asking questions and instead he gave you a soft kiss of appreciation, excitement building up inside his body as you led him out of the apartment and to your car.

The observatory was a little out of town and the drive there was cozy, you were playing a chill summery playlist as Jisung pulled the window down and closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze, the fresh air and smells of nature around you. The night was so calm and quiet, instead of it being eerie, you felt excitement building up inside you as you neared the observatory. When you parked, you already noticed that without all the light pollution from the city, the stars were more luminous and visible.

"Wow! It's so pretty already." Jisung exclaimed when you got out of the car and you chuckled at his enthusiasm.

"It is." you looked around in wonder before walking up the path to the observatory, Jisung's hand finding yours as you entwined your fingers together. There were a few other people there and the little tour started with a short presentation and walk around the exhibition of planets and the history surrounding their discovery, along with stories and facts about other space phenomena. Jisung was gasping every now and then, practically vibrating with excitement next to you that he almost forgot how to walk a few times, tripping over his legs and blushing when you squeezed his hand and giggled at him.

You were excited too, waiting for the main course of the evening, looking through a real telescope and seeing all the planets up close, well as close as you could. Soon, you were lead to the telescopes and seeing the planets was nothing like you thought it would be. For some reason, the shapes and colors on the planets felt familiar after seeing so many high quality pictures that were taken of them. But, at the same time seeing the celestial bodies with a professional telescope made you realize that they are actually up there, that they have mass and actually exist, not just as pictures. It was a feeling you couldn't describe and Jisung was equally as if not even more mesmerized by the experience.

As the tour ended and you got back to your car Jisung couldn't stop babbling about everything you saw. You couldn't help the fond smile that spread on your face as you watched him so happy and animated.

It made your chest warm.

"Do you think someone else lives up there, with a telescope of their own watching Earth?" Jisung asked when the two of you laid in bed that night, embracing each other.

"Maybe they do. We'll never know, I guess." you said, running your fingers through his hair.

"Maybe they come visit us one day." Jisung smiled and looked up at you, his cheek pressed against your chest.

"I hope it'll be a peaceful visit." you said and Jisung agreed, his eyes fluttering shut as you soothed him with your touch.

Two weeks later, Jisung was still doodling planets the two of you looked at as you made breakfast when your phone started ringing. You grabbed it and saw it was an unknown number, contemplating if you should answer.

"Who is it?" Jisung looked up at you and you shrugged.

"I have no idea."

"Maybe it's your friend. Or Chan!" he perked up.

"Oh, you're right." you nodded and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Miss Y/n L/n?" a monotone voice sounded from the other line.

"Yes?"

"We understand you have bought Jisung, the nerdy doll. We regret to inform you that all the dolls have to be returned due to a malfunction. You will get a refund of your money, of course. Tomorrow we are coming to collect the doll." the voice spoke and you smirked at Jisung.

"Sure." you said calmly. "See you tomorrow."

The man bid goodbye and you put your phone down as Jisung looked at you expectantly.

"It's happening." you said and Jisung put his pencil down and nodded, understanding immediately.

"Time for me to write some code." you smirked and he exhaled and nodded again as he took your hand.

You had worked tirelessly on it for months, perfecting the code as you predicted that something like this would happen, you knew you had to have some type of guarantee that you can save Jisung and his brothers. After hooking him up into your computer, your fingers started gliding against the keyboard like they were dancing and Jisung watched you with tenderness in his eyes, affection and sadness washing over him. He knew you were doing this for him and his brothers and he knew he'd have to leave you, at least for a little while and he couldn't bear the thought of being away from you.

But still, he was thankful.

You typed out the code and started talking. "With this I'll be able to track you and see what's happening. And they won't be able to pull the plug and make you sleep. You'll have to act as if they did it, I don't know if it will sell when they see your code and see that it has been tampered with. But I am counting that it will buy us enough time to infiltrate the building. Enough to cause a commotion. You just have to act like you're cooperating with them and not raise any suspicions. Understood?" you looked at him seriously.

"I understand." Jisung nodded firmly.

"Good. Just trust me, okay?"

And he did, Jisung trusted you with his life.

That night, both of you cried while making love, knowing it might be your last, at least for a little while but you didn't wanna be apart even for a second. Jisung sang you to sleep like he always did and you knew just how much you were going to miss his comforting voice.

Come morning, the doorbell rang some time after breakfast and you squeezed Jisung's hand as you saw he was getting anxious.

"It's going to be okay. Just act how we practiced." you assured him, grabbing his face and kissing him lovingly. Jisung gripped at your arms, desperately holding onto you and wishing you had at least one more day together.

"Soon, you'll be free, you and your brothers and we will go to the observatory again. And wherever else we want, I promise." you talked, your forehead pressed against his.

"I love you, Y/n." he whispered.

"I love you too." you pecked his lips once more before both of you made your way to the door.

There were four men in suits looking at you with serious expressions on their faces.

"Give us the doll." one of them said and Jisung nervously stepped closer to them.

"I'm here." he said and the men just looked at him quietly for a moment before nodding.

"Get in the car." another one said and Jisung looked back at you. You exhaled and winked at him, encouraging him to do as they said.

You watched his back as he left, his shoulders tense as he tried to keep himself together. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes but you had to compose yourself for this plan to work.

"Thank you for your cooperation, miss." the man said before all of them turned and left.

You quickly ran to your room and grabbed your phone, calling your friend.

"Did they come get him?" she asked and you could hear a commotion behind her.

"Yes. I did as we planned. Is Chan ready?" you asked and she let out a chuckle.

"Oh, he is ready. You should get here as soon as possible." she said.

"Fuck yes!" you laughed, everything was going just how you needed it to for your plan to work.

"Uhm, but... Y/n?" your friend hesitated and you paused your excited pacing.

"Yes?"

"We have company." she said and you gasped.

"What company?"

"Someone who can help us a lot."

You smirked and nodded to yourself, it was time to bring BIMT down.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr @hyunjincanraptoo @yaorzu-blog @ari-hwanggg @linofthelace @hyunjinlosthisamericano @the2000girlani @hhjlvr @beabidoobee @psychicdreamers @juskz @quokkacidal @chuuyaobsessed @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @lixies-favorite-cookie @thelostprincessofasgard @linocvp1d @stayjinnie @portgasdbru @lilgothhishhh @selinia86 @felixsbabe @staytinyluva @sadroses98 @katexstay @gnabnahcsworld @hazelbazil @iwannahugchangbin @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @skzfelixlove @skzjen @syedazarintasnim @geektacularmommom-blog @cookiesnmilfx @kayleefriedchicken @stxt-bby @strykdsstanot8 @hyunjinhwang2018 @binniesbabygirl @hyunjiniretti @linavc @julciaqwerty @salemluvsmusic @diipsy

[fenya-scribbles]

Hips

Network: @stayphone

Pairing: BFF!LeeKnow x fem!reader

Other Characters: Hyunjin

Summary: Dancing is a dangerous thing to do. 

Genre: best friends to lovers, smut, fluff, 18+ MDNI

Content warnings: explicit sexual themes, oral (f receiving), piv, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't be stupid)

Word Count: 3531

A/N: It took too damn long, but I finally finished it. Hope you enjoy ;)

"Please!", you draw out the word, giving your best friend the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. You've been begging him to let you sit in on his dance practice with the members for weeks now, but so far he'd refused every time. "No", he said, moving swiftly through his bedroom, packing his sports bag, “you’ll only distract the others.” "Come on, Min, just once! I just wanna see you sweat." You give him a suggestive grin from where you sit on his bed. It's not a lie either, you'd love to see him sweat. Maybe not from dancing, but still. 

Minho stopped his movements, focussing his eyes on you. You’ve been doing this for a while now, throwing lines like this at him. And his self-control started wearing thin, but you didn’t know that. Yet. “If I let you join today, will you promise to shut up about it?", he asked, eyebrows raised. He knew this was a stupid idea, but he also needed you to stop pestering him about it. You and him and dancing was a deadly combination, one that would test his restraint to no ends, but at least this way, he wouldn’t be alone with you. Because when he looked at you, he didn’t just see his best friend. He hadn’t for a long time. He saw a beautiful, witty, intelligent and devilishly attractive woman who’d stolen his heart. But he couldn’t tell you. He couldn’t risk your shared bond, he couldn’t risk losing you. 

Your heart leaped in your chest. Was this it? Had you finally worn him down? "Yes, I swear", you said, "just take me with you this one time and I'll shut up about it." You were most definitely never going to shut up about it. Watching him move through the world the way he did already sent your mind to unholy places, but watching him dance? In sweatpants? Surrounded by 7 equally as handsome men? No way you'd ever be able to shut up about that. Because you loved watching Minho in his element. You loved watching him cook and take care of his members in his own subtle way, you loved listening to him sing, you loved being around him, you just simply loved him. But alas, there was no way that would lead to anything, not if you didn’t want to risk the friendship. So you took what you could get. Dance practice. 

Minho sighed and said: "Fine. But behave yourself." You decided to pointedly ignore the way his command went straight to your core. You were less than successful, earning a sassy smirk from the man. “Shut up”, you said, pointing your finger at him. Minho knew that you found him attractive, you told him frequently. And he also knew about your subby tendencies, as much as you’d tried to hide them. But with the tension between the two of you and his urge to be in charge, especially around you, there had been no way to keep it to yourself. Minho was observant, he could read you like a book. Sometimes you wondered if he knew about the feelings you harboured for him, but since he never did anything about it, you figured it didn’t matter either way.

***

The drive was silent, but not uncomfortable. It was one of the things you loved about your friendship with Minho. You could just be quiet around each other, just exist in each other’s space comfortably. He was a good man and a great friend, and you cherished him with your whole heart. Watching him drive, eyes focused on the road and jaw slightly clenched in concentration, stirred something within you. The feeling was warm and soft and you urged to just grab his hand and be domestic. And your fingers twitched, but you held back after all, too scared to make a wrong move. It was one thing to blatantly flirt with him, you could always say you were just joking. But grabbing his hand? Now that would be more difficult to explain without putting your heart on the line.

When you arrived at the JYPE building, Minho turned to you after stopping the engine, eyes narrowed and locked with yours. “You know the rules?” You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I know the rules.” “Then recount them.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “You heard me. Recount them.” Minho’s eyebrows were furrowed, creating that adorable crease between them and you had to stop yourself from smiling at him. He was utterly serious about this. “No distracting anyone from practice. No interruptions. No pictures or videos.” “Good”, he said with a nod, and then with a grin he added: “Now get out of my car.” You playfully punched his arm before getting out with a giggle. 

The practice room didn’t feel too big, but that might also just have been because of the 8 men that were scattered around it stretching themselves and each other. You quickly found that they took their warmups pretty seriously, so you just watched them from your spot on the bench, catching one or the other look at you from time to time. Hyunjin looked at you the most, and he grinned every time. He’d been the most excited about you walking in after Minho, and your best friend had given him a less than approving glance for it. But that was the usual thing to happen, Hyunjin liked to flirt with you just to tease Minho, although you didn’t quite understand why it worked. Minho never had returned your flirting in earnest, so why was he upset if Hyunjin did?

You kept to the rules, even though it was hard. You wanted to film them so bad, but alas, you decided not to pick a fight with Minho tonight. He’d never let you step foot in here again otherwise. Instead, you watched them dance, taking note of their muscles flexing and their hips rolling and their bodies spinning around. And as you had assumed, watching Minho dance was a transcendent experience. He looked so damn hot, the way he controlled his body, the way he instructed the others, the way that he was completely in his element. And it did something to your heart, to your mind, to your whole body. You didn’t even notice how hard you’d pressed your thighs together until they decided to take a break, and you let out an unintentionally shaky breath. 

“So, Y/N, are you enjoying yourself?”, Hyunjin asked as he sauntered over to you. “Mhm”, you hummed, eyes wandering over his sweat soaked body, “it’s quite the show.” “Really? What’s your favourite part?” He smirked at you, that signature playful glint in his eyes. Minho was standing not far off, drinking his water but never taking his eyes of Hyunjin and you. “Hmm”, you said, pretending to think about it, “I like that thing you do with your hips in the pre-chorus.” Hyunjin immediately did the move you were talking about. “This one?” You hummed affirmatively and bit your lip as you watched him roll his hips just a little too smoothly. “How do you even do that?”, you asked with a giggle, eyes nervously darting to Minho for a second. Your best friend was still watching you, like a cat watching a mouse. 

“I could teach you”, Hyunjin said, and with a short glance around, lingering on Minho a tad too long, he added: “Privately.” And that’s when Minho had enough. “Don’t be stupid, Hyunjin”, he said, taking a few steps towards you, “she’d only hurt herself.” You gasped and made a pretend-shocked face at him. “Ah, Hyung, you have no faith in me, huh? I bet I could teach her that move in no time.” Hyunjin winked at you, the grin on his face only widening. He clearly enjoyed this. “And I can put you into my air fryer in no time. Don’t forget who you’re talking to, dumpling.” At that, Hyunjin let out a giggle and threw up his arms in defence. “Alright, alright.” Then he turned to you. “Sorry, princess, no dance lessons for you, I fear.” And before anyone could say anything else, Chan clapped his hands ordering everyone to resume practice. 

***

“Why did you shut him down?”, you asked, as you lounged on Minho’s couch, lazily running your fingers through Soonie’s fur. The cat purred happily beside you, enjoying your gentle touch, while his owner sat in his armchair, Dori in his lap. Doongie was curled up by your feet, soundly asleep. “Shut who down?” “Hyunjin. About teaching me that move.” It had been two days since the dance practice and you’d tried to forget about it, but something about the situation had it suck in your head and you just couldn’t let it go. “Oh”, Minho said, eyes focused on the purring ball of fur in his lap, “you know how he is.” You raised your eyebrows at his non-answer. When you didn’t say anything he looked up, locking eyes with you. “I just don’t want him dancing with you”, he said, almost too quiet for you to hear. 

Your heart skipped a beat. Your hand stopped petting Soonie, as you processed what you just heard. The cat immediately protested, but you ignored him. Why not? You could ask. You could pry and push. But then, your brain went somewhere else. “You could teach me”, you said instead. “What?” “The move. You could teach me.” Minho blinked at you a few times, and then a smirk rushed over his face. It was only there for a second, but you’d seen it. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Y/N”, he said. “Oh, come on Min!” You pouted at him, eyes big for good measure. He squinted at you. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” “Never.” Minho sighed, knowing very well that this had the potential to end in catastrophe. “Fine, get up then.”

After helping Minho to rearrange his living room just enough to make space for dancing to happen, you found yourself standing in the middle of it, facing him. “So, what now?”, you asked. “Turn around.” You obeyed with a giggle. “Good. Now, you need to widen your stance. Like this.” Minho gently pushed your legs apart with his feet. “Now bend your knees.” You felt very grateful to your past self for attending those yoga classes, as you lowered yourself, bending your knees, keeping your wide stance. Just then, Minho circled you, assuming the same position opposite you. “And now you just have to roll your hips. Like this.” As you watched him move, you felt yourself blush, heat pooling at your core. It looked so damn hot and you couldn’t help but wonder what other things this man could do with his hips. 

But you forced yourself to return to reality, trying to imitate his movement. Minho had the absolute audacity to chuckle at your attempt. “Cute, but no”, he said, “let me help you.” He walked around you again, positioning himself behind you. Close behind you. So damn close, you could feel his body heat radiating against your back. The sheer lack of space between the two of you had the air shift drastically, a thick tension starting to build. He gently placed his hands on your hips, and you swallowed hard. “Move with me”, he said, voice low and so very close to your ear. And then he moved, gripping your hips a bit harder so he could steer them, his hips rolling behind yours. Slowly, you got into a rhythm, and out of sheer instinct, you started to lean back against his chest. “Good”, he purred, “you’re doing so good.” 

It was too much, he was too close, you were too whipped for him to simply endure this. And that’s when it slipped. “Min..” A short sigh, bordering on a moan, as your hips pushed back just a little too much, effectively grinding against him. Your heart stopped for a moment, your breath stuck in your throat, as you anticipated his reaction. He moved, straightening his legs, and you feared he would move away, break the tension, but his hands remained on your hips. His fingers dug into your sides for a second, then he pulled you out of your stance as well and spun you around. “What was that, kitten?”, he said, pulling your body against his own. “I…uh….”, you stammered, unable to form a sentence. Not when you were this close to him. Not when he called you kitten. 

Time stopped, as Minho’s eyes dropped to your lips, his fingers digging into your sides. Your breath hitched, your heart hammered against your ribcage, your core was positively throbbing, and all you could do was stare. Stare at his lips, stare at the way his ears turned slightly red, stare at his beautiful, darkening, half-lidded eyes. “Don’t be shy now”, he all but whispered, pulling you impossibly closer, pressing his crotch against yours - that’s when you felt it, felt him, hard and pulsing against you through his and your clothes. “Min…”, you repeated, unable to hold back, as you unintentionally leaned in just a bit. It was enough for him to act. You caught a glance of his smirk and then his lips were on yours, hot and hungry, as if he’d also been barely holding on. Your arms went around his neck in an instant as you lost yourself in the way he devoured you, tasting his tongue, becoming putty in his hands. 

You almost didn’t notice how he manoeuvred you backwards to the couch until your legs hit something soft, and he lowered you down onto it. Hovering over you, Minho examined you. Your lips were red and swollen, your pupils dilated, your breath ragged - he’d never seen you like that and it had his cock throb painfully. “We can stop”, he breathed, softly running his fingers over your cheek, because he knew, if he went one step further, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “No.” Your answer was immediate, almost a bit too fast, but you didn’t care. You wanted this, you wanted him. More than anything. And with your answer his expression shifted. Gone was any softness, replaced by sheer unadulterated lust, as he dove back into you, kissing you so sloppy, so greedy, that it had your whole body shaking beneath him.

Before you knew it, he was kneeling in-between your legs, hands exploring your body, slipping underneath your shirt, as he continued to kiss your lips, your face, your neck. He was all over you, taking control, and you melted beneath him, making the sweetest little sounds. His hands slid over your body, mapping out every inch, until he was cupping your breasts, squeezing, kneading, playing with your nipples. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this”, he breathed against your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, teeth grazing your delicate skin. 

You were tangled up in each other, surrounded by nothing but heat and desire, so lost in the moment you didn’t even realise when he had pulled your shirt off or your pants down. All you knew were his lips trailing down your bare chest, sucking marks here and there, until his kisses found your inner thighs, hungry and teasing. His shirt had been discarded too, at some point, and you enjoyed the view of a shirtless, panting, borderline feral Minho sitting between your legs, looking up at you with lidded eyes as his tongue ran through your slick folds. 

“Fuck…Min…”, you gasped, rolling your hips against his face, but he was quick to grab you and keep you steady, as he hungrily kept licking and sucking at your core. When your hand went to his head, fingers quickly tangling in his messy hair, he hummed against you, sending another shiver right down your spine. It didn’t take him long to get you all riled up, tight knot already forming in your lower belly. And he knew it, too. You could feel him smirking against your skin as he slowly, deliberately pushed two fingers into your wet, needy hole. It pulled a deeply sinful moan from you, to which he had the audacity to chuckle. “You like that, huh?”, he said, lips not leaving you once, “come on, show me how much.” 

Minho had no mercy, pumping his fingers into you with reckless abandon, as his tongue continuously slid over your clit. It was driving you mad, your hips bucking against his now one-handed hold, but he was still keeping you firmly pressed against the couch. “Fuck...’m so close…”, you panted, to which he hummed against you once again. “Come for me, Kitten”, he purred, “let go for me.” And with that the knot snapped, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body, thighs shaking, back arching, vision blurring. You were only half aware of the scream that escaped your mouth - or the satisfied smile on Minhos face as he helped you ride out your climax. 

You were gasping for air, slowly coming down from your high, barely noticing how Minho pulled his fingers from your core. “Fuck”, you panted, “that was…wow…” “Glad you liked it”, he said, hovering over you face to face once again. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed a soft, but still very hungry, kiss against your lips. “Think you can take more?”, he asked, his eyes still dark with desire. “I can take you”, you said, still a little breathless, “I want to.” “You sure?”, he smirked as he rolled his still covered crotch against your soaked, sensitive centre. 

“Ah…don’t be a tease, Min.” You let your hands run down his back and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. “Just fuck me already.” He didn’t need to be told twice. His pants and underwear were gone in an instant and you had only a short moment to marvel at the size of his cock. “Turn around”, he said, and you obeyed without hesitation. His hands were lingered on your butt for a while, grabbing, appreciating. But eventually, after you let out a few frustrated whines, he lined himself up. “Ready, kitten?”, he purred in your ear, and with your permission he slowly pushed himself in. 

Inch by inch he slowly filled you out. You held your breath as he stretched your walls, low grunts vibrating against your shoulder where his lips were locked to your skin. “Damn, kitten”, he rasped, “you’re so tight….so perfect...” When he finally bottomed out, you released your breath, feeling utterly full of him. And then he began to roll his hips, slowly at first, letting you adjust to his size. “Mhhh….Min….feels so good”, you moaned, as he sped up, hips snapping against your butt again and again and again. It was obscene, filthy, downright pornographic how he fucked you. Like he’d been thinking about it. Like he’d been starving for it. 

Your best friend’s dick drilled into you, hard and fast and ungodly, the angle too good, the size too perfect. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, only lewd noises coming out of your mouth as tears of pleasure stared to roll down your face. It felt too good. His hands gripped your hip tight enough to leave bruises, his breath was laboured and hot, his restraint was out the window. He fucked you like a feral beast, chasing his own release, and just when you thought he might not send you over the edge again, his right hand moved, fingers finding your clit. “Ugh…come…come with me kitten”, he panted, pressing and rubbing your most sensitive spot. 

You screamed into the pillow as the second orgasm hit, too overstimulated to care if the neighbours would hear you, too fucked out to have any control. Your whole body shook as you felt him pulse inside you, hips stuttering, painting your insides white. Your whole body tingled, as you collapsed beneath him, unable to hold yourself in any position other than flat on the couch. He followed suit, panting and sweaty, chest pressed against your back, only barely managing not to put his whole weight on you. For a while, the both of you stayed like this, finding your breath, slowing your hearts.

Eventually, you could feel him press gentle kisses against your back as he carefully pulled himself out of you. For a moment he was gone, and then you were turned over and picked up, carried to the bathroom and set down in a tub of hot, soapy water. Minho climbed in behind you, legs wrapping around your waist, and pulled you back against his chest. And for a very long time, you just sat there, surrounded by warmth and silence, safety and comfort. Until your mind returned to you. Until you realised what had just happened and a smile rushed over your face. “Min”, you whispered without turning around. “Kitten”, he whispered back, gently resting his head on your shoulder. “I get it now”, you said, calm and quiet. He pressed soft kisses to your neck. “What d’you get?”, he asked. You chuckled. “Why you didn’t want Hyunjin to dance with me.”

Fenya’s Masterlist

[prythianpages]

I've Been Waiting For You | Azriel

summary: Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate.

warnings: mentions of death (since the suriel & reader are friends); some angst but also fluff because Az deserves to be happy ♡

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: The lyrics kind of reminded me of Alice & Jasper from twilight and how she had a vision of meeting him. This does go back and forth a lot in the beginning between past and present and came out longer than I thought it would. It's 9.6K words (which for me is long lol.) I apologize if there are any spelling errors. I've read this multiple times but somehow, always miss a couple.

As the moonlight dances upon the water's surface, the river transforms into a liquid ribbon of silver, weaving through the city of Starlight. Anticipation fills the air as Azriel walks across the bridge that spans the Sidra, his massive Illyrian wings glistening in midnight hues under the pale moonlight. 

Shadows play hide-and-seek as they travel through the night, drawn to the silhouette of a female figure. An intruder. Yet, Azriel's shadows dare to whisper something different into his ears.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your voice, carried by the wind, reaches him like a sweet caress, daring to awaken something deep within him. Beautiful. His shadows respond with a frenzy, a whirl of darkness singing wild tales into his ears, urging him forward. Meanwhile, his brain screams at the potential threat.

More tendrils of darkness dart toward you, ignoring their master’s orders to return. You don’t seem bothered by them. In fact, you seem to welcome them as if they’re old friends of yours. 

Azriel swallows, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, unsure what to make of this. 

“Who are you?”

Finally, you turn around and Azriel feels like the wind has been knocked out of him when his gaze meets yours. In the midst of the surrounding darkness, your eyes gleam with an inexplicable brightness. Specs of silver glimmer in your eyes, mirroring the stars above, as they shine back at him.  

“That’s for you to decide,” you reply with a smile that carries both hope and a sense of knowing as you follow after him and take a step forward.

“But for now, I’d like to speak with your High Lady.”

Months before…

The brilliance of a thousand stars shine down on you and the night seems to hold its breath, as if it too, awaits the whispered prophecies from the celestial expanse above. Like always, you are itching to unveil them with your finely attuned senses. A gust of cool wind brushes through your hair, sending shivers down your exposed skin. Pulling your gaze away from the night sky, you turn in time to see a cloaked figure approaching like a shadow in the night.

Your lips curve into a smile. “Hello, friend.”

“y/n.” The Suriel greets you, hovering beside you. Then, not missing another beat, he says, “I told her Rhysand was her mate.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a gasp escaping your lips. “You did not.”

“I did.” He grins back at you, flashing you his stained teeth.

You can’t help but laugh a little at your dear old friend. The Suriel lets out a rattled sound you discern as a laugh as he joins you. Always the one for dramatics. You still remember hearing about his first encounter with Feyre Archeron and how he told her to stay with the High Lord.

“I told her she must stay with the High Lord.”

“Did you specify which one?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m sure she handled it well,” you respond but your smile fades, giving way to a wistful expression. “She’s lucky. Not only is she made but the Cauldron has blessed her with a mate. The High Lord of the Night Court at that.”

The weight of his gaze settles upon you. You’re aware that your words carry a tinge of envy, a sentiment that feels unjust when considering everything Feyre has endured. The Suriel, ever perceptive, acknowledges this as well. He chooses not to remind you and indulges you instead.

“The Cauldron has blessed you as well, my child.”

“Have you seen it?”

Hope sparks in your eyes as you turn to face him. His eyes, pools of ancient wisdom, seem to pierce through the veils of time and secrets. You sense one of them unfolding. But he only gives you a teasing glimpse.

“Perhaps.” 

With a furrow in your brows, you lift your head back up to glare at the night sky. The stars seem to blink at you in a teasing manner, as if finding amusement in keeping this secret from you. 

“How come I haven’t seen it?”

“You will soon.” He reassures, following your gaze upwards. A dance of amusement swirls within the depths of his eyes.  “He’s waited centuries for you. Count your stars lucky that your waiting won’t be as long.”

Back to the present…

Velaris lived up to its name. A dream compared to the horrors of the city you grew up in. But as the city sparkles and comes to life at the darkening hour, all your attention is drawn to the male before you. He’s even more breathtaking in person. Everything about him is classically beautiful and the moon seems to agree, shining down on him and casting an ethereal glow on the golden-brown of his skin.

As Azriel continues to approach you, his wings fold gracefully behind him. His gaze is locked onto yours and though his eyes are cautious and analytical, there’s a warm shiver running down your spine. The desire to lose yourself in the hazel depths of his eyes becomes an irresistible pull.

Before you know it, the shadows brushing against your arms rise and come to rest against your eyes in a blindfold. Darkness engulfs you, and the sensation of weightlessness takes hold as Azriel winnows both of you. You land on a soft cushion–a chair. The dark tendrils leave your eyes and wrap around your wrists and legs, binding them together.

“Stay here.” Azriel says, the shadows wrapped around your limbs tightening in a silent warning.

A chuckle escapes from you and when your eyes meet his again, you flash him a mischievous smile. It widens when he’s the first to fold, quickly averting his gaze. He has no clue. You’re exactly where you want to be.

He leaves the room and your eyes finally take in your surroundings. Veiled curtains made of midnight blue silk drape the expansive windows, pulled back to allow moonlight to filter through. Shelves line the walls, housing collections of ancient artifacts and magical trinkets. A large desk, crafted from dark, polished wood rests before you. Your gaze fixates on the wall behind it, where a captivating portrait of the female you seek rests.

The door behind you swings open, and you turn to witness the graceful entrance of the female from the portrait. Feyre, the Cursebreaker and High Lady of the Night Court. She's a vision of night and beauty, her golden-brown hair cascading down her exposed back, revealing glimpses of moon phases etched along her spine.

“High Lady,” you say in greeting, bowing your head in respect.

Surprisingly, the High Lord doesn't accompany her. Instead, it's Azriel who trails behind her. Her calm blue eyes assess you as she takes a seat across from you. Azriel stands guard behind her and you feel his shadows watching your every breath. 

"And who might you be?"

“I’m y/n,” you respond, choosing your next words carefully. “An old friend of the Suriel’s. I’ve come to pledge my allegiance to you and offer my help.”

Something flickers in her blue eyes at the mention of the Suriel and her stoic expression falters, if only for a moment. You send her a sympathetic smile, your own heart aching at the mention of the fearsome creature you both held dear.

“Your help?” She echoes.

"She’s a seer," Azriel interjects, his voice setting your heart alight as there's no hint of disgust or apprehension in his tone.

Your kind is often regarded with hostility. He might not know your connection...yet. But he’s paid you enough attention to recognize your abilities and appears to be indifferent about them. If the Suriel were still alive, you know he’d laugh at your slight delusion.

"I am," you confirm. "And I know your sister is one too." You don’t miss the tension in Azriel’s body at the mention of the cauldron-made fae, but you don't dwell on it as you can also sense Feyre's protectiveness. "She has great potential. I can help her hone her skills. Together, we can—"

"No," Azriel growls protectively. His sharp interruption has you startling in your seat and hope deflates as you feel the intensity of his glare.

Feyre raises a hand, signaling him to stand back. “Why should I trust you?”

“Let me show you.”

Months before…

“By the Cauldron, what did you get yourself into?”

The Suriel grins mischievously, his tattered cloak barely clinging to his bony form. He graciously accepts the cloak you offer, a luxurious piece made of the softest velvet in the darkest shade of black you could find. A purr escapes him as he revels in its warmth. "Nothing," he responds coyly, the satisfaction evident in the bounce of his form as he hovers in the air.

You shoot him a pointed look, yearning to know what he was up to. You’re certain it was no good. “Sure,” you retort and then gesture toward the crackling fire you started. “I also made dinner.”

“You spoil me.”

“It’s what friends do.”

"Friend," he muses, the white pools of his eyes burning into your soul, as he turns to you. "As a friend, I should tell you that your dress is absolutely atrocious on you. Cobalt blue is more your color."

With a glare, you playfully throw the roasted chicken over the fire at his face. He effortlessly catches it with his mouth, cackling as he chews on the tender piece of meat.

"What do you know about fashion? All you do is thirst for robes."

“You forget that I am older than the bones of this world. I know everything about everything. I also cannot lie.”

"Doesn't stop you from hiding the truth," you respond cheekily, and he hums in agreement,

Silence falls as he seats himself beside you on the ground. He breaks it a couple of moments later. “Remember what I told you last time?”

You release a deep sigh because you do remember. The mere thought haunts you nearly every night, and you’re often burdened by the heavy weight of it. Your shoulders slump in response. “Why can't you do it yourself?”

“It is your fate, not mine,” he states simply, a reminder of the immutable laws of destiny.

“I’m not ready.” 

You don’t think you ever will be and suddenly, you’re that fragile sixteen year old again, who had to run away from the only place you called home to escape a cruel fate. The one who was left to navigate through her new onset of divine abilities alone.

That is, until, the fateful night you had thrown your cloak over a tree branch to dry. It had been stained by blood after a rough and almost deadly encounter with a stray naga so you had spent all morning cleaning it in the river nearby. Completely unaware of the Suriel you were summoning.

“You do not fear me?”

“That is mine,” you had said through clenched teeth with a deep rooted glare.

In the midst of your tug of war with the Suriel, your cloak tore in half. In that moment, you braced yourself for the dark creature's wrath. However, something in you captured his attention that day, and he chose not to unleash his fury upon you. He decided to take you under his wing instead.

He recognized your lineage without a single word spoken about it. He could sense your power coursing through your veins, waiting to be unraveled. After decades of patience and practicing, he was there to witness the formation of stars weaving themselves into the depths of your eyes. The mark of your seer abilities.

As always, the Suriel reads you like an open book. He can sense your insecurity, your hesitancy. But, in equal measure, he can sense your power, your potential.

“You will be,” he insists, his words carrying the unwavering certainty of the all-knowing creature he is. “You must guide and open the eyes of Elain Archeron the same way I did for you.”

Your throat tightens. “When?”

“Soon.”

And when you look up to gaze at the night sky, the stars align for you. A cascade of visions unfurls, pouring over you like a celestial waterfall. Your eyes become a myriad of galaxies and ears are teased with glimpses of conversations and whispers from the stars above. One moment, you’re in a forest, standing before a female figure crouched over a cloaked one. 

“The tracking…I knew of it.” 

Then, a rattling breath. “Leave this world a better place than how you found it.”

Abruptly, the scene shifts, and you stand in an enchanting city of starlight, gazing at the expansive river before you as anticipation fills the air. He comes for you. Azriel, the shadowsinger. The name resonates in the echoes of your mind.

Then, the final vision envelopes you, drawing you into the depths of mesmerizing hazel eyes. The voice that accompanies it is carried by the enchantment of night, gently caressing against your ears. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Mate. That is your mate. Azriel, the–

“Do you see it now?”

With a sharp intake of breath, you’re pulled from the downpour of your visions, only to find your senses clouded with tears that pool at the corners of your eyes. How cruel, you think, your heart twisting in agony. And though meeting your mate–your fated companion–was among your greatest dreams, you no longer want it. Not if it means you’ll lose your greatest companion.

You can live without knowing your mate. After all, you’re doing so at this very moment. The Suriel has been your friend for decades. Two souls brought together by their mutual loneliness. An all knowing creature and a seer. Together, you’re a powerful duo, navigating through the fated intricacies of Prythian. You’d be lost without him.

“Please don’t go,” you’re begging.

The Suriel smiles but it’s not his usual mischievous grin. This time, a tinge of sorrow lingers in the curve of his lips, casting his expression in a veil of sadness.

“I have to. It’s my time to go,” he says. “Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“That when it’s your time to shine, you’ll find Feyre. Help her make this world a better place.”

Back to Present

Feyre blinks back tears as she withdraws from your mind. She turns her head toward the Shadowsinger behind her, and for a moment, fear grips you. You allowed her to see the revelation of Azriel being your mate but only because it was deeply entwined with the other pertinent visions.

“Release her.”

The shadows release their grip on you and you let out a deep exhale in relief. But the inky tendrils don’t leave your side. They linger and hover over you and at this, Azriel’s eyebrows furrow.

Feyre extends her hand out toward you. Her blue eyes are warm, a gentle reassurance that she’d harbor your secret for you. A smile graces her lips, one that you're happy to reciprocate.

“I’ll gladly accept your help but let me speak with Elain first. You may stay here. There’s a spare room upstairs. Azriel will show you around.”

Following his High Lady’s orders, Azriel shows you around the grand estate. He’s a bit reserved around you and you don’t blame him. Both a blessing and a curse, your visions offer insight into his world, yet you're a mere stranger imposing on the family he protects fiercely.

And as he finally shows you to your room, the one right next to his, you can only hope that someday, he’ll welcome you too. After all, he is your mate.

Elain Archeron is infinitely beautiful. Inside and out. She is gentle and sweet and you see why some mistake her kindness for weakness. But it took only days for you to become well aware of the strength and power she harbors deep within.

While your abilities were limited to what the stars wanted to show you, you sensed that hers were limitless. With the right training, she could summon visions at her call, anticipate anyone's move. You wanted to help her achieve that and prove those people that saw her as something fragile wrong. Though reluctant toward your help at first, Elain was kind enough to listen to you and consider the advice you gave. It took some further convincing but you knew she was itching to unravel the depths of her powers too.

But it's proving to be a challenge. A hard and exhausting one. You're not surprised. It took you many years to become attuned to your powers. What is surprising, however, are Azriel's feelings for her. They're obvious and plain to see and could you blame him? Elain is wonderful...and you can't help but compare yourself to her. She's everything you're not.

Upon your arrival, you had been set on making Azriel fall for you. That was, until, you realized he was already entangled in the threads of another's heart. Could it be that the Suriel, in his all knowing wisdom, purposefully shielded you from such revelations about your mate? To delay the shattering of your dreams?

Now, you were just content to focus on your task at hand. To help Elain the way the Suriel did with you, even if Azriel was there as a safety net for her every session. Even if the way he was well attuned to every shift of her expression sent a sharp pain stabbing through your heart. He was blissfully unaware of your connection, clouded by his affection for Elain.

And you were tired of chasing after males. It's why you shot down Feyre's suggestion of confessing to Azriel. You dreamed of having a mate, pleaded to the Cauldron even. Now, you realize, that you want Azriel to like you for you. To chose you too the way Feyre did with Rhysand. If Elain was the person he chose at the moment, then so be it.

"I don't chase. I attract," you told Feyre. The same words you had uttered to the Suriel years ago after he poked fun at you over a failed romance. One of many, unfortunately.

"The only thing you'll attract with that attitude of of yours is a dark cloud of shadows," The Suriel had laughed at you, earning an icy glare from you.

But Feyre is much nicer about it than your dear old friend. She gives you an encouraging smile instead and wishes you luck on your upcoming session with Elain.

Your session with Elain ends terribly–with her screaming in pain and Azriel glaring at you and telling you to go, despite your attempts at apologizing. You spend the following days, weeks even, trying to make up for it. You slowed down in pace in your exercises with Elain, despite her protests. She held no animosity toward you at the dark turn that session had made.

You also buried yourself into any book you could find about seers in the magnificent Night Court library, grieving and longing for the Suriel. He would know what to do, and know exactly how to help. It’s the mere thought of him that fuels your determination to keep trying, despite how much you want to leave. It’s laughable almost, how in the midst of so many people, the sense of loneliness weighs heavier on you than it ever did in the solitude of Prythian's forests.

But perhaps, a break wouldn't be such a bad idea? You think as your gaze lands on an intriguing cover. It's a work of pure fiction. The ideal escape from reality. Retrieving it from its shelf, you settle into one of the plush chairs and immerse yourself into the words etched onto the pages.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

A nudge against your leg startles you awake, and as you blink away the remnants of sleep, your eyes widen at the sight of Azriel standing before you. Sleeping beauty, the words sink in, painting a soft blush over your cheeks.

“You missed dinner.”

“Oh.”

You turn your head, wincing at the dull ache in your neck from sleeping in an awkward position. The soft glow of the moon greets you through one of the library's windows. You don’t know when you had fallen asleep but you must’ve been out for hours. When you face Azriel again, your gaze drops to his hands, where he holds a carefully arranged plate of food. Your stomach growls as the scent hits you and your eyes linger on the generous serving of potatoes–your favorite–in comparison to the other vegetables and meat.

“Is that for me?” you ask, and immediately curse yourself for the seemingly silly question. You blame it on the lingering grasp of sleep, still reluctant to release its full grip on you.

"No, it's for the rats that come out at night," he replies, lips twitching upwards at the reaction it stirs from you. How the Suriel never scared you but a couple of hairy, smaller creatures do is beyond you. He places the plate on the small table beside you.

 "Yes, it's for you. A peace offering. For snapping at you."

"That was two weeks ago.”

"Bet you didn't see it coming," he teases, and you find yourself blinking in surprise. The Shadowsinger cracking a joke? It's a sight to behold. At least for you. 

Your eyes narrow. "Did Feyre send you?"

"No," Azriel replies simply, his tone carrying a sincerity that sets a flicker of hope alight in you. He then sighs. "I just realized I haven't been the most welcoming, that's all."

You smile in response and shift in your seat as you turn your body towards the food. The movement has the book in your lap falling. His hand reaches the book before yours could and the brush of your skin against his sends a delightful shudder through your body.

His eyes curiously look over the title and when he hands it back to you, you take note of the way he avoids looking at his scarred fingers. So you reach forward and brush your fingers against his again, letting them linger for a beat longer than before. Surprise flickers in his hazel eyes as he meets your gaze, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

“That book is one of my favorites," he says, his shadows dancing across his shoulders and peeking curiously at you. "I'm surprised you're into the mystery genre."

"Why?"

“Well, you’re hard to read sometimes. Like a mystery that refuses to be solved.”

An arched brow is your response, but the gleam in your eyes gives away more than you'd like. “Maybe I don’t want to be unraveled.”

Azriel's lips twitch upwards once more. “Maybe it just takes the right person.”

Bathed in the glow of sunlight, you and Elain sit across from one another on the soft bed of green grass. Meanwhile, Azriel leans against a tree, a couple of feet away. His gaze is intense as he watches you two. Too focused on not letting it faze you, you fail to catch the way it softens when he turns to you.

Azriel can’t help but frown when he catches you avoiding his gaze. He wonders if you still harbor some resentment toward the way he had snapped at you awhile back, even though he already apologized for it.

"Close your eyes and focus on your breath," he hears you instruct softly. "Feel the rhythm of the earth beneath you. Attune yourself to the heartbeat of the world around you. What do you hear?”

Elain closes her eyes in deep concentration. “I can hear the wind and the tremble of the grass beneath it. I can hear the wind carry all the way to the sea.”

“Good,” you say and though her eyes remain closed, you smile gently at her. A gesture that sends a rush of warmth through him.

“Now feel the whispers of the unseen.”

“I can’t.” Elain’s eyebrows furrow.

“Here, take my hands,” you say as you reach for hers. “Imagine a pool of water within you, calm and reflective. Use me as a vessel to carry you through it. I’ll guide you to where your visions will manifest.”

Elain does as told. The world stills around you two. You close your eyes. As Elain’s eyebrows relax, your own face contorts in concentration. Azriel feels himself tense when he realizes it’s not concentration etching onto your face–it’s pain. In a heartbeat, he’s kneeling before you and prying your hands apart.

“Stop!”

Your eyes snap open at the sudden disconnection, and Azriel is unsettled by the way you shrink back from him, panic widening your eyes.

“I’m not hurting her!”

But it’s not Elain he’s worried about. He hasn’t even spared her a glance. It’s you–you’re the one that’s hurt. Blood trickles down your nose and he’s urging you to lean forward, gently guiding you with his hands as Elain rushes for a towel.

“Are you okay?”

There’s a dull ache in your head but also one in your heart and you’re too disoriented to stop yourself from saying, “If you stop staring at me like that, I will be.”

Azriel releases a soft chuckle, his muscles relaxing in relief at the playful edge in your tone. Yet, his shadows, wanting to confirm you're okay themselves, flutter toward you in a delicate cloud of darkness.

"Like what?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

And you’ve never felt more relief at the sight of Elain coming in between you with a towel in hand.

A sudden sound has you stirring from your sleep. Your hand instinctively slides under your pillow, fingers grasping for the dagger you always keep with you when sleeping. The sound comes again and your initially alarmed body relaxes as you recognize it as the sound of someone knocking. Wrapping a robe around your night shift, you head toward the door, expecting Elain on the other side. 

Upon opening your door, you’re surprised to find Azriel standing on the other side.

“You’re not going to Starfall?”

“Good morning to you too.”

Azriel’s eyes rake over your form, taking in your disheveled state. His lips curl into a faint smile. "It's noon," he observes in an amused manner.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you pivot your head toward the clock that hangs on the wall of your room. There, confirming his statement, the hands point a half hour past twelve. You overslept. You didn’t have any plans today and it seems your exhausted body took advantage of it.

“Is everything okay?”

His voice, laced with genuine concern, draws your attention back to him. The soft furrow of his brow and the warmth in his eyes catch you off guard. You hesitate. You don’t want to lie but you also don’t want to burden him with the truth.

So you settle for a, “Why?”

"I've noticed you haven't been sleeping much," he remarks, and before you can interrupt, he gestures toward his room, the one adjacent to yours. A silent acknowledgment that he's been more attentive than you realized. It pulls at the strings of your heart. "Or attending family dinners, and now Feyre tells me you're not going to Starfall?"

The weight of his observations presses on you. You didn’t think anyone had noticed.  "Why do you care?" you retort, your words sharper than intended, and a wince follows.

"Isolation is not a good coping method," he responds, his tone steady and unfazed by your sharpness. "Trust me, I know."

"I don't have a dress."  The words escape your lips, but even as you say them, you recognize the feebleness of the excuse.

“I’ll buy you one.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you feel a telltale blush spreading as the thought of Azriel buying you a dress takes root. He’s just being nice, you tell yourself. His gaze remains fixed on you, hazel eyes bright and gleaming with curiosity, as if daring you to come up with another excuse.

“Starfall is tomorrow.”

Azriel grins at you. It sends a flutter through your heart and you wonder if he can hear the erratic beat of it. 

“Better make haste and get dressed then. We’ve got a couple of hours before the shops close.”

You deliberately take extra time getting ready, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within you as you prepare to spend time with Azriel. Half-expecting a hint of annoyance, you finally open the door to your room, only to find Azriel with a welcoming smile that has the bond in your chest humming. Still, you're met with silence at the other side.

You take a deep breath as he gestures for you to follow him. As you step outside, he offers his arm and winnows you, not wanting to waste anymore time. You both find yourselves in the bustling shopping plaza of Velaris, where the fragrance of blooming flowers and the animated chatter of people embrace you.

Elaborate Starfall-themed displays adorn the shops, enticing you inside. Suddenly, the sheer array overwhelms you, and an urge to step back washes over you. Azriel place a hand on your back, stopping you and guiding you towards one of the shops.

“Welcome!” A voice happily chirps. “How can I help you?”

A stunning female enters your line of sight, her gaze immediately fixating on the male standing behind you. Her lips curve into a captivating smile, causing a twinge of jealousy to flicker within you. It’s short lived as Azriel clears his throat, gently nudging you forward.

“We’re looking for a dress for her.” Azriel speaks for you.

“Splendid! What’s the special occasion?”

“Starfall.” Azriel answers.

The female’s eyes widen, her smile morphing into a strained one. “I’m afraid I’ve sold all my best work already.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Sorry for the trouble,” you quickly reply, attempting to conceal the relief in your voice. Turning to leave, Azriel's hands land on your shoulders, directing you back to face the female.

“I’m sure we can find something in here,” Azriel reassures with a polite smile, scanning the aisles of dresses. “Y/n isn't picky. Right?”

“I can be,” you mumble under your breath.

Azriel lets out a sound, what you discern as a muffled chuckle. He gives your shoulder a squeeze and then leans down toward your ear. “If I were you, I’d take advantage of the situation.”

You turn your head slightly and regret it immediately. It takes all your strength to hold back the shudder your body wants to give at his proximity. He’s so close you can feel his breath fanning against your neck and you wonder what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against that sensitive skin.

It surprises you how quickly you find your voice.

“I’m going to pick the most expensive one.”

“Go ahead,” Azriel says and you can hear the smirk in his voice without having to look at him. He doesn’t allow you to get another word in, urging you forward again to where the female patiently awaits for you.

She lightly grasps your arm, leading you toward a rack of dresses in various styles and colors while Azriel makes himself comfortable on the couch by the fitting room. “You are a lucky lady,” she muses, her hands gracefully exploring the textures of her creations. “I’ve had this shop for centuries and you’re the first lady the Shadowsinger has brought to me.”

A blush warms your cheeks as you divert your attention to the array of beautiful dresses. Each one is a work of art, making you question her earlier claim about not having her best work available. If these weren't her finest creations, the thought of what her best work looked like leaves you intrigued.

The female, who’s name you learn is Willow, has you try on a couple of dresses that differ in styles. You’re reluctant to show Azriel each one but given he’s paying for it and the only other one in this shop, you feel like he should have some say.

“Do you like it?” Willow beams at you, admiring her work.

On the fifth dress, your hands run over the tulle of the vibrant yellow skirt. The fabric feels itchy against your skin, and the color is too bold for your taste. You swear you are not trying to be picky, despite what you told Azriel earlier. 

“I li–”

“Let’s try another?” Azriel cuts in as if sensing the lie that was about to unfold. He rises from his seat toward one of the racks and pulls out a dress that caught his eye earlier. “How about this one?”

He holds the dress out to you, smiling softly when you take it from him. It’s much simpler compared to the other dress you’ve tried on but still just as elegant. It’s also soft against your skin. Willow guides you back into the fitting room, deftly assisting you out of the vivid yellow dress and into the cobalt blue silk one.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Cobalt blue is more your color!" Willow says as she gushes over you.

Her choice of words leaves you momentarily stunned. Cobalt blue is more your color. The exact words the Suriel had spoken to you. Also, the exact same shade as Azriel's siphons. The Suriel must’ve enjoyed himself a lot when he said those words to you. That sneaky little creature... You can hear his laugh echoing through your mind.

As you finally emerge from the dressing room, Azriel can’t help but stare. The fabric drapes gracefully around you, accentuating curves he hadn't noticed before. Sensing his prolonged gaze, your eyes meet his. It was him quickly averting his gaze, a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure.

"This is the one. It looks…good on you," he manages to say, his voice slightly strained.

“It’s 500 gold marks.”

He picks up on the teasing in your tone and the way Willow shakes her head in reassurance at him. Still, he humors you and says, “I don’t care.”

He’d pay more than 500 gold marks just to make you happy.

Azriel battled with restless thoughts that night, unable to find solace in sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, the vivid image of you in that dress invaded his mind. He couldn’t wait to see you in that dress again. Maybe then, he’d have the courage to compliment you better.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the first guests arrived for the Starfall celebration, Azriel's eyes eagerly scanned the gathering crowd, seeking a glimpse of you. Just as a twinge of disappointment crept in, his shadows stirred, signaling your proximity. His wings twitched with anticipation, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. You are absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. 

In an instant heartbeat, he’s pushing Cassian, who was ready to fly you up to the House of Wind, aside. With a warning look, Cassian steps away with a chuckle.

"You're here," he whispers, a blend of disbelief and relief saturating his breath.

“Well a very nice male spent a lot of money for me to be here.”

“Well I’m glad.” Azriel chuckles, eyes drinking you in again. Savoring you. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

Azriel flushes at the unexpected compliment and his shadows to come to life around him. He smiles at you. “Shall we?”

He waits for your nod before carefully hooking an arm beneath your knees, eyes never leaving yours. A thrill courses through him as he revels in the sensation of your arms around his neck, taking delight in the way you feel in his arms. His wings unfurl behind him, preparing for the short flight up. The sound has your eyes fluttering shut, arms tightening around him and face burying into his neck. He finds it absolutely endearing. He never wants to let you go.

Against his wishes, the flight up to the balcony was short. He sets you down, helping you regain your footing, a lingering touch before reluctantly releasing you. There’s still more guests he, unfortunately, has to fly up. It’s as if you sense his internal conflict because you’re turning around to face him, eyes bright and alight.

“Yes, Azriel. I’ll save you a dance.”

The way his name rolls off your tongue sends a thrill up his spine. He opens his mouth to say something but once again, you beat him to it.

"Thought I'd save you the question," you stated, an all-knowing grin gracing your features as you tapped the corner of one of your eyes. Ah, so you had a vision of him. He wonders about the other glimpses you might have seen.

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it as Elain is rushing toward you, showering you with compliments. He takes that as his cue to depart. He is determined to finish his tasks in bringing the remaining guests up as fast as he can so that he can return to you and that dance you promised.

Azriel finds himself stealing glances whenever he thinks you won’t notice. The sparkle in your eyes, the way the dress accentuates your features–he can't look away. Caught up in the melody of your laughter, provoked by something Elain said, Azriel and his shadows are too mesmerized in the beauty of you to notice Feyre approaching until she speaks.

"She’s beautiful," Feyre remarks, her eyes following the same path as Azriel's gaze.

A soft affirmation escapes Azriel's lips. "Yes."

Feyre, well aware of the answer, delves further. "You bought her that dress?"

“Yes.”

A mischievous gleam flickers in Feyre's eyes as she delivers her next statement. "You like her." 

Azriel's response slips out before he can even grasp the depth of his own admission. "Yes."

He turns to Feyre, his wide eyes betraying the shock of his own revelation. A slight pallor washes over his skin, and Feyre chuckles at his reaction. Sensing the tension in the air, she rests a reassuring arm on his shoulder. “I like her too,” she confesses.

Though, both of them recognize that Azriel's feelings for you run deeper and in more intricate ways than Feyre's own fondness.

“I offered her a place in this court. She said she’d think about it. Maybe you can convince her? The same way you convinced her to come to Starfall,” Feyre says and then with one last pat on his shoulder, she makes her way back toward Rhysand.

Still recovering from the revelation of his own feelings, it takes a while longer for the weight of Feyre’s words to sink in. A mixture of surprise, uncertainty, and a flicker of hope plays out across his features. You weren’t planning on staying? The thought of you leaving–leaving him stirs a feeling in his chest. His eyes seek you out again but you’re no longer standing beside Elain.  

In your place, stands Lucien and normally the sight would trigger dark emotions from him. But now? He feels nothing. There’s no sense of envy. His affections have shifted elsewhere.

Azriel’s shadows fall to the floor, slithering against the cool tile like serpents of the night. They lead the way directly to where you stand, by the champagne table. He makes his way toward you and you're downing the rest of the liquid in your glass.

“Azriel.” You smile at him.

“It’s time for you to fulfill the promise you made me.”

“Of course,” you reply, offering him your hand.

Azriel gracefully pulls you into his embrace. One hand wraps around yours while the other rests on your waist. The enchanting melody guides your movements as the two of you glide across the floor.

“Feyre told me she offered you a role in this court.”

Your eyes, wise and mysterious, meet his, and he feels your body tense under his hold. “What else did she tell you?”

“That you’d think about it,” he says, the rhythm of the dance allowing for a moment of ease to settle between you. “You should stay.”

“Why?”

A wistful expression colors your features and the soft glow of stars are reflected in your eyes. The music comes to a gradual end and you free yourself of his hold before the next song begins.

“There’s no one here for me.” You admit and then give a small laugh as you look down. There's a deep, haunting sadness to your laughter, striking a chord within him.

“I’m right here.” 

Lifting your head back up, your eyes search his for something with a glimmer of hope. An eternity seems to pass in your gaze. A frown settles over your lips and he feels a tinge of sadness. Whatever you sought, it seems you did not find it.

Suppressing the surge of emotions within him, his hand reaches for yours again. He guides you to somewhere more private, toward one of the balconies that is off limits to the guests. “Talk to me,” he says, his words carrying an invitation for you to unburden your heart.

Your hands grip onto the railing before you and attention is directed up towards the night sky. He mirrors your actions, resting his hands close to yours. So close he can feel your warmth but not close enough to touch.

"It feels weird being here," you sigh deeply. "My mother and I used to sneak out of Hewn City on Starfall just to catch a glimpse of these migrating spirits every year...until she realized what I was. She said I was a curse, said she would turn me into Keir and let him have his way with me if I didn't leave."

Azriel's fingers clench into a white knuckled grip at your words.

"Not that leaving a horrible city such as Hewn was exactly a punishment. It was probably for the best. Still didn't stop me from being scared. It was the first time in my life that I was actually alone. I learned how to survive."

"I met the Suriel a year later. He must've taken pity on me and would visit me without being summoned. Sometimes, it'd be to tease me with some gossip. Other times, to annoy and chide me for my mistakes. Most importantly, he taught me how to not only survive on my own but live alone. I don't know, it's probably silly but I just felt a lot less lonely when I was actually alone than I do here."

“It’s not silly. I used to feel that way too.” Azriel admits and after a moment of silence, he’s turning toward you.  “Am I not your friend?”

“I don’t know,” you find yourself saying again, uncertainty clouding your expression. Pausing, you tear your gaze from the night sky to look at him. “Do you want to be?”

“Yes,” Azriel smiles at you. And so much more. 

You smile back at him but it doesn’t last long. Turning your head to face directly ahead, you bite the inside of your cheek in hesitation, revealing to Azriel that there’s more troubling you than your sense of loneliness.

“What else?” 

“There’s nothing else.”

“y/n.”

“I feel like a failure.”

Azriel's eyes widen, his heart sinking to his stomach. “You’re not,” he reassures quickly.

“I–I just,” you stammer, the weight of self-doubt evident in your voice. “It’s nearing four months since I’ve arrived, and I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface with Elain.”

“How long did it take you to harness your abilities?”

“Decades,” you respond, the admission carrying a hint of sheepishness. “But Elain is different. This is different. I don’t want to disappoint her. Disappoint Feyre. The world we know is crumbling apart, and we don’t have time. If–if we cannot fix it before it’s too late, I will have failed him.”

“Hey, look at me.”

When you don’t, Azriel lightly grips your chin, coaxing your gaze to him. “You’re here, aren’t you? You’re honoring his wish by just being here. Keep trying,” he encourages, wiping away your tears. “I’ll be here with you every step of the way. You’re not alone. We’ll face this together.”

“Together?”

He releases his hold on you, resting his hand once more on the rail. This time, it’s even closer to yours.

“Together,” he confirms, heart swarming with warmth when your hand bridges the gap between you and brushes against his. 

And finally, it seems your lonely days are through.

Azriel’s been in love before. Twice. Or at least, he thought it was love. One was unrequited, a silent ache he carried within. The other was forbidden, a love he had clung to with misguided hope. He was beginning to come to the begrudging conclusion that love was simply not meant for him.

Then, you came along. Strange as it seems, you've seemed to have brought back that old feeling to him, awakening something deep inside of him. And though he doesn't know what you did, he thinks--he hopes that you could be the one. The one to possibly release him from the chains of solitude and longing.

You've rarely left his mind since the night he met you. The echoes of your first words to him lingered in his mind long after your encounter, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your voice was cloaked in both mystery and certainty, as though you held the threads of destiny within your grasp. It prompted him to ask who you were but your answer, “that’s for you to decide” only gave rise to more questions. 

Then, there was that smile. So beautiful, so hopeful. It etched itself into the recesses of his memory. It was a smile no one had ever bestowed upon him before and one he longed to see it again.

And he almost ruined it all–that day he snapped at you after a session gone wrong with Elain. Your intentions were always pure. He knew this. No one was at fault as everything that transpired between you and Elain was completely consensual. But the scream that tore through Elain sent him in a heightened frenzy. He had sworn to Rhysand and Feyre, his High Lord and High Lady, that he would protect Elain. Before he could properly assess the situation, he had roughly pushed you aside with a growl. The hurt that flashed in your eyes in response haunted him nearly every night.

You began to actively avoid his gaze and presence whenever possible, and guilt gnawed at him relentlessly. Even his shadows, missing your attention, seemed angry with him. Truth be told, he was angry with himself too. You had made friends with everyone. Everyone but him.

The following two weeks became a series of futile attempts at groveling, your obliviousness to it all cutting deeper than he cared to admit. The breaking point came when you missed dinner, and he knew it was time to set things right then. So he sent his shadows to look for you and when they reported back to him that you were sleeping in the library, he brought your dinner to you.

After that moment, the atmosphere between you two shifted. He became the chaser, gradually closing the distance between you.

You looked his way more, approached him with a newfound openness, and your conversations became more frequent. You teased him at times, even, with your cryptic words. But rather than frustrating him, it only made him seek you out more. He wanted to be the one to unravel the mystery that was you.

Somewhere down the line, his eyes stopped searching for Elain's. The private moments he sought with her became mere echoes of the past—no more lingering touches, exchanged glances, or pointless conversations. Instead, it was you who occupied the center of his attention, infiltrating his dreams and igniting desires he never knew he harbored.

You eased him like no other, effortlessly coaxing smiles and laughter from him. It was in these moments that the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning—he had never truly been in love during the first two instances. What he felt for you was different. He was unwilling to let his feelings linger in the shadows, as they had done before. He yearned for them to step into the light. To be acknowledged and acted upon openly.

He decided to wait until after Solstice to confess to you and hoped that your visions wouldn't give him away.

Laughter and clinks of wine glasses ring through the air. Azriel knows it’s time to open presents, his shadows singing loudly and overwhelming him with information. Cassian is sneaking a peak. Rhysand is rolling his eyes. Elain got Lucien a present. y/n is holding back tears.

Azriel tenses at the last bit of information, eyes immediately finding you. You’re seated beside Feyre–the two of you exchanging smiles. There’s an unwrapped present on your lap and his shadows dart toward it. It’s a small portrait of the Suriel. He hears you thank Feyre and he swears he can feel your ache of grief. He moves to stand from his seat but Elain stops him.

“Happy Solstice,” she says, holding out a small present. He takes the box albeit reluctantly but politely and opens it to find two tickets to an upcoming play. 

Elain smiles at the frown he’s trying to hide.

"Elain, I can't--"

“Y/n mentioned always wanting to go see a play. I thought maybe you could be the one to take her. After you confess."

His eyes search hers for any traces of hurt. He’s relieved when he finds none but the frown in his brow remains. “How–”

“She trained me well," Elain replies, eyes shining with an all knowing gleam he's seen in yours. "She deserves to be happy. You both do and something tells me that she’s the one you’ve been waiting for.”

Gods, you and Elain have been hanging out so much with one another that now she’s beginning to talk like you. There's a tightening in his chest, like a band about to snap at her words.

Azriel looks back at Elain in question but she only smiles at him once more before retreating back to where she was sitting previously. Next to Lucien, who also sends a smile his way.

Looking down at the tickets, he thinks of you again. His shadows stir, mirroring the strange sensation in his chest. It’s almost like a pull and his shadows guide him toward it, turning his head for him. Just in time to catch a glimpse of you quietly slipping away from the festivities. His steps quicken as he follows you, pulling his coat along with him.

The soft flakes of snow flutter down, a delicate dance in the winter night. Despite weeks of continuous snowfall, the enchanting beauty of it never fails to captivate you. It differs markedly from the unforgiving snowstorms you endured while wandering the Night Court's forests. Though just as cold, it prompts an involuntary shiver, a reaction to the biting chill in the air.

As the door behind you creaks open, a rush of warmth accompanies its movement. The scent of cedar invades your senses, growing more intense as you feel a fabric drape over your shoulders, bringing forth an intimate warmth.

"Hey," Azriel breathes, a visible puff of white escaping his lips.

"Hi," you smile back at him, your fingers instinctively reaching for the coat that draped over your shoulders. You can't help but notice the thin sweater he wears. "Won't you be cold, though?"

Azriel stops you, securing his coat back onto your smaller frame with a reassuring smile. “I grew up in a camp where it snowed a lot more than this. I’ll be fine.”

You look back up at the night sky. The stars are shining so bright. It makes you wonder if they ever tire. They seem to answer you as their radiant beams cast a celestial glow upon you. Your vision blurs in surrender.

“What are you seeing?” Azriel inquires, curious. He hopes it's not the confession he's aching to spill.

Your eyebrows knit together, and you close your eyes, immersing yourself in deciphering the messages woven between the stars. Upon opening your eyes, you turn to Azriel, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“You're going to get frostbite."

Azriel lets out an amused huff. "I don't care. As long as you're warm."

"We should head back inside," you suggest.

"No," Azriel insists, enfolding a wing around your form, anchoring you in place. His shadows can sense you don't want to go back inside yet. "I like being alone with you."

The wind nips at your cheeks, a sensation you welcome as it gives the perfect excuse for the blush creeping across your face. Tearing your gaze away from Azriel before he can discern his effect on you, you quietly share, "Nyx is going to say his first word in three days."

Azriel leans forward and you can feel his anticipation. A familial bet circulates among his uncles and aunts (save for Elain) regarding what the young heir’s first word will be. “What is it?”

“Cas.”

Azriel can't resist glancing back toward the house, his eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. There, he catches a fleeting glimpse of Cassian playfully hoisting Nyx in the air, the two engaged in a lively game of chase around the living room. When he turns his attention back to you, mischief twinkles in your eyes.

“You’re lying.”

“You fell for it."

And that smile he’s been longing for since he met you graces your lips as you laugh. A sweet and beautiful sound that warms the winter air. Azriel's gaze dips toward your lips, captivated by the sound, before lifting back to meet your eyes. He leans in even closer.

“I fell for you.”

You also lean in, eyes never leaving his. "The answer is yes."

"What?"

Azriel nearly stumbles back, caught off guard, but you remain close, lifting a hand and cradling his cheek. It's surprisingly warm and he instinctively leans into your touch. His eyes widen. Did you—

“To you taking me on a date,” you reveal, your smile deepening, and he swears his shadows snicker in response. “The vision I just saw. It was of me and you at a theater. Next Friday at seven.”

“Next Friday at seven,” Azriel confirms, a tender affection lighting up his expression.

The air seems to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting future. You reach out, tugging at the bond in your chest. Once again, there is only silence. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. Not when Azriel is gazing at you as though you are the very stars illuminating the night sky.

And then you're kissing him.

The snow crunches underfoot as Azriel moves, his usually keen senses dulled. His mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of you. Even as the icy missiles fly past him, Azriel remains lost in the memories of shared glances and smiles and the way your lips felt so perfect against his last night.

For the first time in years, Azriel finds himself on the losing side of the annual snowball fight. Oddly, no disappointment lingers, even after meticulous planning for this anticipated victory. All he wants is to return home—to you.

Amidst the snowy chaos, revelation strikes him simultaneously with a snowball from Rhysand. The snap, the bond—everything falls into place. It all makes sense now. Your words when you first met. Elain’s words last night at Solstice. Why your presence thrilled and delighted him. Why he couldn't shake the feeling of love and adoration for you.

You are his mate. 

The one he had been longing and pleading for, and the realization left him breathless. He shakes the snow from his face and Rhysand blinks back at him in surprise. The High Lord had been expecting a glare but he only finds pure shock on Azriel’s face.

“Oh come on, I didn’t hit you that hard,” he teases.

“I have to go.”

“If you leave, you’re forfeiting,” warns Cassian, but the glint in his eye betrays a desire for Azriel to leave, eager for a victory.

“I yield,” Azriel says mindlessly, surprising even Rhysand. Feeling his friend's talons probing his mind, Azriel throws up his shields and disappears into his shadows, abandoning the snow-covered battlefield. He'll explain later.

For now, he has to find you.

His shadows winnow him back to the River house and he doesn’t have to look for long because there you are, making your way down the last step and standing in his path. There’s not much that surprises you but that has changed since meeting Azriel and this moment is no different. Your eyes are widening, mouth parting.

“Azriel," you say. "What are you doing here? I thought you were–”

“It’s you,” Azriel interrupts breathlessly as if he was running, chest rising and falling quickly in step with the erratic beating of his heart. He’s bridging the distance between you. “All this time. It’s been you.”

You swallow thickly. “You know?”

The glimmer of hope that had ignited during Starfall returns to your eyes, revealing a world he hadn’t realized existed. How could he have been so blind?

Azriel smiles at you and it’s as if that’s the last piece to the puzzle as the bond between you both comes to life, singing loudly against your chests. He pulls you flush against him and spins you around, eliciting a delightful squeal from you. Cradling your face in his hands, he kisses your forehead, then the corners of your eyes. He saves your lips for last, lingering in the sweet taste of them for a moment longer.

“You’re my mate,” he says quietly, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yes,” you manage to whisper back, surrendering yourself to the depths of his mesmerizing hazel eyes, just like in the vision from months ago. And it’s not you who speaks again but Azriel.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

a/n: hope you all enjoyed this (: It took me longer to write than I thought because i'm used to writing more angst for Az than fluff but I wanted this to be different. It's canon that Elain found out that reader and Az were mates through a vision around the same time she decided to give Lucien a chance. I just want them all to be happy ♡ in terms of my ABBA x ACOTAR series, I think I'll work on another one for Cas next inspired by Honey, Honey. If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know!

tagging: @hellodarling1357

if you want to read more about Az x Seer reader, I wrote a couple of bonus scenes that didn't quite make the final cut. You can read them here.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐲 | 𝐞.𝐦.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Fem Reader [friends -> lovers]

Summary: You and Eddie ditch the party of the semester to fall into something you both know is meant to be [fluff, 3k]

A/N This is just fun, fluff, and feels. Felt like a vibe while I was writing it. This fic is part 1 of 3.

The music vibrates through the floor so intensely that Eddie can feel it in his bones. Even in the sunroom where he and a few others have settled. The small space gives sight to the backyard, where people mingle as they smoke, illuminated by string lights combating the night’s darkness. Those inside the house with him chatter, sing, and toss their heads back in carefree laughter, feet shuffling against the hardwood as they dance.

The entire scene buzzes with the kind of life only Steve Harrington’s place could ignite on a Friday night. One of these days, he swore he was going to loosen up and allow himself to get swept up in it too. 

For now, he watches. Eyes flitting to various faces, but always returning to you. If you weren’t smiling, you were talking, and the way your lips formed around your words was just as beautiful. The two of you spoke briefly when he first arrived, and he could still feel the delighted hug you’d given him over the fact that he decided to come. He wondered what he’d have to do to make it go away, but good thing he didn’t mind the feeling. It was a reminder of how much he wished your nearness could be all his forever.

Longing was a peculiar thing. Selfish in its occupation of his entire being. 

As Eddie takes another small sip from his drink, something fruity spiked with vodka, The Hair himself saunters up in front of him in a pair of slacks and a Polo sweater. Though rather polished for the occasion, it manages to look fitting on him. His cheeks are a little flushed and the metalhead raises a curious brow as his friend stares down at him with a smirk. 

Rebel Yell starts pulsing through the stereo as Steve offers him a hand off the couch. They end up weaving their way out back. The fall air is cool, but not all of summer’s warmth has vanished. A few people wave and greet them as they head towards a pair of chaise lounge chairs. Billy Idol’s voice is muffled as it continues thrumming from inside. Grooving bodies are visible through the windows as the party carries on. 

Steve pulls out a fancy metal cigarette case before they sit, flipping it open with a soft click. Eddie can’t help but snort as he relaxes into the chair. 

Steve’s brows furrow as he slips out a joint and begins lighting it. “What?” 

Eddie nods to the case in Steve’s lap. “Rich people shit.” 

Steve takes the first couple puffs before passing the joint to Eddie. “Jealous?” 

A smile cracks Eddie's face before he takes a drag. The answer is no, he isn’t. Once upon a time, jealousy was all he burned with, even though he was Hawkin’s poster child for no fucks given and had every reason to be grateful he wasn’t worse off. Grateful for Wayne, that he wasn’t in the pen with his deadbeat father, for finally finding solid friends. He had more than he could ask for, and it took growing up to see it. 

Eddie tips his head back and blows smoke up into the night before giving Steve his turn. What he can’t see is that your eyes have fallen on him from inside the house, sparkling and curious as Robin grins by your side. 

“So did I save you back there or what?” Steve asks as he ashes the joint onto the ground. “Looked like you were zoning in and out, man.” There’s genuine curiosity in his gaze though his tone is playful. 

Growing up with parents like his, Steve had gotten good at reading people. They vacationed a lot, but still managed to walk around with arc reactors in their chests whenever they were home. Bound to detonate in the wake of the most trivial inconveniences. Sometimes he wished he could shut everyone and their feelings out, but he wouldn’t quite be himself then. 

Eddie runs his ringed fingers through his hair. “Just a bit overwhelmed.” 

Steve takes a thoughtful look around. “These kinda things can be a lot.” 

Not even half the faces outside belong to close friends. There was a magic to it, nevertheless. For a few hours, everyone could throw their worries to the wind as Hawkins, Indiana began to feel less like a nowhere town and more like the top of the world. Lord knows Steve didn’t mind the distraction. 

“Not my scene,” Eddie settles on saying. The joint has found its way back into his hand. 

“Everyone’s got their escape,” Steve says. “You’re just too evolved for this one.” 

Eddie snorts. “Shut up.” 

“Yet here you are in the flesh,” Steve continues, thinking as Eddie smokes. “You should tell her how you feel.” 

Eddie coughs, lowering the joint from between his lips. “Dude. Fuck.” 

Steve bites back a smirk as Eddie recovers, extending his hand for the joint. Eddie refuses, taking another drag out of spite, for himself or Steve he isn’t sure. A distant swell of giggles makes multiple heads turn towards the back door, where you and Robin file outside. There’s an immediate flutter in Eddie's gut as he takes you in, your skirt flowing at your thighs. It takes him a second to realize you two are headed their way. 

By the time you make it over, Eddie has straightened up. Meanwhile Steve remains unphased. “Ladies,” Steve greets.  

Robin wrinkles her glittery nose at him. “Why weren’t we invited out here?” 

Chuckling, he makes room for her on his chair and she plops down beside him. “‘Cause you hate the way weed makes you feel like you’re going insane.” He leans into her with each word until she pushes him away with a helpless laugh.

“It’s the principle,” she counters. 

Eddie motions for you to join him and you smile as you take a seat beside him, bumping your shoulder against his in a gentle hello. When he offers you the joint, you shake your head. Steve reaches for it yet again, but Eddie pretends not to notice, taking another drag. A small smile pulls at your lips. 

“Actually, I think I will take a hit.” Eddie doesn’t hesitate passing it to you. 

Rather than indulging, you hand it to Steve, who laughs in victory. Eddie shakes his head, feigning betrayal in a way that earns a laugh out of you. It’s a sweet, melodic sound. He tries to ignore the way your thigh feels pressed against his, but it’s in vain. Even the vanilla notes of your perfume manage to cloud his mind in the softest way. No matter where he was, if you were near, he would always be painfully aware of your presence. 

It was your invitation that had driven him to this party in the first place. Although Steve’s invite came first, your insistence made him change his mind and say yes. Sweaty bodies and blaring music wasn’t your ideal scene either, but you gave in from time to time and looked good doing so. Earlier that night, Eddie almost hadn’t made it through Dancing In the Dark as you and Robin swayed and jumped around like you were alone in your room. There was something about the freeness of the way you moved that made it hard to look away. 

“Munson’s been meaning to tell you something,” Steve announces, looking straight at you.

Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach as he glares at Steve. Robin glances between the two of them, brows furrowed as amusement plays on her lips. You hug your arms as a cool breeze rolls through, but you’re more interested in what Eddie has to say than escaping the chill. In meeting your gaze, however, he silently begs you not to entertain the claim. It only piques your curiosity all the more. 

“Are you gonna spill or what?” Robin prompts.

“There’s nothing to spill,” Eddie insists, looking down to twist his skull ring. 

Reaching over into his lap, you gingerly take his hand into yours to slip off that very ring. He doesn’t pull away or argue, just watches as a helplessly warm feeling melts down his ribcage. His lips twitch upwards when you put it on your thumb because it’s the only finger big enough. It’s warm from being against his own skin for so long. Robin and Steve share a brief, knowing look.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace.” There’s hope woven within the lilt of your voice. Eddie chuckles, and you commit the breathy sound to memory as if you’ll need it one day more than you do now. 

Robin slaps her hands against her knees. “Well, it’s getting kinda chilly out here so I’m gonna head back inside,” she says, rubbing her arms as she stands. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” you tease. 

“I’ll stick to something tame like snooping around in Harrington’s room,” she says as she turns to leave. Steve rolls his eyes.

A comfortable silence settles between the three of you. However, his brows eventually pinch together as he reconsiders Robin’s words. Taking one last drag, he passes the joint back to Eddie.   

“She was joking, Steve,” you assure him, chuckling. 

“No she wasn’t,” he worries as he stands to jog back into the house. Eddie snickers. 

With a soft sigh, you lean back onto your hands, looking towards the sky as silence falls again. There are a few clouds visible in the light of the crescent moon, but the stars are everywhere. Like tiny shining freckles peppered against the face of the night. Part of you wonders if he’ll talk now. 

“What if the stars have been watching us back our entire lives?” you murmur. 

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he looks over at you, chest rattling with a startled laugh. “That’s something to think about.” His eyes are a bit glossier now. “Don’t think I’d mind if that were true.” 

You tilt your head, a smile budding on your face. “You wouldn’t mind billions of little eyes observing your day-to-day life?” you ask. “That’s a pretty big audience.” 

A grin eases across his face, half playful, half cocky. “I’m a pretty interesting guy.”

You lift a teasing shoulder, feigning indifference. “You’re alright.” 

Eddie laughs, but a weighted look flickers in his eyes as he studies you, catching the fondness you hadn’t tried all that hard to hide. Even with the pleasant buzz beneath his skin and somewhat of a looser mind, he can see it clearly. 

“Hey,” you speak up again. There’s a new softness to your voice, something mischievous dancing around the edges. “Wanna get outta here?” 

Eddie blinks like he can’t quite believe you’ve asked, but finds himself saying yes anyways.

••• 

Sitting in the passenger seat in his van, you realize you didn’t think much further than this. The air smells like him in all the best ways. Pinewood and faint cigarette smoke. As the engine rumbles to life, you shift in your seat and peek over at him, your confidence a distant memory. The radio bursts to life as well, but he quickly reaches out to turn it down. You bite back a smile at the fact that his skull ring is missing from his finger because it’s on yours. Eddie settles in with a sigh, turning to you. 

“So,” he says, eyes sparkling and a little red under the glow of the street lights. 

There’s an intensity to the warmth of his gaze. It drives you to hide your face in your hands. Which does nothing to make him disappear, if the way he exhales a chuckle is any indicator. “Stop looking at me, I didn’t think this far ahead.” There’s no real distress in your voice, only giddiness mixed with nerves. 

“Now I feel like an idiot,” you whine. 

“Well, you’re not.” He sounds more sincere than the moment calls for. “And I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop looking at you, so I guess we’re both in a pickle.” 

“A pickle?” You snort, lowering your hands to meet his gaze. More laughter escapes you. Maybe it’s your body's way of not having to address the implication of his words. 

There’s a flutter in his gut as he watches you. It’s like old times, back when you were freshmen who stayed up too late laughing over the most ridiculous things. Except now, you were more than the girl who sat beside him in Biology because you thought it was cool he had a tattoo. You’d grown into a friend, perhaps even more. As composure finds its way back to you, that truth weighs heavy in the small distance between you.  

Eddie clears his throat. “We could hang at mine for a bit. Wayne’s at work.” When you don’t say anything, he bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s up to you.”  

“Sorry, yeah, that sounds good,” you breathe. 

Eddie gears the van into drive, only to put it back in park with a heavy exhale. You blink when angles himself to look at you, opening his mouth a few times before speaking. 

“There is something I need to tell you,” he admits. “No way in hell did I ever think we’d be friends, but you’re the raddest person I’ve ever met.” A lump forms in your throat as his words wash over you. “And you’re so pretty that sometimes I wonder how every guy in the world isn’t giving you whatever you want all the time.” 

You can hear your heart in your ears as you say, “Maybe that’s ‘cause there’s only one guy I want in the world.” 

•••

A small sound of surprise rises up your throat when Eddie backs you against his bedroom door. His apology is hushed against your lips as he continues kissing you, hands gentle where they grip at your waist, feeling along your sides. You’re warm all over as if you’re laid out before the sun, arms hooked around his neck. It hadn’t occurred to him how much he wanted to kiss you until you looked at his alarm clock and realized that it’d probably be best if he drove you home. It was well past midnight. Time had escaped you as you talked and laughed. 

When he does pull away, he studies your face like he’s looking for something. A few seconds pass, and he still doesn’t know what for. Perhaps your smile as it shyly appears. You move your hands to cup his face, thumbs stroking his flushed cheeks. You’ve never been close enough to notice he has the faintest freckles over the bridge of his nose. It almost feels like you’re getting a glimpse at sacred markings you’re not supposed to see. 

Eddie remembers to breathe when you peck his lips again, running your fingers through his hair. His breath is startled out of him, more like. It’s a wonder his knees haven’t buckled beneath him. He wants to kiss you again to see if that’ll finally knock him back down to earth, but instead he exhales the softest sigh over your lips, squeezing your hips to confirm you’re real. He’s not expecting the sense of guilt that creeps up on him. 

Your brows pinch together. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I just… I haven’t taken you on a date or bought you flowers.” He swallows. “I swear you’re worth all that, swear I’m gonna.” 

You gently scratch his scalp. “That’s nothing to worry yourself over.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t want you to feel like I’m just trying to come onto you,” he says. “I like you a lot—”  

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been wanting to kiss you forever too.” Your voice sounds braver than you feel. 

A smile breaks across his face as he rests his forehead against yours. “Well, that’s maddening news.” 

Humming, you kiss him again, delicately running your tongue along his lips so he shivers. “Where are we gonna go?” you breathe, clarifying when he makes a soft, confused sound, “For our first date.” With the way you continue kissing him, he assumes you don’t really want an answer, that you’re trying to drive him crazy on purpose. 

His mind changes when you gently push his chest so he knows to pull away. He listens immediately, eyes dazed. 

“Maybe the arcade,” you supply, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Or a picnic by the lake.” Your hands slip under his shirt, gracing the skin of his lower stomach, your touch sending a rush of heat through him faster than any high ever could. 

You’re not trying to be suggestive, it’s more exploratory. A shared thrill in finally being able to touch him how you’ve wanted for so long. Eddie’s hands remain at your waist, grounding him even as he feels his resolve starting to slip. 

As much as he wants to indulge a step further, maybe even several, he holds himself back. It might be old-fashioned, but he wants to do this right, do a bit of course correction. He can almost hear Uncle Wayne’s voice from those lazy afternoons of his younger years, talking about life and how to treat a lady. 

“Next Friday,” he says, staring into your eyes intently. “It’ll be nice. I’ll surprise you,” he promises, taking your hands in his, relishing their softness, their warmth. His skull ring is still on your thumb. 

“Really?” Your smile is unabashed. 

He nods, a grin creeping onto his face. “It’s a date.” 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 

Turn on notifications for @taleseverlasting so you don’t miss the next one.

NEXT PART (18+)

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[agaypanic]

His Good Girl (Carlisle Cullen X Vampire!Wife!Reader Smut)

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Request Something! | AO3

Kinktober Day 3: Praise Kink

Summary: For your one hundredth wedding anniversary, Carlisle takes you to a cabin in the mountains away from your children and the prying eyes of Forks citizens. The days are beautiful, but the nights are far more pleasurable.

A/N: ignore that im posting day 3 on the 23rd…. Im so behind omfg ANYWAYS i know vampires technically cant get hard or probably cum or wtv bc they don’t have bloodflow but this is a kinktober fic so idgaf. i know a thousand years is in twilight soundtrack, but i like the song and think it fits so pretend it/christina perri exists in this universe. Tbh this feels more like a real fic than a kinktober fic (not saying kinktober fics aren’t real fics. I just feel like kinktober stuff really focuses on the sex/kink and i feel like this is more of a fluff that ends in smut)

C/W: oral (fem!receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex (they're vampires so they cant get pregnant or diseases but wrap it before you tap it), praise kink, body worship, rough sex

***

“Carlisle, dear, I can pack my own suitcase.” But you did nothing to stop him from meticulously folding your clothes and putting them in your bag. Instead, you sat on the edge of the bed and watched him work. 

Your husband looked up, a smile appearing on his lips. “And yet, you sit and watch me pack it for you.”

“What can I say?” You said with a shrug. “I like watching your skilled hands be put to work.”

“Oh really?” Carlisle seemed to suddenly forget the task he was previously so focused on. He walked over to you, letting the cold hands you loved so much cup your face gently. “Just wait for this weekend. Then you’ll really see how skillful they are.”

You giggle, pulling at his waist and leaning up to kiss him. “I can’t wait.”

It wasn’t long before you were finished loading up the car and ready to leave. Carlisle had to practically drag you away when your goodbyes with the kids went on a little too long. But you couldn’t help it. Not only did you love your children dearly, but you needed to give them all (mainly Emmett and Edward) to behave while you and Carlisle were gone. Although they were tremendously older than their young adult bodies, they sometimes acted just as recklessly as teenagers. 

The drive to the cabin was long and peaceful. Carlisle let you handle the music, and although he kept his eyes on the road, he smiled at the sight of you passionately singing along with every song out of the corner of his eyes. 

You arrived in the afternoon, and your husband insisted on carrying your bags inside for you, allowing you to wander around the cabin you came to for special occasions. It followed a less modern aesthetic, mainly because getting a good internet connection so far from civilization was a little difficult. It reminded you of when you were first married to Carlisle.

“Why don’t you pick out a record?” Carlisle said from the bedroom, raising his voice a little so you could hear him down the hall, despite your enhanced hearing. 

You walked over to the small shelf that was filled to the brim with different genres and eras of music. You opted for something more modern, so you pulled out a Christina Perri vinyl and put it on the player.

The first track was one that you knew all too well, and it seemed Carlisle remembered it just as well when it hit his ears. Deciding that unpacking could wait, he left the bedroom and approached you. When he got close enough to grab you, he started leading you in a slow dance around the living room. And when Christina sang about loving someone for a thousand years, Carlisle kissed you deeply before making a comment about how he couldn’t wait for the thousand-year mark.

***

When your anniversary came the next day, you and Carlisle didn’t do much. Besides being slightly more affectionate than usual and exchanging presents, it seemed like a normal day for you two. But you cherished it like any other day you spent with your husband. 

The only time Carlisle strayed from you today was to go outside and hunt for dinner. He came back in record time with two wine glasses filled with red liquid and a few smudges around his mouth that he let you kiss off. Ushering you to the couch in front of the lit fireplace, he handed you a glass and used his now free hand to hold you close to him.

“To you, my dear.” Carlisle toasted, holding his glass up to you.

“And to you, darling.” You added, clinking his cup with your own. “To a hundred years.”

“And a hundred more.”

Hours had passed without you knowing. You were too wrapped up in Carlisle’s presence, the way he stroked your arm while he listened to you talk about whatever came to your mind. 

Eventually, your glasses were empty, and Carlisle set them on the small table in front of you before cuddling you again. You leaned into his touch, breathing his scent in. “I love your hands.” You muttered against his neck. The hands in question were either holding yours or gently massaging you.

“Oh, yeah?” He smiled, and you nodded. “You wanna see what else they can do?”

It felt like a switch had flipped, and suddenly, you were straddling your husband and kissing him like you’d been starved for a hundred years. He kissed back with the same sentiment, hands roaming and groping your body.

Carlisle broke away the slightest bit to speak. “As much as I’d love to take you right here, why don’t we move to the bedroom?” Without waiting for a response, he stood up, carrying you down the hall like it was nothing. You clung to him, kissing and lightly nipping at his neck.

When he reached the bedroom, Carlisle softly set you on the bed and started kissing you again. He towered over you, caging you in with his limbs.

But kissing, although very enjoyable, wasn’t enough for him. His hands started to roam again, and he began to play with the hem of your shirt. “May I?” He asked against your lips, and you nodded furiously. Carlisle peeled the shirt off of your body, and your bra was off soon after.

Without warning, he broke away from you. You were about to protest when his mouth latched onto your nipple, flicking it with his tongue. You moaned at the sensation, running a hand through his once pristine hair. He made sure to give the same treatment to the other.

“So beautiful.” He muttered, squeezing your tits with his hands and running his cold thumbs over your now stiff nipples. You mewled and arched your back. God, the things this man did to you. “So perfect.”

“Carlisle.” You whined. You couldn’t take anymore waiting, you needed him now. In desperation, you started moving your hips to try and rut against his thigh. He allowed it, giving attention to your breasts a little while longer while you used him to ease your need. But his thigh wasn’t enough. “Carlisle, come on.”

He looked up at you with a caring but mischievous look. “What’s the magic word?”

“Carlisle!”

“Nope.” The man smirked, slowly trailing kisses down your stomach and stopping at the waistband of your pants. “Come on, dear. Where are your manners?”

“Please!” You cried out.

Carlisle swiftly started to unbutton your pants, tugging them down your legs. “There’s my good girl.” The little nickname just made you even wetter. Carlisle took off your panties, leaving you entirely bare for him. He stared down at you, taking in the image. He sighed, seemingly lost in thought. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Ready to ravage you, Carlisle started to crawl on the bed towards you. But before he could get to the place he wanted most, you put your foot on his chest to stop him. A hand shot up to caress your ankle, and Carlisle started to worry that he was moving too fast for you without realizing it.

“Maybe you should take your clothes off too?” You suggested, giggling at his sigh of relief. Carlisle dropped your foot and stood up again, stripping in front of you. He did so as fast as possible without using superspeed, knowing you were desperate for him but would still enjoy the show.

“Better?”

“Better.”

You sat up, his stiff cock now at your eyeline. You reached out, wanting to grasp it, suck it, whatever he would let you do.

But Carlisle grabbed your wrist. “Now, what do you think you’re doing?” He asked, tone light enough to indicate that he wasn’t upset or serious.

“I want you to enjoy yourself.” You answer with a shrug. “It’s your anniversary too, you know.”

“You want me to enjoy myself?” He asked, gently pushing you until you were lying on your back. You nodded. “Then be a good girl and spread your legs.”

A tingle went down your spine at the command, and you immediately did as told. Carlisle grasped your ankles to keep your legs separated. He stared at your pussy, mouth watering at the thought of tasting you. He inched closer to you, hands running up your legs.

He didn’t waste another second. Carlisle pushed at your thighs to bring them to your chest and dove into your pussy, licking a broad strip through your slit before latching onto your clit. He groaned at the taste of you, sending chilling vibrations through your body. One of his hands splayed out at the back of your knees to keep your legs up, and he used his now free hand to prod at your entrance.

“You’re so wet, honey.” He cooed as he slipped a finger in, soon adding another. Carlisle began fucking you slowly, hooking his fingers on your g-spot and flicking at your clit with his tongue.

“More.” You moaned, squeezing his fingers. “Want your cock, Carlisle.”

Your husband tsked, taking his mouth off of you but continuing his ministrations. “Not til you come on my fingers, Y/n. You know the rules. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whined, wanting nothing more than to be stretched and filled to the brim by your husband’s cock. But it warmed your cold heart that he was still cautious with you. 

“Then make me come.” You begged.

Carlisle took it as a personal challenge to make you finish as quickly as possible. He usually liked to take his time with you, but you were desperate. So Carlisle quickened his pace, added a third finger, flicked and sucked at your clit, and soon enough you were falling apart. You stiffened and let out a choked moan as Carlisle helped you ride out your high.

While catching your breath, Carlisle withdrew his fingers from you and cleaned your juices off with his tongue. The sound that came from him was almost animalistic. He looked at you as if you were his prey. “You’re so delicious.” He said, licking the remnants of your cum off of his hand. The way he was looking down on you made you even wetter.

Usually, Carlisle liked to start nice and slow, giving you time to adjust to his size before he began ramming into you. But tonight, he couldn’t control himself. He grabbed himself, swiping the tip of his penis through your slick folds to collect more of your juices before prodding your entrance and bottoming out in one swift motion. 

Then he started fucking you.

You were beyond grateful that you were staying in a cabin in the middle of the mountains because if someone were around, they would’ve thought you were being murdered. The headboard banged against the wall with the force Carlisle was using to fuck you. He held onto the backs of your knees, keeping your legs pinned to your chest and giving you shocks of pleasure with every hard thrust.

It was all too much, but in the best way. Carlisle fucking you roughly at an angle that you knew would make it difficult to walk for a while, despite you usually being able to recover from rough sex quickly. With the way Carlisle was acting right now, his panting and almost growling sounds, and his nails digging into your skin, you knew he wouldn’t be satisfied after one round.

“So good.” Carlisle groaned, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You pulled at Carlisle’s hair to try and ground yourself, but you were too far gone with the overwhelming pleasure. “Are you gonna come?”

“Uh-huh.” It came out as a high-pitched squeal, and Carlisle smiled.

“You can do it, honey.” While speaking, he snaked a hand down to rub at your clit, pace as rough and furious as his thrusts. “Want you to come. Be a good girl for me; go ahead.” 

It was like Carlisle had some kind of control over your body. As soon as the words left his mouth, you found your release. It was one of the most intense orgasms you had ever had. You were a bit surprised that you didn’t accidentally pull out Carlisle’s hair from how hard you were gripping the strands.

Carlisle continued fucking you at his rough pace, making you shake and cry out in pleasure. He didn’t stop, seemingly very focused on now reaching his own peak. The way your cunt gripped his cock certainly helped, and not long after you, he was shooting ropes of cum inside you, keeping up his thrusts to fuck it into you.

When he came down from his high, his movements slowed to a stop. He delicately moved your legs off your chest to lay on the bed, massaging any possible sore spots he may have given you.

“Was I too rough?” He asked, seemingly in a clearer headspace now.

You shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. “I liked it.” Carlisle sighed in relief, leaning down to kiss you. “Maybe we can do it again? Like, now?”

He laughed at your eagerness. “How about in five minutes?” He wrapped you up in his arms before flipping you over so you were lying on his chest. His cock was still hard inside you, filling you nicely. “I want to lay with my wife for a while.”

“I won’t argue with that.” You said, snuggling into Carlisle’s bare chest. “Happy anniversary, Carlisle.”

“Happy anniversary, Y/n.”

***

Twilight Taglist: @wedfan2 @natashamaximoff-69 @pink-hufflepuff

[miaouwkz]

“No One Dims My Girl’s Light”

Grumpy/Protective!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader |

Fluff, Comfort, Protective Bucky

Word Count: 3k

----------------------------

Disclaimers: Mentions of self-doubt, being insecure, self-deprecating jokes (off-screen), people being rude and insensitive, and of course, Bucky (yes, he's a disclaimer.) Reader is mentioned to go by she/her pronouns.

----------------------------

Bucky Barnes wasn’t known for many things. He was the guy who glared at children and made baristas flinch just by ordering a coffee. He had a resting scowl that could rival storm clouds, and he wore sarcasm like a second skin.

But somehow, inexplicably, he’d fallen head over combat boots for the human equivalent of a summer day.

You.

You, who complimented strangers on their nail polish.

You, who brought cookies to team meetings even though Tony never ate carbs.

You, who danced around the compound kitchen in fuzzy socks and sang ABBA or performed a whole musical into a spatula like it was the goddamn Grammy stage.

You made Bucky Barnes smile. Actual, verifiable smiles. Steve called it a miracle. Sam called it blackmail material. But, Bucky didn’t care. Not when you looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Not when you looked at him as if he was the sun that lit up your life.

So when it happened—when someone had the audacity to insult you—he was seconds from forgetting he was reformed.

It happened at a gala, of all places. You were glowing in a soft yellow dress, hair curled just the way Bucky liked it, smile bright as always. You were laughing with a few people, your hand on Bucky’s arm like it belonged there (it did), when a woman from one of the investor tables tilted her head and said, “You’re just… a bit much, aren’t you?”

The group laughed like it was a joke. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But Bucky saw how your smile dimmed just a little, how your fingers tightened on his arm, how your laughter caught in your throat like it didn’t quite fit anymore.

You played it off. Of course you did. Made some self-deprecating joke, chuckled like it didn’t matter and excused yourself, muttering something about getting some fresh air.

Bucky (as hard as it was for him) decided that instead of berating that woman that had the nerve to even breathe in the same air as you, would rather just come after you and pull you out of the room and spend the night showing you how perfect you were.

So, he took off without any explanation towards the people at the table, and ran after you.

When you thought no one was looking, Bucky saw you staring down at yourself, smoothing over your dress like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

That was all it took.

He marched back into the room, found the woman sipping champagne like she hadn’t just tried to crush the sun, and leveled her with a look that could freeze hell.

“Next time you think about opening your mouth to dim someone else’s light, don’t,” he said, voice low, deadly calm. “Especially not hers.”

She stammered something about it being a joke, but Bucky had already turned. You were all that mattered now.

He found you again outside, sitting on the steps, hands clasped in your lap.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, too quickly. “Of course. I mean, maybe I am a bit much sometimes. Not everyone likes.. sunshine nor a loud personality.”

His jaw tightened. He sat beside you and pulled you into his arms without asking.

“Doll, listen to me,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “You are everything. You’re warmth and joy and hope all wrapped into one stubborn little package, and I don’t ever want you to change. Not for them. Not even for me.”

You blinked, eyes wide. “Even when I sing ABBA at 7am?”

“Even then.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Especially then. No one—and I mean no one—gets to dim your light. Not even you.”

You exhaled shakily, then leaned into his chest, heart pounding against his like it finally found home.

And Bucky, the former Winter Soldier, the grumpiest grump to ever grump, pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered,

"Shine on, darling. The world needs more of you."

----------------------------

Heyy! So, this is my first time to ever publish - or even wrote, something. I am absolutely in love with the Bucky fics i've read over here, and I thought.. why not give it a try?

I hope y'all enjoyed it!

[totheseok]

☆ boynextdoor reaction to you biting them

requested: no

genre: fluff ig?

warnings: none that i can think of

word count: 1.1k

a/n: more self indulgent things because I have a biting problem.

sungho:

gobsmacked

yk that really shocked face he makes where his mouth is open and his eyes are wide?

that's his face when he realises you bit him

it's a light bite but it's unexpected

you two are in the lower homes living room just chilling. sungho is playing fifa while you just mindlessly scroll on your phone. eventually you get tired of your phone and now you need your boyfriends attention. but sungho is locked in on the game and you know simply asking for his attention wouldn't work. so naturally you do what must be done. and you bite his arm. you bit him lightly but you've never bitten him before so man was s h o c k e d. he looks towards you eyes wide, mouth open and then looks at his arm, then back at you.

"hi"

"hi? did you just bite me?"

"mhm"

"why?"

you bit him again and cuddled up in his side 😌

riwoo:

goes silent

riwoo.exe has stopped responding

like remember the funnextdoor episode where he went quiet and woonhak was like "riwoo is trying to think of something funny to say"

kinda like that

riwoo gives me yapper vibes so...

you two are sitting at the table in the kitchen just enjoying some snacks while talking about your day. he's probably telling you about a new dance he's learning or something stupid that happened at dance practice. you're just listening and watching your absolute cutie patootie of a boyfriend yap away. as he's doing this you cant help but notice how cute his cheeks look. and how biteable they look.... and so to preserve your own sanity you do just that. you bite his cheek 😌. following your bite all you hear is, well, nothing. sanghyeok is just sitting staring at you with wide eyes, bite unfinished. man is shocked, flustered, flabbergasted and so much more

"riwoo?"

"..."

"baby?"

"..."

"sanghyeok?"

"..."

jaehyun:

menace pt1

bros probably going to start singing bite me ngl

but we know hes a dramatic pookie

so that too

you and jaehyun are in his room. hes studying some english. youre having the time of your life, laying with your head in his lap, watching him struggle to pronounce "yacht". you offered to help him but noooo, he can do it. refuses to let you help because he wants to prove he can do it himself and with any other word you wouldnt doubt him. he's quite good at english and hes improving rapidly but the word "yacht"... its a pain in the ass to learn at first even if english is your first language. i mean look at it it should be pronounced "ya ch t" or something. he had first said "ya ch t" and was convinced that's how it was pronounced until he looked at your face and realised he was wrong. but was going to ask for help? no? but manz could NOT figure out what else it could be.

after about 5 minutes of watching him struggle you got fed up and decided to MAKE him listen to you. so you leaned your head down. and but his thigh. surprised at first, bamboozled even. but once he realised what had happened he started giggling soon followed by you. after recovering from the laughing fit, he did not miss a single beat and started singing in that voice he uses to annoy sungho.

"its you and me in this world 내게로 다시 와 tie me"

"seriously? thats you first response?!?!"

"날 구원할 거라면 just come kiss me and bite me"

"sure but say 'yacht' first"

"HEY"

taesan:

bites back.

thats it

thats the headcanon

jk but fr

i cant find it now but theres a video of taesan biting jaehyun and bro just nommed in jaehyuns arm

which is why im 100% sure he would bite back

honestly wouldnt even be phased

its probably your love language as a couple

you and taesan were at the studio, taesan was working on some new songs while you sat nearby doing some assignments. eventually the words you were typing started floating around the screen and you didnt even know what you were typing so you decided it was a good time to take a break. but if youre taking a break then taesan should also be taking a break because 1. he was probably tired too and 2. how dare he work while youre taking a break instead of giving you attention. so you decided to give him a few minutes so that he wouldnt lose his train of though. plus he looks so cute when hes focused so...

HOWEVER a few minutes turned into 10 minutes. 10 minutes turned into 20. and eventually half an hour passed. you realised taesan wasnt about to take a break any time soon, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. you slowly crept up behind him and attacked. bro did not move. just looked at you smiled and pulled you into his lap. you may not have gotten a reaction but hey, now you get attention from your boyfriend. with no consequences... right? err❌ wrong.

"whats up?"

"you should take a break youve been working for so long. nonstop"

"okay"

"youre just going to listen? that easily?"

"hmm?" *bites you*

leehan:

menace pt2

takes it as an opportunity to flirt

teases you to no end

i keep thinking about that boynextdoor 2night video where while spinning bottle the jaehyun told him he was doing it the wrong way

and he was like ill do it how i want

so like

think abt that

you and leehan were watching a kdrama while cuddling. initially both of you were very invested and you kept fangirling over the male lead (me every time i watch unlock my boss) and leehan would laugh and jokingly complain about it. after about two more episodes you noticed that leehan hadnt said anthing in a while so you looked towards him and saw that he had dozed off. but this was unacceptable how could he leave you to watch people try to kill each other on your own. no absolutely not. this was not allowed. how dare he. you first tried slightly shaking him awake, it woke him up but he just mumbled something unintelligible and closed his eyes again. time for plan b. biting him.

it worked. quite well. too well.

"why???"

"why what?"

"baby i know i taste good but if youre hungry the gummies might serve you better"

"you left me alone to watch mr.oh be mean to my husband 😔"

"hey its ok i didnt hear anything he said about me~"

"oh god you know what go back to sleep"

[cindol]

can you do brat reader x bodyguard mikasa w smut 🌚

brat taming with mika’ . . ݁𖦹₊ ⊹ ♱

mikasa Ackerman x black fem reader

cw + — mikasa is a bodyguard (obviously), reader is a pop star, brat taming, smut, modern au, pet names(sweetheart, princess), half baked bad plot kinda, consent given before hand, reader is cocky and witty,

wc : no idea because i decided to say fuck it and write on here instead of google docs .

a / n : just a warning 😭! there’s like six dividers/ time breaks because i fucking yap sometimes. also cliff hanger because im not the best at smut srry 😕

mikasa usually is just your good natured protective bodyguard, always making sure you safely get into your pink honda safely after being at some bustling club with paparazzi surrounding the area. She listens to your complaints about some asshole paparazzi getting too close for her liking and is quick to shove them back but a shove that won’t make them have some major injury.

mikasa’s always at your beck and call, feeding into your bratty popstar personality of wanting any and everything but she doesn’t tolerate disrespect. In any videos you’ve posted on tiktok she fed into the silliness of you wanting to be carried and she even tended to you orally on her own liberty. But don’t be mistaken, mikasa didn’t appreciate disrespect.

anybody who personally knew mikasa knew that she could only be so sweet and serene before she had enough of the bullshit and you learned that on a particular night.

it was a usual sunday night for you at your favorite night club, mikasa at your side in your private section with you as you partied with your girls and poured shots of tequila with the bottle and shot glasses you were given.

it really only took three shots of tequila like usual to get you tispy but bolder than usual tonight. Dancing on tables and singing, then getting some real audacity to sass at her. Mikasa only smiled at her first and brushed it off as you having more fun than usual.

but again, her patience only went so far, even for a pop princess like yourself.

once it was eleven pm the clubs was getting emptier and emptier and mikasa knew you’d soon be tired. You were so tipsy still, just giggling now sitting down with your two girlfriends now that the other three had left. In your section you noticed mikasa getting up and grabbing your pink shoulder club purse.

“whatcha’ grabbing my purse for?”

mikasa just made a simple smile at you.“well i think it’s about time to head out isn’t it? You’ve got a date with a vanity interview tomorrow and i’m sure you wanna be early and awake for that, so cmon.” she lent her hand out for you expecting you to take it like usual but you did the opposite.

instead you giggled and just put both your feet on your section’s table.“hmm, how’s bout nah? I think me and my girl’s can handle just one night without some curfew.”

“not curfew, just a appropriate time that you’ve set for yourself to not be grouchy when morning time comes, sweetheart.”

there were some giggling from your two friends at the petname she used and it made you laugh along too.“sweetheart isn’t making me leave this here seat till it hits midnight, mika and i don’t think you’ll make me even get up from here.” you stating that really just invited mikasa to teach you a lesson with her nerves being pushed with how cocky you sounded.

and thats exactly what broke her.

everything moved so fast, one minute you were giggling and teasing your bodyguard then the next in your bedroom with your clothes discarded and mikasa’s security suit done the same in the corner of your room. The only thing mikasa had on was some grey boxers and a white long sleeved blouse while her palm slapped onto your bottom again and again with you spread on her lap.

this time you had a different tone than your teasing one, now just making out whines and moans at the sensation of her hand against your bottom.

when mikasa had enough of berating your ass she smiled and soothed your cheeks with her hand then pulled your black lace wig to see your usual smiley face have a pout with your mascara running down your face.

“it makes me sad to see your pretty face so sad but you’ve brought me to this point but i have to sweetheart.”

you scoffed with a cheshire cat like smile.“at least it’ll teach you not to be such a softie, mika.”

mikasa let out a breath of air and brushed one hand through her hair at you saying that.“then i guess my work isn’t done if the bratty popstar is still mouthing off even when i spank her.”

abruptly she shoved you off her lap and onto your bed on your stomach before she went to search in your closet where you stored all your toys.

you turned your head to see her searching.“what? Finally decided to get rid of that bad medieval fashion taste and pick something of mine up?”

“if your taste mean a glittery pink dildo with a strap? then i guess pink is the new white for me, princess.” she turned around to show the dildo’s seven inch glory, ready to attach it to her waist, humming just looking at the seven inch silicone dick attached onto her.“but if it teaches you how to behave and not be so mean to the woman who protects you, i guess i’m okay with the sparkly dick.”

you were giggling still, but mikasa was gonna completely rock your shit.

by this time your glossy smirk was gone from your face, instead your eyes were rolled back with your mouth wide and drool seeping from it and moans pouring out.

On the other end of you, mikasa was repeatedly thrusting into you, her right hand holding both your wrists in one and her left hand on your hip to steady herself from the rippling effect your brown ass had at her thrusting.

“mm-mmph! too rough mika!” your hands attempted to break free and slow her rampant thrusting against your sweet spot. That only encouraged her and made her groan with a grin, smacking your flailing hands and continuing to thrusts deeper and deeper and bending her neck down to whisper in your ear and grab a hold of your hands.

“i think not even a minute ago someone was telling me i should toughen up, so i don’t wanna hear any complaints. i’m sure you somehow planned this in your little pink sparkly decorated head to rile me.” she gave a sharp thrust making you gasp out to keep you wide and alert.“so don’t give out just yet, pop princess.“

just to keep you wide awake mikasa made a shift of positioning you and turned so you were now on your back with one leg down and the other laid on her shoulder. Both of you face to face with you seeing mikasa’s pale face have a slight blush and damp here while she had the sight of seeing your face with smudged makeup and a black jet lace wig that just refused to let go from your head.

mikasa had a rare beaming wide toothed grin at that as she looked at your wide eyes and wider mouth while continuing to feed your sopping cunt more thrusts.“whatever hairstylist you paid must’ve used some life binding glue for it to stay this long.”

“guess i should send her another text if it’s being well received then.”

mikasa just hummed.“i think i can sweat it off in half a hour from here.”

mikasa would prove herself right, even if you doubted that with a small eye roll. She knew what made your body tick and your weaknesses. It didn’t take her eons to find what the female g-spot was again and again, with how she repeatedly thrusts into your woman hood she would have your climax coming early.

and she wasn’t hesitating to stop there either.

[rockinglikemotley]

Something, something, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish thinking you’re cute at the bar but… you have eyes for someone else.

The 1-4-1 boys were in America on a mission. They were extremely out of place in the Deep South, but they gotta do what they gotta do. They had one rest day and decided to head to a bar that looked a little run down on the outside, but the lot was filled with cars and trucks. People stood outside, conversing with one another as they smoked cigarettes with a bottle of beer in their hands. Their accents were loud and drawn out as they spoke about the town drama.

Johnny was the first one inside seeing as this was his idea to go get a pint before they continued on their mission the next day. Gaz followed him inside with Simon and John right behind them. Simon scanned the room for anything odd or out of place as they went up to the bar to get themselves some drinks before going and sitting at one of the few high tables there was.

People were all around, some stumbling, some singing along with the singer on the stage, and many of them dancing together at the slower song being sung. Johnny turned around in his seat to watch the girl on stage sing. “Oi. She’s a looker.” He smirked, nudging Kyle with his elbow and pointing up to the stage. “Oh yeah she’s quite fit.” He agreed with a nod of his head. John shook his head at the young men of his team while he took a drink of his draft beer. Simon sat stoically as her usually did, a glass of bourbon sat between his big hands.

The song changed into another slow country tune making the scenery of the bar slightly solemn. The lights cast an orangey hue, people weren’t as rowdy as the 141 thought they were going to be, and the slow song being sung brought everyone together. Couples danced, women were spun in slow circles, and people shared kisses in the sea of cowboy hats.

Simon finally looked to the stage after deeming the bar was safe from any potential threats. He always sat facing the door, so with his head turned he gazed upon he country singer on stage. From under a tan cowboy hat came long (H/C) hair and a sweet face. The woman sat upon a stool, even while singing her lips sat in a light pout, colored in a pretty pink color that shined in the light above her. She was in a matching denim vest and flared jean outfit with silver and turquoise jewelry. She was easily one of the most prettiest women in the bar, but Simon kept that thought to himself.

Especially when Johnny had his eyes glued to her like a dog with a bone.

As time went on, the guys nursed their drinks, Johnny and Kyle going back to the bar a few times to get more. Simon and John talked amongst each other as Soap and Gaz looked around the bar for a lady for Kyle. The pretty country woman on stage had ended her song, taking the mic in her hands and standing from the stool she had been sitting on. “Alright y’all,” Came her sweet southern drawl with a rasp to it. Johnny’s head snapped towards the stage with a boyish grin on his face.

“I’m gettin’ tha’ lassie’s number so help me God.” He uttered to Gaz who laughed and listened in on what the singer had to say. “This is our last song for the night so I hope y’all brought your dancin’ boots.” Her smile was gleaming as she moved her long hair over her shoulder and turned back to her band. Her guitarist started the tune and some of the crowd started to cheer with excitement towards the song. The pretty woman laughed into the mic, “I know y’all like Reba now!” She pointed to the people in the front.

“Steamin’ Jesus. She’s bloody fit.” Johnny huffed and downed the rest of his drink as his fair lady sang ‘Fancy’ by Reba. He was familiar with the redheaded country singer, Dolly as well. All thanks to his mother who had little shrines for them both. She often made him swear to them if she thought he was lying. “That she is.” Gaz chuckled as they watched her dance with the sway of her hips, her free hand raised above her head.

Johnny was damn near bouncing in his seat by the time her set was finished. John couldn’t help but laugh something low at the young man sitting across from him. Simon just huffed at his antics and watched him go off to find his ‘dream girl’ - Johnny’s words - as soon as she stepped off the stage. His mohawked head disappeared in the sea of people and orange light.

Johnny had a few close calls of almost running people over to get to the stage’s exit. He merely send absentminded apologies and went on his merry way to find the pretty country singer. He stood by the exit, watching as her guitarists walked out together, chuckling, as they fixed their hats and bolo ties. Then the drummer of the band came out and finally here came the singer.

He could see her darkened silhouette coming down the hall. Her full hips swaying as she walked, the muffled clack of her boots against the hard flooring. She was lucky she looked up in time to stop just before him or else she would’ve ran into his broad chest. “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” She giggled, her accent making Johnny fawn all over again. “Ach. It’s okay.” He waved it off. Her brows raised at the sound of his thick Scottish accent. “Wow. You’re far from home.” She pointed out with a toothy grin.

“I came all this way just to see you.” Johnny smoothly joked with her. The apples of her cheeks went pink as she tipped her head back and laughed. “Hope it was worth it.”

“It’ll be more worth it if I could buy you a drink.” Soap smirked down at her, his big arms crossed over his chest. “Alright.” She nodded and off they went through the crowd to the bar. They ordered their drinks and while she wasn’t looking he turned his head over his shoulder to give his team members a big grin before turning back to her. “I’m Johnny.” He introduced himself, thankful the bar was lowkey and wasn’t loud so he didn’t have to yell his introduction. “I’m y/n. Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? Already with the pet names, love?” Johnny smirked at her. She shrugged while she took a sip of her drink. “It’s a southern thing.” The pretty woman brushed off. “Well it’s a Scottish thing too.” He chuckled and shifted his feet. “I’m here with some of my mates, you can come sit with us if you’d like.” He offered, deep down just wanting to show her off already and to show them that he could get a woman since they joked too often about him scaring them off with his ‘Scottish-ness’ as Simon would say. “Sure, I can hang for a little.” She nodded and followed along right behind him.

When she got to the table she laid eyes on a charming looking man with a big smile, then to another one that had a thick beard and stache and wore a bucket hat, then finally she laid her eyes on one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Simon sat there all big and brooding with scars littering his face and a half sleeve of tattoos on his forearm. Johnny gave her his chair and she felt a little bad knowing he had come over to flirt with her.

But hey, she was only a woman.

They all introduced themselves to her with laughs towards Johnny and gave her kind smiles. She introduced herself back and took the time to talk to them all. Simon didn’t say much, he was as stoic as every but she figured he didn’t do well in social situations. Or maybe he was the nonchalant type. Hell, she didn’t care she couldn’t take her eyes off him for half of the time she sat there amongst the four of them.

By the time she finished her drink, Johnny was carrying back more for himself and Kyle. She reached across the table for the napkin holder that sat in the middle of the table and fished out the pen she kept in her back pocket to write her name and number down. With a sigh she slipped off the chair as her cheeks grew rosy. John watched her with a small smile which quickly went to shock as she slid the napkin across the table and over to Simon.

He looked up at her in shock as she stood there with a cheeky grin. Johnny had witnessed it with his own two eyes and his jaw dropped. Kyle couldn’t help, but laugh out of shock. “Well it was nice meetin’ y’all.” She grinned and rounded the table. “Hopefully I’ll be seeing you.” She gave Simon’s arm a squeeze, sending Johnny a wave before going off and disappearing back into the crowd.

“You just stole my girl!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Simon uttered as he picked up the napkin with the pretty writing before slipping it into his pocket. Part of him just wanted to spite Johnny and the other part of him was glad she had chosen him over his friend. “I can’t even be mad. That was sly as hell.” He shrugged and sat down in the chair.

Later that night, her phone buzzed with a text.

‘So I take it you perfer Brits over Scots?’

~~~~~

Just had his idea on my mind for a few days. Hope you liked it xx

[angelicdanvers]

BRACELETS | luke castellan.

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: y/n finds herself a friend to celebrate her special day with. takes place before the lightning thief. luke & y/n are the same age. wc: 1.9k key: n/n = nickname

taglist: @repostingmyfavs @rinisfruity14 @soobin-chois | pm or comment to be added <3

a/n: merry christmas to those who celebrate!! this goes out to all my loves who just wish for one person to embrace them and spread happiness <3

sixteen.

it was finally y/n’s sixteenth birthday, and once again, not a single person to celebrate with. being a child of demeter was sweet, everyone was kind all around, but y/n simply couldn’t find her people.

she got along with everyone, no one had anything against her. sure, older kids would pick on her from time to time, but that was an automatic agreement she signed when joining camp two years ago.

she just couldn’t develop as strong of a bond with anyone. she’d sometimes fall asleep with silent tears, wondering if she was broken or missing something key. if everyone was nice, why couldn’t she trust? form a relation?

the night wielded a nice breeze, wafting through y/n’s locks as she sat by the strawberry fields, playing with the leaves. a slight glow emitted from her fingertips as she trailed them along the soil, a small smile on her lips. 

glancing towards the amphitheater, she could see those her age dancing and singing, having the time of their lives. the younger kids had dispersed due to curfew, she noted. 

they all seemed to be in glee.

snapping her eyes shut, she fought back the intrusive thoughts and inhaled a sharp breath. opening her eyes, y/n grabbed some of the soil, stacking it into three layers. grabbing a strawberry, she delicately placed it atop and pulled away to admire her makeshift cake.

“happy birthday, n/n — happy sweet sixteenth,” she said loud enough just for her to hear. looking up at the glimmering stars, y/n decided to make a wish.

all i wish for is belonging. true belonging.

y/n went back to her cake, grabbing the strawberry and picking herself up from the ground. dusting herself off, she took her water bottle and gently rinsed the strawberry. placing it between her teeth and softly biting into it, she savoured the taste as she walked down towards the amphitheater and then the cabins.

she felt stupid for not wearing a proper jacket or shirt, but she did enjoy the fresh air leaving a chill to her skin. y/n was hoping her black tee would blend her into the night, especially as she neared the amphitheater. she wasn’t entirely keen on interacting more at the moment — it was past twelve and she knew she couldn’t match their energy.

“hey, y/n?”

the girl halted in her tracks. turning on her heel, she came face to face with none other than the loveable hermes boy lightly jogging up to her.

“hi luke,” she greeted, passing him a small smile. 

luke smiled back immediately. after a silent beat, he spoke again. “i just wanted to say, ha —“

“hey, luke! get over here, man, we need your backup vocals right now!” one of the hermes kids yelled, y/n couldn’t tell who from their distance.

“yeah, give me a sec!” he screamed, turning back to the girl.

“no dude, we need you RIGHT NOW! we’re gonna be mashed potatoes if you don’t!”

luke rolled his eyes, positioning himself back towards the theatre. “can’t you see i’m busy?”

“you can talk to anyone about anything whenever, luke! this is a one time exclusive!”

“stop quoting missy elliot, and no, give me two minutes!” he replied, a slight whine in his voice.

a scoff followed, “we’re gonna be eliminated, castellan!”

exasperated by bickering with his brothers, luke sighed and nodded. “i’ll be right there!” 

the boy instantly spun back around, wanting to wish the demeter girl a happy birthday.

she was at least 30 feet ahead of him, speed walking away with a slight slump to her shoulders.

luke’s smile dropped. another day, another day of being unable to fully attend to her. these countless moments have occurred more than he could fathom — he was always pulled away from the one girl he didn’t want to be pulled away from.

and yet here she was, disappearing out of his sight once again. “this karaoke better be worth it,” he grumbled under his breath as he trudged back.

the next morning was calm, not many campers up to anything special. there was a soft pitter patter on the window panes, but y/n didn’t mind. the rain rejuvenated her.

throwing on her raincoat but paying no mind to her shorts or shoes, y/n left the cabin with her stash of bracelet material in her pocket and sprinted through the paths, heading to chiron and mr. d.

luke’s attention immediately perked up at the bolting girl, and he realized this might just be the one time he can say anything.

subtly running after her, he watched as she entered the big house and rather excitedly. he followed inside, keeping a distance when he heard her begin to speak to chiron.

he didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he did hear it all.

“may i call my dad?”

“of course, y/n. here,” luke could hear the shuffle of a phone, and footsteps coming closer to the edge of chiron’s office. 

the dial tone was evident. it went through three times before he heard the young girl speak.

“hey dad. hope you’re doing good. should've known you weren't gonna pick up. i turned sixteen today, fyi. hope your kids are doing fine and same with that blonde bimbo,” she spat, making luke’s eyes widen. “i’m not coming home for christmas. might be early to determine but i’m sure i won’t. bye.”

she walked back to chiron, and luke could hear light sniffles coming from her. his heart sank. 

“for all it matters, i’m here, we all are. happy birthday, y/n. you’ve always made us proud, you’ve always been an asset to us, you deserve to know that no matter what,” chiron reassured, and luke could hear the girl softly thank him.

stepping outside of chiron’s office and shutting the door behind her, y/n broke into a sob in the hallway. it was one thing to have others not be around, but when family abandons, nothing feels real anymore. 

luke observed as she stopped her tears almost as quick as they started, wiping her eyes as she headed towards him, unbeknownst to her.

“uh,” luke cleared his throat, “hey, y/n.”

y/n’s face warmed up, startled at his presence. hurriedly fixing herself up, she nodded. “hi luke.”

“i’m sorry for last night,” he apologized, scratching the nape of his neck. “i was trying to talk to you but i guess i got carried away with everyone else,” he paused, looking down, “as usual. i’m sorry.”

y/n shook her head. “it’s okay. don’t apologize, life happens.”

“right,” luke acknowledged awkwardly. “speaking of life,” he approached her in a friendly manner, “i wanted to wish you a happy birthday last night. you’re sixteen, one of the biggest milestones in anyone’s life!”

his enthusiasm made the corners of y/n’s lips tug up, and she watched intently as he continued. “you deserve an amazing birthday, and i’m going to give that to you.”

y/n was not expecting that.

“c’mon, let’s go.” luke held his hand out to her, his dark curls practically bouncing in excitement. a sweet grin crept onto her face, making the young boy smile even wider. she accepted his hand, and the second he felt her palm within his, the fragility made him realize he could never be a part of something that’d hurt her ever again.

she was stronger than anyone he knew, enduring all the shit the world put upon her. he just knew he couldn’t be one of them to do the same. 

together, the two gracefully left the big house, trampling down to camp and rushing towards god knows where.

somehow, they ended up at the pavilions, and without a second thought, y/n pulled out her bracelet material. luke was confused but watched eagerly as she carefully took the little sacks out.

“wanna make some friendship bracelets?”

“friendship bracelets?” luke asked, unsure of the concept.

y/n nodded. “today’s the day someone willingly decided to hang out with me. i was going to make some alone but if you want, we can create matching ones and mark our friendship.”

luke grinned toothily, “so we’re friends now?”

y/n nodded, “i’d love to be, if you don’t mind.”

his eyes screamed happiness, “i definitely don’t mind.”

the two taped down their threads, choosing colours that work cohesively with one another’s. “now you’re gonna wanna take this thread and do a tuck-knot with it,” y/n explained, showing the boy to her left the steps.

after getting the basics down, the two fell into a comfortable silence, threading away and adding some cute hand-made clay beads here and there. “i’m not too childish for wanting to do this, right?” y/n suddenly asked, a nervous smile on her face.

luke shook his head and gave her a hearty grin. “i don’t think there should ever be such thing as “too childish”, sucks the life out of everyone,” he looked back down at the bracelet, “plus, when you’re a demigod, what else is there to do? play video games? we’d be dead in minutes.”

y/n laughed. luke froze.

he’d never heard her laugh this much. she sounded pretty.

“you’re not wrong,” she slowly caught her breathing and softly chuckled. “are you close to finishing your’s?”

the hermes boy nodded and watched intently as y/n’s delicate fingers tutored him on how to securely tie the ends of the bracelet. watching her move so effortlessly made his heart skip a beat — she was perfect.

even though this was the smallest activity they could ever do, she was perfect at it. it made him wonder why he didn’t seize the opportunity to be her friend beforehand.

“hey, y/n?”

“yes, luke?”

“i just wanted to say,” his breath lightly hitched when she began placing the bracelet on his wrist to make sure it was of right measurement, “that, uh, you’re really pretty.”

now it was y/n’s turn to freeze.

“but, i’m not doing all of this to just be your boyfriend or whatever. hell, we’ve just begun our friendship,” he stifled a small, sweet laugh, “so when i say this i really just mean it from the bottom of my heart. i don’t want it to influence you in any way, i just want you to know how i’ve seen you for the past two years.

“you’re gentle and loving, not to mention stealthy and incredibly intelligent. i love whenever i look over and you’re always doing something that captivates me. i’ve been an idiot to admire you from afar for this long, but you’ve always deserved to know and be appreciated. i’m sorry i couldn’t give that to you sooner.”

y/n looked into luke’s eyes, somber traversing in her’s. “may i hug you?”

luke nodded, and y/n wrapped him up in her arms. the boy held tightly onto her, a sudden thought of losing her intruding his mind of peace. “happy birthday, y/n,” he whispered into her ear as they continued to embrace.

“thank you, luke. this means the world to me.”

luke now knew he had to give her the world, no matter what.

their matching bracelets would only be a reminder of what there was, what there will be and what will be gone.

[nyahchan]

Ok, here we go. Cryptid x Reader, where the Reader is on a hike with friends and said friends prank the reader in a really mean way causing them to run off and start crying. The Cryptid stumbles upon reader crying and for some reason misinterprets this as reader seeking a mate and starts doing a mating dance thing that the reader starts out being confused by and a little scared but then they start giggling and think it's really pretty, but then that is misinterpreted as accepting the Cryptid and the Cryptid is soooo happy that this little human wants their eggs! And obviously the crying is just from nerves, so they'll just hum and sing until the get all sleepy and fuck their eggs into them. And they'll be so happy when the wake up safe in the Cryptid's nest and so full and pregnant!

Sorry if that was long and weird lol my brain just kept going.

A Cryptid's mate

Yandere cryptid x gn reader

TW:non-con, implied killing, toxic friends, attempted murder, monster fucking, somnophilia, extremely rough non-con, blood, breeding

Author's note:- you didn't specify the gender so I tried to write it in a way that any gender can read it with whatever pronouns as I made sure not to add any

For you guys see this

Humans are stupid and weird, they tell others to be careful of the red signs yet they themselves seem to ignore them.

You are unfortunately one of those foolish humans, you saw the signs yet you chose to ignore them, you knew better than anyone else that these people who stand in front of you laughing right now, calling themselves your "friends" are just wolves in sheeps's clothings. Your eyes start to blur as you remember being so excited when your "friends" asked you to go on a hiking trip with them, there was a slight voice in the back of your head, asking numerous questions about why they would suddenly ask you to hang out with them in an activity considering they never included you in anything, but you were naive and hopeful and you decided to agree.

During the hike, your "friends" kept on whispering to each other and giggling, you couldn't understand why until they reach the middle of the forest where suddenly one of your "friends" shoved you and another took your hiking bag and began rummaging through it, throwing everything on the forest floor.You couldn't understand why, you tried to tell them to stop, but they kept on snickering "There's a dangerous bug that fell in your bag from one of the trees!" said one of them as they threw all your belongings on the floor and then "accidentally" stepped on them. You tried to brush it off as a kind gesture that went wrong, you tried to smile through it but deep down you knew, they did it on purpose.

Now most of the items you had brought for the hike was ruined, your bag had mud on it as well as the items that didn't get ruined. You all continued walking through the forest, going deeper and deeper inside when you guys are met with a river with high current going downstream, there's a path over it to walk through. Your "friends" tell you to walk on the path first ,feeling pressured,you do exactly that but as soon as you do, one of them pushed you into the river,you see in the corner of your eyes that they are grinning as you fall into the river. Your immediate survival insticts start working and you grab onto a large stone in the river and push yourself out, your bag flowing down the river. You're gagging and choking on air as you frantically ask them why they did it and the only thing you get in response is "it's a prank relaxxx" but you can't anymore, tears run down your face, you eyes get blurry and without thinking straight , you run off to whatever direction your feet take you to, you don't look back, you don't look front either, you're vision too blurry from the tears as you cry and run, your wet clothes making lots of splashing noise as it hugs your body, your undergarments fully visible through your clothes now.

Before you know it, you're in the middle of yet another forest except here, there are no trail tracks for hikers, but you don't care, you're too busy crying at the thought that your own "friends" tried to kill you, you cry by yourself, or at least that's what you think as right behind you stands a strange creature, not human, but not full monster, a cryptid or whatever humans nowadays decide to call his specifies, but it looks human and for some reason, it's extremely handsome. The cryptid man watches you cry from behind, you're so drowned in sorrow that you don't even realize there's a monster man behind you. He watches you cry and ponders on what might be the reason for such an adorable little human to be crying all by themselves in his territory, the territory where cryptids live, the territory he rules, the territory far away from human knowledge?And then it suddenly clicks in his mind, you're crying because you can't find a mate. Good news for you, he's also looking for one!

The cryptid immediately jumps in front of you, making his presence known to you. You're immediately startled and frightened at the creature in front of you, you rub your eyes to wipe the tears away and take in the appearance of said creature, it's around 8 feet tall, is muscular, looks so weird yet also like a human, his face is chizzled and he looks so handso- you shake your head and then look at the creature with a look of terror, but that immediately turns to confusion as the cryptid starts doing this weird funky dance, to you, it's a goofy silly dance, to him, it's a mating ritual and the second you crack a smile and start giggling at his mating ritual, he thinks you have accepted his proposal, he's so happy that this cute little human wants to be his mate, he can barely wait in anticipation as he sees your wet clothes sticking to your absolutely delicious body! The cryptid immediately picks you up like paper and carries you even deeper into the forest, you start panicking and try to struggle in the creature's grip but it's futile. Upon seeing your struggle, the cryptid interprets it as you're probably just nerves, but that's okay! He can just hum and sing to you so you feel relaxed cause he needs to make sure his mate is relaxed as he's gonna get his little human pregnant with his seed! And so starts humming a song, occasionally singing it while he keeps taking you deeper and deeper into the forest, before long, you stop struggling and fall limp in his arms as you fall asleep. The cryptid is happy that you're finally relaxed as he places you in his lavish and comfortable nest.

Your clothes are no longer on your body, thrown somewhere in a forgotten corner. Your unconscious body spread apart as you're being split on his large girthy cock, all that can be heard is the wet clenching noises of his inhuman cock hitting deep inside you, slapping against your skin. He plays with your nipples, licking, turning and twisting them, earning a moan from your coma like sleep state. Moans escape your mouth so often even though you're asleep, he's glad that he decided to put you to bed before fucking and breeding your tiny little human body as you definitely would've gotten hurt otherwise as blood drips down from the skin that tore which was expected considering his cock is way too big, so girthy and meaty and the tip is like a mushroom. At one point, you wake up but the immense pain you feel immediately causes you to pass out. The cryptid kisses your lips as it feels itself nearing his release after 3 hours of constant abuse on your tiny body and within a few minutes, he ejaculates inside you, his eggs spilling so deep inside you, your stomach starts bloating a bit and then bloats a lot. You look absolutely divine , filled with his eggs! Although not all of them wi fertiloze, at least one or two will, and he's so excited to see his little human mate all round and pregnant with his spawns!

When you awaken again, you're lying on a fluffy nest, your eyes hazy, you feel dizzy, you feel heavier, you feel extremely sore and in pain to the point tears start trickling down your face, suddenly a pair of rough hands touch you from behind, one caressing your stomach while the other is caressing your face, wiping the tears off of it, you can't do anything but cry "I'm sorry, you must be in a lot of pain, there was lot of blood, don't worry I stitched you up" you wonder how this creature even knows human language, or where he got the tools for stitches or how he knew how to do it, your mind runs a 100 miles a second,youre too scared and exhausted to move so you just whimper when from the corner of your eyes, you spot familiar clothes, you recognize them immediately as the clothes of your "friends", your eyes widen as you see blood on those clothes and your eyes try to wander further to see the full scene but the cryptid immediately covers your eyes with one hand while the other is still caressing your bloates stomach, he coos in your ear "shh darling, you're still recovering, just relax and go back to sleep, you're gonna be a mother soon, you don't need to stress about anything, I got you new clothes as gift for taking my eggs so well, I just haven't washed them yet" is all you hear before passing out again. You're now stuck with this strange creature.

[chimera-dreams]

Satoru, who...

Did you ask for more fluff? I did, ehe~

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

CW: pure fluff, just fluff, no angst, only happiness | proposal, marriage, pregnancy, husband!Gojo, dad!Gojo, soft!Gojo, categorically fucking whipped Satoru, domesticity, kinda slice-of-life, mildly suggestive at the end

The starstruck boy, Gojo Satoru, who is utterly obsessed with you in every way possible.

AN: while I’m in the middle of writing an absurdly long fic, I wanted to post some shorter stuff to 1) keep my hands loose and brain active/busy, and 2) post something while I’m working on the fic to come. I won’t post much about it rn because I want to actually finish it first and not make any promises, so enjoy a lil fluff in the meantime <3 just something short and sweet

WC: 3k

Satoru, who is smitten with you from the very moment he first lays eyes on you. Sure, he's had infatuations before, but they were short-lived and typically lasted no longer than a week. A quick fascination, then poof. You, on the other hand – you are different.

And it is plain to see for pretty much everyone. He is normally cocky and outgoing, even during the little fads he’s had, he never let down his façade of bravado. You, though? You melt all his walls until he’s a goopy puddle of a blushing, giggling school girl.

He is whipped, almost to an annoying point. He rambles off Suguru's and Shoko's ears enough times for them to know when he’s about to start singing your praises and avoid him, or distract him somehow (which is a monumental task when his ditzy head is full only of thoughts of you).

Even so, they are conflictingly bewildered and happy for their friend. For him to have found someone that he is interested in for longer than a week – let alone several months, now – is a riveting change of pace. He seems so genuinely delighted any time you two interact, bubbly, dreamy sighs leaving him as hearts dance in his eyes.

He has fallen for you bad.

Satoru, who’s a stuttering disaster when he tries to ask you out on a date, and damn near collapses in relief when you’re able to decipher what the hell he’s going on about and agree to go to the new café that opened up near campus with him.

One date turns into two, then three, then a dozen more that become routine for you. You meet up after classes let out, then head to the café side by side. Or, if one is running late, you have each other’s orders memorized. You even go the extra mile and order him a sweet he hasn’t tried yet to surprise him with when he bursts into the establishment, panting like he ran a marathon. He might as well have, he booked it for the café as soon as he was free, dying to see you.

Satoru, who is somehow in even more shambles when he gets the nerve to ask you to go steady with him, despite the two of you being borderline boyfriend and girlfriend by now. He’s jittery, sweaty, downright vibrating with tense energy when he brings you to the sakura tree near the back of school that you two had laid claim on. Oh, and when you say yes? He’s certain he’s died and gone to heaven. Nothing can explain how an angel like you decided to grace him with your existence as is, let alone love him – even while you called him an idiot and said you thought you two were already dating.

Satoru, who was already protective over you when you first met, dials it to eleven after you agree to being his girlfriend. Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive, could inspire fear and respect simply by being in the room with his confident and brash nature, completely relaxed and faithful in his skill. But if, gods forbid, something happens to you? Gone is that cocksure attitude. Gone are the coy smirks and passive-aggressive taunting meant to rile others up. Gone is everything but his one track mind that focuses solely on two tasks: protecting you, and destroying whatever harmed you.

Satoru, who spoons you to his chest and watches ASMR, random videos, or movies on your phone with you 'til you both fall asleep. It became routine shortly after you began officially dating. You'll climb into bed first and decide what you want to watch while he finishes his nightly regimen, then he'll slip under the blankets and pull your back flush against his front, prop his chin atop your head, slide a thigh between your legs, and off to cozy dreamland you two go as whatever you choose acts as white noise. 

It brings him an immense amount of comfort, and though he doesn't need as much sleep as normal folks, he'll refuse to leave bed until you're awake (with the exception of any needs he might have to take care of that will only see him away for a couple minutes at most before he’s cradling you in his protective hold again).

Satoru, who salts and peppers your face with endless, ticklish kisses to wake you up, saving the best kiss for when your sleepy, pretty little eyes open: right on your lips. He always wakes up before you do, and spends hours watching your blissful, precious face as you snooze, content and relaxed like a cat with full trust in its human. The comparison always makes him smile, because he, truthfully, envisions you both as being cats all the time. Lazy ones that cuddle in the sun, your smaller form using his ridiculously fluffy and larger one as a pillow-slash-blanket. His tail twined with yours, your ears twitching as he grooms you with kitten licks, ah, the dream.

Satoru, who wants to slap a ring on your finger the very moment he can. You two spend so many days and weeks raving about your imaginary wedding that he so desperately wants to be real, setting up plans, picking out what you would want for decor, scrolling through forum boards for ideas on a wedding dress for you. He is practically more excited at the prospect of getting married than you are, eager to help in every step of the process and more. 'Let me handle all the hard stuff, baby,' he nearly begs. 

He won’t tell you the cost of anything, and insists you go all out. Get the dress you want, don't you dare look at the price tag. Choose the perfect venue, he doesn't care if it's in Japan or fucking Dubai, he'll handle paying for everyone's travel and hotel needs on top of the whole wedding. Only the absolute best for you, nothing less, everything more.

Satoru, who is a train wreck of nervous excitement, anxious anticipation, and giddy trepidation when the day comes for him to propose. He takes you to the perfect location – up a short and easy hiking trail that leads to a cliffside with the most magnificent view of the ocean and setting sun. You think it's just a sweet date trip, until you see the path of tea candles guiding you to a romantically set up picnic blanket, a basket resting atop it, waiting to be opened.

When you turn around to express your shock and confusion, you find Satoru on one knee, looking up at you as if you are the most gorgeous and divine creature to ever exist. He's confident and boisterous, as always, as he plays out his little speech about how much he adores you and wants to keep you by his side, forever and ever, but he's a shaking trash fire inside. A shivering little dog that's relieved he didn't stutter or screw up the speech he practiced a hundred times over and then some.

Satoru, who's thanking every god to ever possibly reside above (and even below) when you throw your arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder as a flood of yeses pours out of you, slurred as you ramble through your tears and tell him you love him, how happy you are, and a plethora of other things that make him genuinely the most elated person to ever live.

Satoru, who slides the brilliant engagement ring he had custom made for you onto your finger; smooth, with an inset blue diamond that shares the same shade as his eyes, nestled in with a dozen tinier crystals in vine-like spirals flowing outward from the center. Swarovski, of course. He made sure that it was all flush with the platinum to ensure it wouldn't snag on anything. 

He was practically breathing down the jeweler's neck during the entire process, needing to guarantee it’s positively perfect for you. And, when he sees the glimmering jewelry cozy on your finger, the evidence of your bond and the next step in your journey to unite as one, he knows he made all the right choices.

Satoru, who only uses the finest material for your matching wedding bands, and has the insides of both engraved with each other's names. Yours in his, his in yours. He has the same jeweler as before (poor guy) design them to have two stripes of platinum within the gold of your rings, delicate and stunning for himself and his wife.

Satoru, who's jubilant and so incredibly ecstatic that you're now his wife that he can't help but tell everyone he knows, everyday, multiple times a day, even those that were at the wedding. He just can't get over it. You're his wife, the girl he's been crushing on since highschool, the girl he swore to make his, and to devote himself to. It feels like an incredible dream, and he worriedly pinches himself from time to time to make sure it's real. 

He did it. He married you, and now you carry his name in yours, in your wedding band, everywhere he could put it to subtly (not really) show you off as the unquestionably precious treasure you are, his wife, and how overjoyed he is that he managed to catch you and keep you.

Satoru, who forgets how to function when you hold up a pair of white and pink sticks on his birthday, from different brands, both showing positive symbols. You. You're pregnant. With his baby. He swears his brain short-circuits because one minute, he's staring at you like you'd grown a second head, and the next, he has you wrapped up in his arms as he showers your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw, lips, neck, ears, anywhere he can reach, with kisses.

He's a babbling, sniffly mess as he practically crushes you to his chest and coos and preens and weeps with elation. He reveres you like a deity and he’s your loyal and pathetic servant who was blessed beyond measure that you decided to give him the gift of life. He's going to be a father, and it's all because of you.

Satoru, who completely spoils the living hell out of you during your pregnancy (as if he hadn't already been), bending backwards for you for everything. Weird cravings? He's on it. Swollen ankles and nausea? He's rushing to the store for medicine, then rubbing your feet to ease the ache. Insatiable horniness? He's your slave for you to use for your pleasure. Hormones swinging wildly back and forth? He's there with a box of tissues and his firm chest for you to beat on when you feel like you're going crazy. It's his fault you're pregnant, after all. You're doing the hard work of not just carrying his child, but of nurturing it, growing it, letting it take from you to develop strong and healthy. Of course he's going to take care of you.

Satoru, who refuses to let you do any work. You're on indefinite parental leave. From the moment you show him those positive tests, he sits your pretty ass down on the couch and tells you firmly that your only job now is to help your baby develop. He'll take care of everything else, don't even think about lifting a finger.

Satoru, who's there at every appointment with you, clutching your hand tightly as you talk to your doctor about everything you need to know. And when you have your first ultrasound, and see your fetus together for the very first time, he's crying right alongside you.

Satoru, who spent meticulous hours packing a duffel bag with everything you'll both need for when it comes time for you to go into labor. Spare changes of clothes, plenty of water, blankets to keep you warm, a couple pillows, anything and everything. He refuses to go in unprepared. As soon as it's all packed and ready to go by the 8 month mark of your pregnancy, it's in the backseat of the car. The baby car seat is in the trunk of the sleek and top-of-the-line SUV he purchased specifically for your soon-to-be family. He doesn't care that it's taking up space, or that it’s too early, he refuses to go in unprepared.

Satoru, who immediately ditches work the very instant your water breaks. Who gives a fuck if he's in the middle of something important, nothing takes precedence over you and the incoming birth of your infant. He's breaking several driving laws to get you to the hospital, but neither of you care. Not when you're panting in the passenger seat, white-knuckling the grab handle with a palm pressed to your stomach, grunting and crying out in pain any time you have a contraction. It's a miracle he doesn't get pulled over, and he's incredibly thankful (and proud of himself) for thinking of calling the hospital ahead of time so that they're ready for you.

Satoru, whose entire world becomes a blur from the second you reach the hospital, to the second you're crushing his hand in your grip, screaming as you fight to bring his baby into the world. He's letting you yell at him and blame him for the pain you're in, easily accepting and agreeing because it is his fault. 

But while your shaking sobs and shrieks of agony wound his heart beyond any possible measure, he also can't help his elation at knowing it's time, all the waiting has been worth it, every minute spent catering to your every need, want, and desire. He'll do it indefinitely, wait on you hand and foot for the rest of his life, treat you like a queen, because you deserve it and so much more.

Satoru, who's shocked by how well he's holding up when the nurse puts the wrapped up, pudgy little newborn in his arms, gazing down at the tiny being. His tiny being, your tiny being, the fragile and priceless life you both created. Looking down at his kin, his reason for being, he knows he'd do anything and everything to protect you and your child.

Satoru, who sees you, a disheveled and tired disaster, with your hair all tangled, frizzy, and astray, strands stuck to your sweaty skin, your body slack in relief as the hardest part is finally over, watching your husband hold your baby, and he thinks you're more beautiful now than you've ever been. 

You look like you’ve been dragged through hell; your legs are sticky with residue blood, amniotic fluid, placenta, and whatever else that needs to be cleaned off (though your legs are covered with a few layers of blankets to keep you toasty warm while you recover from labor), your face is a little pale and sallow, you're barely clinging to consciousness, and he's marveling at how he's never seen anything or anyone as utterly blest and sacred as you. 

A goddess amongst men, the only one the strongest man in the world would ever willingly bow down to without you even needing to ask.

Satoru, who helps place your baby on your chest, the nurse having opened the blanket for skin-to-skin contact as you feed it, and finally lets himself release all his pent up emotions of raw, unfiltered joy. Every cell, every fiber, every atom in him is dancing in overwhelming happiness. He'd do it all over, again and again, as many times as you'd let him, if it means he gets to see you this blissful and tranquil. The glow of maternity suits you like no other, even in all your unkempt and chaotic glory. 

Satoru, who can't believe he's a dad. He goes above and beyond, insisting he takes care of the baby at night so you can sleep – he doesn't need as much rest as others do, after all. He murmurs to his newborn about how much he cherishes and adores you, how much you mean to him, how you're the best wife and mommy a man could ever ask for and more. He reads the kiddo bedtime stories to help it sleep, feeds it, changes it, whatever it is that is needed, he's there and doing it. 

On top of that, he continues to be your doting, devoted, caring husband. He makes sure you're taking your vitamins, takes you to all your postpartum appointments, aids you through your subsequent depression, all of it. He's sworn himself to you for life, not just in this timeline and universe, but in any and every single one of them.

He made and said his vows with purpose and conviction. He meant every word, and upholds them like his life depends on it. Because, in his mind, it does.

Satoru, who is patient with you, and firmly commands you to not push yourself to do things you can't do while you're still in recovery. He doesn't care if he has to wait months or even years for you to be ready to lay with him again, he'll wait it out. He might not be a patient man, but for you, he'd wait until all the stars die. 

Oh, but you, darling little minx that you are, do your best to take care of him, too. Even when he urges you to rest, or not worry about it, or anything other arguments he might have against it, you tend to him in whatever way you can. Touching, sucking, rough and heavy petting, whatever it takes. You refuse to leave him alone to suffer through months and months of dryness with no relief save for his hand and the toy you surprised him with to help take the edge off.

Satoru, who can't be more grateful to you. You're more than his wildest dreams, the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect person as a whole in the entirety of the universe. He really can't help boasting about being the Chosen One, because he really is, if the cosmos decided to gift him with you.

Satoru, who swears to take care of you for the rest of your lives, and does well on his promise.

Satoru, who fights for the sake of you and your kin alone. He refuses to leave you in any way, shape, or form. He refuses to let the world be a danger to any of you. He refuses to have anything happen to his family. Nothing will tear you apart, not now, not ever.

Satoru, who loves you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars combined.

—-—-•(-•ʚɞ•-)•—-—-

Banner by cafekitsune ♥ thank you for reading

[cameronluvr]

EXES BEST FRIEND — topper thornton x fem reader + rafe cameron x fem reader

summary: rafe is your ex boyfriend and you decide to get revenge on him by sleeping with his best friend topper at a party, but you didn’t expect him to walk in on you both…

warnings: 18+ MDNI ➾ consumption of alcohol, underage drinking, cuss words, smut, semi public sex, unprotected sex, drunk sex, toxic!rafe, arguing, getting walked in on, yelling etc

MY MASTERLIST / RAFE MASTERLIST

you and rafe broke up three months ago after a two year long relationship. it was toxic to say the least, rafe was abusive and controlling and everything he did ruined your self esteem, until you finally gained the courage to dump him and move on.

earlier this week, you were invited to a figure 8 house party by a kook boy who was interested in one of your friends, who was also going, of course. now it’s the night of the party, and you and your friends managed to get a few pre drinks in at your house before heading over there.

you and your three friends tipsily stumble into the party hand in hand with each other as you laugh and head through the crowded house over to the kitchen, where you grab some more drinks to get the night properly started. all four of you had began to settle into the party with booze in your hands on the dance floor, dancing with each other and singing along to the songs playing.

as more time went by, the more alcohol entered your systems. one of your friends had somehow ended up making out with a boy in the middle of the crowd, and another friend was talking to a girl she recognized from high school, which left you and the last friend alone.

“wanna go get another drink?” you ask her, raising your voice over the booming music. “yeah” she says, grabbing your hand as the two of you make your way to the kitchen again. just as you grab another bottle from the crate and crack it open, you turn around and gasp at the sight of your ex boyfriend. “jesus…” you say, putting your hand on your chest as your friend stands beside you.

“hey y/n, what’s up” rafe says in a nice tone which makes you frown in suspicion. rafe couldn’t be nice if he tried to be, there’s always underlying tones to his voice, mainly sarcasm and pity.

“she’s fine, thank you.” your friend answers for you, knowing you didn’t have much to say to him. she shoots him a sarcastic smile which made him look at her and grin.

“oh, she don’t talk anymore, huh?” rafe asks, glancing at you before looking back at your friend. “not to you, no” she scoffs a laugh, which made him laugh at her. “oooh, feisty one your friend is, ain’t she?” rafe sarcastically says to you with that stupid mocking grin he does.

“go away, rafe.” you roll your eyes and grab your friends hand before walking away from him. “awh, i liked you better when you weren’t a stuck up bitch” rafe says to your friend to piss her off, which made her turn around and stop in her tracks, making you do the same.

“do you really have to be a dick right now?” you raise your voice and eyebrows at his audacity. “oh, she speaks!” rafe sarcastically exclaims, raising his arms. your eyes dart onto topper and kelce stood behind rafe, who were looking right at you with stupid grins on their faces to wind you up.

you give them no notice because they want to see you all riled up, that’s all rafe ever wants. you ignore him completely and grab your friend again, pulling her toward the other room again. “i can see your ass cheeks, ‘guess you really are just a slut after all” rafe says to you which made you groan and yell “fuck off” without stopping or turning around, hearing all three boys giggle like girls at your reaction as you walk out of the kitchen.

“ugh. what a stupid fucking asshole” you vent to your friend. “honestly, fuck him. he’s a prick. you should totally get on someone tonight, ‘would totally piss him off” your friend suggests with a giggle to lighten your mood, making you smile a bit. “i don’t know…” you sigh before you both return to your other two friends who were now both dancing with boys. “fair enough” you shrug, laughing it off as you and your friend resume dancing and drinking to take your mind off things.

another thirty minutes went by, drink after drink, and you found yourself wandering away from your friends and chatting to a random bunch of strangers out in the hallway. you needed to pee really badly, and you had no idea where any of your friends were, so you head up the stairs alone to find a bathroom.

it’s much quieter upstairs with a few odd people going in and out of bedrooms and up and down the stairs. you began searching for the bathroom when you found it, opening the door and stepping inside. when you close the door and turn around, you gasp and jump at the unexpected sight of someone in the bathroom with you.

“shit… sorr— topper?” you quickly apologize, realizing it was rafe’s best friend. “what are you doing? get out” topper says in a mean tone, giving you daggers as he zips up his pants. “i need to pee? you get out” you say to him, noticing he was done using the toilet.

“no, i was in here first” topper scoffs, flushing the toilet and walking over to the sink to wash his hands. “great, well you’re done now, so leave” you smile with a fake sweet tone in your voice, crossing your arms over your chest to wait. “don’t care. wait your turn, don’t come in here demanding” he rolls his eyes, turning off the faucet and drying his hands on himself.

“fine. i’ll just go. i don’t care” you shrug, the alcohol giving you confidence as you walk over to the toilet and pull your panties down from underneath your dress, “what are you doing?” topper frowns, looking at you as if you’re crazy. “going pee, what does it look like?” you ask, laughing as you sit down to pee with him right in front of you.

he doesn’t answer, he only rolls his eyes at you, trying not to look at any private part of yours. he doesn’t make a move for the door, he just stands there kinda watching you with a weird look on his face. you two never really got along so well in the past, with him constantly being on rafe’s side each time you argued. “see? you could’ve left but you didn’t—”

“because i was in here first.” you both bicker as you finish peeing, wrapping toilet paper over your hand to wipe yourself. he didn’t particularly watch you do it, but it was definitely in his vision. when you were done, you flush the toilet and wash your hands, all while topper is still in the bathroom.

“great, look at that, we’re both done. who’s getting the fuck out first?” you ask, giving him a sarcastic look. “i’m staying here” topper says, “okay. well i’m staying here too.” you say to piss him off, seeing him roll his eyes. “not much to do in a bathroom…” he shrugs. “why do you wanna stay here then?” you frown.

“why do you wanna stay here?” he asks the same question you did. “to annoy you.” you shrug and giggle, both of you in a pretty drunk state. “right. typical of you” he scoffs, seeing you reach into your purse and grabbing your lipstick. “mhm” you hum as you turn around to face the mirror, opening your lipstick and reapplying some.

“y’know, you already look like a whore so that lipstick isn’t going to change anything” he says rudely, making you scoff at his reflection in the mirror. “maybe i wanna be a whore” you shrug, focusing on applying the lipstick and rubbing your lips together, all while you lean over the sink counter with your ass cheeks hanging out of your short dress.

you see his eyes dart down to your ass in the mirror’s reflection, making you smirk and poke your butt out a little more, seeing him still looking. “if i’m such a whore, why’re you looking at me like that, hm?” you ask in a bratty tone, placing your lipstick aside and turning around to fully face him, his eyes now looking back up into yours.

“you can’t wear a dress like that and expect me not to look.” he says, looking you up and down which brings tension. “why? is it too much for you?” you tilt your head, a smirk playing at your lips. “yeah. y’look hot.” he says, his drunken state allowing him to forget that you’re his best friend’s ex and this is wrong.

“yeah? you want me to take it off?” you ask, your tone more soft and flirty now as you look at him with a smirk and raised eyebrows. “i mean…” he drags suggestively, making you laugh. “come take it off me then…” you offer, slowly grinning as you see the look on his face. he wants to devour you.

he doesn’t hesitate to take a step closer to you, your bodies just inches apart as the tension grows thicker. “don’t you have friends to get back to?” he asks, “don’t you?” your head tilts. “i asked you first” he says, stepping closer and reaching his hand down to your waist, pulling you closer.

“i have no idea where my friends are. the last i seen em’ they were busy kissing some guys downstairs.” you shrug, cozying up to him as your body gets comfortable being so close to his. “weird. i thought you would’ve been doing exactly that.” he jokes, acting like you’re the slutty friend out of your group.

“well i am… just upstairs” you grin, wrapping your arms behind his neck and pulling his head down to kiss you, your lips immediately crashing onto each others. the kiss turned deep fast, with both of your hands roaming one another’s bodies, his hands slid down to your ass where he grabbed both cheeks, making you giggle and stand on your tip toes. “you like that?” he asks, breaking the kiss for air.

“mhm,” you hum, pulling him back in for another kiss. you hate to admit it but you haven’t been with anyone since rafe, you haven’t been kissed, touched or fucked by another guy since. you were too afraid to jump into new relationships or bond with new guys just in case they were as toxic and crazy as he was, he definitely turned you off men for a while…

the kiss began to get heated as your hand trailed down to his crotch to tease him, feeling him get hard as he twirls his fingers around the sides of your panties, slowly pulling them down your thighs. your dress is still on, but it is raised to give him more access. you let him continue as you feel your panties drop to the floor, making you gasp and giggle.

his fingers instantly begin rubbing your wet pussy, making you moan into the kiss. “fuck…” he says, breathing heavily as he pulls away from the kiss, both of you panting for air as he backs you up onto the countertop, slightly lifting you up to sit on it with your ass cheeks hanging off the edge.

you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer, your hands cupping his face. his lips are inches away from yours as his hands grip the sides of your thighs. “you’re so hot…” he says, both of you drunk and lost in horniness. “you’re hot” you say, glancing down at his lips then back into his eyes. he takes this as a sign to kiss you again, so he does.

his hand rubs your pussy again, moaning softly at the feeling of your wetness. “y’wanna fuck?” he asks, pulling away while his fingers toy with your clit, making you moan. “yeah…”

“i don’t have any condoms—”

“i don’t care, i’m on the pill” you cut him off, too horny to even give a fuck about extra protection. he smirks in response before making out with you again, your hands gripping the back of his t-shirt to pull it off and throw it on the floor.

topper has a great body, you couldn’t help but look down at his toned abs and almost drool at the sight. his removes his hands from you to unbuckle his pants, pulling them down slightly along with his boxers. “i’m so hard” he pants, pulling his head away to look down at himself. “yeah? i’m so wet… fuck me…” you smirk, biting your lip as you tighten your legs around his waist, motioning for him to bring his dick to you.

without hesitation he pulls his boxers down, his hard cock springing out and hitting your leg. fuck, he was so big it made you wetter immediately. you lift your legs up some more, shifting your ass in an angle which easier for him to enter you. he grabs his dick and lines it up with your entrance, pushing the tip against it and hearing you gasp.

“fuck… you ready?” he asks, making you grin. he’s actually sweet when it comes to sex, he’s much less forceful and aggressive than rafe was. he asks questions instead of instantly going for what he wants. he respects you which makes you realize maybe not all guys are so bad.

“yeah” you nod, making eye contact with him as he slowly enters you, the both of you gasping at the feeling. “fuck… oh my god” you moan, throwing your head back as more of him enters you, filling you right up with his big cock. “look at me… i wanna look at your pretty face” he says, using his hand to gently pull your head back up.

hearing his words gave you butterflies in your belly and your pussy, his compliments and soft touches making you melt. “top…” you moan, clutching your arms around the back of his neck as your legs move with his hips, thrusting in and out of you.

“shiiit…” he groans, his pace getting rougher with each stroke. you make eye contact and kiss each other a few times before his kisses trail down your jaw and to your neck, where he sucks and bites on your skin. you unwrap your hands from around him and grip his shoulders instead, moaning as he thrusts hard.

you drunkenly fuck on the countertop for a while, kissing and giving each other hickeys. the eye contact he holds with you is insane. you couldn’t help but think about how different he was to rafe, given that he was the only guy you’d ever been with up until now. no matter how drunk you were, you will definitely not forget about this moment and how every thrust felt, every kiss, every little touch on your body…

“fuck… you feel so good,” you moan, looking at your lipstick stain all over topper’s mouth and giggling at it. “what?” he asks breathily, seeing you point at his mouth. he looks up into the mirror above your head and chuckles. “look at yours” he says, helping you turn your head to look at yourself in the mirror, seeing your lipstick smudged around your mouth. you both chuckle and you turn back around to face him, pulling him in for another kiss with as his hands play with your tits above your dress. you didn’t take it off, neither of you wanted to be too exposed being at a crowded party and all.

you went at it for a couple more minutes, moaning each other’s names and exploring each others bodies and mouths. the music downstairs was so loud that it boomed and echoed through the entire house, not allowing you to hear anything else from outside the bathroom, not even the footsteps coming up the stairs…

both of you were so lost in each other that it took a moment to realize that there were male voices just outside the door, “yeah, hold on” one guy says as he opens the door to the bathroom, needing to use it. both you and topper quickly turn your head in that direction to be met with rafe.

shit, you thought… you didn’t actually expect rafe to be the one person to walk in on you. “yo, what the fuck?” rafe says after pausing for a second and immediately getting angry. “rafe—” you say, but he cuts you off with a laugh as he shows kelce outside the door what was happening, but by now topper was already out of you and had his pants back up, and you had jumped off the counter to pull your dress down. “are you fucking for real?” rafe yells with amusement on his face, pointing at you and topper with an angry laugh as kelce says “yo…” in shock.

“rafe bro—” topper tries to speak but rafe doesn’t let him. “nah, are you serious?” rafe amuses angrily, still in disbelief of what he saw. “you come up here to fuck my ex? what the fuck?” rafe pipes up, pointing at himself before fully entering the bathroom, kelce still stood at the doorway. “rafe he’s—” you try to say, but rafe shushes you. “nuh uh, you shut the fuck up, i don’t wanna hear shit from your whore ass” rafe insults, yelling at you which made you flinch a little.

“rafe calm down bro” topper says, attempting to reach down to grab his t-shirt from the floor but rafe stops him and shoves him back. “don’t” you warn your ex with stern eyes, making him laugh. “ohhh, oh i see, you two fuckin’ each other now huh?” rafe jokes, looking over at kelce for backup. “no it’s not like that” you say, topper looking back at you as you briefly stand behind him, your panties still lying on the floor as you were too afraid to bend down and pick them up due to exposure.

“oh, it’s not?” he asks, getting aggressive as he yells in your face, his fists clenching in rage. “bro it was just a spur of the moment…” topper quickly tries defending himself, but rafe turns to look at him, “topper shut the fuck up bro before i beat your ass” he threatens.

“you— you’re just a fucking stupid slut, going for my friends? really?” rafe asks you, making out like this was entirely your fault. “well maybe don’t be such a rude asshole” you shrug, playing it off. now that you think about it, you really don’t care if you upset him or not. he deserves to feel betrayed by his ex and his best friend, he did nothing but bully you.

“really?—”

“yeah, really! you’re a fucking dick and topper here is better than you ever were,” you argue, not caring if you flash yourself as you bend down to snatch your underwear from the floor, shoving them back on. “really?” rafe laughs angrily, “yeah. and bigger, too.” you blurt out, shoving past him to storm out of the bathroom. those last words really ticked him off because you could hear him and topper screaming and yelling at each other as you head down the stairs.

part of you felt bad for leaving topper, but he deserves this, too. all throughout your relationship with rafe, topper was rude to you. he always backed rafe up when you two fought, always insulted you when rafe did, made fun of you like rafe did… tonight you saw a different side of topper, an affectionate and sweet side. maybe it was the wrong place at the wrong time, but who cares? hopefully this’ll ruin their friendship for messing with you.

you rush back to the living room in hopes to find your friends, and luckily you found two of them. “girls… we need to leave” you snicker, trying to hide your laugh. “why?” one yells over the music. “i just fucked topper” you giggle.

“what?!”

“you did what?!”

both friends gasp and widen their eyes. “i fucked topper and rafe walked in” you couldn’t help but laugh in excitement thinking about how much this’ll affect rafe. “oh my god!”

“i know, right?” you laugh as the two of your friends reach over to your third and final friend in the crowd to pull her out. “we’re leaving, let’s go” one says to her, seeing her frown. “why?” she asks, just as you see rafe walking down the stairs, probably trying to find you. “that’s why… come on” you say, pointing at rafe as the four of you quickly move through the crowd and dart for the door, all running out and laughing.

“girl, you’re crazy” one of the girls says to you as you all make it to the end of the driveway and pant for air. “i know… and he’ll kill me if we don’t get the fuck outta’ here” you drunkenly laugh, thinking of the situation as funny more than anything else.

all four of you head down the road and back in the direction of your house where you were prior to the party. “what the hell happened?” your third friend asks, looking at you with a frown. “she fucked topper.” another replies for you. “what? seriously? damn… rafe knows?” she widens her eyes. “rafe saw, he walked in” you giggle, seeing the shocked expression on her face. “holy shit…”

on the walk back home, you tell them all in detail what happened despite you stumbling your words drunkly. all you could think about now was what rafe was doing. was he hurt? did he feel betrayed? you can only hope so.

NOT PROOFREAD. this has been in my drafts for SO long but i only just finished it😭 i hope u guys enjoy!!!! <3 FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED!

english is not my first language so please feel free to point out any spelling/grammar mistakes ◡̈

@cameronluvr

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Good Omens Musical Masterpost🎵❤

How it started :)

Some time before 2013: Vicki Larnach, the australian composer and lyricist, read the Good Omens book, imagined figures dancing on stage with brilliant music and thought, ‘Ah, I’m gonna ask Terry Pratchet and Neil Gaiman if I can turn it into a musical.’ and sent an email to the publishers. The next day she got an email saying, ‘We don’t want a musical but Terry’s coming to Australia, so come and say hello and tell us what you got.’

Rob Wilkins came down to meet Vicki and Jim Hare - Vicki's husband and writer - and took them to meet Terry. They spent an hour and a half with them where Terry asked ‘piercing questions’, had tea with them and they showed Terry a song that Vicki wrote (about the Chattering Nuns). Terry said to Rob, ‘Rob, write and email to Neil, “Dear Neil, this is Terry. I’m sitting in front of two hippies from Sydney and they want to make a musical out of Good Omens and I’m tempted to let them do it.”’ which was the best email they ever heard and then Terry said, ‘Okay, you have me curious.’ - it was because of the Nuns song which sounded like the book. ‘I’m gonna give you six months, come back with a first draft libretto and five songs.’

They then sent it to Terry who sent it to Gaiman. Terry said, ‘I really like it, you’re moving story, you’re doing all the right things, but where’s showstopper, where’s the toe-tapper, you know I need people to go to intermission just snapping their fingers with the song they just can’t get out of their head, and I haven’t heard that.’ - and they realized that they were so busy serving the story they forgot to do the wow-factor, but found it very encouraging from Terry that he wanted to make it better.

They went through the whole book again to find a centrepiece - and they found it  when Warlock is growing up and Aziraphale and Crowley are with him, and spent months working just on that one thing and called ‘All Living Things’ [the song at the start of this post :)] which is a line from the book.*’ Terry gave that song to a person he knew and asked him to play it to his wife with no context and when the next day the person said that his wife woke up still singing the song Terry said to Vicki and Jim: ‘Well, that’s what I asked you to do.’ 

* [“This here’s Brother Slug,” the gardener would tell him, “and this tiny little critter is Sister Potato Weevil. Remember, Warlock, as you walk your way through the highways and byways of life’s rich and fulsome path, to have love and reverence for all living things.” “Nanny says that wivving fings is fit onwy to be gwound under my heels, Mr. Fwancis,” said little Warlock, stroking Brother Slug, and then wiping his hand conscientiously on his Kermit the Frog overall.]

Vicki and Jim got the permission to being adapting it as a musical in 2013.

Vicki and Jim on it a couple of years ‘fumbling about’, took it as far as they could and decided to bring another person into it: Jay-James Moody

In 2015, Jay James-Moody joined the collaboration initially as a dramaturge and directorial eye, eventually evolving into co-book writer. Vicki, James and Jay have continued to evolve through countless more revisions and a number of private development readings with the support, time and talent of numerous wonderful Australian performers testing the material.

In November 2017, the musical was presented in its then-current form and entirety for the first time before an audience of over 500 eager attendees. The cast included Luke Joslin, Lachlan O’Brien, Nancye Hayes, Barry Quin, Brett O’Neill, Lauren McKenna, Nicholas Craddock, Paul Capsis, Rob Johnson, Amy Lehpamer, Debora Krizak, Blake Erickson, Nat Jobe, Ana Maria Belo, Jordan Hare, Bella Thomas, Anthony Abrakmanov and Samson Hyland.

Following a rapturous response to this reading it continued to be refined and developed.

In 2019, ten days before the show came out they did their last presentation, since then they’ve been to London and shown a videotape of that workshop to Gaiman and Rob Wilkins which was ‘a pretty heartstopping experience’.

Differences between the musical and the book

The ending of the musical is a bit different.

It opens with the burning of Agnes Nutter and Aziraphale and Crowley are introduced there. 

Act One ends with them ‘essentially breaking up’ because of a huge argument and they dissolve their friendship, Act Two starts with the first time they meet.

The Future?

What is the future for the musical: in 2021 they said that they need to work on some things and then they hope to do another run, initially in Australia.

There will be a CD of the soundtrack available when the show is produced in it’s full version.

In 2024 on insta they said that it is in "complicated process of rights to stage Good Omens" and "We appreciate your support and patience of the progress or seeming lack therof, of Good Omens the musical but we assure you, we will bring you the show in the next few years."

Videos

Vicki, Jim and Jay talking 46min about the musical (this video was shown at the Ineffable Con 3 in 2021 :))

Sizzle Reel 6min

Anathema singing The Perfect Place

Crowley calling Dagon to check on the hellhound

Shadwell and Newt

Aziraphale vanishing Hastur 👀

Links

Webpage

Instagram - a lot of more bts videos and pics :)

How to support?

Subsribe to the instagram page and like and comment that you want the musical on posts :)❤. If you want to be a sponsor or donor, there is contact on their webpage.

[mochinomnoms]

Silly JadeYuu idea but!!

I've seen it so often in fanfics where Jade can dig up info on literally anyone in the school, so he decides to get his hands on any and all information on The Prefect as he can.

Except, there really isn't a lot to dig up on The Prefect, is there? Don't get him wrong, Jade loves a challenge but it seems like he forgot that Yuu didn't even exist in Twisted Wonderland before September, there is no digital footprint to doomscroll through, no hometown he can research and become an over night expert on. Crowly doesn't even have your birthdate recorded on file!!

All Jade has to go of off learning anything he can about Yuu is your besties Adeuce and Grim (awful, he'd die before he let's himself owe Ace Trappola a favour) or ask you all about yourself which...sounds almost too easy to work, right?

Or something 💦

Aaaaa it's such a predicament for him! At first, he didn't really need to gather too much information on you, but now that he's interested and needs to know you inside and out, the weirdly limited amount of information about you is concerning....

this can take place in the later chapters of ptm when you are starting to pine back for jade~

tags: @ghousus

Jade had meant an unfortunate roadblock. Which was rare for him, especially when it came to intel.

It only took him but a few days to compile the intel on his dorm's freshmen for Azul, he even managed to find students' secret social media accounts.

Yet you were simultaneously NRC's worst and best kept secret.

He's positive that Crowley had intended to keep your transdimensional status a secret to but himself and the staff, yet it became increasingly obvious as the last school year progressed that you were not from this world.

If the lack of basic magical knowledge for didn't tip someone off, the gap in basic history facts and the random things you spewed out did.

"WHY IS THE CAT'S EARS ON FIRE? AND BLUE?" "Is that, like, your actual ears and tail or?" "Wait, so you're not an elf? Isn't that the same thing as a fae?" "Oh yeah we have a story about a kid and a beanstalk too! No guns on school grounds though, too many school shootings." "HOLY FUCK WHY DO YOU HAVE SCALES?" "I'm not making it up, people back home go to space, we have flags on the moon! You mean to tell me you guys didn't have a space race or something? ...What do you mean what's the point!? IT'S THE MOON!"

No one could really fault you for your cluelessness, thought Jade found it quite cute.

Unfortunately, that made it difficult to find information on you, especially back when Azul task him with finding dirt on you to get Ramshackle.

"I'm sorry to say Azul, but there is no information on Ramshackle's prefect prior to their attendance here. Not even evidence of their birth." "Well look harder! It's not like they popped out of nowhere! I need that dorm Jade, so do your job and find me something I can work with!"

After Azul's...outburst shall he say, and their discovery that the Prefect did actually pop out of nowhere, Jade has held it over his head quite smugly.

He wasn't so smug anymore, though, not when he was so invested in getting your heart and keeping it all to himself. Hard to do when there was little to no information about you.

Here's what Jade did know:

You liked dancing, though you weren't particularly good at it. Same with singing.

Silver had taken to teaching you how to use a sword, and you were quite good at it.

You tend to split your meals with Grim, even when offered your own plate.

Sam's soda that Azul had acquired last year was your favorite drink. You also liked the milkshakes at the lounge, though you rarely got them.

You scare easily and are near incapable of scaring someone else.

You were reckless when it came to your friends, to the point that you've nearly died about 9 times since arriving to their world.

And, of course, there were the little things that Jade noticed. Like the way the color in your eyes brightened in the sun.

Or the way you picked at your nails when nervous.

And the way you purse your lips when you get confused.

Oh! He thought the way you chewed on your pen was awfully cute.

Ah, the way you looked at him sometimes with an embarrassed look was something he's come to memorize. He's memorized many of your various facial expressions...like the one you made when you caught him staring at you. Despite his best efforts.

It's like you knew he was thinking about you...

He also knew that you liked to hide your smile and laughter when either got too big, big enough to show your teeth and gums. Big enough to make you snort and cackle like a witch from one of those human children shows someone showed him once. He knew your laugh like the beat of his heart.

Jade knew a lot, and yet nothing at all about you. What was your family like? Friends back home? What did you study? What were you wanting to be? Did you have a pet? A partner?

Don't worry about the last question! He's just a bit curious about the company you keep is all.

In any case, your little group of friends throwing you your birthday party was the perfect excuse for him to delve into your personal life with a plausible excuse.

"I thought Grim would be doing the interview questions for them? It's all we're letting him do so we can throw the Prefect a decent party this time."

Most people remembered the 'party' that the group of five then freshmen tried throwing you. It was hastily put together, no white suit as traditionally provided for a first year's birthdays, and the cake was a pile of tuna cans that Grim placed several small candles on top of. Which promptly fell over, caught a window drape on fire, and nearly brought the whole of Ramshackle into a blaze.

It also wasn't your birthday at that time. (That at least is a piece of information he could get his hands on.)

Now Ortho was involved, and Jade wasn't positive if that decrease or increased the potential fire hazard.

"Last year he did, yes. However, since the new freshman have been taking residence in Ramshackle, they've taken over the yearbook duties."

Usually, Jade would be able to gather his intel with little to no help from others, especially considering most of the school logged their activities on their social medias by the minute. Plus, his father's “questionable” career provided him with ample access to private investigators and databases.

But when it came to you? He didn't have much of a choice other than to depend on others. How troublesome.

"Aspen offered to take over the interview along with his other party tasks, but the poor thing has been struggling to juggle all his duties at Ramshackle and in Octavinelle."

Lies. Aspen was doing perfectly well, but when Aspen complained rather loudly in the Mostro Lounge kitchen about having to do the interview, Jade was more than happy to offer to take all the tasks from him. No future payment or favor required.

Aspen, with pink cheeks and hearts in his eyes, was more than happy to hand all of his tasks over to Jade with little thought.

"Oh, I guess then…" Deuce looked back at Ace in the kitchen with Trey on a video call. Saying that he was attempting to make a cake would be generous.

"…You know what, it's fine. We got a lot going on here. But, uh, when you're asking the Prefect about their ideal party, the sort of presents they like, and the usual stuff, try to be discreet. It's supposed to be a surprise!"

Jade raised a brow in amusement. "Really? How did you manage to get them fitted for their birthday jacket? I imagine that would be hard to keep a surprise."

Ace turned around, cradling a bowl in one arm and waving a wooden spoon. Jade is positive he could hear Trey cry out at him to not wave the batter around.

"Epel told them that Vil wanted them to come by to that film festival we when to last year, and needed to measure them for it."

The ginger flinched at Trey's voice chastising him through the phone.

"Hey! You asked for my help now pay attention before you drop the entire bowl and have to start over!"

"Okay! Okay! Jeez, you're almost as bad as Riddle when it comes to baking…" Ace grumbled, scrunching his nose like a child being scolded by his parents.

Jade withheld an amused snort at the thought, turning back around to Deuce to give him a polite nod and smile.

"Well then, it seems that you both have your work cut out for you. I'll leave you to it then."

Turning to leave, Jade ignored Deuce 'whispering' to Ace.

"Are we sure he should be asking them all these questions? You know how they'll probably get…"

Their voices faded out as he left Heartslabyul's kitchen, out the lounge, and to the entrance. He had previously been joined by Floyd, but his brother took off to find his favorite person entertainment.

Based on the rising voice of Riddle somewhere off in the rose maze, Floyd was successful.

Now, it was his turn to find his own favorite person.

You weren't hard to find, just follow the loud direbeast's noises, and you were bound to be there. It also helped that Jade had memorized your weekly schedule.

They should be finishing up their flight class soon, so I'll check the fields first.

It wasn't a particular trek, but it was a bit a walk from the Hall of Mirrors. Though, with how vast the campus was, it was expected.

Maybe he can stop at Sam's to grab a nice cold water to offer you. After all, he needs to demonstrate just how caring and dependable he is for you, and he'll start digging his place in to your heart!

Though, it seems that you were ahead of schedule, currently making your way to Ramshackle. Limping, even.

Oh dear, did you get hurt my pearl! I hope you're alright.

Like always, you seemed to sense him before he could even process your presence.

Those pretty, mesmerizing eyes widened, blinking at him with a piercing stare.

"Jade, hey, what are you doing here?"

Jade had to keep himself from running towards you like he wanted, instead taking a leisurely pace as you jogged towards him.

"Hello Prefect," My darling pearl~ "What a coincidence, I was just on my way to see you."

You gave him a knowing smile, eyes squinting as you did.

"Birthday, right?"

"Oh? And here I thought it was a secret~"

You snorted, covering your mouth to cover your grin. Cute.

"I have my...ways!" You looked to the side, pursing your lips before looking back at him. "But I'm guessing you got wrapped up in helping somehow?"

Again, that look, like you already knew the answer to your own question.

"Yes, I offered to help get a list of important party preferences for your friends. I do believe Deuce in particular is worried about your gift preferences."

Personally, I think the sea glass ring I had commissioned is going to be your favorite. But I'd rather exchange the gift privately, more intimately...cherish your reaction.

The thought of you, looking at him completely dazzled and struck by his confession was a fond thought. To finally make you his and his alone would be a dream. He just needed to know your idea date, which is what this little mission of his could help with.

"You know Jade, you don't have to find an excuse to find things out about me." Jade blinked, feeling himself warm up under your gaze.

How do you always...

"Oh?" Jade chuckled, hiding his smile behind a fist. "Did I give off that impression? I'm simply providing my assistance to those in need."

You rolled your eyes, pausing as you made eye contact with him and looked at your feet in embarrassment.

"No you don't—I mean not intentionally—I can just tell..." Jade let his smile soften into something more fond as he watched you stumble over your words.

"It's alright, I am always curious." And you just happen to be a strong topic of interest. "There is very little known about you, are you aware that you didn't have a student file up until a few months ago?"

Squinting your eyes at him in suspicion, you poked an accusatory finger into his chest.

"And why do you know that? I thought Azul didn't need you to dig up dirt on anyone since last fall."

Placing a hand on his chest, Jade pouted. "That's rather harsh little pearl, I prefer the term 'conducting research', it sounds much nicer. Besides..."

Jade couldn't help but give you a smug smirk, curling his finger for you to come closer. Hesitating, you leaned in on your tiptoes as he leaned down. His gray strand brushed against your cheek as he heard you take in a sudden breath.

In a soft, low, almost heady voice, he whispered, "...you're just something I'm particularly interested in. I want to know you inside and out~"

Oh, how he delighted in seeing you fumble back and clasp your hands together in a fluster. Though, from the heat in his cheeks, he's probably no better off right now.

Covering your lower face in your hand, Jade could just barely make out your muttering.

"When did you get so direct..."

As quickly as he got that sweet reaction, you straightened up and smiled at him.

"Well, as long as your helping the others, I can give you my free time." You gestured for Jade to follow you to your dorm, swinging your arms as you walked.

Before you even made a few feet, you stopped and turned back to Jade with a shy expression.

"Um...but you don't need an excuse to go out or anything like that." Jade felt an electric shock fly up his spine as you gingerly reached for his right hand.

Your thumb rubbed over his hand in a tender gesture, like you were trying relax him as the tingling sensations and the rapid beating of his heart increased.

"I'd like to be with—or, I mean, be around you more." You looked like you were burning up with embarrassment, while he rejoiced internally.

YES YES YES! I want to be with you! I want you, let me have you! You will won't you?

"...Of course, I'd like that too." Jade brought the hand holding his up to his lips, barely brushing the skin with a kiss. "I'm more than happy to indulge my whims, why not take advantage of you offering?"

You both made eye contact, staring into each other as if waiting for the other to make a move.

Gods, I love you...

It didn't take long for you to jerk your hand back, looking up at him with a like he just confessed his love and offered his soul to you.

He didn't say that out loud...right?

"Um, let's head to Ramshackle to talk." You turned back around and started quickly walking, leaving Jade to catch up to you, though with his legs it wasn't hard. "I wanna get out of my uniform..."

I could help with that~

"I'll just change into something really baggy! Nice and comfy!" You let out a nervous laugh as you continued walking.

Makes for easier access~

He wasn't sure what was in your way, but somehow you managed to trip over air and smack into the ground.