#SEATED AND READY FOR ANOTHER MASTERPIECE

[afterlife-2004]

[neonbonded]

I Heard the Heartbeat and I Broke a Little

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: pregnancy, first ultrasounds, emotional devastation (soft), quiet tears, twin reveal (Sylus), stoic boy meltdowns, chaos disguised as tenderness ♡ a/n: they all swore they’d stay calm. They all lied. You hear the heartbeat, and suddenly the bravest men in the galaxy are on the verge of crying, fainting, or starting a baby-proofing war plan.

Caleb

He tries to be calm.

Really, he does.

You’re holding his hand—well, more like crushing it—and Caleb’s doing his best to be composed. He smiles at the nurse. Makes a dumb joke. Rubs your knuckles.

But the moment that grainy little flicker shows up on the screen?

The moment the room fills with the steady, quick-thudding whump-whump-whump of a heartbeat?

He stops breathing.

The grin drops off his face like it was never there.

His fingers go still.

His eyes are locked on the screen, wide and unblinking.

“That’s… that’s ours?” he whispers.

You nod, voice catching in your throat. “Yeah.”

And then he laughs.

A breathy, broken little sound—half-sob, half-hysterical wonder. Like his whole body can’t decide whether to melt or combust. He turns toward you, eyes shimmering.

“I didn’t—I didn’t think I could feel this much.”

His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking just beneath your eye. “You’re growing a whole person. Our person. That’s my kid in there. Our kid. I—”

He can’t finish the sentence.

He buries his face in your shoulder and laughs again, shaking a little.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he says against your skin. “And they’ve already got my whole heart. I’m so screwed.”

You kiss the side of his head. “You’re not screwed.”

He pulls back, smiling through tears.

“No,” he says, looking at the screen again.

“I’m the luckiest bastard in the galaxy.”

Xavier

He’s quiet when the screen lights up.

Not his usual stillness. This is different.

His posture doesn’t shift. His expression barely changes. But you feel it—the way his hand tightens slightly around yours, the way his breath catches just a second too long.

And then the heartbeat comes through.

Whump-whump-whump.

Quick. Strong. Inarguably alive.

Xavier blinks once. His eyes lock on the grainy blur on the screen like he’s calculating a threat.

But there’s no threat.

Just something small. And safe. And yours.

“That sound…” he murmurs, voice low and careful, “is them?”

You nod, not trusting your voice.

He stares a moment longer, then lowers his gaze to your stomach—like he's only just realizing what’s been there this whole time.

“I thought I understood,” he says softly. “What this would be. I thought I was prepared.”

A pause. He shifts in his seat, fingers grazing the edge of the ultrasound photo the nurse just handed him.

“I wasn’t.”

Another silence.

Then, so softly you almost miss it:

“I’ll protect them. Always.”

He says it like a vow. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just fact.

Like this heartbeat rewired him.

You lean your head against his shoulder.

He doesn't speak again. Doesn’t need to.

He just keeps staring at the screen like he’s watching the future take its first breath.

Rafayel

He's already being too much before the machine even starts.

Kissing your hand like you’re royalty. Calling the OB “a vessel of the divine.” Whispering, “Are you ready, my muse?” in your ear like this is a movie premiere.

You roll your eyes. “Rafayel, it’s an ultrasound.”

He leans closer, eyes glowing with mischief. “And what is an ultrasound… if not the first brushstroke of our greatest masterpiece?”

You don’t have time to reply before the screen flares on—and just like that, he goes silent.

Utterly. Completely.

You turn to look at him.

He's frozen. Wide-eyed. One hand over his mouth like he just saw the face of a god.

The heartbeat kicks in.

Whump-whump-whump.

And he loses it.

“Oh,” he whispers, voice breaking on the single syllable. “Oh—look at them. Look.”

You do.

But Rafayel? He’s already gone.

Tears pool at the edges of his lashes—long and unblinking, like he’s terrified that blinking might erase the moment. One escapes down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it.

He grabs your hand with both of his, reverent. Desperate. “They’re so small,” he breathes. “And they’re ours. You—you made that. In you. I—we—”

He lets out this overwhelmed little laugh-sob that turns into a hiccup halfway through.

Then whispers, “I need to paint this.”

You blink. “Babe. It’s a blur of static and bean-shape.”

“Exactly. It’s pure. Abstract. Untouched by symbolism. It’s raw emotion, darling.”

You stifle a snort. “Are you crying?”

“I am feeling,” he snaps, brushing a tear away dramatically. “Leave me be.”

He presses a kiss to your wrist like he’s grounding himself in reality.

“Promise me something,” he murmurs.

You nod.

“When they’re born... remind me I loved them first. Before I even met them.”

You lean in. Kiss his cheek.

“I think they already know.”

Zayne

Zayne keeps his eyes on the screen the moment it flickers on.

His hand is holding yours, but it’s stiff. Careful. Like he’s trying too hard not to feel anything too early. Trying to stay clinical. Detached. Professional.

Like he’s just here to observe.

Then the sound hits.

Whump-whump-whump.

The heartbeat. Fast. Alive. Steady.

Your baby.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

You glance over, expecting some sarcastic comment. A critique. Something.

But his jaw is tight.

His eyes—sharp, exact, always calculating—are suddenly unreadable. Blank in the way only Zayne can manage.

He doesn’t blink.

Not even once.

“Zayne?” you whisper.

Nothing.

And then—

Quietly.

Like it slips out without permission.

“…It’s real.”

He exhales hard, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing it.

His fingers tighten around yours. Not painfully—but with intensity. Like if he lets go, it might all disappear.

“I’ve seen thousands of heartbeats,” he murmurs. “Monitors. Flatlines. Fibrillations. But this…”

He swallows. Looks down at your hand in his.

“I didn’t know how different it would feel when it’s… ours.”

There’s something cracked open in him now. Something bare.

You watch his throat move as he swallows again, hard.

Then, softer:

“I didn’t think I’d be scared.”

You squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

He finally turns to you. His eyes are glassy, but he’s holding it in like always. You can see it—the quiet shaking underneath.

“I’m not scared of messing up,” he says. “I’m scared of how much I already love them.”

You lean in, rest your forehead against his.

“They’re going to be okay.”

He closes his eyes.

And lets himself believe it.

Sylus

Sylus is leaning against the wall like this is a business meeting and not the moment his entire future is about to implode.

Arms crossed. Mouth set. Watching the monitor with laser focus, like the image might suddenly sprout a threat he can neutralize.

Your hand is in his, resting on your belly. The gel’s cold. The nurse is smiling. Everything feels calm.

Until—

Whump-whump-whump.

The first heartbeat kicks in.

Sylus doesn’t move.

Then the nurse tilts her head. Frowns slightly. Adjusts the wand.

“Oh,” she says casually, as if she’s not about to detonate a bomb in the room. “There’s another.”

You blink. “Another what?”

She clicks something.

“There are two heartbeats.”

You stare at her. “As in—?”

“Twins,” she says, cheerfully. “You’re having twins.”

You whip your head toward Sylus.

Still frozen. Still unreadable.

Except for the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The subtle roll of his eyes. The very long blink like he’s internally rebooting.

Then, under his breath—just loud enough for you to hear:

“…I’m f*cking surrounded.”

You choke on a laugh. “Babe.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Just rubs a hand down his face like the weight of responsibility has suddenly tripled.

Finally: “I agreed to one. One tiny parasite. We had a deal.”

You grin. “Babies don’t do contracts.”

He mutters something about renegotiating with the womb gods before slouching down in the chair beside you, staring at the screen like it personally betrayed him.

The nurse keeps talking—measurements, due dates, baby A and baby B—but he’s not hearing any of it.

He’s calculating. Strategizing. Probably already planning to fortify the nursery.

Then he turns to you. Deadpan. Quiet.

“I’m going to need more weapons.”

You squeeze his hand.

“More diapers, you mean.”

He scowls. You can see the crisis brewing behind his eyes. But he still lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles like it’s instinct.

And then—very softly:

“…They’re gonna be so small.”

You nod. “And they’re yours.”

He leans back. Stares at the ceiling.

“God help me,” he mutters. “I’m gonna love them stupid, aren’t I?”

You smirk. “Already do.”

He groans.

But doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not for a second.

[multific]

A Still Life in Love

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: What better way to capture someone's likeness than a painting?

Geta, one of the twin rulers of the Roman Empire.

He sat in complete silence, his gaze focused on every petition brought before him.

To his senators and generals, he was a ruthless man.

He and his brother roughly enjoyed games, blood and wine.

Whispers of their coldness echoed through the palace halls, and yet none dared question their authority.

But you knew another side of Geta, a side he showed only to you and on occasion to his brother.

When the court adjourned for the day, he rushed back to his chambers, ready for some time alone with you, his wife.

You entered his chambers with a soft knock not long after him.

“Amor,” As his eyes met yours, he smiled. “I’ve been waiting to see you finally.”

You stepped into the room, Geta stood and closed the distance between you, his hand reaching for yours. “How was your day?” you asked.

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Tired as ever. I am tired of the fools who believe they can outsmart me. But you brighten even my darkest hours.”

Moments like these were rare treasures.

The love he had for you was there in every smile, every touch, and every word spoken.

It was this love that inspired him to commission a portrait of you.

It was something that left you speechless. Just how serious he was when it came to you.

The painter was summoned weeks later, an acclaimed artist from Gaul.

His skill was unmatched, but he quickly learned that the challenge wouldn’t be capturing your beauty.

It would be dealing with the Emperor himself.

“You will make her radiant. No brushstroke will do her justice, but you will try. If you do not do as you are told...”

The artist nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he set down his materials.

You hid a smile, watching as Geta stood over him like a hawk.

The moment the painter raised his brush, Geta’s voice cut through the silence. Almost making the artist jump out of his skin.

“Do not forget the light in her eyes. It’s the first thing I noticed about her.”

“Geta,” you said gently, “Let him work, please.”

He exhaled sharply and took a step back.

But instead of leaving, he found a seat near the window, his gaze on you. “I will stay. This is important.”

And so began the sittings, each more revealing than the last.

The painter didn't dare complain about Geta’s interruptions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed.

You actually found it quite adorable.

The Emperor of Rome, a man feared by millions, sat still, his focus on you.

One afternoon, as the painter adjusted his palette, you noticed Geta watching you with something in his eyes. It made you feel a bit shy.  

“Why are you looking at me that way?” you asked, half-teasing.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Because you’re mine. And because I want the world to see you as I do. Perfect, irreplaceable, and breathtaking.”

“Perfect, am I? Even when I argue with you?”

A low chuckle escaped him. “Especially then. Your fire reminds me that I’ve married a woman, not a shadow.”

The painter cleared his throat awkwardly, and you turned back to your pose, pushing down a laugh. Geta remained seated, his attention solely on you the artist continued.

Days turned into weeks, and the portrait was almost completed.

Geta’s pride in the work was noticeable. “Will you look?”

“Not until it’s finished,” you replied. You were actually interested in how he saw you.

And this portrait would be a perfect representation of his love for you.

He frowned slightly, but you kissed his cheek, hoping to ease his disappointment. “Patience, My Love.”

When the day finally came to unveil the portrait, Geta was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

You stood beside him as the velvet cloth was removed, revealing the masterpiece.

The artist had captured not just your likeness but the warmth and intelligence in your eyes.

In the painting, the traits Geta cherished most were the most permanent.

Your breath hitched. “It’s beautiful.”

“No, you’re beautiful. This is but a shadow of the truth.”

The artist, sensing his dismissal, quickly gathered his belongings and ran. Too afraid to become the next feast for Geta's beloved tigers.

As the door closed, Geta turned to you fully. “Do you see now why I insisted on this? I wanted the world to know the woman who owns my heart.”

“Geta, I’m just me.”

“You are everything,” he pulled you into his arms.

His lips brushed your forehead, then your cheek, before capturing your lips in a kiss that spoke louder than any word.

The portrait was placed in the grand hall.

Geta insisted that everyone who was walking the hall must see it.

But in Geta’s eyes, no painting could ever compare to the reality of having you by his side.

For the Emperor who ruled with his brother, you were his only beauty, his greatest treasure.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[aeristudios]

cw: kissing, unprotected car sex, creampie, masturbation, definitely some dirty talk, pet names, exhibitionism? 18+ for the anon who requested "the devil's tango" part 2 to this drabble and @hobeemin

You had a very long day.

You had a deadline to meet at work and your boss was on everyone's coattails to make sure it was met. He yelled, screamed and threatened to fire the whole dept by the end of the day. You were frustrated, annoyed and need to release some stress.

5pm rolled around and you could not get out of there fast enough. You saw Wonwoo, standing there with his camera in his hand, ready to snap your photo when you walked out of the building. Noticing you were upset, he pulls you into a hug and kisses you in ways that makes you melt in more ways than one.

"You had a bad day baby?"

You nod, leaning your head on his shoulder as he walked you to his car. He smelled good, looked good, and you have this fervent need that you need to scratch.

"I really need you to fuck me."

Wonwoo looks at you curiously and chuckles, opening the door to let you in.

"I'm serious," you stand your ground. "Work absolutely sucked and I need to release some stress—"

He shuts you up with another kiss, his hands entangled in your hair as you lean against the open door. "Get in the car princess."

You hastily in the car and buckle in as he pulls out, driving until he pulls into a secluded spot surround by trees and facing a lake. You have always driven passed this area and wanted to see what it led, as the trees surrounded with vines of marigolds. Looks like he had the same idea.

Once he made sure the car was in park, he motions for you to go in the backseat, and you do just that, hiking your skirt and scurrying out of your panties. Your hands eagerly pull on the drawstring of his pants, pulling them down and revealing his hard cock, leaking with pre-cum. Your mouth salivates at the thought of tasting it, and watching him rub along his shaft makes you wet.

"Play with yourself," he commands, pushing your legs apart. "I want to see how bad you really want me."

Your fingers play against your needy clit, rubbing it furiously as he stroke himself to your entrance. The tip is barely touching your folds, but you want him. Need him.

"Wonwoo please just fuck me—"

He is good at shutting you up. He hikes your legs up and slides in you, his cock fitting inside of you perfectly, like you were made for him. He gently kisses your face, thrusting slowly and deeply so you can feel all of him. He knew you could take it.

"You're so impatient," he grits his teeth. "Did you really need that bad?"

You nod fervently, locking your legs around his waist as he fucks you harder. The car shakes and the windows fog up, the sound of skin clapping and your moans turning you on even more. It doesn't take you long to cum, your essence coated all over his lower half and part of the backseat. You are breathless and thoroughly fucked out, but you still beg him to cum inside of you, wanting to feel his hot load dripping out of you. You like feeling like his personal whore.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want me to fill up your pretty pussy ?"

"Yes. I need it."

Small beads of sweat form on his forehead as he continues to fuck you, his movements becoming more rigid until he reaches his peak, keeping his promise and filling you up with his cum. He kisses you deeply, and you whisper you love him too, gently wiping the sweat off of his face. Once you are full of him, he pulls out of you slowly, watching his load leak out of you slowly, like a river. He leans forward to the front seat and grabs his camera, taking a picture of the masterpiece he created.

"What? It's looks pretty baby."

[kingchroma]

hellloooo can i request Lookism guys dealing with pregnant reader?🫶🫶🫶🥺 (before their kid was born in your lookism as girl dads hcs)

lookism boys with pregnant reader.

࿇ characters. gun/goo/jake/gitae

࿇ warnings. there’s not a lot of dialogue since i wanted to dive more into their thoughts regarding your pregnancy. basically shows their thoughts re: the news and how they act on it ࿇ author's note. this is set before they became girl dads! thank you for requesting and i apologize for taking so long, i’ve been a bit stuck with this.

part 1 found here.

GUN PARK

If anything, Gun had taken on the responsibility of a father easily compared to what you had initially thought.

Being in Gun Park’s life had meant that you were able to see the rawest, purest form of him—the one where you see the Gun Park who had easily cooked your favorite meal in the cutest way possible. The one where you see how gentle he can be whenever he tends to you despite his heavy hands that were used to beating up people. The one where you see how caring can he be to you and to your unborn daughter.

“Rest,” he says, not even bothering to look up at you as you watch him make another conconction—whatever you and the little one (as he likes to call her) craved for today. It was a little mix of everything, and while Gun had wanted to tell you that this is not healthy, he could not resist you and your cute little face.

So what if he had gone soft for you? You were the only one who could see that softness anyway, and it’s not like he had lost his edge. He still makes a living, completely barricading this part of life away from prying eyes and loud mouths—namely Goo and the rest of HNH—while ensuring that the Four Major Crews aren’t doing shit that could possibly tarnish whatever he had worked so hard for.

All that matters now is you and your daughter.

“But what if I don’t want to?” you argue lightly, though it sounded more of like a tease. Gun had a tendency to be overprotective, making sure that you’re comfortable. If you wanted a massage now, he would almost immediately drop the baking sheet to go and wash his hands before tending to you.

He was quite literally the textbook definition of a househusband.

“Aren’t you a little hardheaded this afternoon?” he asks, looking up to see you glowing. Gun thinks he might have a heart attack with how adorable you look in your maternity dress, how you have that cheeky expression in your face that he loves looking at.

And while he initially was fearful of the pregnancy, it looked good on you. Looked good to the point that he wanted another kid because you being so round with his daughter made his heart ache in the best way possible. “You should go and take a seat on the sofa. It’s like sitting on a cloud,” he says, knowing damn well that he had it imported from whatever country it came from only because he wanted you to be comfortable during this whole pregnancy.

“Yeah, but,” you start, sitting on the bar stool as you watched him pipe animated designs on several pieces of cookies. “It won’t be the same without you,” you say, happiness evident in your tone as you put a hand on your stomach. “And our princess wants to see her dad create a masterpiece on those cookies.”

That was enough to make Gun smile—a rare one to his colleagues, quite normal to you—and while he thought that was cheesy yet adorable, he has his own lines ready to quip.

“How funny,” he says as he finishes piping one of the cookies before handing it to you to taste. “Because our princess needs to know that she,” he points at your tummy. “Is mom and dad’s magnum opus.”

GOO KIM

Goo has done a lot of stupid things, and while they are stupid, they are well-calculated. He doesn’t make a move where he knows he’s on the losing end because Goo will always benefit in the end.

This, however, is not something that he had calculated. He was also unsure if he was going to benefit from this because he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe it was also the panic and anxiety talking because he’s not supposed to talk and think like this whenever you’re involved—making it sound like you’re just some random business deal that he needs to get over with when you’re not.

You’re worth more than whatever pile of money was waiting for him at the end of every goal he has.

Still, he can’t even deny it himself—the news had shaken him up. Though thanks to years of masking his feelings, he’s definitely a lot better at not showing whatever emotion that was about to consume him because you look so happy.

You look so happy at the fact that you’re giving him a child at this age. Goo wonders if you’re as crazy as he is because holy shit, the two of you were only, what? In your 20s?

You should be partying at the club and not getting knocked up by him because: a) he’s got a lot of shit to do in the underworld and he’s involved with incredibly dangerous people, b) he’s an idiot that wanted to go raw, and c) he’s unsure if he can be a great father to this kid.

Goo, at most, plans 5 steps ahead, but with you wanting to keep the baby, he must plan at least 10 steps ahead because God knows whatever life is going to throw at him next. He was still unsure about the pregnancy—the thought of being a father—but he sure as hell would give you everything to ensure that you only have a smooth and less-awful pregnancy.

So, months later, his protectiveness shows.

Really.

“Jungoo, I’m fine!” you argue with your boyfriend as he held your hand, the two of you descending down the stairs of your new home.

He was insane enough to get you a house—away from prying eyes so that you and your beloved baby girl will be safe, not worrying about anyone who could possibly attack the two most important people in his life. “I can go down the stairs just fine!” you exclaim.

And while you almost push him down the goddamn stairs, Goo keeps a tight grip on your hand, the other on the small of your back. “You don’t know that, cupcake,” he says gently, eyes flitting from your face to your pregnant tummy. He feels his heart swell a little because going through the ultrasounds, the parenting books, the look of the nursery—everything made him excited.

A far cry from his initial response to when he found out you were pregnant. “Let me do this for you, okay?” he says gently, trying not to trigger a possible mood swing from you. “Ugh, fine,” you retort, letting him dote over you. “Only because you look funny begging,” you say, in which you receive a face from him.

You think about how Goo had always been so mobile, always in one place and then another because he has business deals all over Seoul. But with you, he’s been so patient, the most he’s ever been considering he always liked to get things done in the quickest, Goo-est way possible.

“Thanks, Goo,” you murmur as he safely helps you down the stairs, your hand immediately resting on your stomach. “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead before placing his hand on top of yours. “And for our sweet little angel too.”

JAKE KIM

Jake hadn’t really thought about being a father at such a young age.

Considering his lifestyle and as the leader of Big Deal, Jake had wanted to make sure that before anything like a pregnancy happens, or at least progresses, he had removed himself from the gang life.

Sure, he treats Big Deal like family because that’s what they are to him, but at the end of the day, there’s always a sick reminder in his head to never ever forget that it was still a gang—and the two of you having an unplanned pregnancy while he’s still the leader of the said gang makes him want to spiral into the abyss.

But even if he was in a state of shock and in worry, he doesn’t show that to you—not when you looked so horrified right in front of him, hands trembling, your tears instantly filling your lash line as you broke the news to him. You confirmed that you were indeed carrying his kid after a trip to the clinic.

“Hey,” he says as he holds your hand in his, engulfing them. “We’ll be okay,” he assures you in a quiet whisper, hunched down a little as makes a promise.

That’s what he tells you—often does, anyway. Jake was the type of person to reassure everyone around him that things were going to be okay, even if he himself was unsure of what the future holds. But he knows he’ll do something about it, make a plan—he had always been the type to step up no matter what challenge was thrown towards him.

A few weeks in your pregnancy, you began experiencing its symptoms. Jake could hear you retching your guts out in the bathroom, his immediate instinct was to get out of bed and quickly follow to help you. The swinging of the door was heard as you were keeled over, feeling his large hands help you with your hair before letting the other rest on your back.

His expression softens as he rubs your back. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, and you only hum a response in return because you didn’t feel like talking—the weight and realization of becoming a mother slowly sinking in with the symptoms.

Shit, he feels bad. Jake knows you well enough to know that you’re in deep thought, and he thinks that you wouldn’t have to carry majority of the burden if the two of you had been careful enough. But you wanted to keep the baby, and it’s your body therefore it’s also your choice. In the end, all Jake can do was be there for you and be the best support system for you.

“I’m here.”

GITAE KIM

Fatherhood is a foreign concept to Gitae.

If anything, he thinks—knows, that he’s not meant to be a father. He doesn’t have the gentleness and patience of a parent. Sure, maybe he can be stern, but never in his life did he think that he would be a father. Can you blame him if he didn’t know how to be one, given how he was born out of wedlock? How his own father barely acknowledged him, his first born, and so he turned into whatever this is.

All Gitae knows is that he was a man made to remove people—a man who resented his own parents; resenting them for giving him life when he didn’t ask for it.

He knows that being a parent isn’t for him. So when you told him you were pregnant, a multitude of thoughts had come to his head.

It was as clear as day whenever Gitae recalls the moment you broke the news to him.

How your voice trembled when you spoke to him, pupils looking like they were about to spill salty tears. How you were visibly shaken, making yourself look smaller in his presence, utterly distraught at the fact that you were pregnant when the two of you have been so careful. How you had endless apologies slipping from your lips, not bothering to look at him out of fear that he might get rid of you and your unborn child.

Gitae doesn’t know if the odd pain in his chest was normal whenever he remembers that devastated version of you that day. Even if the two of you had such an unconventional start in your relationship, at the end of the day, he still chose to risk it all with you despite not knowing the first steps in loving someone—in caring for someone other than himself.

At the end of the day, he still wants you in his life no matter how dangerous it was—because he had a silent promise not just to you, but to himself.

That he will protect you because he wants you standing by his side.

“You’re pregnant,” is what Gitae says as he looks down on you, the sentence he utters sounds more like a statement than a question. It was as if he doesn’t completely register the revelation you just told him—the look in his eyes could be described as two things: distant and hollow.

But this is you, not some random woman—not a concubine. So he tries to take it easy on you.

“Do you want to keep it?” Is the first thing he asks, and when you take a while to respond, he leans forward to hug you—a moment of reassurance and affection, quite rare. An unspoken I’ll be here for you. And once you said yes, Gitae steels himself for nine long months of pregnancy—and a lifetime of fatherhood.

Though, he thinks he’s faring better than expected.

Months later, he finds himself massaging your feet as you tell him about how your daughter was giving you a hard time today, constantly kicking, making you want to lay down constantly. And apart from that, pregnancy in itself made it quite heavy for you on your day-to-day, so you asked Gitae to give you a foot massage.

To which he surprisingly obliged.

He only hums as he listens to you, a grunt and even a small chuckle escaping from time to time. “Mi flor,” he speaks, looking at your stomach. “Don’t give your mama such a hard time. She’s already dealing with papa as it is,” he jokes lightly, but he doesn’t notice the slight look of concern that you give him.

He makes it sound so horrible dealing with him. Maybe to his enemies, yes, but Gitae had been nothing but different with you in the best way possible. “I’m sure our little flower just misses you,” you assure him lightly. “After all, papa had been gone majority of the day. She hasn’t heard your voice as much,” you tell him, and he glances at you with a softened expression.

“Is that so, mi flor?” he says, halting in his movements of tending to your feet as he sits next to you. “Well, papa’s here now,” he murmurs, rubbing your stomach gently, feeling his daughter kick, and that instantly brings a small smile on his lips.

“Should I tell you what mama and I plan on giving you when you’re born?” he asks his daughter.

“Would the world be enough, mi flor?”

[differenteagletragedy]

Heyyy !!

So i had an idea.

Since Simon doesn’t celebrate birthdays at all, let’s imagine a world where reader’s birthday comes before his.

How would he react?

I thought that maybe he would ignore it just like anyone else’s birthday which would sadden reader A HELL LOT.

I absolutely live for angst so I believe that Simon would be crushed once he realizes his mistake and try to fix it.

Anyway, I hope that was understandable! Your writing is so good, I’m a 100% sure you’ll turn this into a masterpiece !

THANK YOU!??!!?! I live for the angst too, big big time, I hope you like it!!!

Simon keeps a watchful eye on you as you get ready for a night out with friends. He watches you do your hair and makeup, slide into a tight little dress, and it's a pleasant sight to see, but something's off. There's a tenseness in your shoulders, and he can't figure out the source.

"Everything all right?" he asks from his spot on the bed while you move to the closet to find a pair of shoes.

"Yep," you answer in a tone that tells him that everything is not, in fact, all right.

He stands, making his way to you, and you still when he puts his hands on your hips, pulling you so that your back rests against his chest.

"Can't fix the problem if I don't know what it is, love."

"The problem," you tell him, sliding around to face him, "is that I'm going to be late if you keep being handsy."

He lets you slip away from him.

Later that night, when you come home, you're buzzed enough to be honest but not enough to be belligerent about it. He meets you at the door, kneels to take your shoes off for you, and you begin.

"I'm sad."

He sets the shoes down and stands, taking your hands in his, and says, "Well, we can't have that, now can we?"

"It's my birthday," you tell him.

"As of midnight, yes."

"... You knew?"

There's hurt in your eyes, and Simon understands immediately that he's played this all wrong, but he's still trying to work out where exactly he failed.

"'Course I knew," he answers truthfully. "I know everything about you."

"Then why didn't you say anything? My friends took me out for my birthday, and you ... you didn't even say anything. You didn't want to come. Why not?"

"Because I knew you'd have more fun with your friends than you'd have with me."

It's another truth, but it's just the tip of the iceberg.

You sigh, then drop one of his hands, taking the other and leading him to the couch. You've been together long enough that he knows what this is -- you've just realized you've uncovered another piece of Simon Riley that is a little bit peculiar, and you want to talk it out.

"So here's the thing," you begin, sitting next to him. "I love you. I love being around you. And I want to be around you on my birthday."

He fights against the din that begins immediately in his mind -- the too-loud thoughts about how he doesn't deserve this understanding, doesn't deserve your kindness, doesn't deserve you, and he tries to speak.

Nothing comes out.

It's too many things, too many mistakes. It's the deep-seated feeling that plagued him at the beginning of the relationship, that quietened over time but is now back in full force, screaming through the silence in the room and making the patience in your stare painful: he's not cut out for this.

Finally, in a small, defeated voice, he says, "I was going to tell you happy birthday."

You pull him into a hug, then push him down until he's half-laying on the couch, his head in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. He closes his eyes, part of him waiting for this to be the final straw for you and part of him knowing, somehow, that you love him too much to let him go.

"Listen," you say softly, "I know sometimes you feel like you're not enough. But I need you to know that you are, ok? You're more than enough for me, Simon, you're everything. And that means spending birthdays with me and holidays and good times and bad times and everything else that makes up a life, because I want to share my life with you. Is that what you want?"

He can't say it in words, he doesn't know any that would suffice. He tries to say it in actions, in the way he gives you the first cup of tea, how he scrapes the ice off your windshield when it frosts and how he stops the radio in the car on your favorite songs, even when he can't stand them. He tries to press it into you too, through his hands and his mouth when he holds you.

Now, in the moment, he nods, his head still resting in your lap, and he hopes you can feel everything else. How hard he tries.

Your touch turns softer, and you pause to lean down and press a soft kiss on his temple.

"So tell me."

He hesitates, then turns to lay on his back so that he can look up at you. He feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards into a smile, small but genuine. It still feels strange, even after all these months, like a muscle that's never quite developed. It aches a little less every time.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he says.

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Part 1 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: A young mute woman is drawn into the world of a powerful CEO through an unexpected proposition that could change her life and her family’s future forever.

Notes: I've been obsessed with When the Phone Rings lately, and it has been inspiring a little.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Y/N’s heart pounded as the elevator doors glided open to the executive floor of Uchinaga Couture. A soft chime signaled her arrival, and she stepped out hesitantly, her worn flats making barely a sound against the pristine marble floors. The space around her was intimidatingly sleek, high ceilings, gold-accented furniture, and white walls so spotless they practically glowed under the recessed lighting. Every inch of the space radiated power and exclusivity.

The air was cool and quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioning and the distant clicking of keyboards from the rows of assistants stationed in glass-walled offices. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, like it demanded perfection from anyone who dared to linger too long.

Y/N clutched her bag tightly against her chest, trying to steady her breathing. Her mind raced, replaying the cryptic message she’d received from Giselle Uchinaga’s assistant earlier that morning.

“Miss Uchinaga would like to see you in her office. Immediately.”

Why would Giselle Uchinaga, the CEO of one of the world’s most renowned fashion houses, a woman so influential she rarely made public appearances, want to meet with her? Y/N wasn’t even an intern yet.

Her fingers instinctively reached for her phone in her bag. She’d been rehearsing a polite introduction during the entire elevator ride, but now, standing here surrounded by the grandeur of Uchinaga Couture’s upper echelon, her words felt hollow. Would she even be able to speak at all in the presence of someone like Giselle?

The receptionist sitting behind a minimalist gold and glass desk barely glanced up from her screen. “Miss Uchinaga is waiting for you,” she said, her tone clipped and professional, as though this sort of summoning happened every day.

Y/N nodded. She smoothed the front of her blouse, realizing with dismay that it was slightly wrinkled from her hurried commute.

The receptionist gestured toward a pair of imposing glass doors at the far end of the hallway. They stood like gates to another world, one Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She hesitated, but the receptionist’s pointed look left no room for second guessing. Forcing her feet to move, Y/N approached the doors, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The office beyond the doors was even more magnificent than the hallway. Vast and bathed in natural light, it was dominated by floor to ceiling windows that offered an uninterrupted view of the city skyline. The desk at the center of the room was a masterpiece of sleek mahogany, polished to a mirror finish. Behind it sat Giselle Uchinaga herself.

Y/N had seen Giselle in magazines and online, always poised, with an untouchable elegance that made her seem more like a mythical figure than a real person. In person, that aura of control was even more pronounced.

Giselle didn’t immediately acknowledge her presence. She sat with her back straight, her silky black hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder as she studied the glowing screen of her tablet. A fountain pen rested delicately between her fingers, tapping soundlessly against the desk. Her tailored navy suit accentuated her sharp features, and even seated, her posture exuded authority.

“Miss Y/N,” Giselle said finally, without looking up. Her voice was smooth and controlled, with a faint edge of disinterest. “Have a seat.”

Y/N obeyed quickly, lowering herself onto the leather chair in front of the desk. It was so soft and luxurious she worried for a moment that she might sink into it entirely. She folded her hands in her lap, trying not to fidget as she waited.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes. Giselle remained focused on her tablet, her fingers scrolling through unseen files with practiced precision.

Y/N used the opportunity to glance around the room. The walls were lined with black shelves holding a curated collection of awards, framed magazine covers, and bound portfolios. Every object seemed to scream success, as if Giselle’s achievements had been distilled into physical form.

When Giselle finally looked up, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The CEO’s almond-shaped eyes were sharp and assessing, like she was dissecting Y/N with a single glance.

For a moment, Y/N felt like an open book under that gaze, every secret and insecurity laid bare. The weight of it was suffocating, but she forced herself to meet Giselle’s eyes, refusing to shrink under the scrutiny.

“I assume you’re wondering why I called you here,” Giselle said, leaning back in her chair. Her tone was calm but carried the faintest hint of impatience.

Y/N nodded quickly.

Giselle’s perfectly manicured hand gestured toward a sleek black folder resting on the desk, though she didn’t open it yet. “I’ve reviewed your file, Miss Y/N. You have an impressive work ethic. Resourceful. Determined. Someone who doesn’t back down when faced with challenges.”

Y/N blinked, unsure whether Giselle was complimenting her or simply stating facts. Her file? She’d almost forgotten she’d even applied for a position as an assistant in the accounting department months ago, an opportunity that had seemed impossible even then.

“I have an opportunity for you,” Giselle said, her voice deliberate, as though testing Y/N’s reaction. “But before I explain further, I need to know one thing. How far are you willing to go to help your family?”

The question hit like a thunderclap. Y/N’s lips parted instinctively, but no sound followed. Her breath caught in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears as her thoughts spiraled.

Why was Giselle asking something so personal? How much did she know about Y/N’s situation?

Giselle’s gaze didn’t waver, her expression unrelenting. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as they curled into her lap. She wanted to ask what Giselle meant, to demand clarification, but the words never came. They never could. Instead, she lifted her head, her eyes locking onto Giselle’s with a quiet intensity.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she inhaled slowly, trying to project steadiness. Her gaze was resolute, though her chest tightened with fear, she refused to look away. If Giselle wanted to test her resolve, she would show it, even if only through the unwavering determination in her expression.

For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Giselle’s eyes, curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of approval, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Giselle didn’t wait for a response. She leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the edges of the black folder on her desk.

“Your father left you and your family in an unfortunate position,” she said, her tone clinical, devoid of any trace of empathy. “The debts he accrued are substantial, and your current situation offers little opportunity to escape them. Correct?”

Y/N flinched at the bluntness, her chest tightening as though someone had reached in and exposed every hidden part of her life. She hesitated, her fingers twitching toward the phone in her lap. Finally, she picked it up, her movements deliberate, and began typing.

“Yes.”

She held up the screen for Giselle to see. The stark simplicity of the word felt both shameful and raw.

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the phone, her expression remaining unreadable. She gave the faintest nod of acknowledgment before continuing.

“I’m offering you a way out,” Giselle said, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “But it requires your cooperation and your discretion.”

Y/N blinked, her curiosity piqued despite the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. She typed quickly, her fingers trembling slightly.

“What kind of cooperation?”

The corner of Giselle’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “I need a fiancée.”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening. For a moment, she was sure she’d misread the words that had just left Giselle’s mouth. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, uncertain what to say. Finally, she typed.

“A fiancée?”

“Yes,” Giselle said, her tone as even and detached as if she were discussing a routine business transaction. She leaned back in her chair, exuding an air of unshakable confidence. “My reputation has... complications. Certain people perceive me as cold, unapproachable. The board at Lueur, with whom I am negotiating a highly lucrative partnership, values the appearance of stability and warmth in their collaborators. I need to project that image.”

Y/N stared at her, stunned. Her fingers moved instinctively, typing out the only question that made sense.

“Why me?”

“You,” Giselle said, her sharp gaze locking onto Y/N’s, “are the perfect candidate. Young, vibrant, and unknown to the media.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted as she read Giselle’s words. Her mind raced, struggling to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. She typed slowly this time, her hands shaking.

“I don’t understand. I’m just an applicant. Why would you choose me?”

Giselle’s lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she appeared to weigh her response, then answered with calm certainty. “I’ve done my research. Your background is compelling, your work history suggests you’re resourceful and adaptable and most importantly, you’re desperate.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at the final word. She lowered her phone slightly, breaking eye contact for the first time.

“You have no other options, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, her voice firm but not unkind. “This arrangement would benefit both of us. You’ll help me secure the partnership with Lueur, and in return, I will pay you enough to clear your family’s debts entirely and provide a stable future for yourself and your family.”

Y/N hesitated, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. Humiliation, anger, and a flicker of reluctant hope. She stared at her phone, her vision blurring slightly. With trembling fingers, she typed.

“And if I say no?”

Giselle’s expression didn’t waver. “Then you walk out of this office, and we go our separate ways. But consider this carefully, opportunities like this are rare, and for someone in your position, it could mean the difference between struggling for decades or starting over.”

Y/N stared at the words on her screen, her heart pounding. Giselle’s words weren’t a threat, they were a calculated statement of fact.

This wasn’t a choice. Not really.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze never leaving Y/N, and slid the black folder across the desk with a single, precise motion. The faint sound of the leather cover gliding against the polished wood echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Y/N hesitated, her fingers hovering over the edge of the folder. Slowly, she reached out and pulled it closer, her heart pounding as she flipped it open.

Inside, the contract was laid out in meticulous detail. The dense paragraphs of legal jargon were daunting, and Y/N’s eyes flitted over the page, struggling to focus. Certain phrases stood out like beacons, each one hitting her like a punch to the chest.

“Exclusive agreement.”“Media appearances required.”“Strict confidentiality.”

Her throat tightened as the magnitude of the arrangement settled over her like a heavy fog. This wasn’t just a deal, it was a meticulously crafted performance, with no room for mistakes.

“This isn’t a charity, Miss Y/N,” Giselle’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Her tone was firm, but there was a hint of expectation, as if she were testing how Y/N would respond.

Y/N glanced up, her fingers still clutching the edges of the folder. Her mind swirled with questions, fears, and doubts, but she forced herself to focus. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and typed quickly before turning the screen toward Giselle.

“What exactly do you expect from me?”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the screen, and a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curved her lips. “Professionalism,” she said. “You will follow my instructions, attend events as required, and present yourself as a devoted partner. In public, we will be inseparable. In private, however, we will remain strictly separate.”

Y/N’s fingers flew across the screen again, her anxiety spilling into her typed words.

“And if I mess up?”

The question hung in the air, and Y/N watched as Giselle’s expression hardened slightly. The CEO leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, her fingers steepled in front of her.

“Then the deal is off,” Giselle said, her voice cold and unwavering. “And you’re on your own.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the bluntness of the ultimatum. She tightened her grip on her phone, her chest tightening as the enormity of the situation loomed over her. She quickly typed another message, her hands trembling slightly as she showed the screen to Giselle.

“You mean... everything ends? No payment?”

Giselle nodded once, her expression unchanging. “Exactly. This is a transaction, Miss Y/N, not a handout. If you fail to meet the expectations outlined in that contract, there will be no second chances.”

The weight of those words settled over Y/N like a lead blanket, heavy and suffocating. Her eyes dropped to the folder again, scanning the tightly packed lines of text that seemed to stretch endlessly.

She hesitated before typing another question, her fingers pressing against the screen more forcefully now.

“What happens if someone finds out this is fake?”

Giselle’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time, her calm exterior seemed to harden further. “They won’t,” she said simply, the steel in her voice leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, no one will suspect a thing. I’ve accounted for every possible variable. Any leaks or suspicions will only arise from carelessness, yours, specifically.”

The words sent a chill through Y/N, but she refused to look away. Her fingers hovered over her phone as she considered her next move. Every logical part of her told her to walk away, that this was far too risky, far too overwhelming. But the memory of her family’s desperate situation, the crushing weight of her father’s debts, made her stay rooted in place.

She swallowed hard, then typed a final message.

“What happens if I succeed?”

Giselle’s expression softened, just slightly. “If you succeed, your debts are gone. You’ll have enough money to start over, far away from whatever struggles brought you here. And,” she added, her tone shifting to something almost imperceptibly lighter, “you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you helped secure one of the most important deals in this company’s history.”

Y/N read and reread the words on her screen, her chest tightening. The stakes were high, terrifyingly so, but so was the reward. She could picture her family, free from the weight of her father’s mistakes, finally able to move forward.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N stared down at the open folder before her. The dense, unyielding text seemed to blur as the enormity of what she was about to do settled over her. Her hand hovered over the pen resting neatly beside the folder, trembling with hesitation.

Her thoughts raced. Signing this contract would bind her to a life she couldn’t fully comprehend, a world she wasn’t prepared for. But walking away wasn’t an option, not with her family depending on her.

Y/N picked up her phone and typed a message, her fingers moving slower than usual as doubt gnawed at her resolve. She turned the screen toward Giselle, who watched her with patient intensity.

“What if I change my mind later?”

Giselle’s sharp eyes flicked to the screen. For a moment, her expression softened, not with kindness, but with something close to understanding. “Then I suggest you don’t sign,” she said, her voice calm but resolute. “Once you commit, there’s no room for second guessing.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the answer hitting her like a stone. Giselle’s unyielding certainty was both intimidating and strangely reassuring. This was a woman who never faltered, who didn’t allow for failure.

Her hand tightened around the pen. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she steadied herself. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered the pen to the page and began to sign her name.

Each stroke of ink felt heavier than the last, like an invisible weight pressing against her hand. Her name, once complete, seemed foreign and final. This was it, the moment that changed everything.

When she finished, Y/N set the pen down carefully, the faint click of metal against wood echoing louder than it should have. She slid the folder back across the desk, taking one copy of the contract for herself and tucking it neatly into her bag, her eyes darting up to meet Giselle’s.

Giselle picked it up without a word, her fingers flipping through the pages with practiced efficiency. Her sharp gaze scanned the document, ensuring every detail was in place. Finally, she closed the folder and set it aside.

“Welcome to your new life, Miss Y/N,” Giselle said, extending her hand.

Y/N hesitated, staring at the outstretched hand. She’d expected this moment to feel more... transactional, but now that it was here, the reality of what she’d agreed to seemed overwhelming. Slowly, she reached out, her hand meeting Giselle’s.

Giselle’s grip was firm, her palm cool and steady. There was no warmth, no reassurance, just the unspoken promise of professionalism.

Releasing her hand, Giselle leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. As Y/N stood, clutching her phone tightly, Giselle’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door.

“Remember,” she said, her tone low but resolute, “this is business. Nothing more.”

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, then nodded.

The glass doors closed behind her with a soft click, sealing her into a world she wasn’t sure she could navigate. The quiet hum of the floor seemed louder now, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest.

As she stepped into the elevator, her reflection stared back at her in the polished steel walls, unsure, but resolute.

This was her choice. There was no turning back now.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and after the short walk Y/N stepped out into the bustling street. The late afternoon sunlight stretched across the buildings, painting the city in hues of amber and gold. Pedestrians moved around her in a blur, business people rushing to catch cabs, couples strolling hand in hand, and tourists snapping pictures of the skyline.

But Y/N barely noticed any of it. Her thoughts weighed her down, each step feeling heavier than the last as she weaved through the crowd.

The weight of the signed contract in her bag felt almost tangible, like an anchor tethered to her future. Her grip tightened around the leather strap of her bag, so firm that her knuckles turned white. She had done it. She had agreed to step into a world she barely understood, tethering herself to a woman who felt as untouchable as the city’s towering skyscrapers.

Giselle’s words echoed in her mind, cool and precise, as if they had been carved into stone.

"Welcome to your new life."

Her new life. Was it really hers?

She felt a pang of uncertainty, the same pang that had risen in her chest as she’d signed her name on the dotted line. It hadn’t felt like liberation, it had felt like a pact with something she couldn’t quite define.

Y/N slowed her pace as she passed the entrance to a quiet park, the bustling noise of the city receding like a distant hum. The shade of a row of oak trees stretched across the grass, offering a temporary reprieve from the chaos of the world outside.

Her feet carried her to an empty bench near a fountain, its soft trickling water providing a soothing contrast to the relentless rhythm of her thoughts. She sank down slowly, her shoulders sagging under the invisible weight she carried. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, but it did nothing to lift the heaviness settling in her chest.

Y/N pulled her phone from her bag and stared at the blank screen. Her fingers hovered over the device, poised to type something into the notes app, but no words came. She didn’t know what to say, to herself, to the universe, to anyone.

The screen dimmed, and Y/N let the phone drop into her lap with a soft thud. She leaned back against the bench, her head tilting toward the sky. The golden light filtered through the leaves above, dappling her face with shadows and warmth, but it couldn’t reach the chill that gripped her heart.

Her breathing slowed, and with the stillness came the memories, unbidden and relentless, rising to the surface like ghosts she could no longer keep buried.

She was ten years old the last time she heard her father’s voice. It was a warm evening, much like this one, when she’d sat cross legged on the thick carpet of his study, her fingers trailing absently over the edges of a well worn storybook. The smell of his cologne, cedarwood and something faintly spicy, lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of the leather bound books that lined the shelves.

His desk, usually an organized chaos of papers and trinkets, was unusually cluttered that night. Contracts, ledgers, and letters spilled across the dark oak surface, the symbols of a crumbling empire he had worked so tirelessly to build.

Her father had always been her hero. His laughter had a way of filling every corner of the house, and his warmth made even the darkest days feel like they carried a glimmer of hope. But that night, something was different.

His usual smile was absent, replaced by a furrowed brow and a tightness in his jaw that Y/N didn’t fully understand but instinctively feared. His movements were hurried, his hands shaking slightly as he shuffled through the papers in front of him.

“Papa?” she had asked softly, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

He stilled for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath before he turned to her. His eyes, so often kind and full of life were clouded with something she couldn’t name. He crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt in front of her, his large hands gently gripping her small shoulders.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “I need you to listen carefully, okay?”

The seriousness in his tone made her heart race. She nodded, her gaze locked on his face.

“No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you have to stay quiet. Do you understand? Don’t make a sound.”

His words wrapped around her like a cage, cold and unyielding. She opened her mouth to ask why, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no time for questions, no room for explanations. He pulled her to her feet and led her to the far wall of the study, where a towering bookshelf stood filled with thick tomes and small mementos.

Before she could ask what he was doing, he pressed his hand against the side of the shelf, triggering a soft click. The bookshelf shifted slightly, revealing a narrow doorway. Beyond it was a small, dark room she had never known existed.

Her father knelt again, placing both hands on her shoulders this time. “Stay here, sweetheart,” he whispered. His voice wavered, just for a moment, before he steadied it. “Don’t come out until I tell you. And remember, no sound.”

The fear in his eyes mirrored the growing terror in her chest. She wanted to cling to him, to beg him to stay with her, but he gently pushed her into the hidden space before she could.

“Be brave, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he closed the door, sealing her in darkness.

Y/N pressed her hands against the cool walls of the hidden room, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away. Through a thin crack in the door, she could see her father return to his desk, his movements quick and tense. He sat down, his back straight as if bracing himself for something.

Minutes later, the front door burst open with a thunderous crash.

Y/N flinched, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Harsh voices filled the air, angry and unfamiliar. Men in dark suits stormed into the study, their faces obscured by the dim light.

She watched as her father rose to meet them, his posture firm despite the chaos that followed. The men surrounded him, their movements calculated and menacing.

“You know why we’re here,” one of them said, his voice cold and cutting.

Her father’s voice was calm but resolute, though Y/N couldn’t make out every word. She caught fragments “not fair,” “family,” “too far” but the argument was heated, the tension in the room palpable.

One of the men slammed his hand against the desk, making Y/N jump. Her father stood his ground, his expression unreadable.

The man’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”

There was a flash of movement, something metallic glinting in the dim light.

Then came the deafening crack of a gunshot.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat as her father’s body crumpled to the floor. Time seemed to stop. The dark pool spreading beneath him was all she could see, staining the polished wood of the study.

Her heart felt like it would burst as she clamped her hands over her mouth, her small frame trembling violently. Tears streamed down her face, hot and endless, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Her father’s warning echoed in her mind like a mantra. Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound.

The men stood over his lifeless body for a moment before one of them spat something cruel under his breath. Then, as quickly as they had come, they were gone, their heavy footsteps retreating into silence.

When the house finally fell quiet, Y/N stayed frozen in the hidden room, too terrified to move. It felt like hours before she found the courage to push the door open.

The study was eerily still, the papers on her father’s desk fluttering softly in the breeze from an open window. She stumbled toward his body, her legs shaking so badly she nearly fell.

“Papa?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her small hands reached out to him, shaking as they pressed against his arm. “Papa, wake up.”

But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. The warmth she had always associated with him was gone, replaced by a cold, lifeless shell.

The weight of her grief was unbearable, suffocating her as she knelt beside him, sobbing silently. At that moment, something inside her broke.

From that day on, Y/N never spoke again.

The official story was that her father had taken his own life after his company went bankrupt. The newspapers were ruthless, painting him as a failure who had crumbled under the weight of his mistakes. The debts, they said, had been too much for him to bear.

The truth, however, was far darker. Y/N had tried to tell someone, anyone. In the days that followed the horrific night in the study, she had opened her mouth countless times, desperate to describe the men who had invaded their home, to explain how they had taken her father’s life.

But every time, the words got stuck.

Her throat would tighten painfully, and the memory of her father’s lifeless body would crash over her like a wave, pulling her under. The gunshot, the men’s cold voices, the dark pool of blood, it all came back too vividly, paralyzing her. No matter how much she wanted to scream the truth, her voice refused to cooperate.

At first, her mother didn’t seem to notice. She was too consumed by her own grief and the weight of what had been left behind. Lawyers had come and gone, each one bearing bad news. The company her father had built was gone, swallowed up by his debts, leaving nothing but bills they couldn’t pay and creditors demanding what was owed.

Y/N had tried to help, using the scraps of courage she had left to write down the truth in shaky handwriting. But when she’d handed the paper to her mother, her hands trembling, her mother had barely glanced at it.

“Not now, Y/N,” her mother had said softly, her voice heavy with exhaustion. She’d set the note aside and never brought it up again.

Y/N had crumpled the paper in her hands, the rejection stinging more than she expected.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N stopped trying to speak altogether. What was the point? Every attempt ended the same way, with her throat closing up, her heart pounding, and tears burning her eyes. The trauma sat in her chest like a stone, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

At school, teachers and classmates would ask her questions, their faces twisting with confusion when she wouldn’t respond.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” “Why won’t you talk?”

The questions only made it worse. She wanted to answer, wanted to explain, but her voice was gone. Instead, she would shake her head and look away, her cheeks burning with shame.

Her teachers contacted her mother, concerned about her silence. But her mother, overwhelmed with grief and the mounting debt, had little energy to address the issue. “She’s going through a lot right now,” her mother had said. “She’ll speak when she’s ready.”

But Y/N wasn’t sure she ever would.

Their once beautiful home, with its sprawling garden and cozy rooms, was sold within months of her father’s death. The furniture went next, piece by piece, until their lives were stripped down to the bare essentials.

They moved into a cramped apartment in a part of town Y/N had never visited before. The walls were thin, the pipes rattled when the water ran, and the single window in the living room overlooked an alleyway filled with dumpsters. It was a far cry from the life they’d known, but her mother said it was all they could afford.

Y/N had watched as the stress wore her mother down, the vibrant woman reduced to a shadow of herself. Lines of worry etched themselves into her face, and her shoulders seemed permanently hunched from the weight she carried.

Y/N hated seeing her mother like that. Hated the hopelessness that seemed to hang over their tiny apartment like a storm cloud.

It was then, at the age of ten, that Y/N made a promise to herself. She would do whatever it took to help her family.

For months, Y/N relied on gestures and written notes to communicate. She would scribble messages on scraps of paper or point to things when she needed something. It was clumsy and frustrating, and more often than not, people misunderstood her.

One day, during a particularly frustrating moment at school, her teacher handed her a flyer.

“Have you thought about learning sign language?” the teacher had asked gently, her voice free of judgment.

Y/N had stared at the flyer for a long moment before taking it. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

The next weekend, her mother took her to her first sign language class at a community center downtown. Y/N felt out of place at first, surrounded by people of all ages, each with their own reasons for learning. But as the instructor demonstrated simple signs and encouraged them to practice, something shifted.

First time in months, Y/N felt like she had a voice again.

She practiced obsessively, her fingers fumbling at first but growing more confident with time. She learned to sign her name, simple phrases, and eventually, full sentences. The fluid motions of her hands became second nature, and with every new sign she mastered, she felt a little piece of herself returning.

Sign language became her lifeline, a way to express herself without the fear that had stolen her voice. It wasn’t perfect, many people didn’t understand it, and she still relied on her phone or written notes in those cases, but it was hers.

As she grew older, Y/N poured herself into her studies. She took on part time jobs after school, working long hours at diners, grocery stores, and anywhere else that would hire her. Every penny she earned went toward the family’s expenses or into a savings jar she kept hidden under her bed.

But no matter how hard she worked, the debt loomed over them, a constant reminder of her father’s death and the men who had taken everything from them.

Y/N refused to let it break her. She had resolved, then and there, that she would claw her way out of the darkness, no matter what it took. For her mother, for her siblings, and for herself.

She just needed an opportunity.

Y/N stared down at her phone, the sleek black screen reflecting her tired eyes and the faint streaks of sunlight filtering through the trees. Her thumb brushed against the edge of the device, but she didn’t unlock it yet. For a moment, the world around her blurred, the muted chatter of children playing in the park, the distant hum of traffic, the rustling of leaves in the soft breeze. None of it registered.

Her thoughts were louder than any of it.

She had signed the contract.

The realization settled over her. She had sealed her fate, tethering herself to a woman whose world was as cold as the steel skyscrapers that loomed over the city. She had done it not for herself, but for them, for her family.

Her mother’s face floated to the forefront of her mind, etched with exhaustion from years of carrying a burden she was never meant to bear alone. Y/N remembered the way her mother used to smile, bright and unrestrained, a beacon of warmth in their home. But over the years, that smile had become rare, a faint shadow of what it once was. Y/N wanted to bring it back.

Then there were her younger siblings, still so full of life, so full of hope. She thought of her sister sketching dresses at the kitchen table with crayons, dreaming of becoming a designer. She thought of her brother, meticulously building castles out of old shoeboxes, telling anyone who would listen that one day he’d be an architect.

They deserved to dream.

Sliding her thumb across the screen, Y/N opened her notes app and stared at the blank space. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating for a fraction of a second before she began to type.

“I’ll make this work.”

She stared at the sentence, her lips pressing into a thin line. The words weren’t just a promise, they were a lifeline, a tether to something stronger than her fear or doubt. They were a reminder of why she couldn’t fail.

Y/N’s chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath. Her fingers brushed across the screen again, and for a fleeting moment, she thought about typing something more. Something about the uncertainty she felt, or the weight of the decision she had made.

But no. This was enough.

Sliding the phone back into her bag, Y/N stood. Her legs felt unsteady at first, like a newborn fawn’s, but she squared her shoulders and steadied herself. She couldn’t afford to falter now.

She cast one last glance at the park around her. A couple laughed as they walked hand in hand, their carefree joy like a far off memory. A boy chased after a kite, his delighted shouts rising above the rustle of the breeze. For a moment, she let herself imagine a life where she didn’t have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders.

But that wasn’t her reality.

Giselle’s world was cold and unyielding, a place where people were assets and trust was a rare commodity. Y/N knew that stepping into that world meant losing pieces of herself, her warmth, her softness, maybe even her hope.

But it was also her chance to escape the shadow of her past.

For her family, she would endure anything.

With that thought anchoring her, she turned on her heel and walked away, the echoes of her determination carrying her forward.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! I've recently found your blog and first of all, let me say that you are brilliant! I read your fic about singer!reader x Hotch and I was wondering if you'd be open to write another fic/drabble about them? Like imagine it's Valkyrie's opening night of her tour for her new album, the entire team is there, and reader keeps looking/pointing at Hotch during the songs (like Taylor Swift is doing whenever Travis Kelce is there?) I just think Hotch would be so flustered it would be so cute *-*

No worries if you don't feel like writing this btw! Hope you have a great day!!

Opening night | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem singer!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: nothing

A/N: Thank you so much! I’m glad you found my blog and hope you'll enjoy this one too! 💕

The venue buzzed with anticipation, the low hum of conversation and excited cheers weaving into a symphony of pre-show excitement from your fans. Your opener had just left the stage, almost jumping with excitement as she relayed how great the crowd had been. You loved seeing how energetic she was coming off the stage, knowing that you'd made the right choice in bringing a newer artist on tour with you, rather than the more established one your label had recommended during the planning meetings.

The stage was dark and wrapped in mystique as your crew moved around in the shadows, changing a few instruments out and moving some positions of others as they prepared the stage for you and your band.

The BAU team occupied a cluster of prime seats up on the balcony, their enthusiasm apparent in their attire and energy as they waited for you to come out.

Despite their excitement, no one matched Garcia's energy. She sat at the edge of her seat, ready to jump out of her seat, her bejeweled glasses catching the dim light. “I still can’t believe it,” she whispered for the fifth time that evening, shaking her head as if to reset her reality. “Hotch — our Hotch — is dating Valkyrie. THE Valkyrie. My favorite artist of all time. How does that even happen? What alternate dimension are we living in?” Hotch smiled quietly to himself as he listened to Garcia

“This is wild,” Morgan said, leaning back in his seat with a grin as he looked out over the stadium. “I still can’t believe we know Valkyrie. Like, know her know her.”

“She’s amazing,” JJ agreed. “This new album? Masterpiece.”

Rossi chuckled, sipping his whiskey. “I think we’re all in agreement. What about you, Aaron? Nervous to be the muse tonight?”

Hotch, seated at the edge of their group, straightened his tie and gave Rossi a glance. “I’m just here to support her,” he said simply, his tone calm, the usual stoic Hotchner tone that showed no emotion. But the slight tug at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement, a crack in his normal demeanor that didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team.  

Garcia gasped dramatically, clutching her phone like it was a lifeline. “Oh my GOD, you’re blushing already!” she exclaimed, her fingers moving quickly to snap a picture. “This is going in the vault.”

Hotch sighed, but his smirk lingered. “Garcia put the phone away.”

“Absolutely not,” she replied, grinning as she angled for another shot. “This is for posterity, boss man. You’ll thank me later.”

Morgan leaned back in his seat, shaking his head with a laugh. “Posterity, huh? I think she just wants proof she knows someone famous by association.”

“Don’t we all?” JJ added with a grin, nudging Garcia.  

Before Hotch could muster a reply, the rest of the lights in the arena shut off, and the venue was plunged into darkness. A wave of energy rippled through the crowd, the excited murmur rising into a roar of cheers that shook the room. The stage lights remained off, the suspense growing as the audience clapped and whistled.  

Then it started — a chant, low at first but growing louder with each passing second as more and more of your fans caught onto it.  

“Valkyrie! Valkyrie! Valkyrie!”

Garcia clutched Morgan’s arm, her excitement bubbling over. “Do you hear that? That’s for her!”

Hotch leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the stage. The chant grew louder.  

The first note of the opening song rang out, clear and strong, echoing through the venue like a call to arms. The stage erupted in light, beams of gold and white cutting through the darkness as the music built to its first crescendo. Suddenly, a platform at the center of the stage began to rise, smoke swirling around its edges.

And there you were, emerging from the floor, your silhouette framed by the blinding spotlights behind you, creating a halo-like effect that made you look angelic. The crowd’s cheers exploded into an uproar, the sheer volume rattling the balcony where the BAU team sat.

You stepped forward with effortless grace, your breathtaking costume catching every flicker of light. It shimmered with each movement, the intricate detailing making you look like a constellation. The energy you radiated was magnetic — electric — and it pulled every eye in the room to you.

Hotch’s gaze never left you, although he could sense several men in the pit staring at you with hungry looks — he couldn't lie, it made him a little jealous and perhaps even a little overprotective, wanting to jump in a hide you away.

He’d seen you perform countless times, but tonight felt different. It wasn’t just the crowd or the grandeur of the venue; it was the unmistakable pride that welled in his chest watching you command the stage as you did.  

As you launched into the second song, your voice soaring effortlessly through the lyrics, you began scanning the crowd. Your smile widened when your eyes found him. You paused for the briefest moment, microphone in hand, before pointing directly at him.  

The reaction from the audience was deafening, a mix of cheers and laughter as people tried to decipher who the gesture was for. Hotch, however, stiffened in his seat, his normally composed self giving way to a look of wide-eyed surprise.  

“Oh no, she didn’t!” Morgan barked out, laughing so hard he had to brace himself against Rossi. “Hotch! You’ve been claimed!”

“She’s bold,” JJ whispered, grinning as she nudged Garcia.  

Garcia fanned herself dramatically. “Forget Hotch — I’m in love.”

Hotch shook his head, a small, embarrassed smile playing at his lips. He tugged at his tie, adjusting it more out of habit than necessity, and kept his focus on you.  

And you didn’t stop.  

As you moved through your set, you stole moments to lock eyes with him, a sly smile or a quick glance that sent the team into fits of laughter every time. During a particularly sultry number, you sauntered across the stage, letting the lyrics drip with honey as you zeroed in on him. The crowd saw a confident performer captivating her audience — although you were sure a few fans had caught on by now, and that you'd find edits and clips from tonight on social media in the following days — Hotch only saw you teasing him mercilessly.  

By the time you reached the final song, Hotch’s usual exterior had cracked. His tie was loose, his cheeks faintly pink, and his lips tugged into an almost constant smile.  

“She’s singing to you again,” Garcia teased, leaning over to snap another picture.  

Reid tilted his head. “Well actually, she’s pointed at him approximately seven times now in this song alone. That seems statistically significant.”

“Statistically significant” Morgan repeated in a mocking tone, laughing. “Reid, it means they're whipped for each other.”

Hotch leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving you, and shook his head. “You’re all ridiculous.”

But when you sent one last wink his way before stepping off stage before returning for the encore, even he couldn’t deny the truth.  

[holylulusworld]

Closer to fifty

Summary: Dean is in a bad mood. He’s turning 46.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: Dean feels old, birthday blues, fluff

Catch up here: Heavy

Dean huffs as he looks at the calendar in his room. It’s his birthday, but he’s not in the mood to celebrate it.

For one, he’s another year closer to fifty. For another, he’s closer to fifty than to forty now.

“Damn it,” he curses while staring in the mirror. He traces the fine lines around his eyes with his rough fingertips. “Another wrinkle. Fuck, I hope my ass doesn’t look wrinkly too.”

Dean rubs his scruffy chin. Maybe he should take a look at his ass. If there are wrinkles, he’ll never put his pants down in front of you. At least not while the lights are on.

“Alright, let’s see,” he says and pushes his pants down his bowed legs. Dean turns around and looks over his shoulder to look at his ass in the mirror. “Crap, I can’t see a thing.”

“Dean,” you hold back a chuckle as you watch your boyfriend stand in the bathroom, his pants down his legs. “What are you doing?”

“I—uh,” Dean stammers while he tries to come up with a lie. “You see, I…uh…”

“You tried to get a good look at the peach?” You step further into the room. Dean yelps when you slap his ass. “That’s mine. So, are you ready for your birthday breakfast, or do you want to take a look at little Dean too?”

Dean drops his gaze to glance at his cock. “Little Dean still looks good, doesn’t he?” He looks at you, furrowing his brows. “Right, sweetheart?”

“Hmm…” you nod thoughtfully. “I think the whole man still looks good.” You kiss his cheek while groping his ass. “His ass is a masterpiece. Now put your pants back on before Sam freaks out again, or I get something better than bacon for breakfast.”

Dean chuckles as you grope his ass roughly again. “Sweetheart, if you don’t stop, I’ll eat something better than my birthday breakfast.”

“Hold the horse, cowboy,” you giggle when he tries to grope you. “I have a whole day planned, and believe me, you don’t want to miss the grand finale.”

You wink at Dean before leaving him in the bathroom. “Oh,” you look over your shoulder, “Don’t forget to put your pants back on.”

“Damn, what did you do?” Sam looks at the buffet you prepared at the library. “I thought we wanted breakfast, not a heart attack.” He looks at the bacon, pancakes, croissants, and the rest of the food you made for Dean’s birthday breakfast.

“It’s Dean’s birthday.” You grin at Sam. “He deserves something good.”

“Sweetheart!” Dean happily looks at the buffet. “You outdid yourself!”

“Have a seat, and dig in,” you offer the seat next to yours to Dean. “Happy birthday, baby. I hope you enjoy your food. I’ve got pie for you too, and homemade lasagna.”

“Pie?” Dean yelps as he turns around too fast, ending up hurting his back once again. “FUCK! NO!” Well, at least the annoying boy wasn’t around this time to witness his back lock up.

“BABY? Dean!” You yell at Sam to help his brother and you. “We gotta bring him to the bedroom! FAST!”

Dean can barely hide the smirk creeping on his face as you carefully and slowly help him walk toward the bedroom. He just loves it when you take care of him.

To hell with the pain in his back. It feels so good having you in his life. Even if he’s one year closer to fifty…

[fanbasetwo]

ꣀ꣒ ASKING RIIZE — HOW MANY KIDS THEY WANT? . . 리제 ☁︎

pairing, riize × afab reader . . . genre, scenario(s), fluff, reactions . . . word count, 190-240 each . . . [LIBRARY]

SHOTARO . . . ✦

The warm glow of amusement park lights flittered behind you as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and the faint smell of popcorn and candy still clung in the air. Shotaro kept stride with you, both of you laughing over something silly said on the Ferris wheel. It was perfect-till the shrill wail sliced the evening. There ahead, was a toddler on the blacktop, face crunched and red, crying as loud as the park's coasters. The parents, as frantic as ever, struggled to calm the storm. Shotaro stopped, cocking his head in curious amusement. “Damn,” he muttered, popping another mouthful of cotton candy into his mouth. “Kids are something else.” You had to swallow a chuckle at the shifting expressions on his face as he alternated between pity for the kids and mutely applauding the parents' endurance.

Boldly, you jabbed him with your shoulder. “So, just how many do you think you could handle?” Though it was a light statement, you felt the flutter of interest in your heart. Shotaro raised an eyebrow and looked from the wailing child to the now-defeated pair of parents. After a calculated pause, he pointed at the scene, as if he were investigating a crime. “After that show?” He shook his head and shivered with distaste. “Definitely one. Maximum.” You burst into a fit of laughter; big, uncontrollable laughter that sent waves of pain into your tear ducts. “What? One? You are a brave soul!” you teased, leaning against him as he walked, both of you light and putting that laughter behind you.

EUNSEOK . . . ✦

“Stop staring,” sighed Eunseok, blush creeping up his arms as he arrogantly crossed them over his bare chest before finally looking at you. You remained transfixed on his warm skin, one hand upon it and your eyes tracing the defined contours of his body like an artist appreciating their artistic masterpiece. He squirmed in discomfort under your gaze and tried—but failed—to look annoyed. “Really?” he asked. “Do you really want to look at me like that?” You smiled mischievously, tilting your head to the side. “I can't help it. You're a distraction.” Eunseok opened his mouth, ready to respond, but you forestalled him by making a bold declaration. “I can't wait to have babies with you.”

Eunseok's eyes widened, a surprised cough coming out of him. “B-babies? Right now? Why are we talking about that?” . . . “Why not?” You winked, shrugging it off. “How many do you think you want?” He kept his eyes narrowed, the corner of his lips twitching, clearly choosing to reverse the question. “How many do you want?” You arched an eyebrow. “I asked first.” His lips stretched into a coy smirk as he relented. He slipped one arm around your waist and pulled you into his arms, the heat of his body sending chills through you. “Three” he murmured teasingly just above a whisper. He moved closer. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “But now we have to work for it.”

SUNGCHAN . . . ✦

Your head rested gently on Sungchan’s lap as the relaxed light of the TV illuminated his expression on the news. His long fingers ran over your hair in an idle caress, but he paid little attention, one hand holding a half-eaten chip poised between his lips. “Baby?” you called softly, breaking the silence. “Hmm?” he hummed, absentmindedly chewing. You hesitated, but a playful smile appeared on your face before you asked, “How many kids do you want?” That question was surely like a curve ball. Sungchan was choked, seated backward as he hastily pulled his drink to his mouth. A few awkward little coughs preceded a moment of silence during which he averted his gaze aimlessly, towards the TV just to look casual.

“Uh...” he started, his ears slightly red. “Honestly?If you are their mom... I think I can deal with three troublemakers.” You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking into amusement as you cocked your head back to regard him. “Three? Sounds like far too much trouble.” He looked down at you, his lips curling in a boyish grin around his most recently commandeered chip. “Yeah?” he drawled. “Don't worry, I'll be there to help. But if that's still too much trouble...” He hesitated, his gaze softening before he continued, “Two should be okay--but only if it's with you.” Your heart raced, warm laughter escaping your lips. “Smooth.”

WONBIN . . . ✦

“Wonbin. Wonbin. Wonbin. Wonbin.” You repeated his name like a mantra, pressing soft, rapid-fire kisses to his cheeks. His brows were furrowed, lips in a stubborn pout, but you could see the cracks forming in his resolve. This was your apology—a clumsy but heartfelt attempt to fix the mess you’d made. After all, you’d let jealousy get the better of you and accused him unfairly, making him feel like he didn’t matter to you. And now? Now you were desperate to make it right. He let out an exasperated sigh, still refusing to meet your eyes. His silence felt heavier than it should, and it made your heart ache. So, you tried the only thing you thought could soften him.

“How many kids do you want?” you asked, your tone gentle but tinged with hope. That caught his attention. His eyes widened, and he blinked at you as if you’d just suggested you run away together. “What?” he asked, clearly caught off guard. You bit your lip, shifting closer. “How many kids do you want? With me?” For a moment, he just stared, the remnants of his irritation fading away as he registered your words. Though he’d always sworn kids weren’t his thing, the thought of little versions of you two made him smile—just a little. “Two,” he finally said, his voice soft but sure.

SEUNGHAN . . . ✦

“Seunghan,” you nudged him gently, watching as his gaze remained fixed on his niece, who was playing with her dolls a few feet away. His soft smile made your heart ache in the best way. You knew it was the perfect moment to ask the question that had been swirling in your mind for months. “How many kids do you want?” He didn’t look startled, not even a little. Of course he wouldn’t be—this was Seunghan, after all. The two of you had already talked about everything from shared bank accounts to paint colors for your dream home. He simply turned his head toward you, his expression thoughtful as he looked back at his niece. It was as if he was imagining a little one of your own—a blend of you and him, running around and filling your future with joy.

Finally, his lips curved into a shy smile, and he whipped his head back toward you. “three…?” he said tentatively, his tone laced with both excitement and hesitation. “Would that be too much?” You laughed softly, touched by the way he valued your opinion. “I guess that depends on how stable we are in the future. But sure, three sounds good.” Before you could tease him further, Seunghan leaned forward, lips aimed for a kiss. You quickly dodged, pointing toward his niece as a reminder that she was still watching. She tilted her head, utterly baffled by the interaction, while the two of you burst into laughter, the warmth between you unspoken yet undeniable.

SOHEE . . . ✦

Sohee’s head snapped to the side, his cheeks glowing a rosy pink, as he overheard your conversation with a friend on the phone. You were casually chatting about wanting kids in the future—pretty normal stuff. But to him? It was anything but normal. His heart raced, and his shyness bloomed like wildfire. When you noticed his flustered state, you raised an eyebrow, stifling a grin. Ending the call with a quick excuse, you turned to him, unable to hold back your laughter. “Stop laughing,” Sohee grumbled, grabbing a nearby pillow and tossing it in your direction. It landed squarely on your face, earning a surprised yelp from you. Rubbing your nose where it hit, you chuckled even harder. “How can I stop when my boyfriend gets this shy... just at baby talk?” you teased, your tone light and playful.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands to hide the growing blush. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, but his pout only made him cuter. Deciding to push him further, you leaned forward, smirking. “Alright then, Mr. Lee. How many kids do you want?” He peeked at you through his fingers, raising an eyebrow as if trying to gauge if you were serious. When he realized you were, he sighed, brushing at his reddened cheeks. “Umm… one?” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. You grinned, walking up to him and planting a soft peck on his lips. “Good choice, Mr. Lee,” you whispered against his skin, your smile infectious. His shyness only deepened, but the small smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t mind one bit.

ANTON . . . ✦

You were sprawled across Anton’s chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear as Squid Game season two played on the TV. He was fully engrossed, his eyes fixed on the screen, while you, having already watched it, found more entertainment in teasing him. “Come on, you can watch it later,” you whined, pressing a kiss to his neck. When that earned only a distracted hum, you tried again, a sly grin on your lips. “Baby... if you don’t pay attention to me, I’ll spoil what happens next.” That got his attention—a sharp glare that made you laugh, but still, he didn’t budge. You sighed dramatically, as if you were truly suffering, before trying a different tactic.

“Okay then, dummy,” you began, your tone playful, “how many kids do you want?” That did it. His focus snapped to you, brow quirking at your seemingly random question. “What an odd thing to ask while I’m watching a show,” he muttered. But then his lips softened, and without hesitation, he added, “One.” Your heart skipped at the ease of his answer. He’d clearly thought about it before, the way he said it so certain, so natural. You lightly smacked his chest, burying your face into him to hide your grin. Even if his eyes drifted back to the screen, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist. And when he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, it felt like his way of saying, I’ve imagined our future too.

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[motherismotheringggg]

nicholas chavez fic where he’s with plus size reader and he likes to see her jiggle during sex👁️👁️

made to worship 🥀

summary: this and one another anon request — LOVED THIS!!!

type: plus sized female reader x nicholas chavez

tags: established relationship, body worshipping, oral (m! and f! receiving), p in v sex, swallowing

author’s note: it’s the way i wanted to start writing for more specific readers/reader traits and the literal say i had this idea i got this request — INSANITY!!! but im so happy with this and i hope yall like it!!!

word count: 4909

taglist: @emluvsuxo , @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @godzillawillsaveus , @purple-1995 , @ilovecheetahchrome , @nicholaschavezslut69

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The evening sky outside your high-rise apartment glowed with hues of pink and orange, the city skyline twinkling like scattered jewels. Inside, your space was bathed in the warm, ambient glow of your carefully curated mood lighting.

Fairy lights danced along the edges of your large windows, their soft light complementing the flicker of vanilla-scented candles scattered across the room. The atmosphere felt magical, almost like you were preparing for a scene in one of Nicholas’s movies—but tonight, the star was you.

Your "HOTTIES GETTING READY 🍸💗" playlist blasted through your Alexa speaker, Sabrina Carpenter’s upbeat lyrics urging you to sway your hips as you moved. The giddy excitement bubbling in your chest spilled into every movement: the way you twirled in front of the mirror, the occasional shimmy as you reached for another makeup brush, and the soft giggles that escaped your lips whenever you caught your reflection.

Your vanity table, a beloved thrift find, was adorned with an explosion of beauty products. Palettes, brushes, and compacts were arranged like tools in an artist’s studio, each chosen carefully to create the masterpiece that was you tonight.

Seated at the vanity, you leaned in close to the mirror, your curls bouncing lightly with the motion. You added the finishing touches to your makeup: a delicate shimmer highlighting your cheekbones, a precise wing of eyeliner that drew attention to your sparkling eyes, and a deep crimson lipstick that Nicholas had once declared "dangerous." The way the shade made your full lips pop was undeniable, and you smiled, pleased with the effect.

Your curves were hugged by a black dress that flowed over your body like a second skin. Stopping at the mid-thigh, it was a classic little black dress with a timeless silhouette and a sweetheart neckline that drew eyes directly to your décolletage and cleavage.

The fabric accentuated the softness of your figure—the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your chest. The dress had been an indulgence, a piece you’d bought after seeing how it made you feel: sexy, confident, powerful. As you smoothed your hands down its sleek lines, you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the full-length mirror.

You had always loved your body. It had taken years to cultivate the confidence you now carried with pride, but tonight, you felt it in every fiber of your being. You were beautiful. And Nicholas, your boyfriend of almost a year, never let you forget it.

He’d been away for three months, filming a secret project in Europe. While the distance had been hard, you’d kept in touch with texts, calls, and plenty of late-night FaceTimes. But nothing compared to the real thing—to having him home, finally able to hold you in his arms. Tonight was your first date since his return, and though you’d suggested he rest after landing, Nicholas had been insistent.

You smiled to yourself as you remembered his words: “Sleep can wait. I need to see you.”

You really did think it was a good idea for Nicholas to get some rest after his flight. He had spent weeks on set, pouring himself into his role and managing the grueling hours of filming. But deep down, you knew rest wasn’t an option—not when it came to you. Nicholas could never resist you, and truthfully, you loved it. After all, you hadn’t exactly made it easy for him to keep his distance while he was away.

From the moment he boarded his flight for Europe, you had made it your mission to remind him exactly what was waiting for him back home. It started innocently enough: a few sultry selfies in his favorite lingerie, each one showing off how the lace hugged your curves just right. But it didn’t take long for you to turn up the heat.

Fresh out of the shower, droplets clinging to your skin, you’d let the steam fog the mirror just enough to add a teasing edge. Then came the quick videos: the camera lingering on your soft, full figure as you massaged your breasts or gave a playful slap to your ass, letting him see exactly what he was missing. You knew what Nicholas loved most—the way you filled his hands completely, yet still left more for him to hold. And you loved reminding him of it.

But one night, it all escalated. A little wine-drunk and missing him more than usual, you’d drawn yourself a bubble bath. The warm water and frothy bubbles felt indulgent, and with your phone propped securely on the edge of the tub, you put on a show just for Nicholas. You let the camera capture the way the water caressed your curves, your body glistening under the soft glow of candlelight. You posed and shifted, the bubbles teasingly obscuring parts of you before you’d lift a leg or arch your back, leaving just enough for his imagination to run wild.

His response had been immediate.

nickypoo 💘

You’re killing me, baby. How am I supposed to survive three more weeks of this?

you:

just giving you something to look forward to <3

He hadn’t stopped there, though. After a few more minutes of teasing, he sent another message that made you burst out laughing:

nickypoo 💘

I’m about to tell them there’s an emergency back home. They don’t need to know the emergency is how bad i NEED you.

You’d teased him relentlessly for it during your next FaceTime call, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be wanted like that. Knowing Nicholas adored every part of you, from the playful curve of your smile to the plush softness of your body, made the separation a little easier to bear.

And now, after all those weeks apart, he was finally on his way.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed through your apartment, followed by the familiar creak of the door opening. “Baby, I’m just finishing up in the bedroom!” you called out, checking your reflection one last time in the mirror. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

Nicholas didn’t respond right away, but you heard the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor and the shuffle of his footsteps as he made his way inside. There was a pause, followed by the unmistakable sigh of relief he always seemed to release when he was at your apartment.

When you finally stepped out of your bedroom, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He was standing near the couch, looking relaxed yet strikingly handsome in a fitted black sweater and dark jeans. His brown eyes lit up the second they landed on you, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking you in like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

“Damn,” he finally managed, his voice low and reverent.

Before you could reply, Nicholas closed the distance between you in three long strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to merge you into himself. His hands roamed instinctively to your waist, fingers pressing into the plushness of your curves like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His voice was muffled, but you could hear the raw emotion behind it.

Your arms came up around his back, holding him just as tightly. His body was warm and solid against yours, and the familiar scent of his cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something earthy—wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

After a long moment, Nicholas pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding your waist. His gaze was intense, his brown eyes darting over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a light, playful kiss. It was deep, almost desperate, like he’d been starving for you and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a tenderness to it—a gentleness that reminded you just how much he cared.

You broke the kiss with a soft laugh, brushing your fingers over your lips. “Okay, as much as I love this,” you teased, “I just spent way too much time on my makeup to let you ruin it before we even leave.”

Nicholas groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care about the makeup,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick with desire. His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them in a way that made you feel worshipped. “You’re so damn beautiful, it hurts.”

The way he said it, with absolute conviction, made your cheeks warm. “You’re not playing fair,” you said, trying to maintain your composure, though the fluttering in your chest betrayed you.

His lips curved into a grin, one of his dimples making an appearance as he leaned back to look at you. “I haven’t even started yet.”

As if to prove his point, one of his hands slid up your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing through the fabric of your dress. His touch was deliberate, teasing, and the look in his eyes told you exactly where his mind was heading.

You caught his wrist before he could go any further, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t get all dressed up just for you to ruin it now,” you said, your tone playful but firm.

Nicholas let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back with a dramatic sigh. His hair fell into soft waves around his face, and when he finally looked at you again, his grin had only grown wider. “Fine,” he relented, though the glint in his eye told you he wasn’t giving up so easily.

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then trailed your lips along his jawline, stopping just below his ear. “If you can wait until after dinner,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing, “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

His eyebrows shot up, and his lips parted slightly as a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh, you’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement and a touch of awe.

You turned toward the door to grab your shoes and jacket, but before you could take two steps, a loud smack echoed through the room as Nicholas’s hand came down on your ass. The contact was firm, leaving a faint sting that made you yelp in surprise.

“Nicholas!” you exclaimed, spinning around to glare at him, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your annoyance.

He bit his bottom lip, clearly pleased with himself. “Sorry,” he said, though his grin was anything but apologetic. “I couldn’t help it.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile as you grabbed your shoes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, slipping them on.

Nicholas raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Okay, okay—I’ll relax,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you in a way that told you he was far from done admiring you.

As you reached for your jacket, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. The sight of him, so completely enamored and entirely yours, made your heart swell. It had been three long months, but in this moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

————

When you walked down to the car, the sight waiting for you made your heart skip. Parked by the curb was Nicholas’s beloved cherry-red 1967 Mustang, gleaming under the soft glow of the streetlights. Sitting in the passenger seat was the biggest bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen—an explosion of rich red roses, delicate baby’s breath, and fragrant lilies. You couldn’t hold back your joy, practically leaping into his arms before peppering his face with kisses. Nicholas laughed, a low, happy sound that vibrated against your chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

The drive to the gallery was filled with light conversation and your playlist humming in the background, his hand firmly resting on your thigh, fingers occasionally giving it a little squeeze. At the gallery walk, Nicholas’s attention stayed on you more than the art.

As you strolled through the exhibits, his touch was constant—never intrusive, just reassuring. His hand rested gently on your lower back as you navigated the crowded rooms, steering you effortlessly through clusters of art enthusiasts. When you stopped to read a placard, he’d step behind you, his hands settling on your hips, his chest lightly brushing your back.

Whenever your eyes met, he’d steal a kiss—a quick peck if someone was nearby, but when the moment allowed, he’d dip down to claim something deeper, making you momentarily forget the world around you.

At dinner, he was utterly captivated. Candlelight danced in his warm, brown eyes as he hung on to your every word. You laughed about some silly drama your friends were having, vented about the weird maintenance issues in your building, and recounted the wild dreams you’d had while he was away. Through it all, his gaze never wavered. He was enthralled—not just by your words but by the way your lips moved, the sparkle in your eyes, and the sound of your laughter.

Surprisingly, the drive home was calm, though his hand remained a grounding presence on your leg. Even in the elevator, where you half-expected him to lose control, he was restrained—his eyes on you, dark with promise, but his body relaxed.

But the second you stepped through your apartment door, all bets were off.

————

You barely had a moment to close the door before Nicholas’s lips found yours, urgent and consuming. His hands tugged at your coat as if the barrier was offensive, and when he finally had it off, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips moved with a desperate hunger, yet there was still that softness to them, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to devour you or savor every second.

His fingers trailed up your sides, gripping at your curves in a way that made you shiver. “I told you I could wait,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and gravelly with a smile. Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, his hands firmly grasping the plushness of your thighs, carrying you deeper into the apartment as if he couldn’t wait a second longer to have you all to himself.

Nicholas carried you effortlessly to the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours. The kisses varied—some deep and consuming, others soft and teasing, but all filled with an undeniable need. When he finally set you down, it was in front of your full-length mirror, the glow from your bedroom’s soft lighting casting a golden hue over the scene.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your chest rising and falling with each breath, lips already swollen from his kisses. Behind you, Nicholas stood tall, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

“You were breathtaking tonight,” he murmured against your skin, his voice deep and low, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed the curve where your shoulder met your neck, then trailed his lips upward until they found that spot just below your ear that always made you melt. “And you know it,” he added, his tone playful but dripping with sincerity.

His hands slid from your hips to your waist, squeezing gently as he pressed closer to you. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his steady breath brushing against your ear. “Do you know why I put you here?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Why?” you managed, your voice breathy and light.

“Because I want you to watch,” he said, his lips curling into a sly grin as he began to trail kisses down the curve of your neck again. “I want you to see how beautiful you are, how much I adore every inch of you.” His kisses grew slower, deeper, as he slid his hands down to your hips again.

Nicholas’s kisses grew hungrier as his hands slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. His lips trailed over the newly exposed skin, his breath warm against your collarbone, making your pulse race. With a soft sigh, the fabric slipped further down, and Nicholas took his time kissing every inch of skin revealed to him until the dress pooled at your feet.

For a moment, he pulled back to take you in, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your curves, lingering on the black lingerie you’d chosen. His hands spanned your waist, his touch firm yet reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, his hands splaying over the softness of your stomach, your thighs. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. How much I’ve missed you.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but before you could respond, he kissed you again—deep and deliberate, like he was pouring every ounce of emotion into the connection. His hands skimmed up your sides, over the swell of your breasts, and back down again, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured between kisses, his lips moving to your neck. “So warm. Do you know how obsessed I am with you? With this body?” His hands caressed your waist again, his grip tightening like he couldn’t help himself. “You drive me crazy. I swear, I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Nicholas…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling under his touch.

He smiled against your skin, a slow, knowing grin as he gently guided you toward the dresser. “Lean here,” he said softly, helping you rest against the cool wood. Behind you, the mirror reflected everything—the way your chest rose and fell, the flush creeping across your skin, and Nicholas towering over you, his presence magnetic.

He caught your gaze in the mirror as he placed his hands on either side of you, caging you in. “I want you to watch,” he said, his voice low and commanding but filled with adoration. “I want you to see why I worship you.”

Your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, kissing you deeply once more. His hands slid over your body with a confidence that made your knees weak, each touch deliberate, almost reverent. He kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, and then lower, his lips trailing along the tops of your breasts.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Nicholas dropped to his knees, his hands anchoring on your hips as his lips continued their descent. His fingers grazed your thighs, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pressed kisses to your stomach, lingering there, his lips soft but insistent.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your skin, his brown eyes lifting to meet yours. The intensity in his gaze sent a fresh wave of warmth pooling in your belly. His hands slipped to the waistband of your panties, and with an effortless tug, he slid them down your legs.

He helped you step out of them, his hands strong but tender as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. The position left you exposed, vulnerable, but the way he held you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—put you completely at ease.

Nicholas pressed a series of kisses to the inside of your thighs, his lips slow and deliberate, as though savoring every second. His fingers gripped your thighs firmly, grounding himself in your softness.

“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice rough but gentle, his breath warm against your skin. “Look at how beautiful you are when I’m making you feel good.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting your reflection in the mirror. The sight of yourself—flushed and trembling, your chest rising and falling with anticipation—made your pulse quicken. But it was the way Nicholas looked at you, his gaze filled with a mix of reverence and hunger, that made your heart ache in the best way.

He leaned in, his tongue gliding over your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your hands gripping the dresser for support. His movements were precise, deliberate, as though he was learning every reaction, every sound you made.

Your head fell back briefly as the pleasure built, but Nicholas’s voice brought you back. “No, baby,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again in the mirror. “I want you to see this. I want you to see how gorgeous you are when you fall apart for me.”

His lips returned to you, his tongue and mouth working in perfect harmony as his hands anchored you in place. Every stroke, every kiss felt like an act of devotion, as though he was pouring every ounce of his love for you into his touch.

Every swipe of Nicholas’s tongue against your aching core sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His touch was maddeningly tender yet intentional, each flick and stroke designed to unravel you completely. Your knees faltered under the onslaught of sensation, but Nicholas was always there—his grip tightening, his strong arms grounding you. You felt the flex of his biceps as he held you steady, his strength wrapping around you like a promise that he wouldn’t let you fall.

Your gaze flicked to the mirror, and the sight made your breath hitch. You were a mess —your chest rising and falling with desperate heaves, your skin flushed with heat. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, a vain attempt to stifle the moans and whimpers spilling from you.

“I love it when you moan like that, baby,” Nicholas murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice a low rumble that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. His lips were wet with your arousal, his eyes dark and hooded as they bore into yours. “Tell me how bad you need me, baby.”

Your voice trembled as you replied, barely able to form the words between your gasps. “So bad, Nicholas. I need you—I’m gonna cum.”

The admission spurred him on. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he returned his mouth to you with renewed fervor. The rhythm of his tongue became more relentless, his movements perfectly in sync with your rising tension.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as the pressure inside you reached its peak. “Nicholas—” you gasped, your voice breaking as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you. Your body tensed, trembling against him as you cried out, the pleasure consuming you completely.

Nicholas didn’t stop, his grip firm as he held you steady, coaxing every last shudder from your body. When you finally came down, your breaths ragged and your legs weak, he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before rising to his feet.

Before you could fully catch your breath, Nicholas turned you around with ease, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so heated it stole what little air you’d regained. His hands worked quickly, unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants and boxers down in one fluid motion.

He guided you to lean forward, your hands bracing against the dresser as he positioned himself behind you. His hands gripped your hips, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your softness as he aligned himself with your entrance.

The first slow, deliberate thrust stole your breath entirely. Nicholas let out a low, guttural moan as he entered you, his hands steadying your hips as he adjusted to your tightness. “Fuck baby, I missed this pussy,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky. “You’re so tight baby ... You feel so good.”

His hips began to move, the slow rhythm building gradually, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your overstimulated body. Nicholas’s hands roamed over your hips and thighs, grounding himself in the feel of you.

His eyes were locked on the way your body moved with his, the way your plush curves rippled with every thrust. The sight seemed to undo him. He groaned low in his throat, his hand drawing back before landing a sharp slap against your ass.

The sensation made you cry out, the sharp sting blending with the pleasure coursing through you. Nicholas’s grip tightened, and he let out a grunt at your reaction. “You like that, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“Yes,” you managed to moan, your voice shaky but insistent. “Do it again.”

A wicked smile curved his lips as he complied, his hand landing another firm slap against your skin. The sound echoed in the room, followed by your moan, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again—and again, the rhythm of his thrusts growing more erratic with each deliciously sharp impact.

“You’re so good for me,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless.

Nicholas’s thrusts grew faster, each stroke deeper than the last. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your soft skin as he lost himself in the rhythm of your bodies. Each time his hand came down on your ass, the sharp sting sent a new wave of arousal through both of you, his groans mingling with your breathless cries.

His voice, a perfect mix of raspy and grumbly, edged with desperate whines, drove you wild. The sound was so raw, so unfiltered—it made you ache to give him the same overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

You began to pick up on his rhythm, matching his movements with your own. Arching your back further, you started to throw your hips into him, meeting his thrusts with equal force. The shift in control made Nicholas let out a loud, guttural moan, his hands faltering for a moment as you took the lead.

“I love when you fuck me back like this,” he groaned, his hands slipping from your hips as he let “Baby, you’re so good.”

The praise spurred you on, your movements growing faster, more deliberate. You felt his resolve weakening, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you took control. Each roll of your hips sent him deeper into bliss, and the sound of your bodies colliding filled the room—a symphony of moans, skin meeting skin, and the creak of the dresser beneath your weight.

Nicholas was completely yours now, his body trembling as you worked him. “You’re such a good girl,” he gasped between his moans, his voice thick with adoration. “So perfect for me. Just like that—don’t stop.”

But when he couldn’t take it any longer, his hands returned to your hips, gripping you with renewed urgency. He thrust into you harder, faster, his strokes relentless as he chased his release.

“I’m gonna cum baby doll,” he rasped, his voice breaking with the force of his pleasure.

The moment the words left his mouth, you turned your head slightly, your voice breathy but sure. “I want you to finish in my mouth.”

Nicholas groaned, his movements faltering for a split second before he regained his rhythm, thrusting into you a little longer before pulling out with a sharp gasp.

He guided you down to your knees, standing over you as he stroked himself, his hand moving in frantic, desperate motions. His brown eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and adoration as you tilted your head back, lips parted, waiting for him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, his voice trembling with need.

Moments later, his release spilled into your mouth, warm and overwhelming. You took him in fully, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip as he shuddered above you. His head tipped back, his chest heaving as he let out a low, broken moan, his entire body trembling with the force of his climax.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice weak as his hands gripped the edge of the dresser for balance.

You didn’t stop there, teasing him with gentle flicks of your tongue, savoring the taste of him as his knees nearly buckled. His back hunched as he let out a weak chuckle, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“Baby, please,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Your lips curved into a satisfied smile as you pulled away, placing a soft kiss on his hip before sitting back on your heels. Nicholas reached down, pulling you back up into his arms, his forehead pressing to yours as he caught his breath.

But then, his lips brushed against your ear, and you felt the familiar heat of his words. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I still need to have you… all of you.”

His hands slid down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps before giving your ass a playful slap. “Get on the bed,” he said with a mischievous grin, his brown eyes gleaming. “I want to see that gorgeous face of yours when I make you cum again.”

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Warnings: smut, masterbation, send nudes, quick mention of breeding

Sequel to: Think of Me When You Cum Later

Almost an entire day passed without a word from you. Smug as he could fucking be, Simon was certain that it had everything to do with his little impromptu video he sent keeping your hands far to busy to type and God did that fuel him with a new secret passion; perhaps he’d have to send you another before he got back, just to be sure that you were a complete goddamn mess for him when you came to pick him up from base.

If he was really lucky and did his job right you’d have to pull over on the ride home just so he could fuck your brains out in the back seat of your car, so needy you wouldn’t be able to wait the short ride back to his place. You’d both have those window panes fogged up real fucking quick.

But there was one thing the self-assured military man forgot about and that was that you were never one to let him go empty handed. The moment Simon had sent his bit of personal porn for your enjoyment, he should have known that you would not want him to miss out on something special for himself; he needed to see with his own two eyes just how much you needed him. And since he had only made that ache worse for you, he had to have a bit of it back.

It was only fair after all.

So eventually once you were able to clear your head and calm your raging heartbeat, you got to work plotting. It had to be a cinematic masterpiece, something so good that he would definitely have to save for private viewings over and over again whenever he was away; you never did anything half-assed and since it was for him it had to be perfect.

The day had been uneventful and that gave ample time for Simon’s devious mind to wander back to you, wondering how many times you’d viewed that spicy clip and how absolutely soaked your panties were from it. Something about the silence from his phone only led him to fantasize about you being nothing more than a puddle in the middle of his bed, legs shaking from how many times you’d cum.

God, to be a fly on the wall he would have given anything.

BZZ…BZZ…

As if prompted by his thoughts alone, his phone buzzed to life as he sat in his bunk wiling away the hours until sleep finally decided to take over. He pulled small rectangle out of his bag that lay beside his bed with a cocky grin plastered to his lips, ready to read the long string of texts about how his distraction was more than satisfactory. The older phone that Simon liked to take into the field didn’t allow him to preview messages before he opened them, so he had no idea what awaited inside until he clicked the icon; his jaw nearly hit the floor and he had to immediately look around him to make sure that there was no one skulking about that could possibly catch a glimpse of his screen.

This was for him and him alone.

It was a picture… not what he was expecting, but he should have known better after his little stunt that you were bound to do something like this. The message directly underneath it read: “Shit, baby, I can’t seem to stop watching your video. Look what you’re doing to me.”

Nearly choking on his saliva, his heart stopped and forcefully restarted in his chest at the glory of image before his eyes. Goddamn he could not pull his sight away; you had to have gone to a lot of trouble to set this all up, but fuck was it worth it just so that he could see you like this.

There you were spread eagle across his bed, completely naked save for the singular hair tie dangling from your wrist that had become a staple of your everyday attire. Your hand was precisely placed between your thighs, fingers clearly buried in that juicy cunt of yours. Head fallen back, presumably eyes shut tight, tits up with your nipples hard, goddamn you were the prettiest fucking picture he had ever fucking seen.

He was falling head over heels all over again.

The pressure of his cock straining harshly against the zipper of his pants became incredibly painful all of a sudden and he rushed to undo the restraining fabric in a hurry; such a visceral effect that you always seemed to produce in him no matter how many times he saw you bare. Pulling the waistband open he lay there with nothing but his boxers to keep him covered.

It had been a long minute since your body was available for his viewing pleasure and he sucked every last drop of that photo down, transfixed as if he had been put under hypnosis. Eyes scanning every inch of that tiny picture glaring back at him through the darkness, the ache in his chest grew as did the heat so that even though his shirt was off he was still boiling to the touch; fuck he needed you so bad it was agony. There was no lie when Simon had said he was desperate to make you cum, he would give anything to feel you writhe beneath him right now, body burning as he put all his focus into making you slip over the edge as many times as humanly possibly.

Whatever he had to do, whatever sin he had to commit that would get him to you fast enough, he would in an instant just to ride straight to hell between those luscious thighs.

Satisfying your temptation was worth the damnation.

How much time had passed since he become consumed by your image he didn’t know, but now there was something on his phone that was beginning to download. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears as he waited on baited breath, barely moving a muscle in anticipation for whatever it was you had sent him. Auburn eyes were boring holes into his phone as he watched that slow fucking progress bar inch its way forward at a turtles pace; Christ, it was going to make him drop dead from the excited expectation of what was to come once it was done.

BZZ... BZZ…

Finally, after what felt like a fucking eternity, the damned thing was finished and ready for him. A video was what waited for his viewing pleasure, slightly longer than the one he had sent the night before. With shaky, unsteady hands Simon dived head first for his headphones in his bag without a second thought, nearly ripping the canvas apart trying to pry them out as fast as his hands would allow. Shoving the buds into his ears as his pulse raced through his veins, he pushed play...

And his blood pressure shot through the goddamn roof.

“Ahh, Simon…” your breathy moan hit his ears first and his brain flat-lined as he nearly came just from just the sound of your sweet tone calling out his name. How long had it been since he had heard you mewling his name in the throws of passion? So damn long it should have been a crime.

The way you had the camera set up he could see it all, the perfect goddamn angle as if he were sitting in the room with you, watching as you touched yourself. Why the ever loving fuck could he not reach through the screen and get to you? That was the worst part of it all; he desperately needed to be the one to make you produce all those pretty sounds.

“Fuck, Simon, I miss you so much,” you continued, your body jerking as your fingers continued to dance around your clit, your toes curling around the sheets. “I’ve been so empty it hurts… need you to fill me full again baby. Reach that ache deep inside that I can’t seem to get. It’s only getting worse without you.”

Simon’s cock throbbed forcefully, pressing harshly against his lower abdomen as the video continued to play; it felt as if he might burst just from the sudden rush of blood to that beastly appendage. Swallowing down a stray groan that threatened to escape his lips and give him away, he nearly gagged on it just to keep it down, but fuck did he want to let loose. He was being consumed by his desire: skin on fire, eyes transfixed on your gorgeous rocking form, mouth agape as he breathed heavy, he took a hold of his engorged member and pulled it free from his boxers before he began to stroke the length; there was no way he could sit here and watch you like this without touching himself.

Back on the screen, your legs were jerking sporadically as you pictured Simon there with you, pumping in and out of you with all that he had. “Need your fat fucking cock to stretch me out good,” you whimpered pathetically, using all that pent up frustration to aid in your performance; it was torment. “Oh God baby, I need it so bad…can’t take it.”

Fuck it hurt to hear your need and not be able to do a damned thing about it right then and there. He swore to himself that by the time he finally got his hand around those curves he was gonna fill you so full that your pussy wouldn't know what to do without him inside you.

Simon hissed under his breath as his grip tightened around his dripping, aching cock, rapid strokes gaining speed so as to perfectly match your rhythm just so that he could trick his brain into imagining himself pumping in and out of your tight, wet cunt. It paled in comparison to the real thing because there was no replicating how you felt wrapped around him, but it would do for now. Together you both worked yourselves on opposite sides of the screen, just trying your hardest to ease the torturous longing.…as if fucking each other across the space between you.

You were completely losing yourself in the moment, unable to hold back all those needs that had been put aside as he was gone. The image of Simon touching himself to the thought of you, his words sounding so desperate, played over in your mind as you worked yourself and you could not stop the way it made you feel, the yearning need for him to completely and utterly wreck your body to the point that even the idea of being with anyone else would never be able to come close to what he could give.

“Shit Simon, I want…

I want…" you had to say it, it was gonna come out anyway…

"I want you to breed me,” you said stammered out the plea as your free hand massaged over your breasts. That warmth was building, rising in the pit of your stomach as you said those forbidden words aloud. “I need you to breed me good Simon, make sure I’m ruined for anyone else. Oh God, please, baby. I need it, I need you.”

Christ that was his fucking kryptonite, his Achilles heel, the one thing is the whole wide world that could stop him dead in his tracks and bring him to his proverbial knees. The minute those delicious words exited your mouth, there was no stopping his ecstasy from overwhelming him to the point that he could he was gone.

Oh he was gonna make sure that sweet little cunt had his name written all fucking over it.

Nope that was it, what little straggling bit of sanity he had left had flown and he could not hold back the pressure any longer from reaching its peak and violently throwing him off the ledge. With a strenuous grunt that echoed in his chest and a few hard tuggs up and down his shaft he came with such force that his body shook his entire cot as he stroked out every last bit of milky white fluid from the tip. His cum coating his lower abdomen, getting caught in the sparse bit of hair the covered the area was making a mess, but he didn’t care; the euphoria currently surging through his veins like electricity clouded any negative thoughts.

The sound of your orgasm your mewls as your rocketed through you played into his ears, the perfect soundtrack to finish out the rest of his own pleasure. You fell back against the mattress, chest heaving with exhausted breaths as your legs shook and relaxed stretched out as the video finished.

Fuck, he was gonna need a cigarette after that, his body still vibrating with the sheer intensity of it all.

BZZ…BZZ…

The phone vibrated one last time, a final text to send him off into the night.

“I hope it was just as good for you as it was for me,” it said, followed by a sneaky winky face. “Sleep tight.”

If he thought he was missing you before, but that was nothing compared to now. It was overwhelming the need he had to have you making those sounds for him again. You had better be ready to getting the car cleaned and detailed because there was no way you weren’t going to be pinned down in the back seat after that one…because you had just made that ache so much worse.

Part 3:

[kathlare]

secretly ours

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie reflects on her whirlwind life, juggling a busy tour with personal moments of connection. After a high-energy performance in Buenos Aires, she returns to a quiet hotel room where she reunites with Lando.

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

November 9th, 2023 - Buenos Aires, Argentina

liked by oliviarodrigo, landonorris, and others

ameliedayman: made something special for you guys for the holidays 🤍 'fruitcake' is out 11/17 !!

View all 1,965 comments

holidayvibesonly: THIS + hot cocoa + snow = perfect vibes 🔥 Can’t wait to blast Fruitcake at the family dinner 🎁

hatersgonnahate: A holiday album? Really? How original. 🙄 → swiftie_x_amelie: @hatersgonnahate And yet you’ll be listening to it. Stay mad. 🎄

alex_albon: Do we get exclusive VIP fruitcake privileges, or do I have to preorder like everyone else? 😂 → ameliedayman: @alex_albon Alex, you’re on the naughty list. Lily come and get your man...

cozydayman: You’re literally the spirit of the holidays, Amelie. This is what December needed.

charles_leclerc: Finally, something to replace George’s karaoke Christmas playlist. Merci, Amelie. 😅🎄 → georgerussell63: @charles_leclerc Rude, Charles. But fair. Amelie > me. 😂

ameliefan4life: OMG, CHRISTMAS CAME EARLYYYY 🎄✨ Can’t wait to have this on repeat all holiday season!! 😍 → swiftieintraining: @amelie4life Sameee, we’re about to have a holly jolly meltdown! 🥹🎶

victoria.dayman: SO proud of you, my love! Another masterpiece for the world to enjoy. ❤️

amelieobsessed_22: FRUITCAKE??! 🎄👀 I’m already obsessed and I haven’t even heard it yet!! DROP THE SNIPPET, MILA!!! → daymanfanatic: @amelieobsessed_22 She’s about to own Christmas, I just KNOW it. Queen of the holidays! 👑🎶

lanmielover_98: LANDO IS BACK IN THE LIKES OMG FINALLY! 😭😭 Christmas miracle fr!!! 🎁

--------------

Amelie stepped off the brightly lit stage at the River Plate Stadium, her heart pounding with the residual adrenaline of performing in front of thousands. The sound of screaming fans still echoed in her ears as the crew hustled around, breaking down the set. She’d just finished opening for Taylor Swift on The Eras Tour, and the energy of the crowd had been electric. But even as she smiled and thanked the team backstage, her thoughts weren’t entirely on the performance. They were on the man waiting for her back at the hotel.

Amelie’s lips curled into a small, private smile as she pulled the towel from her neck and dabbed at the sweat on her forehead. Her body ached from the high-energy performance, her legs heavy from hours of dancing under the blistering lights. Yet, the thought of Lando made her pulse quicken in a different way. For the past three days, he had been tucked away in her hotel room, hidden from the world like a well-kept secret. It was risky, sure, but the thought of him being there—waiting for her—was a comfort she couldn’t resist.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, her driver understanding her exhaustion as she leaned back in the seat, staring out at the Buenos Aires skyline. The city buzzed with life, and she couldn’t help but think about how much her life had changed in the past few weeks. Only a month ago, she and Lando had barely spoken in over a year, and now they were back in each other’s orbit, tangled in a web of emotions that neither of them seemed ready to define.

The elevator ride to her floor felt excruciatingly slow. Her body yearned for a shower, for her bed, and most of all, for him. She swiped her keycard and pushed open the door to her suite, her eyes immediately landing on Lando. He was sprawled on the couch, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of his oversized McLaren T-shirts, his damp curls suggesting he’d just showered. The glow from the TV cast soft shadows on his face, and he looked up at her with that boyish grin that made her heart skip every damn time.

—Hey, superstar,— he greeted, his voice warm and teasing.

—Hey, trouble,— she replied, kicking off her boots and dropping her bag by the door. —Been waiting long?—

—Only my whole life,— he quipped, standing and crossing the room to meet her halfway. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight embrace that made her sigh against his chest. He smelled like his cologne and her shampoo, a combination that was oddly comforting.

Amelie tilted her head back to look at him. —Missed me, huh?—

—Obviously,— he said, his accent making the word drawl slightly. —I’m stuck in here like a bloody prisoner while you’re out there living it up. Feels a bit unfair, doesn’t it?—

She laughed, the sound light and genuine as she pressed her hands to his chest. —You’re the one who insisted on coming here. Don’t complain now.—

Lando shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. —What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.— He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a way that was soft but carried the promise of something more.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. The exhaustion from the night seemed to melt away under his touch, replaced by the familiar heat that always simmered between them. But then, as if remembering herself, she pulled back, her lips quirking into a smirk.

—Let me shower first,— she murmured. —I’m disgusting.—

—I don’t mind,— he teased, but he let her go, watching her retreat to the bathroom with a look that made her stomach flip.

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the sweat and grime of the concert. As she stood under the spray, her mind wandered to Lando. To the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, and the way he made her feel like the center of his universe when they were together. It was almost overwhelming, the intensity of it all. But it was also addictive.

When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a plush robe with her damp hair falling around her shoulders, she found Lando lying on the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when she entered, his eyes softening in that way they always did when he saw her.

—You’re hogging the bed,— she said, climbing in next to him.

He smirked, setting his phone aside. —It’s a big bed, Ames. There’s plenty of room for you.—

Amelie rolled her eyes but settled beside him, her head resting on his chest as his arm came around her shoulders. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of his heartbeat steady under her ear.

—I can’t believe you actually came here,— she said softly, tracing patterns on his shirt with her finger. —You’re insane.—

Lando chuckled, his fingers idly running through her damp hair. —I think you already knew that. But, come on, Ames, how could I not? A week without seeing you was already torture. If I’d stayed away any longer, I might’ve gone mad.—

She smiled, her heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did when he said something sweet. —You’re lucky I didn’t get caught sneaking you in here. Taylor’s security team would’ve thrown both of us out.—

—Worth it,— he said with a grin, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. —Besides, I’m not exactly complaining about being stuck in a hotel with you. Could be worse places to hide out.—

Amelie tilted her head to look up at him, her fingers still tracing lazy circles over his chest. —You mean you don’t miss the chaos of the paddock? The cameras? The endless media questions?—

—Not when I’ve got you,— he said without missing a beat, his voice soft but teasing. —I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the attention, but this? This is better.—

She laughed, shaking her head. —You’re so full of shit.—

—Maybe,— he admitted, his grin widening, —but you like me anyway.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, but the truth of his words settled somewhere deep inside her. She did like him, more than she probably should, given their history. But here they were, tangled up in each other’s lives again, unable to stay away despite all the reasons they shouldn’t.

She shifted, propping herself up on her elbow to get a better look at him. —You know, you’ve got a race next weekend. Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, resting? Training? Doing whatever it is you racing drivers do?—

Lando shrugged, his free hand coming up to rest on her hip. —I’ve got my priorities straight. Besides, I’m already ahead of schedule. Being here with you is... good for me. Keeps me grounded.—

—Grounded?— she repeated, raising an eyebrow. —I’m pretty sure sneaking around in hotel rooms isn’t exactly what they mean by that.—

He smirked, his hand slipping under the hem of her robe to rest on her bare thigh. —Maybe not, but I’d argue it’s worth bending the rules for you.—

Her breath hitched at the feel of his touch, her body instinctively leaning into him. He had this way of making her forget everything else, of drawing her into his orbit until nothing else mattered. It was intoxicating, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it.

—You’re such a flirt,— she murmured, her voice quieter now as her fingers trailed along his jawline. —What am I going to do with you?—

Lando’s eyes darkened slightly, his grip on her thigh tightening just enough to make her heart race. —I can think of a few things.—

She laughed, the sound soft and breathless as she leaned down to kiss him. It started slow, her lips brushing against his in a way that was almost tentative, but it quickly deepened, the heat between them building as his hands found their way to her waist.

It was moments like this that reminded her why she’d let him back into her life. Despite everything—the heartbreak, the distance, the uncertainty—there was something undeniable about the way they fit together. Something that made all the risks feel worth it.

—You’re trouble, Norris,— she whispered against his lips, her hands tangling in his curls.

He grinned, his breath warm against her skin. —And you like it.—

Amelie pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his. —I don’t know what we’re doing, Lando. I don’t know where this is going.—

His expression softened, the teasing edge fading as he cupped her face in his hands. —Neither do I, Ames. But I know I don’t want to stop.—

For a moment, she just looked at him, her heart caught somewhere between fear and hope. Then she leaned in, kissing him again, letting herself get lost in him. Whatever this was—whatever they were—it was theirs. And for now, that was enough.

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Six

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: drug usage/mentions as usual, alcohol, mor/feyre/reader being fashion icons, reader & az being 'just friends', drunk girl bonding, reader being a sentimentalist and loving her friends

Word Count: 5.4k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a cramp in your stomach from laughing so hard— a pain made worse by the fact that Mor’s roughly concocted mimosas fueled the hilarity of every comment. She and Feyre were in stitches beside you, their snickers echoing off the walls as you all made your way down the stairs. It had taken a while, but you were finally ready to head out for the last day of Summit. The boys had been waiting with increasing impatience.

As you rounded the corner into the kitchen, Cassian looked up with a start, his hand paused mid-air, spoon halfway to his mouth. He choked as he took in the sight before him, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“What the hell do those say?” Cassian coughed, pressing his hand over his mouth as he swallowed hard. He stood up from his seat, and you bit back a laugh.

You three had been adamant about making your last day truly memorable. Somehow that had turned into throwing out any pretenses of looking cute or trendy. Instead, you three wanted something more sophisticated, outfits that showed your maturity. You’d each chosen special shirts for one another. 

Yours was a white tee with bold, unapologetic text: “I made your dad a bottom.” Mor’s shirt was a masterpiece of absurdity. She’d cut it into a sleeveless, oversized fit that hung off her frame with casual abandon. The front featured a stock photo of a muscular, awkwardly posed werewolf figure with the caption “Human by chance, alpha by choice” scrawled underneath in an ill-advised font. Feyre’s was also a true work of art. She'd played pretend offend for all of three seconds when she'd first seen it, giggling about how true it was. Her shirt boasted a crudely drawn frog holding a paintbrush, paired with the words “Dyslexic with tig bits.”

You exchanged grins with your best friends. 

"Aren't you gonna tell us how good we look?" Mor asked, placing a hand on her hip. She gave him a look of impatience, as if the time running by without her compliment was getting on her nerves. 

"I-" Cassian ran a hand across his mouth, tracing his mustache with extra care once he noticed her budding scowl. "Rhys! Az!"

The two boys emerged almost instantly, their mouths falling open in amusement as their eyes scanned the shirts. Rhys was the first to react, his face lighting up with a wide grin as he let out a low whistle.

“Pretty privilege lets you guys get away with way too many things,” he mused, his attention fixed entirely on Feyre as he approached her. He gently took her hand, guiding her into a dainty twirl to showcase her outfit.

Your gaze shifted to Az, who leaned casually against the wall, amusement dancing in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. Mimicking his pose, you crossed your arms defensively. He shook his head, pushing off the wall and strolling towards you.

“Well, don’t cover up the art like that,” he said, glancing at your crossed arms. “I was enjoying it.”

You blushed, letting out a snort as you dropped your arms, gesturing dramatically to the shirt. Az’s eyes glimmered as he reached forward, his fingers lightly brushing the edges of the fabric. “Why this one?”

“Mor chose it for me,” you replied, your breath catching slightly. Azriel nodded in approval.

“Fitting.”

Cassian, now fully recovered, let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I’m feeling left out. You all look—” he paused for dramatic effect, “—exceptionally unique.”

“Good answer,” Mor said with a satisfied nod. She wrapped an arm around you, pulling you along with her as she walked towards the kitchen. “And isn’t the idea of dommy Y/N so hot?”

You groaned, your face flushing red as she giggled beside you. For the tenth time that morning, you begged her to stop using such a strange title. Her laughter only grew louder.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The merch line was long, but you didn’t mind waiting; the day was cooler, the sun less blistering than it had been, and the thought of having a physical memento from the weekend was comforting. Az had volunteered to keep you company while the others leisurely watched a smaller set on the schedule. There was an ease to this moment, the kind that settled in when time stretched out.

Azriel turned his head to look at you. His eyes scanned your figure and a second later he was shaking his head, looking away as a laugh left his lips. Your heart skipped a beat. Az’s laugh was something you coveted, a sound you’d become addicted to over time.

You waited until his eyes reached yours again to raise your eyebrow. "What?"

"That fuckin' shirt," Az replied. "I just can't get over it."

You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder as the line moved forward. "Don't judge. It's been a chick and dick magnet."

It was true. You'd gotten more compliments on your shirt than you'd ever received in your entire life— at least, drunk you seemed to think so. God, you needed to wear this outfit more often.

Azriel shook his head again, offering up his hands in surrender. "No judgment here," he said. He scanned you again, eyes glowing with a sense of contemplation. He pulled his cap off his head and placed it on yours. You tracked his movements with your eyes, watching as he took a step backwards and admired you as if he'd just created a masterpiece.

"Perfect."

It was an effort not to beam at the word alone, at how it seemed to anchor itself in your chest, resonating with a deeper meaning you were too embarrassed to fully acknowledge. You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth that rolled through your body, surely collecting on your reddening cheeks. You placed your hands on your hips. 

"I look good?"

Azriel let out a small hiccup, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh yeah," he said, reclaiming his spot next to you in a few, easy strides. "You look like every dude in Rhys's frat."

Your smile fell. You attempted to give him a glare, to scowl, but Azriel's proud grin pulled a laugh from deep in your chest. "You said it looked good."

Az's smile curved, deepening into the crevasses of his cheeks. "And I meant it, you look great. Stunning."

There it was, that feeling again— that giddiness that left you fumbling for words. Something warm and silly spread throughout your chest. For a moment, you struggled to respond, fumbling through your mind to put together a coherent sentence. It was proving hard, so incredibly hard, when Az was looking at you the way he was.

"I didn't know frat boys were your type."

Azriel shrugged. "I didn't either. Guess we're both learning new things."

You playfully smacked him with your hand and reached up to remove his cap from your head. He shook his head, taking it back to adjust the band with nimble fingers. You watched him, noting the slight tremble as he refitted it to your head.

“You keep this,” Azriel said, securing it on you again. “It looks better on you anyway.”

You swallowed, fingertips brushing the brim. “Careful, Az. It might sound like you’re flirting with me or something.”

Azriel stared at you for a moment. His gaze was steady, searching. Do friends look at friends this way? Was it wrong to crave his gaze so deeply?

"What can I say," Az finally replied. The line moved forward. "I guess I just can't resist the pull of a frat guy."

Azriel brushed his palmalong the small of your back to guide you forward. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he removed his hand.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You weren't sure how much time had passed since Az left to go put all of the merch in the car. His instructions to you had been clear: stay in the same area so he could find you when he came back in. When he'd left, there was still around an hour until you'd meet back up with Mor, Feyre, Cass and Rhys. 

But Azriel's instructions left your mind the minute he was out of view. You'd reached that perfect point of being slightly crossed—mostly drunk, but not dangerously so— and everything felt vibrant. Alive. It made no sense to stand still or sit in a patch of grass and wait for Az to return like a sad codependent dog and its owner. No, that wouldn't do.

So you wandered, finding yourself by the food trucks, a new fruity drink in your hand. Non-alcoholic and entirely too expensive for its small size, but money didn't seem real to you. There was a large smile on your face as you weaved through the small crowds. You'd made around six new friends, random people you began talking to in line, those equally as drunk who voiced their love for your outfit. 

You barely registered when you bumped into a girl, the drink in your hand sloshing a bit. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A soft voice exclaimed. You brought your attention to her face, taking in her long brown hair as she wiped a drop from her shirt. You were about to apologize then too, but then her eyes met yours. Something sparked in them. They widened, the brown glowing almost, and she beamed. 

“I know you!”

You stilled. “You do?” There was something familiar about her but you couldn’t quite place it. The smile especially. Something warm and friendly. 

“Yes!” she nodded eagerly. She grabbed the arm of a person next to her, pulling them into the conversation. Deep blue eyes and sandy brown hair. 

“Babe," the girl said, "This is the girl from yesterday!"

A look of realization formed on her partner's face. She turned to you again. "I was just telling them earlier about you. I took your picture yesterday."

They nodded, a small chuckle leaving their lips as they took a sip of their shared drink. "She was," they said, "The pretty girl with the boyfriend who had a sick wing tattoo.”

You blinked. Maybe you were feeling a bit slow today, a bit lethargic, or maybe you were a bit too gone to carry such a fast conversation. You let their words sink in, allowing your face to blossom into a smile. You recognized her face now, remembering the sweet approach she'd had to you and Az. The picture you now cherished so deeply. Your cheeks warmed. 

 “Oh, uh. He's not my boyfriend.”

The girl stilled. A sense of surprise flickered across her face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you laughed lightly, “just friends.”

She exchanged a look with her partner, a silent conversation passing between them, and then turned back to you with an intrigued expression, eyes slightly narrowed, lips still curved at the edges. 

"Really?" She repeated, as if her question would pull a different answer, one that may have satisfied her more. 

You gave a sheepish smile, shrugging your shoulders. You suddenly felt entirely too vulnerable, embarrassed in a way you hadn't felt since you were a child in kindergarten. She exchanged another look with her partner. 

“Does he know that?” They said. 

You shifted awkwardly, the heat rising in your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, it's kinda weird, though. I don't know...” You trailed off, feeling the words slipping away from you. It was hard to articulate when your mind was so pleasantly hazy. You hesitated, then added with a chuckle, “It’s a long story.”

They both nodded. The girl looked at her partner before turning back to you. She grinned and shrugged, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Well, if you have the time, so do we.”

You furrowed your brows. She leaned in closer, like a best friend about to share a secret, and whispered conspiratorially, “I love a good storytime.”

And so, you found yourself sitting on a patch of grass, with Victoria and Jamie, as you learned their names to be, a band playing distantly on the stage nearby. The entire history spilled from your lips like uncontrollable bile, as if you were drafting a biography and starting it from the moment you met Feyre—because that’s when it truly all started. Almost four years ago, you realized.

You talked about freshman year, about your introductory philosophy class, your friendship with Az that blossomed into this deep, heavy crush. You told them about that almost-kiss, the one that lingered in your memory like a bittersweet stain, and even about your relationship with Eris. 

Victoria's drink was empty by the time you’d finished and the sun had dipped ever-so-slightly in the sky, now painting the festival in golden hues. 

 “Wow,” Victoria said, exchanging a meaningful look with Jamie before turning back to you.

You felt a twinge of embarrassment. “I talked too much, didn't I?"  

“Not at all! That was incredibly entertaining. Felt like the plot to some kind of romcom,” she said, laughing lightly. Jamie nodded in agreement. You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“So… what’s holding you back?” Victoria asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied your face. You opened your mouth to respond, but she quickly interjected, “And do not say it’s because you’re not sure he feels the same. You’re wearing his hat.”

You offered a sheepish smile, bringing your fingers up to trace the brim of Azriel’s cap, still securely placed on your head. You’d almost forgotten he’d put it there. It made sense now, why your face didn’t feel as burnt as usual. It also felt silly to admit that it was a worry of yours--- that maybe Az didn't see anything romantic with you the way he once did, that maybe these small moments were doused in a platonic love, like that from Cass and Rhys, and you had deluded yourself into thinking too deeply about them. 

You shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. “It’s more complicated than that,” you mumbled, but your words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Jamie leaned forward, their gaze sharp and inquisitive. You resisted the urge to draw back at the eye contact, at how their blue eyes seemed to be reading you. They casted a glance at Victoria.

“Is it because of your ex-boyfriend?"

"What?" You frowned, letting your shoulders sag as the words ran through you. "What do you mean?"

They shrugged, sharing another glance with Victoria.

"You mentioned him a lot. And you said they all had a past. Maybe it’s some kind of guilt?”

Your eyes widened as you considered the possibility, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest. You hadn’t consciously connected the two, the strange anxiety and guilt that had bubbled throughout the week. But now that it had been mentioned, acknowledged by someone other than yourself, the thought lingered, a seed of doubt taking root.

Maybe they were right; maybe you’d been letting guilt hold you back from pursuing what you truly wanted. That extended to things far beyond the way you felt for Az. The truth was, you did feel guilty. You'd lost time with your friends when you and Eris dated. It was part of the reason why you felt even worse for not wanting to move with Mor— because you didn't want to disappoint her another time, to make her feel like you were choosing something else over her.

And there was Azriel. Azriel, Azriel, Azriel. Where was he anyways? You should go find him. Surely it's been too long. Were you spending too much time with him? Should you be at Mor's hip instead?  Your thoughts started swirling faster, more compounded and harder to process. 

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” you admitted, your voice quiet. "Maybe that's it."

Why was it so easy to be more honest to complete strangers than to yourself? Such a strange thing, you thought, as Victoria watched you carefully. Her eyes softened with understanding. There was a moment of silence before Jamie smiled encouragingly, gently placing a hand on her thigh. 

“I think Vi has something to show you.”

"Oh, right! I do." She beamed, eyes lighting up with excitement. She pulled out her phone and a few seconds later, she was holding it out to you, a photo on the screen. "This was why I was so glad to run into you."

The photo was taken the day before, during the set where Victoria had taken that picture of you and Azriel. This one was from behind, capturing Azriel’s arm resting naturally around your waist as you both watched the band. The sight stirred something deep within you. You felt a smile tug at your lips as you remembered how that moment had felt—comfortable, right, as if the world outside had fallen away, leaving just the two of you.

When you met her eyes again, Victoria grinned, clearly delighted by your reaction. “Watch the live,” she said, offering you her phone to hold in your own hands.

You listened, gently taking it and pressing down on the photo. It showed you looking away from Az, a soft smile on your face, and then, right after, Az looking down at you with an expression just as soft, one that you felt deeply in your chest. You let it replay a couple of times.

No wonder Victoria had assumed you and Az were together, had complimented you like a couple, told her partner about you both. If you were an outsider watching this moment, you’d think you were a couple too—so natural, so connected. What could be, if only you were brave enough to reach for it.

Victoria’s voice pulled you back. “It was fate that I ran into you again. The picture was so cute I was tempted to post it somewhere in hopes it got to you.”

Her words made you smile and you glanced at Jamie. The way they looked at her, with such tenderness and affection, was like something out of a fairy tale. It made your heart ache, longing for something similar. Azriel's laugh echoed faintly in your head. 

Jamie caught your gaze and nodded toward the phone in Victoria’s hand. “Friends don’t look at friends that way,” they said, their grin slightly teasing but gentle all the same. “Just so you know.”

Victoria sighed wistfully, leaning into Jamie as they wrapped an arm around her. "You know what I think?" You raised a brow, inviting her to continue. Her face softened as she met your gaze. "You should tell him how you feel."

You sighed, looking down at the ground. Admitting you felt something for Azriel could change the dynamic between you. And not only that, but the dynamic between you and everyone else. You liked where everything was at now. You didn’t want to ruin it.

“It’s just not that simple.”

“No one said it would be,” She said gently. She looked up at Jamie, her eyes shining a bit brighter than seconds before. “But sometimes, the best things aren’t.”

You had given Az similar advice the day before—urging him to chase his dreams and not confine himself to limitations. The irony of those very words being directed back at you now, especially about him, made you want to laugh. It felt oddly fitting and full-circle. Maybe you could write a paper about it. 

Jamie tangled their fingers in Victoria’s hair. They nodded in agreement, giving you a look that said: Listen to her. She's right. 

Victoria seemed to catch your hesitation and she called your attention with a gentle murmur of your name. "I'm serious," she said. "The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now."

You smiled to yourself, picking at the grass around you and feeling the blades between your fingers. You looked at them again, amused at how your day had led you to this insightful couple and some much-needed time to spill your guts.

"You guys are so wise," you said with a small chuckle. "Y'know that?"

"It's these fucking spiked lemonades," she replied, lifting up her empty can. "They give me a fifth sense."

Jamie chuckled next to her. They patted her head gently. "Sixth."

"Huh?" She said, turning her head to look at them. 

"Sixth sense, babe," they said. "You already have five senses."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel had found you five minutes into your second conversation with Victoria and Jamie, his eyes wide and cheeks slightly red. He'd been looking for you for almost fifteen minutes, his countless calls having been sent to voicemail because your phone had been silenced. You'd apologized profusely, but Az had laughed it off, saying he was grateful that you had a shirt he could see from miles away and a hat he knew like the back of his hand. He greeted Jamie and Victoria, recognizing the latter almost immediately, and then jokingly thanked them for watching you while he was gone, making a joke that you were a wandering toddler with an affinity for shiny things.

Victoria shot you a knowing look as you both walked away.

You had a few more minutes before you were scheduled to meet the rest of the group, so you took the opportunity to enjoy the scene. You and Azriel wandered through the vibrant area of the festival where booths from local artists and craftspeople lined the grassy areas. The atmosphere was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of music from nearby stages. With everything around you vying for your attention, your mind stayed tethered to the conversation with Jamie and Victoria.

You stopped when you spotted a photobooth nestled between two tables, a vintage looking thing advertising two strips of 5 photos for 12 bucks. A steep price, but something in you was drawn to it nonetheless.

You looked at Azriel with a grin. “Does the photographer feel like being photographed?

Az raised an eyebrow. “I feel like no matter what I say, you'll somehow convince me to do it anyways.”

You smiled wider, biting your lip to keep it from spreading too much. “You know me so well.”

The space was intimate, practically needing you both to sit atop of one another. You gently took his hat off, placing it in your lap as Azriel’s arm slipped comfortably around your shoulders, drawing you even closer. The gesture was casual, something he'd done countless times before, but it sent your pulse racing all the same.

Azriel’s smile was warm as he looked into the camera and you found yourself acutely aware of his presence, noting the smallest of details despite the camera's low quality. The curls on his head, the sharpness of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled as he grinned. The smile on your face as the booth snapped its first picture was a result of staring at Az's reflection; your second smile came from the sound of his laugher, soft and genuine, filling the tiny space.

You reached out and gently cupped his cheek for one of the next poses, your fingers brushing against his skin. His expression softened. And then his fingers were grazing your hair, slowly tangling themselves by winding a strand around his finger.

As the fourth picture snapped, you noticed how he was looking at you—not at the camera, but at you. His gaze was steady and unwavering, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt in every fiber of your being. You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes with soft breath. 

Jamie’s voice echoed in your head, a distant but persistent echo. Friends don’t look at friends that way.

The space between you seemed to contract. You took a deep breath, feeling a familiar buzz of longing resurface. And suddenly, you were eighteen again, millimeters away from Az on that Halloween night. His eyes drifted to your lips.

Victoria’'s voice whispered next: The regret of not trying will probably be much stronger than any guilt you feel now.

Azriel leaned in, his eyes drifting shut as he brought his hand up to cradle your hair. Your breath hitched and you moved to close the distance, a sudden need filling your body. Azriel, your mind seemed to whisper, repeatedly like a prayer, Azriel Azriel, Azriel—

A sudden, blinding FLASH snapped you to reality. You both pulled back slightly, eyes wide, as the booth’s camera whirred to capture the memory you’d just almost shared. Azriel blinked, clearing his throat, and you scrambled to pull back the curtain, stepping into the blinding sunshine. 

You fumbled with your shirt, trying to smooth it down as though you'd been caught in some misstep. The words, I made your dad a bottom, mocked you boldly. Avoiding Azriel’s gaze, you stared at the ground as he handed you the strip of photos. Your hand brushed his briefly, lingering long enough to feel the warmth of his touch as you took the pictures.

You glanced at the photos, then looked up to find Azriel already staring at you. You opened your mouth to say something, but a familiar voice yelling your names cut you off. Mor and Cassian came sprinting towards you with wide smiles. You shoved the photo strip into your bag. 

You smiled, making an effort to focus on the story Cass was animatedly telling as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side. But your eyes kept drifting back to Azriel, who seemed just as lost in thought as you. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You were a sentimentalist at your core. 

For as long as you could remember, you collected memories. You stored them away like treasures, delicate and fragile, saving them for rainy days when you'd wrap yourself in nostalgia like a warm blanket. You wanted everything to have meaning, for things to make sense in a world that often didn’t. Perhaps that’s what led you to study philosophy—a major that let you think too deeply about everything, that encouraged you to seek understanding to a point where nothing made sense.

The Stoics believed that the practice of virtue was enough to achieve eudaimonia, a well-lived life. As you stood in the grassy expanse, watching the lights dance across the night sky and feeling the music pulse through your veins, you thought that maybe this was what they meant. Maybe this was a well-lived life—being surrounded by the simple joy of being alive.

The sun had long set and the sky above was a blanket of deep indigo. You'd all chosen to enjoy the headliner and final performance from a distance, preferring the open space behind the throng rather than being swallowed by the crush of bodies near the stage. From your vantage point you watched the massive crowd sway in unison, a sea of bobbing heads and glowing sticks. Every now and then flashing neon lights would meet your eyes, causing you to squint at their power. 

You could see it all—the band on the huge screens, the ocean of people, and the world alive around you. Your arms were intertwined with Mor and Feyre's as you danced together, singing the songs at the top of your lungs. Mor pulled you both closer and you felt her laugh more than you heard it, a rumble through her body as she beamed into the endless night.

Feyre laughed, and you watched as her gaze fell elsewhere. She squeezed you both before bouncing towards Rhys, hair flying wild and free. He caught her easily, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony and you grinned at the way they fit so effortlessly together. You stored the image of their smiles away in your mind.

Mor pulled you towards her, bringing your cheeks between her palms. Her eyes were glowing with a mixture of happiness and the alcohol in her system as she grinned.  "I'm so glad you're here!"

The words ran through you, warming every corner of your body as you smiled back to her. Distantly, you could feel the tickle of tears behind your eyes--- the urge to cry from a strange mixture of love, happiness, and guilt. You let your mind focus on that love as your smile grew wider. 

"Me too," you responded loudly. "I love you."

Mor's eyes lit up even more as she squealed, pulling you into a quick hug as she repeated the words back to you, over and over. When you pulled away, you found Cassian next to you, his strong arms wrapping around both of you, drawing you into his orbit. He twirled you and you laughed, moving with him until your world was a dizzy blur of colors and lights. And when Cass moved to pull Mor, you paused for a moment, looking around the crowd. You weren't quite sure what you were searching for. But your heart seemed to be seeking it, some craving.

 A few steps away were Rhys and Feyre, their faces lit up with excitement as they sang animatedly to Azriel. You turned your attention to him, observing his genuine smile and the way he moved to the music. Despite the proximity of your bodies on the same patch of grass, in this fleeting instant, he seemed distant, absorbed in his own enjoyment--- and you watched it with a sense of admiration. Your gaze lingered on his lips.

The craving you once had—whatever it was you had been searching for—faded as he laughed. 

You gently pulled away from Mor and Cassian, stepping aside to watch your friends dance. The scene was too perfect to let slip away unrecorded, so you pulled out your phone and captured a bit of it. The quality would suck in the darkness, the figures mostly shadow with laser lights painting them in brief flashes of color, but you didn’t care. 

A bittersweet ache ran through you. You'd never have this moment again. And if you parted ways after graduation, you'd miss out on many more moments like this. When you looked back up, Az was approaching you. There was a smile on his face that matched the warmth in you, a sense of peace that paired perfectly with that tingling excitement that Az often made you feel.

He extended his hand towards you. "It's time to take your own advice.”

You looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. He didn't need to explain his words further. You knew exactly what he was referring to. Almost instantly, your mind traveled to the countless times you had urged him to embrace the moment, attempted to pull him out of his head. 

You let out a determined breath and grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as you pulled him back towards the group. Mor and Feyre had blended into a new group, singing along and laughing with their new friends. Meanwhile, Cassian and Rhys were dancing in a playful, almost mocking manner, with Cassian humorously mimicking the way Rhys and Feyre had been dancing closely.

You tugged Azriel into the midst of it all, letting him guide you into a light twirl. The music wrapped around you, the lights casting an ethereal glow over the jubilant crowd. The world narrowed into this experience--- to you and Az surrounded by your friends, to Mor singing the lyrics to a giggling Feyre. 

The Stoics believed in many things. They believed in the value of virtue and the pursuit of wisdom, in accepting the things we cannot change, and most importantly, they believed in the power of the present moment. It is the only thing we have control over.

Your wandering thoughts from earlier were all true. You'd never be this young again. You'd never attend this same festival, never be this drunk, never dance like this in this exact constellation of friends and music. You'd miss out on many memories, many moments just as joyous. 

You’d never have this exact moment again.

But right now, it was all yours.

And that was all that mattered.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

For your viewing pleasure, here is the view Victoria had of Reader and Az:

drawn by the best and most talented ever @micahssketchbook

authors note: i wonder who that sweet sexy drunk best friend was named after.... @daycourtofficial any ideas?

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound @melissat1254

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

[dervaaas]

Treatment is not the reason, the main thing is to eat well.

Character: Jiaoqiu

Synopsis: Being a cloud knight is hard, especially if you get injured after battles. But how good it is that there is a healer who will heal and feed!

Wn: If there are any, please tell me!

F!Reader!

English is not my native language! That's why I tried to avoid game terms. Written before 2.4!

P.S. It didn't turn out what I planned, but the reader ate delicious.

The girl was a frequent visitor to his office. This is already a familiar environment. It was difficult to be on the front line in the fight against infected mara, and it was impossible to exclude any injuries.

Today is no exception. After a long battle, Y/N breaks into his office with the words: "Jiaoqiu, cook me something!". To which he sighs and puts down his brush.

"You finished earlier than I expected," Jiaoqiu gets up from his seat and walks over to the girl and gestures for her hand. Without hesitation, she stretches out her hand and watches as he measures her pulse and thus monitors the work of her other organs. — Apart from the abrasions, you have nothing serious. Why did you come?

— And I was hoping so, — the girl said it more to herself than to him. — I wanted to eat delicious food.

— To eat? Huh, I can cook something for the abrasions, but you know you can't eat it. Jiaoqiu smiles at her when he sees her droop after he finished his words. He grins and slaps her on the head before continuing, "If that's what you want, I can feed you that way."

The girl immediately jumps up from her seat, as if not believing his words. He just smiles and walks over to a rack with a lot of drawers. He gets the ingredients he needs from there, cuts them up, puts everything in a small pot, fills it with water and stirs it.

Jiaoqiu puts the pot on the fire, waves his fan, and a pleasant smell wafts throughout the room. The man does not pay attention to how Y/N is already sleeping on the couch. Perhaps she would be praising the way he was once again creating a culinary masterpiece.

Taking the pot off the fire, he puts it on the table and pours the soup into a plate. He also made tea. It is not particularly different from the usual one, but has a better healing effect. He wanted to give her the ointment right away, but changed his mind. Because another idea came to his mind.

— Y/N, everything is ready. When he gets no answer, he turns around, but sees her sleeping on the couch near the entrance. Sighing heavily, he walks up to her and pokes her on the cheek. He chuckles a little when she squirms at his touch. But she opens her eyes anyway. — Go ahead.

— Oh, good! — Y/N jumps up from his seat and goes to the table, where everything is ready. I'm ready to be treated by you for the rest of my life!

— I'm not sure that you come here specifically for treatment. Jiaoqiu laughs when she sees her face, as if she's been caught red—handed. Which, in principle, it is.

— Mm.. Who knows. — The girl smiles at him, but he does not respond to this, only raises an eyebrow at her words. Y/N sits down at the table and starts eating the soup he has prepared. If she had the same ears and tail as Jiaoqiu, they would show how happy she is now to try something delicious.

— Is it that delicious? The fox smiles at her.

— Very much! You can't imagine how! — Y/N finishes the last portion and washes it down with a glass of tea that was brewed by a man. But she starts to feel like everything is starting to burn in her mouth. — Jiaoqiu, why did it become so sharply acute?

"You'll know how to distract me from my work for nothing." Jiaoqiu smiles at her as if he hadn't done anything. While the girl is outraged by his actions, he just laughs at her.

He is by no means against such a company and the fact that he is distracted from work. Even if his position in the commission depended on it, he would not miss a single moment to make a person smile just at the thought that the food would be prepared by none other than Jiaoqiu, a healer from Yaoqing.

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Epel w/ Gardenia!

Epel Felmier:

Gardenia - the love of a friend who doesn’t want to just be friends.

“Why are you staring so hard?”

You never had anyone study your beauty routine as intensely as Epel was now, not even Vil who wanted to check every ingredient in the products you used. At first you didn’t know why he followed you to your room, having just confessed to having a first date in just a few hours and that you needed to start getting ready; you wondered if he was worried about you or about this other person, as Epel had always proven to be a good friend to you. You don’t think he’s quite experienced enough to point out any improvements in your make-up or flex knowledge like Vil or Rook could do but you didn’t mind the company, smiling away as the question went unanswered for another few minutes.

“…It’s because you’re beautiful.” You make eye contact with him in the mirror, amused when his eyes darted away to look at anything but you. You were used to more brazen behavior from your fellow Pomefiore student but this seemed to be the most brazen thing of all, yet he didn’t fully commit to it.

“I have another question.” You tried to keep the laughter from your tone but it hit you all at once why he had attached himself to your side; just to be sure, you moved your mirror to get a full reflection of his face, knowing he wouldn’t notice, “Why did you come get ready with me? Are you going on the date, too?”

Epel’s eyebrows twitched at the mention of a date, the frown on his face apparent. You knew he was being more honest because he didn’t realize it was your turn to study him, seeing the way he reacted to the thought of you with another person. This had just been a distraction date, a nice enough person but not someone you imagined would last longer than the night. Epel, however, had proven himself both earnest and interesting, certainly a person who captured interest. He was also ridiculously cute, pretty even, though you knew he’d hate it if you voiced your thoughts on it.

“You shouldn’t go on that date,” Epel finally stated, voice quieter than normal. His eyebrow was still twitching but he had wiped the frown off his face, his arms now crossed.

“Why?” You ask again, your favorite question of the night it seemed. It was like plucking hairs but the pain would be worth it if you could finally get some form of a confession out of him. His cheeks bloomed a beautiful pink that went perfectly with his hair, a true masterpiece that you could sit and admire all night. You’re already drafting the message in your head to apologize for canceling the date, but Epel was being too cute for you to concentrate for long.

“You know why.” Epel’s scowl is more of a pout and you tried not to give yourself away by fawning over it, taking a little breath before turning in your seat to face him head on. Epel is surprised by your sudden move, looking at you like he was prepared to fight to not get thrown out of your room.

“I want you to say it.”

Epel seemed to think for a moment before his leg shot out, hooking around the leg of your chair and suddenly pulling you closer to him. It was a shocking move and one that displayed some strength, your heart fluttering more by the minute. Who taught him that? He wore such a serious look on his face you thought you might get a scolding first before a confession, but what you got was even better.

“I want you to stay here… with me.”

 “Oh, but I’m practically all done up with nowhere to go! It’d be a crime not to go out tonight.”

“Th-then I’ll take you out!” Epel’s response was the boldness you had been waiting for, your eyes lighting up as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Doesn’t it feel good being honest~? Now get lost so I can get ready for our date, I can at least surprise you with a nice outfit, right?” You ushered him from your room with a playful ‘shoo, shoo!’ while he was still reeling from the feeling of your lips on his skin, standing frozen in front of your door even after you had closed it.

He didn’t even notice when Rook walked by, singing about how love was in the air.