#feels like a fuzzy scarf

[boydykepdf]

worst thing in the world when ur love language is gifts & ur favorite people don’t care abt receiving small presents & trinkets…i understand those cats that leave dead animals on doorsteps we r living the same lifestyle

[yanderenightmare]

The Four Seasons as Boyfriends

♡ AN: from the Promptlist

♡ TW: nsfw and fluff, really soft yandere, if yandere at all

♡ GN reader

Autumn is always half awake but never fully asleep. 

In the morning, he likes pairing coffee with a smoke out on the balcony—standing shirtless, black tattoos on his pale skin, despite the cold wind, watching the sun rise, sporting tousled hair and dark sunken eyes. 

He spends his days more or less the same way. There’s a briskness in the breeze and rain every other day, and all the leaves have turned shades of brown and orange, matting the ground in wet heaps, leaving the trees to look like skeletons. He likes going for short walks just before the sun goes down, when the sky is a warm pink and there ain’t a soul to be seen, and it feels like the two of you are the only people who’ve stayed behind before the apocalypse came.

At night, he’ll stay up late, watching Halloween movies with you in his arms, drinking something stronger than coffee, and smoking something different than cigarettes. He’ll never flinch when the gory scenes play. He’ll just run his thumb up and down your arm and hold you close with a low chuckle.

He’s a quiet guy who spends his time observing more than talking, a real philosopher, writing down things on this old typewriter he has, anything from crime novels to other horrific things. He’s somewhat grim that way—you think he might have been a mob boss in his previous life. 

But he’s got this dry-humored side as well, and a romantic one too—one that whispers awfully heart-gripping things to you in bed, gives you small gifts on all your anniversaries. Half-mast dark eyes without a smile on his lips, bringing your palm up for a kiss. 

Maybe it wasn’t a past life, you think, maybe he’s a vampire who’s been plenty of things. Come to think of it, you’ve only ever seen him outside when the sun has been safely hidden behind a veil of grey clouds. You don’t know, he just seems like he’s come from another age in the way he’ll treat every day like something to be enjoyed slowly, every moment together to be savored, and every detail of your face something to be not just remembered but cherished.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Megumi, Toji, Yuuta, Choso, Higuruma ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kuro, Iwaizumi, Sakusa, Suna ♡ CSM – Aki, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Akaza, Tomioka, Genya ♡ HxH – Chrollo, Illumi, Feitan

Winter wants to spend all his days inside, wrapped up with you in bed like a bear in hibernation. You have to all but fight your way out of his hold in order to get up. 

He groans when you leave, whimpering at the cold, but eventually, he musters up enough willpower to follow you. He’ll have the duvet wrapped around him still, slippers padding towards the smell of breakfast. He’s still sleepy until he gets a good, warm cup of chocolate coffee. 

Clad in a warm blue sweater, pilled from wear, but cozy still, and a pair of baggy corduroys and fuzzy socks in all sorts of colors. 

He’s super reluctant about leaving the house—will literally find any excuse not to and do anything to avoid having to. He’ll stand in the mudroom with you like an obstinate brat as you dress him, putting on his scarf, hat, and gloves for him before pulling him into his jacket. 

He’s pouty at first, whining about his nose freezing, but after a while, he gets more than happy-go-lucky in the snow. Acting just like a dog, bounding about, tackling you down, and rolling around with you so that you’re both sure to catch a cold. 

You build a snowman together, make angels, and a little igloo where he’s deadset on the two of you sleeping tonight. Yeah, not likely, is all you think, knowing him and how the minute the two of you get home, he’s going to hunker down with all the duvets and blankets he can find and cry about how he’s never going outside again. 

And sure enough, the two of you trudged home, freezing cold and exhausted from all the frivolity, he in a whiny mood. You enter the shower together, and he just stands there, arms around you, draping you with his entire body under the water, defrosting. 

Like before, you end up doing things for him. Shampooing the sweat out of his hat-hair and soaping the rest of him up, then doing yourself the same way.

He’s just as clingy when you’re done. Dressed in fluffy robes, he’ll hold you close on his lap and put on a Christmas movie, something funny, something for children, The Grinch or Home Alone, or a romcom you’ve watched a thousand times before.

He’ll eat gingerbread men instead of dinner, drink one too many cups of eggnog, and tell you how he wants to curl up inside your heart where it's nice and toasty and stay there forever—meanwhile, his hand explores your naked body under your robe.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Toaya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Hinata, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma, Zenitsu ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Spring is an early bird. Big breakfast spreads every day, wild flowers on the table in a hand-painted coffee mug, toasted bread with a dozen types of spreads, sliced meat, cheese, scrambled eggs, different jams, strawberry, peach, blueberry, apricot, raspberry, and all the currants.

He’s always got a big goofy smile on his face, wearing baggy dongeries and bright pastel-colored T-shirts—green, pink, yellow, and blue. His hair is fluffy, his eyes are round, and he’s always got a new pair of suede sneakers on.

He’d make a great dad, having the personality of a guy who’s a kindergarten teacher, the way he’s all about DIY easter decorations. He has his own craft cart, fully equipped with different colored paper, patterned tape, and glitter in all pretty colors.

He’s never been a very traditional guy, always raving about new ideas, dreams he’s had, things he’s seen when scrolling through Pinterest—you can't hope to keep up...

Your walls have all been painted—not like other walls—but as if the wallpaper were canvas. All your chairs have been bought at yard sales and other second-hand stores, refurbished by him, and hand-painted in different colors with cushions in different fabrics. Your coffee table is an old wine crate he found at a junkyard. All your blankets are knitted with spare yarn from all his other projects.

He also scrapbooks like no other, filling the pages with receipts and tickets he’s saved from your outings and vacations, and Polaroid pictures he’s taken of you, with dates and locations written along the white bottom.

Not to mention, how in the kitchen window, he’s hung the empty egg husks from breakfast, decorated with swirls and dots, with letters spelling Happy Easter!

He also makes you love letters—indulgent paragraphs with an overwhelming amount of love-bombing and hopes and dreams about your future together, always with the wording of a five-year-old child talking about their favorite type of food. 

Yeah, he’s no poet, but it’s the thought that counts, and so A for effort!

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei, Umemiya

Summer is tan with tan lines from his swimming trunks. He’s all smiles and loud laughter, too careless for shades and sunscreen, and so you’re the one who’s left running after him when he sprints towards the water, like a parent, shouting at him to put on some protection.

He filled the cooler up with sodas and beers before you left home, and has brought along firelighters, making a bonfire on the sand for grilled fruits, vegetables, and meats, so that the two of you can spend the day.

His hair is sun-damaged and bleached with saltwater, but he makes it look good with his freckled face, looking as though he lives on the beach. He’ll go in the water several times, never tiring.

He likes to promenade in flip-flops like he’s on constant vacation,  always shirtless, letting his swim-trunks dry while the two of you walk along the shore as the sun gets low, giving you his sweater once the air gets a little chilly. Making plans for how you can fill the rest of the summer. 

He’s got never-ending ideas, you don’t think you’ll have time for it all—hiking, biking, camping, festivals, outdoor movies, picnics, farmers markets, berry picking, kite flying, ice cream, gardening, going diving, sailing, fishing, hot air balloons, parachuting, bungee jumping, skydiving—yeah, his ideas get progressively more extreme as he goes.

But at home, when he’s all drained out from the sun, he’s a quiet presence. Warm still, but calm, lining up pretty seashells and dried-up corals along all the windowsills, before the two of you hit the shower. Washing off salt and sweat, and about a bucket's worth of sand that remains between the cracks in the tiles.

He’ll leave kisses against your neck and shoulder, murmur things in a voice you don’t recognize from the day, but a grainier one belonging to the night, telling you all the dirty things he’s going to do to you now that the sun’s fully down.

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Touya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji ♡ HQ – Hinata, Sugawara, Tanaka, Kuro, Lev, Bokuto, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira, Shido ♡ WB – Umemiya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[malfoys-demigod]

hii! it’s iluvloganhowlett i’m just on my other acc! could you do a logan fluff where logan has a soft spot for u and lit only u? like for a prompt, scott asks a question and logan answers with some “it’s none of your business” or is j flat out mean where as when you ask the same question minutes later he’s nicer and thorough with his answer.

and can u please make it logan x mutant!reader🥰🥰

Logan Howlett, underrated softie

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Logan Howlett x Reader

A/N: Hi @iluvloganhowlett!! I really appreciate your request and here it is! Enjoy, dear!!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Winters in upstate New York were exceptionally known for their extreme coldness.

Which of course was no shock that a particular mansion at Westchester County was at -3 degrees celcius, almost reaching at 4 in your keen opinion.

Just being inside made you want to wear a thick full body coat today, wrapped with your favorite scarf and gloves. But you felt silly about that idea, seeing how everyone else was just casually surviving the day with good long sleeved tops. How lucky of them.

Though it was only 8pm, you had the senseless idea of wrapping yourself in your blanket, trying to fall asleep in your bedroom, desparately hoping to sleep through the coldest day of the week.

After a few tosses and turns, feeling the icy breeze sneak into your body, you just knew there was no hope in dozing off. Not with this kind of weather!

You groaned in defeat, sitting up to curse to yourself why you had to feel so, so, so frigid of all days today.

Maybe some instant hot chocolate by the kitchen would help you soothe yourself into sleeping soon.

So you got up, wore an oversized sweater over your thick long sleeved top, placed on your fuzzy slippers, and made your way out of your room to the kitchen.

There were still students around the mansion, either reading books with each other, watching the television by the living room, or playing some board games while having hot beverages and snacks. Hmmm, the smell of hot chocolate from some of them just made you realize that hot chocolate is always a good idea.

Meanwhile over at the kitchen, just a few minutes before you had arrived, Storm was in one of the seats in front of the counter, having her decaffinated coffee, mixing some sugar and some milk with it. Yup, she was one of those who enjoyed the taste of cofffe, even at night, so she has it decaffinated so it won't affect her sleep later.

Scott grabbed a bowl and a box of Lucky Charms cereal from the cupboards and made his way to the fridge, which was being leaned on by Logan, who was having a round of beer.

Scott stood in front of Logan with a serious look on his face, expecting Logan to move. But Logan, who wanted to mess with the man, just stared back at him, flashing a mischievous look. "You should take a picture, it'll last longer."

"Move, asshole," Scott sneered, "I need milk."

Logan continued drinking from his beer, still eyeing scott with the same mischievous look on his face, ignoring his command.

"Oh, Scott, I still have some!" Storm interrupted, saving Scott from possibly wanting to strike Logan, based on his tight grip on his bowl, and now slightly wrinked cereal box.

"Dick," Scott muttered under his breath, moving through Logan, who felt like he won another round of Logan v Scott. That small win was now done being celebrated when you finally arrived into the kitchen.

"Hey guys," you greeted your colleagues, getting some 'heys' from Storm and a slightly disgruntled Scott.

"Hey, doll," Logan recited gently, earning a dear smile from you. He watched you look around the cupboards, noticing your mystified expression as you wandered around each cupboard and cabinets.

You then moved to the fridge, "Sorry, could I just check something inside?" you asked Logan softly with your fingers skimming over each other.

Scott looked up from his meal, watching Logan expose a smile on his mouth, gently moving aside as you opened the fridge, watching you hmph in disappointment.

Scott made his own quiet hmph to himself, seeing Logan's patience with you, to which Storm smiled coyly seeing sparks fly around the tough Wolverine.

"Didn't find what you were looking for, darl?"

"Yeah, I think the kids got the last instant hot chocolate powders for themselves," you frowned lightly in disappointment. "It's okay though," admitting in defeat. You were starting to make your way out, looking at the doorframe, "I think I'll just-"

"Hold on there, bub," Logan's instruction brought you to a halt. You turned around to see a now quiet Logan, whose eyes were looking into, what he thought, were puppy eyes. "Instant powders are for kids," he continued, his eyes quickly scanning around the room as if he was about to make use of the information around him.

"How about I make you some real hot chocolate, huh?"

While Scott and Storm turned to each other, exchanging unsure looks, you let out a small laugh in disbelief, which determined Logan to actually pull it off.

"You?"

You didn't want to sound mean about it, I mean, anyone can make hot chocolate. It wasn't rocket science, or some gourmet dish, but never in your wildest dreams did you think that Logan Howlett, the man who only went to the kitchen to bring out his secret stash of beer, would make you hot chocolate?

But the way you asked didn't matter to Logan, as he got whole milk, chocolate, whipped cream, and heavy cream from the fridge, walked to another counter for powdered sugar, and expresso powder, which he directly got a teaspoon of from Storm's side to which she didn't say anything about, since she herself, was inclined to watch Logan act as if he was someone else she didn't know.

Logan was now whisking together his ingredients in a saucepan that you helped get.

"How long should these be over the heat?" you tip-toed, wanting to see over Logan's shoulder's as he was perfectly centered in front of the saucepan.

"Till you see small bubbles appear around the edges," he replied, looking over at you tip-toe, which he wanted to melt at just seeing.

He then stirred in chopped chocolate, waiting for it to melt, and carefully placing the sauce to low heat, stating to you that 'it's needed for the chocolate to melt completely.'

His little moment of domestic fluff with you and him in the kitchen was put to a pause when a voice from somewhere behind him got his unfortunate attention.

"Since when did you have time to learn all this?," Scott teased, receiving a nudge from the elbow from Storm who shook her head.

"Shut the hell up, prick," Logan said, not even facing a smirking Scott.

Logan then served the drinks in two mugs for him and for you, of course topping them with lots of whipped cream. More than excited to try Logan's hot chocolate, you immediately took a careful sip, tasting the intense, rich, and absolute heaven which had to be the most decadent hot chocolate ever.

"Oh my god," you said, closing your eyes with satisfaction, "It feels like I'm in one of those Parisian cafes, drinking the best hot chocolate there."

It was as if every sip made you forget about how cold and freezing you were just earlier, and seeing you look so content with the drink made Logan want to beam, but of course realized Scott and Storm were, annoyingly still around.

"Glad you like it, Y/N," he thanked, seeing you turn to face him with a curious look on your face.

"I do want to ask..." you hung back the question, "When did you have time to learn how to perfect this? I know you didn't just learn this overnight."

It was a genuine question because despite living since the 1800s or so, it was not exactly like Logan had free time to cook around or whip up hot chocolate, right? This man went through a lot in his life, and would he really just use his spare time investing in something like.. hot chocolate?

Logan looked down, with a humble and small smile on his face.

"My mother..," he first started, "When I was young and while my dad was out, she would make hot chocolate on cold days, or even any day for that matter."

There was so much value you had, appreciating the little yet deeply personal story behind your now, favorite drink. You knew Logan was never an open book with anyone. It was more of a shut and locked up book with the key below the bottom of the ocean for no one to pick up.

But the way he had just been with you tonight so far, was like, he was giving you the key for you, and literally you only.

"So you rememberd her exact recipe?" you inquired more, with a sparkle that Logan saw in your eyes.

"Nah, not exactly," he said, slightly timid with a grin, " 'course I adapted to today's ingredients like instant whipped cream, but it's something like what she made before."

"Do you think you could make some for me again tomorrow?" You genuinely requested, which made Logan more or less, want to fold and do as you say in a heartbeat.

But of course, he wanted to slightly play it cool. "Don't see why not," nodding in agreement.

"Good, I'm gonna bring this with me back to my room now," you announced, "Thanks so much, Logan, good night!"

You then smiled at Scott and Storm, waving them goodbye as you walked away from them, leaving them to smirk like children at Logan.

"That was cute." Storm said, bringing Logan back to his usual, serious look.

"I'd love to try some tomorrow too, Logan," Scott tried to fake his genuine statement at the same time trying not to burst a laughter out of him.

Without any words this time, Logan, holding his mug of hot chocolate in hand, passed Scott with one claw out from his other hand, slicing his cereal box in half.

"Asshole!" Scott yelled, now trying to pick up the pieces of cereal as Logan walked out of the kitchen took a sip from his mug, indulding in the fact that,

A. he made another successful hot chocolate in his life

B. he gets to make it again for you tomorrow

C. he hopes to make it for you for as long as winter's still there.

[feinyan]

DATING HEADCANONS ft. kinich, kazuha, xiao, scaramouche, childe and diluc.

kinich, who is blunt with his words and forward with his actions. who catches you off guard when he initiates without hesitation, or when he tells you what he wants in such a monotone voice as if his words didn’t make your heart skip a beat. kinich, who finds himself returning home from work exhausted, immediately collapsing within your arms, kisses gentle against your skin as he loses himself within your warmth. he isn’t necessarily too touchy, sliding his fingers where they find themself the most comfortable against the fabric of your shirt, his lips wet as he presses them against the nape of your neck, leading up to your chin. kinich, who is a listener. a boy who doesn’t speak much, but constantly has his attention on you. whether or not you think hes paying attention to you, he is. he remembers every detail you’ve spoken to him, important or not. kinich, who is the jealous type. despite not expressing it much — or at all, he can’t help but stare at people who talk to you too much, or get close for comfort. almost instinctively, he’ll reach for your waist, sliding himself almost perfectly in place beside you, hands grasped tightly against the fabric of your clothing whilst his eyes remain narrowed. kinich, who desperately craves your touch. would he express it? god no. hes quiet, rather keeping those feelings to himself, but hes such a sucker for the way you make him feel, all fuzzy and warm inside.

kazuha, who has the words to describe anything, who can turn anything into something romantic. but with you, for the first time, he’d struggled. struggled to come up with the proper words to describe the way he felt toward you. could words even explain these feelings? kazuha, who is a charmer. who writes love letters to you, a play of words coming from him that are so romantic, that put just the right feelings in your chest, that have you wanting more from him. nobody gets more sweeter than him, its sickening. kazuha, who is so reassuring and affectionate. soft kisses against your wrists and forehead which are his favorite places, affirmations and praise even for the littlest things. who wraps his hands around your waist or buries his head into the crook of your neck when you’re alone, losing himself in your warmth. kazuha, who is like a hero to you in a sense. it seems like this boy can do practically anything, an issue with something? fixed. help with homework? he knows it well enough to teach you. speaking of teaching, hes such a patient teacher! rewards you with sososo many kisses. kazuha, who has a daring imagination, hidden behind such a kind and innocent face. a bot who sure, comes off as someone who’d be good with words, but god the things he says are far much more than what you’d expect. hes a tease sometimes, romantic and coy both physically and with words, yet never forward with it. always dancing around being direct.

xiao, who always pays for you, no matter the cost. who surprises you with gifts that put you into his mind, who doesnt hesitate to spend if its for you. xiao, who struggles to express how he feels. who is overwhelmed with the feelings you put within him, yet its not necessarily a bad thing. who isnt good with words, yet expresses himself with actions. who holds your hand wherever you go, who opens doors for you and takes you to fun places some could only wish to venture to. xiao, who gets flustered over the smallest actions. you tying a scarf around his neck? hes avoiding eye contact, your smile might make him lose whatevers left of his head. even the hand holding hes oh so used to catches him off guard when the thought crosses his mind. xiao, who is sooo sweet. always dotes on you .. a little awkward, but thats okay. he adores you a ton, always catching himself zoning out in your direction or losing himself within your presence.

scaramouche, who is overprotective. not necessarily a new fact, but god nothing irritates him more than the way hungry freaks gaze at you. or the way people extend their hand with pathetic introductions in order to make attempts to seduce you. he doesn’t mind stepping in, nor does he mind putting people in their place. scaramouche, who couldn’t comprehend his feelings at first. should puppets even have the capability to feel this way? yet the way he felt around you, basking in your presence and warm touch, a kindness he wasn’t used to, these feelings felt so unusual yet unmistakable. scaramouche, who is direct. freakishly direct. when he wants something, he’ll tell you. he doesn’t avoid saying things, nor is he scared to speak whats on his mind. scaramouche, who finds himself concerned for you constantly. its not that he finds you incapable, but rather a fear on his own mind. a fear that something will cause him to lose you, something that affects him to think about more than he’d like to admit. he monitors your actions, lectures you for things he believes were irrational — some could call it possessive, but its in best interest. scaramouche, who flicks you on the forehead as a method of teasing or punishment. maybe its a little unusual, but it doesnt hurt that much! in a way, its a form of affection, special toward you.

childe, who is a big cuddler. hes such a lovebug, clinging to your side in bed, messy hair pressed against your cheek. his long limbs, sprawled out everywhere. night time talks are a big thing for him, sharing little stories and talks as you both find yourself slipping deeper into slumber. childe, who is a major kisser. who, if you forget to kiss him, whines and pouts like a child until hes given what he wants. who kisses you just about everywhere, who doesn’t have a favorite place to kiss because he loves everything about you! childe, who is suuuuch a act all nice guy. who finds himself jealous at the slightest interaction that isnt with him, giving such a cruel, threatening gave from behind, yet the minute they express a reaction or you turn to him, confused, he puts on such a sweet, endearing smile. childe, who adores your interactions with his family. he loves nothing more than his family members, and seeing you get along with them makes him feel something unexplainable. with you, he hopes to oneday have a family as endearing as his own.

diluc, who spoils you. who wouldn’t dare allow you to buy something cheap (unless it truly makes you happy) and doesn’t mind spending thousands for something little. he doesn’t typically irrationally throw money around, but maybe if its for you, he doesn’t mind. diluc, who calls you love, sweetheart, darling. words that leave your stomach feeling like its spinning diluc, who endearingly stares at you. who finds himself smiling by just being within your presence. who, when you smile in return, finds himself melting. diluc, who isnt a fan of pda yet will still give you small kisses in public. forehead kisses, lip kisses, hes not ashamed nor embarrassed, he’d rather just keep the deep parts of your relationship for your eyes only.

@ feinyan

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

ft. gn!reader x anton ivanov, ben bigger, lighter, von lycaon, wise ; no applicable warnings! my first request (i tried to finish it before christmas in my timezone, but still, merry christmas to the anon who requested this :DD and to those reading!!) hehehhe i hope its good enough｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

anton ivanov

you cannot look me in the eye and tell me this man isn’t the type to yell “this is for you!” or “if i hit this you give me a kiss” and completely miss whatever target he’s supposed to hit. he hits it. sometimes. he still gets a kiss anyways.

[“dude” “we’re literally dating and you’ve placed your lips on mine do NOT call me dude.” “…babe”]

big on gift giving and words of affirmation in terms of love languages. he makes sure to put a lot of thought into whatever he gives to you to properly convey his appreciation and show just how much you mean to him.

"strong, sincere, and straightforward." he's definitely the type to encourage you to try new things especially when you're the type to get easily nervous. if you're scared of looking stupid, don't worry; he'll do it with you hand-in-hand so you can be stupid together. becomes your no. 1 hype man and would give you his honest opinions whenever you need ‘em.

you see or hear him talking to his jackhammer bro for the most mundane or random things and you've become used to it at this point. its honestly endearing (you're hopeless)

["bro do you think they'd still love me if i was a worm?" "vroom vroom vroom" “you think so?” “vroom” "yeah, you're right."]

ben bigger

scary bear privileges meaning no one wants to mess with you knowing that you're dating someone who cuts such an intimidating presence but you know better than them because ben would much rather use his paws to tap away at a calculator or spreadsheet than willingly get into fights.

on that note, he's most likely to be the best companion for grocery shopping; he'll know how to get all the good discounts and haggle for the best prices for sure.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 1. although he puts his fur care second, it's still soft and fuzzy to the touch and he likes that you appreciate the warmth it provides too.

since he struggles with some of his accounting responsibilities due to the size of his paws, sometimes you help him with sorting some of belobog industries' financial documents and eventually you end up finding the task quite relaxing after a while of doing it.

but, of course, he loves spending time with you outside of work. anything to take his mind off of the horrors of accounting. he'll mentally file away anything he learns about you when you're together for future purposes, may it be gift or date ideas.

he's the bear thiren between both of you, but in private he loves cuddling against you like you're some sort of plush toy. you don't mind. another win-win situation because you get to rest against him like a giant pillow as well.

lighter

he tries to be flirty with you and sometimes it works! but when you match his energy and it backfires on him he turns into a blushing mess who doesn’t know what to do with himself.

also the type to want to show off or act all suave. he has an image to keep as the undefeated champion! the red scarf! (he’s internally giggling and kicking his feet from one [1] cheek kiss you left in passing).

date nights with him sometimes consist of drives on his bike and stargazing at a nice little spot he found in blazewood. then halfway through, he’d get distracted from seeing the stars in your eyes and think that its a hundred times better than the real thing and fall in love all over again.

“gets as many challenges as love letters” but he makes sure that you and anyone who tries to make a move know that he only has eyes for you. could be in the form of having an arm around your waist or his jacket on you when you feel cold.

a physical touch and acts of service guy because. well. he did say he’d like to die for love one day. that’s a very romantic thing to say and do. also his heart still races whenever you hold his hand but he swears he’s getting used to it (he isn’t). probably melts when you gently run your fingers over his face or any of his scars

i honestly feel like he's one of those "me and my bae don't argue they just tell me to shut up and i do" types.

von lycaon

an ideal date for him would be a fancy dinner or picnic somewhere nice and discreet. complete with scented candles, your favorite flowers, and homecooked food (which probably tastes better than anything you've ever eaten at any restaurant). then at some point when both of you have finished eating and you're both in conversation, he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves a kiss on your knuckles.

["darling, your face is...concerningly red. are you feeling alright?" "i'm fine. i think."]

you WILL be receiving that prince/princess treatment (threat). breakfast in bed when he isn’t busy, spontaneous massages offered when you mention ONCE that you feel tired, and all that jazz. you probably will never have to open another door yourself with him around and he ALWAYS offers his arm for you to take when you're walking together.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 2. just prepare yourself for horrendous shedding as summer begins… but you don’t mind helping him brush through his fur (*´ω`*) its therapeutic and you’re one of the very few people he trusts with the task so its a win for both of you.

since he's a wolf thiren, he sometimes unwillingly attracts the attention of stray cats and dogs; he usually pays them no mind but it is somewhat of an inconvenience for him. however, the sight of you playing with them while quietly cooing eases some of his discomfort. seems like you aren't the only one suffering from cuteness aggression.

his guilty pleasure is squishing your cheeks in his hands. no i will not elaborate

wise

this is one of the random play managers we’re talking about, so. movie date nights are mandatory. both of you alternate when picking movies but sometimes you bicker over options like an old married couple just for the fun of it.

a lot more chill when it comes to PDA but he can be flirty when he wants to be. if he knows you have a weak spot for it, he uses it to his advantage to get what he wants. scheming little minx. /pos

words of affirmation and quality time guy, i think. since he's always so busy with managing the store and completing commissions alongside belle as proxies, he makes the most out of the time you guys can spend together alone. even if it's just laying in his bed or on the couch doing nothing together sometimes.

everyone and their mothers and grandmothers on sixth street will probably know that you’re dating or figure something out at some point even when both of you don’t really do much together in public/are trying to keep it on the low. never underestimate these aunties man

unfortunately for wise, he will become the target of teasing or nagging from belle when it comes to your relationship. once you get close enough she'll also share embarrassing stories from when they were younger or before you and wise started dating much to her brother’s chagrin.

secretly likes clinging and cuddling up to you like a koala. both of you are in bed? oh okay, don’t mind him, he’ll just scooch a bit and wrap his arms and legs around you, claiming that having you in his bed helps fix his insomnia (it does, to some degree). [“wise i can’t move.” “you don’t need to.”]

on the days you help out with tasks in random play, you could quite literally just be standing while doing something and then you’ll feel a pair of arms sneak around your waist from behind as he leans his head on one of your shoulders with a quiet, satisfied sigh.

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ɪᴛꜱ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ (방찬)

pairing: christopher bahng x fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers

summary: based off of its nice to have a friend by taylor swift

tags/warnings: chris is literally feeding a squirrel at the beginning, hes extroverted, reader is introverted, not proofread,

a/n: guys wait i kinda liked that i put the squirrel thing in lmao (this is a scheduled post.)

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 bonus!

masterlist!

The first time you see him, he’s standing in the snow, feeding a squirrel.

No, really.

You blink from the bench near the science building, clutching your tea between your gloves, and squint to make sure you’re seeing this right. There’s a boy, maybe a little older than you, with messy curls poking out from under a gray beanie, crouching in the middle of a patch of half-melted snow, holding out something in his palm.

The squirrel is suspicious. The boy is not.

“C’mon, buddy,” he whispers, like it’s a secret. “I’m just trying to make your day better.”

You watch him for a second longer than you probably should.

You’re not usually one to stare at people, but he’s…strangely magnetic. Like a lit window on a rainy street. Warm, inviting.

He doesn’t even notice you, he's so fully committed to this squirrel.

When the little creature finally darts forward and snatches whatever was in his hand, he grins so big that it lights up his whole face.

You look away before he sees you.

You see him again two days later. Different spot, same beanie.

You’re coming out of the library, arms full of books you probably won’t finish before the due date. He’s sitting on the low stone wall near the fountain, reading lyrics from his phone, quietly mumbling them under his breath. He taps a pencil against his knee like it’s a drum pad.

He hums a melody. Something soft, but unfinished.

This time he looks up and catches your eye, just briefly.

You glance down.

Then—

“Hey!”

You freeze and turn halfway, unsure if it’s you he’s calling out to.

He’s smiling.

“I saw you on the bench the other day, right? Near the science building?”

Your heart does a little hiccup in your chest.

You nod slowly. “…Yeah.”

“I thought so!” He hops off the wall, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I was hoping I didn’t imagine that. Hi.” He grins, sticking out a hand like you’re old friends meeting again.

“I’m Chris.”

You stare at his hand for a second, then awkwardly adjust your books and reach out.

“y/n.”

Your fingers brush his. He shakes your hand like it’s a genuine honor to meet you.

“I like your scarf,” he says brightly. “Looks warm.”

You blink. “Thanks. It is.”

He laughs, not unkindly. “Nice. That’s a great quality in a scarf.”

You feel the corner of your mouth twitch, almost-smiling. He’s strange, but in a nice way.

Like early spring sun on icy pavement.

He doesn't keep you. Just waves.

“See you around, y/n”

You nod, still a little stunned. “Bye Chris.”

He’s everywhere after that.

You’re not sure if you’re just noticing him more or if the universe is playing matchmaker, but suddenly it’s like he’s stitched into the background of your days.

He holds the door for you at the coffee shop and grins like it’s fate.

He passes you on the quad and shouts “y/n!” like you’ve known each other for years, not seconds. It turns heads. You nearly trip.

One afternoon, he appears next to you in line at the campus bookstore, arms full of snacks and a single pencil.

“Emergency brain food,” he explains. “And I always lose pencils. Might as well keep the tradition going.”

You huff a quiet laugh, not looking up.

He notices anyway. “A smile! I win.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite in it.

It becomes a rhythm.

You don’t mean for it to, but it does.

Somehow, Chan always finds you on the quieter days. When the sky is gray and your headphones are in, or when your lunch is a little too lonely, or when you’re halfway through a library session and your eyes are going fuzzy from reading.

He shows up with a half-crushed granola bar, a “fun fact” he found online, a shy joke and a big grin and an energy that’s too big to contain but still never drowns you out.

He’s different from anyone you’ve known.

You’re used to people trying to draw you out like pulling teeth. But Chan doesn’t pull anything from you. He offers stories, laughter, warmth, and lets you take what you want.

And for some reason, you keep reaching.

One Thursday, you’re sitting at your usual spot near the music building and he finds you without hesitation.

“Thought you might be here,” he says, settling beside you. “You’re kind of a creature of habit, huh?”

You shrug.

“I like that,” he adds quickly. “It’s comforting.”

You sip your drink. The air smells like thawing snow and blooming things.

He stretches out on the bench, arms crossed behind his head. His foot bumps yours accidentally-on-purpose. You don’t move it.

“You ever feel like people talk too much?” you ask suddenly, surprising yourself more than him.

Chan turns his head toward you. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease.

“All the time,” he says, softer than usual.

You glance at him. He’s watching the clouds.

“Sometimes I talk a lot when I’m nervous,” he admits. “But quiet’s good too. Especially when it’s the right kind.”

Your heart warms. You don’t answer, but your shoulder leans just a little closer.

That same week, he shows up with a guitar.

It’s old, a little scuffed. He carries it like it’s precious.

“Wanna hear something?”

You nod.

He plays something gentle. Not polished, just a melody he’s been working on.

“It’s not finished,” he says after. “But it feels like a beginning.”

You don’t say much.

You just sit there, knees touching, the song lingering in the air between you like steam off a mug.

One night, you catch yourself writing his name in the margin of your notebook.

Just once, to see how it looks.

You close the page quickly, like you’re keeping a secret.

You think maybe you are.

Spring is blooming by the time he walks you home for the first time.

It’s accidental. He’d stayed late at the library too. You both left at the same time, and it made sense.

Until you’re walking beside him in the evening hush, and it doesn’t feel like coincidence at all.

“Want to see something?” he asks suddenly, tugging your sleeve.

You follow him through a winding path behind the dorms and he stops at a low fence, then points up.

Cherry blossoms-- white-pink and glowing in the moonlight.

You both stand there for a long moment.

“Pretty,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, not looking at the tree.

He’s looking at you.

You don’t look back. But you feel it. You feel everything.

He walks you the rest of the way in silence, your steps soft on the pavement.

At your front door, he pauses.

“This was nice,” he says.

You nod. “It was.”

He takes a breath, shifts his weight like he wants to say something more.

But instead, he just smiles.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

You smile back.

“See you, Chris.”

That night, you press your hand to your chest and feel your heartbeat like a drumroll.

You don’t really know him.

Not yet.

But he’s made your world feel a little brighter, lighter.

And something about that feels like a beginning.

Like maybe... just maybe... it’s nice to have a stranger.

hope you enjoyed <33

todays playlist...

youth by lee know, hurt by newjeans, chill by stray kids, killer queen by mad tsai, juice by lizzo, circles by post malone, smart by le sserafim, suburban legends by taylor swift, python by got7, airplane by stray kids, slide by calvin harris, frank ocean, the migos, flamin hot lemon by jaehyun, humble by kendrick lamar, brought the heat back by enhypen, congratulations by mac miller and bilal, sweet dreams by j-hope, no doubt by enhypen

*bold is explicit*

@rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @highway-143 @hvseunq143 @hyuneskkami

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

[ceilidho]

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

-

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours. 

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet. 

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you. 

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you. 

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing. 

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock. 

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console. 

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff. 

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him. 

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning. 

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away. 

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?” 

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under. 

The first week of December hits town like a truck. 

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance. 

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue. 

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first. 

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you. 

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that. 

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark. 

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake. 

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress. 

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water. 

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there. 

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out. 

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance. 

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed. 

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering. 

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur. 

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again. 

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan. 

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up. 

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch. 

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip. 

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back. 

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you. 

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside. 

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized. 

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured. 

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble. 

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly. 

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache. 

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle. 

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor. 

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you. 

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky. 

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs. 

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body. 

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you. 

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

[colouredbyd]

Sweet Things Melt Slowly

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: winter comes softly, a hush of snow and silver mornings, and in the golden flicker of firelight, three boys and their girl fall a little more in love with each passing night.

warnings: fluff, snowball chaos, cuddling, soft vibes, mild language, a whole lotta tooth rotting fluff

wc: 2.6k

a/n: literally the most tooth aching, heart warming, fluffiest fluff to ever fluff in any possible au.

masterlist

The snow begins like a secret the sky couldn’t hold any longer.

Not sudden, not loud—just a quiet confession, unfolding slowly beneath the hush of morning light. A single flake, small as a breath, drifts past the windowpane and lands on the wooden sill, vanishing as if it was never really there. You pause, eyes caught by the shimmer, uncertain if it was real or imagined. Then another comes, and another, spiraling down like lost feathers from a sleeping bird.

Outside, the world begins to soften. The sharp edges of fences and rooftops blur beneath a fine dusting of white. The trees stretch their arms toward the sky, catching snow in their branches like old friends reuniting after too long.

It’s the kind of snowfall that doesn’t just cover the ground—it changes it. The kind that makes everything seem quieter. Gentler. Like the world is trying to remember how to be kind.

Inside, it’s warm. You’re curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a book forgotten against your chest. The pages are slightly bent where your fingers loosened their hold. You’re still in pajamas—an oversized jumper and fuzzy socks that don’t match—but they feel like armor against the chill.

The fire crackles softly. The room smells faintly of cinnamon and pine. And for a few moments, you let yourself believe the day might stay like this—slow, quiet, untouched.

Then a voice rings out from the kitchen, loud and delighted:

“Snow! It’s snowing!”

It’s James, obviously.

You barely have time to register the words before he barrels into the room, socked feet skidding across the floor, arms flailing like a Quidditch player mid-dive.

“Look! Look, it’s actually snowing!” he shouts, pointing toward the window like it’s the first snowfall of the century and not just November being dramatic.

You sit up with a startled laugh. “Jamie, I see it.”

“No, you don’t see it,” he insists, grabbing a pillow and gesturing wildly with it like it’s a weather map. “You have to witness it. You have to feel it in your bones. It’s snow, baby!”

And just as the words leave his mouth, the thunder of approaching footsteps rattles the floorboards.

Sirius appears in the doorway a heartbeat later, looking half-feral and entirely thrilled. His coat is hanging off one shoulder, hair a chaotic mess of curls, and—of course—he’s barefoot.

“Did someone say snow?” he demands, eyes gleaming like a boy who just found the key to a locked candy shop. He’s already heading for the front door, wild with joy.

“Sirius, you don’t have shoes on—”

Too late. The door slams open, letting a rush of cold air curl around your ankles like curious fingers. Sirius charges into the yard with a laugh that sounds like it belongs to someone who’s never known sadness.

James whoops and sprints after him, slipping slightly as he fumbles to put on a jacket and yell something about “preemptive strikes.”

You blink at the open door, at the snow swirling lazily across the threshold like it’s been waiting for an invitation.

Then you hear a soft chuckle.

Remus leans against the doorway to the hall, dressed in a thick sweater and wrapped in a long, familiar scarf—the one you knit him last winter. The one with the uneven stitches and frayed tassels, charmed to shimmer gold in the sunlight. He doesn’t mention it. Just smiles at you like he knows every thought you’ve had since you woke up.

“We both know how this ends,” he says calmly, as Sirius yells something unintelligible from the front garden.

You sigh, but you’re smiling already. “With a truce and three ruined coats.”

“And probably a broken flower pot.”

“Again?”

He shrugs, moving to pull your coat from the hook by the door. “Tradition.”

He crosses the room and stops in front of you, eyes warm. “Arms up, darling.”

You obey without question, and he slips your coat over your shoulders, his hands gentle as he adjusts the collar and buttons the top. He’s close enough for you to smell his cologne—tea leaves and old books and something that feels like home.

“You’ll need gloves too, dove” he murmurs, already fishing them from your pocket.

“And boots. Can’t have you losing toes just because Sirius thinks frostbite is character building.”

Remus slides your gloves gently onto your hands, like he’s worried he’ll break you if he’s too rough.

You grin up at him, warmth blooming in your chest and spilling to your toes, and let him fuss.

He crouches to grab your boots while you slip on mismatched socks—one has a tiny cartoon stag, the other a crescent moon—and when he comes back up, he’s already holding your gloves in one hand and a knitted hat in the other.

You snort. “He would say that.”

“He did say that. Last year when he stuck his hand in a snowbank to prove he could hold it longer than James.”

“And James got third-degree burns from hot cocoa.”

“That's right, pretty girl.”

There’s another shout from outside—something about honor and betrayal—and Remus presses a kiss to your cheek before gently nudging the hat Sirius gave you last winter into your hands. The one with the little white stars stitched across the black wool. You pull it on, tugging it over your ears, and Remus offers you his gloved hand.

Outside, shouting erupts. A snowball fight has definitely begun, and judging by the string of swear words from Sirius, he’s already been hit in the face.

“You ready?” Remus asks, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You nod.

He holds the door open for you and steps into the cold. The snow is falling heavier now—slow and gentle, like the sky is settling down to sleep.

The yard is chaos.

And the snow, still falling in silent spirals, greets you like an old friend.

Sirius hides behind a tree, breath visible in bursts as he tries to form another snowball with one hand and brush snow out of his hair with the other. His coat is still only half-zipped. He’s somehow managed to find shoes—but they’re clearly the wrong size. Probably James’s.

James is across the garden, ducked behind an overturned wheelbarrow, whooping like he’s in a Quidditch final, hurling snowball after snowball with shocking accuracy.

The first one hits Sirius in the shoulder. The second smacks him in the side of the head.

“You absolute menace!” Sirius yells, wiping snow out of his eyes.

“Preemptive!” James calls back smugly.

“Unfair, I was defenseless!”

“Should’ve zipped your coat!”

You’re still standing on the porch, laughing quietly to yourself, when Sirius spots you.

His face lights up like you’ve handed him the sun.

“There’s my girl!” he shouts, abandoning his cover immediately. “Come on! We need reinforcements!”

“She’s not on your side,” James hollers.

“She is,” Sirius counters, bounding toward you like an overexcited dog. “Because I love her the most.”

Remus snorts. “That’s definitely not true.”

“Don’t start,” you mutter, smiling.

Sirius reaches you just as you step off the porch, scooping you into a bone-crushing hug that lifts you off the ground. He’s freezing, damp, and smells like fresh snow and trouble.

“You ready to destroy Potter?” he asks in your ear, voice muffled by Remus’s scarf.

“Always, siri, ”

He sets you down with a wild grin and grabs your hand, tugging you toward the center of the yard where the snow is untouched and perfect for ambushes.

Remus trails behind you, hands tucked into his pockets, watching all of you like you’re the most ridiculous, most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And maybe you are.

Because the snow keeps falling, and your laughter rises louder than the wind, and in the middle of it all—James yelling, Sirius twirling dramatically after being hit, Remus muttering tactics under his breath as he builds a snow barricade—you realize this might be your favorite kind of magic.

Not spells or charms or enchanted stars.

You don’t remember who laughed first, only that it caught like wildfire. It burned through the tired in your bones, the sting in your cheeks, and the snow down your collar. It didn’t stop—even when James was wheezing from where Sirius had tackled him straight into the bushes, even when Remus shook his head like a disappointed professor but wore that stupid fond smile he couldn’t hide if he tried.

The battle ended in truce. All of you panting, pink-faced, soaked—snow glittering in your hair like stars. Sirius declared himself the winner despite having the most snow in his coat. James argued his case with a stick used as a gavel. Remus refused to participate in the ruling and threatened to hex both of them if they tracked more snow into the house.

And so, in the hazy hush of winter dusk, you dragged yourselves back inside.

The heat hit like a sigh. That sudden flush of warmth against cold-bitten skin stung your eyes a little—the way they sting after crying too hard or laughing too much or watching someone you love do something unbearably tender.

The house bloomed with the mess of it—boots kicked off in mismatched pairs, scarves dangling from doorknobs, puddles forming in doorways. Someone slipped on the rug (James) and blamed it on Remus (it wasn’t), which earned a wet towel to the face (from you).

Sirius dropped his coat in the middle of the hallway and immediately stole your favorite blanket. When you scolded him, he wrapped it around himself like a cloak and shouted “I am the chosen one!” before tripping over his own wet sock and nearly faceplanting into the armchair.

James vanished into the kitchen with the determined madness of a man on a cocoa mission. Pots clattered. Spells sparked. Marshmallows flew. He emerged minutes later with mugs of something steaming and sacred, glasses fogged and grin smug.

Remus, always the calm after the storm, returned with another blanket folded neatly over one arm and a tin of those little cinnamon biscuits he secretly hoards behind the tea tins.

You all sank into the living room like it was a landing pad. Not one of you sat normally. You were half on Sirius, half on Remus, your knees draped over James’s lap, your back pressed to Remus’s chest. Blankets tangled and layered until it was impossible to tell whose belonged to whom. Heat radiated in waves—fireplace, cocoa, bodies pressed together.

James handed out mugs like he was conducting a sacred rite.

“Hot cocoa is sacred,” he said solemnly. “Passed down from wizard to wizard with great care and precision.”

Sirius raised his mug with exaggerated reverence. “I pass down my cocoa by burning my mouth.”

You opened your mouth to stop him but didn’t move fast enough.

He sipped. Choked. Let out a wounded noise that was more betrayal than pain.

“Why does it always hurt like that?”

“Because you never wait.” Remus said without looking up, already rubbing his temple like he’d rehearsed this exchange a thousand times.

James laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

“It’s not even hot hot yet!”

“Tradition.” Sirius gasped. “Burn it once. Appreciate it forever.”

You shook your head and took a slow, cautious sip of your own. The heat curled through your chest—thick and rich, marshmallows half-melted into a silky froth. It tasted like memory. Like holidays and snow days and being fifteen again and invincible.

Sirius shifted beside you until his head nestled against your shoulder, heavy and warm. 

He smelled like snow and pine and something softer—like old books and the worn-out scent of someone who’s lived in your orbit so long they’re part of your gravity.

His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers cold but seeking.

Remus leaned against the couch’s back, knees bent so your spine fit neatly between them. His arms slipped around your waist, slow and certain—the way he always held you when words weren’t necessary. His nose brushed the side of your neck like punctuation. You could feel him breathing. The rise and fall of his chest, slow and steady like tides. 

Every now and then, he kissed the crown of your head and didn’t say a thing.

James lay half-on, half-off the rug, one hand loosely cradling his cocoa, the other resting on your shin. He traced lazy circles just above your ankle, humming something tuneless under his breath. He looked at all of you like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he’d bottle this moment if he could and wear it around his neck.

Outside, the world had gone white.

Snow fell like a lullaby, soft and slow and endless, blurring the edges of everything until it felt like the sky had dropped a quilt over the earth and whispered, rest now. The windows fogged with breath and frost, and inside, time didn’t seem to move at all.

They were tangled up in each other on the couch, limbs draped like vines, heads on shoulders, hands tucked beneath blankets. The fire crackled low, casting flickering amber across knit socks and the curve of sleepy smiles. Mugs sat forgotten on the table—half-full, half-empty, sweet with cinnamon and clove.

James was the first to speak, voice low and rough with contentment. “We should bottle this feeling. Sell it, make millions.”

Sirius laughed, lazy and warm. “We’d be terrible capitalists. We’d give it away for free and forget to charge.”

“Sounds about right” Remus murmured, running his fingers absently through your hair, then into Sirius’s, then along James’s arm—like he couldn’t stop touching, as if to reassure himself everyone was really here.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. You just leaned into the warmth of them all, heart full to the brim.

“I love us,” Sirius said suddenly, not looking at anyone in particular. “Like—disgustingly much. Sickening, tragic, poetic levels of love.”

James turned his head against your thigh and grinned. “You mean like sonnets and stolen glances and deathbed confessions?”

“No,” Sirius said, eyes sparkling. “Worse. I mean cuddling under four blankets, fighting over the last cinnamon bun, and watching Remus cry at Christmas ads.”

“I don’t cry,” Remus said indignantly.

“You sniffle!” you corrected, grinning.

“And I love that,” Sirius said, softer now. “I love that we all exist in this tiny, perfect moment. With snow on the window and sleep in our bones and nothing pulling us apart.”

You reached for their hands, finding them easily in the warmth. No need to search.

They were always there.

“This is it,” James whispered. “This is the part of life they write books about.”

Remus kissed his forehead. “We’ll write our own.”

And as the snow whispered secrets to the windows and time slipped soft and golden through the quiet, you let yourself fall into the moment, into them—all their sleepy warmth and easy affection, all the laughter tucked into their shoulders and the unspoken love that clung to everything they touched, and maybe it wasn’t perfect, maybe it never would be, but it was real, it was safe, it was theirs.

And in the hush of it all, with Sirius breathing music into the air and James brushing his thumb across your leg like he couldn’t help it and Remus watching you like you were something worth reading a hundred times over, you realized you didn’t need a vow or a promise or a future written in stars.

this was what love looked like when no one was watching.

This was what forever would’ve chosen, if it got the chance.

[potatoplace]

I Don't Feel Alive

The Afterthought: Chapter 4 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

part 3 | part 5 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Starfall means dress shopping, and dress shopping means spending time with Nesta and Elain... the celebration is its own set of challenges that you struggle with.

Warnings: Body shaming, toxic family, slight disordered eating, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts (let me know if I missed anything)

Words: ~9.2k

Author's Note: it's heeeere I didn't get quite as far into the story as I wanted, but this was a good cut off point too. I really hope you guys like this one! I don't think I made it quite angsty enough, but there's still some. Plus a lil fluff to start. Enjoy! p.s. let me know who you think Y/N will end up with! Or anything else you have to say 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your dreams were soft and fuzzy, filled with hazy scenes of you laying in bed and cuddling with your sisters, just like you had every night so long ago.

Waking felt similar, your body cocooned by soft blankets and warm arms, your own wrapped around someone's torso. You took a deep breath before opening your eyes, blinking them a few times to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

Mor's face was laying on the pillow in front of you, still relaxed with sleep. She looked even prettier like this, without stress and her busy schedule hanging over her.

You slowly unwrapped your arms from around her, taking care to not wake her. She deserved the extra sleep, with how much time she was going to be spending in the Hewn City through the end of the year.

You rolled onto your back, Mor's arms tightening around you as you did. It felt nice, being held again. In the past two years, you had forgotten how lovely it was to wake up feeling safe, snuggled up with your sisters.

The sound of Mor's soft, even breaths nearly lulled you asleep, before your eyes flew open.

Shoot! You had forgotten Nuala and Cerridwen's Solstice presents...

Mor's arms were gently pried from your body, which was harder to do than you had anticipated, but you managed without waking her.

You pulled on a dressing gown and quietly grabbed the two bags containing their presents. Your bedroom door snicked shut behind you, and you padded down the hallway, down the stairs, and to their bedroom. One knock had the door swinging open, this time greeted by Cerridwen.

"Y/N? Did you need something?" The wraith asked, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the presents in your hand. "Oh, you didn't have to do that, Y/N," she said, letting you into their room.

"But I wanted to, both of you have been so wonderful to me. And I already got them for you, so you have to open them," you insisted, placing each bag in their new owner's hands.

Nuala shook her head but opened her present anyways, a wide smile overtaking her face. "This is wonderful Y/N! Oh and you even got me metal threads, how did you know?!" The wraith embraced you tightly in her arms.

"And you remembered me complaining about my needles, oh mother, Y/N, you are the most thoughtful person!" Cerrdiwen exclaimed, stealing you from her sister's arms. "You will be the first person I make something for," she said after she loosened her hold on you.

"You don't need to do that..."

Cerridwen looked at you sharply. "Yes I do, and I will. Would you prefer a hat or scarf first? Oh, I'll just make you both," she finished, not giving you time to answer.

"Thank you in advance, I suppose," you said, blush dusting your cheeks. "I'm glad both of you liked your gifts."

"Of course we do! You pay so much attention to what you buy for people, it's so sweet," Nuala said kindly.

A heavier blush rose to your cheeks at their sweet words. "I just like to make people happy. Speaking of which, I should get back to Mor-"

"Back to me? But I'm right here!" Mor said brightly from behind you, causing you to jump in shock. "Sorry, Y/N, did I scare you?" Mor's arms wrapped around you from behind. "You left me, so I came down to find you. Want to do breakfast before everyone returns?"

You nodded in agreement, but turned your eyes to the twins. "Do you want to join us?"

"I'd love to," Nuala said, and Cerridwen nodded her head before replying the same.

"Girls' breakfast! Let's go!" Mor exclaimed, pulling you out of the twins' room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

The twins trailed behind at a less excited pace, and met the two of you in the kitchen as Mor was pulling food out of the cold box. Bacon, sausages, eggs, broccoli, and cheese were taken out, and the four of you began making breakfast- most likely too much food for the four of you, but Mor insisted that once Cassian had returned he would eat any food that was left over.

You provided the tea, rushing upstairs to pick out an orange and ginger tea.

Breakfast with the three of them was lovely, only kind words and soft smiles being exchanged between you. It was much more peaceful than most of the meals you had taken at the dining table, and for that you were grateful.

Your sisters, their mates, and Azriel returned while the four of you were still gathered round the table, talking over the last of the second pot of tea you'd made.

"Good morning, ladies," Rhys said as he slipped into one of the chairs, pulling a glowing Feyre into his lap a moment later. "Did you have a good breakfast?"

You nodded in response, but it was Mor who spoke. "Yes, in a team effort we made far too much food. What about you lot?"

"It was good, but there wasn't enough," Cassian complained as he sat down, plucking a piece of bacon off of a plate. You smiled at his antics, you'd always found it funny how the male never seemed to be truly full.

"There's never enough for you, Cass," Nesta said as she took the seat next to him- directly across from you- and glared hard enough at you that the small smile on your face fell off in an instant.

"That's true, even though he devoured all of the sweets you gave him, Y/N, he was asking for more the moment they were gone," Lucien laughed as he did the same as Rhys, pulling Elain into his lap in the chair next to yours.

Fear clutched at your heart, though you knew it shouldn't. But the thought of Cassian enjoying the sweets you had made so much that he asked for more... You were scared of how Nesta might retaliate this time.

You tried to keep your breathing even as the conversation passed from one ear to the other, no words registering as they spoke.

"Y/N?" Feyre's soft voice broke through, pulling you out of your worried heart and back into the moment. "You're still up to go dress shopping with us tomorrow, right?"

Your eyes flicked up to her, then to her mate behind her who had a stern look on his face. You forced your eyes back to her slightly worried ones, focusing on the gentle blue that you'd known your whole life. "Uhm... Yes, I am," you managed to respond once you had played the question over in your head.

"Good! We were all thinking that noon would be a fine time to leave, that way the three of us can sleep in a bit after the revel tonight. Does that sound good to you?"

You could feel Nesta's burning gaze and Elain's judgemental eyes on you, stoking the fire of your fear.

"That sounds fine to me, Feyre," you replied, fingers working nervously over the painted irises on your teacup, focusing on the tiny ridges that the paint had created, your gaze now trained on them.

Better than seeing the hatred in Nesta's eyes.

"Perfect! Now that that's settled, I think we should all get to perfecting the revel for tonight," Feyre said, causing movement from all around the table.

Except you.

You sat, staring at your teacup until everyone was gone, disappeared off to their rooms or offices, or wherever they needed to be.

That left you to clear the plates, quickly washing the dishes and leaving them to dry in the rack. Your teapot was dried by hand, and filled with tea leaves and hot water once more. Thankfully you were able to retreat to your room without question, letting you escape back into your fantasy world you had created in your mind. Away from Nesta and Elain's combined ire, combined disdain for your very existence.

The lovely jasmine tea Azriel had gifted you helped you forget where you were, nearly convincing yourself you were back in the human lands, sipping tea in the living room with your father as you watched snow fall and bury that tiny little shack, falling asleep to the thought of it in your arm chair.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

The next morning, you forced yourself from the arm chair, stretching out your neck as you did.

Somehow, it was less comfortable than sleeping in the bathtub.

Your soreness abated as you slid into steaming water, bubbling with rose scented soap- something that you were absolutely delighted by, loving that no matter what, your body was completely covered by bubbles. You hardly caught sight of your skin at all, though you knew with the day's plans, you would be forced to confront how your body had changed.

You could feel it, every now and then. The way your bones protruded just a bit more than they had a month ago. How your joints got sore from sitting or laying faster than before. How pale you had become compared to this time last year, when you had a slight glow to your skin.

This year, you were pasty. As though you had been locked away from the sun the entire time.

A sigh left your lips as you finished your skincare, the one act of kindness to yourself that you always made time for.

Your body didn't matter. It's not as though you would find someone in Prythian. After all, fae and humans shouldn't mix...

Feyre had said something similar to you, so long ago about your past crush on Cassian.

Thankfully in that time, only one person had caught your eye... And you were certain that Irina would never stoop so low as to date you of all people.

Another long breath, lungs deflating.

No, you were here to be alone. Mor and Feyre had begun trying to engage with you, for that you were grateful. They were keeping you from losing all hope once more, and it was all you could do to keep that flame alive.

Especially knowing that your own issues with your body would be added to by whatever Nesta and Elain deigned to say to you. Feyre may have told them to behave, but that wouldn't stop them from throwing barbs at you, thinly veiled by concern or 'opinion.'

Your cycle had finished the night before, leaving you tired but free of its scent, which you were overly thankful for. Mor's present was very nice, but you did not want to try the underwear out while dress shopping with your sisters.

You forced yourself to get dressed and headed out of your room, noting the time on the clock in the hallway. Half past eleven.

That should be enough time for a pot of tea, maybe taken in the kitchen? Or should you retreat to your room...?

You turned around and headed back to your room for a packet of tea leaves, this one a plain green tea. After grabbing it, you made your way downstairs, ears listening for any sign of life.

Perhaps they were all asleep still, exhausted from the revel the night before.

The kitchen was empty when you entered it, and you quickly set to making your tea. A few minutes later you were sat at the island in the kitchen, a cushioned stool beneath you. The tea was lovely and calming, it's clean, slightly sea scented aroma perfect for clearing your head.

That was until Nesta and Elain sauntered in, already talking about what dress styles and colors they were hoping to find today. Their conversation didn't stop once as they walked straight past you and into the living room, the only evidence of them noticing you was the feeling of their eyes on your back.

Suddenly, your heart wasn't so calm.

Feyre walked in a minute later, rushing over to you once she saw you seated at the island. "How are you?"

"I'm... I'm okay. How are you, Fey? How's the baby?"

"Oh I'm just fine, baby was being a little fussy earlier but they're all settled now. Are you ready to leave?"

You finished the rest of your tea in a few quick gulps, enjoying the feeling of warmth it brought, and stood from your stool. "I just need to wash this, and then I'm ready," you said, already making your way to the kitchen sink. That was done in a flash, and soon Feyre was ushering the three of you out the door, Nesta and Elain immediately locking arms and taking the lead. You and Feyre trailed after them, your own arms locked together after Feyre forced her elbow around yours, smiling at you when you looked at her.

All too soon, you arrived at the dress store in the middle of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, greeted by the owner, Tarin.

"Ah, the High Lady and her sisters! This is a lucky day for me, that's for sure," Tarin exclaimed as she approached Feyre, clasping their hands together. "What can I help the four of you with?"

"We're looking for dresses for Starfall, I know we're cutting it a bit close-"

"Oh, nonsense! For the High Lady, even the day of Starfall is not too close. Please, look around and pick out what interests you, we can have them altered if need be," Tarin said, waving her arms at the racks upon racks of dresses filling the shop. "I can also have them made up in different colors, and with any variations of fabrics you may like. Any way I can please you, my dears, and I am happy to do it."

Nesta and Elain set into the sea of fabric together, keeping close to each other as they picked through the racks. You stayed near Feyre, feeling wildly out of your depth.

Shopping for Solstice was one thing, it was shopping for those you cared for. But this...

This was shopping for yourself, and you struggled more with that. Buying the hairpin that you currently had twisted in your hair was a rare action, and one of the first non-practical purchase you had made for yourself since coming to Velaris.

"How about this one?" Feyre asked you, drawing you from your thoughts as she waved a dark purple dress in front of you, it's long sleeves waving as she did so.

"It's pretty," you said absentmindedly, staring at the way the fabric shimmered in the light.

"Do you want to try it on?"

Your eyes snapped up to Feyre's. "Me?"

Feyre laughed softly. "Yes, you. The cut is similar to dresses you've worn before, and you like purple, right?"

You looked back down at the dress, taking in the modest bodice and neckline, and the long length of the dress. "I like the design, but I think I'd prefer a lighter color, Fey," you said politely, but grabbed the dress anyway. "I'll try it on, though."

"That sounds fine, we could always get it made in a lilac color if you'd like," Feyre suggested, her hands already moving over more dresses. "You can go put that at the dressing rooms, then come back and look for more, okay?"

You nodded and did as she suggested, returning to her side and half-heartedly looking over the dresses hung in front of you.

Many of them were far too revealing for your comfort, with low necklines and slits up the thigh. You did find a few you thought Feyre may like, gowns that reminded you of the shimmering night sky, and showed them to her when you happened across them.

"Oh, I love this one," Feyre gushed when she saw one you had handed her, this one a dark blue silk with a smattering of silver stars embroidered across the chest and stomach, with a sweetheart neckline. The length of the dress would like reach her mid thigh, and hang just slightly on the tiny bump that was forming on Feyre's stomach. "What do you think?" She asked, holding the dress up to her body. "High Lady of Night enough?"

Even held against her body, the dress looked perfect for her. "Definitely. You should try it on, Fey," you suggested.

"Hmm... I think I will, Y/N. Are you ready to try yours on? I think we've both got a decent number," Feyre said, slowly walking with you to the back of the shop, where the dressing rooms were located.

"I am, I think," you replied, though you were unsure of being anywhere within a ten foot radius of Nesta. Especially if she couldn't find a dress she liked...

Thankfully at the moment, Nesta and Elain were both in their own dressing rooms, trying on whichever ones they had picked out.

You and Feyre entered your own curtained room, the dresses that you had picked out hung on the hooks inside.

A quiet sigh, and you set to undressing yourself. There was no mirror in here, likely to force people out to get recommendations from their friends. The purple dress that Feyre had found was the first you tried on, the soft fabric flowing down your body like water.

It clung too much.

That was your first impression of the dress, even with the modest neckline and hem length. The soft fabric seemed to be molded to your body, and even a cursory feel of your hands over your hips had you wishing you had rejected Feyre's offer to go shopping. You did not want to hear what Nesta would say about the slight show of your bones in the dress.

"Y/N, are you almost done? We're waiting for you," Feyre said softly from the other side of the curtain, and you forced yourself out of the dressing room. "Oh, you look lovely! I think the color looks nice on you," Feyre said kindly, even as her eyes lingered over the sharp edges of your shoulders, the noticeable bump of your hip bones.

"Do you eat?" Nesta asked sharply from across the room, her nose wrinkled as she took you in. "You look like you're still living in poverty, Y/N."

Blood rushed to your cheeks at her words. They were true, though. "I eat. I've just been..." you paused, trying to find a word that wouldn't irritate your sister. "Stressed."

Nesta scoffed, but shut her mouth at a stern look from Feyre.

"The color is nice, Y/N," Elain said weakly. You forced a smile in her direction.

"Thank you, Elain. Your dress is lovely, green is a wonderful color on you," you said, taking in the flowing layers of fabric that made up the skirt of the dress, all in varying shades of dark green.

"Thank you," Elain replied, but moved her gaze to Nesta. "Nes, your dress is gorgeous. I think you should stick with that one, no need to look for others. You look perfect," Elain said excitedly, so different from her reaction to you.

You tried not to let it sting, turning instead to Feyre. She was clad in a floor length dress in black, tiny diamonds sewn on in patterns that you thought were constellations. There was a slit up to her mid thigh on both sides, allowing her to move freely. "This one is beautiful Fey, you look stunning!"

"You think? I still want to try on that last one you picked out, but I really like this one," Feyre said. "Oh, and I may have put an extra dress in your dressing room, please just try it on, I think you'll really like it. It's the pink one on the left hand side. Just, try it," Feyre begged you softly before returning to her dressing room, Nesta and Elain already back in their own.

Your mouth set into a line, you entered the curtained room again. As she said, there was a glittering pink gown hung on the left hand side when you walked in. Your mouth fell into a frown at the neckline.

Entirely too scandalous for you.

But still, you forced yourself to shed the purple dress and shimmy into the pink one as Feyre had asked. The long, flowing sleeves were off the shoulder, connected to the bodice by a small amount of fabric. The neckline of the dress was far lower than you were normally comfortable with, showing more cleavage than you ever had. The dress was loose fitting past your chest, the flowing skirts moving beautifully as you examined them. The pale rose pink of the fabric was one of your favorites, and didn't wash out your complexion. A difficult task, with how pale you are at the moment.

You walked out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirror, assessing the dress. Your shoulders were far too bony, but even so... You felt beautiful in the dress, like a princess. The skirts reached your feet, billowing out around you. The neckline was lower than you wanted... But it looked lovely, and really, wearing one low-necked dress in your lifetime would be fine. A turn in the mirror showed you your prominent scapulae, half hidden by the fabric of the dress. That could be fixed by styling your hair in large ringlets, enough to cover most of your back. But the gown... The gown was lovely.

"Oh, I knew you would look perfect in that one!" Feyre cheered when she exited her dressing room in the dress you had picked for her. "You look amazing! Please tell me this is the one you want?" Feyre asked, standing by you as both of you stared in the mirror.

"You don't think it's too...?" You gestured to the neckline. "Revealing?"

Feyre shook her head. "No, mother no. I've worn much worse, you have nothing to worry about. It's just a little bit different than usual, is all. And it's perfect on you."

You tried to believe Feyre, and you did like the dress...

But then Nesta walked out. Her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled as she gave you a once over, obviously displeased with how you looked.

She was so good at that. Tearing you apart with just one look.

"Your shoulders stick out," Nesta remarked as she took her place in front of the mirror, looking herself over. Her dress was made of shiny silver fabric, a corset in the same fabric serving as the bodice with thick straps wrapping over the tops of her shoulders.

You ignored her comment as best you could. "You look amazing in that dress, Nesta. The corset fits you perfectly."

A cold look over her shoulders, followed by a clipped, "Thank you."

Elain came out of her dressing room last, this time clad in a cream colored dress, looking every bit like the bride she was always destined to be.

"Oh, Elain! You look wonderful!" You said brightly as you took a step toward her, stopping when her gaze hit you- cold as ice. "This one looks very nice on you, but the last one looked amazing too," you said, more nervous now.

"Thanks," she answered coolly, setting her eyes on Feyre. "Feyre, that dress is stunning on you, and very fitting for Starfall."

You nodded in agreement, the dress was perfect for her. And just like you thought, it just barely highlighted the tiny baby bump Feyre had. The sight of it made you smile.

You were overjoyed that your sister had found a loving partner in Rhys, and was looking forward to motherhood.

"Thank you, 'Lain, I really like that it shows my bump just a bit, I think Rhys and I are ready to let our court know that we're expecting at Starfall," Feyre said excitedly, a hand stroking her belly.

"That's amazing, Feyre," Nesta said softly, sounding the kindest she had since they had been taken by Hybern.

"You'll be the talk of Starfall," Elain said, holding Feyre's hands in her own. "I'm so excited for you and Rhys!"

"I don't want to make the biggest deal out of it, after all, it's still early, but... Rhys is so excited about finally being a father, I had to talk him down from telling the Hewn City residents about it last night," Feyre sighed. "I am glad that I'm going to have all of my sisters with me, supporting me along the way, though. Thank you all for coming shopping today," Feyre said tearily.

"Of course, Feyre," you said, taking her in your arms. "We're always going to be by your side."

Elain's arms followed next, barely touching you but clutching Feyre close. "Yeah, Fey, we'll always be with you. Right, Nes?"

"Of course. I will always be here for you, Feyre," Nesta said, and reluctantly wrapped her arms around Feyre and Elain, one hand just barely touching you.

When you all pulled away, Feyre was crying softly, tears streaming down her face. You grabbed tissues from a nearby table, dabbing away the tracks of starlight on her face. "It's okay, Feyre. We're all here."

"I-I know," Feyre sniffled. "I just... I love you all so much. I can't imagine life without any of you." She let you wipe her eyes, dabbing away the last of her tears after she collected herself. "Now, let's try on the rest of the dresses, we shouldn't waste too much of Miss Tarin's time."

The four of you continued to try on dresses, with much of the same behavior. You attempted to compliment your sisters, only to be met with cold responses. If they did talk to you, it was to point out how the dress didn't suit you.

You still chose the pink dress that Feyre had chosen for you, Feyre choosing the blue one that you had picked for her. Nesta picked the silver gown. Elain had taken the longest to decide, eventually choosing the green dress she had tried on first.

Feyre had argued over the payment with Tarin, demanding that she pay full price for the rushed orders, eventually winning the argument. Nesta and Elain had left by that point, taking off to some vague location that contained books.

That left you and Feyre, walking slowly across the bridge that would lead you to the Rainbow. She wanted to look at paints, and maybe get something special for the canvases that you had gotten her.

And that's how you found yourself entering Irina's shop once more, your heartbeat kicking up when you realized it. Feyre led you to the wall of paint, her fingers hovering over the tubes as she searched for the colors she wanted.

Soft footsteps approached from the back of the shop, and you were met with Irina, her face just as beautiful as you remembered, her smile just as warm.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, Feyre and Y/N, it's lovely to see both of you," Irina's smooth voice said. "You came in just in time, I was about to close up early."

"Lucky us!" Feyre said, eyes still glued to the paint tubes. "Any special occasion?" She asked Irina teasingly as she pulled a few out of the selection.

"Oh, hush you," Irina scolded, swatting Feyre gently on the arm. "You know that I have a date with Rivin tonight."

Oh.

Your heart sank.

"Well, I wanted to make sure the plans were still on! You know I was rooting for the two of you to get together," Feyre said. You grabbed the paint tubes she had picked up from her, pushing her slender hand away when she attempted to take them back. Your fingers rolled over the cap, giving you a sensation to focus on besides your crushed... crush. "The way the two of you danced around each other since I first met you was adorable- I'm so glad you're going out now!"

"Well, I'll only be able to go out with her if you choose what you want soon, or she'll think I stood her up!" Irina laughed, her skin shifting colors under the light.

"Oh, fine, fine," Feyre said, pulling out three more tubes of paint, all shimmering metallic shades. You followed her as she followed Irina to the back counter, placing the tubes on it. Soon enough, the paints were rung up and bagged, and clutched tightly in your arms. "Thank you, Irina. I hope your date goes well."

"Oh, I do as well!" Irina said as she walked the two of you out of the store, locking the door behind her. "I hope the two of you have a lovely rest of your day as well."

"You as well, Irina," you said quietly, nodding your head to her before she turned to leave. She flashed you a dazzling smile, her eyes a bright pink today.

So pretty.

"I'll see the two of you around!" She yelled, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

You and Feyre began the walk home, arms linked together one more, your other balancing the bag of paint.

"How do you know Irina?" Feyre asked once you were crossing the Sidra, taking careful penguin steps so neither of you would fall on the slippery bricks.

Color rushed to your cheeks, though they were already pink from the cold. "Oh, I went into her shop to get one of your birthday presents. The canvases and all," you explained.

"Ahh, that makes sense. She's nice, and she has a great selection!" Feyre said excitedly as the two of you passed through the door of the River House. "I cannot wait to start the first three panels! I'm not quite through my third month yet, but I know some of what I want to do for it."

"I'm glad you like it Fey! I can't wait to see what you make for each one." You kicked off your boots after unlacing them, and let Feyre pull your jacket off your arms, you doing the same for her after. "I think I'm going to head up to my room," you said quietly after you hung up your coats and put your boots on the rack.

"Oh, alright. I... I hope you didn't feel too uncomfortable while shopping," Feyre said. You knew what she meant: with Nesta and Elain.

"I was... fine," you lied half-heartedly.

Feyre stared at you, and you would have thought she was reading your mind, but you didn't feel anything similar. "If you say so. You know you can talk to me, right?" You nodded. "Okay... Well, I'll let you get to your room. Did you want me to start water for tea? I was going to make a cup for myself anyway," Feyre offered, a soft smile on her face.

You nodded again. "That would be nice, thank you, Fey."

Feyre's smile broadened. "I'll see you in the kitchen, sissy."

You went to your room to grab another packet of tea from the sampler Azriel had gotten you- so far, you were a fan of every blend he had chosen. You were hoping today's choice of a rose petal tea would be just as lovely.

The trip back to the kitchen was quick, with no sign of your other two sisters. Good. You weren't in the mood to see their sneering faces again so soon.

Tea was made quickly, thanks to Feyre boiling water for you. You gave her a hug before returning upstairs, tray balanced in your arms.

Just before you opened your door, the door to Rhys's study swung open, Azriel emerging from it.

Oh!

He came down the hallway, and once he was near the stairs you finally got your brain to move past your anxiety of starting a conversation.

"Hi, Azriel, would you uhm... Would you wait here for just a moment?" You asked. "I have that Solstice present I got for you."

"Alright," Azriel replied quietly, moving closer to your doorway. You went inside quickly, fishing the already wrapped box out from under your bed, and a moment later you were back in front of him, offering the gift to him.

"Open it," you said, pushing the box into his hands.

Soon enough, the dagger was in his hands, his fingers running over the inlaid crescent moon made of sapphires, then over the blade itself. "This is wonderful, Y/N, thank you," Azriel said, sincerity in his tone. "I happen to have gotten a gift for you as well." A moment later, shadows materialized, depositing a festive, glittery evergreen tree colored bag in his hand.

"Oh, Azriel, you didn't have to-"

"Open it," Azriel said simply, transferring the handles over to your hand in a quick movement.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, but opened the bag. Inside was a beautiful, hooded cloak that would reach at least your mid back, made of a soft, white yarn. Beneath it was a matching scarf, little tassels on the ends, and a pair of mittens. They even had a small button on the top, allowing for the and of the mitten to be lifted and become a sleeveless glove if needed.

"Its made of rabbit fur," Azriel said quietly as you ran your fingers over the fabric. You looked up at with him with wide eyes. "Oh- they just brush or shave the rabbits, don't worry, no fluffy creatures were killed in the making of your gift," Azriel reassured you.

You let out a breath of relief. "Good. Good. It's a beautiful present, Azriel, thank you. Could I- could I give you a hug?" You asked nervously, regretting the question the moment you asked it. "I mean, you don't have to-"

"That would be fine." You blinked up at him. That would be- You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around him, noticing how stiff he was for the first few seconds before relaxing, his own arms coming up around you.

He smelled nice. Like cedar wood and... And night? Whatever it was, it was nice. Calming.

You both retracted your arms at the same time, pulling apart. A soft smile at him and one last thank you, and then you were in your room once more.

You were happy that he liked your present, but the slight wash of warmth it had given you was quickly chased away by the rest of your day.

Nesta and Elain... You were sure that they would never look at you like a sister again.

And Irina... It was such a silly crush that you had, based almost entirely on how pretty she was. You had been taken with her instantly, yes, breath catching in your throat. But that... That meant nothing.

Especially with you still being... Human. Frail. Less than a century from dying.

No fae, no matter how they looked, would ever take you as their wife, that you were sure of. You only had a couple of decades left of looking youthful, and perhaps only a few more past that before illness would inevitably take you.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you sat at your desk, a cup of tea poured out in the next moment.

At least tea could never not choose you...

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next week and a half passed dreadfully slowly, spent mostly in the solitude of your room.

Feyre came by when she could make time, the two of you sharing a pot of tea and the occasional snacks that she would bring.

Mor was stuck in the Hewn City, all the way until the morning of Starfall, when she would have a slight reprieve. She had already promised to come and spend the morning with you to get ready and catch up.

But until then, or until Feyre could make time... You stuck to your room.

Apparently your giving a joint present to Nesta and Cassian, and Elain and Lucien cause some extra anger in the two of them towards you. Nesta's glare had seemed extra fiery, and Elain had appeared perched on Lucien's lap more often than not when you did happen to wander into the living room.

You tried not to let it get to you, you did... But between the extra tension at home and the sadness in your heart from your silly little crush... It was weighing you down.

The days ticked past, counting down to an event that you weren't particularly excited for...

The morning of Starfall arrived, bringing with it the bright ball of energy that was Mor.

"Y/N!" Mor shouted, startling you awake. "Wake up! Wake up wake up! I'm here, I'm here. Please. Wake up. I've missed you!"

"Oh my gods, Mor, I'm awake," you groaned, rubbing your hands over your eyes. "Do you know a gentle way to wake people up?" You asked as you sat up, pushing your hair away from your face.

"Mm, not really. But, my way is super effective," Mor said cheekily, grinning when you stood up in the tub to glare at her with no fire in your eyes. "Come over here, sweets," she demanded, patting the bed next to her. You went over to her, collapsing onto the bed next to her, and swatted at her with a pillow in revenge for her waking you so abruptly. "So, how have the past two weeks been for you?"

"Oh... You know... Boring..." You said quietly. "How's it been for you? Is everyone behaving?"

Mor narrowed her eyes at you for a brief moment, before accepting your change of subject. "Oh, most everyone has been fine... I've been trying very hard to change the city's voting system plus helping plan their Starfall event, so my hands have been full every waking moment. And Keir has been an absolute pain..." Mor sighed. "He doesn't like that he's losing most of his control by the city moving to a full population vote rather than just the nobles, but it's going to happen whether he likes it or not. But for me, that just means him being more of an ass."

"I'm sorry Mor. I wish that someone else was able to help you..."

"Feyre offered, but, well, with her being pregnant that's not the best idea. And I'm sure Amren would enjoy going solely to terrify the citizens, but that's not exactly... What we're aiming for. And I can do it, and I will, I just wish my stupid father wasn't a factor." Mor sighed dramatically and flopped back on your bed, arms flung out to the sides.

One smacked into your thigh and you laughed, pushing it off of you and back over to Mor's side. "I know something that will cheer you up," you offered.

"Oh?" Mor asked, peeking over at you. "And what would that be?"

"Doing our skincare!" You answered brightly, using the same tactic that she always did with you.

"Oh, I should have guessed!" Mor giggled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweets. Let's get to it!"

"Wait- let me take a quick bath first, and then I'll be all ready for it."

Mor nodded. "That sounds fine, I'll go make some tea and grab some breakfast for us."

The morning moved quickly from there- too quickly, in your opinion, your alone time with Mor slipping away so fast. After you had bathed, the two of you did your skincare, doing an extra mask and moisturizer to give yourselves an extra glow.

Into the second pot of tea Mor started doing your makeup once she had seen your dress. She spent nearly an hour on you alone, taking her time to perfect your eyeshadow and lipstick, getting just the right about of blush coloring your cheeks. You felt beautiful, seeing yourself like that in the mirror.

Mor's own makeup didn't take near as long, but she was even more beautiful than usual, with the extra time she had put in.

The two of you spent a bit more time together before she had to leave and return to the Hewn City for a bit longer, to make sure their celebration started smoothly.

"I'll see you at the House of Wind later, yes?" Mor asked before she left your room, a stern eye on you.

You sighed. "Yes, Mor, I will see you at the House of Wind. I won't skip out on the celebration, I promise."

Mor nodded in approval. "Good. I'll see you in a few hours, Y/N."

She breezed out of your room, leaving you alone once again.

You sighed, and sat down on your bed. Then collapsed back onto it.

Just a few more hours, and your anxious anticipation could subside.

Starfall would be fine this year. You will stay away from Nesta, Elain, and their mates, and instead stick around Feyre, Mor, and possibly Azriel, if he didn't seem too annoyed by your presence.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

Four hours later, you were dressed and ready to leave for the House of Wind. Your hair was half pinned up by the hairpin you had bought yourself, half left down in loose curls that conveniently covered most of the bones in your back.

There was little you could do to cover your shoulders, what with the style of the dress, but you felt pretty nonetheless. The gown had been taken in slightly, just enough to fit more snugly and leave you feeling more comfortable with such an exposed neckline, more secure. And the way the skirts flowed around your feet made you feel more graceful than you were.

Overall, you felt decent about yourself tonight. Your hair had cooperated, not making you late for the start of the event by taking too long to style. And the makeup that Mor had done was perfect, just enough to enhance your natural features.

You had even opted for heels tonight, little sparkly silver boots that Feyre had gotten for you, in case you wanted something more than flats to wear.

When you finally left your room, you made your way downstairs where Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel were waiting in the entryway, seemingly for you.

"Oh, Y/N, you look beautiful!" Feyre exclaimed when she caught sight of you, rushing over to pull you into her arms. "I just love this dress on you!"

"Yes, both of you look lovely, but Feyre...?" Rhys started.

"Oh, shoot! We need to get going, Y/N, but Azriel will take you up to the House when you're ready!" Feyre said brightly, leaving the house a moment later and letting her mate take her in his arms, shooting of into the sky together.

Your heart dropped. Flying? You had only flown a few times, usually to get to the House of Wind as you would be tonight. It still terrified you as badly as it did on the first time, leaving you shaking every time.

"Are you ready to leave?" Azriel asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded, and followed him outside, even as you felt like your heart was in your throat at the prospect of flying.

He gently pulled you into his arms, one hooked beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. Your arms instinctively flew around his neck, ready to hold on for dear life.

Not that you didn't trust Azriel to keep you alive, just... You weren't made for flying, you don't think.

The push off from the ground had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut tight. You could feel your heart racing, trying to leave your chest as you were overtaken by fear.

"You look beautiful tonight," Azriel said, his deep voice in your ear causing your eyes to snap open.

"You don't have to lie..."

Azriel let out a soft breath. "I'm not lying, you look beautiful tonight. Pink is your color, I believe," He said, his voice right in your ear again. Color rushed to your cheeks at his compliment, and you smiled- small, but there.

A moment later, he had landed solidly on the ground, carefully placing you on your feet.

You'd nearly forgotten you had been flying.

Soon after distancing yourself from him, Rhys rushed over to pull him away for some reason or another. Which left you standing alone in the House of Wind, for the first time since Bounty Day.

Anxiety grew in your gut again, making you feel queasy.

Especially when you saw the feast, laid out over that same massive dining table.

You turned away from the banquet, navigating instead to Feyre's side. Already she was surrounded by a few citizens, but you were able to make your way in for a hug from your sister. Soon though, far more crowded in, and following the arrival of Rhys you broke away from your sister, no longer feeling welcome next to them.

You wandered off, searching for Mor in the ever growing sea of people, with no luck yet.

Azriel, the other person you knew that could be safe to talk to, was occupied talking to a very pretty redhead, and also next to Nesta and Cassian.

Definitely a no.

After a while, you filled a small plate with food, picking at the smoked meats, cheeses, and some pieces of fruit until you couldn't stand it anymore, taking the plate back into the kitchens.

Back here, it was quieter. A few stragglers were wandering in and out between the balconies nearby, but you paid them no mind as you got a glass of cool water from the sink.

You let yourself take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, to bring yourself out of your anxiety. It helped, but not much.

It was enough to allow you to wander back out into the party, passing more than enough males who eyed you up and down, leaving you nervous. You were almost tempted to grab a glass of wine, but you knew all that was provided was faerie wine, something that you never wanted to try after hearing some of Feyre's tales involving it.

You knew this dress was a mistake. A beautiful one, yes, but it left you feel exposed unlike every before.

Every few minutes, you circled back to where Feyre was, seeing if there was an opportunity for you to ask her to take you back to the River House, or have someone take you back. But every time you passed, there was somehow more people crowded around Feyre and her mate.

Mor was nowhere to be seen two hours into the party, leaving you adrift in the sea of fae that had overtaken the House of Wind. You were overwhelmed and feeling so alone, the noise of the party drowning out any coherent thoughts you could have.

Just make it to the Starfall, and you can go.

That's what you told yourself for an hour as you continued your slow circles of the main rooms, attempting to find Mor or see if Feyre was available. No luck for you, though.

Cheers erupted as the first streaks of glowing green overtook the sky, giving you your cue to leave.

You didn't care that it was cold and snowy out, you just needed away from the noise, the lights, the everything that always surrounded you.

The stairs were hell in your heeled boots, but you dealt with them, forcing yourself to go one step at a time. By some miracle, you didn't fall, merely ending the massive flight of stairs by sitting down at the bottom to catch your breath.

Tears had begun falling down your cheeks at some point, driven by the cold and how lonely you feel, how forgotten you felt yet again.

You finally pushed yourself off of the cold stone, the bottom of your dress now wet with snow.

The forest would give you the peace you wanted, though you wouldn't venture near as far as you had last time. No, tonight you just wanted a bit of peace, a bit of time with only natural light shining upon you, even if it was enhanced by the cosmic phenomenon going on above you.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the forest in your sights. A sigh of relief left you as you saw the trees, so reminiscent of the ones you had grown up near.

And then you crashed into a wall.

"What the-?" You rubbed at your nose, attempting to soothe the pain of crashing into- whatever you had crashed into. You held your hands out, shocked to find that they rested perfectly on an invisible force in front of you. Nothing that you tried let your hands pass that point, and a kick at the area led to the same results- a foot that you knew would hurt badly in the morning.

You couldn't believe it.

They had locked. You. In. They had taken any amount of freedom you could have, no matter how fleeting it would inevitably be.

Ice cold rage and swells of disappointment left you a sobbing mess as you stumbled away from the wall of your cage, following the Sidra with no true destination in mind.

You would not be going back to that house. You couldn't. Not when- when... Not when Feyre had okayed you being locked inside of the city like nothing more than a pet, like you weren't a person with feelings and needs and desires.

You were sick of being alone, sick of feeling alone even in a sea of people. You had no one who was just yours. And that would never change in Velaris, would never change unless you were around humans once more.

"Y/N!" A warm voice said, drawing your eyes from the snow covered ground to the person it came from. "How did the recipe I gave you turn out? Good?" Sevenda asked, her smile turning to a frown when she saw your tear covered, blotchy face. "Is everything okay, dear?"

Another sob left your lips, despite your attempts to quiet it. "I- I- No," you managed to get out.

"Oh, come in here for a minute, Y/N, you're freezing!" Sevenda said, pulling you into the back of her restaurant. She pushed a cup of tea in front of you, which you gladly accepted, your fingers warming instantly from the mug. "Did you want to talk about it?" She asked after a couple of minutes.

You shook your head, but sighed and answered anyways. "I just... I don't belong in that house, I don't belong in Velaris... I can't... I can't keep pretending like I do, acting like I'm happy to be there... I need..." You sighed again. "I need out of there." And then an idea struck you. "I- I know this would be a lot to ask, and that you likely don't need help from a human but... Do you happen to need help here? I could do anything you need, I just..." You trailed off.

"You need out?" Sevenda asked, sympathy on her face and in her voice. "Well, I did lose one of my prep cooks to the Continent recently, he went to study new styles of cooking. If you are serious about this, I will have you show up at nine tomorrow morning. Okay, dear?"

You nodded your head vigorously. "I would be so grateful, Sevenda, truly, thank you so much." You let the older fae pull you into her arms, the gentle hug enough to stop your tears for the moment.

"Are you going to be alright, dear?" She asked once she pulled away, looking you in the eyes. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice at the moment. "Okay. Let me get you a cup of tea to go, and you should go straight home, hmm?"

You let her do just that, accepting the hot jasmine tea in a lidded cup that she made you promise to bring back in the morning. After saying goodbye, you set off in the opposite direction of the River House.

No matter how cold you were, you didn't feel like going back there yet.

Some time later, you found yourself on a cliffside, overlooking the bay of Velaris. Your tea was long gone by now, any warmth it had given you gone with it.

The rocks down below looked so inviting, as though they would welcome you in an instant. You let out a long, heavy breaths, tears beginning to flow again.

You wish you had the strength to jump.

Instead, you sat on the edge of the cliff, booted feet dangling over the side. The snow underneath you was frigid, leaving you colder than before. But still, you sat and watched the waves, and listened to the crash on the rocks below.

"Y/N?" A deep voice asked from behind you, but you paid it no mind. Maybe they would leave you alone. "Y/N?" The voice asked again. After another length of silence from you, the person took another approach, and sat next to you instead, their own long legs dangling over the edge. A warmth behind you, and less wind hitting you after the male readjusted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You still didn't answer.

Instead, you were surprised by gentle hands winding a scarf around your neck in two loops, then a cloak being fastened over your head and buttoned in the front, and finally a pair of mittens slid over your hand.

Azriel didn't make you talk, didn't make you do anything. He simply let you take the time you needed to recover, to stop your tears.

A while later, the waves started to lull you to sleep, your head tilting to the side until Azriel pulled it to his arm, letting you rest against him. Your eyes fluttered shut, your cheek soaking in the warmth of him, even through the hood of your cloak.

It was only when you nearly pitched forward off the cliff that Azriel insisted on taking you back to the River House, or at least to a café where you could warm up.

"I suppose..." your voice cracked. "That going back to the River House would be... fine... for now," you whispered, glad that he didn't force you to speak any more. A moment later and you were pulled through shadows, similarly to how Nuala and Cerridwen travelled but... different in a way. Almost warmer, you would say.

The two of you appeared in front of your bedroom door, the warm air shocking your skin and making you feel clammy.

"I'll have my shadows bring you a pot of tea, feel free to take a bath or change so you can warm up, Y/N. I hope you have a better night that it has been so far," Azriel said quietly before turning to leave.

"Thank you, Azriel," you croaked just before he turned to go down the stairs. He gave you a small smile and nodded before continuing on his way.

You entered your bedroom, tears falling almost instantly once you were alone again. You forced yourself to strip, hanging up the pink gown to dry and setting your sparkly boots near the door. The bath felt soothing, at least, warming you to the core by the time you got out.

And there, awaiting you on your desk, was a fresh pot of the lavender and chamomile tea that you preferred for sleep.

A few extra tears fell at that small act of kindness, and you helped yourself to a still steaming cup of it, settling into the armchair that you had perpetually pulled near your window, a throw blanket across your body.

Sleep claimed you before you had even finished your second cup of tea.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao

Series Taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd @kingshitonly @bravo-delta-eccho @bluebries81 @liahaslosthermind @deepestmentalitypersona @historygeekqueen @hermajestysworld @marina468 @esposamultifandom @astrokitty18 @larissa01-blog2 @acourtofbatboydreams @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @thelov3lybookworm @weekendlusting @dxjaaaa @thejediprincess56 @casiiopea2 @butterfix

[grandma-the-ghost]

~Smoke break~

a shadowpeach ?angst? Fic + art<3 : art & writing by me. Hope you enjoy ~

tw: smoking+minor sh

Swk stood leaning against the railing, smooth smoke rolling off his lip.

It feels like century’s since he’s done this, He started this habit near the end of the journey to help with his stress, and he kinda tapered off of it after becoming somewhat of a hermit.

But history has the tendency to repeats itself now a days.

Thankfully it doesn’t really effect him ,medically, one of the many perk’s of being an immortal!

But It doesn’t not affect him.

It clouds his mind making him feel fuzzy, grounding him in the moment while making his problems blur into the background.

The moment? watching the city that holds the last remaining people who somehow care about him,

The water refracting the flickering Lights making a halo effect on the city.

But of course all good things come to an end,

“Ooo~ what do we have here~” it rung in his ear.

It was a degrading voice that ever since the day he met it love to remind him of every little mistake.

reminding him

Why he’s nothing.

And That no matter how hard he tried he’ll never be enough.

Even when the owner of the voice was gone 

It still lingered-

Poking-

Prodding-

Crawling on his back-

It’s suffocating, like it’s holding him down.

…

“What would Mk think”

It was macaque-

“The great sage falling for mortal addictions, how disappointed would he be?~~”

He hummed with a teasing smile.

leaning over the railing trying to get wukong to look him in the eye.

But the king just leaned into his cigaret taking another drag.

He dropped his smile, disappointed.

“Why ARE you smoking” he was more accusatory this time 

“You know it won’t help, RIGHT!” 

The king Held his breath

 “or are you doing this just to forget about your responsibil-“

Apparently smoking makes him even more impulsive too,

Because before he knew It he had macaque by the scarf with their lips pressed together. He letting out a shaky, and agonizingly slow breath out.

Letting The smoke that filled his lungs, fill macaque’s.

His eyes were closed but he could feel macaque lean in, he was trying to tease him, wukong figured.

When he pulled back the six-eared-macaque was wearing an unreadable face.

His eyebrows raised and nit together, eyes wide, pupils small, and mouth slightly agape letting smoke slip out.

He was surprised yet something else, wukong didn’t care to find out.

Breathing in “you can ether LEAVE or SHUT UP and have a smoke” Swk said gesturing to the pack of cigarettes. The pack had been resting on the railing, being the only company he had before macaque showed up, it only had two cigarettes left.

Wukong turned towards the city inspecting the one he already had, It was almost burned out.

He lifted it up, pressing it deep into his neck before twisting it. Making it Let out a sharp sizzle. In the corner of his eye he could’ve sworn he saw macaque flinch, But he knew better.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh. Before tossing it into a nearby trash can.

He turned to grab another, but in one swift movement macaque grabbed the whole box.

Apparently he chose to stay.

While Giving him a glare. He stuffed the box into his pocket while lifting one of the cigarettes to his mouth .

Once his other hand was free it was lifted to the other end of the cigarette.

There was A flash of purple before it started smoking.

“You really are the worst mentor” it was macaque‘s favorite insult nowadays, a guaranteed fight. He just loved the attention didn’t he? But the monkey king just kept looking at the city. Even though Swk would never admit it, macaque was right.

that kid does deserve better 

And He knows he isn’t Good enough, yet, but he would be damned if he didn’t try.

So he will become better, or die trying.

——————

AAAAAA- I spent my whole weekend working on this, sorry for the shittty art- I was tearing through art block. Any constructive criticism about my writing though is welcome~

anyway have a good day~~~

[shiny-kaibernyte]

Hey idk if you write for Grusha, but I really like the way you write! Could I ask for some relationship headcanons for Grusha with a Galarian s/o (who confessed to Grusha in true Galarian fashion, giving him an Applin.)? Its okay if not though :>

Are you kidding me! I love this so much! I have been WAITING for someone to request Grusha, so i thank you for this adorable request! To add an extra little bit of cuteness i am giving you a shiny Applin because he deserves it! I also sprinkled in some general head cannons in there.

No Warnings just fluff

Grusha Relationship Headcannons | Galarian Reader

Let’s get the Applin thing out the way first: When you presented the Applin to him, he was EXTREMELY confused, why are you giving him a grass/dragon Pokemon? But when he sees your flushed face looking away from him with your arms extended out to him with the little green Applin - The gears start turning.

Then it clicks, you are confessing to him! Finally remembering you are from Galar and not Paldea dude turns bright red. He’d read up on some of the Galarian customs to make you feel more at home in this new region and he did find out about the Applin confession. Though usually the Applin was red. Did you find a shiny one just for him?

This man is speechless, he literally cannot utter a word over his own shaking breath, But he will take the Applin once he’s back down on earth again. And he is not letting the lil guy go.

He is cold all of the time. Even when away from his gym, he is cold. It could be the middle of summer on a beach and he’s there in a winter coat, fuzzy hat and gloves. And yes, he has bought you both matching scarfs, even if you don’t wear it, if you just have it that's enough for him.

Speaking of matching scarfs, you also have matching gloves, hats, warmers, anything. For some reason he just loves matching with you. That reason? Because I said so. That being said he’s also an opposite kinda guy too. If he’s wearing white, you’re in black and vice versa. Essentially its: Colours = Matching, Shades = Opposites.

Will not take you snowboarding unless you practically beg him to take you, or you already did snowboarding or any other winter sports before meeting him. You getting hurt is the last thing he ever wants to happen, so expect him to dot on you alot.

Grusha worries about you ALL OF THE TIME. If you are not in the same room as him, he worries. He is by no means possessive of you, he just cares so much about you that he tends to come off as clingy.

PDA is a no to him. He does not like being touched in public, he can’t explain it, he will rub your arms if you get too cold or give you his scarf though so don’t worry about any cute form of affection like that. 

In private though, kisses, hugs, cuddles, dancing, laughing you name it. Privacy is his thing.

Speaking on privacy, your relationship didn’t get announced until you were closing in on your 1 year anniversary. Thanks to his fame as a gym leader and a snowboarder, his personal life is something he doesn’t get to have.

You are the only thing he has left to keep him grounded so please let him keep you to himself whilst he still can. Before the Media gets they’re grubby paws on you.

The first time he visits your home region is when your relationship goes public. Raihan ain’t about to let this go unposted!

Jealousy is a difficult thing for him. Not because it makes him difficult but because he doesn’t exactly… experience it. When Grusha sees you uncomfortable or someone invading your personal space, he doesn’t go into jealous boyfriend mode, he goes to protective boyfriend mode. Asking if you are okay, if you need anything, if you want to go somewhere, if you want him to leave ect ect. He may not even register that the other party is even there at all.

When he met Leon it was an… interesting experience to say the least. Leon legit spent the first hour of your meeting walking into everything because he was so busy asking Grusha questions about Paldea. Surprisingly enough, Leon is one of the few people from Galar he keeps in contact with. The others being Piers, Melony and Milo.

The only time he ever showed visible irritation was to Raihan. Leon’s questioning didn’t bother him at all, Raihan’s constant social presents however? That got under his skin.

If it wasn’t for the fact you were with him; when Raihan announced your relationship on live he almost punched him. Dude just revealed the most important detail of his personal life to most of the Galar region and new spreads FAST! Things are gonna boil up in him but, instead Grusha just gives him the cold shoulder for the rest of the trip's duration. They have made up since but he still won’t talk to Raihan unless he absolutely has to.

Sleep. He sleeps all the time. If he isn’t training, talking to the media, battling, or spending time with you. This man can be found sprawled out on his stomach, one arm under his head, the other dangling of the bed, legs in some kind of cross pose on the bed, hair a mess

He is an indoor person when it comes to personal time. Grusha spends so much of it outside; being able to lay back on the sofa with you encased in his arms, warming up by the fire is his ideal pass time. 

Cannot cook for anything. He will set the oven on fire and most likely burn his hands trying to put it out. Baking on the other hand now THAT is something he can do. Rika still hasn’t forgiven him for beating her at a gingerbread contest.

He didn’t confess first but he did say I love you first. This man didn;t even realise he had even said it, he was so in the zone just admiring what was happening and boom he said it and now he matches a cherish ball. 

Sleep schedule, what's that? Grusha sleep is completely random. He could be up at 4am and asleep at 12am: Or he's asleep by 10am and awake at 3am the next morning. Sometimes he sleeps for 3 hours, sometimes 15 hours. It's honestly a game trying to guess how long he’ll be out for.

With that said however, he is NEVER late to anything important. Whether that be a day out with you, a gym challenge, a meeting. Sometimes though, if he’s in a bad mood that day he will be late on purpose. 

Sour food is his enemy, his sour tolerance is in the negatives, he might actually die if you gave him toxic wastes so for your sake and his stomach please don’t. 

Hand kisser, that is how he greets you, says goodbye, randomly shows affection. Grusha will lift your hand up, lower his scarf if he’s wearing it and gently kiss the back of your hand then won’t say anything after.

Not a note leaver. If you are asleep and he needs to go, he is waking you up to tell you he is going and that he loves you. “No piece of paper is worthy of his love for you.” At least that's how Tulip put it.

Athletic as hell, he snowboards for Arceus sake! He’s gotta have some athletic ability. Grusha’s climbing ability is honestly scary. This man could give Sneasler a run for its money

[starfxkrinc]

Strawberry Sweet

Captain Price comes home to the love of his life.

cw: incest la vie! or whatever ethel cain said

John Price was dog tired, dragging himself up the steps of the large country house felt like the hardest mission of all. In all honesty he could have just collapsed on the porch and stayed there for a couple days.

But the sweet smell wafting from the house carried him in: strawberries, vanilla, fluffy buttercream. The heat radiated from the second he opened the door and there you were–all round curves and plush thighs as you floated through the kitchen. His little cub wrapped in fuzzy pink pajama pants and a top that stopped a few inches above your belly button.

Your nose scrunched like you could smell him walk in, and you probably did all that smoke and musk cutting through the strawberry bubble you created. When you turned- wide eyed with a frosting covered finger in your mouth like you’ve been caught– you squealed, “Daddy!”

He had all of 3 seconds to drop bis bag before you were launching yourself into his arms, smothering sticky kisses across his face with no care to the fatigue overtaking him, “Glad to see you too lovie, now please give your old man a chance to sit down.”

“Oh! Sorry.” You sheepishly slide down, and even through his clothes he can feel your soft curves against him, this time you do give him a really big sniff, “Daddy you stink, go shower.”

“Aw c’mon–”

“Shower!” You shove a cupcake in his mouth, still warm from the oven and send him towards his bedroom, “you get more treats after you’re clean!”

Price sighed, you were a spoiled little thing, a product of a one night stand that he doted on from the moment your mother dropped you off on his doorstep in your bassinet. There was no need for a paternity test, you looked just like him if he were brown skinned and curly haired. Had his temper too. Maybe that's why he indulged you, to keep the bear cub happy and pliant lest she lay waste to the house.

That’s why he showered with a cupcake hanging from his mouth.

When he came out, appropriately clean and cozied in pajamas you directed him to his chair, placing a steaming hot roast on his tray with a kiss on the cheek, “I know you’re hungry!”

His eyes roamed over you, lingering at the pretty pink belly button ring dangling from your navel, “Ravenous. Come sit with the old man.”

You played at contemplating before agreeing, “Alright, if it’ll make you happy.” You settle in, turning the tv to whatever girly movie you were watching prior, Price didn’t care. He was just happy to be home with his girl, warm food in his belly and some peace and quiet.

The meal is taken quietly, ever so often he spoons some mashed potatoes or pot roast in your mouth, blood pumping as your lips shone with the savory gravy. Nothing made him happier than watching you eat, knowing he could provide you with the comforts that led you to developing your full figure. No skipped meals, no half portions. You can indulge in whatever you want.

“How’s bout some dessert now petal, sound good?” he kisses your neck, nipping at your jaw to make you giggle, “where’s that treat you promised.”

You squirmed and fought your way out of his hold, going to the kitchen island to bring out two perfectly iced cupcakes, topped with a fluffy pink frosting

“One for you and one for me!” You took a bite, making a soft noise of pleasure as the flavour hit your tongue. Price followed suit, eyes fluttering shut as he sank against the recliner, feeling the last bit of tension leave his body as he scarfed down the sweet.

Who needed a housewife when he had you? You cooked, you cleaned.

You fucked him good after a campaign.

He could already feel you wiggling, trying to get his growing hard on where you needed it, “Easy girl, daddy’s tired.” Price rubbed his thumbs across your hips in a soothing motion, but you just whimpered.

“But I’ve been waiting all day.” He chanced opening an eye to see you staring, eyes welling with tears and your plump bottom lip jutting out. He knew he was seconds away from a meltdown.

“Shh, shh, shh none of that c’mere.”

You tucked in close, letting him rub your back in soothing patterns. It did little to help, you kept your hand tucked tight between your legs to alleviate some of the building pressure and he could feel your hard nipples practically tearing holes through your paper thin shirt.

Price sighed, “Alright, lemme see lovie c’mon, shirt up.” 

Obeying, you bit you lip as you exposed yourself. Brown nipples puffy and hard, the pretty pink jewels twinkling in them.

“Oh lovie, I’m sorry, you need a kiss don’t you?”

Slowly, you nod, shivering in anticipation as he dips his head, capturing a hardened bud with his teeth to make you gasp. You’ve been more sensitive since you’ve got them pierced, only soothed by your fathers expert tongue. 

His warm, wet tongue circled your areolas, teasing to the point of frustration as you humped your hand.

“Bed! Please daddy take me to bed.”

With a grunt Price scooped you up, carrying you to your room with ease as he deposited you in your mess of fluffy pink sheets.

There was no blood left in his head, completely forced below his waist by the powdery sweet smell of your skin, all strawberry syrup and whipped cream. 

He’s in such a rush pulling your bottoms off that he scratches you, raising welts on your delicate skin, “I’m so sorry love, daddy didn’t mean to hurt you-” all apologies die on his tongue when he finally pries your thick thighs apart, and he sees the real feast.

The chubby lips of your cunt were sticky wet, clit pushed past its brown hood to expose the delicate pink sweetness of your pearl, pretty diamond crowning the top of your vulva like a crown.

“This new petal?” His rough fingers softly pass over it, causing you to shiver.

You nod, “Got it before you left, as a surprise.”

If he was dizzy before, he might as well be hung upside down now. His eyes were everywhere–your soft face, lips dewy from kisses. Your full breasts already blooming with bruises. Your chubby waist. Your twitching cunt.

Fuck. How’d he get so lucky?

Price leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the gem, “i love it,” He presses a kiss to your clit, “I love you.”

Then he feasts. Pressing his tongue as far deep into you as he can, tonguing out your juices so they flow right down his throat. You turn wild above him, body singing as pleasure pules through you, babbling and moaning when he sucks your swollen bud into his mouth just to feel it throb.

“OH! Oh my god, daddy I’m gonna cum” He doubles his efforts, pushing your legs back to your chest so he can rim your puffy asshole. He needs all of you, needs to taste everything you can give as he pushes further into your tight furl.

“I know it’s a lot, but you gotta give it to me sweetheart, I want my baby’s cum.” Harsh, smacking kisses are placed to your cunt and you let go, cream streaming out your hole and into his mouth as he drinks you up greedily, “That’s what I fuckin missed.”

You’re still twitching when he gets on top of you, cum in his beard when he kisses you.

“I know it’s been a while lovie, but you gotta let me in, relax, just let me get the tip in.” Jesus he’s thick, as thick as your wrist when he pries you open when the blunt head of his cock. It’s like the first time all over again. It feels like that often because he’s just heavy, So damn thick you feel like he’s splitting you open and digging past your guts and into your lungs until he’s fully seated at the base, your fat lips barely cushioning his pelvis. Shakily, you reached down to press manicured fingers against your clit, swirling in measured circles to ease the discomfort.

“Nice and slow, cmon.” Price pulls back, halfway out so you can adjust to him. Already he’s covered in you, pushing out more and more cream with each thrust as he covers you with his big, burly form.

You don’t think anyone could ever make you feel as small as he does, the ease in which he maneuvers and picks up your plump figure, you’d never once think you were anything else than a babydoll in his arms.

And he treated you as such.

Each thrust of his hips bounced yours off the bed, his chin resting on the top of your head as you buried your face is his furry chest, tonguing at his dark, flat nipple for comfort.

“There you go love, take what you need while daddy uses this pretty cunt.” 

The plap plap plap of his heavy balls against your ass is deafening. The whole room filled with the sounds of your father decimating your wet pussy–his loud grunts mixing with your pitiful squeal, “Daddy my stomach, oh my god I’m gonna throw up!” 

If he heard you over the blood rushing in his ears he doesn’t say anything, instead he tangles his hands in the hair at the nape of your neck to pull your gaze back to his–watery, glazed, trusting.

Just like the day he picked you up on his doorstep.

With sloppy, hurried thrusts he presses his lips against yours and growls, “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Eyes screwing shut, you cum around him, choking his cock so hard he can barely move, instead relegated to short sloppy ruts. But it’s just as fine, because he’s deep enough that he can cum right against your cervix in sweet, hot bursts.

Price collapses on top of you, wheezing. His big body restricting your lungs.

“Daddy…can’t breathe.”

With a grunt he turns you both to the side, staying inside you to prevent any more of his cum from coming out.

“Mmm…feels good to be home.”

You don’t reply, already snoring softly with your cheek smushed against his bicep.

[sugardollcurse]

I LOVE your hcs with the boys so much（´ 3｀) ok so picture this.... there's a rumour in the papers that he's having an affair, can you do how he'd show you that it's actually false and how he'd prove that he really loves you ? ˆ𐃷ˆ

𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑎 𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔

𐙚 note ; thank you for always being so kind!! i hope you’re feeling adored today!! ✿

𓆩🕊️ john 𓆪

"You really think I'd be stupid enough to cheat on you?"

It’s some daft article in the Mirror.

Claims John was seen laughing “intimately” with an actress at a party. There’s even a fuzzy photo. You barely mention it, but he knows.

He catches you going quiet when you think he’s not looking. Biting the inside of your cheek. Folding laundry without speaking. That’s how he knows it’s gotten to you.

At first, he tries to laugh it off,

“You think I’d go for her? Christ, she’s not even funny.” But then he sees your face fall just slightly, and he gets serious real fast.

“Look, I’m a lot of things, but I’m not bloody stupid. I wouldn’t toss this” he gestures between you two “just for a daft party flirt. You know me better’n that.”

He proves it. Reads you lines from his songs in that dramatic fake-Shakespeare voice

(“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s giggle, luv”)

Follows you around the flat strumming nonsense love songs until you smile.

“You want proof?” he finally says, softer. “I talk about you to everyone. Paul’s sick of hearin’ your name, swear it.”

𓆩🕊️ paul 𓆪

"C'mon, love. That's not even my shoulder!"

Paul is devastated that the media would even suggest something like that.

The article has a grainy photo of someone who vaguely looks like him walking into a hotel with a girl, but it’s not him.

The hair’s wrong. The coat’s not his. The smile isn’t even close to being yours.

You don’t even bring it up, but Paul notices you’ve stopped humming his songs around the house. That’s enough to panic him.

He comes straight home with every receipt ever.

Swears he’ll call the bloody photographer if he has to.

He takes your face in his hands and says, voice thick, “Don’t let this rot get in your head, sweetheart. I love you. Only you. Always have, always will.”

Keeps proving it in little ways: he writes your initials in the margins of his notebook, takes you to the studio just to kiss you between takes.

He goes all out. Flowers, your favorite kind, hand-picked. A note tucked into each one, little scribbled things.

𓆩🕊️ george 𓆪

"Can’t stop ‘em printing lies. But I can show you what’s true."

The paper’s cruel.

Says George’s been “getting cozy” with some socialite at a club.

You weren’t even in town that night. You don’t ask, but George sees the shift, less eye contact, slightly less affection.

He doesn’t know how to say it at first. But it eats him up that you might think for even a second he’d choose someone else.

Comes into the kitchen one morning and just wraps his arms round your waist from behind, murmurs, “Y’don’t believe it, do you?”

When you hesitate, his arms tighten. “No. No, don’t do that. That’s what they want. It’s all rubbish, love. Every word.”

He proves it with his quiet devotion: he skips after-parties to be home with you.

He gives you his guitar when he’s writing.

He tucks your scarf into his coat pocket and calls it his good luck charm.

One night, you find a folded bit of paper in your coat, lyrics he wrote but never showed anyone. Scrawled at the bottom:

“You’re the only voice I hear through all the noise.”

He doesn’t say much. But when he kisses you that night, his hands trembling a little where they hold your face, you know.

𓆩🕊️ ringo 𓆪

“I don’t care what the papers say. You’re the only one I want comin’ home to.”

Ringo gets hit with a nasty one.

Claims he’s been “secretly meeting” a woman he dated years ago before fame. Total lie, but it rattles you.

He finds you reading it at the kitchen table. Frowns immediately.

“Don’t believe that rot, do you?”

You don’t answer right away. He gets real quiet, then pulls out a chair and sits beside you, knees touching yours.

“You know me,” he says softly. “I’m not slick. I’m not some silver-tongued fella sneakin’ round in the night. I’d never do that to you.”

You still look unsure, so he pulls out the box. The one he’s been hiding in the closet. Inside: a little ring he’s had made for you, engraved with your initials.

“Was savin’ this for later. But I think you need to see it now.”

“Y’know how I prove it’s false?” he adds, “’Cause I’ve been plannin’ forever with you, not anyone else. That’s real.”

He makes you your favorite tea. Writes you a silly poem that rhymes “cupboard” with “loved bird.”

He even calls up Brian and has him verify where he was the night the photo was supposedly taken.

He makes sure you know how loved you are, cuddling into your side when he watches telly, dancing with you in the kitchen to jazz records, introducing you proudly as “my better half.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[hummingbird24220]

could I please get a Luffy x Jealous fem reader (not together yet but reader has a crush on Luffy) who’s gets all jealous when Bunny starts biting Luffys ears, thank you!

Sure! Im still waaaaay behind with one piece, just finishing thriller bark - I did my best. Ive seen the rabbit character from pictures - googled her name xp. Hope you like it!

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

Fuzzy Feelings

Luffy x Jealous!Fem Reader

You weren’t glaring.

You definitely weren’t glaring.

Okay maybe you were glaring just a little, but no one could blame you! It was right there—right there—happening in broad daylight on the damn deck.

Carrot was currently latched onto Luffy’s ear like it was a piece of meat and he was just laughing about it like she hadn’t just chomped him three times already.

“She’s biting him again,” you hissed to Nami, who was sunbathing nearby with sunglasses and absolutely zero interest in your emotional crisis.

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed lazily. “She’s a mink. That’s, like, how they bond.”

“I don’t bite people I like,” you muttered.

Nami slid her sunglasses down just enough to raise an eyebrow at you. “Don’t you?”

You turned red. “T-That’s not the point!”

“Right. Not the point.” She smirked, putting her glasses back on. “Just go tell Luffy you like him.”

You made a choking noise. “I’d rather throw myself overboard.”

“And yet,” Nami said, gesturing vaguely toward the deck, “you’d rather sit here and seethe while rabbit-girl nibbles your crush’s ear like it owes her money.”

You glanced back over just in time to see Luffy giggling as Carrot hung off him like a scarf. “Yooo, Carrot, that tickles!”

She responded with an adorable, “You taste like meat, Luffy!”

You nearly combusted.

“Disgusting,” you growled under your breath. “Flirt somewhere else, Bugs Bunny.”

You were about to stomp off when you heard Luffy’s voice call out, “Hey (Y/N)!”

You froze. Panic. What if he heard you say that? Was your jealousy that obvious?

You turned slowly. “Y-Yeah?”

He beamed at you, oblivious. “Wanna come help me catch fish off the side of the Sunny?”

Carrot was still hanging on his shoulder like a furry little parasite. Her big eyes blinked at you, smug.

You blinked.

Then smiled.

“Oh, absolutely,” you said sweetly. “I love stabbing things with hooks.”

You might have stared directly at Carrot when you said it.

-------

You sat on the edge of the Sunny, legs dangling off the side, a fishing rod in hand and murder in your heart.

Luffy was next to you, grinning like this was the best day of his life. Carrot had finally hopped off to grab some snacks, leaving you alone with the man who had unknowingly stolen your heart and your sanity.

"Ne, (Y/N), you’re real good at fishing," Luffy said, kicking his legs happily as he peeked over the side of the boat. "I never catch anything unless I jump in after it."

“That’s because you don’t wait,” you muttered, eyes on the water. “You have to be patient.”

“Hmm...” He leaned closer, squinting at your line. “So like... you wait for it to bite... then yank?”

His arm brushed yours.

You forgot what fish were.

“Y-Yeah,” you managed, trying not to combust from proximity. “Just—don’t yank too hard or you’ll snap the line.”

“Got it!” Luffy nodded enthusiastically.

He sat in silence for a moment, then tilted his head. “Hey, you were acting kinda weird earlier. When Carrot was biting me.”

You froze. Crap. Crapcrapcrap—

“Weird?” you asked, voice climbing an octave. “No way. Totally normal. Not weird. Pfft.”

He blinked at you. “You made a face like Sanji does when I eat all the meat.”

“W-What?! I did not—!”

“You looked angry... but also like you wanted to bite someone too?” he added, looking genuinely confused. “Were you hungry?”

You choked. “Luffy.”

“Yeah?”

“I will throw you into the sea.”

He burst into laughter, head thrown back, sunshine catching his hair just right, and you felt your heart do a somersault.

Why did he have to be so stupidly cute?

“You’re so funny, (Y/N),” he said with a grin. “I like hanging out with you.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Y-You do?”

“Yeah! You’re fun.” He leaned back on his hands. “You don’t bite like Carrot, but that’s okay. I like your way better.”

You blinked, stunned.

Was... was that his version of flirting?

Before you could say anything, Carrot came bounding back with a tray of sandwiches. “I brought snacks!”

Luffy lit up. “MEAT!!”

You barely resisted the urge to knock the tray into the ocean.

You plastered on a smile instead. “Wow, thanks, Carrot. That was so sweet of you.”

She beamed. “Right? I even saved the biggest one for Luffy!”

Your eye twitched.

Luffy grabbed the sandwich, already stuffing it in his face. “You’re the best, Carrot!”

You got up wordlessly, rod abandoned.

“(Y/N)? Where you goin’?” Luffy asked, cheeks full.

You turned and smiled through clenched teeth.

“I’m gonna go not bite people.”

He looked confused.

Carrot looked smug.

And you were so close to jumping overboard just to scream into the sea.

-----

You were storming down the hallway of the Sunny, fists clenched, trying very hard not to explode. If you had to hear Carrot giggle and say “Luuuffyyy~” one more time, you were going to snap and launch yourself into the sea head-first.

Was it stupid to be this jealous? Absolutely. Were you going to do something about it? Probably not.

…Unless you lost your temper.

Which you were about five seconds away from doing.

“(Y/N)!”

You froze.

Luffy’s voice rang out from behind you—cheerful, clueless, and all kinds of adorable.

You squeezed your eyes shut, took a deep breath, and turned around.

There he was. Hair messy from the sea breeze, a smudge of food on his cheek, and that goofy smile that made your chest feel like it was caving in.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked, stepping closer. “We didn’t get to fish more. And you forgot your rod!”

You stared at him. The way his eyes sparkled, the way he just had to chase after you without even knowing why.

God, it wasn’t fair.

You snapped.

“I like you, okay?!”

The words spilled out like you had zero control over them. Which, to be fair, you didn’t.

Luffy blinked. “Huh?”

“I like you, Luffy!” you said louder, throwing your arms up. “Like—not just ‘I want to fish with you’ like, but like like! Romantic! Feelings! Blushing! All that dumb stuff!”

He stared.

“I got jealous when Carrot bites your ears! And it’s not her fault, and I know you’re probably not even thinking about this kind of thing, but I can’t help it, okay?! You’re—you’re you, and I’m me, and I’m just—ugh!”

You stopped.

Silence.

Luffy tilted his head, looking at you like you’d just grown another limb.

“…You wanna bite my ear too?”

You groaned. “Luffy! That’s not what I—”

“But wait,” he interrupted, suddenly very serious. “You like me?”

You froze.

“…Y-Yeah.”

He blinked.

Then… smiled.

A soft one. Not goofy. Not wild.

Just a little quiet curve of his lips. It felt different.

“I didn’t know,” he said simply. “But… I like being around you. Like, a lot.”

Your heart skipped. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. When I see you, I feel all… squiggly. In my chest.” He scratched his head. “I thought it was just hunger.”

You stared. “Squiggly?”

He grinned. “Like excitement! Or nerves. Or maybe meat cravings. But I don’t feel that with Carrot. I like her, but not like how I like you.”

You blinked. “So you…?”

“I dunno what it means yet,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But I wanna find out. With you.”

You were stunned silent.

“Also,” he added with a big grin, “you can bite my ear if you want.”

You burst out laughing. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Yup!” he said proudly. “But I’m your weirdo now, right?”

Your cheeks flamed.

“…Yeah.”

[xmintpiex]

Tea Time Temptation

wc: 1517

You want your husband so bad..

content: 18+, mdni,nsfw, Katakuri x fem!reader, arranged marriage, sexual fantasizing, mentions of: masturbation, nipple play, vaginal fingering, size difference, inexperienced!reader, reader of noble birth, this is a little silly

Your husband is quiet, just like the rumors.

The dining room silent aside from the clinking of your silverware. Katakuri's massive, intimidating figure all the way at the other end of the too-long table, partially obstructed by the platters of pastries and sweets and fruits that decorated the table. Dressed in his dark leather, face partially obscured by that fur scarf he always insists on wearing. His crimson eyes focused only on the papers in front of him, whichever task Mama had tasked him with this time.

Your husband is not a dominating sexy beast in bed, unlike the rumors.

The rumors you and your friends had giggled and whispered about in the sunlit garden back home before you were sent here. Rumors you clung to the sleepless nights before your wedding, reaching for that naughty little book you kept hidden between your silk pillows, one hand sliding into your lacey drawers to cup your heat as you replaced the characters in that lewd book with you and your future husband. Eyes closed, your soft fingers turning into something longer and much thicker, exhilarating and unknown.

Unknown even now because you have yet to do anything in bed with your husband aside from sleep, despite being married for months. He didn't even eat in front of you. Doesn't even let you see the full shape of his face, the curves of his lips, the outline of his jaw.

You knew he didn't dislike you. He couldn't. Right?

You can already feel the familiar pout forming on your lips as you reach for your porcelain teacup, the one that was a wedding gift from one of your countless in-laws. Freshly poured with your favorite tea, brewed perfectly, much like how most of the food placed upon the table was tailored to your tastes, never lacking in quality. It made you feel a little better to know that he had set up this routine of afternoon tea together, made your heart all fuzzy that he remembered which flowers you preferred for the centerpiece, which flavors and textures not to have placed at the table.

Surely, you at least held a little place in his heart. He was always so considerate with you.

Although it still made you feel a bit sour, as this daily routine was his response to when you asked to be included at his daily merienda. The response to when you fluttered your lashes at him, placing a hand on his beefy, veiny arm, nearly throwing yourself into his lap as you told him you wanted to spend more time with him. Alone.

Your dream of a candlelit night, your silk nightgown torn and body ravaged with bliss from his mighty form was shattered as he suggested daily afternoon tea. (His hand gently encompassing your shoulder, barely touching, not exuding any effort as he kept you at arms length on the lush bedding of your marriage bed, voice quiet and solemn and gentle as he spoke.) Too considerate. You had almost considered taking off your nightgown yourself that night, baring your naked, soft skin before him and rubbing up against him like some cat in heat. But you weren't that salacious. Not that night.

But today…well…

Reaching for another pastry as your eyes flit back over his seated figure. The pen in his hand, the one you had bought him at the market, looking comically tiny between those thick, calloused fingers. At least you had this small victory of getting to see his bare hands, convincing him he didn't need to wear those leather gloves when at home. Nails short and well trimmed, the firm square shape of his fingertips. The gentle squish of his flesh against the dark pen, not too stiff.

So thick.

So big.

How easily they could encompass your breasts. A single one of his fingertips would so easily be able to cover your nipple. How would that calloused finger feel against it? Would he rub it gently until it pebbled under his touch? A soft swirl against your heated, tingling nipple, his deep, solemn voice against your ear, your neck.

Or would he twist and pinch? Pleasure blooming from delicious pain, his tongue running down your skin, a bite here and there, the mark of his teeth etched into your skin, your breast. His mouth unrelenting, ravenous against your hardened nipple.

How would those fingers feel against your hot folds? A rough finger pad on that little hidden pearl. Dipping down further, squelching against your slickness as a single burly finger finally delved into your tight, aching-

"Be careful with your tea, wife."

Katakuri's low voice nearly making you jump out of your chair. His crimson eyes now focused on you, particularly on how weak your grip had become on the handle of your tea cup.

Ah.

The heat of your face suddenly all encompassing, cheeks burning, throat dry as you carefully set your teacup back down on it's saucer. The clink of porcelain against porcelain a little too loud. A familiar wetness between your thighs.

"You always look out for me. Thank you, my darling."

Honest words paired with your shaky, well-intended smile, the corners of your lips still fighting against the heavy hotness of your cheeks. Hoping, like always, that your sincerity would keep his eyes on you a little longer. Hoping that your clear fondness would be met with something similar.

Just a little something. Something a little more meaningful than simple consideration. Words a little sweeter than normal, red eyes with palpable affection, his hand reaching for yours, a sweet kiss placed upon your li-

"As I've said before, there is no need for such words."

His words firm, voice a little hoarse as he clears his throat for some unknown reason, eyes going back to looking at the papers in front of him. The dining room silent yet again.

"…"

If only you had asked for iced tea today. Perhaps you could have spilled some on yourself. How perfectly it would have stained the light fabric you had decided to wear for this lovely warm day. Seep into the thin fabric, letting your skin, your breasts, your nipples appear like blooming flowers. A sweet, pitiful gasp on your lips, maybe a little insincere but still beckoning his attention. Leading his large hands to your soft, wet skin, asking him to help you. Your husband was so considerate, of course he would help.

But the last time you had tried that he had been a little too helpful. Preventing you from spilling even a drop. Sometimes this husband of yours was a little too attentive..

The glimmer of your silver fork under the ornate chandelier suddenly quite interesting. Perhaps it was time to be a little more bold. A little wanton.

"Be caref-"

Your husband's perfectly timed warning interrupted as you still tossed the fork beneath the table. Letting it thud against the plush carpet before you reacted.

"Oh no! My fork! I shall go fetch it, husband.." You gasp and pout dramatically, making sure to bat your lashes, maintaining eye contact, as you lower yourself beneath the lavish table, your hands and knees sinking into clean carpet. Your hand making contact with the silver utensil only to push it forward, crawling after it, letting it guide you to the other end of the table.

"S-stay over there!"

His voice suddenly shaky, the most strained you've ever heard it (aside from that time he had accidently held you in his sleep). Beneath the table you can see the tense grip of his hands on the wooden chair, thick legs rigid, as if he was petrified. Good.

"Oh my! This fork is so hard to find!" You exclaim a little too dramatically perhaps, but at this point you were so, so close to the dark fabric of his pants, crawling to that open spot between his legs.

Finally.

Your hand making firm contact against the black leather that clothed his thick thigh. Your face peeking up from under the table to settle quite closely against that particular area of thigh that led to his crotch, pressing your cheek against the smooth fabric.

His face a deep, dark red, shaky eyes trained only on your face. So vivid, so handsome. His hands trembling against the arms of his chair, the wood nearly cracking. That little cute sound of bewilderment muffled by his scarf, like that time you had managed to sneak a surprise kiss on his cheek. A sound you had dreamed of hearing again. Wondering what other sweet sounds you could discover. Your hand moving to that skull belt, seeing how far you could get this time.

He always let you kiss his cheek, hold his hand when you wanted to. Surely you could do more, right?

Your husband was so unlike the rumors. He was too kind. Maybe a little shy. Inexperienced, just like you. But that was okay, you didn't mind being the ravenous beast in this story.

Especially when he seemed to melt so easily under your touch, craved it as much as you did.

[ducksido]

Hellooo this is my first time requesting, I rewrote this like 20 times. Could you do Overbolt boys x horribly dressed or just lazily dress reader? Like the reader will just pull up to a function looking like Adam Sandler or everyone will be formally dressed and reader is just there in their pajamas. Please do not feel pressured to do this it’s just a silly idea I had and I am sorry for my horrible grammar

Riddle The moment you stroll into the grand hall—where everyone is in their tuxedos and gowns—wearing ratty pajamas with cartoon prints and slippers, Riddle nearly chokes on his tea. His eyes widen in disbelief. “S/O, did you forget there’s a formal event?” he whispers, cheeks flushing scarlet, half embarrassed, half amused. But then, his ever-stoic expression softens. He quietly reaches over and squeezes your hand. “Well, if you’re comfortable, I’ll be by your side no matter what you wear.”

Leona Leona’s usual intense glare shifts into something oddly proud when he spots your mismatched socks and a hoodie two sizes too big. “Finally, someone who doesn’t take this fancy nonsense seriously,” he mutters, a small smirk tugging his lips. Without a second thought, he slips off his own dress shoes and switches to his boots, pulling you toward the edge of the crowd. “Come on, let’s find a spot where you can chill without worrying about all these posers.”

Azul Azul’s eyes instantly narrow at your appearance—socks with sandals? Seriously? His mouth twitches, struggling between horror and disbelief, but he quickly regains composure. “You do realize this is a high-profile event, right? People will talk.” He clears his throat and offers a rehearsed, but genuine smile. “Allow me to escort you—and maybe shield you from any rumors.” He stays close, adjusting his own cufflinks with a flourish while trying not to trip over your pajama pants.

Jamil Jamil arches a brow as you stroll past the elegantly dressed crowd in your oversized graphic tee and ratty joggers. He crosses his arms and sighs, “You always have to be different, don’t you?” But then, a teasing grin spreads on his face. “Well, I guess that’s what I like about you.” Without hesitation, he slips his blazer off and drapes it over your shoulders, making you look just a bit less like you rolled out of bed. “There, that should do.”

Vil Vil almost gasps, clutching his chest dramatically when he sees you in your fuzzy slippers and worn-out hoodie, surrounded by the perfect, stylish crowd. “Oh no! How could you betray fashion like this?!” he exclaims, his voice a mix of horror and disbelief. But then he laughs, genuine and warm. “You’re my adorable little disaster. Come here.” He swoops you up for a quick hug, smushing your messy look with his perfect glam. “You’ll always be the star of my heart, no matter what.”

Idia Idia watches from the sidelines, intrigued rather than horrified, as you show up in an old band tee and sweatpants. “Honestly, you’re lucky this isn’t a cosplay event or I’d be more impressed.” He adjusts his glasses and smirks. “Comfort over style, huh? I get it.” He shuffles over and offers you one of his oversized hoodies, which you accept gratefully. “Now we match. Looks like you just leveled up in style points, in my book.”

Malleus Malleus’s usually cold, regal demeanor flickers with confusion as he notices your disheveled appearance — pajamas with a blanket scarf wrapped around your neck. His crimson eyes blink once, twice, then soften. “Why would you come to an event like this dressed so... casually?” he asks quietly. You shrug with a sheepish smile, and unexpectedly, Malleus lowers his head and gently nuzzles you. “Your presence alone outshines any outfit.” Then, almost imperceptibly, he conjures a shimmering cloak around you to blend elegance with your comfort.