#how dare you pattern recognizer

[astercontrol]

when my pattern recognizer cannot tell the difference between Tragic Times and Wordplay Times

rest of brain: imagines post-Legacy scene where all Flynn's friends, having just been updated by Sam on what happened, go into the arcade basement and stand in a solemn vigil around the laser and the computer, a silent funeral over Flynn's final resting place

pattern recognizer: sitting SHIVA

rest of brain: glares

...

[simp-for-love]

Devil's Advocate

Mattheo Riddle x FemReader

You never expected to need a lawyer — let alone him. Mattheo Riddle is infamous, both for winning impossible cases and for being insufferably arrogant while doing it. You don't trust him, but with your ex tightening his grip, you’re running out of options

Warnings: lawyer!au, psychological manipulation and emotional abuse from ex, swearing, power dynamics, legal drama, sexual tension, kinda slow burn. It's a mix of a modern!au and the wizarding world that is set after Hogwarts, ignoring the war.

Word count ~2,8k

A/N: I'm so excited about this one. Hope you'll like it too! And Enzo's girlies, I'm sorry. He's a bad guy here🤭

You used to think Lorenzo Berkshire was perfect.

Charming, attentive, the kind of man who remembered all the little things — a preference for fresh lilies over traditional red roses, the way you took your coffee, the book you offhandedly mentioned wanting to read. He was sweet, too. Thoughtful. A boyfriend from every girl's dream.

Until he wasn’t.

Until you realized the carefully curated perfection wasn’t for you, it was for his control. And Enzo was very, very good at control.

It took too long to see past the honeyed words and the expensive gifts, the way he made you feel like the most cherished person in the world. It took too long to recognize the patterns. The slight gaslighting, the ever-so-subtle isolation from your friends, the way every ‘coincidence’ seemed to align just right in his favor. By the time you did, you were trapped in a web you didn’t know how to escape. Every your step was controlled, carefully calculated by Enzo's sweet smiles and cold eyes.

And now? Now you were in trouble.

You wanted out. No, you needed out. But Enzo wasn’t the kind of man to just let go of what was his. He had money, charms, connections, and the ability to make things disappear. Every lawyer you approached? Gone before they could even hear your full case. Either bribed or scared off. The ones that weren’t? The ones that actually seemed interested? Well, they quickly lost that interest as soon as the stakes became clear and your ex's name left your lips. Unfortunately for you, Enzo had that effect on people.

All but one.

Mattheo Riddle.

You weren’t even sure why you went to him at first. Maybe desperation. Maybe because his reputation preceded him. Maybe because he was the only one left.

You knew his name since the school, of course. Everyone in the wizarding world did. But now people knew him for a whole different reason. He was the defense attorney who won cases no one else would dare touch, to even look at. The man who had beaten aurors, ministers, and more corrupt officials than you could count. People said he had no fear. That he never lost. That he only defended those he deemed worthy, not caring much about the consequences. That money couldn’t buy his loyalty.

And that last part was crucially important to you.

The sound of your heels echoed through the sleek marble floors of the law office, each step deliberate, controlled. You had to be. Because if you thought too much about the weight of the situation, about how you'd gotten here, you might just turn around and leave.

But you couldn't. And you wouldn't. Not when this was your last chance to break free.

The receptionist, an immaculately dressed woman with piercing eyes and a deep cleavage that could hardly be called decent, barely looked up from her 'Witch Weekly'. Her voice was lazily bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No." You swallowed, straightening your shoulders. "But Mr. Riddle is waiting for me."

Then her appraising gaze darted upward. She elegantly raised her perfect-shaped eyebrow as if reading and analyzing a potential competitor. There was disbelief and a hint of mocking in her gaze that said, 'How could he be waiting for you?'

"What's your name?" she said almost reluctantly.

Usually, you would flip people off for that gaze or tone. But now was not the right time or place to be bitchy. You gave her your name, your voice steadier than you felt, and after a beat, she inclined her head toward the heavy double doors at the end of the hallway behind her. "Go right in."

That was how you ended up here, standing in front of the office door, nerves coiled in your stomach. The brass nameplate on the door gleamed under the bright hallway lights.

Mattheo Riddle, Esq.

You felt your palms getting sweaty because of your nerves. But he was your last hope against Enzo. You couldn't back down now. So you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, knocked softly, and opened the door.

The office was a sharp contrast to the pristine sterility of the lobby. It was warm wood-paneled walls, dark leather furniture, and a faint scent of smoke and something deeper, richer. Like expensive whiskey and old books. A single wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, and in front of them, seated behind a mahogany desk, was the man himself.

In that moment when you stepped into Mattheo Riddle’s office, the thought that you were in the wrong place crossed your mind. Not because you didn’t need help, your current predicament demanded it, but because everything about him, from the smug smirk to the unbuttoned collar of his tailored dress shirt, almost screamed trouble.

He didn't look up immediately, fingers tapping absently against the desk as he skimmed over a file. But then his dark eyes flicked up, locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your breath catch. His gaze flickered with recognition, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled velvety, leaning back in his leather chair, fingers steepled together as he observed you like a cat might be looking at a particularly interesting mouse. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

'Fuck, he'd changed', you thought immediately. His features became more mature, sharper. Broad shoulders were wrapped in an expensive suit, as if his body and the costume were created to attract hungry or jealous glances. Plump lips, now without permanent cuts and wounds like in Hogwarts, were stretched into a familiar smirk that was both charming and mischievous. The only thing that remained unchanged were his eyes. Dark, piercing, captivating, as if they knew all your dirty secrets that you trying to hide.

You exhaled, gathering your thoughts together, and stepped further inside, not letting your nervousness show. "I need your help."

Mattheo leaned back in his chair, regarding you with an expression you couldn't quite read — amused, curious, or something else entirely. Then, with a slow and smug smirk, he gestured to the chair across from him.

You hesitated only a fraction before lowering yourself into the chair opposite him. It was plush, expensive, and did absolutely nothing to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. Mattheo watched you with the kind of patience that wasn’t patience at all. More like a predator toying with its prey, waiting for it to make the first move.

"You need my help," he echoed, that infuriating smirk not leaving his lips. "That’s interesting. Because I don’t usually take clients who walk in off the street without an appointment."

You felt a pang of irritation. 'Off the street? Like you were some kind of a homeless dog,' you scoffed mentally. But you convinced yourself to inhale deeply and regain your composure. You needed his help, and you honestly expected him to act all cocky. He'd always been like this, even as a teenager at Hogwarts.

The deep exhale left your lips as you forced yourself to meet his gaze directly. "I didn't have much of a choice. Every other lawyer turned me away. Or, more accurately, they were turned away for me."

His eyes flickered with a mix of something — amusement, intrigue, calculation. "Hmm, let me guess," he purred lowly with a knowing smirk. "Lorenzo Berkshire?"

You nodded, your fingers tightening into your lap involuntarily. "I assume you already know what he’s capable of."

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly in amusement. "Oh, I do. We go way back, Enzo and I. Hogwarts days, old friends, that sort of thing."

The words sent a chill down your spine. Fuck, you totally forgot about the fact that they were close. And now that meant he wouldn’t take your case. That meant he—

"But we aren’t friends now," Mattheo continued, his tone shifting, something dangerous and razor-sharp creeping beneath the previous amusement. "Haven’t seen him for three years," a dark and almost maniac flash flicked in his onyx eyes. "Which only makes this more… intriguing."

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to remain steady and not to show your relief too obviously. You didn’t want him to see how desperately you need his help. "He's been bribing and scaring off every lawyer I’ve tried to hire. And I can’t— I won’t stay trapped like this. I need someone he can’t buy," you said carefully.

Mattheo hummed, drumming his fingers against the desk. His lips tugged into a smug grin. "And you came to me. The unshakable, indispensable, and incorruptible Mattheo Riddle."

You arched a brow at his words. That arrogant prick. You wanted to shove his shit-eating smirk deep in his handsome ass. But instead you remained calm. You needed him. "Something like that," you mumbled almost reluctantly.

He grinned even wider, and damn him, even under these circumstances, even through your irritation and annoyance at his attitude, you could see why people were drawn to him. There was some dangerous charm to Mattheo, a confidence that didn’t just border on arrogance — he wore it like a finely tailored suit.

"Tell me everything, sweetheart," he mused finally, his tone playful yet calculated. Like he was amused and intrigued by this situation, but he also already had all the cards in this game. "Leave nothing out."

You swallowed, gathering your thoughts and nodding, and then began to speak.

As you recounted everything, how perfect Enzo had seemed at the very beginning, how he slowly and gradually tightened his grip on your life and choices, how things spiraled until you realized you were caught in something you couldn’t escape — Mattheo listened. Not just passively, but with an intensity that made you feel unease and your skin prickle. His dark eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, absorbing every word, every pause, every unspoken fear woven between your sentences.

When you finally finished, Mattheo leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose and rubbing his lower lip in thought. "He’s meticulous. I’ll give him that. But he made one mistake."

Your breath hitched. But you didn’t want to let your hopes up. He hadn’t said 'Yes' to you yet. So you asked a bit hesitantly and carefully, "What?"

"He underestimated you." Mattheo's smirk returned, sharper this time, like he was a predator who was ready to hunt their prey. "And now, he has to deal with me."

If you weren’t in this dreadful position right now, his dark and hawkish gaze'd probably intimidate you. But you were, so relief crashed through you so fast that you almost felt lightheaded. "So you’ll help me?"

Mattheo tilted his head, considering. "Oh, sweetheart, I was always going to help an old friend of mine. The moment you walked through my door and made this infinitely more interesting for me?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping just slightly, sending a shiver down your spine. "Enzo just became my newest problem. And I do love a good problem," he said with a playful wink.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. You weren’t sure if you’d just made a deal with salvation — or with the devil himself. But in your desperate situation, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care.

When you came home to your rented apartment later in the evening, where you were almost shamefully hiding from Enzo's all-seeing grab, you replayed this meeting in your head over and over again. The way Mattheo had grown up, how smug and lazily confident he was, the way his eyes changed color in the room's dimness. You quickly realized that your thoughts were going in some dangerous directions. So you shook your head in annoyance, turned on your side, and tried to sleep.

The next time you saw Mattheo Riddle, it wasn’t in the dimly lit intimacy of his office but in the cold sterility of a high-rise conference room. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline behind him, the city sprawling out in golden lights as dusk settled. The room was all glass, steel, and polished surfaces — a battlefield for people who fought with words and knowledge instead of their wands.

You had expected to feel anxious, maybe even regretful about involving him, but watching him now, prowling the space with effortless confidence, you felt something else entirely.

Mattheo was in his element.

Seated at the massive conference table, you were flanked by paralegals and junior associates, people who worked for him, who hung onto his every word. They were efficient, sharp, and ruthless, but none of them commanded the room the way he did. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his tie slightly loosened, Mattheo carried an air of calculated chaos, as though he could dismantle the entire legal system with nothing but a boyish smirk and a well-placed argument.

You were only halfway listening to the conversation when you realized you were shamelessly staring. Not at his face, exactly, but at the way he moved and held himself. The sharp flex of his fingers against the table as he spoke, the way his lips curled around every word, the smooth confidence in his voice as he tore through the evidence presented before him, the silent but almost palpable respect of his subordinates who listened attentively to his every word. It wasn’t the same smug arrogance from before — this was precision, intellect, power. And it was intoxicating.

You realized almost reluctantly that you were turned on.

By his mind. By the way he held himself. By the way he had the attention of the whole room without even trying. By the way he saw everything ten moves ahead. By the fact that, for all his showmanship, Mattheo Riddle was undeniably, inescapably brilliant.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Mattheo murmured, sliding into the chair beside you during a brief break in the discussion. His cologne was expensive and subtle, something dark, woody, and spicy that made your stomach tingle. “Second thoughts?”

You exhaled, hoping he wouldn’t catch the way your pulse jumped and your eyes were glued to him during the discussion. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to stay level. “Just observing.”

He hummed, glancing at you with something amused and knowing in his dark, onyx eyes. “And? What’s your verdict?”

You should have played it safe, should have kept your expression neutral, but instead, your mouth betrayed you, saying the next words against your will. “You’re good.”

His smirk was slow, devastating. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured smugly, his voice nothing but a smoke curling under your skin. “You have no idea.”

Your throat felt suddenly dry, making you swallow slightly. “I think,” you said carefully, not wanting to show just how much he affected you, but failing miserably, “that you might actually be worth all the fuss around you.”

Mattheo leaned forward, close enough that you could see the flicker of something dark and knowing in his gaze. “Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapping around a blade — captivating yet dangerous — making heat pool down in your stomach. “Another praise from you, and I'll think that you might start to like me.”

You weren’t sure if it was the arrogance in his smirk or the glint in his eyes that made your skin heat, but there was something about Mattheo Riddle in his element that was utterly infuriating. And unfortunately, undeniably hot and attractive.

And in this moment, you realized with a sinking feeling that pushing those thoughts aside was going to be impossible. Because watching him like this — ruthless, brilliant, completely in control over the situation, over the room, over you.

It was maddening.

You should have been focusing on the legal strategy, on how he was about to dismantle Enzo's grip on your life. But instead, you were hyperaware of the way Mattheo thrived in this setting, his words sharp as a blade, his presence overpowering.

And worst of all? He knew it too.

Because at one point, as you shifted slightly in your seat, trying to shake off the heat curling low in your stomach and between your thighs, his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second. A knowing, dark, amused glance, like he could sense the shift in your thoughts. Like he could hear them, taste them.

That absolutely insufferable, arrogant bastard.

You cleared your throat, straightened your posture, and forced yourself to focus. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place. You were here to win your freedom back, not to get distracted by the handsome man who was helping you achieve it.

But then, as Mattheo turned back to the discussion, his voice a low, smooth, lazy drawl, you had a sinking realization.

This might just be the beginning of an entirely new kind of trouble.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods I

masterlist - part II

Pairing: Caracalla x femaleReader, Geta x femaleReader

Summary: You catch the eyes of the twin Emperors despite doing everything possible to stay out of their way.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Word Count: 2k

The air was unusually cool and still. Perhaps you should have recognized then that things would soon be different, that the Gods themselves were waiting with baited breath. They intended to be entertained.

Palatine Hill was not always so quiet, not even in the evenings. Servants, such as yourself, were kept busy with cleaning and cooking and entertaining nobles. Tonight was different, though, and you gripped the water jug tightly as you padded along the empty halls.

Your duties typically kept you in the kitchen, preparing food and keeping it tidy. A recent bought of sickness has travelled around the servants' quarters and pushed you to take up duties you usually wouldn't. Duties that forced you to emerge from the places overlooked by many and into the eyes of dangerous people.

The jug was damp under your hands, condensation trickling from the outside and moistening your hands. You suspected it was also sweat. The halls of the imperial palace were not welcoming and you wanted nothing more than to duck back out of sight. The gentle cloak of night was just that - gentle. You yearned for something heavier, thicker, that would guarantee safe passage back to your quarters.

Unfortunately the sickness had seeped from the servants and into several of the nobles. Lady Lucilla herself had come down with it and you had been tasked with taking her medicine-infused water to her personal quarters. Into the lion's den, so to speak.

It was not Lady Lucilla that you were afraid of. There were others with rooms not so far from hers. You had heard things- orgys lasting well into the morning, participants emerging bruised and occasionally bloody. Stories of an unstable Emperor and a controlling one. Rome was not safe right now, perhaps the palace was more dangerous than the streets.

Andrea spotted you and waved you from the shadows. "I have been waiting!" she hissed. She had no patience for your shy nature. "Are you forgetting that my Lady is sick?"

"Of course not," you replied evenly, passing over the jug.

Andrea took it and peered into it. Satisfied, she nodded and slipped back into the room, pushing the heavy door shut behind her.

You sighed. It was too much to expect a thank you. Swiveling on your heel, you began the journey back to your quarters. Without the burden of the jug you quickened, the bottom of your dress creating a pleasant breeze around your ankles.

This area of the palace was far better decorated than where you typically roamed. Grand busts lined along the wall, elegant traces of gold defining grooves and patterns. Marble that gleamed enough that you could see your own harried reflection in it. Although you wished to stop and take it in, it was more of a reminder of exactly where you were and how you did not belong.

You were so occupied with your own thoughts that you almost missed it at first. Slowing as much as you dared, you tilted your head and listened. A tiny, almost discernable squeaking noise. It came from your left side, beneath the table.

Fists tightening, you took a slow step towards it. A stunningly beautiful cloth was draped artfully over it, so you could see nothing. The noise came again and your heart jumped. What if it was a child? You would be in trouble if you did not return them safely to wherever they belonged, servant or otherwise. And what if one of the Emperors or Macrinus stumbled upon them? It did not bear thinking about.

You cast one last hopeful look around. There was no hero offering themselves up to raise the cloth. It would have to be you. You got to your knees and held your hand in front of the tablecloth. There was a stark difference between the expensive, soft fabric of the cloth and your servants hands.

You couldn't stand to wait a single moment longer out in the open like this. Grabbing a fistful of the fabric, you raised it in a jerky motion.

Breath rushed out of you in a pathetic wheeze. The monkey - of course, the damned monkey - worse still, she was accompanied by her master.

Emperor Caracalla gazed up at you with watery, red rimmed eyes. His hair was disheveled, as though he had tried to sleep and had been yanked from it. He did not seem surprised to see you. Before you could utter an apology, he had secured a hand around your wrist and yanked you under the table alongside him.

Your forehead grazed painful against the underside of the table and you curled in on yourself to avoid it. Still, Emperor Caracalla said nothing. Your heart felt seconds away from clawing its way up your throat and you found yourself thinking of something your mother had said to you once long ago. Fear would only make it worse.

"Emperor Caracalla," you whispered, "is there someone I can get for yo-"

"No!" the word burst out of him, startling you with its ferocity. "No, there are only traitors and wicked liars, thieves who wish to steal my empire from under me."

His hand had left a bloody smear on your wrist. His own were splattered with it too, and you tried hard not to think of all the rumors. Tried hard not to think of where the blood had likely come from.

His thighs were warm beneath you. Only the thin fabric of your dress kept you from actually touching. How had you gone from hardly setting eyes upon the Emperors to this?

Panic began to creep further up your spine. You had only heard things about the moods that sometimes overtook Caracalla and even then they were littered with half-truths and exaggerations. You had never been able to make sense of them, and crouching before him now made it no easier.

"Perhaps," you relinquished, "but tonight is silent, my Emperor. There are no traitors, or liars or thieves tonight. I have walked these halls myself, I have seen no one. It is safe."

Caracalla eyed you with an alarming amount of awareness. You continued, "No-one except you, Dondus, and I."

The monkey chirped again and ran her fingers through her masters hair, as if that was what she had been trying to tell him. She reached her other hand out for you and you warily held out your fingers. Did monkeys have sharp teeth?

If they did, Dondus kept them at bay. She sniffled your fingers and then released them, seemingly satisfied. Whatever satisfied her seemed to also satisfy her master.

"What is your name?" he asked. You gave it, you had no choice. He murmured it to himself, let it roll around his mouth and settle in his throat.

"Perhaps you would like to return to your quarters now, my Emperor," you asked. "I'll escort you there myself. If we come across anyone then we shall be together and I am quite sure they shall not bother us."

Realistically you had no idea if anyone would bother you or not. You were more than ready to come out from beneath the table, though, and put safe distance between you and the unsteady Emperor.

His eyes seemed steadier now, and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. Perhaps this was a sign that he was returning to himself. Whether that was a good thing, you could not say.

"My chambers," he whispered, voice cracking. "Yes, you will accompany me to my chambers."

It took a moment to untangle yourself from under the table. You emerged first and held out a hand to steady Caracalla. Dondus leapt upon your offered hand and curled herself upon your shoulder. Her fur was softer than expected and you gave a surprise laugh, the sound echoing around the halls.

Caracalla's eyes were fixated on you, and so you allowed him and small smile before turning in the direction of his chambers. The attention was almost too much. The handful of occasions that you had been in the presence of the Emperors were entirely different from this. Surrounded by food, prostitutes, servants and fellow nobles, they had no time to pay attention to anyone specifically. And now…

Caracalla's arm brushed yours and you jerked away, hardly daring to look at him. Something like a laugh came from him and he did it again. This time you remained still and tried to give no reaction. It had the opposite effect. Caracalla shuffled closer until there was no room between your side and his. Dondus slipped back onto his shoulder and you tried to keep your eyes forward.

He said your name again to himself. You wished he would not. It felt as though every time he said it, he was cementing you further in his mind. You hoped that tonight would be nothing but a smear in his memory, hazed by the grip of his sickness.

When you caught sight of the doors to his chambers, it was a great effort not to heave a sigh of relief.

"We are here," you gave a shaky smile, "no traitors or any such thing. You are safe, Emperor Caracalla."

He regarded you with blurry eyes, but did not disagree. You pulled open the door and angled yourself to allow him in. He slipped by you, close, too close, and it was a fight not to let the door slam. You caught a brief look inside the luxury of his room and the several guards that regarded you with surprise and relief.

Caracalla had a habit of slipping his guards. His brother had made it a point to allow it, you had heard. As if to say that they were not afraid of any intruders in their home, such was their might. Surely if it had been someone else, the hallways would have been filled with Praetorians and it would not have been such a still night.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, eyes flickering over your figure. His eyes seemed less cloudy by the second and you did not want to stand in front of a fully aware Emperor Caracalla.

You thought again of the blood and the words rushed out, "I bid you goodnight, my Emperor. Sleep well."

You let go of the door before he could say anything. It was foolish, and for a moment you expected him to come rushing out, hands clawing at your face for your blatant disrespect. But the halls remained quiet, and you breathed out for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The blood had dried on your wrist, flaky and dark. You inspected it with a grimace before tucking it at your side and walking back down the corridor. If it wasn't for the physical evidence, no part of that night would have felt real. Hopefully you would be able to banish it entirely from your mind by tomorrow, and do your best to stick to your familiar grounds in the palace.

As you walked, you saw a flash of red from the corner of your eye. You turned, expecting Caracalla to be standing outside his door and prepared yourself.

Emperor Geta watched you from the very spot you had just been in. Your already dry mouth felt drier. He tilted his head, watching you curiously, arms folded in front of him.

He looked young. Rich, red cloths rumpled from sleep, hair smoothed down and face bare. Beautiful, like his brother, but deadly. His eyes were dark and steady, opposite to his brother, but equally as unsettling.

An expression flickered in the corner of his mouth and it prompted you to dip your head and curtsey.

"Excuse me, Emperor Geta," you said, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Good night."

There was a weighted pause. For a moment you did not think he would say anything.

And then, "Goodnight."

You rushed around the corner and dove into the shadowy hallways, grateful to get yourself out of sight. It would be a long, long time before you took up any of your friend's tasks for them again. It was not worth it.

_________________________________

Author's Note - I have not written fanfiction in years but I had to emerge from my cave for these two. I'm pretty rusty so please excuse any mistakes! Like & reblog if you enjoyed :)

[lotusloong]

I dare ask for how certain SWKs would react if they and their SO were getting hot and heavy, only to be interrupted by one of their cubs needing something. Whether its a baby needing to be fed/changed, a nightmare soothed, or a restless cub wondering why Baba and Mama are wrestling at this hour?

I feel like Netflix Monkey King would be the most pouty - since now he has to wait longer for smooches

Alright so, these are too long and detailed to be considered headcanons, but too short to be considered full drabbles so…just take em.

I did try to get BMW and NGNR Wukong in here but…I sadly just ran out of steam for it. I hope the ones I did do are satisfactory and that you enjoy!! Warning for spicy moments and some smut. I don’t know why but I was real horny when writing HiB’s…

Includes MKR, LMK, Netflix, and HiB!

MKR Wukong -

Your lips taste like peaches and coconut wine, and Wukong thinks he could become addicted very quickly, if he wasn't already.

The blanket under you feels soft, keeping the itchy spring grass from both you and the picnic spread out around you. You had both been swamped these past few days with meetings and gatherings and celebrations, the two of you had so little time to yourselves lately. The burdens of Buddhahood and being royalty, he supposed.

But that didn’t matter right now. 

You were under him, his hands trailing patterns up and down your skin, working your robes off at a slow, methodical pace. He was in no rush to unwrap you, his lips on yours as your bodies rocked together, heat building between you both. One of your legs was already hooked over his hips, his tail wrapping tight around your calf in response to keep it there. He could feel the heat of your core pressing against him, the smell of your arousal intoxicating.

Forget manfruits, forget immortal peaches and immortal elixir - you were his favorite thing to devour. 

He pulls away from your lips with a gasp, a shudder raking its way down his spine. You push your chest closer to his, your arms pulling him further down on top of you, desperate for more closeness. You can feel the length of his cock pressing against you, giving your aching cunt something to grind against despite your clothing.

“Wukong…” You whisper his name, and he responds by burying his face into your neck, the black markings of his eyes hidden against your skin. He could spend hours like this, sitting with you under him, at his mercy and whimpering his name in the sweetest way…

“Baba! Mama!” A tiny voice wails from the surrounding trees, and the two of you freeze right where you are. Wukong’s head shoots up, alert and glaring, recognizing the sound of your little one in distress.

“Baabaaaa-!” The second cry sounds even more distraught, and in an instant Wukong is lifting the two of you up, gripping your arm and dragging you to where the noise is coming from. You follow without complaint, your eyes wide and fearful at the sound of your firstborn calling all by themselves. Where is their twin!? Are they alone!? Wujing was supposed to be watching them with Bajie-!

You both burst into a clearing near the base of Water Curtain Cave, monkeys looking towards you where they form a circle. In the center of the circle Wujing kneels in the grass, trying his damn best to quiet one of your little ones. Bajie stands next to him, holding your second little one in his arms and gently shushing her.

It isn't working, your little one can see her twin bawling his tiny little eyes out, and it's stressing her in return. Tears are already gathering in the corners of her eyes as her brother bawls and bawls no matter what Wujing whispers to him. 

Fruitie is hovering over Wujing’s shoulder, looking almost as distressed as the babies themselves. 

“What happened?” Wukong demands, stalking forward, scowl on his face. Wujing gives you both a pleading look, as lost as a wandering spirit. 

“I-I said it was time for dinner-” The ogre whimpers, the fins of his ears pressing back against his skull in distress. “He-...he said he wanted to see you both, I told him you would be back for his bedtime and then-!” He shakes his head, bewildered as to why your little one would start crying over his words. 

Wukong steps forward, gesturing for Wujing to hand the screaming toddler over. Wujing does so, and Wukong pulls your son close to his chest, voice going soft. He turns away from his brothers, embarrassed that they get to see him like this, but not enough to leave your son in distress. The monkeys in the cleaning start to wander away, carrying on with their tasks as if nothing had happened. You give Wujing a reassuring smile, stepping towards Bajie and letting your daughter crawl into your arms. You can hear Wukong whispering behind you.

“Hey. Little warrior, why are you crying? What happened?” He coos, brow furrowed but no anger on his face. You step closer towards them both with your daughter, your family huddling together around your son. He chokes on his cries and blubbers, looking up at his baba with big, wet eyes. 

“B-b-babaaa…” He sniffles. Your daughter reaches for him with her tiny little hands, grabbing at the fur of his head and trying to hug him as best she can. Her little feet crawl over you so she can sit on both you and her baba’s arm and be closer to her twin. You can feel your heart shatter in your chest. 

“We're here, little ones. We're always here. Uncle Wujing was going to take you to eat your dinner…” You explain to them both, your own voice gentle. The twins sniffle and wipe at their chubby cheeks. Bajie steps up behind you, tapping your shoulder.

“What exactly happened? Why did they get so upset?” 

“They're still very new to the world. It's mostly separation anxiety at this age, babies like to be with their parents.” You say, keeping your voice low as recognition dawns on Bajie’s face.

“Ah…sorry guys…” He mumbles, ears lowering as he shares a glance with Wujing and Fruitie. The three of them had been so excited to try babysitting for the first time, getting to spend some quality time with their honorary niece and nephew. They also knew how much you both desperately craved some alone time. You wave them off, Wukong adjusting himself to better hold both your twins in his arms. Your son has calmed down significantly at this point, sucking his thumb as he watches you and his baba with intent focus. 

“It's all right boys. We can… pick up our picnic stuff later, let's get these two into a bath and some dinner.” You look to your husband, who nods and immediately starts stalking towards the waterfall, his tail gripping your waist and dragging you with him. You can hear Bajie speaking to Wujing as you walk, Fruitie also trying to reassure the ogre that he didn't do anything wrong. You smile at him as well, and he perks up by the time you get inside the cave. 

LMK Wukong -

“Hmmm…That feel good, sweet peach?” Wukong purrs above you, his hips rocking against yours in a way that has your breath shuddering and shivers racing down your spine. You clutch desperately at his shoulders, tugging the russet fur hard. He growls in response, teeth on display as he bucks harder into your welcoming heat.

“Y-yeah…s-sssoo g-good-” You slur, trying to spread your legs wider for your mate. He helps, gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing your legs up, moving from missionary to mating press in moments. His cock hits deeper, a spot that has you quivering and crying out in bliss. Your cunt spasms around him, greedily milking him.

“Fuck, that’s g-good…It’s been too long love. Waaaay too long.” He teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You want to giggle at his silly flirting, but a hard press of his thumb against your clit has you whimpering instead.

“P-pl-pleaese-” You start to beg, when the sound of a door slamming open echoes through your temple home.

“W-wait! Wait little guy, c’mon it’s time for a nap!” MK’s voice is right down the hall from your door. Wukong, ever the quick thinker, pushes himself off you and buries you under your blankets in the blink of an eye, your flushed expression hidden from view. Your pussy spasms at the sudden emptiness you feel, and you bite your bottom lip hard to keep from crying out in disappointment. Wukong has just enough time to wrap part of the blankets around his waist when your bedroom door is practically kicked down, your oldest son standing in all his toddler glory in the hallway. 

MK skids to a stop right behind him, looking panicked as he grabs the baby by the waist and lifts him high into the air.

“I am so sorry guys!” He cries, trying to avoid looking into your room. Your son giggles, his tail curling happily at the mischief he’s caused, tiny feet kicking in the air.

“It’s uh-” Wukong coughs into his fist to clear the heady rasp from his voice and you see MK wince in real time at hearing his mentor sound like that, “It’s fine bud. Is he being a handful? I can come and-”

“No! No! No coming! I don’t-! Ahhhh-!” MK cries, shaking his head vigorously. It takes a second for your husband’s word choice to sink in, but then you’re giggling loudly into your hands, still trying to stay hidden from view for MK’s sake. Wukong blushes hard next to you, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck as he gives an awkward laugh.

“Sorry, sorry, wrong thing to say. If you guys need help though-” He tries again, but MK sounds determined.

“No! I promised you guys a night to yourself and I’m not gonna back down now! No matter how destructive and clever my little bro is! Mei has been doing a good job keeping the youngest entertained thankfully. No laser eyes...yet…” He mumbles, shifting your son into a cradled position in his arms. He still refuses to look at either of you despite the blankets covering you from view.

“Th-thats good!” You squeak out, poking your head from the pile of fabric drowning you. “But if you-if you need anything we can take over-”

“Nope!” MK Interrupts you, turning on his heel. “Just close the door and go back to-uhhh, whatever you both were doing! We’re leaving cause it’s nap time, mister!” MK storms away, your son giggling in his arms. Wukong waits a full five seconds, watching the door like a hawk as if he expects the two of them to come rushing back to your room any second now. When no such thing happens, he flicks a hair towards the door to fix it, his attention turning back towards you.

“Now, where were we~?” He purrs, climbing back over you. You blush, reaching for him and pulling him closer to you. “Oh, I think I remember-”

A crash sounds outside your temple.

Wukong sighs and slumps against you, head buried in your neck.

“I think I’m gonna have to go check that one out.” He grumbles. You give him a sympathetic kiss on the crown of his head.

Netflix Wukong -

“I have missed you-” Black lips press against yours with a fever, Monkey’s breath coming hard and fast, “so much! Remind me to never agree to demon hunting trips with Nezha and Erlang again.”

You giggle, letting him move down to the column of your neck and press more kisses there, your fingers digging into the soft fur of his head. Your leg hikes up to circle around his skinny waist, the base of his tail supporting your leg so it doesn’t fall, his hands too busy mapping out the curves of your waist.

“W-will-...do-” You pant. Monkey has been gone from your home for weeks at this point, and when he came home it was to a massive feast with all the monkeys of Mount Huaguo. One celebrating his work with the Celestials he’d formed a friendship with, and a chance for your family to spend time together again. Your little ones had been ecstatic to have their baba back home, screaming and hooting as they climbed him like a jungle tree and insisted on showing him every little accomplishment they’d made while he was away.

Monkey, always happy to bask in attention - especially if it was from you or your toddlers - had spent the whole afternoon with you all. He had laughed at every joke your toddlers tried to tell, had cooed over every drawing they showed him, had even given them joy rides on Stick despite the exhaustion you could see under his smile.

After a rambunctious dinner filled with stories of your mate’s heroic exploits, the little ones had been too tired to keep up. Your youngest had even started dozing off with her spoon in her mouth, her favorite soup not enough to keep her awake any longer. You had put them to bed together, Stick vibrating a rainbow of colors at seeing their adorable sleeping faces. With a fond smile Monkey had asked if Stick wanted to sleep in their room for the night, and the green light show he gave sounded like a resounding ‘yes!’ to you. You had your suspicions it was also the rod’s way of giving you two some alone time, for which you were grateful.

The second you had closed the door to your bedroom Monkey was on you, his warm hands pulling you close as he kissed you till your lungs burned for air.

“You looked so beautiful when I got back-...Couldn’t believe you were here waiting for me-!” He whispered against your throat, his teeth grazing your skin.

“O-oh…of c-course-! Love you, m-my Monkey…” You praised, pressing kisses against every part of his head you could reach. Heat was already pooling low in your belly, your skin sensitive to every touch after weeks of sleeping alone. Monkey seemed to feel the same, his breath coming in heavy pants at just the feeling of your fingers digging into his cherry fur. He rewarded your sweet words with a firm bite to your neck, sharp canines digging into your muscle in a way that had you gasping for air and bucking against him.

“M-Monkey-!” You moaned, pressing your aching core against his hips. He gave a heady groan against your skin, the vibrations tingling through your muscle at the sound. You could see his eyes roll back in bliss as his tongue lapped at the abused flesh. You wanted him to do it again, to bite you more, everywhere, all along your body-

“M-mama-?” A tiny voice called from outside your bedroom door.

Both you and your mate freeze in place, sharing a glance before turning to look at the door.

“Mama? Wh-why is the door c-closed-?” Your daughter, sounding distraught and like she was about to cry, was speaking. Parenting instincts overriding your horny thoughts, you and your mate separate and rush towards the door. Monkey beats you to it, throwing it open and revealing the teary eyes of your tiny toddler holding her favorite toy and blankie.

Without a word more, she rushes forward and grips your leg and Monkey’s, burying her face against you and sniffling. You coo at her, kneeling down and wrapping her in your arms. The heat you felt earlier is fading away, and while you feel disappointed, your little one is more important. Monkey seems to have the same idea, pulling you both into his arms and nuzzling your little one.

“Hey, what's wrong tough girl? Why the sad eyes?” He brings a finger up to wipe her cheeks, his own green eyes bright with concern.

“...Is…Is Baba gonna leave again-?” She chokes on a sob, and your heart shatters at the noise.

“Oh, sweet one, it’s okay, shhhh, it’s okay…” You and your mate make your way to the bed, sitting on the edge together and settling your little one on your lap. 

“Baba…” You pause, sighing as you thought of the best way to explain things to her. “Baba won’t be leaving again for a while, sweet one. And when he does go, it won’t be for nearly as long.” You start. Your daughter looks lost at your words, glancing between you both with her tiny brow furrowed.

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry tough girl, I’m sticking around for a long while after this last trip. I missed all of you too much to leave for that long again!” Monkey said. Your daughter looked less distraught, but her eyes keep staring intently at you. You raised an eyebrow at her.

With wobbly legs she stood up on your lap, her tiny hands coming to your collar bones and peeling back the folds of your robes.

“Mama got ouchie?” She asked.

Your face flushed immediately, Monkey choking on a laugh and having to turn away from you both to hide it. His shoulders shook with the force of his barely repressed snickering. You tried in vain to cover your neck back up, pulling her tiny hands away from your collar bones.

“O-oh, don’t worry about that sweet one! It’s nothing!” You tried to laugh it off, your daughter still staring at you with wide, confused eyes. After a moment, she shrugged, nuzzling back into your arms with a chirp.

“I wanna sleep with Mama and Baba…” She mumbled against your tummy. Monkey, finally in control of himself, opened his mouth, looking torn. You gave him a helpless shrug.

“R-...right. No problem, little one. Mama and Baba are here.” He relented. He placed a hand on her head, carding his fingers through her soft fur.

HiB Wukong -

Wukong is laying back on your marriage bed, pillows surrounding you both as you grind your hips into his. The fur of his waist is tickling the inside of your thighs and your swollen clit with every grind. The light from a few flickering candles highlights every curve and muscle of your body, and he can't tear his eyes away.

Your head is thrown back in bliss, your tits right in front of his face, bouncing and full. His hands squeeze and play with your soft skin as they move up from your hips to your chest, his fingers immediately pinching and pulling the sensitive nubs to make you cry out his name. You look down at him, a goddess on her chosen throne, and he's never been more thankful to the universe than when he gets to watch you like this…

The door to your bedroom creaks open with a deafening squeal, and you immediately throw yourself down on top of Wukong, chest to chest with your legs still straddling his hips. He reacts by grabbing your blanket and throwing it over your back, covering your still joined bodies from view.

Liuer pokes his tiny head in through the crack, looking scared and apologetic. Wukong shares a look with you, and you call out to him over your shoulder. 

“What's wrong little one? Is everything okay?” You sound gentle, and Wukong is impressed by how normal your voice sounds, if a little breathy. He doesn't trust his own voice yet. 

“I…I had a nightmare. About…” The boy wipes at his eyes and sniffles. Even without saying it out loud, you both know what he's thinking about. Wukong feels a surge of protective anger rush through him at the memory of stones and cliff edges, and it mixes with the lingering disappointment that he knows the two of you won't be continuing your fun.

“Hey, no problem kid. Let me get my robe on and we'll get a little midnight treat, yeah?” Wukong clears his throat, hoping his rasp isn't noticeable. 

“Uhm, maybe I should do that, love?” 

“Why? I can handle it, you rest.” He tries. You've been exhausted by the newest little one in your family, the baby monkey only just recently sleeping all the way through the night instead of asking for milk every few hours. Wukong was surprised you had the energy to even try having sex tonight. He didn't want you to push yourself. 

“No, I really think it would be best for me to go.” You give a pointed look down at your hips, and he feels the gummy walls of your pussy squeeze him. He chokes on a grunt, hand fisting the blanket to keep himself from reacting.

“A-alright. Fine.” He hisses. You turn back to Liuer and smile at him in the near darkness of your room. 

“I’ll be right there sweet one, can you close the door for a moment so I can get my night robe on?” Liuer nods his head, shutting the door with a quiet ‘click’. The two of you heave relieved sighs.

“Your son has perfect timing. Just like you.” You tease him, and Wukong snaps his teeth at you in a playful bite.

“Watch your mouth, peaches. Remember you’re talking to a king.” You snort at his words, lifting yourself up from his arms. You lift your hips as well, hissing and biting your bottom lip as his cock finally slips free of your swollen cunt with a lewd ‘schlick’ that has him shuddering. You moan, your hips giving a weak thrust at the sudden, unwanted, emptiness you feel.

“Damn it all…” Wukong covers his face with his hands and rubs vigorously, trying to hold himself back from grabbing you and finishing what you had both started. You move away quickly, knowing his thought process, and for that he’s thankful. As you slip your arms into your night robe, one embroidered with emerald leaves, mountains, and clouds, you speak.

“Can you tidy up the bed while I get him a snack? He was so upset, I don’t think he’ll want to go back to his own bed tonight.” Wukong gives you a thumbs up, his other hand still covering his face as he tries to get rid of the aching in his cock through sheer force of will.

You slip through the door, and he can hear your voice echoing quietly down the hall as you walk with your son. He sits up, sighing to himself as he gets to work cleaning your shared mess as best he can.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Stuck like glue

Request: "I'm going to scream your domestic character joining coop on his travels from her cabin is SO good 😭 I was wondering if you would write something with the same character in her cabin when coop turns up from nearby having taken one too many bullets? Or maybe he's sick and needs some jet. Some hurt/comfort fluffy sweetness"

A/N: Thank you to the awesome anon who sent the idea! Maybe not AS fluffy as we wanted, but there's for sure some soft Ghoul going on in here. And, oh yeah, the reader has a dog now. No description of said dog has been given, so please imagine as you'd wish.

Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader

WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence, brief mentions of sexual interaction.

Summary: Your favorite Ghoul needs to be patched up after a spat with some Raiders, and you always know just how to make him feel better.

Word Count: 2.0k+

Gif credit to @elisefrost from this set

You’re outside attempting to hang clothes to dry when you hear it. 

The soft but distinct sound of jingling metal comes from behind your cabin. You set one hand on the pistol strapped to your thigh and walk in that direction, eyes peeled for any movement. A bark echoes the sound from your porch, and you snap at your four-legged companion in an attempt to get him to stay. 

“Tiger!” You hiss. “Quit!”

 He relents with an indignant huff and returns to the porch, while the metallic noise keeps up in a steady pattern, akin to the cadence of a slow walk. You tilt your head at the thought and eventually move the hand off your pistol; only one person would dare tread this close in broad daylight with such carelessness.

“Coop?”

You don’t see him anywhere, but you’re almost certain it was the sounds of his old spurs that caught your attention. 

“Cooper if you’re tryna scare me, you know I'll gut you.” The threat is an empty one, but saying it gives you some hope that it’s indeed him and not a Raider or Slaver looking to score some loot. 

“No need, babydoll.” His voice sounds ragged, tired. “Don’t think I could scare a bunny rabbit at the moment.” 

You follow his voice to your left, and find the Ghoul leaned up against a tree. He’s practically swaying in the breeze, very apparently unsteady. You rush over just as he slides down and collides with the dirt.. 

“Cooper! What happened to you?” 

Your hands flutter up and down his arms, brusquely checking for any injuries. Nothing obvious jumps out at you, but he heals fast and external wounds are rare. A wheeze claws its way up his throat and morphs into a hacking cough. You recognize the sound as the need for a Vial, and grab at his bag. 

“Do you have any on you?” 

A stuttered cough answers. “Fresh out… s’why I came here.”

Your stash of Vials had been growing just about as long as you’d known Cooper. When you traveled together, he’d hand some off to you for safekeeping, and there always ended up being extras. Upon your return home, he’d tell you to keep them. It wasn’t shocking, given that he found his way back every couple of days.

“Alright, come on.” You crouch down and position yourself beneath Cooper’s arm. 

You can tell he’s weak by the way he leans into you, knees wobbling relentlessly as you pull him up. Another round of coughing wracks his body and you squeeze him reassuringly. 

“Couch isn’t far.” You chose your words carefully, avoiding any inkling of pity. Having an already deteriorating Ghoul is enough, let alone a defensive one who hates being pitied. 

Cooper does his best to keep up with your steps, but his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated. You can feel the heat radiating off of him through his jacket and hear him wheezing beside your ear. Stepping onto the porch gives him some trouble, but you manage to haul him up and inside the door. Tiger whines nervously, circling the pair of you as you trek inside. The Ghoul collapses onto the couch as soon as it’s within reach. 

After making sure Cooper’s not going to slide off the couch, you continue to the med-kit in your makeshift kitchen. The Vials are hidden at the very bottom, wrapped in cloth for extra cushion to prevent shattering. You decide there’s more than enough for him to take two, and carefully extract the mysterious chem. 

Cooper’s laid out on his back when you return with the Vials. One arm is thrown over his eyes and the other dangling off the side of the couch with Tiger perched beneath. The dog nuzzles his favorite person’s hand for attention, and it elicits a chuckle from you. Even as the only conscious person in the room, you were still second in Tiger’s eyes. 

“Coop.” You shake his shoulder gently. “Hey. Hey. Where’s your inhaler?”

You nudge his hat away and he blinks slowly. “Mmm.”

“Ok then.” You mutter and pat down his jacket, searching for the contraption he always carries. The coat yields no results, and you pat down his pants until you feel it tucked away into the pocket at his hip. “Finally.”

Cooper shuffles ever so slightly when you slip your hand into his pocket. “H-hey now. I know you love me, baby, but I-I ain’t got it in me right now.”

An errant smile pushes its way onto your lips. You snap the meds into place on his inhaler 

“Open up.”

He fails to heed your instructions, and you ultimately end up forcing the inhalant into his mouth. It never works instantly, but within a minute or so of administering it there’s movement. One of Cooper’s hands lifts to cup yours, puffing on the inhaler again. 

You release your hold on it and rock back onto the balls of your feet. It’s then you take note of the holes in his clothing, and run a hand down his chest. There’s numerous holes, some as big as your finger and others no larger than a pinhead. 

“Cooper, what happened to you?” You sit on the edge of the couch beside him as he takes his first deep breath without Chems. 

“I just turn’d in a bounty and some Raiders jumped me.” He looks down at your hand on his chest. “Bastards shot me ten or eleven times. Damn buckshot got me good.”

You nod. “I can tell. You were in a bad way, Coop.”

The Ghoul sits up slowly beside you so his legs can swing off the couch. “I’ll be good as new, soon as this stuff starts workin’ good.” 

Tiger hops up on the couch next to him, tail wagging with excitement. The dog licks your cheek on his way to Cooper and pushes his nose into the Ghoul’s shoulder. You chuckle at the interaction, patting the dog’s shoulders. Coopers are still hunched with exhaustion, and his deep-set eyes look even more so. 

“Well until they do, you rest.” You stand, glancing out the still-ajar door. “It’s getting dark anyway.”

Cooper, as usual, opens his mouth to protest. If there’s anything he hates, it’s feeling useless. 

“No arguments.” You point a finger at him. “I mean it.”

He grumbles, but relents. “Fine. Only if you turn somethin’ on that ol’ TV of yours.”

The television turns out to be a perfect method of relaxation. You have to remove Cooper from the couch temporarily, but wrestle it into the pullout bed form and line it with blankets. The Ghoul had given in to his exhaustion rather easily at the prospect of a comfortable bed and kicked off his boots to climb all the way in. You hung his coat on a nail by the door, but made sure to leave his guns, lasso, and assorted weapons within arm’s reach. The TV played some old soap opera from before your time while you snagged a couple of hard candies- a luxury item, as the nearest settlement called them- and made to settle in. 

Cooper had managed to prop himself against the back of the couch, feet kicked out down the length of the thin mattress. Tiger, seeking attention as per usual, is curled up against his right leg. A wet nose rests just beneath Cooper’s knee and twitches in interest when you unwrap the first candy. 

The Ghoul might as well be a dog himself for the way his ears perk at the sound of a wrapper. 

He watches intently as you very gracefully clamber to sit next to him. You pop the fruit-flavored candy in your mouth and scoot around until you find comfort. In this case, it’s leaned up against the Ghoul beside you, head dropping onto his shoulder. His breathing is still shallower than you’d like, but a vast improvement from where it was when he’d shown up. 

“You ain’t gonna share?” 

You open your fist and offer up one of the candies. “I suppose I could. But only for you.”

A smirk twists the corners of his scarred lips. You poke at the candies and attempt to read the labels to no avail. 

“I’d offer you a choice of flavor, but…” You shrug, looking back up to your Ghoul. “Slim pickings.”

He lifts a bare hand to your chin, tilting up. “I think the pickin’s are just fine.”

You smile and lean in to meet him, lips falling into a familiar dance.The hand on your chin slides down to grip your nape and holds you firmly in place. It’s not long before the candy is gone from your mouth. Its remnants remain, mingling with the taste of gunpowder and smoke. A few moments pass before you decide to separate

“Miss me much?” You inquire, cuddling yourself down into his side. 

His arm raises to accommodate your body and lowers it back down to encircle your shoulders once you’re settled. “I always miss you darlin’. For a variety of reasons.”

You hum softly, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Cooper’s hand trails up and down your arm, leaving wide trails of gooseflesh. “Well, the main one happens to be the lack of entertainment.”

You scoff. “I’m your entertainment?”

“Fuck yeah, you are. ‘Specially when you’re hollerin’ at scavengers and shootin’ anything that moves.” The Ghoul chuckles to himself. “Or trippin’ over a sleeping yao guai.”

You shove him playfully. “That was one time, and I shot it dead anyway.”

Cooper pulls you towards him, and you shift until you’re between his legs, back pressed against his chest. “That you did, sweetheart. I ain’t forgot.”

He grabs the nearest blanket and tosses it over your entangled bodies. You curl to the side and rest your cheek to his chest. Tiger shuffles his body with a huff, apparently frustrated with the lack of attention.

“What would you do without me?” You tap his chest gently, relishing in the warmth he produces. “Other than get eaten by a yao guai?”

The Ghoul scratches Tiger’s head. “Prolly go feral. Chase around some folk to scare em’.”

You know he’s joking, but the thought of losing him to ferality scares you to no end. Particularly since he’s just shown up on death’s door and almost hacked a lung onto your floor.

“Don’t say that.” You lift your head to catch his eye. “Please.”

Cooper may be a gruff old Ghoul with a dreadful outlook on the world, but he softens ever so slightly at your words.

“You know I don’t mean it, sugar. You’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

Two scarred fingers hook beneath your jaw and pull you back up to his lips. It’s tame at first, but the Cooper you know wastes no time making an appearance. His teeth nip at your lip gently and one rough hand slides up your side until it cups your breast. You press into him eagerly, climbing upwards until your thighs slot around either side of his hips. He responds by grinding them into you, delicious friction warming you from head to toe.  

Tiger decides he’s disgusted at this point, and hops off the couch with a comical groan.

Unbothered, one of your hands latches onto the lasso that is tossed on top of his pile of weapons. You loop it around his neck, gripping either side of the rope and pulling him in. Cooper smirks against your mouth. 

“Oh I love being stuck with you, Cowpoke.” You whisper against his mouth, earning yourself a quick bite to the bottom lip.

The Ghoul grins and quickly shows how much strength he’s regained by reversing your positions. He snatches the rope faster than you can react, and wraps the fingers of one hand loosely around the column of your throat. There’s just enough pressure to shoot a pang of arousal between your legs. Cooper knows you’re squirming, and presses a knee there to relieve some of the ache. 

“Glad t’hear it.” He murmurs into your neck, “‘Cause I sure as hell ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[aventurineswife]

Could I request Dr Ratio revealing that he's married and everyone just goes "what?" ? Poor Ratio gets bombarded with questions about who his spouse is, why did they choose him, etc.

“Doctor, you're married?!”

Summary: Dr. Veritas Ratio, a brilliant and often aloof member of the Intelligentsia Guild, shocks his colleagues by revealing that he is married. The announcement sparks a flurry of questions as the guild members are left stunned and curious about his mysterious spouse, leading to Ratio’s rare, cryptic responses about the uniqueness of their relationship and the reasons behind their choice.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Mystery, Surprises, Confession.

Warnings: Mild language, arrogance, light teasing

The grand hall of the Intelligentsia Guild was abuzz with activity. Members from every corner of the universe had gathered for the annual Symposium of Wisdom, and as always, Dr. Veritas Ratio commanded attention. His sharp, calculating gaze swept over the crowd, taking in the latest developments in research, eager to challenge, refine, and improve them. A figure of intellect and authority, Ratio was often surrounded by his disciples, eager to absorb every word that came from his lips.

Today, however, something unusual was about to happen.

Ratio stood before a podium, a holographic display flickering behind him, showing intricate patterns of equations and theories. His hair swayed gently as he turned to the audience, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he spoke.

“Indeed, the hypothesis I’ve been working on regarding the nature of dimensional folding is nearly complete,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “The implications of my findings will revolutionize our understanding of spacetime. However—”

He paused dramatically, his eyes scanning the room as if daring anyone to challenge him. The silence was heavy with anticipation.

“—I have a personal announcement to make.”

A collective murmur rippled through the crowd. Ratio, always so focused on his work, rarely shared personal details. Whispers of speculation began circulating.

“For years, I have dedicated my life to the pursuit of knowledge, to dismantling the walls of ignorance,” Ratio continued, his tone softer, almost uncharacteristically vulnerable. “And in that time, I have found someone who shares my passion... someone who has, against all odds, chosen me as their partner.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap. The attendees, who had long known Ratio as the brilliant, aloof scholar, were now in a state of collective shock.

“What?!” one member gasped from the front row. “You’re married?”

“Wait—wait a minute!” another voice chimed in, disbelief coloring their tone. “You’re married? To whom?”

Ratio’s gaze narrowed, and his expression shifted, becoming the usual blend of smug self-assurance and mild irritation. “Yes, I am married,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “And yes, it is quite unexpected. But I assure you, my spouse is a person of remarkable intellect. Perhaps even more so than many of you.”

The room erupted into a chorus of questions, everyone eager to know more. A flurry of hands shot up, and Ratio’s patience began to wear thin.

“Dr. Ratio, who is it?” asked one scholar, almost falling out of their chair in their eagerness. “How could anyone possibly choose you as a spouse? You’re—well, you’re... Dr. Veritas Ratio! You’re impossible to approach!”

“Are they a genius, too?” another person asked. “Or did they settle for you because of your... accomplishments?”

The rapid-fire questions only seemed to irritate Ratio further. His expression hardened as he raised a hand, signaling for silence.

“Enough!” he snapped, his voice ringing out like a command. “I do not owe you any further explanations. The fact remains that my spouse has the wisdom to recognize true potential when they see it.” He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It is precisely because they are not like the rest of you that they are a perfect match for me.”

The crowd fell quiet, the audacity of Ratio’s statement sinking in.

“So… they’re... not a scholar?” one voice dared to ask.

Ratio’s eyes glittered. “No. Not a scholar,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “They’re far more... practical than that.”

“And they chose you?” another person asked, a note of incredulity in their voice.

“I’m not here to discuss the reasons for their excellent taste in choosing a spouse,” Ratio shot back, his posture unbending. “However, I will say this: My spouse values substance over superficiality, and their brilliance lies in recognizing what others cannot. And, yes—they chose me.”

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. The room seemed to be processing the sheer audacity of Ratio’s revelation. How could someone who had always been the epitome of intellectual superiority possibly be… married? To someone?

“Who are they?” a voice finally broke through, cutting through the stillness. “I mean, really. Who would marry someone like you, Doctor?”

Ratio’s eyes flickered briefly with something akin to amusement, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. “I’m not here to satisfy your curiosity. My spouse is beyond your understanding. Let’s leave it at that.”

"But..." someone piped up again, unable to resist. "You said they're not a scholar. What makes them so special?"

Ratio stood up straighter, his presence commanding the room with a newfound confidence. "You see, while you all waste your time dissecting every molecule of thought and idea, my spouse works in the real world. They use their knowledge and their intellect to bring about actual change. To improve lives. To create."

The room was filled with silence once more. Some attendees exchanged glances, trying to fathom what Ratio meant.

“Who are they?” the same scholar asked again, more quietly this time.

Ratio paused. His usual arrogance softened, just for a moment, as he scanned the room. "Perhaps," he said after a beat, "it is not the who that matters, but the why. They chose me not for my degrees, my titles, or my intellect alone. They chose me for my purpose—and because, unlike many of you, I am not a fool."

The cryptic answer left the room with more questions than answers. For a long while after, whispers echoed around the hall, a flurry of speculation and astonishment. And Ratio? He simply stood there, a satisfied smirk on his face, basking in the rare moment of intrigue he had created.

It was clear: He had shocked the entire Intelligentsia Guild, and in doing so, had solidified his belief in one thing—knowledge may be the key to everything, but mystery? Well, that was a whole new level of power.

Continuation?

[perlelune]

Play with Fire | Feyd-Rautha

Your secret tryst with the na-Baron should have ended the moment you returned to your betrothed on Caladan. And it would have, if your lover was willing to let you go.

Warnings: NON-CON, Knife Play, Blood Play, Breeding Kink, Jealousy, Cheating, Blackmail, Murder, Slight Paul Atreides x Reader, Incest

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

A raspy moan erupts from Feyd-Rautha’s throat as your slick walls squeeze around his hard cock. Your head tosses back, pleasure swirling through your core. Your nails rake across his sculpted, ivory chest and he purrs. You bury them in his flesh, scattering crimson lines across his skin. His hands curl around your hips as he thrusts into you more vigorously. You dig your heels into the rumpled sheets, your mind blanking as his pelvis massages your bundle of nerves.

You chew on your lip, willing yourself to be more quiet. The most arduous task considering the mind-blowing sensations coursing through your heated flesh. Your reputation hinges upon it. If anyone brushed past the na-Baron’s chambers and recognized your voice…you would be ruined. 

What a lewd picture the two of you must paint from afar. You, a proper lady from a noble house of Caladan, riding Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s cock with wanton abandon, your dress bunched around you, sweat glistening off your panting frame. The Harkonnen heir-designate is in quite a disheveled state himself, grunting below you, his dark gaze hazy with lust. 

“You are a goddess, my darling,” he lauds.

The echo of his gruff baritone ripples across your skin. Feral need bleeds from his words, his ravenous gaze riveted to your writhing form above him. It’s evident the na-Baron is basking in this sight, his tongue flicking through his lips every once in a while. The trail of his dusky eyes goes from your bouncing chest to your entrance, greedily sucking every inch of his length.

“Then fuck me like a god would,” you dare him with a smug smile. A risky move, particularly considering how deep inside you he already is, pulling broken moans from you each time his taut hips meet yours. But you want to push his buttons even more, see how far you can take it. 

Grazing the flickering candlelight isn’t enough. You want a blazing inferno to engulf you whole. 

You cock your eyebrow and sneer, “I expected more from such a great warrior.” You grab the long silver dagger lying beside him. Feyd-Rautha hardly goes anywhere without a deadly weapon nearby. His bed is no different. You push the tip against his throat. “Fuck me as if your life depended on it, na-Baron…because it does.” 

Most men would cower at such words. But Feyd-Rautha isn’t most men. A wild glint of excitement blooms in his orbs. His throat bobs, a look of satisfaction so intense crossing his features, you wonder if he’ll spill himself inside you right at that moment. 

He welcomes the threat upon his life like the most wondrous gift, making no move to shirk away from the sharp edge kissing his throat. Bliss decorates his features as you nick him in various spots with the blade, lingering so he feels every ounce of the sting when his flesh is sliced. Your blade curves meticulous patterns in his ivory flesh, drawing raspy moans and elated growls from him. You spread your hand across his chest, pressing your palm into the fresh wounds. Dark blood is smeared across his pale chest. The na-Baron moans at your touch, the pain delighting him. He embraces it as much as the pleasure. Perhaps even more.

He accepts the challenge you give him. A squeal shoots through your lips as he flips your bodies, forcing you on your stomach. He pushes the flowing fabric of your dress up until your dripping folds are bare to him. A shiver of anticipation courses through you when his thick tip presses against your weeping entrance. The blade slips through your fingers, a soundless scream parting from your throat when he slams his cock into you from behind. 

The metallic taste of your own blood rains on your tongue when you bite your lip, confining every sound fighting to be unleashed. He wraps his hand around your nape, shoving your head into the mattress, allowing you no time to gather your breath. Each of his thrusts is brutal and unforgiving. He ruins your walls without a care. You find yourself almost wishing you didn’t agitate the beast inside him. Almost. If the sinful dance of torment and bliss weren’t so entrancing, perhaps you would regret it. 

His muscular frame covers yours. His scorching breath glosses over the back of your neck as he inquires, “Does my cock meet your high standards, my Lady?”

Your chest heaves as you whimper underneath him. You are so delirious with both pain and pleasure that it’s hard to even think coherent words, let alone utter them. Feyd tears you from your haze with a pointed pinch on your swollen bundle of nerves, making you cry out.

“It’s…a-adequate, my Lord,” you stutter between panting breaths. 

“Just adequate?” he scoffs. “Well, this will not do.”

Determined to have you choke on every taunt you threw at him, the na-Baron isn’t satisfied until you’re passed out underneath him. He finds his release as your walls spasm around him. Even as you’re on the cusp of collapse, you urge him to pull out, coaxing him to spill himself over your belly. A sliver of annoyance passes over his features before he surrenders to your wishes. Relief fills you when his warm, sticky seed coats your stomach.

You doubt your fiancé would respond well to you returning with a Harkonnen bastard growing in your womb.

As you wipe yourself with a damp cloth on the edge of the bed, you inform, “My mother and I are returning to Caladan tomorrow.” He doesn’t acknowledge you at first, sitting with his leg bent, completely unabashed in his nakedness. You let your gaze roam over his smooth, hairless muscled flesh. It’s a pleasant sight, one you commit to memory. You’ve enjoyed your time with the na-Baron. And not only did you enjoy yourself, you’ve shed the fear you harbored regarding your wedding night. You loathed the idea of being some shivering, terrified maiden before your husband. You long for more. Giving pleasure but also receiving it. Reciprocity. 

Feyd’s head turns. His alabaster face betrays no emotion. He observes, “This was a brief trip.” He tilts his head. “Must I expect your next visit to end as swiftly?”

Mirth tugs the corners of your lips skyward. You crawl towards him.

“There will be no more visits.”

His  jaw ticks.

“Is that so?”

You cup his cheek and state, “I am to be married soon.”

A hint of possessiveness flashes across his stony features. Subtle, but there nonetheless. You’ve learnt to decipher the minute shifts in his expression in the two weeks you have spent on Giedi Prime.

He snickers.

“To some lesser man, I reckon.”

You bend over his shoulder. A teasing lilt sneaks into your voice.

“Are you seized by jealousy, my lord, consumed with burning rage at the thought of another man touching me in the ways you have…” Your lips graze his earshell. “Perhaps even being inside me?”

His hand shoots out to clasp around your throat. 

“Jealousy is for the weak,” he grates, his cheek pulsing. You smirk. Stoking the flames of his ire often yields…interesting results.

“Then does that make you your weakness, na-Baron?” you jest boldly.

The hand around your throat tightens, impeding your airways. A whine escapes through your lips. He hauls you off the bed and shoves you onto the floor.

“Darling…” he warns, his grip around your neck unwavering. “You speak too much when your mouth should be full of me. On your knees.”

You scowl at his imperious inflection but comply regardless. This is your last encounter with Feyd-Rautha. The last time you bend to his whims. While you’re not fond of his tone, you can discard your disgruntlement for a brief time. 

You wrap your fingers around his length. Your dauntless gaze rises to meet his as you start planting kisses along the dark, swollen tip of his pale cock.

“Your wish is my command, my Lord na-Baron,” you whisper teasingly.

You never expected to entertain a secret affair with Feyd-Rautha of all men. For the entirety of your girlhood, you heard horror stories about the Harkonnen, how ruthless and cruel they are, how their wasteland of a planet is a cold, inhospitable rock. 

So when your mother announced the two of you would be going on a diplomatic trip to Giedi Prime, you weren’t thrilled. In fact, fear surged through you that day. You kept picturing some awful thing happening as soon as you landed. You thought it to be a punishment, and wondered if perhaps you had offended Leto Atreides and his family in some form without realizing it.

However your parents explained the idea stemmed from a clumsy attempt at quelling the long-standing rivalry between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. Keep those tensions from building into an all-out interstellar war.

While Duke Leto Atreides will not risk his son’s life for a last ditch attempt at peace, the lives of members of a House Minor who swore him allegiance many years ago are more…expendable you suppose. 

It is how you, daughter of an Earl with close ties to house Atreides, found yourself on Giedi Prime. Your father voiced his hopes that your sweet disposition would rub off on Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as he bid you goodbye. 

Perhaps that plan worked a bit too well. 

You barely understood how it happened. How your path and Feyd-Rautha’s collided in such an...unexpected way. 

It all started the day you watched him - admired him truly - through your binoculars as he performed in the gladiator arena. That day, a hundred doors opened up inside you, each clamoring to be crossed. Like a castle brimming with rooms you never explored. 

The spectacle of death should have repulsed you. Instead, you found his bellicose dance over the sand as the crowd cheered him on fascinating. You were unable to tear your gaze away that day. Inexplicably drawn to something twisted and sick you shouldn’t crave, yet did anyway. You found yourself wondering if those deft, pale fingers are as apt with…other things as they are with blades. It kept you awake at night and obliterated every other thought. How he’d be like. What he tasted like. What it would take to coax out that ferocity you saw in the arena in wildly different circumstances. That strange, irresistible force kept pulling you into his orbit.

So one day, you surrendered to it and snuck into his chambers, offering him your maidenhood. And he took it without hesitation.

In a life in which every decision is made for you, either by your mother, or your father or the Bene Gesserit…It is freeing to finally make a choice for yourself, one that only serves you and not the ends of a mysterious sisterhood whose obscure prophecies mean nothing to you.

However, while you have plucked a modicum of gratification from this affair, it must end. For not only are you spoken for but, during your time on Giedi Prime, you have borne witness to the depth of the na-Baron’s heartlessness. 

While you admire his prowess in the arena, you resent his disregard for human life. You’ve trembled as you watched him slaughter servants to test the sharpness of his weapons, slice a cook’s throat for bringing him a meal he found under-seasoned or not warm enough, gut innocent bystanders simply because he had the impulse to do it. 

Feyd-Rautha is a mercurial beast. A prime example of the Harkonnens’ capacity for unprovoked, gratuitous violence. 

Therefore a flurry of comfort flows you through at the prospect that you’ll be going home soon, back to Caladan’s familiar, flourishing landscapes. Whatever thrill the affair elicited before is beginning to wear off. You long to be home and return to your fiancé.

However that sense of peace crumbles when you return to your chambers that night and find your mother waiting for you on the bed. You smooth out the wrinkles in your dress. It’s useless. The evidence must be all over you because she stomps in your direction, a wild look of rage distorting her usually demure features.

“Have you lost your sanity?” she roars.

You shake your head, feigning ignorance.

“Mother, I have no idea-”

It’s not until the sharp ringing of your mother’s palm flying across your face fills your ears that you realize that she just hit you, the searing sting of pain spreading belatedly. Almost like time stood still in the crux of that instant, leashed by your shock and disbelief. Your mother has never laid hands on you before. Not even once.

Your wide eyes find hers.

She shakes a berating finger at you.

“Do not lie to me, child. How many kinds of an idiot do you believe me to be?” Your mouth shudders as you clutch your throbbing cheek. The strength with which your mother struck you still pulses right below your fingertips. “You even reek of his foul stench. My own flesh and blood…smelling like a filthy Harkonnen whore.”

Your face burns, from both pain and shame.

“You foolish girl.” Her gaze narrows as she leans back, gulping a wide lungful before speaking again. “After your father and I moved the heavens to secure a worthy match for you?” She shakes her head. “You are lucky we are leaving tomorrow and that your father will not hear a word of this.” She pauses, sadness and disgust tinging her tone. “You were such a sweet, kind little girl, so curious and clever, always clinging to my skirts…” Your mother sighs. “So dutiful. What mistake did I make in raising you for you to become such an utter disappointment?”

Your heart shrinks under her accusing glare. A sheet of guilt pervades you as you fall silent, finding no word to stand up to your mother. She is right. Reality crashes over you. You were in a haze, a lust-driven fog. Now you’re wide awake, as if a bucket of freezing water was poured over you. You have besmirched yourself and your house, tossing away your virtue for…what? Ephemeral moments of delight. The more you mull over your actions, the more you realize how impulse-driven and dangerous they were…that all of it was a mistake. 

Your mother’s words drop a hot stone of shame in the pit of your stomach, one that remains lodged inside you even as you land on Caladan. Not a single word is exchanged between the two of you in the brief time you sit together in the starship transporting you back home. Instead, a heavy silence rife with animosity fills the air. 

You’re grateful Feyd-Rautha is notably absent the day of your departure. You don’t have the fortitude to peer at him, face your mistakes. And it’s what he is. The walking, breathing embodiment of your mistakes.

So in the ephemeral span of time required for time and space to fold and bring you back home, you sink back into your role of virtuous and demure lady of your house.

As you and your parents disembark, you let your eyes soak in Caladan’s beautiful landscapes. Lush, green plains fill your sight, their familiarity sending a wave of calm through you. Finally, you’re home. Light-years away from bloodthirsty warriors and caliginous planets with blotted skies rife with smoke and pollution. You are ready to bury the entire ordeal behind you and return to normalcy.

Expectedly, the Atreides clan is there to welcome you and your parents back home.

A small smile appears on Paul’s face when your gaze lands on him. Your stomach knots as you return it. He can never learn what occurred on Giedi Prime. That secret will follow you to your grave. You approach him, pointedly ignoring your mother’s sizzling stare.

Her apprehension permeates through you even from where you are. There can be no other mistakes. 

Your match with Paul Atreides must be a success. For both your house’s sake and the safe continuation of the Bene Gesserit’s breeding program. The pinnacle of centuries of scheming and puppeteering from the shadows. Your mother impressed it upon you many times over the years. How the purity of the bloodlines must be preserved. How all of it serves to bring humanity closer to its age of enlightenment. And while you are not so conceited to believe you will bring forth the long-awaited Kwisatz Aderach…you understand your role in producing an offspring that perhaps may nudge the sisterhood closer to that goal. 

You suppress the tremor in your hand as your cousin plucks your hand to kiss the back of it. 

“May we walk together for some time?” he inquires. 

Relief swells inside you. Chatting away from prying ears is a welcome prospect, the combined scrutinies of both your families flaring your nerves. You can even feel Lady Jessica’s attention on you now. What if your mother’s half-sister saw right through you? Your aunt’s sharp Bene Gesserit’s senses have always stirred a vague unease within you. Today even more so, as you choke on so many secrets you can barely breathe.

“With pleasure,” you respond, accepting his hand as he guides you away from the welcoming committee. 

The two of you engage in a tranquil stroll across the grassy field. 

“I trust your journey went well, cousin,” Paul says.

Flashes of torrid nights spent in a bed you shouldn’t be in force their way inside your mind. You quell the pesky memories, your brows knitting. 

You coax a demure smile onto your features.

“It was a…learning opportunity. One I wholly embraced.” 

Naturally, you spare your soon-to-be husband the details of what it is you learned and with who.

Your fiancé nods. 

“It sounds delightful.” His green eyes soften as he mumbles, “You were missed.”

“By you, my Lord?” you beam, happiness fluttering through you.

Over the last few months, since the official announcement of your betrothal, your fondness for Paul grew the more time you two shared. The crush you harbored for him as a child blossomed into more, his kindness and nobility of heart winning you over. But you never expected him to reciprocate those feelings. 

A hint of pink dusts Paul’s cheeks. Straightening his spine, he clears his throat.

“Many…including myself,” he answers evasively.

Your smile widens. “I would hope my betrothed noticed my absence.”

Warmth rushes through you as replies, his tone dropping, “It was definitely noticed, my Lady.”

He suddenly falls quiet. Thoughts seem to lurk in his mind, causing a deep frown to carve his brow.

Concern tickles your insides.

“Is something troubling you, my Lord?”

He hesitates, his thin lips squeezing before he reveals, “Mother believes I should take you as concubine, not as a wife, in case another marriage prospect presents itself to me.”

You ponder his words. It does not surprise you coming from your cunning aunt, that she would encourage her son to keep his options open the way his father did. A sliver of bitter disappointment percolates through your chest. Being Paul Atreides’ concubine would have its range of perks. You could stand beside him, share his bed and perhaps even a genuine love one day. One as deep and true as the one his parents have nurtured for years.

But it would also mean that while you’d undeniably be his, Paul would never truly be yours…that he could become someone else’s overnight to secure some treaty or alliance with another house.

Still, you conceal the panic rushing through you with a meek nod.

“It would be a clever move,” you say. You hold his eyes. “What did the Duke say?”

“That he regrets not making my mother his Duchess everyday.” 

He seizes your hands, his fingers curling tightly around yours. Determination steels his olive gaze. “I do not wish to repeat my father’s mistakes,” he states. 

The worry building inside you is stifled by his soft reassurance. 

“That is a relief to hear, my Lord.”

As Paul’s fond gaze rests on you however, guilt creeps inside you once more, your mind wandering to the debauchery you surrendered to on Geidi Prime. Self-loathing fills you.

You tear your hands from his, your focus tumbling to the ground.

“Are you unwell, my Lady?” he asks, his tone dripping with concern.

You shake your head, giving a false smile.

“It’s nothing. I was simply lost in my thoughts,” you lie.

Interest blooms in his green orbs. “Would you care to share them with me?”

The blood in your veins freezes. You pale to think how Paul, your beloved, his beautiful eyes overflowing with love and trust, would look at you if he knew. The mere thought makes you queasy. He can never know.

“I was simply overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of our union, my Lord.”

He accepts your explanation without a shadow of doubt in his eyes. He takes your hands in his again, fervently promising, “I am aware that greater forces may have rushed our union, but I want you to know. I will love and cherish you with my whole heart.”

For several days, you get to bask in your renewed peace, finding solace in returning to your habits and focusing on the wedding preparations. While your mother’s coldness remains, you don’t let her behavior cast a pale on your happiness. Besides, she will be compelled to acknowledge your efforts over time, how much you strive to do nothing but bring pride to your house. You may have faltered on Giedi Prime, yielded to your baser instincts. But it is all in the past. 

The dusky planet will fade. Feyd-Rautha will fade. And soon, memories of your life with Paul will replace those fleeting moments of weakness. 

So, for a while, all is well, your mind at rest and your spirits lifted. All is well... until nothing is.

Until a handmaiden brutally tears you from your slumber one morning.

“My lady, you must awake now,” she whispers, urgency laced in her tone.

“Arisha…The Devil himself must sleep at this hour,” you groan, burying your head in your soft, comfortable pillow.

A Harkonnen ship just pierced through the Caladan exosphere. Its landing is imminent.”

Dread shoots through you.

The news has you leaping out of bed, abruptly hurling you into a state of complete wakefulness.

You whirl towards her.

“A Harkonnen ship?” you screech, your voice wavering. 

“Yes, my Lady,” Arisha confirms.

Your mind throbs as alarm pulses through you. A Harkonnen ship…here on Caladan? This isn’t just strange. It is unprecedented.

“Help me get dressed, at once,” you command, already shedding your nightgown.

You rush to get ready, joining your family as they hop on an aircraft to reach the landing site. Your chest is tight the entire time.

When you arrive, a striking scene welcomes you. On one side of the large landing strip, the Atreides army stands proudly, flanking the Duke and his family, while on the other there is a Harkonnen battalion, accompanied by a large swarm of Sardaukar soldiers.

A thick layer of tension coats the air, so palpable you feel its weight on your skin as you join the Atreides’ side. Both sides are poised for battle, ready to draw their weapons and unleash hell if need be. The fresh morning Caladan breeze is heavy with the threat of imminent bloodshed. Your gaze drifts to the mighty Duncan Idaho. The swordmaster’s face is uncharacteristically stern, the usual cockiness he dons gone from his features.

You swallow past the dryness in your throat.

You pivot to Thufir Hawat, the Atreides’ mentat. A hushed question rushes through your lips. “Thufir, how much will it cost them, traveling this far from Giedi Prime to Caladan?”

The mentat’s orbs gloss over with a white veil as his genetically altered mind runs calculations faster than any regular human could. Within a few seconds, he supplies a precise answer. “Two guild navigators, a total of one million two hundred ninety thousand fifty three and a quarter solaris round trip, my Lady.”

You release a quivering breath. The cost of the trip alone has a pang of foreboding twist your insides. Who squanders such a vast amount of solaris over a courtesy visit in enemy territory? 

Only a fool or a madman would do such a thing.

Your eyes travel across the field. A familiar dark gaze corrals yours. Your heart skips a beat. For brief seconds, familiar pale lips rise in a taunting smile.

 A shudder rocks through your frame. You lower your eyes, keeping them on the grass.

Him? Here? On your beloved Caladan? Adrenaline pumps through your blood, your pulse spiking. A frown forms on your brow. Sense is amiss here. You thought him a beast, driven by nothing but violence and lust. But as you take in the scene unfolding before you, the two enemy armies trapped in a standstill, you understand more clearly. 

This is not some impulsive, foolish attempt. This is a calculated move. No side can hurt each other this openly without annihilating each other and causing a global, intergalactic incident. The other houses of the Landsraad would be forced to declare allegiance for one side or the other. The Imperium would be compelled to respond. Chaos would erupt. 

And it’s blatant the na-Baron knows it, a smugness etched on his face despite standing in enemy fields.

You are so consumed by your raging train of thoughts that you nearly miss the tail end of the conversation between the Duke, your father and him.

Shock bolts through you when you catch the suggestion that he should stay in your family’s estate.

Indignation pulses through your words.

“In our home, father?”

Your father shoots you a withering glance. Your head dips as you bite your tongue. No protest should have risen from it. As an Earl’s daughter, your opinion in such matters is irrelevant. So despite the frustration and horror swelling inside you, you bind every objection to the cage of your sealed lips.

His gristly, arrogant baritone booms across the field.

“In light of the…belligerent history House Harkonnen and House Atreides share, I believe it may be ill-advised for me to stay at Castle Caladan.” Despite your bowed head, you can paint a vivid picture of the haughty smile stretched on his lips as he says, “And since our two houses have grown undeniably close, thanks to your daughter’s most skilled, clever tongue...” Your heart races as you quietly pray no one present deciphers the lewd implication behind his words. “It is where I shall take residence for the duration of my stay.”

 Later that same day, Feyd-Rautha wastes no time in finding you, making the purpose of his visit clear when he sneaks into your chambers. His reflection in your vanity mirror as you remove your headdress startles you. 

You jump to your feet.

“Guards?” you call sharply.

He cocks his head, a smirk ghosting over his plump lips.

“Guards?” he repeats, openly mocking you. “I have Harkonnen soldiers at your door, my darling.”

A shudder ripples through your spine. You lift your chin, your tone firm and commanding as you say, “You can’t be here, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. It is inappropriate.”

He snorts.

“Inappropriate?” A predatory look crosses his features as his dark gaze roams over you, seeming to peel the layers of your dress. “I do not recall that being an issue when I had you spread over my cock back on Giedi Prime.”

Heat rushes to your face at his lewd reminder. 

“Y-You must leave,” you insist, fighting to quell the tremor in your voice.

“Or what?” he challenges, taking slow, lithe steps in your direction. Your pulse soars. “Will you scream?” A crooked slant appears on his mouth, the prospect clearly filling him with great delight. He hums low in his throat. “Then how will you explain my presence in your chambers?”

You recoil, every hair on your body bristling as he inches closer. The realization that you are alone with him, with no help coming, that power you held before now robbed from you, has dread steadily mounting inside you. On Giedi Prime, he was a leashed monster, one you felt you could sway as you like. Here in your room, he is a ravenous creature, hungry for blood and retribution. One you no longer have control over. 

You dash towards the exit. He smoothly impedes your attempt at escaping, his fingers fastening around your wrist while he grabs your body from behind. He yanks you backwards, pulling you against his chest.

“Not so fast,” he sneers. His tongue slips out to drag across your temple. You wince, jerking in his embrace to free yourself. You bend over him and sink your teeth in the flesh of his arm. He purrs in pleasure, his hold on you tightening. His gravelly whisper summons goosebumps on your skin. “Oh darling, such a slippery one you are, always trying to run from me whenever things start to become most…interesting.”

He hauls you to your bed. Your heels dig into the ground to resist. His patience fizzles out and he throws you onto the carpeted floor instead. The clamor of your drumming heart rises to a crescendo in your ears. He looms over you, his body caging yours. Terrorized, you gape at him, an helplessness you never felt before pulsing through your veins. Your chest heaves rapidly, alarm widening your gaze as he reaches down to pull down his black pants. His erect, alabaster cock slips free, the swollen tip already shimmering with the evidence of his need. A scream dies in your throat when his fingers wrap around your neck, bruises already forming in his painful grip.

You thrash beneath him, clawing and biting every part of him you can reach. Your feistiness only serves to galvanize him further. A demented look of amusement decorates his handsome face as you struggle underneath his frame. His throbbing length pokes your stomach. You kick your legs, desperation radiating through your chest. He places himself between your thighs, pushing your dress out of the way until it’s bunched around your waist. A raspy sigh leaves him as he nudges his thick, leaking tip against your dry entrance.

Terror sings through your veins.

He revels in every bit of fight you give him, plucking satisfaction in watching you exert yourself to delay the inevitable. A hungry wolf toying with a lamb before sinking his teeth. Even as you grab the dagger hidden under your skirts and try to stab him, he’s undeterred, the flicker of surprise shifting to a smile when you nick his shoulder blade. He wrenches it from your hand with little effort, once more demonstrating that whatever frail control you thought you ever had…was just an illusion. You squeal in pain as he twists your wrists above your head, his steely grip nearly snapping your bones.

“No…don’t you dare,” you hiss, the confidence in your voice faltering as you feel him push inside you. 

His warm breath brushes over your face. “I traveled across the stars to find you again. I will take what is rightfully mine.”

Your back folds as he spears you with his cock. The room blurs around you, the sudden searing pain as he begins to move inside you almost knocking you unconscious. He never took you like that. Like an animal in heat, desperate to reach his high. You choke on your breath with every one of his quick, feral thrusts.

His lips sweep over yours, ravenous and possessive. You bite him and he growls, somehow growing harder inside you. His sick enjoyment of this makes you shudder. He fondles your soft flesh, groaning into the bloody kiss. Black teeth trail possessive bites along the quivering column of your neck. His hands feel everywhere on your reluctant flesh, the weight of him suffocating as his greedy mouth tastes yours.

“You thought you could toy with me and toss me aside when it pleased you,” he rumbles, squeezing your jaw. His fingers dig painfully into your cheeks. “I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. I am not some spoiled little princess’ toy.”

The last remnants of bravado inside you are swiftly pushed by the hasty, merciless snap of his hips into yours. You try to ignore the horrid heat gathering in your lower belly, the spasms rocking through your core every time he hits those tender spots he’s come to know too well.

“I’m delighted to see your body hasn’t forgotten me, darling,” he taunts, yanking a drawn-out whimper from you as his cock punches through your walls.

Your chest grazes his, his form draping over yours as you sag against the floor of your bedroom, completely defeated.

“Please…” The desperate, feeble cry falls from your tongue in a last ditch effort to get him to stop. It only makes him smile down at you, a glint of victory illuminating his dark orbs. Tears well up in your eyes as you grow overwhelmed with fear, confused and terrified by the way your body yields to him. Your walls constrict around him, hugging his cock as if welcoming the assault. A wave of sickness spreads through you.

His tongue traces a slow path across your cheek, collecting the salty trails streaming down your face. He moans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Your tears taste sweeter than I could have imagined. Almost as sweet as that tight cunt of yours.” He licks his lips. “Perhaps I shall aim to make you cry for me more often.”

When his warm spent glazes your ruined walls, his sweat-covered muscular frame covers yours. He remains buried inside you, crudely pushing back the sticky excess with his fingers. You shiver beneath him, weeping quietly, forever destroyed, forever changed. 

Head nestled in the crook of your neck, he whispers, “We shall see how well my seed blossoms in your garden, my darling.”

“I do not understand,” Paul says, turning a dismayed frown upon you. “You are to be his willing bride?”

Swallowing a deep breath, you recollect the events that have led you here. Led you to stand here before the members of House Atreides, before your fiancé, to announce that you will not marry Paul. Led to you disgracing yourself and your house.

The wayward memories slip through your grieving mind.

Focusing on their conversation is hard, the discomfort in your body making it hard to walk properly. Feyd-Rautha relishes your torment, occasionally tossing taunting glances at you above his shoulder, a secretive smirk hovering on his lips. Your fingers clench in your lap. He insisted your father give him a tour of the castle this morning, and as his supposed ‘friend’, you are naturally expected to be present. Nevermind the sickness and resentment taking hold of you whenever you look at him.

As the tour nears its end, your father asks, “Do you have everything you need, na-Baron, or do you require any further accommodations?”

Feyd-Rautha hums, as if he were truly mulling over this offer.

“Any further accommodations?” He smirks, pausing before resting his eyes on you. “I suppose your daughter’s hand in marriage will do.”

Your head snaps up, a stunned exhale bursting from your mouth.

Your father turns a puzzled frown towards the ivory-skinned young man.

“My daughter’s hand? Is this a joke?”

There isn’t a hint of mischief on the na-Baron’s face, his expression deadly serious, making your father realize…his request must be as serious. He halts in his tracks, the smile vanishing from his face.

Feyd-Rautha approaches your father, ordering rather than asking, “Cancel the match with Atreides, old man, and give your daughter to me instead.” He snickers. “Her virtue is already mine anyway.”

This sends your father into a blind rage. He draws out his sword and lunges himself at the na-Baron.

“You rascal. I will teach you-”

Your father was a great warrior once, a fearsome force on the battlefield. Duncan Idaho himself would attest to that, having fought at his side several times. 

…But that was decades ago. Nowadays with his body slowed down by age, he is no match for the quick, ruthless Feyd-Rautha. He barely gets the opportunity to swing his sword at the young man once before Feyd-Rautha guides his blade below his chin and through his skull. Blood gurgles from your father’s mouth, raining over his neck and clothes before he falls into a heap on the floor. 

Your stomach drops. You watch in horror at his split skull, matter spilling from it across the tiles, his rolled back eyes, his still open mouth. 

You sink to the floor, crawling to his corpse. Fresh blood stains your palms as you cradle his head.

“Father!” Tears blur your sight. You lift your eyes, yelling out orders with a broken voice. “Guards! Detain him!”

Shock ripples through you as the guards ignore you, staring ahead blankly as if the gruesome scene before them didn’t exist. 

Feyd-Rautha kneels at your side. He frames your chin, bending over your shoulder to whisper, 

“Oh darling, do you not understand?” You hear the wicked smile in his raspy baritone. “Your house isn’t your house anymore. It is mine.” Ice bursts through your veins. His gravelly voice lowers, as if he were sharing a secret with you. “Do you wish for your sisters and mother to meet the same fate?”

Your chin wobbles in his grasp. “N-No.”

He strokes the side of your face.

“Then do everything I say.”

 “Y-Yes, my Lord,” you reply with a tremulous nod.

Ire trembles through Paul’s voice, his fingers clenching into fists at his side. Disbelief and hurt contort his boyish features.

“I do not believe it. I do not believe you,” he says, pinning you with an unflinching stare. You lower your gaze. You can hardly believe it yourself. How your entire life fell apart, your future in ruins…your father’s blood now on your hands. You blink back budding tears and take a deep breath to thwart any hint of trembling in your voice. You’re grateful for the funeral veil concealing your expression. “I apologize for breaking the promise my father made.”

Paul’s jaw clenches.

“You’re lying.”

“Son…” Leto Atreides begins, a slight warning in his tone. 

“There is something she isn’t telling me, father,” Paul insists, his green gaze narrowing. “Speak the truth.”

You shiver before feebly uttering, “My Lord…”

“Silence!” You flinch at the sudden wave of power engulfing you, forcing you into quietness as if someone snatched your tongue from your mouth. You release a shaky breath, staring up at Paul in shock. The Voice. Paul used the Voice on you. A Bene Gesserit skill meant to make the target bow to the user’s will. Your wide-eyed gaze rests on Paul. You never expected him to use this on you. As if you were some enemy he needed to interrogate.

His anger cracks in the air like a whip.

“I said…Speak the truth,” he snaps, using the Voice again. 

A great pain settles in your body, pins and needles coursing through it. Sweat breaks out on your skin. Words tear from your throat on their own, aching  as they spring from your tongue. 

“I offered myself to him on Giedi Prime,” you blurt out.

Your hands fly to your mouth as soon as the words pour out of you. Your eyes fill with tears. Paul looks at you in a way he never has before. Like you’re a stranger. Your heart sinks.

“I see. So it is true.”

Meanwhile, at your side, Feyd-Rautha basks in every second of the spectacle, twisted mirth swaying in his dark orbs. He hasn’t said more than a few words during the whole exchange but it’s clear he’s plucking joy from this, reveling in your misery.

Paul nods, stepping away from you.

“You are dismissed, my Lady. You may go to your future husband.”

Paul’s icy timbre shatters what is left of your heart. He turns his back to you and you feel more alone than you ever have in your entire life. Your lips clamp shut, a cold wave setting all the way to your bones. 

Even Paul’s parents, the Duke and your aunt the Lady Jessica appear disappointed in you, their eyes bereft of its usual warmth as they watch you leave with the enemy.

You have nothing, no one. Just the monster beside you. Your soon-to-be husband, who won your hand through bloodshed and deception.

Feyd-Rautha’s hand curls around your waist, guiding you towards his starship. With every step you take, further away from the Atreides castle, you feel more hollow.

“Come with me, my love. Let us go home to Giedi Prime,” the monster whispers.

You don’t put up a fight as you’re nudged inside the vessel, silently accepting your defeat. Feyd-Rautha plants a deep, slow kiss on your lips and you passively let it happen. 

You admire the beautiful green fields of Caladan one last time before the doors close. An errant tear skips over your cheek. You likely will never see your planet again. And even if by some miracle you could return, you would be the enemy to all of them…even to your own family, who holds you responsible for Father’s untimely demise.

You peer down at your hands. If you let your mind wander, you start to relive that awful moment. That moment your father’s wet, warm blood coated your hands, dripping between your fingers. You will never wash off the stain, shed the guilt. 

You wanted to feel the flames, experience the full-blown heat of something thrilling and new. Something you never had in your tedious, predictable existence before.

You in fact got to feel this heat. You walked through the fire and the flames consumed everything you held dear.

And now you stand amidst the ashes, everything you ever knew ripped from you forever. 

[rivereverie]

Just some observations on Astarion learning to see that he is loved

I just saw a clip of Astarion's response to his partner cheating on him with Mizora and it got me thinking. While his entire reaction is very telling and meaningful in its entirety, one line stood out to me:

"I really thought there was more to you. That you were better than other people"

This was striking because it immediately reminded me of something else he says, in the scene after his siblings attempt to capture and return him to Cazador:

"You're the only one. Other people don't have a heart like you. You're you. No one is like that."

These lines feel a little odd at first, because Astarion isn't known for putting the PC on a pedestal. I don't think that's exactly what he's doing here. I think these lines are just capturing the inner chaos and contradiction that naturally come with the gradual unraveling of a long-held worldview. At this point, Astarion is able to process that one person cares for and accepts him, but only one. They must be an outlier: an exception to the rule. Surely they're something special.

Obviously this isn't true, though, and the next step is for him to learn that the PC isn't actually unique in their ability to accept and care for him him. In fact, Astarion is already loved by others and just doesn't see it. This line of his is beautifully contrasted by Karlach's reaction to Astarion's near-abduction. She is righteously angry and protective because she loves Astarion too.

"I dare Cazador to sent more lackeys our way. This is our territory. I'll crack anyone who tries to come into my house and hurt my people."

Earlier in the story, we get a similar moment during the confession scene, showing again how Astarion isn't always able to see the truth of what others feel for him.

When he says this, he sounds surprised. Like the idea of a friend is a revelation. This kind of broke my heart when I first heard it, because I thought it was obvious to him that he already had friends, in both the other companions and my character. But I think a part of him genuinely was stuck in that old thought pattern of assuming that anyone who showed interest in him just wanted to use him. This also makes it clear just how divorced sex is from affection in his mind and experience. Though they've slept together at least several times and grown more emotionally intimate too, Astarion still needs confirmation that the PC actually cares for him.

I made a post once about the two triggers for Astarion's confession here, which further reveal his mindset: going out of your way and into danger to get his scars translated, or choosing not to force him into complying with Araj's dehumanizing demands. Both of these things are concrete demonstrations of respect and care for him and what he wants. Astarion knows very well how empty words can be, so actions are what finally help him believe that the PC cares about him, and gives him the impetus to confess.

Later, If you break up with Astarion, his reaction is extremely telling in that he regresses slightly from this healthier mindset he had developed:

"I can hardly blame you. I don't exactly have much to offer right now, beyond new burdens to carry."

Typically, we witness any traces of Astarion's self-deprecation filtered through irony or dark humor, so his vulnerability in this moment is stark.

He claims that he has very little to offer, but that just isn't true. He may be going through a bit of a crisis, but he is still a shockingly good partner given the circumstances. He is unwaveringly supportive, caring, and clearly tries to lighten his partner's emotional load when they begin to feel the strain of responsibility. Not to mention, just being himself still makes him perfectly worthy of being loved. In any relationship, there will be times when one person needs more support than they themself can give, and that doesn't mean that they aren't enough. We're seeing, yet again, that he sometimes just doesn’t recognize how deeply he is valued by others. At this point, maybe a part of him still feels like he needs to be of service in order to be accepted, let alone loved. I also personally interpret this line as partially concerning his insecurity around not "providing" his partner with sex at this time, reiterating this deeply internalized belief that he needs to perform in order to be valued.

All of these little moments add so much subtly and humanity to his character, and make his development feel natural and earned. The payoff is clear after Cazador's death, when we get to see his new confidence:

He doesn't have to ask "really?" this time.

"You believed in me - believed I was enough just the way I am."

He truly knows now that he is loved.

[agatalunar]

new year, new me… ㅤㅤ𖤓 · What will 2025 bring you? ㅤㅤ· 𖤓

merry christmas everybody 🤍🎄 sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy this last reading of the year, and as always thank u for your support… it would be a pleasure for me if you let me know if the reading resonated with you so do not hesitate to send me a message, comment or reblog, it will make me immensely happy

- choose the one with which you feel most connected -

Pile 1… 2… 3…

ㅤㅤ

𖤓 Pile 1

cards: five of pentacles, six of wands, five of wands, nine of pentacles, five of coups

Independence is a great word for this year that is beginning. You are going to start facing the world on your own, so you must act with certainty. It is a year of a lot of personal growth in relation to how you want to present yourself to the world, what you offer.

“Adult life is no longer a game.” You may be a very, very young person or you may not have had the opportunity to do things on your own, but if you really want the things you want, it is important that you take action.

It is a year in which your soul is going to take very different paths in relation to the past and all of them will be good if you know how to choose them and know how to handle them. For some reason it is as if you are embarking on the path of being a CEO/ a type of boss (?)

Getting out of your comfort zone, recognizing your potential and having security and confidence will lead you to success. Use your mind but also your heart, do not let greed or ego guide you. You may want this to help your family's finances, but you are also doing it for yourself. You deserve to get everything you want and the universe is helping you get it in 2025. Be patient and don't despair. Everything comes at the best time.

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

Happy than ever - Billie Eilish, This will be - Natalie Cole, “we don't play around”, Let me - Zayn, Whatever - Oasis, “Im freeee”, applause, decisions, “all action is reaction”, being latinx or latin descent, depend on others financially, Cuba or Miami, 565, 6, 3, 333, “I used to pray for what I have today”, Simple - Kali Uchis, Jenny from the block - Jennifer Lopez, emigrate-migrate, vision board

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 1 ♡

𖤓 Pile 2

cards: eight of pentacles, knight of swords, the moon, knight of cups, the dead

2025 brings you a lot of internal learning. Your guides want to communicate with you. Dive into the spiritual sea of ​​your soul and life purpose. Dare to see what has been hidden for a long time.

You will know and recognize yourself from a deeper perception, you may need to connect with your past lives, understand where certain repetitive patterns come from, your soul needs to be healed and there is no one else who can do it but yourself.

If for a long time you have wanted to buy crystals, tarot cards, learn more about astrology, meditate... 2025 is the perfect year to carry all that out.

Do not set expectations, enter that path with a blank mind. "Reborn." You will become the most authentic version of yourself when you manage to recognize the spirituality in which you live. Do journaling, automatic writing, guided meditations... etc. And remember that healing the soul is also about eating well, surrounding yourself with people who have positive intentions, not being hard on yourself and just taking life easy.

This process will also change your style, you will want to dress differently, your observation of yourself will change completely and everything will be for your highest good. Your spiritual guides can't wait for you to take that big step... "do it, do it baby"

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

Frailty - Violent vira, 18, 8, “save yourself”, third eye chakra, role models, Very special - Chris brown, Nobody - mitski, Conquest of Paradise- Vangelis, watch things on the laptop at 3 am, Chachachá - Josean Log, Blueprint - Tyler Jane, blue light

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 2 ♡

𖤓 Pile 3

cards: the chariot, the magician, knight of cups, eight of wands, the moon

“Just take it easy, baby, enjoy it”. Literally just have fun, 2025 is a year where you shouldn't think about things so much, “don't overthink it”. Act like a child, enjoy the moment, don't worry about what might happen. But just because you let yourself be guided by the universe doesn't mean you have to leave your inner voice behind, use your intuition, have faith and trust but act consciously.

DANCE, connect with your inner child. Don't care what people might say, it's your life and you decide how to live it. Dare to challenge the rules you've been forced to follow. Connect more with music, it may be a way for you to heal or simply relax.

Be your best friend, no one will know you as well as you know yourself. Take care of yourself in all aspects, physically, energetically and above all emotionally and mentally. Transform nostalgia into healing potential.

Just as you act when no one is watching, act the same way when everyone is watching; 2025 will be a year of great satisfaction for you, the universe embraces you and pats you on the shoulder so that you take the next step.

Things that may resonate with you or are significant:

BTBT - B.I, 222, False starts - Zayn, “trust me, you’re not gonna crash”, butterfly, Felling good - Nina Simone, wings, Alma mia - Natalia lafurcade, cherry, strawberry, makeup for children, 2000s, Deceptacon - Le Tigre, blue shirt with white stripes, party decoration, dancing in the kitchen, rock, music from your childhood or what your dad listened to, Rock you like a hurricane - Scorpions, As it was - Harry Styles, “be a diva”, You & Me - Jennie, Opera House - Cigarettes after sex, Modern Love - David Bowie, The breakfast club

Thank you for your time and energy, dear pile 3 ♡

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her.Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) mxm

Authors Note: If you read Forbidden Harmony then you’ll already know my dad recently passed away, so I haven’t been writing a whole lot, I’ve been going back and re reading and getting back in the groove of everything. So thank you all for being patient 💜

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Chapter 17

The Welcome Feast

The afternoon sun had already begun its descent toward the horizon when Y/n returned to her room to prepare for Wooyoung's promised feast. On her bed lay a garment she hadn't noticed earlier—a dress of midnight blue silk that shimmered with subtle gold thread worked into delicate patterns resembling constellations.

A note rested atop the fabric in Seonghwa's precise handwriting: "For tonight. The seamstress worked through the morning to adjust it to your measurements. I hope it suits you - S."

Y/n ran her fingers over the exquisite craftsmanship, marveling at how quickly Seonghwa had managed to procure and alter such a fine garment. The dress fit perfectly, with a fitted bodice and full skirt, but the neckline had been tailored lower than usual, daring yet still within the bounds of propriety.

After years of wearing simple, serviceable clothing designed to help her blend into the background, the thought of wearing something so beautiful—something chosen specifically for her—felt both thrilling and slightly intimidating. She lifted the dress, holding it against herself as she turned to the mirror.

A knock at her door drew her attention. "It's Yeosang," came the familiar voice. "May I come in?"

"Of course, Angel," she called, using the childhood nickname that still felt natural after all these years.

Yeosang entered carrying a small wooden box. "I thought you might appreciate some assistance preparing," he said, his professional mask softening as he saw the dress in her hands. "Ah, so Seonghwa's gift arrived."

"He didn't have to do this," Y/n said softly, admiring the fabric once more.

"With Seonghwa, everything has precise purpose," Yeosang replied, setting his box on her vanity. "This is his way of marking the occasion—and perhaps reclaiming moments that were stolen from you."

The insight touched her deeply. Where others might see only extravagance, Yeosang recognized the deeper symbolism in Seonghwa's gesture—a deliberate effort to provide experiences that fifteen years of captivity had denied her.

"I brought salves for your back," Yeosang continued. "They'll help with mobility and comfort in fitted clothing. And—" he opened the box to reveal delicate glass vials, "—some cosmetics, if you wish. Nothing elaborate, but things that might make you feel... yourself."

The thoughtfulness behind the offering created a lump in Y/n's throat. These weren't tools of transformation meant to make her more appealing to others, but simple enhancements that might help her recognize herself after years of suppression.

With Yeosang's familiar, gentle assistance, Y/n prepared for the evening—childhood patterns of care reestablished without awkwardness. He helped her into the dress, careful to avoid aggravating her still-healing scars, then assisted with her hair and the subtle application of cosmetics that enhanced rather than masked her features.

When she finally turned to view herself in the full-length mirror, Y/n barely recognized the woman looking back. Not because the dress or cosmetics had dramatically altered her appearance, but because the person in the reflection carried herself differently—head high, shoulders back, eyes bright with something that looked remarkably like happiness.

"Beautiful," Yeosang said quietly, genuine appreciation in his tone. "And more importantly, you look comfortable. Like yourself."

A soft knock announced the arrival of someone else. "It's Yunho," came the gentle voice. "Wooyoung asked me to escort you when you're ready."

Y/n smiled at Yeosang. "Thank you, Angel. For everything."

He inclined his head with characteristic grace. "I should check on our patient before dinner. Enjoy your evening, Y/n."

The use of her true name still felt like a gift each time she heard it from one of them. As Yeosang departed, she opened the door to find Yunho waiting, his appearance transformed by formal attire that emphasized his impressive height and natural elegance.

His eyes widened as he took in her appearance, genuine appreciation written across his features. "You look stunning," he said softly, offering his arm. "I suspect several hearts may stop when you enter the dining room."

"Only several?" Y/n teased, accepting his arm as confidence she hadn't felt in years began to emerge.

Yunho's warm laugh echoed in the hallway. "Perhaps I underestimate the effect. Shall we find out?"

As they descended the grand staircase, voices drifted from the formal dining room���Wooyoung's theatrical exclamations mingling with San's laughter and Jongho's more measured tones. The conversation stilled as Y/n and Yunho appeared, a collective intake of breath marking the moment.

Hongjoong stood from his place at the head of the table, his usual composed expression giving way to something more primal as his eyes traced over her. Seonghwa rose as well, satisfaction and heat mingling in his gaze as he noted how perfectly the dress suited her. Even Mingi, still pale from his injury but determined to join the feast, straightened in his chair with obvious appreciation.

“She’s HERE!” he announced, throwing his arms wide with theatrical enthusiasm before stopping abruptly, his expression transformed by genuine awe as he fully took in her appearance. “Oh… my… stars,” he breathed. 

Hongjoong moved to meet her at the foot of the stairs, offering his hand with courtly grace that belied the intensity in his eyes.

"You take my breath away," he murmured for her ears alone. His gaze lingered on the bare curves of her shoulders, the way the silk clung to her waist before flowing freely to the floor. “Seonghwa’s taste was always impeccable, but this… this is perfection.”

Seonghwa, his usually composed expression briefly unguarded as his gaze traced the lines of the dress he’d commissioned. His eyes lingered on the way the silk hugged her waist before flowing to the floor, the slight parting of his lips and the flush rising along his neck betraying the precision of his thoughts far better than words could have.

“The measurements are perfect,” he said softly, his voice carrying a slight roughness that contradicted his clinical observation. “Better than I could have hoped.”

From his seat at the table, Yunho stared openly, his gentle features transformed by unmistakable desire as he took in the bare curve of her shoulders and the way the dress made her eyes appear even more luminous. Unlike his usual shyness, there was nothing hesitant in his gaze now—only open, honest hunger that sent a thrill of awareness down Y/n’s spine.

“You look like the night sky come to life,” he said, voice deeper than she’d ever heard it. “Every star I’ve ever shown you, captured in one perfect form.”

Mingi, usually so economical with both movement and expression, leaned forward despite his injury, dark eyes intent as they moved over her with deliberate appreciation. Though his face remained more controlled than the others, the intensity of his focus spoke volumes, as did the slight tightening of his fingers around his glass.

“Worth every stitch,” he declared with characteristic brevity, though the heat in his gaze transformed the simple statement into something far more profound.

Even Jongho and San, who hadn’t known her as a child, seemed momentarily transfixed—the younger crew members’ expressions a mixture of appreciation and a kind of pleased satisfaction, as if her transformation represented some personal victory for them as well.

“Well,” Wooyoung finally broke the charged silence, finding his theatrical voice again, “if there was any doubt that our collective taste is absolutely IMPECCABLE, it has been thoroughly dispelled! Look at you! That color against your skin! The way it moves when you breathe! The perfect complement to your eyes!” He spun toward Seonghwa with dramatic accusation. “I take back at least seventy-three percent of my complaints about your obsessive attention to detail, you precise, perfectionist genius!”

The room erupted in laughter, breaking the moment of suspended awe without diminishing the appreciation still evident in every gaze.

“Come in, come in!” Wooyoung urged, gesturing expansively. “The feast awaits, and I’ve threatened San and Jongho with their lives if they touch a single morsel before you’re properly seated and served!”

The dining room was magnificent in the warm glow of countless candles, the table laden with dishes that testified to Wooyoung's culinary expertise. Crystal glasses caught the light, and fresh flowers from the garden adorned every available surface. It was clear that no detail had been overlooked in creating this celebration.

As they settled into their seats, Hongjoong poured wine into her glass himself—a gesture that spoke of intimacy rather than mere courtesy. "To finding what was lost," he proposed, raising his glass. "And to new beginnings."

The toast was echoed around the table, each man's eyes finding Y/n's as they drank. The weight of their collective attention might have overwhelmed her once, but now it felt like belonging—recognition rather than scrutiny.

Conversation flowed naturally as course after course emerged from the kitchen, each dish accompanied by Wooyoung's dramatic presentation and stories of its origins. San and Jongho contributed their own tales of maintaining the estate during the officers' absences, while Yunho and Mingi offered quieter observations that drew Y/n into the easy camaraderie.

Throughout the meal, Hongjoong's attention remained subtly focused on her even as he participated in the wider conversation. His thigh pressed against hers beneath the table—a point of contact that seemed accidental yet deliberate. As Wooyoung launched into a particularly theatrical description of his adventures acquiring rare spices, Hongjoong's hand slipped beneath the tablecloth to rest on her knee.

The touch, hidden from view yet intentional in its placement, sent a shiver through Y/n's body. She maintained her composure, continuing to listen to Wooyoung's story even as Hongjoong's fingers began tracing small circles against the silk of her skirt.

"Of course," Wooyoung continued, oblivious to the subtle tension building at the head of the table, "the merchant SWORE his pepper was from the southern archipelago, but I could tell immediately it was common mainland product. The AUDACITY!"

Hongjoong's hand moved higher, gathering the fabric of her skirt as it traveled up her leg. His expression remained perfectly composed as he commented on Wooyoung's tale, but his eyes held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

The contrast between their proper positions at the formal table and the hidden intimacy of his touch created an intoxicating tension. Around them, conversation and laughter continued unabated, the other officers either unaware of or politely ignoring the subtle game being played.

Y/n took a deliberate sip of wine, maintaining her outward composure even as heat pooled low in her belly. This wasn't the desperate passion of her encounter with Seonghwa or the playful exploration with Wooyoung—it was something else entirely, control and desire balanced on a knife's edge.

"You're remarkably quiet, Y/n," Seonghwa observed from across the table, his dark eyes noting everything though his tone remained perfectly proper. "I hope our resident chef's dramatics haven't overwhelmed you?"

The question drew attention her way, forcing her to respond even as Hongjoong's fingers traced patterns against her inner thigh. "Not at all," she managed, proud of how steady her voice remained. "I find his enthusiasm quite refreshing."

Hongjoong's lips curved slightly at her successful deflection, his hand rewarding her composure by moving higher still. The game continued throughout the remaining courses—hidden touches and shared glances beneath the veneer of proper dinner conversation.

By the time dessert arrived—a tower of delicate pastries filled with cream and honey—the tension between them had built to an almost unbearable level. Hongjoong's fingers had reached the juncture of her thighs, pressing against her through the fabric with deliberate pressure that made concentration increasingly difficult.

"Captain," San called from the far end of the table, "didn't you promise to show us the new charts after dinner?"

Hongjoong withdrew his hand slowly, his fingers trailing down her leg as he turned to address San. "Indeed I did," he replied with perfect composure. "Though perhaps we should allow our guest to retire first? It's been a long day."

"Nonsense!" Wooyoung declared. "The night is young, and I have cordials to share! Y/n must experience the full range of our hospitality!"

The cook's enthusiasm was infectious, and Y/n found herself swept along as the party moved to the sitting room where comfortable chairs and sofas surrounded a massive fireplace. Wooyoung produced bottles of amber liquid, pouring generous measures for everyone while regaling them with questionable tales of how he'd acquired such rare spirits.

As the evening progressed and inhibitions lowered, the atmosphere grew increasingly warm and intimate. Y/n found herself passed from one conversation to another—discussing astronomy with Yunho, examining new design sketches with Mingi, laughing at San and Jongho's competitive storytelling.

Through it all, she remained aware of Hongjoong's presence, his dark eyes following her movements with predatory patience. The anticipation built with each shared glance, each "accidental" touch as they moved about the room.

Finally, as the clock struck midnight and the others began to show signs of retiring, Hongjoong approached her directly. "Walk with me?" he asked, offering his hand. "The gardens are particularly beautiful by moonlight."

Y/n accepted, knowing this invitation promised more than starlit paths and night-blooming flowers. As they slipped through the terrace doors into the cool night air, leaving behind the warmth and laughter of the sitting room, she felt neither fear nor hesitation—only anticipation for what the night might bring.

The game that had begun beneath the dinner table would find its conclusion in the moonlit gardens, where shadows and starlight created their own kind of privacy. For tonight was indeed a celebration—not just of freedom found or promises fulfilled, but of choices freely made and desires openly pursued.

The garden paths wound through carefully tended beds of night-blooming flowers, their pale petals luminous in the moonlight. Hongjoong guided her with a hand at the small of her back, the heat of his touch burning through the silk of her dress.

They walked in comfortable silence until they reached a staircase at the end of the path. Hongjoong led her up to a balcony, and opened a set of double door that led into his room. 

His chambers reflected the man himself—elegant yet practical, with maps covering one wall and books filling floor-to-ceiling shelves on another. A large desk dominated one corner, while a sitting area near the fireplace offered more intimate space. The bed, a massive four-poster draped in dark fabrics, occupied its own alcove.

“Drink?” Hongjoong asked, moving to a cabinet where crystal decanters caught the lamplight.

“Trying to get me intoxicated, Joongie?” Y/n teased, emboldened by the evening’s wine and the heat that had been building between them since dinner.

His answering smile held wicked promise. “Merely prolonging the anticipation, Treasure.”

The nickname—her childhood endearment spoken in his deeper, adult voice—sent a shiver through her. She accepted the glass he offered, their fingers brushing in deliberate contact.

“To patience rewarded,” she proposed, surprising herself with her boldness.

“To us,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly. They clinked glasses, the sound echoing in the quiet room. As they drank, their eyes never left each other, the tension between them building with every passing second.

Y/n set her glass down on the desk, her fingers trailing over the edge of a map. “All these years of searching,” she mused, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “Was I worth the wait?”

Hongjoong’s glass hit the desk with a soft thud. In three swift strides, he was in front of her, his hands gripping her waist as he pressed her back against the wall. His body was warm and solid against hers, his breath hot on her skin.

“Every second,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion.

 His lips crashed into hers, the kiss deep and demanding, as if he were trying to pour every moment of longing into that single touch. Y/n’s hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, her body arching into his.

When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless. Hongjoong rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’ve always been worth it,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re my treasure. My everything.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at his words. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. “Joongie,” she breathed, her voice soft but full of emotion. “I’ve waited for this. For you.”

His eyes darkened, and he kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands moved to the ties of her dress, his fingers deftly undoing the laces. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, leaving her exposed to the cool air—and to his heated gaze.

Hongjoong stepped back slightly, his eyes roaming over her with a reverence that made her blush. “Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He reached out, tracing the curve of her shoulder, the line of her collarbone, the swell of her breast. His touch was gentle but deliberate, as if memorizing every inch of her.

Y/n shivered under his gaze, her hands moving to his shirt. “Let me see you,” she murmured, her voice trembling with need. She tugged at the fabric, and he helped her, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Her breath caught at the sight of him—his chest broad and strong, his skin warm and inviting. She pressed her palms against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his hands returning to her waist as he backed her toward the bed. When her knees hit the edge of the mattress, he guided her down, following her until he hovered above her. His lips found hers again, the kiss slow and deep, a promise of what was to come. His hands explored her body, mapping every curve, every dip, as if he wanted to commit her to memory.

Hongjoong’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “Then let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice a promise. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss that left her breathless. When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers. “Tell me if anything feels too much, or if you want me to stop.”

“I will,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

He kissed her again, his lips moving to her jaw, then down her neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His hands slid up her sides, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her breasts. She gasped, her back arching slightly as pleasure shot through her.

“Hongjoong,” she breathed, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’m here,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a soothing rumble. He kissed his way down her chest, his lips closing over one nipple while his thumb brushed the other. She cried out, her hands gripping the sheets as waves of pleasure coursed through her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. He moved to the other breast, his tongue teasing her nipple until she was writhing beneath him. “I’ve dreamed of this,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “Of you.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at his words, her chest tightening with emotion. “Hongjoong,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I’ve dreamed of you too.”

He kissed his way down her stomach, his hands sliding to her hips as he settled between her legs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with need but filled with an unmistakable tenderness. “Can I?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. “Please.”

He kissed the inside of her thigh, his lips soft and warm against her skin. She shivered, her body tensing with anticipation. When his tongue finally found her most sensitive spot, she gasped, her hands flying to his hair. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through her.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, her back arching off the bed. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, each stroke building the pressure inside her. She could feel herself unraveling, her body trembling with need.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured against her, his voice low and rough. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he continued to pleasure her. 

Y/n gripped the sheets, head tilting back in pleasure. She felt a hard smack on the outside of her thigh causing her to let out a yelp. She quickly looked down to see Hongjoongs eyes on her, his eyes conveying so much heat and emotion it took her breath away. 

“Eyes on me,” Hongjoong said huskily as he continued his assault on her clit. His eyes never leaving hers, an act that made the situation more intimate than she thought possible. 

When his fingers slipped inside her, Y/n started to close her eyes at the sensation. An act that earn a quick bite to the inside of her thigh. 

“Stop disobeying, Treasure.” He smirked as he he kissed his way up her body, his lips soft against her skin. 

“Sorry,” Y/n said breathlessly. 

Hongjoong chuckled as he watched her, leaning down into a heated kiss.

Y/n could taste herself on him, the intimacy of it making her heart race. He positioned himself between her legs, his eyes locking onto hers as he entered her in one smooth motion. They both gasped, the sensation overwhelming. He paused, giving her time to adjust, his forehead resting against hers.

“Fuck Treasure,” Hongjoong moaned. 

“Please, Joongie please,” She begged, earning a smirk from him. 

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one drawing a moan from her lips. The rhythm they found was perfect, a dance of bodies and souls. His hands intertwined with hers, pinning them above her head as he kissed her again, swallowing her cries of pleasure. The intensity built between them, their connection deepening with every movement.

“You’re mine,” he growled against her neck, his voice possessive yet tender. “Ours. Always”

“Yes,” she gasped, her body arching into his. Hongjoongs words should have caused a panic after being owned like a possession, however it brought nothing but comfort to her knowing she belonged to them. “Hongjoong, I—”

“Let go,” he urged, his voice a low, commanding whisper. “I’ve got you.”

She did, her body convulsing around him as she cried out his name. He followed her, his release a low, guttural groan against her neck. He collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms as they both caught their breath. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin, his lips brushing her forehead in a tender kiss.

“You all are going to ruin me,” Y/n laughed, still trying to control her breathing. 

Hongjoong chuckled into her hair. “Wait until Mingi and Yunho get ahold of you.” 

“I can handle Yuyu and Puppy,” Y/n said confidently, earning another chuckle from him. 

“At the same time?” Hongjoong said with a quirk of his brow. 

Y/n whipped her head around to look at him. “Wh-what?”

“Not my business to tell Treasure, but you might be under estimating how close they actually are. How any of us are.” He said smiling as he closed his eyes. “Sleep.” Hongjoong commanded. 

“What?” Y/n said sitting up on her elbow to look at him. “No, no you can’t say that and expect me to-” Y/n let out yelp as Hongjoong’s hand landed a smack on her ass. 

He quirked an eyebrow as he peeked and eye open to look at her. “I said sleep, Treasure. You’ll need rest to deal with Wooyoung’s questions tomorrow.”

Y/n playfully pouted laying her head on his chest.  

“Joongie?” She murmured. 

“Mhm” Hongjoong hummed sleepily. 

“I love you.” She said in almost a whisper. She felt Hongjoong’s body stiffen before relaxing and pulling her closer. 

“I love you too my Treasure.” He kissed her head as they both fell into a restful sleep. 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Wooyoung was engaged in his own form of theater—the dramatic aftermath of culinary genius, complete with exaggerated sighs and elaborate gestures of martyrdom as he tackled the mountain of dishes from the evening’s feast.

“ABANDONED!” he declared to no one in particular, though Yeosang sat calmly at the kitchen table nursing a cup of tea. “Left to TOIL in SOLITUDE while our illustrious captain enjoys the fruits of MY culinary labor! Did you SEE how they looked at each other? My food did that! My ARTISTRY created the atmosphere for romance!”

He plunged his hands into the soapy water with theatrical resignation. “And where is my appreciation? Where is MY romantic moonlit stroll? Instead, I have DISHES and a medical officer who refuses to assist despite having perfectly functional hands!”

Yeosang sipped his tea, unmoved by the performance. “Your dishes, your responsibility,” he observed placidly. “Besides, someone needs to ensure you don’t break anything valuable in your dramatic flailing.”

“FLAILING?” Wooyoung spun around, soap suds flying from his gesticulating hands as Yeosang quirked his brow at the display. 

“This is ARTISTRY IN MOTION! The same hands that created culinary masterpieces now engaged in the humble aftermath!” Wooyoung wailed  

A smile tugged at the corner of Yeosang’s mouth despite his composed demeanor. “If you spent half as much energy washing as you do complaining, you’d be finished already.”

“If our ship’s doctor spent half as much energy HELPING as he does CRITICIZING, we’d BOTH be finished,” Wooyoung countered, flicking soap bubbles in Yeosang’s direction.

Their bickering held the comfortable rhythm of long practice—a dance they’d perfected over years of friendship. Despite their apparent conflict, neither would have chosen different company for the evening.

Wooyoung turned back to the dishes, his movements becoming more purposeful though no less theatrical. “You must admit, though,” he said, voice dropping to something more genuine, “it was a magnificent feast. Did you see her face when she tasted the honey sauce? That moment alone was worth every hour of preparation.”

“It was,” Yeosang agreed, his typically composed expression softening. “You outdid yourself.”

The rare compliment made Wooyoung pause, a pleased smile replacing his exaggerated pout. “Well,” he sniffed, attempting to regain his dramatic persona, “at least SOMEONE appreciates my genius.”

“I’ve always appreciated your talents,” Yeosang said mildly. “I simply refuse to inflate your already excessive ego by mentioning it too often.”

Wooyoung laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the kitchen. “So,” he continued, turning back to his task, “our captain didn’t waste any time claiming his treasure. I believe that means I’ll be collecting a substantial sum from Mingi tomorrow.”

“You were betting on this?” Yeosang asked, though his tone suggested he wasn’t actually surprised.

“Of course! What else are friends for if not to profit from their romantic entanglements?”

 Wooyoung grinned over his shoulder. “Mingi insisted Hongjoong would maintain his dignified restraint until Y/n made the first move. I, however, know our captain too well to believe he’d wait another moment once she appeared in that dress.”

He set another clean plate on the drying rack. “Besides, I know you’ve been watching him at dinner. The man was practically DEVOURING her with his eyes. And whatever was happening beneath that tablecloth—”

“Some things don’t require detailed analysis,” Yeosang interrupted, though amusement tinged his voice.

“Says the medical officer who analyzes EVERYTHING,” Wooyoung teased, abandoning the dishes to drop into the chair opposite Yeosang. “Speaking of which, you’ve been unusually quiet tonight. Contemplating complex anatomical mysteries? Or perhaps just envious that the captain claimed the night with our little bird?”

Something flickered in Yeosang’s normally composed expression—a brief shadow that most would have missed, but Wooyoung had spent years learning to read his reserved friend.

“Ah,” Wooyoung said, uncharacteristically gentle. “It’s like that, is it?”

Yeosang sighed, setting down his teacup with deliberate care. “It’s… complicated.”

“Love usually is,” Wooyoung replied, dropping his theatrical manner entirely. “Especially in our unique situation.”

Yeosang’s eyes met his, surprise evident at Wooyoung’s perceptiveness. “I’ve known her longest,” he said quietly. “Years at Blackwell’s estate, watching over her, treating her injuries, becoming her only friend in that place. Even then, I—” He stopped, composing himself. “But she was just a child, as was I. And now…”

“And now she’s a woman, reconnecting with all of us in different ways,” Wooyoung finished for him. “Including our captain, from the sounds echoing through these hallowed halls.”

Yeosang winced slightly. “Must you be so crude?”

“Must you be so proper?” Wooyoung countered with affection. “This was always going to be complex, Yeo. Five men who spent fifteen years searching for a girl who became a woman none of us truly know yet. Add your separate history with her, and…” He spread his hands in a gesture that encompassed the entirety of their situation.

Yeosang sighed softly. “Even when treating her wounds all those years, she was always… more. My friend. My reason to survive each day. The one person who saw me as more than Blackwell’s property.”

The vulnerability in his confession—so rare from the typically composed doctor—created a moment of genuine connection between the friends.

“You know,” Wooyoung said thoughtfully, “in most stories, there’s only one hero who gets the girl in the end. But our story has never followed conventional patterns, has it? Five officers around one center. A compass with Y/n at its heart.”

Yeosang’s expression shifted slightly. “Mingi’s metaphor?”

“He mentioned it to her,” Wooyoung confirmed. “And it makes a certain kind of sense, doesn’t it? Each of us connected to her in different ways, each offering something the others can’t.”

“And you believe she could care for all of us? In that way?” Yeosang asked, rare uncertainty in his voice.

Wooyoung shrugged. “Why not? We’ve never been conventional pirates, have we? Why start now?” His characteristic grin returned. “Besides, she’s already forming unique bonds with each of us. Hongjoong’s leadership and passion, Seonghwa’s precision and depth, Mingi’s quiet intensity, my obvious charm and extraordinary talents—”

“Your excessive self-regard and theatrical nature, you mean,” Yeosang interjected dryly.

“EXACTLY!” Wooyoung exclaimed, delighted by the return to their usual banter. “And you, ‘Angel’—you offer the understanding that comes from shared trauma, the healing that only someone who witnessed her worst moments can provide.”

The insight, delivered amid Wooyoung’s typical dramatic flair, struck Yeosang with unexpected force. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do,” Wooyoung said, uncharacteristically serious. “You were her first protector after she lost us. Whatever happens now, that bond can’t be replaced or replicated.”

He rose, returning to the dishes with renewed energy. “Now stop brooding and help me finish these plates, or we’ll still be here when our captain and his treasure emerge for breakfast!”

Yeosang smiled, a rare full expression that transformed his usually composed features. He stood, rolling up his sleeves as he joined Wooyoung at the sink. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet you suffer me regardless,” Wooyoung replied cheerfully. “A true testament to your compassionate nature.”

As they worked side by side, comfortable in their friendship despite the complexities of their shared affections, the night deepened around the coastal estate. In various rooms, old bonds were strengthened and new connections formed—each relationship unique yet part of a greater whole, like points of a compass arranged in perfect balance around its center.

They finished the last of the dishes in companionable silence, Wooyoung’s earlier theatrics giving way to quiet efficiency. As Yeosang dried the final plate, he turned to his friend with an expression more open than his usual composed mask.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “For what? My delightful company? My profound wisdom? My extraordinary dish-washing technique?”

“For understanding,” Yeosang clarified, setting the plate carefully on the stack. “About Y/n. About everything.” He hesitated, then added with uncharacteristic vulnerability, “You know, of all the people on this ship, you’re the one I find easiest to talk to. My closest friend, I suppose.”

Wooyoung froze mid-movement, his usual animated expression giving way to genuine surprise. “I’m sorry, what was that? Did the ever-composed, perpetually dignified Kang Yeosang just admit I’m his closest friend? The same man who threatened to sedate me last month when I suggested we were practically brothers?”

A smile touched Yeosang’s lips. “Don’t make me regret my honesty.”

“Too late!” Wooyoung declared, his face lighting up with delight. He threw his dish towel dramatically over his shoulder and moved toward Yeosang with arms outstretched. “This calls for a proper embrace! A MOMENTOUS occasion!”

Yeosang stepped back, hands raised defensively. “I take it back immediately.”

“You can’t take it back!” Wooyoung insisted, advancing determinedly. “Once spoken, such profound declarations cannot be retracted! In fact—” his eyes gleamed with sudden inspiration, “—I’m going to have Mingi carve your words into a commemorative plaque! ‘On this night, Kang Yeosang admitted that Jung Wooyoung is his closest and most treasured friend, the pinnacle of companionship, the standard by which all friendships must be measured!’”

“That’s not even remotely what I said,” Yeosang protested, but a rare laugh escaped him as Wooyoung finally caught him in an exuberant embrace.

“Details, details,” Wooyoung dismissed, squeezing tightly despite Yeosang’s token resistance. “The essence was there.”

After a moment of feigned struggle, Yeosang returned the embrace with surprising warmth.

 “You’re impossible,” he murmured, though affection colored the words.

“Impossibly WONDERFUL,” Wooyoung corrected, finally releasing him but keeping his hands on Yeosang’s shoulders. His expression softened into something more genuine. “And for what it’s worth, you’re my closest friend too. Even when—especially when—you’re threatening to sedate me.”

The simple confession, delivered without Wooyoung’s usual theatrical flourish, created a moment of genuine connection that needed no further words.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland @comicnerd557 @pixie0627 @fumaluvr @princesscallie @green-moon @starryjoong-jeongcheollie @wiccanmetallicrose @atinyapple1117 @sassy-snassy @soulphoenix1618 @wxnderingthoughts @mdurir @awkward-fucking-thing @herpoetryprincess @stickystickyjam @0-beemzy-0 @prettypeachprincesz @thuyting

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

dare or drink

Mature. Minors do not interact.

Reverse Harem [You x Nanami / Geto / Gojo] Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

DARE OR DRINK

The Dare : Whisper and Wander

Whisper something you want to do to the person of your choice.

Satoru's eyes gleam mischievously as he reads the dare, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He turns to you, his gaze intense, hungry. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to bend you over the nearest surface," he whispers, his voice low and gravelly," and fuck you until you scream my name so loud, everyone knows who you belong to." His hand slides down your back, gripping your ass possessively." I want to take you hard and fast, then slow and deep, until you're a trembling, begging mess. I want to make you come so many times, you forget your own name." He pulls back slightly, eyes dark and hungry, then gave you a dangerous smile and says, “Your turn, princess.” Your breath hitches as Satoru's words wash over you, his voice sending shivers down your spine. Your cheeks flush, your heart racing at the explicit nature of his dare. You trembled for the bowl, reaching and read what it says.

The Dare : Taste Test

Blindfolded, let each guy kiss you anywhere except your lips and your intimate part. Guess who’s who. If you're wrong, they each get to give you a dare.

Satoru gently ties the blindfold around your eyes, plunging you into darkness. He guides you to a chair, his hands steadying you as you sit. You hear the rustle of movement, then feel a presence kneeling before you. Someone's hands rest on your knees, their touch light, teasing. They lean in, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, their lips soft, gentle. You inhale deeply, recognizing Satoru's unique scent, the careful restraint in his touch. He kisses a trail up your thigh, his breath hot against your skin, but he stops just shy of your core. He pulls back, leaving you aching for more. Suguru takes his place, his kiss firm, confident. He kisses your collarbone, your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. You gasp, your fingers digging into the chair. That's Suguru, you think, your heart pounding. Nanami kneels before you, his touch possessive as his hands grip your thighs. He leans in, his kiss fierce, demanding, on your stomach. His tongue darts out, tasting your skin, marking you. You arch into him, a moan escaping your lips. That's Nanami, you think, your body recognizing his dominant touch. You take a deep breath, your mind racing as you try to remember the unique touches of each man. You're sure of your guesses, your body having reacted instinctively to each of them. You lift the blindfold, your eyes adjusting to the light. You look at Satoru, Suguru, then Nanami, a smug smile playing on your lips, "I got them all right,"

The Dare : Hands Where?

Choose the person who you can touch somewhere bold but still clothed (think inner thigh, waist under shirt, etc.). Then they have to rate between 1-10 how they are affected by touching that body part.

Suguru's eyes lock onto yours, a mischievous glint in their depths. He stands, walking towards you with a predatory grace. “It’s my turn," he says, his voice low and husky. He reaches out, his hand sliding under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your bare waist. He flattens his palm against your skin, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast. He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear, "How about here?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. You shiver, your nipples hardening at his touch. He starts to slowly drag his hand up, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, stopping just shy of your nipple. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, "So? How affected are you on a scale of 1-10?" You bite your lip, your heart racing at Suguru's touch. You can feel the heat of his hand branding your skin, the ghost of his fingers tracing patterns on your breast. You take a shaky breath, trying to calm your racing pulse. "At least a 9,"you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. He smirks, his fingers flexing against your skin, his thumb brushing your nipple through the fabric of your bra. You gasp, your back arching into his touch involuntarily. "Mmm, I can feel that," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He starts to slowly drag his hand down, his fingers trailing along your ribcage, your stomach, until he reaches the hem of your skirt. He slips his hand underneath, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, "And how about here? What's your rating now?" Your breath hitches as Suguru's hand slips under your skirt, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You can feel the heat of his touch, the electricity that seems to crackle between you. He looks up at you, his eyes burning with hunger, waiting for your response."10,"you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. He smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips. He withdraws his hand slowly, dragging his fingers along your thigh, making you shiver. He stands, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. He walks back to his seat, his expression one of pure, predatory desire. He sits down, spreading his legs wide, his arousal evident. He leans back, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes still locked on you, "Nanami, your turn," he says, his voice low and husky with promise.

The Dare : Tongue Tease

Choose the person who then trace an ice cube along their lips, neck, or down their spine—your choice. No hands. Just mouth and the melting ice.

Nanami rises from his seat, a wicked grin barely ghosts his lips as he approaches you. He pulls an ice cube from his glass, holding it up for you to see. It glints in the light, a small, innocuous thing that promises so much torment. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear, "Ready for this, beautiful?" he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. He presses the ice cube to your lips, tracing the outline slowly. You gasp at the cold, your lips parting slightly. He takes advantage, sliding the ice inside, his tongue following, warm and wet against the chill. He pulls back, leaving you shivering. He starts at your jaw, trailing the ice down your neck, his tongue lapping at the melting droplets. He's torturous, painfully slow, his breath hot against your skin. He reaches the hollow of your throat, pressing the ice cube against your pulse point. You can feel your heart racing, your breath coming in short gasps. He lingers there, his tongue swirling, his breath hot, contrasting sharply with the cold. Then he moves lower, tracing the ice down your sternum, between your breasts. Your nipples harden, straining against the fabric of your shirt. He pauses at the neckline, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He hooks a finger in the collar of your shirt, tugging it down slightly to expose more of your chest. He presses the ice cube to the swell of your breast, his tongue following, tracing circles around your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. You arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. He smirks against your skin, knowing he's driving you wild. "K-Kento,"you whisper, your voice trembling with need. He pulls back, the ice cube long melted, his eyes dark with desire. He smirks, pressing a quick, hard kiss to your lips before turning and walking back to his seat. He sits down, adjusting himself discreetly, his gaze never leaving yours. He turns to Satoru, a wicked grin on his face, "Your turn, Satoru. I think our little sweetheart here is ready for more." Satoru stands, his movements fluid, predatory. He walks towards you, his eyes raking over your body, lingering on your hardened nipples, your flushed skin. He leans in close, his voice low and husky, "I hope the next dare is to make you scream my name, princess." Suguru watches from his seat, his eyes burning with hunger. He shifts uncomfortably, his arousal evident.

The Dare : Marked by You

Choose the person you want to leave a visible mark (like a hickey or bite) where you want to. Then they can choose where they want leave one on you.

Satoru's eyes light up with excitement as he reads the dare. He looks at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "Perfect," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. He stands, walking over to you with a predatory grace. He reaches out, grabbing your hand and pulling you onto his lap. You gasp, straddling him, your skirt riding up your thighs. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you in place. He leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, his breath hot against your skin, "I'm going to mark you as mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. He sucks hard on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving a dark, bruise-like mark. You moan softly, your fingers tangling in his hair. He pulls back, admiring his handiwork with a satisfied smirk. Satoru keeps you on his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist possessively. He tilts his head to the side, exposing the smooth, tanned skin of his collarbone. He looks at you, his eyes dark with desire, "Mark me, princess," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. He guides your hand to his chest, pressing your fingers against his warm skin. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath your touch. He leans into you, his breath hot against your ear, "Show them all that I'm yours." His other hand slides up your thigh, his touch distracting, encouraging. He's offering himself to you, daring you to claim him as he claimed you, right here, in front of everyone. You lean in, pressing your lips to Satoru's collarbone. You suck gently, your teeth grazing his skin, leaving a dark, bruise-like mark. He curses under his breath, his grip on your waist tightening. You pull back, admiring your handiwork with a satisfied smirk. He squeezes your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. He lifts you off his lap, setting you back in your seat. He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear, "Your turn again, princess. And this time, I hope you to choose something... daring. "He winks, a mischievous glint in his eye, before returning to his seat. He spreads his legs wide, his arousal evident, a silent challenge thrown your way.

The Dare : Wall Trap

The closest opposite gender across you to trap you against the wall for 30 seconds. They can say whatever they want in your ear… as long as they doesn’t touch you.

You stand, your heart racing with anticipation. You scan the room, your eyes landing on Nanami. He's sitting across from you, his gaze intense, hungry. You walk over to him, stopping when you're standing directly in front of him. He looks up at you, his eyes darkening with desire. You grab his arm, pulling him to his feet. He follows your lead, allowing you to guide him to the wall. You press him against it, your body close but not touching. He's tall, his broad chest rising and falling with each breath. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, "I want to strip you bare," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, "Right here, right now. I want to explore every inch of your body with my hands, my mouth." His words send a shiver down your spine, your imagination running wild with the possibilities. He leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear, "I want to taste you, devour you. I want to hear you scream my name as you come apart in my arms." His breath is hot against your skin, his words explicit, dirty. You can feel your face flush, your heart racing. Your body responds eagerly, your nipples hardening, your core aching with need. He smirks, knowing the effect he's having on you, "Tell me you don't want that, "he challenges, his voice a low purr," A soft moan escapes your lips as Nanami's words wash over you, your body trembling with desire. He smirks, satisfied with your reaction. He leans back against the wall, his eyes never leaving yours as the last few seconds tick by. When the time is up, he pushes off the wall, adjusting his clothes discreetly. He walks back to his seat, a smug grin on his face. You return to your seat, your cheeks flushed, your body humming with arousal. You cross your legs, trying to ease the ache between your thighs. You're acutely aware of Suguru's gaze on you, his eyes dark with hunger. He chuckles low in his throat, "Finally, my turn," he says, his voice dripping with promise. He stands, his movements fluid, predatory. He looks at each of you in turn, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face, "I think it's time we raised the stakes a little."

The Dare : Body Shot Upgrade

Choose the person and make them lie back, then take a body shot off their body part of your choice. Bonus: You have to lick the salt, not use your fingers.

Suguru's eyes gleam with mischief as he reads the dare. He looks at you, his gaze lingering on your cleavage, a slow smirk spreading across his face. He walks over to you, his movements deliberate, predatory. "Lie back," he commands, his voice low and husky. You hesitate for a moment, then obey, lying back on the couch. He kneels beside you, his hand trailing up your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He reaches the hem of your shirt, his fingers slipping underneath, lifting it slightly to expose more of your skin. He leans down, his breath hot against your stomach. He pours the salt, the grains sticking to your skin, outlining your cleavage. You gasp, your back arching slightly. He sits back, admiring his handiwork. He picks up the lime wedge, sucking on it, his eyes never leaving yours. Suguru leans down, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your cleavage, collecting the salt. You moan softly, your fingers gripping the couch cushions. He repeats the motion, his tongue lingering, savoring the taste of your skin. You can hear Nanami and Satoru's reactions, their groans and muttered curses filling the room. Suguru pulls back, the lime wedge clenched between his teeth. He bites into it, the juice dripping down his chin, onto your chest. He leans down, his tongue lapping at the liquid, his lips brushing your skin. You arch into him, your breath coming in short gasps. He sits back, a satisfied smirk on his face, his chest heaving. He looks at you, his eyes dark with desire, "Delicious," he murmurs, his voice husky. He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze challenging you to react. You sit up slowly, your movements dazed, your chest heaving. You arrange your shirt, trying to cover yourself, but it's too late. Suguru, Satoru, and Nanami have already seen the evidence of your arousal. Your nipples strain against the thin fabric of your bra, the outline clearly visible. Your breasts threaten to spill out of your top, the material stretched tight across your chest. You cross your legs, but not before Satoru catches a glimpse of your wet panties. He groans under his breath, his eyes darkening with desire. He leans in close, his voice low and husky, "You're soaked, aren't you?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. You blush, biting your lip to stifle a moan. He smirks, knowing he's hit the mark. He reaches out, his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers brushing the hem of your skirt teasingly. Satoru stops, his hand hovering just above your knee. He leans back, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "Nanamin's turn," he says, his voice dripping with anticipation. He looks at Nanami, a challenge in his eyes, "I'm sure he'll pick something...interesting." He settles back in his seat, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder. He watches Nanami expectantly, his gaze flicking between you and the other man, a smirk playing on his lips. He's enjoying this, teasing you, building the tension. He knows Nanami won't disappoint, that he'll choose something that will push your limits, test your boundaries. He's eager to see how you'll react, to hear the sounds you'll make, the pleas that will fall from your lips.

The Dare : Favorite Flavor

The closest opposite gender to your right gets to lick whipped cream or chocolate syrup off the body part of their choice

You saunter over to Nanami, a wicked glint in your eye. He looks up at you, his expression a mix of surprise and excitement. You hold out your hand to Satoru, who places the whipped cream bottle in your palm. You turn back to Nanami, a slow smirk spreading across your face, "Arm," you say, your voice low and commanding. He extends his arm, his muscles flexing under your touch. You squeeze the bottle, a line of whipped cream appearing on his skin. You start at his wrist, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe up his arm. You take your time, savoring the sweet taste, the smooth feel of his skin. You can see the goosebumps rising on his flesh, hear his breath hitching. He's imagining it's his cock you're licking, you know. You reach his elbow, then his shoulder, your tongue swirling around the muscle. You pull back, admiring your handiwork. Nanami's arm is coated in whipped cream, his skin flushed, his eyes dark with desire. He's breathing heavily, his jaw clenched, his hands fists at his sides. You can see the bulge in his pants, the evidence of his arousal. He's struggling to maintain his composure, to not reach out and grab you, to not beg you to continue. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear, "Like that, do you?" you whisper, your voice husky. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, "Fuck," he mutters, his voice strained. You smirk, knowing you've got him right where you want him. You turn to Satoru, holding out the whipped cream bottle, "Your turn," you say, your voice dripping with suggestion. He takes the bottle, his eyes never leaving yours, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face.

The Dare : Cherry Mouth Game

Choose someone to feed you a cherry using their mouth only ­­—no hands allowed.

Satoru holds out a cherry, the ripe fruit glistening in the light. He looks at you, his eyes burning with desire, "Feed me, princess," he commands, his voice low and husky. You take the cherry, holding it gently between your fingers. You climb onto his lap, straddling him, your skirt riding up your thighs. He groans, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer. You bring the cherry to your lips, placing the stem between them. You lean in, your lips brushing his, the cherry pressed against his mouth. He opens, his tongue darting out to take the fruit. He bites down, his teeth grazing your lip, drawing a gasp from you. He chews, swallowing, his eyes never leaving yours. He's hard beneath you, his arousal evident. He tilts his hips, grinding against you, his breath coming in short gasps. You pull back, the cherry stem dangling from your lips. You bite it, your tongue working deftly to tie it into a knot. You hold it up, a smug smile on your face, showing off your little trick. Satoru's eyes widen, a low whistle escaping his lips, "Fuck," he mutters, his voice filled with admiration and desire. He watches, mesmerized, as you had shown him what you can do with your tongue. He shifts uncomfortably, his arousal evident. He reaches down, adjusting himself discreetly. He looks at you, his gaze intense, burning with hunger. He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He walks back to his seat, his movements stiff, his breathing heavy. He sits down, spreading his legs wide, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. He's struggling to maintain his composure, to not reach out and grab you, to not beg you to continue.

The Dare : Lap Dance Roulette

Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on will get a30-second lap dance from you—no music, just eye contact. Everyone else rates it (and has to drink if they give it a 10).

You spin the bottle, watching as it spins wildly before slowing and finally landing on Suguru. He looks up at you, a smirk playing on his lips, "Lucky me," he murmurs, spreading his legs invitingly. You climb onto his lap, your skirt riding up your thighs. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. You start to move, rolling your hips, your hands roaming his chest. You lean in, your lips brushing his ear, "No music, "you whisper, your breath hot against his skin. He shivers, his grip tightening. You sit up, locking eyes with him, your gaze intense. You grind down, your movements slow and deliberate, designed to drive him wild. You can see the others watching, their eyes dark with desire. Nanami leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on you. Satoru bites his lip, his eyes following your every move. You continue your lap dance, your movements becoming more intense. You run your hands through Suguru's hair, pulling his head back, exposing his neck. You lean down, your lips brushing his pulse point, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. He groans, his hips bucking up to meet yours. You can hear the others murmuring, their breaths growing heavier, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. Nanami leans back in his chair, his hand drifting to his crotch, adjusting himself discreetly. Satoru's eyes are wide, his pupils dilated with desire .He's gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles white. You're lost in the moment, in the sensations, in the power you hold over these men. Then, suddenly, Satoru's voice cuts through the haze, "Time's up." You freeze, your chest heaving, your skin flushed. You climb off Suguru's lap, your legs trembling slightly. He looks up at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You turn to Nanami and Satoru, who are staring at you with open mouths and bulging eyes. They exchange a glance, then simultaneously reach for their drinks, downing them in one gulp. It's clear they both gave your performance a 10.You smirk, feeling powerful and desirable.

The Dare : Cherry Trail

Run a trail of cherry juice from the person of your choice from collarbone to waistband—slowly lick it clean while keeping eye contact. End with the cherry in your mouth… and offer it to her your way.

Suguru grabs a bottle of cherry juice, a wicked glint in his eye. He turns to you, a smirk on his lips, "Time for revenge," he murmurs, popping the cap and pouring a line of juice from your collarbone to your waistband. It's cold, sending a shiver down your spine. He sets the bottle aside and leans in, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe up your skin. You gasp, your fingers gripping his shoulders. He takes his time, his tongue swirling around each cherry droplet, his eyes locked on yours. You moan softly, your head falling back, your chest heaving. He reaches the bottom of the trail, his tongue flicking out to catch the last drop. He holds up the cherry, a smug smile on his face. He leans in close, his breath hot against your lips, "Open up," he murmurs. You part your lips, your tongue darting out to accept the fruit. As you bite into the cherry, Suguru's hands slide up your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh. You moan around the fruit, your eyes fluttering closed. He smirks, leaning in to whisper in your ear, "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky, "You like being the center of attention, having us all eat you up with our eyes." His fingers slip under the hem of your skirt, brushing against your core. You gasp, your hips jerking forward. He chuckles, his breath hot against your skin. He pulls back, looking at you with a mixture of hunger and amusement. He nods to Satoru, a silent signal. Satoru leans forward, his eyes dark with desire, "She's soaked," he says, his voice dripping with suggestion, "Just from that little taste. Imagine what she's like when she's really turned on." He looks at you, his gaze intense, challenging.

The Dare : Who Makes You Break

Choose the person you want to touch or kiss however you want and that person must stay silent and still. You win by making them say your name.

Nanami stands, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He walks over to you, his eyes never leaving yours. He grabs your waist, spinning you around and bending you over the arm of the couch. You gasp, your hands gripping the cushions. He kneels behind you, his breath hot against your inner thigh. He kisses your skin, his lips soft, teasing. He starts at your knee, his mouth trailing up, inch by inch. You can feel his grip tightening on your waist, your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh. He's so close to your core, but never quite touching. You whimper, your hips shifting, desperate for more. He smirks against your skin, knowing exactly what he's doing to you. Satoru leans in, his voice low and husky, "You fucking like that, don’t you princess?” Suguru nods in agreement, his voice strained, "He's torturing her, and she's loving every minute of it." Nanami's lips brush the edge of your panties, his breath hot against your core. You moan softly, your hips bucking forward. He chuckles, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you. He pulls back, blowing a stream of cool air over your heated flesh. You whimper, your fingers digging into the couch cushions. He starts again, kissing his way back down your thigh, his hands roaming your body possessively. He grips your hips, pulling you back slightly, exposing you further. You can feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of your arousal, your need. Nanami bites down on your inner thigh, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just inches from your core. You cry out, your back arching, your hands fisting in his hair. "Kento!" you moan, your voice thick with desire. He releases your thigh, soothing the bite mark with a gentle kiss. He helps you back to your seat, his hands lingering on your waist, your hips. Suguru chuckles, shaking his head, "Look at her, all flushed and needy," he remarks, his eyes glinting with amusement. Satoru stands, a wicked grin spreading across his face, "My turn," he says, his voice dripping with promise. He looks at each of you in turn, his gaze lingering on your flushed face, your heaving chest. He cracks his knuckles, a slow, deliberate motion, "Let's see if I can make her scream."

The Dare : Three-on-One

Pick one who will stand in the middle while the rest touches at once for 30 seconds—but they each have to choose a different spot. No talking. Just heat.

Satoru grins, pulling you gently to the center of the room. He nods to the others, who surround you, their eyes dark with desire. Satoru reaches out, his hands sliding under your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra. He squeezes gently, his thumbs brushing your nipples. You gasp, your back arching into his touch. Suguru presses against your back, his hands gripping your ass, kneading the flesh. You can feel his hardness against your lower back, his breathing heavy in your ear. Nanami kneels in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs, his fingers brushing against your core through your underwear. You moan softly, your hips jerking forward. You're surrounded by their touch, their heat, their desire. It's overwhelming, intense. You can hear the timer ticking down, each second stretching into eternity. Your skin is on fire, your core aching, your nipples hard peaks. As the timer alarms, you're left trembling, on the verge of release. Your chest heaves, your skin flushed, your underwear soaked. Suguru kisses your neck gently, his hands guiding you to the dare pile. He whispers in your ear, "Pick a good one," his voice husky with desire. You're dazed, your mind foggy with arousal. You reach out, your fingers brushing against the dares, searching for something that will satisfy the ache inside you. You can feel the others watching, their eyes burning into you, their breaths heavy with anticipation. You finally select a dare, holding it up with a trembling hand. It’s a simple dare, but one that promises to push your limits further. You look at the others, a mixture of excitement and nervousness in your eyes, as you prepare to read the dare aloud.

The Dare : Strip for the Winner

Play a quick round of "Rock, Paper, Scissors" with each guy. Whoever beats you gets to remove one article of your clothing—with their teeth.

You play Rock, Paper, Scissors with Satoru, your heart racing with anticipation. You choose Rock, but Satoru chooses Paper. He grins, victorious, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily. "Lucky me," he says, his voice low and husky. He kneels in front of you, his hands gripping the hem of your shirt. He leans in, his teeth sinking into the fabric. He tugs gently, pulling the shirt up and off, revealing your torso. You gasp, your skin pebbling under his gaze. He tosses the shirt aside, his eyes lingering on your breasts, barely contained by your bra. He smirks, standing up and stepping back, "Your turn," he says, nodding to the next challenger. You're left standing there, exposed, your heart pounding in your chest, wondering who will claim the next piece of your clothing. You face off against Suguru, your heart pounding in your chest. This time, you choose Paper, but Suguru chooses Rock. He smirks, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He steps closer, his mouth opening, his teeth bared. He leans in, his teeth sinking into the strap of your bra. He tugs gently, his teeth pulling the strap off your shoulder, the fabric sliding down. He moves to the other side, repeating the process, his teeth carefully removing the other strap. Your bra hangs loosely, barely covering your breasts, your nipples straining against the thin fabric. You blush, your hands hovering uncertainly over your chest. But Suguru leans back, admiring his work, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Satoru and Nanami exchange a glance, their eyes dark with desire. Satoru leans forward, his voice low and husky, "So fucking beautiful, princess." You face Nanami, your last hope for keeping some semblance of clothing. But fate isn't on your side tonight. You choose Scissors, but Nanami chooses Rock. He grins wickedly, his eyes raking over your barely covered body. He kneels in front of you, his hands gripping the hem of your skirt. He leans in, his teeth sinking into the waistband of your panties. He tugs gently, pulling the fabric down, exposing your wet core. You gasp, your hands flying to your skirt, trying to cover yourself. But Nanami is relentless, his teeth carefully removing your panties, inch by inch. He pulls them off completely, tossing them aside. You're left standing there, your skirt barely covering your hips, your bare pussy on display. Satoru lets out a low whistle, his eyes fixed on your glistening folds. Suguru leans forward, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Nanami pockets your underwear with a smirk, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear, "I hope Suguru gets a good dare," he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive. He pulls back, his eyes meeting yours, a wicked glint in their depths. You blush, your mind racing with the possibilities of what Suguru's dare might entail. Satoru leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on you, "What do you think he'll choose?" he asks, his voice dripping with curiosity. Suguru grins, unphased by their speculation. He reaches for the dare pile, his hand hovering over the stack of slips of paper. He selects one, holding it up with a triumphant smirk. He looks at each of you in turn, his gaze lingering on your exposed body. Then, with a deep breath, he reads the dare aloud.

The Dare : Lap Dance… Topless

Choose someone from the group who will give you a topless lapdance. Make out and touching are only allowed.

Suguru reads the dare, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He pats his lap, a clear invitation. You climb onto his lap, your skirt riding up your thighs. He wraps his arms around your waist, his hands roaming your bare back. You start to move, rolling your hips, your breasts swaying with each movement. He groans, his grip tightening, his fingers digging into your flesh. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear, "Lose the bra," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. You reach behind you, unclasping the bra, letting it fall away. Your breasts are bare now, your nipples hard peaks. He squeezes your ass, hard, his fingers spreading, your folds parting under the pressure. You gasp, your hips jerking forward. He takes advantage, his lips crashing against yours in a passionate kiss. Suguru pulls his shirt off, revealing his muscular torso and abs. He watches you intently as you move, his eyes dark with desire. You grind against him, your bare breasts brushing against his chest, your nipples hardening at the contact. You lean back, arching your spine, thrusting your breasts forward. You look at the others, giving them a seductive smile, ensuring they're enjoying the show. You run your hands down your body, over your curves, your hips, your thighs. You spread your legs wider, giving them a glimpse of your wet folds. You can hear their breaths growing heavier, their eyes fixed on your every move. Suguru groans, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements. He's rock hard beneath you, his erection pressing against your core. You roll your hips, grinding against him, teasing him, teasing all of them. You finish your lap dance with a flourish, your body pressed against Suguru's bare torso. You take a mouthful of alcohol, your tiny hands gripping his jaw. You lean in close, your lips brushing his, and you pass the liquid between your mouths. He drinks deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing. You can feel his grip tightening on your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh, giving the guys a full view of your bare backside and glistening folds. You pull back, a string of liquid connecting your lips. You lick it away, a seductive smile on your face. Then, with a final grind against Suguru's erection, you climb off his lap and return to your seat. You feel the burn of the alcohol, giving you courage, emboldening you for the dares to come. You look at the guys, your eyes challenging, your body on display, ready for whatever they throw at you next.

The Dare : 7 Minutes in Heaven

You and the person sitting across will have to stay in a closed room for 7 minutes. No rules about what happens inside.

Nanami pulls you gently to the closet, a wicked grin on his face. He closes the door behind you, plunging you into darkness. He presses you against the door, his body pinning yours. He kisses you roughly, his tongue invading your mouth, his hands roaming your body. He finds your nipples, pinching them hard, rolling them between his fingers. You gasp into his mouth, your back arching. He slides a hand between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. He circles it, applying pressure, making you moan. Then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you, pumping it in and out. He kisses you harder, his tongue dominating yours, muffling your cries of pleasure. He adds a second finger, curling them, hitting that spot deep inside. He kisses you through your orgasm, swallowing your screams, his fingers never stopping their relentless pace until you're shaking and spent. Nanami pulls back, his fingers still buried inside you. He looks up at you, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. "We still have three minutes," he murmurs, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. He doesn't wait for a response. He kneels down, burying his face between your legs. He laps at your pussy, his tongue flat and firm, licking up your juices. He curls his fingers, hitting that spot deep inside, pumping them in and out. You're still sensitive from your first orgasm, and his touch sends shockwaves through your body. He doesn't let up, his tongue swirling around your clit, his fingers pistoning in and out. You can feel another orgasm building, your legs shaking, your hands gripping his hair. He sucks your clit into his mouth, and that's all it takes.

The Dare : Mirror Reflection

Person of your choice. The two of you stand fully bare in front of a mirror. Either your or the person can touch whoever is in front slowly from behind and kiss their neck while maintaining eye contact with their reflection until they come.

Satoru pulls you to the full-length mirror, a wicked grin on his face. He strips your last remaining clothing, his hands roaming your body appreciatively. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall," he murmurs, pressing you against it. He stands behind you, his hard body against your back. You can see both of you reflected in the glass, your flushed faces, your heaving chests. He reaches around, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing gently. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, pinching them lightly. You gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder. He leans in, his lips brushing your neck. "Look at us," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin," so beautiful, so perfect." His hands slide down, over your stomach, your hips. He finds your folds, slipping a finger inside. You moan, your hips jerking forward. He adds another finger, pumping them slowly, his thumb circling your clit. Satoru continues his slow, deliberate pace, his fingers sliding in and out of your wet heat. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your back, long and thick. He grinds against you, the friction sending shivers through your body. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear, "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, "You like feeling my cock against you, while I fuck you with my fingers." His words send a thrill through you, your inner walls clenching around his digits. He smirks at your reflection, his eyes dark with desire. He picks up the pace, his fingers moving faster, harder. He curls them, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you see stars. You're panting now, your hips moving in rhythm with his hand. He kisses your neck, sucking, biting, marking you. You can feel your orgasm building, your legs shaking. He looks at you through the mirror, his gaze intense as he watches your reflection intently as your orgasm crashes over you. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your eyes rolling back, your body convulsing against his. He doesn't stop, his fingers continuing their relentless pace, drawing out your pleasure. When you finally collapse against him, spent and trembling, he pulls his fingers out slowly. He lifts them to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. He licks them clean, savoring your taste. He sucks each finger, his tongue swirling around the digits, cleaning every last drop. It's obscenely erotic, watching him taste you, watching him enjoy the fruits of his labor. He grins at your reflection, a smug, satisfied smile. That was just the beginning, his smile seems to say. There's so much more to come.

The Dare : Touch and Tease

Touch yourself until one makes a sound. Feel free to use whatever technique to get a sound from your audience.

Empowered by the amount of liquid luck in your system, you spread your legs, your wet folds glistening in the light. You start by squeezing your breasts, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh. You pinch your nipples, rolling them between your fingers, a soft moan escaping your lips. You look at the guys, biting your lip seductively. Their eyes are fixed on you, their breaths heavy, their hands clenched at their sides. You slide a hand down your stomach, your fingers brushing your clit. You circle it slowly, your head falling back at the sensation. You whimper, hips lifting off the couch. You insert a finger inside, your walls still slick from Satoru's attention. You pump it in and out, your thumb rubbing your clit. You add another finger, stretching yourself, filling yourself. You can hear the guys' breathing getting heavier, their control slipping. Suguru shifts in his seat, his hand moving to his crotch. Nanami's eyes are glazed over, his pupils dilated. He's biting his lip, hard, trying to hold back a groan. Satoru is gripping the couch cushions, his knuckles white. His gaze is intense, burning into you. You add a third finger, your hand moving faster, your fingers curling inside you. You're close, so close. You look at them, your eyes challenging. You want to hear them, want to break their control. You crash your fingers against your clit, your body tensing. You're on the edge, just about to fall. That's when you hear it - a low, guttural groan from Suguru. You moan, your voice husky and seductive, "Oh my god, guys..." You arch your back, your fingers moving faster, your other hand squeezing your breast ."So good, fuck..." You look at Suguru, a wicked smile on your face. He's panting, his eyes wild. "Please," he begs, "Let me touch you." You ignore him, turning to Satoru. He's leaning forward, his eyes dark with desire. "Are you thinking about our cocks?" he asks, his voice low and rough. You nod, biting your lip. You look at Nanami, who's gripping the couch, his knuckles white. "Come for us," he growls, "Show us how much you want us." You obey, your orgasm crashing over you. You come with a scream, your body shaking, your fingers buried deep inside you. You can hear their curses, their groans of frustration.

The Dare : Brainrot

The person on your left has to make you forget your name using only their mouth and tongue.

You return from the bathroom, your legs still shaky, but your confidence unwavering. You're naked, your body on full display. You sit between Satoru and Suguru — each already half naked, chests bare. Suguru draws a paper, reading it aloud, then looks at you with a wicked grin on his face. He hands you the paper, "Either I do all the work, and you just open that pretty little mouth," he says, his voice low and husky, "Or you kneel between my legs on the floor." You choose the former, kneeling on the couch. He stands, his hard cock level with your face. He grips your hair, guiding you forward. He slides his thick length into your mouth, groaning at the sensation. He starts to move, fucking your mouth, his hips thrusting forward. Suguru continues to move, his thick cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag, tears springing to your eyes, but you don't pull back. You relax your throat, taking him deeper, your nose pressing against his pelvis. He groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, "Fuck, your mouth is so tight," he pants, "So fucking good." He pulls back, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a pop. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire. He praises you, his voice husky, "You took me so well, like you were made for my cock." He slides back into your mouth, fucking you harder, faster. He's close, his breath coming in short gasps. He buries himself deep in your throat, his cock pulsing as you feel his hot cum shooting down your throat. You keep him steady, your hands gripping his hips. You look up at him, your eyes locked on his, as you swallow every drop of his cum. He groans, his body shuddering, stunned by your obedience. He pulls out slowly, his cock slipping from your lips. He looks at you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with admiration, but at loss with words. You smirked, wiping your lips with the back of your hand, then kisses Suguru’s shoulder as you said, “You’re welcome, handsome.”

[koiiiji]

can you make a gun x reader smut where you said some “unholy” things about him in Japanese not knowing hes from japan?

i feel like that’d be soooo cute, thanks 💋

hiiii!! i dare to change scenario if you don’t mind!!

heavily inspired by this edit

whispers in the night

summary ; after a long, hot night, you and Jonggun are lying in bed, but you've found it hard to fall asleep.

room was quiet save for the faint rustle of the sheets and the distant hum of traffic outside. moonlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, painting the space in shades of silver and gray. you lay on your side, your cheek against Jonggun’s chest, his warmth enveloping you like a shield against the cool night air.

his arm rested loosely around your waist, his touch steady, grounding. he wasn’t one for grand gestures or unnecessary words, but in moments like this — when the world was still — it was clear just how close he let you in his life.

you felt his breath against the top of your head, slow and measured. he wasn’t asleep; the subtle tension in his body told you that much. Jonggun was always alert, even in the comfort of his own bed, and you often wondered if he ever truly relaxed.

“Jonggun…” you murmured softly, not sure what you wanted to say, just needing to fill the silence.

his hand shifted slightly against your waist, his fingers brushing the bare skin beneath your shirt. it wasn’t a bold move, not for him. it was deliberate, careful — as though he was grounding himself in your presence.

“nemurenai?”

the low timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

you hesitated, recognizing the japanese immediately. “what… what did you say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“can’t sleep?” he translated simply, his tone calm, almost distant. but his fingers stayed where they were, gently tracing idle patterns on your skin.

you shook your head. “not really. you?”

his silence was answer enough. Jonggun didn’t sleep easily; you’d learned that early on. but the way he stayed so still, so patient beside you, told you that he didn’t mind.

“tsukareta?” he asked again, this time tilting his head slightly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. his breath was warm, stirring a blush to rise unbidden to your cheeks.

“what did you say just now?”

“are you tired?” he translated, his voice softer now.

“... a little,” you admitted, nodding faintly. though you doubted he needed your answer. Jonggun always seemed to notice the little things about you, even if he didn’t voice them.

his hand shifted again, this time moving up to your shoulder, where he carefully brushed your hair aside. the deliberate slowness of his touch made your pulse quicken. he leaned closer, his lips brushing the bare skin of your neck in a gesture so light it felt like a passing thought.

“muri shinaide.”

you swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “Jonggun… stop teasing me.”

“not teasing,” he murmured, his lips barely moving against your skin. “it means, ‘don’t overdo it.’”

your chest tightened at his words, the subtle way he showed his concern without ever saying it outright. you shifted slightly, pulling up higher, to the level of his face. the shadows softened his sharp features, and his dark eyes — though guarded — held a flicker of something warm.

his hand came up to your face, calloused fingertips brushing against your cheek. it wasn’t a grand, sweeping gesture, but the careful way he touched you spoke volumes. he didn’t need to say it aloud; you could feel his unspoken care in every deliberate movement.

“君が大切だ.” (kimi ga taisetsu da.) the words left him in a whisper, so quiet you almost missed them.

“Jonggun…” you began, but he stopped you with a faint shake of his head.

“it’s nothing,” he said, brushing the back of his knuckles against your jawline. but your gaze searched his, and the weight of his words hung in the air between you.

“what does it mean?” you pressed gently, your voice tinged with curiosity.

his lips quirked into a faint smirk, but there was no humor in his eyes. “it’s nothing you don’t already know.”

and with that, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead — a quiet, reverent act that made your heart ache in the best way. as he pulled back, his arm wrapped around you once more, his embrace firm but not overbearing.

you knew he wasn’t the type to lay his heart bare, but in the careful way he touched you, the quiet words he spoke only when the world had gone still, you found all the proof you needed.

author's note 2 ; i left last phrase without translation on purpose, so u could translete it yourselves 🤭

MASTERLIST

[patchworkcuddlebug]

The Surgery Doll

There’s a sickening creak of metal as the well-aged door is effortfully pushed open. The operation room was lit with an aggressive white light, leaving harsh shadows angled into every corner. The cloth doll turns its head, trying to shield the buttons on its face from the intense glow. The flinch lasts only a moment, as it remembers its place. It turns back, facing the ball-jointed doll that politely stands in wait across the operating table.

It's... a kind of doll it hadn't seen before. It's seen plenty of ball-jointed dolls, of course. But none like this. The way its frame crawls upward, consuming the corner of the room like a spider web. The sharp edges of its thin, lanky frame looked as if they could cut the delicate flesh of any onlooker.

"Ah, it's... very nice to meet that one." The cloth doll curtsies, failing to hide its nervousness. "This one's name is Pudding. It's nice to, um..." The doll trails off before it can repeat itself, looking to the other doll for approval.

The ball-jointed doll is unfettered. It towers above the plaything, statuesque as it glares down at its patient. "Macabre."

"Ah, a pretty name!" It tries to smile, apprehension leaving the stitches in its mouth half-turned. "It's nice to meet that one!"

Macabre simply turns away, bending down to reach under the counter behind it. "Get on the table."

The other doll obeys, letting its soft body quietly thump against the back. With cloth mittens clasped together, resting on its belly, it stares up into the sterile fluorescent light.

The room is cold, the stone walls of the basement emanating an unwelcoming aura of stiff indifference. The lights, external fixtures crudely strung up with wire, leave a power cord that snakes into the corner and disappears behind a shelf of medical texts, for people and non-people alike. Spines coloured the same blue seen upon the walls of hospitals, the same colour Pudding has seen before when Miss cuddles it through her drama shows. They're outnumbered by smaller books; operating manuals, caring for clockwork, and a few books on sewing and crochet that it recognizes from Miss's shelf.

A moment passes. All that fills the room is a practised pattern, the routine movements of a doll at work as the shuffling of something accompanies its searching hands.

"So... um..." The doll tries to speak. This is not a bed for rest, Macabre is not a partner to sooth. It's far out of its element. "This one has never met a medical doll before. What's it like?"

There's a distinct creaking as Macabre turns, a clear strain against its old joints as it reaches for its implement. It holds sewing scissors, the blades hanging open and held over Pudding's body like a scythe.

Its face remains still, adorned with a pensive frown dotted with dark makeup. Only now does Pudding notice how... it wouldn't dare to say something as rude as inelegant, but it's never seen a doll wear something so pragmatic. A plain black t-shirt dress, completely without frills or decoration. Scrubs.

"It's wonderful." Its painted-on frown doesn't move as the monotone drips from it. It's lowered to a whisper, just as it was before, as if raising its voice above the minimum would be a strain. "This one gets to see the private insides of every doll it's ever met. It's a privilege to be trusted."

Its body curls inward, the lanky body creaking as it hovers over the doll like a beast about to pounce. A sleek and terrible monster of the shadows, one that lurks around the corner to dig fangs into necks. But, of course, its mouth remains politely closed. "Thank you."

"Oh!" The cloth doll perks up, a genuine smile teasing at its lips. "Um, this one is happy to help!" There's a hesitation in its voice, one of surprise and just a little confusion. But, just a little, it feels fulfilled. "That one should thank Miss Circe when she returns, too. She's what made this one so helpful." It echoes from a lifetime of habit.

With its reaction fulfilled, Pudding lowers its head back, flush against the table. The apprehension makes itself known again, digging in and rooting within the doll's mind.

Macabre lets out a gentle sigh, giving a barely-there curious tilt of its head. "You can't anesthetize a doll."

"Huh?"

"So that one needs to calm itself before the operation." It reaches back and places the sewing scissors on the tray resting on the counter behind it, next to bags of weighted beads. Its movements were smooth, unflinchingly elegant, to an unnatural degree. Movements uninhibited by mortal consideration, everything in service to a purposeful intent, with no room left for a flinch. "It's a comfort doll, yes? What would that one do if it were the one calming a patient?"

"Oh!" Recognition fades into concern. "Oh, um..." With no lungs left to fill, the doll mimics a sigh as it turns back to the room's only door. "This one would probably be most comforted by Miss being here, but she has such important things to be doing."

Before it can continue, before it can dilute its needs with practicality, Macabre accepts. "If that one needs a Miss, this one shall provide. Her name was Circe, yes?"

Comfort dolls, Pudding especially, must be attuned with emotion to follow their purpose. A comfort doll should recognize what will be enjoyed, appreciated, and most of all, comforting. So it knows. Immediately, it knows.

"Yes, Miss Circe." Pudding nods dutifully, smiling up at a doll that is not her witch. Its eyes are much too dark, its hair the same as its blunt bangs almost hide its eyes entirely. And that face, its frozen porcelain face, bereft of Circe's relief to finally be so close to her favourite doll and hold it tight after a long day apart. "...thank you for being here with this one."

"She is kind, isn't she? She must treat that one so well." Macabre can't help but let its thoughts drift away, head tilting downward to avert its eyes. "So refined, but so compassionate. Someone who can hug, who can cause smiles. What makes that one smile?"

It's then that Pudding sees something in the taller doll shift. Its posture loosens, just a little, just enough. It's all the cloth doll needs. It feels something light up, a drive, a need. This is its purpose.

Its focus shifts, away from itself. All it can do is look up at Macabre, a wistful compassion clear even through the darkness of its buttons. "You always tell this one stories about all the fun people you meet, Miss. You're so social, it's so natural for you to just attract people and make them happy."

Macabre doesn't sigh, hiding the refreshing relief to hear such a thing. To imagine it were true, that it was a vibrant thing of compassion and closeness. "Yes..." It hesitates, only for a moment, from its task. It takes that moment, just a moment and nothing more, to conjure a self to refer to. "I... I met someone, just at the store the other day. She was so kind to me. She just... came up to me and talked like we were old friends. She wasn't the least bit scared, she..."

Macabre flinched, woken from its lucid daydream, as it feels a soft mitten snake into its hand. Immediately, Pudding pulls away. "Oh! Sorry, this one didn-"

"No!" Macabre snatches its mitten back. "No, it's... please. It's okay."

Slowly, gently, the mitten closes around the other doll’s sharp and slender grasp. "Yes, Miss. Of course."

. . . . .

Thmp!

Such soft, gentle impacts ring into the concrete. Thmp goes an experimental first step, the doll's feet landing against the ground with a heavier and clumsier pressure. "Oh, gosh, this feels…"

The doll looks back to Macabre. "…it's strange." Another raise of the foot, and a gentle press against the floor, too softly to sound beyond the subtle rustling of its new beads. "It's a little heavy, but it doesn't feel… encumbering, it thinks."

Fixing its posture, Pudding's look turns from one of curiosity to gratitude. "This one gives its thanks, Macabre. That one is very talented!"

With a soft creak, the other doll lowered its head, a polite and dutiful gesture. "It was nothing. That one was a very good doll. Most dolls struggle to be still when they're being cut, this one is pr-"

It stops itself. "…that one did well."

Pudding knew what it wanted to say, of course. It had known all along.

"Thanks for acting as this one's Miss, as well. It was a great help." The doll bows and grabs its dress, a quick and light curtsy.

Then, it spoke one final thought. Just before Circe returned, and Pudding gave her all of its attention like any good doll would. Just before she left the payment on the table, one that an owned doll would have passed along to its witch. Just enough to almost force a soulful blush on Macabre's cold, painted face.

"That one would make a lovely witch."

[ilguna]

Hey! I love your work so much. Can you do 4 with four (tobias) from divergent ?

☼ succeed (tobias eaton) ☼

warnings; swearing, fighting, blood mention.

wc; 2.4k

prompt; 4. "Why do you sacrifice so much for me?"

notes; tweaked canon, obviously. not really noticeable unless you’re a huge fan.

--

Dauntless initiation is—unsurprisingly—far from what you thought it would be. To be fair, you’re not entirely sure what exactly you were expecting in the first place. All you know was that you were going to be in for a ride when they made you jump on and off of a moving train directly after transferring. 

This gave you a clue of what was to come, of course, but you took it in a different direction. If they wanted to see how daring you could be by risking your lives, then maybe that meant you’d be doing dangerous tasks throughout the rest of the month. 

On the first day, you assumed that you’d be learning how to throw away your inhibitions and solely rely on your instincts. An idea that isn’t incredibly outlandish when it comes to Dauntless. After all, they’re the ones in charge of security and wall perimeter—the jobs that can end up being deadly.

This is why you didn’t have a significant reaction when you were informed by Four that they’d be introducing you to self-defense. They proceeded to hang you a gun, gave you a target, and told you to shoot until your bullets were gone. And after lunch, they brought you to a large room where you were taught how to properly fight an opponent.

This is when reality had begun to set in. They were not teaching you this in case the situation ever arose, but because they wanted you to use it in the coming week. You’re going to be forced to defend yourself, whether you like it or not. They were just being courteous enough to teach you how to, first.

You didn’t figure this out until yesterday when you saw the chalkboard. While it had previously been devoid of writing, it suddenly held a list of names side by side, pairing initiates up together. For the first few minutes, you were under the impression that it was for sparring.

When they sent Al and Will into the center circle together, instructed to fight one another, you looked at Four. You found his eyes already on you, arms crossed over his chest, face hard. In that moment, you remembered all of his warnings for you to pay close attention to the way he’d been throwing his kicks and punches.

It’s not like you were ignoring him, but you did continuously brush him off because he was being overbearing. He must’ve taken this as you just being a know-it-all Erudite, leaving you to figure it out on your own. You’d have to learn one way or another that your logic wouldn’t help.

When really, you hadn’t heard him when he said that you’d be fighting your fellow initiates. 

You were a deer in headlights when the rules were explained. In these fights, you are to keep going until one of you is unable to continue. And while you could concede, it won’t be done without going unpunished. In the old rules, a brave man can acknowledge the strength of others. In the new rules, made by the newest Dauntless leader, a brave man never surrenders.

You think Four may have recognized that a mistake was made. He was quick to come up with an escape, albeit at the cost of your pride. He called you out in the middle of Eric’s explanation, telling you not to be sick on the floor unless you wanted to clean it. All you had to say was that breakfast wasn’t settling well, and you were excused to go sit down with a trash can.

With there being ten initiates in your group, there should’ve been five fights. You sat out, making it four, but none of you made it past the second one. Will and Al fought just fine, Al even won. The next fight to happen was Christina and Molly, which was following the same pattern as the first fight, until Christina decided that she wanted to concede.

That’s when you were informed that a punishment would go along with it. Eric was pissed, dragging Christina all the way to the chasm in the Pit that hangs above the river, barking at the rest of you to follow. He then made her climb to the other side of the railing and forced her to hold on to the bridge by her hands until he was satisfied.

When she didn’t fall to her death, you were dismissed for the rest of the day. This destroyed your plan of analyzing the fighting techniques of the others to figure out what you’re supposed to do. To make up for it, you thought you could come practice in the middle of the night, but the doors were locked.

So, to put it lightly, you’re screwed. The only way to learn now is from the fights that will be taking place, and even then you’ll still be at a disadvantage no matter how you approach it.

As soon as you step foot into the training room, your eyes find the chalkboard, curious to who you’ve been paired up with today. Yesterday, it was supposed to be Tris, the Abnegation transfer. She would’ve been a good first fight to figure out how you want to be in the ring, but that opportunity has passed.

Today, you are given more of a challenging opponent—Peter.

“Oh no,” A voice says, you glance over your shoulder to see that Christina is limping her way over to Tris. Her face is fairly bruised from the beating she received from Molly yesterday. “At least you aren’t paired with Peter.”

Both of them look in your direction, and you accidentally lock eyes with Christina for a moment. You press your lips together in disgust and turn away, no longer interested in their conversation. You are not a member of Erudite anymore, but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop seeing you that way. Not until you prove to them that you’re not snot-nosed. 

You turn your attention to Peter, who’s got a good few inches on you. Which wouldn’t be an issue, much less have you worried, if he didn’t have the muscle he does. This fight could easily go two ways, but you have a feeling it’s leaning in his favor more than yours. 

“Maybe she can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious.” Al suggests loud enough for you to hear. “No one would blame her.”

You grit your teeth at the idea of taking the cowards way out, something that you won’t be doing, no matter how tempting it is. Even if it does work out in your favor, there’s no telling what Eric will do to you when he figures out that you’d faked it. While he made Christina hang from the chasm by her hands, he’d tell you to do something much worse. Or kick you out of initiation altogether for not having the Dauntless heart.

Which isn’t true. You belong here.

Fortunately, you and Peter are not the first fight of the day, it’s Edward and Molly. You might as well be, though. The pair of you are listed directly underneath them. You think that you’d even prefer being the first to go. If you could get it out of the way, you would.

As you mindlessly watch Edward and Molly, you try to pick out some of their moves to remember with Peter. Four had taught the group of you the basics to get started, he never said that you couldn’t mix in what you know as well. Which is nothing, because you’ve never got into a fight before. There was never a need to.

The personalization works out in Edward’s favor. The technique that Molly had used yesterday on Christina is fairly predictable. On top of that, she’s not fast enough to keep up with Edward’s pace. It’s only a matter of minutes before she’s beaten near-unconscious. That’s when Drew and Peter work together to peel her off of the wooden floor and to the nearest wall to recover.

In the short time you have, you take a couple of deep breaths, shaking your hands to rid the anxious energy that’s fueling your body. You make eye contact with Four briefly, and in this time, he gives you a solid nod. He’s confident in your abilities, more so than you are. It’s a shame that you’re probably going to let him down.

Still, you walk your way to the white circle, standing at one end of it while you wait for Peter. When he finally turns his attention to you,. There’s a smile spread across his face, 

“You okay there, Blowhard?” Peter teases, you can almost feel your eyes bulge out of your head at the nickname. “You look like you’re about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry.”

“Did you just call me a Blowhard?” You sputter out a laugh. “What does that make you, a Crybaby?”

You look past Peter, at Four, who’s standing side-by-side with Eric. His face is twisted, focused hard on the two of you in the ring. Eric, on the other hand, is tapping his foot quickly, impatience shining through.

Peter raises his hands by his face, elbows and knees bent as he begins to prepare for the fight. “Come on, (Y/n). Just one little tear. Maybe some begging.”

Without warning, you swing your leg at his side, intending to land a kick. He’s prepared for this, grabbing your ankle and yanking you forward, pulling you off balance. You land on your back, but quickly twist to get back to your feet, fists returning, readying yourself.

“Stop playing with her.” Eric suddenly snaps. “I don’t have all day.”

This is enough for Peter, as the amused look on his face disappears. His movement is one giant blur, but the pain in your jaw is sharp, as it continues to spread across your face. For a moment, bright white stars and a black void flow across your vision, taking your balance with it. 

You blink rapidly, backing away from Peter as you try to get the room to stop swaying. This lasts for a few seconds at most, because Peter is moving just as quickly as Edward had been. He appears in front of you, foot slamming into your stomach, stealing the air from your lungs. 

You clutch your ribs as you fight through the pain in your abdomen. Peter takes this as an invitation to come closer, but you’re expecting this. You catch his fist as you slide your foot between his legs, tripping him. Instead of falling forward, you throw him back, twisting his arm in the process.

You land on your knees hard. The dull pain is at the front of your thoughts for a second before you’ve got your first slamming into Peter’s nose. You get two hits in, then he takes a fistful of hair at the back of your head, yanking. He repays the favor by punching you in the nose.

It doesn’t matter how hard you kick or slap, because he’s got a tight grip. The next hit he lands is to your ribs, in the same place that you’d been holding onto moments prior. You open your mouth, letting out a strangled cry, and a metallic taste spreads over your tongue. One word comes to mind; blood.

He lets go of your hair, shoving you away. You land on your palms, gasping through your lips, eyes blurry with tears as you search the ground for the white paint. You begin to crawl away, wanting to put some distance between the two of you while you take a breath, but he grabs your ankle, dragging you back toward him.

He draws his foot back, and despite knowing what’s coming, you don’t move in time, letting the toe of his shoe sink into your skin. You cough, the next few seconds are agonizing as you forget how to breathe, like a fish out of water.

“That’s enough.” Four’s voice breaks through the silence. “Get her out.”

“She’s still moving.” Eric tells him. “She gets out when she can no longer go on.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you move to roll over. You won’t play pretend, you refuse to take the easy way out. You are not an Erudite anymore, you won’t run. You’re going to fight.

Somehow you manage to get to your feet, fists raised, eyes barely focusing on Peter long enough to keep track of him. You gather the blood in your mouth, spitting it at his feet.

“Come at me, you little bitch.” You murmur.

Peter flies across the circle, fist coming at your face. You manage to catch it with one hand, and with the other, you slap him with an open palm. The sound of skin-on-skin fills the air, there’s a few audible gasps in the room.

It’s over, you think. Just before Peter knocks your lights out.

When you come back to Earth, you’re suspended in the air, swaying from side to side. You’ve never been motion sick before, but the dizziness is so hard to handle that this is enough to send you over the edge.

“‘M gonna be sick.” You mutter.

The world stops moving for a second, and then you’re placed on your feet. Your hands reach for something to hold on to as support. They come into contact with another hand, which you wrap your fingers around tightly as your breakfast comes back up as a liquid.

When you’re done, you turn to face the person who had just been holding you in their arms. You’re met with Four, who has his eyebrows raised, waiting for you to say something.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

“Why are you thanking me?”

“For putting me down.” You breathe, leaning over with your hands on your knees. “And for trying to get me out of there. And for delaying my fight yesterday.”

When you look at him again, there’s a softer look on his face, different from the scowl that you’re used to seeing. He reaches over, rubbing a hand over your back. “It’s okay, (Y/n).”

“You could’ve gotten in trouble with Eric.” You say, shaking your head as you move to stand straighter. “Why do you sacrifice so much for me?”

Four opens his mouth, and then closes it. It’s silent between the two of you for a minute as he decides how he wants to respond. Or maybe he’s thinking that you’ll change the subject. With your persistence, he sighs.

“Because you’re different.” 

--

this was part of my 3k celeberation!!

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Shotgun in his car

pairing: bakugou katsuki/f!reader summary: random thoughts about Katsuki and driving word count: ~800 words contains: slight nsfw, mostly fluff, aged-up • ao3 link a/n: I blame this song for putting the thought in my already "crying over bakugou katsuki on a daily basis" brain. before I kick myself out, as a bonus "thought": rolled-up sleeves. enjoy 🧡

Bakugou Katsuki, your boyfriend who pulls up in front of U.A after getting his driver’s license, where you’re supposed to meet up with him, and whistles at you, the sharp tune a shared secret. His proud grin widens when your head jerks up and all you manage is half a curse in his direction as you startle. He knows the words died on your tongue at the sight of him in the driver seat of a car you don’t recognize. Of course not, it was his parents’ gift for his eighteenth birthday, one he hid from you for this very moment. He melts inside when you climb in, throw your arms around his neck, and smother his face with kisses as you squeal out your congratulations. Putting up with all the dumb instructions from his driving instructor was worth it if this was his reward.

Bakugou Katsuki whose strides hold more arrogance when he returns to the dorms and waves his driver's license to everyone. He was the first to turn eighteen, and now, he’s the first with a driver's license. His chuckles resonate just right when your friends groan exasperated and complain how they have to wait, but congratulate him nonetheless and wiggle their eyebrows because Katsuki with a license means a free drive. Wrong.

Bakugou Katsuki plays taxi driver for no one except you. You—the reason why those free drives he vehemently denies become a thing. When you ask him, pretty eyes peering into his, Katsuki thinks “Hell no”, but his mouth says, “Whatever. Fine.” And there are rules. No eating or drinking. Wear a seatbelt. Don’t be obnoxiously noisy. And the strictest of them all: no one, not even his parents, is allowed to sit in the passenger seat. Hell breaks loose on anyone who tries. “That’s my girl’s seat. Get in the back”—not a statement, but an order. It’s that same seat that becomes the first thing he modifies in his car with his first paycheck. Every last yen goes into the best material, best cushion, best everything because your comfort is his. And it’s so fucking worth it when you cuddle up in your new seat with a big smile on your face and love is all he feels when you say, “God, Kat. You’re spoiling me too much” and pull him by his collar into a mind-numbing kiss.

Bakugou Katsuki and driving with one hand, a habit born out of a passing comment you made about how hot he looked when he did that. His brain rewired on your words, spoken in a nearly whiny tone. But with the rewiring came a whole lot of other things. Like his free hand resting on your thigh. Sometimes his fingers trace random patterns and innocently knead and pinch. Other times, they glide higher and tease, twitch with need when your legs instinctively spread for more of what only he can give you. It is for that reason that Katsuki memorized where in the city the secluded places were. Once his name passes your lips on a breathy moan, he knows no driving, only how to pull over and make you come all over his fingers.

Bakugou Katsuki who finds an outlet in driving late at night when stress gets to him and sleep is being a bitch. Becomes his routine, and slowly yours too. “You’re more important than my sleep, Kat. I’m right there with you,” you told him one night when he got angry at himself for daring to disturb your sleep for the third time that week. He kissed you right after, hungrier than ever, insatiable for your love and everything you meant to his world. Katsuki didn’t care that you wore only a T-shirt—one of his old ones—as he dragged you out of your shared apartment and into his car after allowing you a minute to put shoes on. That drive was a learning experience so now, among the many things crowding his calendar, are the nights promising a clear sky. Because he needs a repeat of his car parked on some random grassy field on the outskirts of the city. To watch you beam at the starry sky above and drown in your joy as you tug on the sleeve of his T-shirt, pointing at the constellations and naming what he already knows because Katsuki always listens when it’s you. Eventually, he silences you with a kiss, his love burning too bright and too hot; it overwhelms him. His head spins and spins. It’s a blur that temporarily clears when you finally ease down on him in the backseat of his car, your gaze locked with his lovesick one, hands grabbing everywhere they can. It’s the only time when Katsuki goes against your wishes of fucking you hard. Not a romantic in the literal sense of the word, but the way everything gravitates together in the moment changes his usual pace into something softer. He makes love to you. Heart wide open, soul bare.

[padfootagain]

Love in verses (XXVI)

Chapter 26: ‘Well, how else are you to live except by denial’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This is one of my favourites, just… some adorable stuff!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4227

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Earl

In Sitka, because they are fond of them, People have named the seals. Every seal is named Earl because they are killed one after another by the orca, the killer whale; seal bodies tossed left and right into the air. “At least he didn’t get Earl,” someone says. And sure enough, after a time, that same friendly, bewhiskered face bobs to the surface. It’s Earl again. Well, how else are you to live except by denial, by some palatable fiction, some little song to sing while the inevitable, the black and white blindsiding fact, comes hurtling toward you out of the deep?

Louis Jenkins

The pain in your abdomen was a sensation you were used to, sadly. You recognized the pattern in the intensity, you knew it perfectly after years of suffering once a month. This month seemed to be particularly nasty though, and there was little doubt on to why. Your stress was so high these days, between your new job, your research, your career, and Frank’s bloody wedding… You were drowning, to be fair. Drowning in an ocean of emotions. You bent in front of your sink, waiting for the wave of pain to fade again, closing tightly your eyes, while the microwave beeped with the heating pad now reaching a burning temperature. You placed it on your stomach, not caring about your skin, only about the pain under it.

Damn… that was a bad month…

You stood straighter again, letting out a long and careful exhale, relaxing once more. Your head was spinning a little, but you didn’t dare to eat too much for now, your nausea was too bad and you didn’t want to end up throwing up. You settled for a bit of rice and an apple for lunch.

You were supposed to see Andrew this afternoon, but there was no way you could plan on fucking up Frank’s appointment at the tailor when it was hard to stand… At least, it was the weekend, you didn’t have to deal with work, and could spend your day being a burrito on your couch while watching TV and eating junk food.

You were supposed to shop for groceries in the morning, but you didn’t have the strength for that either, so you decided that you would get some food delivered for the rest of the weekend and would tackle the issue of not dying of starvation on Monday.

You sat down on your couch, at long last, heaving a sigh of relief. You held the heating pad against your stomach, covered yourself with a blanket and grabbed your phone while you turned on the TV.

You pressed on Andrew’s name on whatsapp while the tu-dum noise of Netflix echoed in your living room.

You heaved a sigh…

… you had forgotten tea… never mind, you were too much in pain and too tired to be bothered making some tea now that you were seated.

Back to your phone, you typed your message quickly.

Hi Andy! Sorry, but I’m not feeling well today, gonna have to cancel for this afternoon. We’ll talk about our plans next week. Hope you have a nice weekend, see you on Monday! Xx

You pressed ‘send’ and started browsing in the list of movies available on your TV screen.

Your phone lit up with Andrew’s name.

Sorry to hear that! Are you alright? Do you want me to drop you something?

You were too tired not to acknowledge the warmth that spread in your chest as you read his text.

Nothing to worry about, don’t worry.

His answer was quick to arrive.

Are you sure? You want me to drive you to a doctor or something?

You chuckled at his obvious worry. He really was too sweet…

No, I’m okay. Period being bitches, that’s all. I can handle it.

He answered with a thumbs up right under your text, right when you found Pride and Prejudice was on Netflix…

Well, it looked like your afternoon was all set.

You cursed under your breath. You didn’t have any snacks. Not even chocolate… and your kitchen was so fucking far… a whole ten steps away…

Damn you and your stupid brain.

You were surprised when you received another text from Andy.

So, what’s planned for today? Did you get your groceries this morning?

You snorted at the mere thought.

Nah. Too much in pain. Too tired to go to the kitchen and make myself tea, so imagine going outside with people?! No, thanks.

I’m gonna spend my afternoon with Mr. Darcy instead.

You waited for his answer, ignoring your TV now.

The Keira Kinghtley movie?

You sent him a thumbs up.

Will you hate me if I admit that I’ve never watched that film?

You almost dropped your phone.

YOU’VE NEVER SEEN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE?!

OH THAT’S IT! DISHONOUR! DISHONOUR ON YOUR WHOLE FAMILY!

He sent a laughing emoji.

You’ve forgotten the dishonour on me and my cow too…

You couldn’t refrain a laugh, even though it hurt your stomach.

You don’t have a cow. But I’ll take it out on Elwood.

You could picture the grin on his face at the joke.

HOW DARE YOU! HE’S SUCH A GOOD BOY!

Elwood, my son, don’t listen to the nasty lady…

You laughed again, but quickly stopped this time, the pain getting too strong.

You didn’t think as you wrote your next text.

You could drop by and watch it with me.

You reread the text and realised your mistake; your eyes grew round. You were in your old pyjamas, you hadn’t showered and had no intention to do so, your hair was a mess, you hadn’t washed your dishes…

You wanted to delete the text, but the blue symbols under it let you know that he had already read it.

Damn it!

I mean… I’m in pain, grumpy and look like trash…

So… maybe not the most pleasant way to spend your afternoon.

Feel free to refuse.

You waited for his answer, watched the dancing dots, until a text was received.

I’d love to, actually.

Besides, I am not five, I know about menstrual cycles, thank you very much…

You bit on your lips as you hesitated.

You’ve never seen me like that.

 A pause. You guessed that he had rephrased his text several times.

Would that make you feel uncomfortable?

You thought about it for a second. Frank didn’t really pay attention to that part of you. It was cliché, but you knew he was making a conscious effort to acknowledge your period and how much of a burden they were to you. You saw it as him making an effort at the time. Now, you were worried Andrew would be the same, with typical disappointing male behaviour…

And yet, you didn’t care. You couldn’t find a way to care. You couldn’t imagine Andrew, out of all people, disappointing you on that. Perhaps it was naïve, you weren’t sure. Your answer was earnest anyway.

No

His answer came in a matter of seconds.

Give me forty minutes to come over then.

You smiled.

An hour then.

You laughed again at his answer.

Gobshite…

You didn’t select the movie for now and merely watched some crappy TV instead, with whatever was on.

You tried not to pay too much thought on how excited you were at the idea of Andy coming soon…

Andrew ended up ringing at your door an hour and fifteen minutes later, proving you right about his time blindness, and the thought made you smile. You had washed your dishes waiting for him, using a fifteen-minutes break from the pain to stretch your legs and attempt to look like a human being. The pain was soon back with full strength though, and you gave up on the idea to change into a proper outfit. You remained in your comfortable pyjamas, tied your hair up to hide the mess it was, and went back to suffering on the couch, the heating pad growing colder and less effective, but you were too tired to get up again.

You groaned as Andrew rang at your door, forcing yourself to stand. You couldn’t hold yourself completely straight, not with the pain in your stomach being now combined with a sharp stinging sensation in your lower back. You opened the door still, and welcomed Andrew with a genuine smile.

He was wearing his hair in a bun today, his glasses perched on his nose, and a warm smile on his lips as his gaze rested upon you. He looked gorgeous in a simple brown jacket, dark jeans and a black turtleneck. You couldn’t refrain the way your heart fluttered at the sight, nor the butterflies that were added to your painful stomach.

“Hey! God, you do look like shite,” he exclaimed, but there was worry in his frown despite the obvious teasing in his voice.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you stuck your tongue out, and he couldn’t refrain a chuckle.

He walked inside, took off his shoes and jacket, and it’s only when he set the bags on the floor to do so that you noticed them.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Groceries.”

You looked up at him with a puzzled look.

“Jeez… if you were busy this afternoon, you should have declined!”

He laughed, and you were more puzzled than ever.

“These are for you,” he clarified, picking up the bags again.

You blinked up at him.

“For… me?”

“Yeah… you said you didn’t get any groceries this morning. Can’t let you starve! Come on, get a move on, these need to go in the fridge.”

You let him pass, followed him in your kitchen. He started to empty the two paper bags on your kitchen counter.

“I didn’t get you much, just enough to last for a couple of days. Pass the weekend. Nothing that needs fancy cooking either, don’t worry. Mostly pasta, rice, and a few vegetables and fruits. I also got some take out for tonight, so you don’t have to bother with cooking today. Chinese, hope you’re in the mood for that. And then, the obvious ice cream, crisps and chocolate combo. Oh, and I bought you this tea! My mom recommended it once for menstrual cramps to one of my cousins, and it’s apparently pretty nice, so… thought you could use that too.”

He looked up at you then, after his little babbling. He frowned at your expression though, and you noticed the shift in his demeanour: the way he shrank, bending over himself instead of standing straight, with his full height. Trying to look smaller than he was, to occupy as little space as possible. He rubbed nervously at his collarbone.

“I… I thought it would make things easier for you. I… I’m sorry if I’m overstepping… if you… sorry. Sorry…”

But he was interrupted by your arms around him; you almost tackled him with the strength, and you heard the loud huff he let out at the impact. It took him a couple of seconds to close his arms around you too, but then it felt like he was unwilling to ever let go.

“Thank you so much,” you mumbled into his chest. “That’s… so fucking sweet, Andy.”

“That’s nothing,” he tried to brush your thankfulness away, but you could hear in his voice that he was smiling again, feel that his body was relaxing once more. “I didn’t mean to overstep… I just… I just thought it would make it easier for you.”

You spotted your favourite chocolate on the table, along with some ice-cream.

“These are my favourite,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You didn’t have to do that…”

“It’s nothing.”

You didn’t say it. You didn’t say that Frank had never done that for you. And Andrew did? When he wasn’t your boyfriend? When he didn’t even have feelings for you?

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, rubbing your back, and the caress was so soothing you were ready to cry. “Painkillers or something? I can go to the pharmacy…”

“I’ve got that covered, don’t worry. Thank you.”

“Right…”

Another cramp came breaking your embrace, you let out a groan as you held your painful stomach. You tried not to think of how your heart stumbled and missed a few beats when Andrew brushed a messy strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You really don’t look well. You should sit down.”

“I need to reheat my heating pad…”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do that, love. Sit down, okay?”

‘Love’… he had called you ‘love’… You wanted to cry…

Why were you so affected by it? It was Andy. It was Andy, not Frank, and you wanted Frank, you wanted Frank, you wanted…

He walked into the living room about 10 minutes later, carrying your heating pad under his arm, ice cream and some chocolate. He had to go back to the kitchen to fetch your two cups of tea.

“Alright… need anything else?”

You shook your head, and he settled on the sofa next to you. Readjusted the blanket so it would cover your feet. You didn’t recognise the flavour of the tea, you reckoned he had made a cup of the one his mother had recommended.

You refused to name the feeling that was spreading across your entire body, the unbearable fondness aimed at Andrew that came with it.

I want Frank, I want Frank, I want Frank…

“Alright, let’s watch Mr. Darcy getting rejected…” he grinned at you, as if he was at his happiest, as if he couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend his afternoon than to watch Pride and Prejudice with you while nursing you back to health because you were on your period…

You scoffed, trying to hide the tears in your eyes by looking for the movie on Netflix again.

“He doesn’t just get rejected. They do get together at the end, you know?”

“Thanks for spoiling it all to me…”

“Wait… you told me you read the book…”

He laughed.

“I did! I was joking, like… It was a joke. I did read it. I simply haven’t watched any adaptation.”

“Wow… Oh… so you haven’t seen the one with Colin Firth either?! The BBC series?”

“Nope…” he answered, popping the ‘p’ before taking a sip of his tea.

Two teabags. As always. The detail made you smile.

“Okay, that is going to be our next activity together.”

He laughed, but didn’t contradict you, on the contrary.

“Well, I guess my next Sunday is all booked…”

“Indeed, it is!” you grinned, but your tone was too soft not to show how emotional the thought of spending another afternoon like this with Andrew made you feel.

He didn’t comment on that, though, and you were grateful for it.

He reached for your coffee table, where he had put the two sets of ice-cream and spoons, and handed you one.

Your heating pad was back on your stomach, warm and effectively soothing your cramps. You seized the opportunity to eat a large spoonful of chocolate ice cream.

You moaned at the taste.

“Andy… this is perfect, I hope you’re aware of how amazing you are.”

He chuckled, but there was something a little sad in his eyes when he looked down at his food, a tinge of melancholy. You didn’t know why.

“Bribing you with chocolate is the way to your heart, then,” he joked, clearly stirring the conversation away from himself, while pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes, starting the film.

You exchanged another smile, while the movie started. You didn’t realise your own movements as you scooted closer to him on the couch, and neither did he notice how he leaned towards you, until your arms were softly touching.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul. And I love… I love… I love you…”

You heaved a sigh after whispering the words in sync with Mr. Darcy, clutching at your heart, burying your face further in Andrew’s shoulder.

You weren’t sure when you had ended up in Andrew’s arms, but you were now. He had wrapped an arm around your shoulders at one point, noticing how livid you had become because of the pain, how you had tried to withhold your wince but failed. And it was meant as a temporary anchor, a soothing gesture that should have lasted just a few minutes, until the pain subsided again. But when you relaxed once more, he didn’t pull away, and instead of freeing yourself from his hold, you leaned closer, sank deeper into his embrace. And now, he was resting his long fingers on your waist, while you leaned into his chest.

Which was… better not think about boundaries and friendship and professional behaviour and all those limits you were breaking.

Meanwhile, Andrew was brushing a tear away, but you spotted it before he could pretend it hadn’t happened.

“I know… I know…” you patted his chest, trying not to notice that you were touching his chest. “I cry every time too.”

“For proof,” he chuckled, brushing your tear away with his thumb, making your heart stutter and expand to the point that you wondered how it hadn’t broken any of your ribs yet.

“It’s Jane Austen’s superpower, Andy… we can do nothing against it,” you concluded before nuzzling into his chest again.

“I’ll have to agree,” he nodded.

You noticed how his breathing was a little irregular for a moment, when you shifted to be a little more comfortable in his arms, but he didn’t push you away, didn’t move at all, in fact. Instead, he waited for you to settle again, readjusted the blanket on both of you, and stared at the end of the movie. His cheeks were turning a bright shade of red. You hated the thought that crossed your mind…

There were but a couple of minutes left, it was the end: Mr. Darcy had walked across the moor already, he had declared his love and Elizabeth had accepted his hand in marriage. They were waiting for Elizabeth’s father. You were staring at Andrew, the feeling of your gaze on him made him look down as well, catching your eyes with his. His hazel eyes, they looked so green now, in the rather bright light of the late afternoon, and the tears he had dried just before had enhanced that colour too. Green… like leaves bathed in sunlight during the summer… you loved that shade…

You didn’t even notice when the screen went dark, when the credits started rolling. You were thinking of Andrew, of how sweet he had been all afternoon, of how handsome he looked now, how much turtlenecks suited him, how cute he looked with his glasses…

He blinked a couple of times, as if he were coming back from a reverie, and looked at the TV again. You looked at his profile, found yourself longing to run your fingers through his short beard, noticed the red tainting the brown of his hair.

“Well, that was an amazing film,” he easily admitted, bringing you back to earth.

And indeed, the story was over. Mr. Bennett had accepted their union. Elizabeth would marry Mr. Darcy. All ended well. Black screen and a list of names, printed in white pixels…

You pushed yourself out of Andrew’s arms.

Back to reality now… and in the real world, you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank. You wanted Frank…

You looked away in a hurry, and trembled at the loss of contact, when Andrew finally moved his hand away from your waist.

You kept on talking about the film for a while, but eventually, Andrew checked the time.

“I should get going, let you get something to eat. And I mean… something proper. Not snacks,” he teased, standing up and taking the remnants of your various snacks with him to the kitchen.

And you had to tell yourself that mantra again. Because your heart was aching at the thought of Andrew leaving. Which was ridiculous because you would see him in two days. Which was ridiculous because he was only a friend. A colleague, even. And it was ridiculous because you didn’t want him, you wanted Frank. You loved Frank. You wanted the life you had with him back. You… you wanted Frank. You wanted Frank… You… You wanted…

“Andy?”

He reappeared, coming from the kitchen, and tilted his head a little as a silent invitation for you to speak again.

“Do… do you want to stay for dinner?”

He stared at you for a few seconds, long enough for you to start spiralling and babbling…

“Unless you need to take care of Elwood…”

“No, my parents took him to the seaside today, they’re keeping him for the night. He’s living his best life, trust me. I bet my dad is giving him all the treats he wants.”

“Or like… I mean… you’ve already spent your afternoon with me, even if I’m sick and not the best company today, and… yeah, I totally get it if you don’t want to stay, like… that’s…”

“Y/N.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’d love to stay.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I’m too much to take care of…

You merely shrugged in response, making him chuckle, clearly unaware of your thoughts.

“Well, if you’re not bored of me yet, I’d love to stay for dinner.”

You grinned.

“Grand…” you nodded, and Andrew disappeared in the kitchen again to prepare dinner.

Still, you noticed how he was smiling when he turned around, how he was blushing, too…

You ended up watching tv again after dinner. The pain wasn’t as vivid as it had been during the rest of the day, and so you were more comfortable during that part of the evening. So much so that you started dozing off, as you were watching for the nth time how Luke and Han were trying to save Leia.

You had stumbled upon a rerun of the old Star Wars movies, and settled on the nostalgic feeling of these stories to end the day. Andrew was supposed to go home after the end of the movie, once the Death Star was gone and Leia was placing medals on the heroes’ chest.

Andrew had made you laugh with his best impression of Chewbacca, and you had made him choke on his glass of water with one of your jokes and snarky remarks. It was lovely, but you were so tired you neared exhaustion by now. So, it was quite logical that you started dozing off after a while, losing tracks of the story when Han and Luke were dressed as stormtroopers.

You hadn’t noticed that your head had fallen on Andrew’s shoulder as you were falling asleep. You didn’t notice how he stopped paying attention to the movie when you did. How his heart started pounding at how adorable you looked like this. He waited for a few minutes, to see if you would stir and wake up again, but you didn’t. He stared at you for a moment longer, but you weren’t aware of it. You weren’t aware either of the longing in his gaze, of the smile on his lips as he watched how peaceful you looked in your sleep.

You blinked your eyes open again only when you felt something slipping under your knees and behind your back, felt the warmth upon which your head rested move.

“Andy?” you called in your drowsy state, still unable to understand what was happening, where you were…

“I’m here, love.”

That pet name again… were you dreaming it?

You reached up, held onto a soft fabric, and somehow, despite the fact that you had closed your eyes once more, you knew it was Andrew’s turtleneck.

“You’re falling asleep, you need to go to bed,” he said softly, his voice unbearably low and deep, it made your heart skip a few beats and warmth spread across your entire frame.

And it sounded so reassuring… so safe… He was so reassuring…

You nuzzled into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. His cologne, his softener, him…

“Can I help you reach your bed? Can I do that? Is that okay?” he asked in the same caring voice, and you nodded. But then again, you would have accepted anything, for as long as you could remain in his warmth, as long as his voice came back…

You realised then that he was slipping his arms under you, it took a moment longer for your brain to register he meant to carry you.

“I can walk,” you whispered, opening your eyes again and forcing yourself to look at him.

You were too stunned when he bent down to kiss your hair to argue when he told you there was no need, that he got you, that you could close your eyes again. You obeyed, having no strength left to argue, and you wrapped your arms around his neck when he stood up and lifted you off the couch.

He readjusted your position, and then you were vaguely aware of moving, while he walked through your apartment. You nuzzled closer, your forehead brushing his jaw and your entire body trembled as you felt his beard against your skin.

Too soon, he was gently putting you down on your comfortable mattress, tucking you in, under your warm blanket.

You blinked your eyes open before he could leave, found his hazel eyes looking down at you. He seemed so tall like this, standing above your bed.

“Thank you, Andy. For everything.”

He smiled, gesture gentle and full of fondness.

“Sleep well, Y/N. Goodnight.”

He tucked a strand of your hair away from your face, and the brush of his fingers across your cheek made you close your eyes for good.

Your last thoughts were of him, while you heard him move away from the bed, recognized the creaking of the tiles by the door of your bedroom.

God, you wanted him so much…