#mysteries with fancy cats

[carolearlycooney]

Shock and Paw by Cate Conte

Dear Fellow Readers, Have you ever read a book and thought that the ending was a bit abrupt?  Like the author was only allowed so many words and when they came close to being used up the plot suddenly moved a the speed of light to the end?  That always really bothers me.  Today’s book is Shock and Paw by Cate Conte.  This book is a cozy mystery with cat fur.  It is the eighth in the series by…

[redflannelsheets]

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[candycryptids]

Gotta. Brace my bones gotta do a bunch the next two days and then I’ll get paid and I can GO!!!! HOME !!!!!!!!!!!!

[malereadermaniac]

ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ Cat & Mouse & Snake - Adrien/Luka x Male Reader

Word Count: 9.2k

Plot: Chat Noir and Viperion have had their hearts stolen by the mouse miraculous holder. However, it seems that even as a civilian you have caught their attention - who will get the guy though?

Featuring: Top!Characters x Bottom!Reader All characters are aged up and in college! ૮ • ﻌ - ა

Background: Ladybug has been made the guardian, but some characters aren't holders anymore. Only Alya, Nino, Kagami and Luka (and Marinette and Adrien obvs) are holders, however, they are now permanent holders - More details on this in the fic! Okay cool enjoy!

Note: This fic has three separate endings! Choose which one you want or enjoy all three!

Warnings: Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI Very, very light smut! Like not a lot of detail but it's still there!!

Monarch's defeat brought about a lot of change. On the hero side of things, Ladybug had to make some tough choices; lying about Monarch's true identity, fixing the miraculous and upgrading them, and making some decisions about the holders. Marinette needed people she could trust, ones she could put her life in the hands of; this new butterfly holder was going to be her hardest fight yet. So to the dismay of many eager young adults, Ladybug informed most of the past holders that they won't be heroes ever again. In the end, only Ladybug, Chat Noir, Rena Rouge, Carapace, Ryuko, and Viperion remained. On the life side of things, everyone had graduated high school; the fight against Monarch had taken almost six whole years! And despite some of the changes to the education system made by Mayor Bustier, students above eighteen years old were still required to be in a separate educational institute from the younger students - health and safety laws n all that. Therefore, the graduate class of 20XX had to move on to college; and as fate would have it be, the remaining six heroes enrolled in the same college as each other: L'Universite Francois Dupont.

It was at UFD that a few fateful encounters occurred. The first took place in the entrance hall of the university's main building during your first day, right before your orientation. You had just walked into the grandiose building, overwhelmed by how fancy the whole place seemed; much different to what you were expecting when you heard that this was the university partnered with College Francois Dupont, one of the most casual and forward-thinking high schools in Paris. You weren't freaked out though, more so you appreciated the classic design of the building, tuning out the chatter of excited students around you and focusing on the art and statues decorating the hall. A beautifully sculpted statue caught your eye; a harp. Rather large, but small and close enough to trace your fingers over the stone; the intricate details were striking, and you were shocked at how thin the 'strings' were made despite being made out of fragile rock.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? So detailed" You heard a voice come from behind you. It was a smooth voice, a smooth one; calm and collected. It was a man's voice, but he sounded no older than you.

"Sure is! An impressively realistic pedal harp for it being made out of stone" You respond, turning around and facing the mysterious man.

As you had guessed, he wasn't much older than you; about twenty-one if you had to guess. The man was definitely taller than you though, standing at around six foot one; that was the first thing you noticed, shortly followed by how attractive the guy was. His hair was what you noticed next, droopy and slightly messy; a mid-length cut, and it was dyed a black to electric blue ombre. Clearly, the man cared about his aesthetic, hair like that needed some serious upkeep, and his style wasn't half bad either. You noticed his piercings, his painted-black nails, his ripped jeans, Doc Martins, and the gig bag around his shoulder which you assumed carried his guitar.

You heard a soft chuckle come from the man, snapping your eyes away from whatever feature of his you were fixating on and back up to his own eyes; bright blue, just like his hair.

"Do you play harp? You seem to know a lot" The man asked, choosing to ignore your blatant staring and to fill the silence.

"Huh? Oh! No, no! I just had a weird little instrument phase as a kid" You say with a light laugh, flashing the attractive man a smile as you shrug your shoulders slightly.

"Hmhm I get ya... I'm Luka by the way" The taller man says with another chuckle, his smile soft and welcoming as he holds his hand out to you in the form of a fist.

"Hmph~ [Name]" You say with another smile and chuckle as you fist bump Luka. His cold, metallic, black rings cooling your warm skin.

The interaction didn't take very long, in fact, it was interrupted by 'welcome staff' ushering the two of you into a lecture theatre to receive a proper welcome to the university. But the short interaction stayed fresh in your mind for a while, and the same went for Luka.

Another fateful encounter took place in one of the many cafes on campus. "Caramel Macchiato!" The barista shouted, trying their best to be heard over the sound of milk steamers and coffee beans getting ground up. You look up at the counter and smile at the barista, walking over to pick up your drink. Stereotypically, before your hand can wrap around the cup, you physically bump into someone; both by body and by hand.

"Oh! Sorry! Is this your drink or...?" You ask, shifting your eyes from the drink to the man beside you. The two of you shift to face each other, smiling and chuckling at the awkward interaction.

"Yeah... Think so at least haha~" The man chuckles, his eyes creasing closed as he laughs and then opening back up to look down into yours.

Emerald green. That's all you could remember about his eyes. They literally captivated you. This guy was also taller than you, but not by much, only around 3-4 inches taller. His skin was perfect and his blonde hair was soft and fluffed out like it was straight out of a magazine. The blonde's style was also very on point, stylish yet not at all over the top - God what is this guy like a model or something?!?!?

"Umm... Excuse me- Is this hot or iced?" You break your eyes away from the blonde's to question the barista "Iced~" The barista replies with a smile before quickly going back to work.

"Oh, I guess that's yours then!" The blonde says with a smile, gently pushing the plastic cup towards you

"Haha, thanksss....." "Adrien! The name's Adrien~" The man fills in your blank.

"Adrien... Thank you, Adrien!" You say with a smile, shaking your drink and rattling the ice before taking a sip. "Summer's over and you're still ordering iced drinks? Haha~" Adrien quickly fills the silence between the two of you before it becomes awkward. "Can't stand hot coffee. I'll have an iced drink even if it's snowing haha" You reply. A teasing yet friendly conversation? Exchange? Whatever you want to call it, it took place between Adrien and you as the blonde continued to wait for his drink. And once Adrien's drink had been called, you said your goodbyes to the blonde and turned to walk out of the cafe; yet you didn't miss the coy "I'll see ya round, [Name]".

The last but not least fateful encounter of yours occurred on your way to your first lecture at UFD. You weren't running late per se, but you were in a rush. However, you stopped dead in your tracks when you noticed that a girl who had zoomed past you in a rush had tripped and fallen in front of you. You heard a grunt and a curse as you approached the girl; noticing that the entire contents of her tote bag had spilled out onto the ground. "You alright?" You ask, crouching down in front of the girl. As she looked up at you, you noticed that she was really pretty; black-blue hair framing her face so perfectly. She looked like a doll. Sculpted to be perfect.

"Yeah... Shit- Just running even later than before haha" The girl chuckles dryly as she starts to collect her things. "Ah! Thanks~" She says with a bright smile as you hand her some of the notebooks you had picked up for her.

"You heading to the 'Gaultier' building by any chance?" You ask.

"Yeah! History of Fashion 1?" The girl asks you back, to which you smile and nod with excitement, having made an acquaintance in your class already.

You enjoyed the (speed)walk over to your lecture; it felt like you had blinked and you were already outside of the lecture theatre. But you in fact talked a lot during your walk. You learnt that your classmate was called 'Marinette', that she was an aspiring designer, that she was incredibly nice, and that she was incredibly clumsy; seriously, the girl tripped at least three more times on the way to your lecture, they just weren't as catastrophic as the first fall. Marinette also learnt a lot about you during the short amount of time you two had spent together, and she kept noticing small details about you during your lecture together! The aspiring fashionista had immediately noticed that you were a generally very capable person; you had done all of the recommended reading and practice workshops over the summer and when you found out that she hadn't, you promptly offered Marinette your notes. She also noticed that you were above average in smarts; you spoke eloquently without sounding like a Bourgeois, and you were having level conversations with the lecturer!

But Marinette's opinion of you really solidified when an Akuma alert blared throughout the lecture hall. It was like a switch had flipped inside of you. Before Marinette (literally thee LadyBug) could react, you were already out of your seat and informing people of the nearest 'safe space' in the university. Next thing she knew, you were next to the lecturer directing people out of the lecture hall and calming classmates down! Yep, you were definitely a good guy; capable and kind. But there was no time to sing your praises, the heroine had to get to work...

Both LadyBug and ChatNoir had hoped that if an akumatised villain was going to appear on their first day at university, it would at least be a quick and easy one. This villain was anything but easy. Or rather, these villains were anything but easy...

Said villains appeared to be three sisters; each controlling an element of nature. And whilst their aesthetics couldn't be any more different, the sisters shared one detail about them; they each had a rose on their person. The sister who controlled water and had darkened the sky with dark clouds, causing a downpour of torrential rain, her rose rested atop her head; threaded between her seemingly wet strands of hair. The sister who controlled air, the one who had thinned the air in the surrounding area and made it much harder for the heroes to catch their breaths after exerting themselves, her rose was weaved into her top; the budding petals seemingly blooming out of her chest. Finally, the sister who controlled fire, the one who had heated the tarmac below to such a temperature that the roads were actively melting, her rose was tucked into her knee-high sock; the flame-shaped tops of said socks made it look as if the rose were burning. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the Akuma must be in one of those roses. However, getting to said roses proved to be the hard part.

LadyBug had already called upon Viperion to help her and ChatNoir with a little time travel, to deduce which rose contained the Akuma; but that wasn't enough. No matter how many times Viperion used his second chance, none of the three heroes could even approach each of the elemental sisters without being at risk of having their miraculous seized. LadyBug overcame this problem by unifying her own miraculous with the one of the Horse; becoming PegaBug. With the power of teleportation, the three heroes assumed that they'd be a shoo-in for a quick victory. However, that once again proved to not be the case. The akumatised sisters were quick. They had each other's backs like it was second nature; PegaBug tried to sneak attack each of the three sisters, but it was to no avail; one of them always noticed and protected the other.

The guardian concocted another plan; pulling out the dog miraculous from her yo-yo and handing it to ChatNoir. The blonde hero was truly honoured; he'd only unified his miraculous twice before! And now, LadyBug was handing him another miraculous like it was nothing! Clearly, she trusted him. And though ChatNoir gleefully accepted and became 'ChatChien', this plan also proved to not be enough to defeat the akumatised sisters... PegaBug was losing hope. Viperion had used his second chance at least fifteen times by now and it was always the same result; Pegabug would create a portal near one of the sisters and ChatChien would use his fetch ability to tap the villain's rose. But after cataclysm-ing all three of the roses in three different timelines, Pegabug understood that it was futile. The Akuma wasn't in just one rose, it was in all three; the akumatised object was most likely originally an entire bouquet.

Pegabug, ChatChien and Viperion retreated for a moment. The two men let the heroine think. And think she did. It was silent for ages. And when ChatChien tried to speak after seemingly too much time had past, Pegabug spoke up. "We need the Mouse miraculous. We clearly need the dog's ball to fetch the akumatised objects, but we can't fetch multiple objects with one ball. So we need multiple." Pegabug explained

"But I thought the mouse's multitude could only duplicate regular objects, not miraculous or their weapons" ChatChien questioned; having been given the grimoire translations to study after Monarch's defeat.

"That was the case. But after reclaiming the miraculous from Monarch, I was able to upgrade them to some extent" Pegabug explains.

"Then let's do it. You've unified three miraculous before haven't you?" Viperion chimes in, a determined look on his face

"I have... But it wore me down. We can't risk any of us not being at our best during this fight..." Pegabug explained, getting quiet near the end of her sentence, going back to her own thoughts.

'I promised myself I wouldn't hand out any more miraculous after Monarch's defeat, I can't just give Mullo back to Mylen...' 'But Luka has barely just mastered not transforming back after five minutes.... He definitely can't handle unifying his miraculous'

Silence filled the alleyway once again, Pegabug lost in thought. But then the silence was broken. "LuckyCharm!" In a desperate, last-ditch effort, Pegabug had called upon her LuckyCharm. A swarm of shiny ladybugs formed into an object in front of the three heroes. A tote bag.

"A TOTE BAG?! What are we gonna do? Post on Pinterest?!" ChatChien yells in frustration. But PegaBug stays silent, wide-eyed. She knew what to do; she had to go and find you...

After leaving ChatChien and Viperion behind to keep the three villains busy, Pegabug used her voyage ability to teleport back to UFD. It didn't take the heroine very long to find you; as she'd expected, you were standing guard outside the safe space with some lecturers and other students. "LadyBug?" You question, warily eyeing up the heroine. She looked like her usual self, but the addition of the horse miraculous changed her appearance enough for you to worry that she had been akumatised.

"Yep! With an extra miraculous of course haha~ You can call me PegaBug!" she explained with a smile

"What do you need PegaBug? Is there any way we can help you?" You ask, happy to help the heroes of Paris save the day.

"There is, in fact! Professors, do you mind if I steal [Name] for a while?" The hero asks. After the men and women in suits nod in agreement, in the blink of an eye PegaBug is gripping your arm and pulling you through a portal.

"Wait- Woah that's sick... Wait, you know my name?!" You ask, honoured that thee LadyBug knows who you are.

"Of course I do! I've heard of you from some previous miraculous holders; I know that you're definitely the guy for this job..." PegaBug explains "...It's for that reason that I'm offering you, [Name] [Last Name], the miraculous of the mouse, which grants the power of multiplication. You will use it for the greater good, and once the job is done, you will return it to me. Can I trust you?" PegaBug continues, pulling out the miraculous of the mouse from her yo-yo.

You stare in awe as the heroine holds the coin pendant out to you.

"Of course you can. I'll do my best! I won't disappoint!" You say with conviction, gently taking the pendant from PegaBug. As you hold the pendant, it begins to shine a light pink; the shine taking form as a sphere of light and separating from the pendant, swiftly moving around you as if it were alive. You watch the sphere intently as it finally stops in front of you and changes form once more; revealing a little mouse.... creature?

"WAH!!" The mouse shouts, trying to scare you. Which did work a little; you let out a small 'Woah' and jerked your head back. "Hahahahaha~ I'm Mullo! YouJustGottaSayOneThingToTransform-" The kwamii rapidly explains. Clearly, a very excitable creature.

"Haha~ Mullo go a little slower!" PegaBug interrupts.

"Right! Sorry! To transform, just say 'Mullo get squeaky'! And to activate your power, just say 'Multitude'!" Mullo explains. A little slower this time 'round.

You smile at the creature and nod, placing the pendant around your neck and then uttering the transformation phrase. "Mullo, get squeaky!" You watch as the kwamii literally gets absorbed by the pendant, prompting the miraculous to change colour to black and pink. Pink light wraps around your body and clothes you with a super-suit. You can feel the strength enter your body, the stamina, the flexibility; you could feel yourself become a superhero. Before you knew it, the transformation was over; a pink and grey mask covered your face, a grey suit accented with black and pink covered your body, and a pink skipping rope wrapped around your waist as if it were the tail of a mouse. You gleefully check yourself out and look to PegaBug with a bright yet determined smile.

After PegaBug calls forth another portal, the two of you teleport back to the scene of the fight. You and the heroine watch as ChatChien and Viperion do their best to keep the three villains busy whilst also not losing their miraculous. Within a few moments, PegaBug had called forth another two portals and pulled both heroes through them and to safety in an alleyway. "That was a little abrupt M'lady... Hey and who might this be?" ChatChien questions with a teasing smile, recovering from the whiplash PegaBug's save had given him.

"The name's Omnimouse! Pleasure to meet you boys~" You say with a smile, one hand on your hip as you put your weight on one leg; holding your 'tail' in your other hand and gently swinging it 'round. Viperion and ChatChien could immediately tell that you were the confident type.

"Hmm Ditto, the name's ChatNoir~ Though currently I suppose it's ChatChien haha!" ChatChien confidently responds, smugly walking over and kissing the back of your hand.

"I'm Viperion" The snake hero chimes in, placing a hand on your shoulder with a smile.

"Haha! Good 'ta know, boys, but enough with the pleasantries. PegaBug? I'm sure you already have a plan for us" You say with a smile, blushing behind your mask at your proximity to the two men.

At that, PegaBug nodded and began explaining. And then, the plan was put into action. First, ChatChien hands you his ball and activates it, and then PegaBug gives you the go-ahead to use your ability. "Multitude!" You shout, one-handedly swinging your skipping rope around above you and letting it wrap around you and ChatChien's ball. A pastel pink light emits from the rope and then fades into the black accents on your bodysuit. Slowly but surely, you started to shrink. Not by a lot, but you definitely lost a foot or two of height. But in exchange for your size, you split yourself into three. It felt weird, but also natural? It wasn't like you had to split your consciousness and multitask; it was more like you had extra limbs to control. The three 'yous' each held a copy of ChatChien's ball; the second step of preparation had succeeded. Viperion then called on his second chance as a form of insurance. All the preparation was complete, now it was time to put this plan into action.

PegaBug called forth her first portal; a small rip in space-time leading to just above the sister who controlled water. You placed your hand slowly through the portal and tapped the akumatised rose with the dog's ball. The first third of the plan was a success. Next, PegaBug created another portal; one leading just beside the fire sister's leg. Just like the first time, you inconspicuously placed your hand through the portal and tapped the rose with the dog's ball. 2/3 of the plan had gone through without a hitch. Then, PegaBug created her final portal; the riskiest one. One right in front of the sister who controlled air. Just before you placed your hand through, Viperion stopped you; his hand firm around your wrist, but not so tight as to hurt you.

"This is the third time I'm using my second chance. Wait for her to place the rose into the portal, trust me." The hero explains, his electric blue eyes looking into yours, pleading you to listen to him. So you did. You patiently waited. And it paid off.

The sister who controlled air got curious. She moved forward, trying to peer over the portal; trying to see how the space-time tear looked from above and from behind. Curiosity killed the cat though, as when she moved forward, the rose on her chest moved through the portal and directly in front of you! Quickly, you tapped the akumatised object with the third ball. Finally, the hardest part of the plan was over; successfully at that. The three 'yous' quickly hand all three balls over to ChatChein and you watch as he uses his power. "Fetch!" The hero shouts, and immediately, all three balls light up and zoom over to each of the akumatised sisters. Then, all three balls, along with all three roses, teleport into ChatChien's hands. "Fall in!" You shout after grabbing all three balls from ChatChien, your two clones shining a pastel pink light and fusing back into you; bringing you back to your original height, and fusing the three balls back into one. You watch intently as ChatChien brings the roses together in a mini-bouquet and cataclysms them, freeing the Akuma.

It was over. The miraculous Ladybugs fixed everything and the akumatised victims were back to normal.

You were good. Good enough and charismatic enough for ChatNoir and Viperion to remember you. Good enough for LadyBug to call on you again in the future; and she did just that. By the 3rd time you were entrusted with the mouse miraculous, ChatNoir and Viperion would ask LadyBug where you were; by default just expecting her to call for you. And by the 5th time LadyBug had entrusted you with the miraculous, she'd noticed something. See, after LadyBug and ChatNoir obtained the skill of not transforming back after five minutes of their superpower being used, they started training the other heroes to be able to do the same thing. Alya as Rena Rouge and Kagami as Ryuko had already mastered this skill, with Viperion only just catching up and Carapace still not quite there yet. But you? Marinette hadn't noticed it at first, but she gave it some thought when spacing out during a lecture; you hadn't ever needed to transform back after five minutes... After the 6th time LadyBug entrusted you with the mouse miraculous, she asked you about this. And when you responded with a shocked laugh at the fact that the heroes were going into these fights with a 5-minute time limit, that sealed the deal; LadyBug made you a permanent holder. You were honoured; practically unable to keep a wide smile from forming on your face.

But outside of the superhero side of life, your civilian life was going as you'd expect it to. University was full of lectures and coursework. Your social life had taken a small hit from literally living a double life, but you'd gained a forever friend in Mullo. The kwamii was nothing if not trouble, but you could look past her antics; at the core of it, your kwamii was caring and kind, getting into trouble mainly to make you laugh. Other than Mullo, you also became close friends with Marinette! A typical day at UFD consisted of you meeting with Marinette and walking to your lectures, chatting in said lectures, and then parting ways.

But one day, the black-haired girl noticed that you didn't really have any other friends... It wasn't that you were a loner, or that nobody liked you! Everyone in your class seemed to have a positive opinion of you and generally liked you. It was just that, Marinette would never see you outside of the lecture hall or around campus. And when she asked you what you do after lectures, you literally just replied with 'I go home.'. So Marinette took it upon herself to force you to branch out; she did this by inviting you to hang out with her and her group of friends from college! Her group of friends who totally aren't all superheroes but just don't know it. You were nervous at first, but you were quickly put at ease when you noticed a few familiar faces. "Woah you're friends with... Luka? And what's his name... Adrien?" You ask, recognising the two men but struggling with their names; your encounters were brief.

"Yeah! You know them?" Marinette replies with a smile on her face.

You nod, mimicking your friend's smile as you approach her group of friends. Marinette introduced you to her friends and couldn't help but smile at the way that you were already seamlessly blending into the group. You were chatting with Kagami, Nino, and Alya as the latter asked you questions about yourself as if she was interviewing you, but the journalist-to-be was interrupted by the two men behind her.

"Hey again, [Name]" Luka says with a warm smile; chuckling at Alya as she purses her lips to the side in playful annoyance at the interruption.

"You know him already, Luka?" Alya questions, but gets a reply from Adrien instead of Luka.

"We know him, yes." The blonde replies with a toothy grin, coming up from behind Luka and slinging an arm around the rocker's neck.

Since that day, you became a part of the group; as if you had been there from the start. The whole group would hang out at least three times a week, and you very quickly felt comfortable enough to hang out one-on-one as well! You would help Alya with mock interviews, visit the university language cafe with Kagami and Adrien, listen to demos from Luka and Nino, and of course, you and Marinette would constantly hang out at your place. Though, you never spent time alone with Luka or with Adrien; it wasn't exactly a conscious decision, but the opportunity never came up. Over time though, Marinette started to notice that both Luka and Adrien were being way friendlier with you than with the others. Seriously though, the two men would constantly ask her about you; trying to pry information out of her to gain brownie points with you. It's because of their insistent questioning that Luka knew what chocolate bar to buy you 'cause he felt like it'. And it's because of their insistent questioning that Adrien knew that you were in need of a model for your designs and in turn volunteered himself. But things did change from friendly gestures to more serious courting attempts when Marinette innocently commented 'why do you and Luka keep asking about him?' to Adrien, and 'Why do you and Adrien keep asking about him' to Luka. Those seemingly silly observations seemed to flip a switch in the guys' minds. Initially, both Luka and Adrien just thought they had taken a liking to you. But now that they knew that the other was also asking about you? Doting on you? Adrien and Luka knew they had to step up their game, their end goal had become clear to them; they liked you. They wanted you.

Back on the hero side of things, you were constantly impressing your teammates! It got to the point that, in another battle within which LadyBug was struggling with a lack of miraculous users, the heroine decided to entrust you (before even Alya) to merge two miraculous. LadyBug needed another miraculous in play! She and ChatNoir were already using two, and despite both Viperion and RenaRouge already being transformed and ready to help, LadyBug called on you as well. It's safe to say that ChatNoir and Viperion were fucking entranced by you. You unified your miraculous with the one given to you by LadyBug and effortlessly used both abilities as required by the heroine. The fight was over before it even really started! Ever since that fight, you kinda became LadyBug's go-to dual-holder. She saw herself in you; the way you utilised the mouse miraculous to merge multiple miraculous, you proved to be incredibly capable and useful. And not just LadyBug took note of this! ChatNoir and Viperion would constantly comment on your great strategies and quick thinking after late-night fights; choosing to spend some time with you after the tiring fight. LadyBug would usually join you three during these starlit chats; but you'd noticed that as time went by, LadyBug would head back home but the two remaining heroes would insist on spending a little longer out on Paris' rooftops.

You never argued against this though, you thoroughly enjoyed these moments. It was in these moments that you could truly relax; worries of an akumatised villain appearing were almost at zero, having just won a fight, and any thoughts of uni work were buried deep in the back of your mind. But what really relaxed you was the presence of your two hero friends. ChatNoir flirtatiously joking around with you and then being scolded by Viperion, the three of you talking about life and plans without revealing too much about your identities, Viperion making jokes at the expense of ChatNoir, it all just put you at ease; you felt like these two were your closest friends despite not even knowing what they looked like! You didn't know why they were so much closer to you than the other heroes, or why Chat and Viperion were putting so much effort into spending time with you, but you certainly enjoyed it. To be frank, part of this was because both the cat and the snake heroes had a little crush on you, but the main reason was that they knew your identity...

The two had pestered LadyBug enough with their little crushes that the heroine literally could not take it anymore; swearing the two men to secrecy (and silence for her sanity) in exchange for your identity. Of course, when ChatNoir and Viperion found out that the hero they were crushing on was the same guy that they were crushing on as civilians, they both freaked the fuck out. But after their minds finished racing with thoughts, they locked in; they were in competition with each other after all... It was around summertime when both Luka and Adrien stepped up their game; university had finished for the year, and they no longer had an excuse to see you. The two men had to grow a pair and make their flirtations and courting attempts clearer. You definitely saw the model and the rocker more than any of your other friends; even more than Marinette! Both Adrien and Luka would make an effort to see you and to try and sway you towards one side rather than the other.

Adrien always invited you to his photoshoots or ad campaigns; insisting that you were a better stylist than the one he had hired and that 'he performed better knowing that you were watching'. The blonde definitely started channelling ChatNoir more and more, attempting to flirt with you with the confidence and charisma that his hero persona allowed him to express. You and Adrien would also often hang out at either your place or his (mostly his place just so that Adrien could subtly show you the luxury he could provide you). Hangouts consisted of anything from casually watching films or playing games to having deep conversations about life and the boundaries of your friendship getting pushed little by little. It was during the more vulnerable, personal conversation you and Adrien would have that you really got to know him; you learnt that the blonde continued his modelling career to honour his father, that he felt like he had no greater purpose in life for most of his life, and that he felt like you were one of the few people he could be himself around. Adrien would also learn a lot about you! The model would always listen just as much as he would talk during these kinda conversations; Adrien enjoys listening to you talk about your relationship with your family, your passions, your goals, and anything else you wanna share with him. The both of you really liked these moments; getting vulnerable and being able to talk about stuff without fear of judgment, it was like therapy. But what you were certain didn't happen during professional therapy was all of the subtle flirts and physical touch. For real, you will realise mid-conversation that you and Adrien were practically cuddling; or that you were straddling his lap, or that the blonde's hand was lingering on your hand or thigh or shoulder for a little too long. Not that either of you were complaining though. But mental notes were definitely taken. And the blush on your face and Adrien's definitely didn't make the moments go unnoticed.

On the other hand, if you weren't hanging out with Adrien for the day, you were hanging out with Luka. You have never missed a single band practice of Luka's and you never will; the rocker insisting that your mere presence helped him 'play so much better, your sound helps his flourish'. Bro's a poet, what else did you expect he'd say? As to not let Adrien get ahead, Luka would also insist on the two of you hanging out either at your place or his; his cosy room on his mother's ship was the usual place, just 'cause you'd mentioned once how much you liked the ambience. Really, it was Luka himself who made you like the atmosphere; the ever-so-slightly older man was just such a good listener, he could help you clear your head within minutes! You would spend hours with Luka, the rocker listening to you talk, paint his nails and yours with some old, black polish, you would listen to him play guitar, and like with Adrien, the two of you would talk about even the most personal things. You really didn't know what it was, but something about Luka made you feel like you could tell him anything, and you would do just that. You'd talk his ear off about yourself, internal conflicts and interpersonal conflicts; but you'd also listen to Luka a lot. It helped distract you from your own life. You listened to the rocker talk about his past struggles with the music industry, his relationship with his father, and his relationship with his sister; and you actively listened to every single word. And just like with Adrien, you wouldn't realise until the end of a conversation just how close you had physically gotten with Luka! Seriously, you'll be talking about the deepest shit and realise mid-sentence that your head was in Luka's lap; his slender, masculine fingers running through your hair. But though you did find some of the positions you found yourself in a little compromising, you would merely blush and look past it; as you still felt oddly comfortable despite the proximity. It got to the point that you felt so at ease around Luka that you would fall asleep whilst pseudo-cuddling; trust, when Adrien found out that you had started spending the night at Luka's, he was fuming and already scheming ways of getting you to sleep in his bed too.

One-on-one patrols with either ChatNoir or Viperion also became more frequent; though you didn't know that this was because the two heroes had made an agreement to split their trio patrols in order to get time alone with you. Patrols were a lot less romantic than hangouts in your civilian forms; mainly because you didn't know who was behind the masks of Viperion and Chat. As a logical and smart guy, you couldn't fall for someone you literally didn't know. That didn't stop Chat's blatant flirting or Viperion's more subtle attempts at wooing you.

By the time that most of the summer had passed by, you had spent so much time with both Adrien and Luka. You, of course, really liked them as your friends, but you also couldn't deny that the romantic and intimate moments you had shared with both men over the summer weren't making you fall for them. But you also couldn't deny that your feelings were much deeper and much more romantic for one of them than the other....

Ending 1:

But you also couldn't deny that your feelings were much deeper and much more romantic for one of them than the other... Your feelings for Adrien were so much stronger than those you held for Luka.

The second you had come to this realisation you made your move. You called Adrien and asked to meet him at his place, and of course, the blonde agreed; he was fucking whipped for you. When you admitted your feelings for him, Adrien short-circuited; like actually, a thick blush covered his entire face and neck, his eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to say something but fully couldn't. You internally panicked, but when the blonde managed to utter 'You like me too?' you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

Pretty quickly, Adrien and you started dating. You were taking things slow but after a whole summer of basically going on dates and getting close, you two didn't really have any other steps to get over and done with! Adrien was the first out of you two to change his attitudes and behaviours; going into the first day back at university with your hand in his, a bright smile on his face and a lovestruck look in his eyes anytime he looked your way. If anyone asked whether the two of you were a thing, he would proudly declare that you were his boyfriend. The model made sure to take you on nice dates and insisted on paying for you no matter how small the fee; claiming that you 'deserved to be spoiled'. You two frequented the cafe within which you met (Adrien would always get sentimental without a doubt) and you would spend practically every night at Adrien's place; though your boyfriend had no complaints about you treating his place like it was yours, he did often complain that he never got to spend time at your place!

Adrien is the typa guy who's just so innocent and wholesome. So much so that simply thinking about dating you and spending time with you used to get him hard... Fucking hot. But this became a problem when the blonde actually started dating you! Seriously, the man couldn't spend ten minutes cuddling you without popping a boner! And it wasn't like your relationship stopped at cuddling, you two would kiss, make out, grind against each other; and it would get so overwhelming (in the best way possible) that Adrien would cum in his pants like some high schooler! He was very embarrassed at first, but when you assured your boyfriend that you took it as nothing but a compliment, Adrien felt a little better. But he knew he had to work on his... overexcitement. And he did! Enough that the next time, Adrien made it through ten whole minutes of making out with you and grinding his hard dick against your ass before he had to stop as to not cum. Though the first time the blonde put it inside of you, he did in fact cum right away... But again, you took it as a compliment!!

There really were no negative aspects to your relationship with the model! Even arguments with Adrien were healthily worked through and resolved within the day! That being said... One thing you did notice was that your friendship with Luka was definitely different. The rocker was nothing but happy for you when he noticed your relationship with Adrien; sure he was hurt, but that wasn't your fault. But to protect the little ego he had left, Luka had to take a step back. That meant no more one-to-one hangouts at his place, no more intimate and vulnerable talks, and no more comforting proximity. You knew it was for the better; you didn't want to lead Luka on, and you knew Adrien would get immensely jealous and insecure despite trying his best to hide it. So you and Luka remained friends, but you could both see the sadness behind your smiles; you lost a close friend, and Luka lost what he thought was the harmony to his sound...

You knew that your relationship with Adrien couldn't get any better, and you didn't want to ruin that, but you felt like you were lying to your boyfriend. You had to constantly lie about where you were during Akuma attacks, you had to lie about talking on the phone or to yourself when you were really talking to Mullo, and you had to constantly make excuses for leaving late at night for parole. Keeping your identity a secret was eating away at you, so you decided to tell him. You trusted Adrien. More than anyone else. You felt that it was necessary, and even Mullo agreed. You worked up the courage and sat your boyfriend down. But when you were met with a laugh after nervously pouring your heart out to the blonde, all you could do was look at Adrien with confusion. "hahaha! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, babe! But... is it bad that I already knew?" You were speechless. WHAT DID HE MEAN 'HE ALREADY KNEW'???? You thought you hid it so well! But Adrien very quickly explained; rather, he showed you. You watched with shock on your face as your boyfriend transformed into ChatNoir right in front of your eyes. Now that you thought about it, it made sense! All of Adrien's attempts at flirting with you reminded you so much of Chat! And looking past the quantum masking, damn ChatNoir really did look like Adrien. Let's just say that the two of you had to try really hard not to act like a couple when in your hero forms; and even then you two were still quite insufferably affectionate...

Ending 2:

But you also couldn't deny that your feelings were much deeper and much more romantic for one of them than the other... Your feelings for Luka were so much stronger than those you held for Adrien.

The second you had come to this realisation you made your move. You called Luka and asked to meet him at his place, and of course, the rocker agreed; he had it bad for you. When you admitted your feelings for him, Luka kept his cool; but internally he was freaking out. He was so fucking happy, but he couldn't make it look like this is what he'd been praying for for the past couple of months; even though that's exactly what it was. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when Luka gave you a warm smile and confessed that he 'felt the same, probably even more than you do'.

Pretty quickly, Luka and you started dating. You were taking things slow but after a whole summer of basically going on dates and getting close, you two didn't really have any other steps to get over and done with! Luka was quick to change his attitudes and behaviours, but he was quite low-key with it. On the first day back at university you two walked hand in hand, a warm smile on Luka's face and a lovestruck look in his eyes anytime he looked your way. If anyone asked whether the two of you were a thing, he would look into your eyes and smile whilst letting out a love-drunk 'he's mine alright~'. The rocker made sure to treat you right, treating you like royalty and practically worshipping the ground you walked on; this man would literally give you a piggy-back to your lecture if you simply mentioned that your legs hurt, claiming that you 'should be treated with care like the fine art-piece that you were'. Anytime that the two of you would pass through the hall within which you two first met, Luka would always reminisce and claim that he 'knew you were the one from the first word you spoke'. Sleepovers at Luka's became even more frequent than before, but the moment your boyfriend noticed that you would wake up seasick, he insisted on sleeping at your place instead.

Intimacy with Luka was another thing that really changed. The comfortable proximity became hotter and heavier; you both couldn't help it! You were so fucking attracted to each other that the moment you would straddle Luka's lap his lips were already on yours. Again, your boyfriend treats you like royalty during these moments, calling you beautiful and handsome and an angel between kisses and as he litters your neck with lovebites. Luka is also quite experienced; he is older than you by an entire year to be fair! But damn does Luka know what the fuck he's doing! The way he'll control his pace to make you feel the best you can; using that huge white-boy dick to his advantage. Also holy fuck those fingers! Luka knows just how to curl his slender fingers inside of you to get you writhing beneath him. Making out and cuddling with Luka is also a ten-outta-ten experience; things don't have to go any further and you're still satisfied with your boyfriend's tongue dominating your mouth, or getting spooned by his bigger frame. Oh and Luka has a huuuuuge thing for your voice! He loves to just hear you talk, but oh does he do his very best to make you feel euphoric just so that he can hear you fucking moan your lungs out. And don't even get him started on the way his name sounds on your lips; Luka could talk for hours about how much it affects him. On days you two can't see each other, you two will talk on the phone for hours; but inevitably, you'll notice that as it gets later in the night, Luka will start to get quiet, he'll start to grunt and his breath will start to get shakey and uneven. And if you ask him if he's okay, all Luka will reply with will be a shakey and breathy 'j-just keep talkin'~'. Oh he's straight JERKIN' IT!!

There really were no negative aspects to your relationship with the Rocker! Even arguments with Luka were few and far between; but when they did happen, they were healthily worked through and resolved within the day! That being said... One thing you did notice was that your friendship with Adrien was definitely different. The model was happy for you, sure... But man, was he hurt. It's not like it was your fault, but to protect the little ego he had left, Adrien had to take a step back. That meant no more one-to-one hangouts at his place, no more intimate and vulnerable talks, and no more comforting proximity. You knew it was for the better; you didn't want to lead Adrien on, and you knew Luka would get immensely jealous and insecure despite trying his best to hide it. So you and Adrien remained friends, but you could both see the sadness behind your smiles; you lost a close friend, and Adrien lost what he thought was the purpose he was so desperate to find in life...

You knew that your relationship with Luka couldn't get any better, and you didn't want to ruin that, but you felt like you were lying to your boyfriend... You had to constantly lie about where you were during Akuma attacks, you had to lie about talking on the phone or to yourself when you were really talking to Mullo, and you had to constantly make excuses for leaving late at night for parole. Keeping your identity a secret was eating away at you, so you decided to tell him. You trusted Luka. More than anyone else. You felt that it was necessary, you knew how much Luka valued truthfulness more than anything! You worked up the courage and sat your boyfriend down. But when you were met with a laugh after nervously pouring your heart out to the rocker, all you could do was look at Luka with confusion. "Oh baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But... is it bad that I already knew? Haha~" You were speechless. WHAT DID HE MEAN 'HE ALREADY KNEW'???? You thought you hid it so well! But Luka very quickly explained; rather, he showed you. You watched with shock on your face as your boyfriend transformed into Viperion right in front of your eyes. Now that you thought about it, it made sense! Just like his hero persona, Luka was always calm and collected; his flirtations more cerebral and calculated! And looking past the quantum masking, damn Viperion really did look like Luka. Let's just say that the two of you had to try really hard not to act like a couple when in your hero forms; and even then you two were still quite insufferably affectionate...

Ending 3:

But you also couldn't deny that your feelings were much deeper and much more romantic for one of them than the other...

'I... I think Luka is the one...'

'Wait no... It's Adrien..!'

'But Luka...'

'But Adrien...'

'FUCK! I can't choose! I... I think I'm in love with both of them...!'

Your thoughts were running rampant. You couldn't make a choice; both men had shown you a whole new world. You'd never experienced intimacy and comfort like you had with them both. How were you supposed to pick one and just forget the other?

The second you had come to this realisation you made your move. You called both Luka and Adrien and asked to meet them at your place, and of course, they both agreed; they were willing to do anything for you, really. It was a difficult conversation; you didn't even really know where to start. But when you finally got your feelings for both men across, you could feel a weight lift off of your shoulders. Shockingly, it wasn't awkward! If anything, both Luka and Adrien felt some relief? Hey at least this way it's a win-win? Both the blonde and the dual-toned rocker had a wordless conversation with their eyes and then came to a decision; they would happily share your love. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when both Adrien and Luka gave you a warm smile and confessed that they both wanted you, like you wanted them.

It took a while for the three of you to get your footing. But soon enough, you figured it out; just because there were three of you in this relationship, didn't mean that it would be any different from a typical relationship. Sure, you three took it slow, but after an entire summer of basically going on dates with Luka and Adrien, there weren't many other things to go over! But you did have to learn how to spend time together; the three of you, the model and the rocker learning to share you and learning to love each other. Yeah, Adrien and Luka were already friends! But it was a totally different thing being in a relationship! However, slowly but surely, the three of you got there; by the time university had started back up, you three were walking into campus hand-in-hand. Honestly, you felt greedy! You had two of the hottest guys on campus looking at you with love in their eyes and with dumb smiles on their lips! If anyone was brave enough to ask what you three were to each other, each of you was more than happy to proclaim that you three were dating! Oh and they both made sure to treat you right! Though you insisted on taking turns when paying for things, Luka and Adrien would always team up to make sure that one of them distracted you whilst the other paid! Oh and you were treated like a prince on the daily; you never carried your back, books, or equipment when your boyfriends were around! The three of you would constantly reminisce about your first meeting at the hands of Marinette, and both Adrien and Luka would constantly retell their first encounters with you to each other; literally asking each other what they thought when they first saw you. Bro, you had these guys fucking WHIPPED! Sleepovers became very frequent. Of course, you guys had your time alone, but you slept at Adrien's, Luka's, and your's at least once a week!

Intimacy with your boyfriends was something else entirely! It took a while for starters! You didn't wanna push them; you had already pushed the boundaries by dating both Luka and Adrien at the same time! But you soon realised that the reason you three hadn't gone past cuddles was that they didn't wanna push you! Really, Adrien and Luka were horny as FUCK! It took everything in their power to hold back! But damn, when the three of you finally got to it? 10/10. That's all. Luka and Adrien would focus on your pleasure so much that you'd cum within minutes; oh and you'd usually cum at least twice before either one of them came even once! When it came to your secret identities, you felt like it was too much to reveal your identity as Omnimouse to two people; so though it hurt you to lie to the two men you trusted with your life, you didn't tell them. Though it was a bit ironic that they already knew! Luka and Adrien chose to let you believe that they didn't know of your identity; if for any reason, to keep you sane! That did mean that neither Adrien nor Luka revealed their own identities as ChatNoir and Viperion, but that was probably for the best. Neither Adrien nor Luka knew that the other was a hero as well....

All in all, your relationship with your two boyfriends was incredible; you seriously couldn't be happier. Luka and Adrien were also incredibly happy to have you as their boyfriend; seriously, at least half of the conversations they have are about you, and within each of those conversations they call themselves lucky to have you at least twice per convo!

[alllbedo]

how to win over genshin men !

includes: xiao, lyney, albedo, venti, wanderer

xiao

sheesh. good luck with this one…

in all seriousness, he’s a tough one, but it’s still possible to make him crack iykwim

firstly and most importantly, you can’t be clingy. like at all. if he senses you getting too close too fast he’ll run off like a cat

be chill. nonchalant. whatever word you fancy. just don’t be creepy.

in all honesty, you’re going to have to go into meeting him with the goal of friendship in mind, not a relationship.

if he gets even a hint that you wish to pursue him in that aspect too early on into your meetings, he’ll get irritated and, you guessed it, run off like a cat

in short, become VERY VERY VERY good friends before you even think about crossing that line

he’s just scared okay be patient and gentle with him and he’s yours i swear

lyney

our little magician is much harder to win over than you might think!

underneath his cool and charming façade, he’s just a boy who wants the best for his siblings.

that being said, become friends with lynette or freminet before getting close to him!

don’t get me wrong, it’s not like you’d be doomed to friendship forever if you met him first, but getting along with his loved ones is a sign that he can trust you.

because he’s apart of the fatui, trust is hard to garner from him, so consider yourself lucky!

once you’re good friends with one or both of his siblings, he’ll probably make the first move

friendship-wise you idiot….

he’ll most likely come up to you one day on the streets of Fontaine with the ploy of demonstrating a new magic trick he plans to use in his next show

but secretly, he just wanted to talk to you

compliment him or act surprised, just don’t be cold or nonchalant !!!! he will get offended and lose all interest immediately!

he’s already insecure enough please don’t bruise his (fake) ego

keep in mind to compliment HIM, not just the trick. keep it playful. not too serious. just bordering on flirtatious and friendly.

he’ll grow flustered, as he’s more used to people admiring his tricks rather than him. he’ll get quiet, so you’ll need to start the next part of the conversation.

talk about what he loves most, his weak points: his siblings!! share the details of your most recent outing with freminet or lynette, and boy will he fall head over heels.

he’ll invite you to a “private magic show” after

it’s not dirty you sewer rats.

it’s most likely a big tea party with his siblings present as well. he’ll just show off card tricks the whole time. lynette will eat some crêpes and fall asleep. freminet will wander off halfway through, claiming he has to repair pers. you’ll be the only one left.

just “ooh” and “aah” until he’s done

albedo

my favorite boy.

albedo’s biggest interest (ahem, turn-on) is curiosity and mystery.

go up to dragonspine one day, seemingly in order to gather some ingredients for a recipe.

we all know what you’re really up to, though

however, as you were walking up the mountain to “accidentally” pass by albedo’s lab, a huge avalanche caused heaps of snow to fall upon you

it’s your lucky day, though, because albedo was strolling by at that very second! how convenient i know right

that also means he saw you get absolutely bodied by snow though so …

anyway, he obviously comes to your rescue, grabbing onto your outstretched hand and yanking you up from the soft snow.

he’ll firstly ask if you’re alright, and then proceed to bombard you with questions about why you were up there in the first place.

okay now here’s the part where you have to lock in

you need to be soooo mysterious. answer with something so blatantly false that even he sees through it. better yet, add hesitation to your replies.

this will interest him, but also make him a little suspicious, so now you have to lay off the mystery.

say you lost your way and mention being cold so that he’ll offer to lead you up to his lab.

once you’re there, it’s your turn to ask questions, be the curious one.

you’re gonna have to glaze alchemy sooo damn hard bro. idk pretend like you’re interested if you’re not.

he tends to grow bored when the conversation isn’t a topic that interests him (canon), so beginning a discussion in a topic he loves is the best way to grow closer to him.

after your most likely lengthy discussion over alchemy, he’ll walk you back down the mountain, pointing out different landmarks for the “next time you’re up here” 😏

so he’s implying that you’ll come back huhhh … ;)))

bro he wants you so bad, trust !!!

venti

bard boy time!

out of all of these character’s, he’s the easiest to win over.

start simple by attending his poetry and prose read-alouds next to the big statue in mondstadt. other people will be there, so you’ll need to make yourself stand out by standing at the front of the crowd, or smiling at him whenever he looks up to gage reactions.

he’s a god, he obviously knows all mondstadt citizens, so when he sees you, someone he doesn’t recognize, his interest is already piqued.

once his session ends, simply clap and smile. stay in your place. once the rest of the crowd wanes off, and it’s just you and him left, you want to be the one to start the conversation. show that you’re not scared to show interest in a poet’s work (even if all you’re truly interested in is the poet themself…)

compliment the poem or inquire about where his inspiration for it derived from. he loves talking about poetry, so he’ll be happy to share.

being forward is where your best chance with him lies. people seem to forget that he’s been voted the best bard in mondstadt for several years now… he’s a popular guy! he has a lot of people swarming him each day, asking for poetry advice, complimenting him, asking for a duet, etc.

so you need to be BOLD. put on them big girl/boy pants and make your interest in HIM as a person clear.

it’s best not to compliment his appearance too much, since, y’know it’s not really his

but don’t focus on poetry too much either.

be flirtatious. once you start talking about poetry, he’ll turn the question back to you. he’ll ask about your knowledge and/or experience with the art.

if you write poetry, good for you, because you’ve got him hooked.

here’s your opening: tell him what topics you like to write poems about (hint: mention the word “love”)

he’ll agree, saying that he writes poems about love as well.

next, you should ask him something along the lines of “does that mean you have a muse?” or some variation. ask him if he has a significant other.

now he’ll realize that your interest in him is different from the rest of mondstadt’s citizens’, and reply that he doesn’t.

if he’s really hooked, he’ll return the question, and once you say no, he’ll invite you to hang out with him more privately another day to discuss poetry.

propose going to angel’s share and you’ll have yourself a husband already

wanderer

this one’s also a tough one.

he’s not quite as standoffish as xiao is, but he’s close to it

he’s kinda just mean …

the only way to impress him is by one-upping him in anything, whether it be in witty comebacks, an assignment in the akedemiya, or in a sparring match.

show him that you’re not a burden, that you can hold your own.

if there’s one thing he hates in a romantic partner, it’s dependency.

i see a lot of people depict wanderer as a sucker for a clingy s/o, but i can’t help but think that he’d absolutely hate that.

he’s been tied down all his life, why would he want the one person who sets his heart free to then tie it down with their mortal limbs? automatic turnoff.

prove to him that you don’t need him, but that he instead needs you.

beat him in a sparring match and he’s drooling istg

you can’t be too avoidant though. he loves the chase, but he won’t chase forever. he values his dignity too much.

it has to be a sort of mutual thing. you chase him for a bit, and he chases you.

“chasing” in this scenario is not what it usually is in others.

with wanderer, chasing is simply finding some excuse to be in your presence.

does that mean he’ll talk to you? absolutely not. in fact, most of your enemies-to-lovers-esque relationship is expressed through actions, not words.

another thing he’s a sucker for: people with a sense of humor.

holy shit. this man never laughs at anything. if you can match his dark sense of humor, he’s whipped.

poor dude hasn’t laughed in forever, tell him a twisted joke or something

[blood-smiles]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐄 —-— ‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍫 ⋅ ˚✮

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 - !! 18+ MDNI !! yandere . yandere gets down and dirty with darling . Chocolate aphrodisiacs . handjob . probably more . DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT..

The air was warm and the rich people laughing around you with their fancy champagne wasn’t making it any better.

You could just feel the luxury cars, expensive watches and decades of inherited fortune in their cackles.

You walked around like a lost duckling without its mother, you indulged in the chocolate fountains, the mysterious fancy meat and the delicious wine that somehow tasted like the tears of the poor.

You sipped your wine as you stared at a very particular sculpture decorated in jewels and silks, your commoner eyes never quite adapted to the strange and fantastical world of the wealthy.

You tilted your head at the abstract art, what shape did it have? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Was this the so called modern art? 

At least it’s a step up from taping a banana to a wall, you thought.

What kind of shape was this? A bottle? A banana? A cat? A curvy rock?

God. This was stressing you out, you were probably putting too much thought into thi—

“I see you are looking at my newest creation. This is my personal interpretation of.. the essence of.. A woman.” The voice of a man drawled in your ear, wow, a woman? You could have never guessed.

the rancid smell of the cottage cheese in his breath fanning right into your nose.

You suppressed the urge to gag and potentially throw up your fancy meat and chocolate coated strawberries on the ugly sculpture.

Instead you covered the disgust you were about to show with a tight smile.

“The curves of her body.. The jewels hanging over her childbearing hips just.. Speak to me.” The man spoke, facing away from you as he shallowly expressed his thoughts, his hands flailing around in the air as if he was the next man to change art.

To you it just seemed like a weirdly shaped rock that had been drowned in very expensive precious stones and jewelry.

But for the sake of his delusions you simply nodded along with his words, trying to distract yourself from his rotten breath.

“You are quite the beauty.. Say, would you like to try these special edition chocolates I have been working on?..” The balding male offered, passing you a single chocolate in his hand.

Well, that was awfully stingy wasn’t it? This man must be swimming in pools of money and riches, surely he can spare more than a measly square of chocolate.

Whatever, hopefully that chocolate will neutralize his disgusting pants.

Your hand reached out, eager to try the grandeur chocolate, only for a larger and slimmer hand to snatch the piece of heaven from the man’s hand.

You gasped, looking up at the aggravator, Alejandro.

The beautiful man shoved the candy in his mouth before you could even open your mouth to whine.

You turned your gaze to the artist, only to see that there was a fat glob of sweat trickling down his face. He had the most ‘oh shit. I fucked up’ look you had ever seen.

“Alejandro! Why would you do that?!” You huffed, pulling at his sleeve impatiently.

“(Y/N). Why are you taking things from strangers. Did we not go over this at home? Do I need to remind you?” Your partner scolded you, tilting his head down at you.

his hair had been styled differently for the event, his hair gathered loosely over his shoulders, flowing down his back in a straight fashion.

“And you.” He glared, his eyes narrowing into a disgusted expression. “Who the hell do you think you are to be offering your repulsive treats to my lover?” 

His garnet eyes almost glowed in anger, a small vein appearing across his jaw. His hands were balled in fists, knuckles straining his skin, veins about to pop.

Holy shit, if you were in the other guys’ shoes you would have wet your pants— Scratch that, your bladder would have unattached from your body and dropped on the ground with a loud splat.

Pretty people really are scary when mad. You furrowed your brows in a grimace, sipping your tasty wine quietly.

The artist fled in a time record, you swear you blinked and only an outline shape of him remained in his place.

You looked at Alejandro, who was staring down at you intensely. His hands shakily landed on your shoulders.

His forehead pressed against your right shoulder. Now what was wrong with him? These little mood swings he has been having lately are proving to be quite irritating.

“..That chocolate.. Was laced..” He mumbled, taking deep shaky breaths. You turned around, eyebrows high in surprise.

“W—Whu..? How do you know?” He simply raised his head, his cheeks glowing with red, eyes half lidded and desperate.

..What the helly.

“Alejandro? Are you okay? Did it have poison?!” You began panicking, grabbing him by his arms. He flinched as if your touch had just burnt him, his posture growing stiff.

He looked down, thighs rubbing together. Heat began pooling in the bottom of his stomach, the tent in his pants beginning to create a wet patch.

“..Aphrodisiac.” He simply said, air coming out in little gasps. Was the drug that strong? It had barely been five minutes since he ate it— How did it work so quick?

He let out a soft sound, leaning closer into your body warmth “..(Y/N), please h-help me..” he begged, long lashes wet with little tears.

“What? Here? Now?” You looked around, maybe this not humble abode had an unoccupied room? You knew you couldn’t leave him in this state.

Not when he was begging so nicely.

You sighed, his fingers interlocked with yours now, gently pulling him along. Your mission was to get him to a room to relieve him with hopefully no casualties.

Someone stopped the both of you, a beautiful woman in a silky red dress with a sensual slit.

“Alejandro! There you are! I have been looking for you for so long!” She giggled, getting on her the tips of her feet to peck his cheek in a greeting.

Ah, you knew her. She was one of the candidates that his parents had groomed for him.

She wasn’t all that interested in him, more like in his fortune.

Alejandro growled under his breath, pushing her away rudely. His mind was fogged with lust but even so he was physically unable to interact with someone that wasn’t you.

“Leave me be.” He cut her off, grabbing your wrist and pulling you with him, leaving the pretty woman in the dust.

You ascended up the beautiful staircase of the mansion, running into one of the many empty rooms.

Alejandro didn’t wait a moment more to strip, his hands working in his tailored coat, then came off his black button up along with his pants and undergarments.

His skin gleamed under the warm lighting, sweat enhancing his already breathtaking figure.

“..Please..” He begged, his violet hair sticking a little to his face, his glasses foggy and stained with tears.

“..aah~..” he shivered, hand coming down to stroke himself, the motion making wet squelching sounds.

He sat on the bed on all fours, putting himself on display, writhing on top of the sheets in discomfort. Even in such a ruined state he somehow still managed to look like model. God really does have favorites.

You didn’t hesitate to sit between his thighs, nails gently teasing the soft plush skin of his inner thigh.

He gasped a little, throbbing under your touch. You traced the beauty marks blessing his porcelain skin.

He was so impatient. He was about to grab your hand and just tell you to touch him. But he knew better, he was to be patient, he knew that you would probably punish him and leave him in this sorry state.

Your hand finally wrapped around his pretty shaft, veins pulsating in need. Pre-cum bubbled from his slit, your thumb cruelly rubbing over his sensitive pink tip.

He let out a high pitched cry, closing his eyes as to try to hold onto the last of restraint he had. 

“Haaan!..” he whined, eyes rolling back into his head, hands gripping the sheets so tight that the fabric could rip from under his grasp.

You sped up your pace, indulging his needs a little. The slick of his cum made your hand sticky, he smiled at that. This was one of his brandings on you, your hands were claimed by him, by his juices—By his love.

Saliva trickled down his jaw, his tongue lolling out from the sheer pleasure. Your hands wrapped around him felt like a blessing, something sacred only reserved for him.

His hips bucked into your fist with a new sense of purpose, his head felt fuzzy, like it was full with cotton.

He felt himself ascending to cloud nine, about to cum. 

“Agh—Nggg~..” he put a hand over his mouth, trying to keep his noises down, hoping that no others had heard him over the loud orchestra downstairs.

Suddenly your fingers intruded inside his ass, curling up inside his hole. He mewled in ecstasy, burrowing himself on your fingers even more.

The tips of your fingers pressed against his velvety walls, his prostrate being poked by your fingers in such a deliciously unfathomable way that he couldn’t help but let himself go.

White semen oozed from his dick, dirtying the expensive sheets in a web of cum. Tears rolled down from his eyes, chest pressed against the soft mattress and plump ass in the air. 

Slick running down his thighs all the way down to his knees. His limp dick twitching after a fulfilling orgasm.

His chest heaved, you could tell he was spent. He turned his gaze to you, opening his arms as if asking you to come lie down next to him on the soft sheets.

You dragged a hand down your face, this man truly is a handful.

The two of you went home not too soon after, but this time making sure not to accept any suspicious chocolate from anyone on the way out.

Your lover pressed a chaste kiss to your temple, silently thanking you for the strange but passionate night the both of you shared.

[cressidagrey]

Built to Last

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:   Oscar and Felicity have their own Wedding Anniversary Traditions. 

Warnings and Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

Oscar didn’t mean to mention it.

They were halfway through a post-sim debrief, leaning against the wall outside the engineering bay, sipping coffee. The conversation was harmless, easy: weather, schedules…

And then, somewhere between a yawn and checking his calendar, Oscar said it.

“Anniversary’s next week.”

Lando blinked over the rim of his cup. “Wait. Anniversary anniversary?”

Oscar glanced sideways, frowning faintly. “Yeah. Wedding.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then Lando made a sound like a cat being startled from a nap and nearly dropped his coffee. “Mate. What are you doing? Where are you taking her? What’s the plan? I’ll babysit. Have you booked something? Have you bought her a present? Is it diamonds? It should be diamonds.”

Oscar blinked. “It’s… not diamonds.”

Lando looked personally betrayed. Like Oscar had just declared that love was fake and Santa wasn’t real.

“You’re telling me you’ve been married for five years and you don’t do an anniversary anniversary?”

Oscar shifted his weight, eyebrows pinching together. “We usually just… make grilled cheese. Sit on the porch. If Bee’s asleep, we drink wine. If she’s not, we share juice boxes. Maybe pick out a piece of furniture. Something we actually need.”

Lando stared. “That’s it?”

Oscar shrugged. “We like it.”

“But—” Lando flailed, gesturing with his coffee like it was a wand summoning romance. “But this is the one day a yearwhen you go big. You know, romantic dinner, private jet, maybe one of those poems that makes people cry.”

“I’m not writing Fliss a poem.”

“Why not?!”

“Because I’d die of secondhand embarrassment before she even finished reading it. And she’d probably edit it for rhythm and meter and grammar.”

“She’d annotate your love poem,” Lando breathed, delighted. “God, I love her.”

Oscar smirked into his cup. “Same.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but still—you’re telling me you’ve never done a surprise trip? Champagne on a boat? A room full of candles? A necklace in a soufflé?”

“That’s a choking hazard.”

“You’re impossible.”

Oscar sipped his coffee and shrugged again, but this time, the movement wasn’t quite so casual.

Because the truth was… he hadn’t really thought about it.

Not in the way Lando meant.

He and Felicity didn’t do fireworks. Their entire relationship had been built on low murmurs and steady hands, not fanfare and spectacle. Their romance was forged in the back corners of university labs and packed lunches, in checking engine oil and falling asleep on the couch after Bee finally stopped crying at 3 am. It wasn’t showy. It wasn’t curated. It was real. Grounded.

But now, with Lando’s eyes boring into him like Oscar had committed a federal crime against romance, he felt a small, unsettling prickle of doubt crawl up the back of his neck.

Maybe he should’ve planned something. Maybe grilled cheese wasn’t enough. Maybe Felicity deserved diamonds and candlelit dinners and Instagram-worthy anniversaries with rose petals and skyline views.

He’d never once heard her complain. Never once seen disappointment flicker in her eyes when they swapped fancy reservations for couch blankets or museum dates for garden centre runs.

But still.

He took another sip of his coffee, slower this time.

“Maybe I’ll… think about it,” he muttered.

***

Later that evening, Oscar padded barefoot into the kitchen.

The house smelled like vanilla and sugar and the faint, familiar undertone of something gently burning in the oven. Warm light spilt across the tiled floor. Felicity was elbow-deep in flour at the counter, sleeves rolled to her elbows, curls falling loose from the bun on top of her head. Beside her, Bee stood on her wooden step stool, tongue poked out in concentration as she whacked cookie cutters into rolled dough with the determination of a tiny construction foreman.

There was flour on the floor. On the counter. In Bee’s eyebrows. One of the cats had paw prints across the hallway that suggested he had also tried to help. It looked like domestic chaos and safety, and home.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe and took a moment to watch them — Bee holding up a wonky star shape like she’d just forged the moon, Felicity smiling as she adjusted the dough thickness with an old wooden rolling pin they’d found at a flea market on holiday.

He cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft, a little scratchy with nerves. “Do you… wanna do something for the anniversary this year? Like. A thing.”

Felicity glanced up.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him — really looked — eyes narrowing slightly in amusement.

And then she laughed.

Not unkindly. Never that. It was the sort of laugh that curled through the room like sunshine, golden and affectionate and just the tiniest bit smug. The kind that said she already knew where this was going. That maybe Lando had texted her before Oscar even made it home.

“You want to do a thing?” she asked, brushing a flour-smudged curl off her forehead with the back of her wrist.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, the way he always did when he felt a bit uncertain. “I mean… not like a jet to Paris kind of thing. Unless you want to. But just… I don’t know. Something special?”

She grinned — full teeth, eyes soft. Wiped her hands on a tea towel and stepped away from the counter.

“Oz, we got married at a registry office and ate Pret sandwiches on a bench outside. You think I’m holding out for a rooftop dinner now?”

Oscar shifted his weight. “I just thought… maybe you wanted something a bit more… grand?”

She snorted.

Actually snorted. Then, full-body laughed, leaning back against the counter, shoulders shaking.

Bee looked up, startled. “Mama snorted.”

“I did,” Felicity said, brushing her knuckles against her nose. “Because your papa is being very sweet.”

She turned back to Oscar, eyes still crinkled at the corners. “What brought this on?”

He sighed, defeated. “Lando.”

“Ah.” Her mouth twitched. “Lando said. Of course.”

“He asked if I’d bought you diamonds,” Oscar muttered, stepping fully into the kitchen now. “Or planned a surprise trip. Or hidden a necklace in a soufflé.”

Felicity’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “A soufflé?”

“I know.”

“He does realise you don’t like soufflés, right?”

Oscar chuckled. “I told him that was a choking hazard.”

Felicity laughed again, and then reached across the counter to take his hand. Her fingers were cool from the dough, her touch familiar and grounding. The weight of it settled something in Oscar’s chest.

“We went to Pret after our wedding,” she said.

Oscar nodded. “In our wedding clothes. On a bench outside.”

“I got egg mayo on my dress.”

Bee, still diligently cutting stars, looked up and said solemnly, “I like egg mayo.”

Oscar squeezed Felicity’s hand. “Your mama’s the only person I know who would pick a sandwich over a three-course meal.”

“And your Papa married me anyway,” Felicity said, proudly.

“I got the better end of the deal.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately. “Don’t get sentimental, Tin Man.”

He hesitated. “But still… five years is a big. And I don’t want you to think I don’t care. Just because we don’t do all that—” he gestured vaguely toward the ceiling “—sparkler-and-chandelier stuff.”

“I don’t need sparkles,” she said gently. “We already have our tradition.”

Oscar blinked.

“Every year,” she said, “we pick something for the house. Something that matches the traditional anniversary theme.”

“Right,” Oscar said, memory clicking into place. “Year one — paper — we got Bee’s sonogram framed.”

“Two was cotton — the new sheets,” Felicity added. “Three, leather — that vintage armchair from Brighton. Four was fruit — we planted the lemon tree. Which is still alive, by the way.”

Oscar grinned. “So this year…?”

“Wood,” Felicity said, brightly. “I was thinking maybe a hutch for the dining room? Something low enough for Bee to use, too. Or we could go to that reclaimed timber place you like. Get something together. As a family.”

She paused, then added slyly, “Unless you’d rather get me a life-sized mahogany sculpture of your face.”

Oscar made a face. “God, no.”

Felicity kissed him then. Quick, warm, and sweet — flour and sugar clinging to her cheek. The smell of dough in her hair.

“Let’s do what we always do,” she said. “Grilled cheese sandwiches. Something for the house. And maybe a dance in the kitchen when Bee’s asleep.”

Oscar leaned his forehead against hers.

“You’re not disappointed?”

Felicity looked up at him, so sure, so steady. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t need a yacht. I need a hutch and a sandwich and you.”

Oscar swallowed.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I really want that hutch.”

Bee looked up from the counter and asked innocently, “What’s a hutch?”

And Felicity grinned. “It’s where we put the cookies, baby.”

***

Five years.

Oscar still couldn’t quite believe it.

Not in the dramatic, we made it through storms and fire kind of way. Not even in the dazed, champagne-toast-and-fireworks sense people always talked about when anniversaries came up in interviews.

It was quieter than that. Softer. It was the realisation that love could be an accumulation instead of a crescendo.

It was the gentle clink of plates in the morning and Bee’s feet swinging rhythmically against the chair legs. It was the scent of coffee lingering in the air and the warmth of Felicity’s hand on his back as she passed behind him in the kitchen. It was the smear of strawberry jam Bee had left on the counter. The playlist Felicity always put on when she was in a good mood. The socks Oscar was wearing—his, but mismatched, because Bee had picked them out for him while giggling.

Five years married. Eight together. One life—stitched together out of early morning moments and late night compromises. Out of burnt toast and half-written text messages and late returns from races.

“Extra sharp cheddar and caramelised onion chutney,” Felicity announced, flipping one of the sandwiches in the pan with decisive grace. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the nape of her neck. “Don’t let it be said I don’t put in effort.”

Oscar, perched sideways on one of the stools by the kitchen island, raised his hands in mock surrender. “You know I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

“Lando texted me to make sure I remembered,” she deadpanned. “Apparently, this is now a cultural event.”

Bee, seated at the dining table with her plush frog and a mini sandwich cut into stars, beamed up at both of them. “I love anniversary grilled cheese.”

“You love any grilled cheese,” Felicity said without looking up.

“I love love grilled cheese,” Bee insisted, her voice full of confidence and cheese-induced delight, legs swinging beneath the table like a metronome of joy.

Oscar laughed quietly. “That’s a bold statement.”

Bee pointed at her sandwich with all the solemnity of a toddler philosopher. “It’s warm and gooey and special. Like Mama and Papa.”

That stopped him for a second.

Felicity glanced over and raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Do not cry over grilled cheese, Oz.”

“I’m not crying,” Oscar said, already reaching for a napkin. “There’s just… steam in my eyes.”

They ate slowly, comfortably—Felicity curled up in her usual spot with her plate on her knees, Oscar dipping the corners of his sandwich into his tomato soup, Bee talking non-stop about a worm she found in the garden yesterday. The kitchen was golden with afternoon sun. No candles, no tablecloth, no grand declarations—just the three of them, a shared meal, and the faint crackle of an old playlist Felicity had made back when they still lived in Enstone, back when money was tight and futures uncertain and grilled cheese had been dinner out of necessity, not tradition.

But tradition it had become.

In the afternoon, they piled into the car and drove out to a secondhand furniture barn two towns over.

It wasn’t glamorous, but then again, neither were they. They liked it that way. Felicity had found the place during a parts run last year—one of those half-accidental discoveries she stored away in her head for a later date. She liked it because the floors creaked and the man who ran it gave out peppermints in mismatched jars. Bee liked it because there was a sleepy orange cat who rotated between different armchairs like royalty, completely unfazed by toddlers.

Oscar liked it because Felicity would wander through the aisles like she was in a gallery, fingertips brushing along the edges of furniture like she could read their stories. He’d catch her eyeing a carved drawer or a joint that needed sanding, and he could see the math running behind her eyes. Not just the dimensions, but the future. Where it would fit. What colour she'd repaint it. How many memories it could hold.

They spent nearly two hours there.

Bee trailed after them like a tiny contractor with a tape measure, periodically declaring, “This is too big for our dining room!” or “Mama, this one has a secret drawer!” or “That’s a no, Papa. That cabinet is too wobbly.”

Felicity laughed the whole time. Oscar kept a mental list of her maybes and a running total in his head of what they could fit in the car if they sacrificed the front seat.

Eventually, they found it.

Or rather, Felicity did.

It was tucked in the back corner of the barn, half-covered by a faded quilt and surrounded by old brass lamps and a sagging chaise lounge. An old oak hutch—solid, heavy, a little battered, its wood rich with age. The panels on the doors were intricately carved with vines and flowers, and the handles were brass, worn down by decades of use into something soft and warm to the touch.

Felicity ran her hand across the top of it slowly, reverently.

“It’s not perfect,” she murmured, inspecting a scuff at the corner and one drawer that stuck a little.

Oscar stood beside her and smiled. “Neither are we.”

She looked up, and her eyes were suddenly full—quiet and luminous, filled with all the years behind them and everything still ahead.

Bee tugged gently at her sleeve. “Can we put the fancy teapot in it?”

“I think we should,” Felicity said, brushing Bee’s curls back behind her ear. “Front and centre.”

Oscar crouched to test the hinges, and Bee knelt beside him like an assistant, watching his every move with deep concentration.

They left with the receipt, three complimentary peppermints, and the hutch wedged somewhat impossibly into the back of their car.

The ride home was full of Bee humming show tunes, Felicity tracing patterns on Oscar’s thigh with her fingertip, and the slight creak of the old hutch every time they hit a bump.

***

That night, after Bee had fallen asleep in a tangle of books and tired limbs — curled half off her bed with a plush frog tucked under one arm and a paper crown from that afternoon still slightly askew on her head — Oscar padded quietly into the kitchen, barefoot and already half-ready for bed.

The house had gone still in that soft, late-evening way he loved most. The kind of quiet that settled around the bones of a place when the day had been good, full. Like the whole house had exhaled.

And there she was.

Felicity was sitting at the dining table in one of his old sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, legs curled beneath her in that way that always made him wonder how she didn’t cramp up. A mug of tea steamed faintly in her hands, forgotten for the moment. Her gaze was fixed across the room.

On the hutch.

The old new hutch, as Bee had christened it. Sanded that afternoon by Felicity’s hand, already partially filled with mismatched mugs and the “fancy teapot” Bee had insisted deserved its own shelf. A tiny post-it note was stuck to one corner: oil the hinges – squeaky! in Felicity’s loopy handwriting.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a second, watching her. The light above the table was warm, casting gold across her cheekbones and glinting off the wedding band and engagement ring she wore on a chain around her neck…joined by a tiny bee pendant — not because she didn’t like wearing it on her hand, but because grease from her work tended to cake into the setting, and she hated scrubbing it clean.

“Happy five years,” she said softly, without turning. Just sensing him there, like she always did. She held the mug out in his direction without looking.

He crossed the room and took it from her hands, fingers brushing hers. “Best anniversary yet.”

“We say that every year.”

“And every year it’s true.”

Oscar didn’t sit. Instead, he stepped in closer, between her knees where she sat at the table, and leaned down until their foreheads touched. Her breath ghosted against his jaw, warm and familiar.

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes closed. “For not wanting soufflé or champagne on rooftops.”

Felicity smiled. “Thank you for grilled cheese and dusty furniture.”

He laughed — low, fond. “Think we’ll last another five?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just shifted her hand and pressed it flat to his chest, right over his heart, like she could feel the rhythm of him and anchor herself to it. Her thumb brushed the soft cotton of his t-shirt once, twice.

“We’re built to last,” she said.

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t said with smug certainty. It was just quiet, confident truth — the same tone she used when she taught Bee how to braid her hair or fix a loose kitchen drawer. Sure. Steady. Real.

Oscar let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

They didn’t need candlelit hotels. They didn’t need fireworks or diamond earrings or handwritten poetry folded into napkins.

They had grilled cheese sandwiches and secondhand oak hutches. They had playlists from Enstone and shared garden shears and a lemon tree in the yard that Bee watered with a plastic watering can shaped like a dinosaur. They had 3 a.m. wake-ups and tiny shoes by the door and two coffee mugs chipped on the same side.

They had this.

In the quiet house, with the scent of melted cheese still lingering in the corners, and the distant sound of Bee’s voice talking softly in her sleep about castles and worms and the cat from the furniture barn, Oscar rested his head against Felicity’s.

And he realized — maybe more fully than ever before — that this was what a life well-built looked like.

No grand blueprint. No parade. Just the slow layering of love and time.

One sandwich. One piece of furniture. One quiet, extraordinary year at a time.

***

Group Chat: Piastri Fam ❤️

Hattie: happy anniversary to my brother who got married in secret and then called mum like “soooooo I have a wife now” 😌👏

Edie: still iconic behavior. like, historical. will be studying it for generations.

Mae: it’s the fact that he called mumlike. not even a “hey fam, big news!” just. CALLED. MUM.

Nicole: Yes, well. I still remember exactly where I was. Laundry basket in one hand. Phone in the other. My eldest child says, “Hey Mum, just got married.” Like he was telling me the weather.

Like he was updating me on tyre pressures.

Chris: I just want it on record that I found out from your MOTHER.

She said, “Well, he’s gone and done it.”

I thought you’d joined a cult.

Nicole: Christopher.

Oscar: Okay, first of all, I texted first and THEN called. Let’s not rewrite history. I’m a responsible man.

Hattie: “responsible man” my ass you were 18 and married sandwich in one hand

Mae: THEY ATE PRET FOR THEIR WEDDING DINNER. I WILL NEVER BE OVER IT.

Nicole:I still sigh about it, just so you know. All that money I saved for a wedding dress… and you went with a Pret a Manger sandwich

Oscar:It was a really good sandwich.

Chris:Can’t believe my son’s wedding meal was a £3.75 meal deal

Edie: felicity said “I don’t want a fuss” and oscar said “I too hate fuss” and now they have been married for 5 years. 

Nicole: You could’ve called us.  One phone call, Oscar. One. You could have let me buy a dress or at least cry into a cupcake.

Chris: You say that like it wasn’t the most Oscar move possible.

Mae: Honestly. Five years later and he’s still the same: Emotionally repressed. Surprisingly sentimental. Mildly chaotic.

Edie:  And he somehow landed a tiny genius mechanic wife who could take all of us in a fight.

Oscar:  I am right here.

Hattie: Happy anniversary, Osc 💕 Give Felicity a kiss from us. And tell her we love her more than we love you.

Mae: Seconded.

Nicole:Happy Anniversary, darlings 💛 Still not over the phone call but we’re so proud of you both. And Bee, obviously. You made something wonderful.

[lazysoulwriter]

sweetest man alive - pedro pascal.

requested! hope u enjoyy.

---

Pedro’s curls are extra fluffy tonight, the result of too much nervous hand-combing in the dressing room. He’s sitting on the iconic couch of The Graham Norton Show, sipping on water even though there’s a fancy cocktail in front of him. There’s a buzz in the studio—part excitement, part anticipation—because everyone knows the topic’s about to shift to her.

They've just wrapped up a chaotic segment with a comedian and a pop star, and Graham leans toward him with a knowing smirk. Pedro already senses it coming.

“So Pedro,” Graham begins, drawing out the syllables, “the internet’s in shambles over you two going official. How’s life treating you now that you’re a proper, public couple?”

The audience oooohs, claps, and Pedro—sweet, soft Pedro—blushes immediately. He tries to hide it behind his glass but he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Oh God,” he says, voice already a few decibels higher, “are we really doing this?”

“Yes, we are,” Graham says smugly. “You posted the photo. There’s no going back.”

Pedro shakes his head, laughing. “I didn’t post it, she did! And I asked for it. I begged for it, actually.” He leans back into the couch, one hand pressed over his chest dramatically. “I saw the picture and said, ‘Please, you have to post this. The world deserves to see how hot we look together.’”

The audience laughs, and Graham raises his brows. “So you’re fully leaning in, huh?”

Pedro nods, then softens instantly. His shoulders relax, the smirk fades into a fond, half-smitten smile.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly now. “I mean, I’ve never felt like this before. It’s just… easy. Like, we’re laughing all the time, she annoys me in the best way, I wake up and she’s there and I’m like, ‘Oh, cool, I get to do life with you.’”

The audience lets out a collective aww, and Pedro looks mildly flustered again, running a hand through his hair.

Graham chuckles. “You’re glowing, man. You’re like—radiating love.”

“I am in love,” Pedro says without hesitation, completely unbothered by the way the crowd reacts. “Like, I’m an actual mess. I hear her voice and I start smiling like a fool. I wait by the door when she’s coming over, like a golden retriever. It’s embarrassing. I’m disgusting.”

More laughter. He leans forward, as if to confide in the whole audience.

“She sent me a video of her dancing in my kitchen the other day,” he says, beaming. “Wearing my hoodie. Just dancing like a weirdo with the cat in her arms. I’ve watched it at least fifty times. I show it to everyone. Even people on set who didn’t ask.”

Graham’s laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes. “Pedro, this is honestly the sappiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“Yeah,” Pedro shrugs. “She ruined me. I was a cool, mysterious man before this.”

“No, you weren’t,” the pop star interrupts playfully from the other couch.

Pedro points at them. “Exactly. I wasn’t. And now I’m not even pretending. I just want to brag about my girlfriend and how good she smells and how nice she is to everyone, and how sometimes I catch her making playlists for me and pretending like it’s not the most romantic thing in the world.”

Graham grins. “You’re officially the softest man alive.”

“I’ll take that title proudly,” Pedro says, placing a hand over his heart. “Long live the soft kings.”

The segment ends with the audience clapping, Pedro still smiling like he’s holding onto a secret, one that smells like his hoodie and dances in his kitchen with a cat in her arms.

---

[leycorice]

kitty butler zayne

sylus x cat!zayne // hybrid au // fluff // 4k words

sylus saved a cat and he got a butler in return.

the rain came down like silver needles on the black hood of sylus’s custom-engineered car. the city lights blurred in his windshield, refracted through the downpour. his hands rested lazily on the steering wheel, one ringed thumb tapping the leather in rhythm with the jazz record playing softly through his speakers.

he hated driving himself. it was boring.

but it was one of those nights where even a man like him didn’t want to go home just yet. not to silence. not to marble and shadows.

then he saw it.

a dark shape slumped on the sidewalk just ahead, nearly blending into the wet concrete. at first, sylus thought it was trash—or roadkill. but then the headlights caught the glint of greenish-gold eyes. bleeding. breathing.

a cat.

sylus should’ve kept driving. he didn’t like being interrupted. especially not by strays. but something in the way it looked at him—like it knew something—made him slow down.

minutes later, the injured maine coon was nestled in a blanket in the backseat, and sylus was already muttering about how ridiculous this was.

/ᐠ-˕-マⳊ

a week went by, sylus didn’t expect to keep the thing. he called a private vet the next morning, had it checked over, stitched, cleaned, and dosed with enough sedatives to knock out a horse. then he set up a small bed by the fireplace. he even left out fancy gourmet cat food from the organic pet boutique down the street.

but the cat didn’t touch it.

instead, it waited until sylus left the room and raided his fridge. half his tiramisu vanished one night. another evening, a delicate rose-shaped tart he’d imported from the old district in france had mysteriously disappeared.

it wasn’t just that. the cat watched him. it would sit near the study and observe him reading reports. it followed him into the piano room. and once—just once—sylus woke up to find it curled up on the far corner of his bed, tail flicking, half-lidded eyes glowing in the dark.

then one morning, the cat was gone.

no broken windows. no doors left open. it had simply vanished.

sylus stood at the foot of the empty fireplace, one hand in his pocket, the other nursing a cup of bitter black coffee. the house felt...silent again. not peaceful. just hollow.

“figures,” he muttered.

₍^. .^₎⟆

the sound of movement outside his bedroom jolted sylus from sleep.

he never had unannounced visitors. not in this house. security was airtight. his hand reached for the nearest object—a butter knife resting on the tray of leftover midnight snacks. he crept toward the door, barefoot but deadly quiet.

then he opened it.

and froze.

there, standing at the top of the grand staircase, was a man.

tall. black hair neatly combed. silver-framed glasses. wearing a crisp black butler’s suit like he belonged in a gothic manor, not in the home of a man who didn’t even like guests.

but that wasn’t the strangest part.

perched atop the man’s head were a pair of twitching feline ears—dark furred, just like the cat’s. and behind him, calm and swaying like a metronome, was a long, thick tail.

sylus’s hand went slack. the butter knife clattered to the floor.

the man turned. his face was unreadable—neutral, calm, and frankly a little judgmental.

“good morning, master,” he said, voice deep and disturbingly composed. “i’ve prepared breakfast downstairs. it’s best you eat it while it’s still hot.”

“...what.”

sylus blinked. then scowled, crossing his arms. “no, wait. hold on. who the hell are you and how did you even get in here?”

the man’s ears flicked.

“you don’t recognize me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “i suppose this form is rather new to you.”

and then, without warning, a small puff of smoke erupted around him.

when it cleared, standing where the man had been, was the same maine coon—groomed, sitting neatly, tail flicking in subtle amusement.

sylus stared.

“…what the fuck,” he whispered.

₍^. .^₎Ⳋ

the breakfast table was lavish, though sylus hadn’t touched a thing. crisp white porcelain, an artfully arranged spread—fruits sliced with surgeon-level precision, scrambled eggs the perfect consistency, buttery croissants still steaming.

and a full pot of jasmine tea, its aroma soft and floral.

zayne stood by the table, silver-framed glasses now perched on his nose, looking every bit the refined butler. except for the ears—those velvety black tufts atop his head that flicked subtly every time sylus moved.

sylus sat, arms crossed. his red eyes locked onto zayne like crosshairs.

"talk."

zayne nodded once and poured the tea with steady hands.

“my name is zayne. i’m… well, i suppose the word ‘hybrid’ applies. some would say shapeshifter. i was part of a long-term bioengineering experiment. escaped six days ago.”

his voice was calm, disturbingly so for someone explaining how they were engineered.

“i don’t know who ran the facility. i was taken very young. i was trained to behave, to observe, to survive.” he set the teapot down gently. “i almost died at that curb. you saved me.”

sylus didn’t flinch. but he didn’t touch the tea.

“i owe you my life,” zayne continued, “so i will serve you as repayment. as your loyal servant. since you… don’t really have staff around here to take care of you.”

sylus’s brow twitched. his voice dropped into an icy flatness.

"i don’t need it. i don’t trust anyone to be here."

zayne tilted his head just slightly, ears flicking. curious. concerned, maybe. sylus didn’t like that look.

“i’ve had staff,” sylus said. “had. some tried to kill me. some tried to steal. some were spies. the only reason you’re alive right now is because you turned into a goddamn cat and didn’t stab me in my sleep.”

he stood, chair sliding back.

“there’s no debt. no owing. i helped because i wanted to. that’s all.”

he turned and started walking away.

"leave."

zayne didn't move. not immediately.

he stood still by the table, hands folded neatly in front of him. his ears drooped just slightly, and his tail stilled. his face remained neutral, but sylus—damn it—noticed the difference.

it was the smallest shift. but it gnawed at him.

ฅᨐฅ

three days later, zayne didn’t leave. technically.

he didn’t press boundaries either. he just… stayed. sometimes on the bench in the garden, watching the wind ripple through the ivy. sometimes curled under the overhang at the back of the mansion, resting like a stray that refused to go but had too much pride to beg.

sylus caught sight of him once on the security monitor.

again at 2 a.m. through the library window.

it was starting to feel like guilt.

and sylus hated feeling guilty.

so he compromised. after almost a week.

“you’re still here.”

sylus’s voice broke the silence like glass.

zayne looked up from the grass. he was in his humanoid form, kneeling to rewrap his injured hand. he stood quickly, brushing his pants off. “yes, master.”

sylus gave him a long look, then exhaled sharply through his nose. “fine. you can stay.”

zayne blinked.

“but,” sylus said, lifting a finger like a loaded gun, “ground rules.”

he stepped closer.

“you are not to enter the third floor. that includes the west hallway and especially my study. off limits.”

“yes, master.”

“you do not cook for me. i don’t eat food made by others.”

“yes, master.”

“you can make your own food. you can clean if you want to. but if you get close to any private zones—or if i suspect you’re up to anything—i will throw you out. no talking. no warning.”

zayne didn’t seem offended. he nodded with a gentle, accepting grace. “understood.”

sylus narrowed his eyes. “why are you so calm about this?”

zayne only blinked. “because i was trained to serve. and because you let me live.”

sylus’s eye twitch.

“right... and don’t call me that.” he waved his hand. "master."

“…yes,” zayne corrected softly. “ma- sylus.”

sylus muttered something under his breath—half insult, half frustration—and turned to walk back inside.

as the door clicked open, zayne quietly followed behind.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ

later that night, sylus found the linen closets perfectly reorganized. the glass in the east wing was cleaned to a polish. the plants—neglected for months—had been watered and rotated to proper sunlight angles. a simple note was left on his bedroom door:

your robe had loose stitching on the sleeve. i repaired it. — zayne

sylus stared at the note, then at the sleeve of the robe he hadn’t even noticed was damaged.

he crushed the note in his hand and sighed.

maybe having one person in the house wouldn’t be that bad.

maybe.

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

the estate was, as always, immaculate.

not because sylus cared about dust or decor—he’d long grown indifferent to the echo of empty halls—but because zayne had taken to his “duties.” floors gleamed. curtains were brushed free of lint. even the antique gramophone in the corner, long forgotten, looked like it belonged in a museum.

sylus sat in his usual chair in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, absently wiping his watch with a cloth. the room smelled faintly of polish and lavender—zayne's choice, apparently. the fireplace crackled low behind him.

he wasn’t watching zayne. not really.

just... occasionally glancing in his direction as the hybrid dusted the velvet curtains, long tail swaying with absent rhythm. he'd long given up correcting zayne calling him master.

zayne worked quietly. always quietly. and efficiently. sylus had noticed that when it came to insects or vermin, zayne was instantaneous in his response—like a predator on a hair-trigger. once, sylus had turned his head to a subtle scratching sound, and before he could say a word, zayne had already pinned the rat by the tail with a fireplace poker, calm as ever.

it was amusing. strange.

and sometimes—sylus hated to admit it—entertaining.

sylus turned his wrist slightly. the glass face of his watch caught the light and sent a brief flicker of sunbeam onto the far wall.

he didn’t expect what happened next.

zayne stopped mid-motion. his hand hovered over the curtain. the cloth fluttered in his grip, forgotten.

his ears twitched.

his pupils—normally narrow and controlled—expanded suddenly into full, wide circles, sharp green irises nearly vanishing. his gaze snapped to the spot of light on the wall with a focus sylus had only ever seen in combat.

then—

the light shifted again as sylus adjusted slightly, and zayne’s head moved with it. his ears perked up, tail twitching once, twice, and—

he took a cautious step toward the light.

sylus narrowed his eyes, lips twitching. “...are you seriously about to pounce on a sunbeam?”

zayne blinked, as if waking up from a trance. he looked at sylus. then at the floor. then cleared his throat. his ears quickly flattened back to composure, and he resumed wiping the curtain.

“i was simply...monitoring a potential source of reflection damage on the wall paint,” he said evenly.

sylus raised a brow, unimpressed. “you were about to chase a dot like a housecat.”

“no, master.”

“yes, you were.”

“i was not.”

“you were tracking it with your eyes like a sniper.”

a pause.

“...my instincts may have been momentarily engaged,” zayne admitted, tone as flat as ever. “it won’t happen again.”

sylus leaned back in the chair, folding his arms.

"shame. that was the most expression i’ve seen on your face since you moved in.”

zayne didn’t reply, but sylus didn’t miss the tail that flicked a little faster now.

after a beat, sylus tilted his wrist again, subtly sending another flicker of light dancing across the wall.

zayne’s head snapped toward it.

caught.

sylus smirked. “so much for instincts.”

zayne sighed, setting the duster down on the windowsill. “...permission to chase it properly, master?”

sylus blinked.

he wasn’t sure what was funnier—zayne actually asking permission, or the stone-faced delivery.

he leaned forward, resting his chin in one hand. “granted.”

what followed was absurd. a blur of limbs and grace and precision as zayne leapt lightly to the couch, then twisted mid-air to tag the light across the floor, tail lashing in perfect balance. his sleeves rolled up just slightly, glasses discarded neatly on the side table.

it lasted no more than ten seconds.

but sylus laughed. actually laughed. quietly, under his breath—but genuinely.

then zayne landed, smoothed his vest, adjusted his collar, and walked back to the curtain like nothing happened.

sylus sipped his tea, eyes glinting.

this odd creature was growing on him.

and that—

that was dangerous.

^. .^₎⟆

sylus had a strict routine: breakfast by 7, morning meetings at 9, calls until noon. every hour of his day was accounted for, calculated, and sharp. his estate reflected that precision—quiet, cold, immaculate.

but lately, some of that rigidity had...softened.

just slightly.

he noticed it on warmer days, when the sun filtered through the east-facing windows and the halls were wrapped in a golden hush. he’d do a full sweep of the mansion—habit, mostly—only to realize zayne was nowhere in sight.

not in the kitchen.

not in the garden.

not even loitering near the foyer like he usually did after cleaning.

until sylus finally walked past the library.

and saw him.

zayne, in his hybrid cat form, curled like a comma on the leather armchair by the bookshelves. limbs tucked in, tail wrapped around himself, ears twitching gently with every creak of the mansion. fast asleep. softly breathing. practically melting into the upholstery like he owned it.

sylus would stand in the doorway for a long moment, arms crossed, watching him with something between confusion and reluctant amusement.

“you’ve got the entire estate and you pick my chair?” he muttered one day.

the cat twitched but didn’t stir.

sylus rolled his eyes and walked off. but he didn’t reclaim the chair for the rest of the week. not even once.

but when winter came, zayne would be in a different spot.

the cold hit early that year. snow layered the rooftop like icing, and frost webbed across the windows overnight. the mansion’s heating worked perfectly, but the air still bit in the corners of the hallways.

sylus came downstairs one morning after loading fresh laundry into the dryer the night before. he was expecting silence. maybe the faint hum of the boiler.

instead, he paused just outside the laundry room, hearing a faint rustling.

when he opened the door, he stared.

in the center of the laundry basket, nestled like royalty, was a large maine coon.

zayne, in his feline form, had buried himself deep into the mountain of freshly dried bedsheets and blankets, barely peeking out. only his ears and one wide eye were visible above the warm cotton.

the sight was so absurdly domestic that sylus actually blinked.

zayne blinked back.

they stared at each other.

“you are not sleeping in my sheets,” sylus said flatly.

a soft, lazy chirp came from zayne’s throat, muffled by fluff.

“i just cleaned those.”

another blink. a tail flick.

sylus pinched the bridge of his nose. “you’re lucky i have no guests. or shame.”

he left the room.

he came back with a heated pad ten minutes later. no explanation.

/ᐠ. .ᐟ\ Ⳋ

sylus didn’t say it aloud. he never would. but it happened slowly, like water wearing down stone.

he started ordering extra blankets.

replaced the reading chair in the library with one that had a deeper cushion.

adjusted the mansion’s thermostat when he noticed zayne tucked his tail tighter at night.

and zayne never said thank you.

never called attention to it.

just quietly adapted.

sometimes sylus would glance up from his reports and catch zayne in human form, his tail swaying as he wiped down the windowpane. the reflection of snow behind him. his profile lit softly by morning sun.

or find him curled up in a patch of warmth, dead to the world, his breathing slow and steady, ears twitching as if chasing something in his dreams.

it was ridiculous.

he was a powerful man. someone feared, respected, untouchable.

and yet, somehow—

he found himself making excuses to pass by the library.

or to start laundry earlier in the week.

he told himself it was routine.

he didn’t call it care.

not yet.

but deep down, in the quiet hours of the mansion, he was beginning to realize—

zayne didn’t just live here now.

he belonged here.

/ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\

the afternoon light stretched long shadows across the marble floors of the estate. sylus stepped through the front door with the usual chill of control in his stride, the quiet click of his shoes echoing across the entry hall.

he paused.

no sound.

no soft clink of porcelain from the kitchen.

no gentle sweeping noises.

no footsteps approaching to greet him.

no zayne.

odd.

zayne always knew his schedule. hell, the cat probably memorized it down to the minute. on normal days, he’d be standing a few paces from the door, hands folded behind his back, ears perked, offering a stiff but polite, “welcome home, master.”

today?

nothing.

sylus loosened his tie with a growing knot in his chest and walked briskly to the library.

empty.

he tried the kitchen.

the sunroom. (which sylus didn't even know exists until zayne cleaned it up because he takes offense at how dark the house was.)

even the laundry room.

still nothing.

he stood at the bottom of the staircase, tension prickling in his jaw. his mansion was large—but it was never hard to find zayne. the hybrid moved like a shadow, but he never truly hid.

something was off.

sylus ascended the stairs two steps at a time.

then, rounding the second-floor corridor—he stopped cold.

there, slumped on the floor just outside the linen closet, was zayne.

his long limbs were tangled awkwardly, his back against the wall, one gloved hand gripping weakly at the hem of his vest. his glasses were slightly askew, cheeks flushed deep pink, and his breath came in shallow, uneven pants. even in his unconscious state, his ears twitched faintly, tail limp and curled near his legs.

“zayne.”

the word came out sharper than intended.

sylus dropped to his knees in front of him and reached out without thinking, pulling zayne upright by the shoulders, slow and steady. the moment his hand touched fabric, heat slammed into his palm.

“shit.”

sylus rarely cursed.

he pressed the back of his hand to zayne’s cheek—burning.

his fingers tightened slightly as he felt the way zayne leaned into the touch unconsciously, a soft, muffled sound leaving his lips.

fever.

severe.

sylus’s mind clicked into cold, efficient gear. no use calling doctors—zayne wouldn’t react well to strangers. hospital? not happening. he’d likely bolt in panic or shift into a cat and disappear into the snow.

he needed warmth. hydration. bed.

and the most secure, private, well-equipped room in the entire house... was on the third floor.

sylus hesitated for a second.

then exhaled.

“to hell with the rules.”

zayne barely stirred as sylus lifted him—he was light, deceptively so—and carried him up the staircase. his body was radiating heat, his breath ragged against sylus’s neck.

the third floor was a fortress of solitude. no one had entered it since sylus built the estate. it was where he worked, rested, lived when the rest of the world became too suffocating.

and now, it was where zayne would recover.

sylus kicked open the door to the master bedroom, carried him to the bed, and laid him down against the silken sheets. he stripped off zayne’s gloves and vest, careful not to jostle him too much. then he grabbed a cool cloth from the bathroom and pressed it to zayne’s forehead.

for a moment, he just stood there.

watching.

zayne, usually so composed and stoic, looked... small. vulnerable. his black ears twitched weakly in his sleep, and his tail curled closer like a child trying to hold himself together.

sylus clenched his jaw. “you idiot,” he muttered. “you kept working yourself stupid again, didn’t you?”

there was no answer—just a soft, hoarse exhale.

sylus turned and left the room. fifteen minutes later, he came back with a tray: water, warm broth, and fever meds crushed into honey for easier swallowing. he sat on the edge of the bed and carefully helped zayne sit up, half-conscious and blinking slowly.

“...master…?”

zayne’s voice was little more than a rasp.

“you passed out in the hallway.” sylus kept his tone neutral, but his grip didn’t leave zayne’s back. “don’t talk. just drink.”

zayne obeyed, sipping slowly. his body trembled under the weight of fever, but he didn’t resist.

when sylus moved to adjust the blankets, zayne’s gloved fingers caught weakly at his sleeve.

“...sorry,” he murmured, barely audible. “didn’t mean to—break protocol.”

sylus paused.

for once, he didn’t have a cold retort.

didn’t have a lecture ready.

he looked at the flushed face, the sweat-dampened hair, the ears twitching in half-conscious guilt.

“rest. that’s an order.”

≽^- ˕ -^≼

zayne recovered fast. unnaturally fast.

the fever had burned hot for a day and a half, but by the end of the third day, he was already back on his feet, dressed and polished like the collapse in the hallway had never happened.

“hybrid biology,” he’d explained quietly, as he changed the sheets of sylus’s bed, already resetting the space with practiced ease. “fever burns fast, heals faster.”

sylus hadn’t said much. he’d stood in the doorway watching him, arms crossed, trying to justify the fact that zayne hadn’t been banished back downstairs.

and then never did.

because he didn’t want to.

the third floor was no longer off-limits. there was no talk of boundaries. no new rules, no updated contract—hell, zayne had signed the last one with a paw print, and sylus hadn’t even laughed at it. now the whole damn thing might as well be shredded.

letting zayne into this space—his private floors, his world, his routines—wasn’t just about territory.

it was letting him in.

into the stillness. the silence. the real pieces of sylus’s life no one else had ever seen.

and it should’ve set off every warning bell in his head.

but it didn’t.

it felt right.

it was his mornings that changed first.

sylus used to wake to cold light filtering through blinds, the soft ping of updates from his tablet, and silence. now, he woke to the low clink of ceramic, the faint smell of jasmine or dark roast, and the quiet rustle of someone moving through his space.

and when he opened his eyes, it was zayne’s face he saw.

neatly dressed, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, ears twitching at the smallest sounds. sometimes human. sometimes feline, curled up near the pillow, blinking at him with those wide, calm green eyes.

sylus would grumble something incoherent and roll over. zayne never commented.

but internally, sylus was—unsettlingly—pleased.

waking up alone was normal. waking up to zayne?

that was contentment.

then, it was the study room.

zayne never spoke unless necessary in the study. he moved in silence, a ghost in tailored black and silver, setting down a cup of coffee or a tray of pastries with an elegance sylus hadn’t realized he liked so much.

sometimes, zayne would sort the bookshelves, tail swaying idly. other times he’d be perched on the second ladder tier, dusting the upper spines, ears perked and alert. sylus would pretend not to watch him.

but on days where business bled into irritation—when reports came in botched, when meetings dragged, or when one of his men made a move without his say-so—sylus would glance up from his desk…

…and there zayne would be. adjusting a frame. rearranging the cups. tasting a pastry as if testing for poison.

one look at those ears twitching ever so slightly or the way zayne flicked dust off the shelves like it offended him personally—and sylus could feel the tension in his spine loosen, bit by bit.

the stress didn’t melt. it evaporated.

this is dangerous, he thought, once more. comfort is dangerous.

but the truth was—he liked it.

he liked it too much.

/ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ

sylus sat back in his chair, rubbing his temple, the firelight painting long shadows across the dark wooden shelves. zayne entered silently with a fresh pot of tea, and sylus glanced up, eyes shadowed with fatigue.

“you’re supposed to be off-duty,” sylus said. his tone lacked bite.

“i noticed your tea was cold.”

zayne set the tray down, his motions precise. as he turned to leave, sylus surprised himself by saying, “stay.”

zayne paused. blinked. tilted his head.

“just… stay.”

zayne didn’t speak.

he simply pulled the second chair closer, sat down, and began calmly flipping through the latest books sylus had left scattered on the coffee table.

the room was silent. but not empty.

sylus leaned back and looked at the faint reflection of the two of them in the window.

one cold, sharp man in a pressed suit.

and a hybrid—cat ears twitching, tail curled near the leg of the chair, eyes gently focused on a book he’d probably already read a dozen times.

it was stupid.

it was healing.

and sylus, powerful and feared as he was, finally understood something mundane.

this is why people keep cats, he thought. they don’t do much. but they make it better just by being there.

he didn’t say thank you.

but the next morning, zayne found a new blanket folded on the library chair.

tailored. heated. monogrammed.

with a single stitched letter in the corner.

z.

≽^-˕ -^≼

the door creaked shut behind him with a dull thud that echoed too loud in the stillness of the estate.

sylus exhaled. or maybe groaned. it was hard to tell.

he didn’t even make it two full steps before his polished shoes tangled with each other and he collapsed, graceless, against the cool marble wall. his back hit the surface with a quiet thud, and he slowly slid down, the buttons of his blazer pressing into his ribs.

his vision spun just slightly. his head felt heavy. his body, sluggish.

he’d lost track of how many glasses they poured after the second hour. he’d intended to leave early—he always did—but every time he turned, someone was refilling his drink with forced laughter and an insistence he couldn’t be rude. company loyalty, they said. toast after toast.

for someone who rarely drank, he held his own longer than he should’ve.

but now, it caught up to him.

footsteps padded softly across the foyer, light and quick. sylus knew who it was before the voice even came.

“master?”

zayne’s tone was even, but tinged with concern. “you’re home quite late.”

sylus tilted his head lazily, looking up. his eyes met zayne’s—sharp green, framed by silver-framed glasses and topped with two very twitchy black cat ears.

right. no phone. zayne didn’t own one. all their communication at home relied on scribbled notes on the kitchen counter.

sylus frowned faintly. something about that fact settled wrong in his chest.

“i’ll get you a phone,” he mumbled, the words slurring slightly. “you should have one. in case.”

zayne blinked once. “...you smell like alcohol.”

sylus grinned lopsidedly. “tell your nose to mind its own business.”

zayne scrunched his nose. just slightly. a minuscule expression. but it was there. sylus caught it and chuckled low in his throat.

“i was out drinking with the company,” he admitted, head tipping back against the wall. “they were persistent. didn’t let my glass stay empty. bunch of bastards.”

“you’re drunk.”

“obviously. that’s what happens when people drink.”

zayne sighed—not annoyed, but resigned—and crouched down beside him. “let’s get you upstairs.”

sylus allowed himself to be hauled upright with the kind of reluctant compliance only the intoxicated could pull off. he was taller than zayne, heavier too, but zayne was surprisingly strong. he moved with purpose, hand braced under sylus’s arm as they made their slow, careful way toward the stairs.

each step up the marble staircase felt like it took an eternity. the walls pulsed with shadows. the mansion was quiet enough to hear every breath, every shift of fabric, every soft tap of zayne’s shoes on the floor.

and at this proximity…

sylus noticed.

zayne’s hair was soft at the ends, brushing against his cheek. his posture was strong, but his ears—those cat ears perched on his head—twitched nervously every time sylus so much as exhaled near them.

up this close, they really were expressive. the kind of thing sylus could read if he paid attention long enough.

he smiled to himself.

“such a good kitten you are…” he murmured, voice low, just above a whisper—deep, lazy, husky from both alcohol and sleepiness.

zayne froze.

sylus felt it instantly—the way the hybrid’s body tensed under his grip, how his ears twitched violently and folded flat against his head in a sudden, instinctual movement. his tail, usually calm and slow, flicked with quick, defensive agitation.

zayne cleared his throat, ears still down. “...please watch your step.”

sylus laughed again, quieter this time. “sensitive to sound?”

zayne didn’t respond.

but sylus could feel the way zayne’s heart rate had subtly increased. he wasn’t embarrassed. he was rattled. or flustered. something between the two.

they reached the third floor landing. zayne moved with extra care now, keeping sylus upright with an even firmer grip. not a word passed between them as they entered the master bedroom.

zayne helped him out of his blazer, steady and methodical, unbuttoning the cuffs and sliding it from his arms. he draped it over the chair by the fireplace, straightened it, and only then said:

“i’ll bring water.”

but as he turned, sylus reached out.

fingers caught zayne’s wrist gently.

“you don’t have to act like this is just duty, zayne.”

zayne blinked. his tail twitched.

“...i don’t understand what you mean.”

sylus’s gaze softened, the drunken fog in his eyes briefly parting. “you get flustered. you worry. you stay even when i don’t ask you to. don’t pretend you’re just here to work.”

zayne looked down, unreadable.

then he smiled. barely there. a slight curve of the lips. “...you’re very drunk,” he whispered, "sylus."

sylus released his wrist. “you’re dodging.”

“i’m making sure you don’t choke in your sleep,” zayne said, voice flat again, though his ears remained suspiciously twitchy. “i’ll be back with the water.”

he turned and left.

sylus collapsed onto the bed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “good kitten,” he whispered again to himself.

from the hallway, he swore he heard the faintest exasperated sigh.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Cats

Lilian Jackson Braun: ok so hear me out on this one Braun: what if there was a cat that solved mysteries? Rita Mae Brown: a cat that solved mysteries?!?!? Carole Nelson Douglas: a cat that solved mysteries?!?! Cate Conte: a cat that solved mysteries!!??

Brown: this is the greatest thing i've ever heard Braun: you think? Brown: listen i have 2 interests in life Brown: radical lesbian liberation Brown: and cats that solve mysteries Brown: and this idea definitely fits into one of those categories

Lilian Jackson Braun: anyway Braun: here's a picture of my cat Rita Mae Brown: oooh she's precious!! and here's a picture of MY cat Braun: she's adorable! Carole Nelson Douglas: and here's a picture of MY cat Braun: she's so adorable! Brown: precious!

Dean Koontz: hey what if it was a dog that solved mysteries? Lilian Jackson Braun: Rita Mae Brown: Carole Nelson Douglas: Cate Conte: Darlene Ryan: Sofie Kelly:

Koontz: i was just thinking, what if it was a dog- Braun: i'm not even going to dignify that with a response Brown: a dog! really! Braun: how would a dog solve mysteries anyway? by barking at them? Brown: ha ha good one lilian Koontz: but Braun: the very idea is absurd

Braun: a dog lacks a cat's observational skills and deductive reasoning Brown: yes exactly Brown: ridiculous Brown: the very idea Brown: what are you even doing here Brown: at the st. westminster ladies cat fancy society tea and crumpet social on the green?

Braun: ugh! dogs! DIS-gusting! we won't have any smelly mutts here! Away with you! [sweeping Koontz out the door with a broom] Diane Duane: you know cats can be wizards too Tanya Huff: oh yes yes definitely

[at midnight society] Dean Koontz: and they said that cats were better at solving mysteries than dogs! Poe: i really fucked up by not making auguste dupin a cat Poe: i didn't realize how much money i was leaving on the table

Koontz: but they're wrong! dogs solve mysteries! all the time! in real life! George Romero: ACAB includes cop dogs Poe: not now george Poe: dean's in a fragile state

[marauder-misprint]

Flirting

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

2k words

cw: fluff

Regulus is waiting for you when you get back. You don’t really want to discuss his last question. You try to sneak past him to the girls’ dormitories.

“I need an answer,” he calls out, making his stop in your tracks. 

You weren’t in trouble. You couldn’t be in trouble. But that didn’t make you feel any less in trouble. The feeling of dread was already settled in your stomach as you made your way to the couch, retaking your place from earlier in the evening.

“Yes?” you ask, playing dumb. 

“Do you. fancy. Sirius?” he asks, speaking in a rhythm.

“I… I don’t think so?” Your face twists in your evident confusion of how you did feel for his brother.

“You don’t think so?” His disbelief is laced in his voice. “How do you not know?”

You blush and look away from Regulus. You knew you were bound to discuss this at some point with Sirius acting… however he was acting. 

“I mean, is he attractive? Yes, but I’d say the same thing about you and we’re just friends. He’s a semi-decent conversation and occasionally funny. But I don’t think it goes anywhere beyond that.”

“And those times you came back reeking of him? And disappearing with him at Slughorn’s party?”

You look back at Regulus so he can see you roll your eyes. 

“I’ve explained all of that to you. But what I want to know is why have you never mentioned his dog?”

“He has a dog? Since when?”

You can tell Regulus’ surprise is genuine. 

“Huh. I guess some time between when he ran away and today. Potter told me it was Sirius’ dog that got loose in their common room.” You shake your head. “I’m still fuzzy on why he has his dog here.”

Regulus leans back into the couch more. “Who knows anything about him and what he does? Bastard’s a mystery.”

“Definitely a confusing bloke…”

You move to stand up when Regulus reaches out to grab your arm.

“You think I’m attractive?” he asks with a smirk on his face.

You laugh. “Oh, in your dreams, Black.”

With a smile on your face, you go to bed. Padfoot is on your mind as you drift to sleep. It was surprisingly refreshing to have seen a dog, especially with only being surrounded by cats for so long. 

---

You regret telling Regulus that you thought he was pretty. You had only said it to get him off your back about Sirius. Now, he was using it to tease you. And the worst part was not knowing if he was serious in some of his comments, particularly the more flirtatious ones. You really hope you hadn’t ruined a friendship with a simple comment that was supposed to be about his brother. 

You are walking back to the castle after a quidditch game between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff when you realize that Regulus hadn’t made a comment about it. You had been with him since breakfast, standing at his side all of the match as he watched intently and made mental notes to bring up to the Slytherin captain later. Then he threw a casual arm around your shoulder, forcing you to match your pace more exactly to his.

“You know, I hear muggles give their girls their extra jerseys to wear on game days. I could, ah, give you mine next week.”

You physically exaggerate your eye roll.

“Anndd there it is!” you sigh. “No, Black. You’re pretty, but no.”

Regulus chuckles and squeezes your shoulder.

“But I’m pretty!”

“And an increasing pain in my ass,” you retort, making his chuckle turn into a fuller laugh. 

“Could be your pain.”

“Eh. I’ll pass.”

A few Slytherins around you ooh’d. Both you and Regulus roll your eyes while looking at each other with small smiles. Just as you didn’t know how serious Regulus was being, most of the Slytherins had no clue why Regulus was suddenly flirting with you semi-ardently. They knew he took you to Slughorn’s party, but that was about it. He was a private person. So for all they knew, you two had been dating for a while and keeping everything on the down low. As his teasingly flirtatious remarks occurred in more public places, you gained more attention for it.

And now Sirius had overheard. The Marauders weren’t too far behind you and Regulus as they left the pitch after the match. Regulus wasn’t necessarily quiet with his comment, nor were you with your response. He didn’t miss how comfortable you looked under his arm nor how at ease you were around him. Sirius narrows his eyes with a frown. He didn’t bother hiding that he was watching you; the boys knew he would be. Ever since you bonded with Padfoot, his obsession with you increased tenfold. 

“Did you all hear what she said?” Sirius asks as they reach their usual spot at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

“When?” James responds lazily, as if he’s already bored with the conversation before it’s started. “I’d ask who but you know.”

“As we were walking back, Prongs. She was talking to Regulus.”

“Can’t say I recall.”

“Well! Sounded like Regulus was flirting and she was turning him down. But! Oh, but, but, but! She called him pretty. If she thinks Regulus is pretty, that means I got to be pretty too, right?” Sirius rants, excitement filling his voice. “We got that singling resemblance!”

“Your family is literally inbred. Yes, you two look alike,” Peter says.

“Careful, Wormtail,” Sirius glares at him. “Watch what you say.”

“Just speaking the truth.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and turns back to James to continue his theories about turning you into a Sirius person. 

---

His plan ended up similar to being something that Peter had suggested a while ago: talk to her, ask her out. Heavy flirting is what Sirius was going for. His usual level of charm needed to be cranked up. Remus was the only one who wasn’t a huge fan of this and he let Sirius know. He suggested that Sirius just talk to her and try to spend time with her without being too imposing. Sirius, however, believed that wouldn’t get him the results he needed so he went with his gut. 

He follows you out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the last class of the day. James, Remus and Peter were already heading back to Gryffindor Tower. Sirius is glad that you’re only with Dorcas; if you had been with any of your other friends, he might have backed down, postponed his plan until you were alone.

“Dorcas, mind if I steal her for a moment?” he asks as he catches up with you.

Dorcas gives you a curious look. She doesn’t respond right away as the two of you have a nonverbal conversation. You were trying to get it across to her that you did not want to be left alone with Sirius right now, unsure if you could keep your temper. But when a wicked grin spread on her face, you knew you were doomed.

“If you tell me the password. I’ll go hang with Marls.”

You groan as Sirius smiles and tells her the new password. You cross your arms and turn toward Sirius once she is gone.

“What do you want?”

“I just wanted to confirm that you know how beautiful you are.”

You let out a noise of surprise that was similar to a snort. This boy was certainly full of surprises. 

“Um, thanks?” There was a tightness in your chest that you couldn’t quite describe.

“And, that Protego totalum you cast in class? Perfect.”

“Yeah? And my potion from class this morning? Impeccable, I’m guessing.”

Sirius isn’t a fan of how quickly you caught onto his flattery. Usually his charm got him a bit further. 

“Actually, yes,” he says, trying to save the little progress he thought he was making. “I’ve told you that you’re brilliant before, haven’t I?”

You shrug and shake your head. “I don’t remember.”

He hums.

“So what did you want? Or did you send Cas away so you could compliment-bomb me?”

“You, me, Hogsmeade this weekend. Butterbeers on me.”

You bark a laugh and try to turn it into a cough, but it’s too late. He heard the mirth of the noise.

“What?” he asks, sounding a bit hurt by your immediate reaction.

“Black, don’t be ridiculous. We both know it’d be a waste of our time.”

“Would it, though? I’ve enjoyed myself around you.”

You run a hand through your hair. You take a moment to figure out how to respond to him. It wasn’t Regulus. You couldn’t turn him down with a simple laugh and continue on. But there also wasn’t really a friendship to preserve under the refusal. Then you remember Padfoot.

“I won’t go on a date with someone who abandons their dog in their house’s common room.”

“What?”

You scoff. “Padfoot? Did Potter not tell you?”

Sirius shook his head, trying to not let you see that he was playing dumb. Of course he knew. He is Padfoot but you didn’t know that. Couldn’t know that and wouldn’t know that, not unless things took a dramatic turn for the better. 

“Your dog, the one you let run rampant in Gryffindor Tower. Dorcas was sent to get me because apparently he wasn’t listening to anyone. The common room was a mess when I got there. First years were terrified. I got him to settle and then waited for you to come back. I waited for probably over an hour. Where the hell were you that you couldn’t watch your dog?” You pause ever so briefly before continuing without his answer. He had opened his mouth to respond, but you spoke over whatever excuse he had. 

“You know, actually, I don’t care. It’s less of an issue where you were. The real issue is why is Padfoot at Hogwarts? Dogs aren’t allowed here! You have lessons! Homework! You can’t possibly care for a dog right now! Why isn’t he at the Potters? Or boarding? Or somewhere, I don’t know… Your cousin from Slughorn’s party? Could she watch him?”

Sirius has the decency to look a little remorseful. He’s looking at the ground like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

“Well?” you ask impatiently. 

“He’s usually at the Potters’ but you like dogs so-” Sirius starts to say.

Your incredulous laugh cut him off.

“Do not make this about me somehow,” you chastise him. 

“But it was for you.”

“If it was for me, from you, why weren’t you there?” 

“I… I had to be somewhere else.”

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “Un-fucking-believable…”

“It’s true!” he practically begs, grabbing hold of the sides of your arms to keep you from turning away from him. “You have to believe me that if I could’ve been around to see your face when you saw a dog at Hogwarts, I would have been.”

“Whatever, Sirius.”

“Will you consider Hogsmeade? Please? Doesn’t have to be this weekend,” he asks, voice pleading. He’s also giving you puppy dog eyes, which he does with an uncanny likeness. 

“Why would I do that?”

Sirius stares at you.

“Because I brought a dog to Hogwarts for you.”

“Because I’m a dog person?”

He lets out a nervous laugh. He goes to scratch the back of his neck as he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Yeah. And you liked Padfoot, so obviously I have a good taste in dogs.”

“I like all dogs. Except for the one in front of me right now.”

“All I’m asking for is one real date. No drunken shenanigans. No smoking unless you want to. Just The Three Broomsticks and anything you want from Honeydukes.”

You cock your head. “Honeydukes? Upping the ante, I see.”

He laughs more confidently now. “Remus could kill me if I took a trip to Hogsmeade without him and didn’t return with some kind of chocolate.”

“How about this…” you say, biting your upper lip, “if you can convince Regulus that us going on a date is a good idea, I’ll go. If you can’t, I don’t have to.”

Sirius’ face lights up more than you thought it would. You thought the idea was impossible so why did he suddenly look so hopeful.

“You’re on, sweetheart,” he says. “Be ready for Hogsmeade this weekend.”

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468

[vigilxntesht]

𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘦-𝘣𝘺𝘦𝘰𝘬 — headcanons

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — kang sae-byeok x f!reader

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 — i wrote these at 3am so these aren’t my best work bear with me pretty please

𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙛𝙬

she’d definitely be quiet at the beginning of your relationship—rarely talking at all, actually. she cherishes simply being in your presence, finding comfort in the silence.

she’s cold and tough with everyone, but when she’s alone with you, a much softer, almost shy side emerges. she’s not used to affection, so at first, she gets flustered when you hold her hand or compliment her.

her love language is acts of service. she’s not one to say “i love you” frequently, but she expresses it in small, meaningful gestures—like gently fixing your hair when it’s messy.

though she doesn’t say it often, sae-byeok actually was the one who said “i love you” first. it happened out of the blue during one of your movie nights, catching you off guard in the most unexpected, yet perfect moment.

she gets jealous easily, but tries to hide it. when she sees someone flirting with you, she’ll step in, scaring them away with her signature warning glare. if you call her out on it, she’ll casually shrug and say “i wasn’t doing it for you.” (she totally was.)

she would remember every small detail about you, like the way you take your coffee or the songs that make you smile.

sae-byeok didn’t grow up with much, so it’s the little things that mean the most to her. your dates would be simple yet special—lying on a rooftop and gazing at the night sky or taking quiet strolls along the riverside rather than going out to fancy restaurants.

she’s not a fan of public displays of affection, but when you’re in a crowded space, she’ll instinctively reach for your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours, holding on just a little tighter.

she would give you rocks she finds pretty, handing them to you with a dry “here.” you’re not quite sure what to do with them, but they seem to mean a lot to her, so you end up storing them all in your bedroom.

if you get sick, she becomes surprisingly more doting than usual. she insists you rest, makes you tea, and even checks your temperature with the back of her hand. if you tease her for being soft, she’ll smirk and say “shut up and drink your tea.”

she has a bad habit of kicking you in her sleep.

she loves seeing you in her clothes. she’ll “accidentally” leave her jacket lying around at your apartment, hoping you’ll wear it later.

she has trouble sleeping, so sometimes, she’ll wake you up in the middle of the night just to ask the most random philosophical questions. “do you think cats know we love them?” “what if we all see colors differently, but we’ll never know because my orange could be your green?”

forehead kisses are her weakness. no matter how grumpy or tough she tries to act, the moment you kiss her forehead, she melts instantly, eyes fluttering shut as she relaxes into the touch.

a total cat person—if you have cats, expect her to be all over them literally all the time.

she steals your clothes, but won’t admit it. she’ll insist she doesn’t care about couple-y things, yet somehow, all your hoodies and shirts mysteriously disappear into her closet.

she’s a strange texter. her messages are always short and to the point, like “eat.” or “never mind.”

she’s a terrible cook, so instead of helping, she’ll sneak up from behind while you’re cooking, wrap her arms around your waist and rest her head on top of yours.

one time, you took her to the arcade, and she got way too competitive over air hockey. she was dead serious the entire time, and when she finally won, she crossed her arms smugly and said “loser.” (you let her win, but she doesn’t need to know that.)

[catssluvr]

dating adult misty quigley headcanons <3

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Misty loves you UNCONDITIONALLY, if you are right and also wrong. Would literally for you if that meant you’d be safe.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Probably has your location on her phone at all times because she can’t help but always worry about your safety. Also texts you from time to time to check on you when you’re apart.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Sends you cat memes while she’s scrolling online because she genuinely believes they’re hilarious (they really aren’t).

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Packs you lunch almost everyday if you work, leaving you a sweet treat and a note in your lunch bag.

“have a fantastic day, sweetheart <3”

“don’t forget to take breaks, lovely!! :)”

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Only person she trusts around caligula, enough to let you clean him and give him his meals.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Literally swoons whenever you wear her clothes, mostly if it is one of her cosy looking cardigans because you look extra adorable in them. Will wear them the day after you did so she gets to have your smell the whole day. Also gives you her perfume so you can spray it on your clothes.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Her favorite dates are staying in to watch mystery movies so she can solve them 3 minutes into it and impress you. As if you didn’t already know how talented she is in the matter of crime solving.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ With that being said, Misty also enjoys taking you out on fancy dinners every once in a while. Feels euphoric every time you dress up pretty just for her.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Has your favorite drink memorized and likes to randomly drop it off at your work or house. Will even ask to get it delivered wherever you are if she’s too busy to do it herself.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Is so happy the day you move in with her. Cherishes getting to share a routine with you, even the simple things like doing skincare together or cooking dinner.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Is the clingiest ever, will cuddle up to you as you sit next to her on the couch or bed. Tucks her head into your neck with a hand resting on your chest to fiddle with your shirt.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Knows every single detail about you, including your expressions and reactions so she knows when you’re feeling down or not telling her something.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Misty is so jealous, hates whenever someone tries to get too close to you. Definitely lets her insecurities show whenever you take interest in anyone else even the slightest.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Is a very insecure person even though she tries not to come out as such. Is so happy when you show her your appreciation for her and will literally blush like crazy when you compliment her.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ People pleaser, does everything in her power to make sure you’re happy with her.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Adores adores adores sappy couple stuff like matching outfits. Has a necklace with your initial on it that she refuses to take off. Will get so giddy if anyone mentions it.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Calls you every pet name possible, honestly never settles for one cause she thinks there’s too many good options that can’t go to waste.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Literally POUTS whenever you both have a fight, even more if it was over something really stupid. Is too stubborn to be the first one to say she’s sorry but will come sit next to you until you talk to her.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Will not leave the house for work without pressing a gentle peck to your lips and telling you how much she loves you. Misty lives for domestic bliss.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Kisses you like her life depends on it, gripping your shoulders in her hands while her lips hungrily invade yours.

slightly spicy ahead!!

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Misty is a switch but definitely always likes to have some type of control over things.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Has you literally squirming under her in a matter of seconds without even having to do much for it.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Will tease you under the table while you’re eating out at a restaurant, fingers slipping inside your skirt until you’re too flustered to talk properly.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Has some kind of obsession with giving you love bites, leaves you full of hickeys on places only she gets to see.

[vandme12]

I was the one who requested the Royal Cafe, Can you just do it as a Ronin x Reader?

Inspiration

SINFUL CAFE AND YOUR RONIN

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : Your Cafe is almost dead, Angel saved and A Devil became a Cat?

So you've been in this serial killer server for eight months, and somehow, against all odds, you fell for Ronin. That purgatory of a first kiss? Yeah, it ruined you in the best way. Now it’s a whole trend—flirting, fighting, maybe even feeling.

You love him. He loves you. (Maybe.)

He’s feisty about it, of course. Teasing, testing, pushing you just enough to keep you on edge, but never quite letting you fall. And god, you love it. You love him. You love this—this insane little corner of the internet where murder is a casual conversation, where death is a game, and where your heart beats way too fast whenever his name pops up in your notifications.

So, tell me—what’s next?

So, you’re a writer. And an idiot. A beautiful, chaotic idiot who somehow—somehow—managed to open a royal-themed café because childhood-you watched one maid café anime and said, “Yeah, that’s the dream.”

And guess what? Dream achieved, baby. You’ve got the whole setup—maids in frilly dresses, butlers in crisp suits, fancy teacups, and a menu with way too many desserts. It’s perfect. Almost.

Except… your staff? Absolute disasters.

Your maids? Shit. Your butlers? Worse shit. Half of them can’t carry a tray without causing a full-scale catastrophe. The other half are more likely to flirt with customers for tips than serve them. You hired them for the aesthetic, not the competence, and it shows.

But hey, it’s your dream. And if you’re going to go down in flames, at least you’re doing it in a sparkly maid café, right?

Your royal café is on life support.

Sure, you’ve got the maids. You’ve got the butlers. You’ve got the fancy-ass menu with cakes that are probably overpriced. But there’s one tiny, devastating problem—nobody knows you exist.

Like, you’re out here living your sparkly childhood fantasy, and the universe decided to spit in your crème brûlée. Customers? Barely any. Popularity? Nonexistent. It’s so bad that your butlers started playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who actually has to work when someone—finally—walks through the door.

The closing sign is practically looming over your café’s head. You tried everything—social media posts, themed events, hell, you even forced your staff into a cringy dance routine on TikTok. Nothing. Still ghost town vibes.

And it’s really sad, okay? You didn’t go through all this chaos just to shut down like some tragic protagonist. There has to be a way to save it—right?

You felt like absolute shit.

This café was supposed to be your magnum opus—your crowning achievement of cute uniforms, elegant service, and the kind of fluffy desserts that make people squeal. Instead? You’re staring at the empty tables, wondering if it’s physically possible to die from secondhand embarrassment as your maids argue over who actually has to smile today.

Even your most loyal butler, who once prided himself on his "mysterious prince" aesthetic, just muttered, "Why bother?" while unironically sipping from a Garfield mug. Garfield, in your royal café. The disrespect.

You tried everything—promo flyers, ‘buy one, get one free’ events, you even begged your questionable internet friends (read: serial killers) to spread the word. Nothing worked.

And now, sitting behind the counter, chin in your hands, you feel the crushing weight of failure. Maybe this was a stupid dream. Maybe you should’ve just written your little murder book and called it a day.

But no. You’re too stubborn to quit now.

The café’s a mess. Your staff is a disaster. But dammit, this is your disaster.

You were overstressed, underslept, and one more burnt crème brûlée away from a complete breakdown.

Between fixing the café’s finances, dragging your chaotic staff out of whatever emotional crisis they were having this time, and trying to figure out if it was actually legal for one of your maids to threaten a customer (it wasn’t), you hadn’t logged into the server for a week.

A week.

Which, in "Serial Killer Chatroom Time," was practically a century.

Your phone buzzed. Again. And again. You ignored it—because if you saw one more "URGENT!!!" message from your accountant (who now ended every email with "we’re so fucked"), you were going to scream.

But then… a familiar notification popped up.

GOREBOY:

Did you die or are you ghosting me? I can make both happen. 💔

You blinked. Oh. Shit.

You hadn’t answered Ronin in days. And if there was one thing that man hated more than authority figures, it was being ignored.

Another message.

K9:

You’ve been offline too long. Something wrong?

HITMEUPPP:

bro if ur dead lmk

Your heart gave a weird, guilty little flutter. Even V was checking in, and that man was emotionally repressed on principle.

You rubbed your face, debating if you should respond or just fake your death and move to another country. Before you could decide, your phone buzzed again—hard enough to make you flinch.

GOREBOY (PRIVATE DM):

You’re either working too hard or digging your own grave. Which is it...

Oh. You were so fucked.

Your notifications were cursed. Every time you tried to catch a break, another ping dragged you back into the chaos. And now? Everyone was in on it.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

brooo u alive?? 🏄‍♂️ i was gonna invite u surfing but like. ur ghosting us.

EVISCERATOR1990:

Are You Okay?

angelic:

babe, if you needed a break, you could’ve said so. but if you died, I’m gonna be pissed.

FELICITE:

You okay? No judgment, just checking. If you need help, I’ve got a shovel and an alibi.

Even Ai Hua—sweet, terrifying Ai Hua—sent a message.

Ai Hua:

☹️

When Ai Hua pulls out the sad face, you know you messed up.

You exhaled, feeling that familiar ache crawl up your spine. The stress. The exhaustion. The fact that you hadn’t eaten anything besides café leftovers for days. Your dream café was circling the drain, your staff couldn’t brew a latte without setting something on fire, and now your murder chatroom friends were worried you’d become a cold case.

Before you could spiral any harder, your phone buzzed again—one more DM from Ronin.

GOREBOY:

Last chance, baby. Tell me what’s wrong, or I’m breaking into your life.

And with him, you believed it.

You crack your knuckles, sighing as you finally cave and open the server. Bad idea? Probably. But if you didn’t say something soon, you were half-convinced Ronin would break into your apartment and bother you in person—which, knowing him, wasn’t even the weirdest thing he’d do.

You hit the general chat and type:

you:

lol sorry i died but i came back bc i heard the devil crying 😔 gotta support local businesses

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

YOURE BACKKKKK 🎉

angelic:

tf kind of fanfic-ass excuse is that.

EVISCERATOR1990:

typical. the devil’s always needy.

Ai Hua:

😌👍

GOREBOY:

you’re lucky i’m cute, or i’d haunt you myself.

You roll your eyes, but your heart does a stupid little flip. Of course, he would twist this into being about him. You barely hesitate before sliding into his DMs, fingers flying.

you:

why are u like this

you:

i’ve been stressed out of my mind and here you are playing “where’s my favorite corpse”

you:

my café is dying. my employees are morons. i haven’t slept in days. everything sucks.

you:

and you?? teasing me like “where’s my baby 😢 are you in the afterlife?? did you leave me??”

You should stop. You should. But your thumbs don’t.

you:

like bro. i’m about to pass out in a puddle of failed cappuccinos and you’re making it MY problem that i’m not flirting back??

You stare at the screen, expecting some sarcastic reply. Something cocky. Something Ronin.

Instead, after a beat—

GOREBOY:

...tell me everything.

You blink.

you:

what?

GOREBOY:

everything. all of it.

GOREBOY:

i’m listening, baby. go ahead—vent it out.

And just like that—you break. You tell him everything. The constant stress, the unpaid bills, the fact that your “dream café” is hanging by a thread because nobody wants to buy overpriced lattes served by questionable maids and worse butlers. How you’ve been grinding yourself into the ground, and it still isn’t enough.

And the whole time? He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t tease. He just… listens.

Finally, when you’re done—when you’ve vomited every anxious thought into his DMs—he replies.

GOREBOY:

okay. first? if you die, i’m bringing you back myself.

GOREBOY:

second? i’m coming over.

you:

?????

GOREBOY:

did i stutter?

You: hey!!!!

You slam the message into Ronin’s DMs He's not try to pull that "I’m coming over" nonsense. You’re stressed, overworked, and no way in hell are you dealing with that in person.

GOREBOY:

oh? suddenly alive again? miss me already, baby?

You:

shut up omg. i’m fine. go be evil somewhere else.

GOREBOY:

nah. you’re my favorite pastime.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. This man. This man. And like the problem he is, he doesn’t stop there.

GOREBOY:

c’mon, sweet thing. tell me more.

GOREBOY:

my muse needs their muse, don't they?

And, damn it, he knows exactly how to work you. Your head’s been a mess—deadlines on your novel, bills piling up from the café, maids and butlers who couldn’t charm a customer to save their lives. Your dream’s slipping through your fingers, and you’ve been too tired to write, too tired to do anything but spiral.

But he keeps talking.

GOREBOY:

bet you’re cute when you pout.

GOREBOY:

and if your little café is your house? yeah, angel—burn the world down before you let anyone take it.

Your heart does a dumb little flip.

You:

it’s different, though… if i lose this place, i’ll break. me and my parents—we worked so hard. it’s not just a shop. it’s… home.

He goes quiet for a second. Too quiet.

Then—your phone buzzes. He’s calling you. Of course he is.

You hesitate… but pick up.

The screen flickers, and there he is—Ronin, all lazy smirk and sharp angles, his silver hair falling into his eyes. He scans you, slow and deliberate, and yeah… you’ve got eyebags for days, but the way he looks at you—shit.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you mutter, voice softer than you mean it.

“Yeah,” he drawls, tilting his head. “I was just thinkin’… even with the eyebags, you look great, darlin’.”

You roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

But he keeps staring. Long. Intense. Like he’s memorizing you.

“What?” you snap, feeling your face heat.

“Nothing,” he says—too casual. “Just… go to sleep.”

You blink. “What, why—”

“I’ll watch,” he cuts in, voice dropping to that smooth, velvet tone that makes your stomach flip. “Until you’re out. That a problem, baby?”

Your heart stutters. “Why are you—”

“‘Cause I’m nice.” He leans closer to the camera, grin curling wicked. “And this is how I get repaid? My Darlin an ungrateful idiot, huh?”

You swallow hard, brain short-circuiting. “I—”

“Relax.” His voice softens, teasing but warm. “Shoulder devils gotta take care of their angels, baby. You work too hard. So, shut up and let me be sweet. Just this once.”

And hell—you’d argue, but you’re already sinking deeper under his spell.

Your laughter slips out before you can stop it—light, tired, but real. “Thanks, Ronin.”

For once, he doesn’t shoot back a smart-ass comment. Instead, he just… smiles. Soft at the edges, like he’s letting his guard down without realizing it. And damn, if that doesn’t make your chest ache a little.

“Good night, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice smooth as sin.

You smirk, letting your head fall against the pillow. “Good night, Butcher.”

His eyes flash with something dangerous—amused. “Tch. Call me that again, angel, and I might think you’re flirting.”

“Maybe I am,” you tease, your voice dipping just enough to make it stick.

He huffs a laugh under his breath. “You’re lucky I’m feeling sweet. Sleep. Before I crawl through the screen and tuck you in myself.”

“Promises, promises…” you mumble, already half-asleep.

And as you drift off, the last thing you hear is his voice—lower, softer than before.

“…Sweet dreams, baby.”

Ronin leans back in his chair after hanging up, fingers drumming against his thigh. For once, the usual smirk on his face fades into something… complicated. The hell’s he supposed to do with this?

You’re stressed—overworked, overwhelmed, cracking at the edges. And sure, he loves teasing you, loves watching you squirm, but… this? This hits different. You care about that dumb café like it’s your soul stitched into the walls. If you lose it, you’ll break.

And—ugh—he doesn’t like when you sound broken.

A sharp ping breaks his thoughts.

Angelic: hey goreboy, any update? hitmeuppp: fr fr bossman u know what’s up right? Eviscerator1990: WORRYING. This isn’t slasher-behavior, kid. LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: bro, did they die again? Ai Hua: 👍

Ronin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fucking vultures…”

He could brush them off—should brush them off—but his eyes flick back to your DM window. Your sleepy voice still lingers in his head. It’s like your house.

Tch. Of course you’d say something sappy like that. Of course he gives a shit.

goreboy: I don’t know. Let ‘em breathe.

A pause. Then—

Angelic: Liar.

He barks a laugh. They know him too well.

But… he does have a plan. Something stupid. Something reckless. Something only he can pull off.

If you’re gonna keep your café from crumbling, you’ll need one thing.

Publicity.

And who better to stir up a little chaos than the devil himself?

Ronin cracks his neck, the familiar edge of a smirk curling his lips as he types back.

goreboy: I have a wonderful plan.

The server erupts immediately.

Angelic: That’s never comforting. hitmeuppp: oh no oh no oh no Eviscerator1990: Define "wonderful," kid. LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: is it illegal. wait no. dumb question. Ai Hua: 👀

Ronin kicks his feet up on his desk, stretching like a cat that’s found fresh prey. He should probably explain—nah—he likes the suspense.

goreboy: Sit tight, sinners. Devil’s about to perform a miracle.

Even Felicite, who usually keeps her distance from the server’s chaos, drops a rare message.

Félicité: I’m almost scared to ask.

Ronin barks out a laugh, tipping his head back. If she’s curious, this plan is already off to a fantastic start.

goreboy: Don’t worry, princess. You’re gonna love it.

hitmeuppp: if u get them arrested, i’m telling their mom.

goreboy: Please, like I’m that sloppy.

goreboy: alright, angels—brainstorm time. how do we save my darlin’s dying café?

angelicc: OH. MY. GOD. I GOT THIS.

Before Ronin can even blink, Angel creates a new group chat and drags him in. The name?

💀 "Operation: Save the Café (ft. Hot Butcher)" 💀

hitmeuppp: wow u really just out here putting their whole situationship on blast huh

angelicc: duh. it’s cute. shut up, Misaki.

goreboy: so, what’s the master plan, sweetheart?

angelicc: Simple. I’ll feature their café on my channel. "Mystery Maid & Butler Café – The Hidden Gem You NEED To Visit!"

angelicc: Cute aesthetic. Mystery theme. And you? You’re coming too.

goreboy: oh?

angelicc: Yeah, I need the butcher boy for emotional support vibes.

Ronin snorts, already imagining how much fun he could have with this. If Angel’s running the show, the café is about to get flooded with curious fans.

goreboy: i’m in. tell me when to show up.

angelicc: Of course!

hitmeuppp: WAIT—WAIT. HOLD UP.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: DareDarvil rules, baby!!! 😎

goreboy: you mean to tell me…

angelicc: No. Luca.

hitmeuppp: YES.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: YESSSSS.

goreboy: …You want me to show up in a maid dress. With cat ears. And a tail.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: AND FAKE BLOOD! Don’t forget the blood—like a cute lil’ murder maid, bro.

There’s a long pause. Ronin leans back in his chair, dragging his tongue over his teeth, half amused and half what the actual hell.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: Think about it. Viral marketing. “Sinful Maid Café” featuring a devilishly hot butcher.

hitmeuppp: Bro, if you pull up in cat ears, you KNOW they’ll have a line out the door.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: Exactly. Chicks and Ddes dig murder maids.

goreboy: ...You’re all insane.

angelicc: As long you're okay with it. I don't really like this idea..

A slow, wicked smile curls at the corner of Ronin’s mouth. He pictures your stressed-out, sleep-deprived face when he walks into your café like that—oh, he’s gonna ruin you.

goreboy: Fine. But if I’m doing it, I’m going all in.

angelicc: Define “all in”…

goreboy: Tail. Ears. Knife. And if anyone gets blood on my skirt, they’re next.

hitmeuppp: Bro’s about to awaken something in half the city.

The next day

You blink, still half-asleep, as the café door swings open—and in walks Angel, glowing like a literal angel with her flawless makeup and bright smile. She’s dressed to kill, all elegance and danger wrapped in a leather jacket that probably costs more than your rent. Behind her, Ronin—looking like he rolled out of bed, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“Morning, sunshine,” Angel coos, voice dripping honey as she surveys your café. “I couldn’t just sit back and let you spiral. You know I hate watching cute things break.”

You stare at her, still processing the fact that she’s standing here, in your café, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And your staff? Oh, your staff is losing their minds.

“Wait, wait—you’re Angelic?” one of your waitresses gasps, clutching the edge of a tray like she might faint.

“The one and only.” Angel winks, spinning on her heel. “And I’m here to save this adorable little café. So, listen up—new plan, everyone! We’re rebranding.”

You blink rapidly. “Re…branding?”

She flashes you a devilish smile. “Sinful Café. Think blood-splattered butlers, seductive maids—" She lowers her voice into a sultry purr, “—danger with your dessert. It’ll go viral in days. Trust me.”

And of course—because she’s Angel—your staff is eating it up. They’re already brainstorming costumes, throwing out ideas, hanging off her every word. You should be grateful. You should say thank you. But…

Your eyes drift to Ronin. He’s quiet, leaning against the counter, his gaze locked on you—steady, unreadable.

Did they… really do all this? For you?

You swallow hard. “Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it.

Angel tilts her head, smiling like it’s obvious. “Because you’re ours, duh.”

Your heart stutters.

“Don’t get soft on me now, darlin’,” Ronin drawls finally, breaking his silence. His voice—low, smooth, dangerously amused—crawls right under your skin. “You didn’t think we’d let your little house fall apart, did you?”

“You’re here!” The words slip out faster than you can stop them—your voice cracking with something dangerously close to relief. And, of course, Ronin hears it.

His lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk. “Missed me that bad, huh?” He leans in, the scent of leather and something sharper brushing against your senses.

You flush, heat crawling up your neck. “Pfft—no. I’m just surprised you’re awake before noon.”

“Ouch. And here I was, being all sweet, coming to save your ass.” His finger lifts, smooth and deliberate, and—boop—he taps the tip of your nose with the cocky audacity only he could pull off.

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Did you just—?”

“What? You wanna do something about it, darlin’?” His voice drips teasing venom, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—are locked on yours, watching every little reaction like it’s his favorite show.

Without thinking, you reach out and boop him back. Harder. “Two can play that game, Butcher.”

His grin widens, teeth flashing sharp. “Aw, baby—don’t start something you can’t finish.”

And just like that, you’re caught in a spiral—back and forth, noses being bopped like you’re flirting in some chaotic cartoon. Until—

“...They’re seriously gonna do this in front of everyone?”

You freeze. Your staff. And Angel.

Oh no.

Angel, being her usual self, is lounging against a table with a shit-eating grin. “I mean, it’s cute. Like, stupidly cute.”

“They’re literally blushing—look at them!” one of your waiters whisper-yells, half-hiding behind a coffee tray.

“And they say we’re unprofessional,” one of your maids adds, crossing her arms—but her face is way too entertained.

Meanwhile, you? You’re dying inside. Absolutely dying.

Ronin? Oh, he’s thriving.

He bops your nose again—softer this time, like he’s savoring how easy it is to make you squirm. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Losing your edge?” His hand barely brushes your waist as he leans closer, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “I thought you liked a little attention.”

You want to slap him. You also want to kiss him. Dangerous combo.

“You’re evil,” you mutter, trying (and failing) to glare at him.

“And you love it,” he shoots back without missing a beat.

Your grip on a glass tightens—so much so that it nearly shatters in your hands. Your heart’s pounding, and you swear the room’s hotter than it should be.

Your staff? Fully gossiping under their breath.

You noticed it immediately—the way your staff kept sneaking glances at Ronin. And not the “oh no, scary serial killer” kind of glances. No. It was the other kind.

The "he’s cute as hell" kind.

The whispering was bad enough.

“Why is he kinda hot, though?”

“Okay, but the messy hair? The voice??”

“I’d let him ruin my life, honestly.”

Your eye twitched. Why were they like this?

And why—out of everyone—did it have to be him they were thirsting over?

Ronin, of course, was oblivious. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He was too busy looking like a whole damn problem—leaning against the counter like he owned the place, one hand shoved casually into his jacket pocket, the other still too close to your waist.

He caught you glaring and quirked a brow. "What’s with the face, darlin’? Don’t tell me you’re jealous."

You rolled your eyes. "Of what? Your fan club?"

His smirk sharpened. "What can I say? People love a bad boy."

Okay, that was it. Enough.

You shot a death glare at your staff—the kind that screamed "I will fire all of you if you keep simping."

Instantly, they froze.

And, as one, they all gave you awkward thumbs-ups before scrambling out of the room.

Cowards.

Ronin laughed low in his throat. "Did you just chase them off?"

"Someone had to." You huffed, crossing your arms. "They were staring at you like you’re a damn dessert menu."

His gaze slid over you, slow and too pleased with himself. "Maybe they’ve just got good taste."

Oh, for the love of—

"Get out of my café, Ronin"

He only grinned wider. "Make me, sweetheart."

Angel spread out the plan with all the flair of someone who lived for the spotlight. "Alright, listen up, sinners." She clapped her hands, and the entire staff leaned in, hanging onto her every word. "We’re turning this café into a killer’s paradise—literally. Blood, danger, hot people in unholy outfits. We want every customer leaving here questioning their morality and maybe their life choices."

Your staff murmured excitedly—because of course they did.

Meanwhile, you?

Yeah, you were not listening.

Because Ronin—the actual Devil in a leather jacket—was still standing too close, arms folded, head tilted as he half-listened to Angel’s pitch. And you? You were just… staring.

Why did he have to look that good doing absolutely nothing?

His hair was a mess, that lazy smirk was doing something to your heart, and you were blushing like an idiot. And worse? He knew it.

Angel caught your stare immediately because she was evil like that. Her gaze flicked between you and Ronin, and when you met her eyes—oh, she was already smirking.

You shot her back a glare. Shut up.

She only grinned wider and mouthed, "Adorable."

Ugh.

You forced yourself to focus as she dramatically flipped through her phone. "And now… costumes." With a flourish, she spun her phone around to reveal the lineup. "Everyone’s getting a killer makeover. Think blood-splattered chic. Sexy slasher. Haute homicide."

Your staff was way too excited about this.

"I call being the ghost-faced butler!"

"Can I be a psycho doll?"

"I’m doing a vampire killer—deal with it."

Angel winked at you. "And don’t worry, babe. I’ve got a special costume just for you."

You groaned. "Should I be scared?"

"Always," she said sweetly.

But your heart stuttered when Ronin—still leaning against the counter—sighed with fake boredom. "Yeah, yeah. Blood, knives, murder. Real original. You’re all having fun, but what am I wearing, Angel?" His tone was lazy, but there was a glint in his eyes—a challenge.

Angel had no mercy.

The outfit she shoved into your arms? Unholy.

A sleek, gender-neutral ensemble that clung to all the right places—black leather, blood-red accents splattered across your chest like you walked out of a crime scene. The jacket? Cropped and shredded, showing just enough skin to be dangerous. Fingerless gloves, a choker with a dangling silver knife charm, and thigh straps. Why did there have to be thigh straps?!

"You’re welcome," Angel purred as you stared at yourself in the mirror, half-horrified and half-impressed.

You tried to play it cool. "You think I’m gonna wear this?"

"I think you’re gonna rock it." She gave you a once-over, biting back a smirk. "Don’t worry, darling—if the café thing tanks, you’ll have a backup career as a heartbreaker."

And, yeah. You wore it.

The moment you stepped out, your staff did a collective double take.

One of your butlers—bless his soul—whistled low. "Boss, uh… is this café legal? ‘Cause you’re about to cause crimes."

Angel winked at you from across the room, holding up two thumbs. "Looking like you’re ready to commit murder and steal some hearts. Perfect."

But nothing—nothing—prepared you for Ronin’s reaction.

He had been leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, but the second he saw you? His gaze dragged up from your boots to your neck, slow and heavy, like he was memorizing every inch.

And when he met your eyes?

Oh, you were screwed.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, pushing off the counter. His voice dipped, velvet smooth. "Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, darlin’."

You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. "Don’t start."

"Can’t help it." He tilted his head, devil horns peeking through his hair. "You dress up like my next bad decision, and you expect me to behave?"

Before you could snap back, the front doors of your café burst open—and in poured a wave of customers.

Apparently, the paparazzi spotted Angel outside, and that meant the whole city wanted to be here. The crowd was ridiculous—half the people here probably couldn’t tell a latte from a cappuccino, but they definitely wanted photos with Angel.

And your café?

It was packed.

One of your waitresses rushed past, wide-eyed. "I can’t believe it—we’re trending."

Angel tossed her hair over her shoulder, all casual. "Of course we are. I’m a genius." She leaned in, voice softer. "I told you I’d fix this, babe."

You almost didn’t hear her—because Ronin was still watching you, still too close.

"You gonna keep gawking?" you muttered.

Your staff? Absolutely killing it.

Angel's twisted, bloodied aesthetic turned your struggling café into the hottest place in town. Every maid and butler was decked out in outfits straight from a killer's fever dream—splattered with fake blood, ripped in all the right places, and more than a little suggestive.

Your barista? Serial killer chic, with a blood-streaked apron and a knife tucked into their belt. One of the butlers had a leather harness over his vest, the bloodstains on his gloves just this side of illegal. Even the shyest maid—normally too nervous to hold eye contact—was working the crowd in a blood-smeared lace dress, balancing a tray of lattes while twirling a fake cleaver.

It was chaotic. It was hot. And the customers? They were eating it up.

Angel, perched at a VIP table with Ronin, looked pleased as hell. She clinked her glass against his. "I told you," she said sweetly, watching the café hum with energy. "All they needed was a little edge."

"Yeah, yeah." Ronin stretched, all lazy confidence, but his eyes hadn’t left you once. "Don’t get too smug, sweetheart. This ain’t your masterpiece."

Angel snorted. "Jealous?"

"Of you?" His smirk sharpened. "No, babe. I’m invested."

You barely had a second to breathe before one of your butlers slid up beside you, flashing a teasing grin. "Hey, boss." He tugged at the bloodied cuffs of his sleeves. "Think we’re gonna need combat pay for all these stares. Never thought working here would mean breaking hearts too."

"You’ll survive," you deadpanned, trying not to laugh.

"You sure? ‘Cause your devil boyfriend’s been glaring holes through anyone who looks at you too long." He tilted his head toward Ronin, who—yeah—was definitely watching you with that lazy, heavy-lidded gaze.

Ronin caught you looking. And winked.

Your heart did a stupid, traitorous flip.

Angel’s plan wasn’t just working—it was thriving. The line outside wrapped around the block. Your social media was blowing up. Every time a customer left, they posted pictures of the blood-soaked, dangerously hot staff, tagging the café with captions like:

"Who knew horror could be this hot?? #SinfulCafe #KillerVibes"

"Maid cafés are cute—this one’s a crime scene and I’m obsessed."

Angel didn’t just post it—she made a whole event out of it.

The photo? Flawless.

A perfectly curated shot of the café’s chaos—bloodied maids, dangerously hot butlers, and you at the center, caught mid-laugh. You were leaning back against the counter, still wearing the killer-chic outfit she picked, the fake blood on your collar making you look like you just stepped out of a slasher movie.

He was right beside you, one hand casually draped around your waist, head tilted close—like he wasn’t just near you, but claiming you. His usual sharp-edged smirk was in full force, the kind that promised trouble.

The caption?

"Blood, guts, and a little bit of love~ ❤️🍷 @SinfulCafe is OPEN. Come for the coffee, stay for the danger. #KillerVibes #SinfulCafe #MariaDelRosa"

And that name—Maria Del Rosa—was all the hook anyone needed.

Because if there was one thing Angel knew how to do, it was make a scandal.

Maria Del Rosa wasn’t just a pop sensation—she was controversy in high heels, and Angel had just hinted to her millions of followers that this café was her new obsession.

The second the post went live, your notifications exploded.

"Wait—Maria Del Rosa is hanging out at a haunted café?!"

"Angel really said blood is the new black, huh?"

Your café was trending before you could even process it—news outlets were already picking it up, hyping the place as a “celebrity hideout with a bloody twist.”

You were working, Ronin said he had a work.

Your brain short-circuited.

Ronin. In the maid outfit.

Cat ears. Tail. Bloodied knife.

What the actual hell.

And he was working—or, well, his version of it. Strutting through the café like he owned the place, giving the new customers a devil’s welcome with that lazy, sharp-edged grin that promised a good time… or a terrible mistake.

“Welcome to Sinful Café,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock sweetness as he leaned down toward a table of wide-eyed customers. “Order fast, darlings… or else.” He spun the fake knife between his fingers like he was born with it, flashing his fangs in a grin as one girl nearly fainted.

The whole café was staring—even your staff was frozen, whispering among themselves like he was some kind of exotic attraction.

Someone even whipped out their phone—you heard the camera shutters, the murmurs of, “Holy shit, is he part of the show?!” and “I will sell my soul to be stepped on—”

You barely processed any of it because, goddamn, he looked good.

The maid dress hugged him in all the right places—short enough to tease but just messy enough with the blood splatters to make him look like he walked out of a horror fantasy. The cat ears twitched as he tilted his head toward a customer who was too stunned to speak.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he purred.

You clutched the counter to stay upright.

And then—he caught you staring.

That slow, dangerous smile of his stretched wider, and he sauntered over like he had all the time in the world. Each step was deliberate, and you swore half the café was tracking his movements.

He leaned down, voice just for you this time. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Gonna break another glass lookin’ at me like that?”

Your throat dried. “I—uh—why—” Words? Who needed them? Not you apparently.

He tilted your chin up with the tip of the bloody knife (prop… hopefully), his crimson-painted nails brushing your skin. "Luca dared me," he admitted, way too pleased with himself. "Thought I’d… liven the place up."

Liven it up?! You wanted to scream. The café was practically vibrating with energy—the air buzzing with whispers and cameras flashing.

“Gotta admit,” he continued, studying your face, “it’s worth it just to see you blush like that. Thought you liked the attention?”

“I—I do, but—” You swallowed, heat crawling up your neck as his eyes dropped—lingering low before meeting yours again. "This is different."

Ronin chuckled low in his throat, pulling back slightly—but not before dragging the blunt edge of the knife down your chest in one slow line. "Different’s good, sweetheart. Keeps things… interesting."

And just when you thought you’d survive—

He winked. "Anything for you, boss."

Your heart? Gone. Dead. Buried.

You tried—really tried—to be normal about it.

But how the hell were you supposed to act normal when Ronin looked like that?

The cat ears, the tail, the scandalously short maid dress—it was criminal how good he looked. The lace edging flirted with his thighs every time he moved, and the fake blood on his apron wasn’t helping your sanity. And the knife? Oh, the knife. He spun it like a promise, the gleam catching the light as if it were taunting you.

You sucked in a breath, gripping the counter for dear life, because if you didn’t hold onto something, you were going to lose it.

Meanwhile, Ronin? Completely unbothered—in fact, he seemed to be having the time of his life. He strolled through the café like a devil on holiday, sending playful winks and lazy smirks to anyone brave (or stupid) enough to stare too long.

And, oh—they were staring.

Your staff? Losing it. You caught two maids whispering frantically behind a menu, eyes wide as they tracked his every move. A butler actually dropped a tray, the clatter nearly drowned out by the murmurs rippling through the café.

The customers? Even worse.

“I didn’t know this was a thing,” one girl gasped, clutching her friend’s arm. “I’d pay extra if he threatened me,” her friend muttered, practically drooling.

Your jaw clenched. Oh, hell no.

You tried—really—to be professional, plastering on a smile as you took an order from a table. But your focus kept slipping. Your eyes? Betraying you. Every time you glanced up, he was there—a walking distraction with legs far too long and a smirk far too dangerous.

And he knew it.

You caught him watching you—his golden eyes sharp, hungry, and just a little too pleased with himself. When your eyes met, he tilted his head, the black cat ears twitching with the motion.

The knife twirled in his fingers. Slow. Deliberate.

A tease—just for you.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” His voice slid across the café, smooth and dark, cutting through the buzz of conversation like silk over a blade.

Your stomach flipped. You scrambled for composure, tossing him a glare. “Stop that.”

His grin only widened. “Stop what? Bein’ cute?” He took a step closer—too close—until the counter was the only thing between you. He leaned in, the scent of leather and something dangerous curling around you. “Can’t help it. It’s natural.”

You huffed, face burning. “You’re gonna give someone a heart attack.”

He chuckled low in his throat, dragging the blunt edge of the knife along his lip in a way that should’ve been illegal. “Long as it’s not yours, we’re fine, sugar.”

You were not surviving this day.

Especially when you noticed the way everyone else was looking at him. Customers whispering, staff swooning—hell, you spotted a person blatantly checking him out,

Your eye twitched.

Mine.

The thought flared up so fast it startled you—but, God, you weren’t wrong.

And Ronin? He must’ve caught the flash of jealousy in your eyes because the next thing you knew, he was sliding closer—too close—the tip of the knife brushing against your wrist where you clutched the counter.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His voice dipped lower—private, rough around the edges. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’ll think you’re jealous.”

Your heart pounded. “I am not jealous.”

“Mm.” He didn’t believe you for a second. “Coulda fooled me. Don’t worry, darlin’. No one else gets me like you do."

Asshole.

And when you didn’t answer, too busy trying not to combust, he reached up—bopped your nose—and laughed.

“You’re cute when you pout.”

You slammed your hands on the counter—loud—loud enough to cut through the chatter and grab everyone’s attention.

“The café is closed due to… due to a food shortage!” You snapped, a little too fast, a little too sharp.

A blatant lie—there were plenty of pastries in the back, and you knew it. But if you had to watch one more person drool over Ronin in that damn maid outfit, you were going to start flipping tables.

The crowd groaned in disappointment but no one moved—because, of course, they didn’t. Not when Ronin stood there like a walking sin, twirling his knife with that easy, flirtatious grace.

One girl, practically vibrating, tilted her head with wide eyes. “But… can we stay if we’re just… watching?”

Watching?!

You nearly choked. What the hell—was he a café attraction now? A sideshow? What, were people going to start tipping him for existing?

Meanwhile, Ronin? That bastard was eating it up.

“Aw, sugar, you closin’ up so soon?” He purred, leaning against the counter, his black cat tail curling playfully behind him. His gaze flicked over you—slow, heavy, dangerous—and he grinned like he was born to be a problem. “Guess I’ll have to entertain ‘em while you’re bein’ stingy.”

Oh, hell no.

And as if the universe hadn’t tortured you enough, someone from the back whistled—a low, appreciative sound—and you caught at least three people whispering about how “mysterious and hot” he was.

You snapped.

“Out.” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp enough to make the nearest table flinch. “We are closed—I don’t care if God himself walks in here; you’re all leaving.”

A mix of grumbling and disappointment filled the room as the customers reluctantly shuffled toward the exit, throwing longing glances at Ronin as they went. One particularly bold person actually slipped a phone number onto the counter—for Ronin.

The audacity.

You snatched the paper before he could see it and crumpled it into your fist. No way in hell. Not on your watch.

Finally, the door closed behind the last customer, the bell jingling softly in the silence.

You exhaled hard, pressing a hand to your chest to keep your jealous heart from exploding. Peace. At last.

…Until you realized Ronin was still there, watching you with the smuggest look you’d ever seen. His golden eyes glittered with pure, unfiltered amusement—like he knew exactly what game you were playing.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” he drawled, pushing off the counter to prowl closer, the hem of the maid skirt dangerously high with each step. “Seemed a little… possessive."

“I’m not,” you lied—poorly. Your voice cracked on the last word.

He tilted his head, the black cat ears twitching like he was enjoying every second of your unraveling. “Really? ‘Cause it kinda felt like you wanted to throw hands back there.”

“I’m not jealous!” You blurted, too loud—too defensive.

“Mm-hm.” He stopped right in front of you, towering over you in those ridiculous cat ears and lace. The fake blood on his apron only made him look more dangerous, more irresistible. “Y’know, darlin’, if you wanted my attention that bad…” He lowered his voice, rough and teasing. “…you just had to ask.”

You narrowed your eyes, heat flooding your face. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Only ‘cause I am.” His grin turned wicked. “C’mon, admit it—you liked it. Me in this little thing?” He gave the hem of the maid skirt a taunting tug, showing a sinful hint of thigh. “Drives you crazy, huh?”

“You drive me crazy,” you snapped, but your gaze dipped—traitorously—to his legs. “And put your knife down before you stab someone.”

His chuckle was low and dangerous, vibrating straight through your bones. “Careful, darlin’. If I didn’t know better…” He leaned in, lips hovering by your ear, breath warm against your skin. “…I’d think you were jealous of everyone checkin’ me out.”

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding. “I’m not jealous,” you muttered, glaring at his smirk. “I just… I didn’t like it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t like what?”

“Them.” You huffed, pushing at his chest—bad idea—because the second your fingers touched the soft lace of the dress, he caught your wrist. “I didn’t like them looking at you.”

For a beat, he didn’t move—just stared at you, his expression shifting into something slower, heavier. And when he spoke next, his voice was different—still teasing, but laced with something else beneath the surface.

“Aw, sugar…” He lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across your knuckles. “You don’t gotta be jealous. They can look all they want, but…” His smile softened—just a little—and his black eyes locked with yours. “…I’m yours.”

You screamed—a full, undignified scream—so loud it echoed through the empty café. Your legs buckled beneath you from the sheer force of your overheated brain trying to process what had just happened.

And, of course, because the universe was cruel, you nearly ate the floor—until Ronin caught you.

With one hand.

On your waist.

And, oh God, the maid outfit—you could feel the lace brushing against your skin as he held you steady. His grip was firm, possessive, like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“You good there, darlin’?” His voice was warm—too warm—smug as hell, but there was something else underneath it. Something sincere, something dangerous.

You opened your mouth—probably to yell again—but your words died in your throat because suddenly, he kissed you.

Soft at first—too soft—like he was testing if you’d push him away. But when you didn’t—when you clung to him like you’d lose your mind if he stopped—he deepened it. His free hand slid to the small of your back, tugging you flush against him, and you swear you could feel the flick of his damn cat tail brushing your leg.

When he pulled back, his lips were curved in a lazy, satisfied smile. “Told ya,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “I’m yours.”

Your brain? Mush. Gone. Obliterated.

The only thing you could do was stare at him—scandalized, flustered, and very much not okay.

And he knew it.

The next day?

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Your café? Blown up—not literally, but it might as well have been. Thanks to Angel’s post, it had gone viral overnight. The hashtag #SinfulCafe was trending, and you had a line stretching around the block before you even opened.

And the worst part?

The photo posted—the one everyone was losing their minds over—wasn’t even of her.

It was of him.

Ronin, in the bloody maid outfit, mid-stride with that devil-may-care smirk, twirling his knife like he was about to cut someone’s heart out—and everyone wanted a piece.

Customers wouldn’t stop asking about the “maid guy”—some even left love letters at the counter, like he was some kind of celebrity crush. And Ronin? That bastard was loving every second of it. Happy news is The photos people posted was so blurry when it had his face.

No one sees your man.

At one point, he leaned against the counter, watching you scramble around with the sweetest, most infuriating grin on his face.

“Y’know,” he drawled, spinning a fake blood-covered spoon between his fingers, “if I knew wearin’ a little lace would get you this riled up, I’d’ve done it sooner.”

You threw a dish towel at his head. He caught it without looking—because of course, he did.

When you finally had a moment to breathe, you flopped onto a chair in the break room and opened your phone.

The server was on fire—everyone was still buzzing about the café, Angel’s post, and him.

You typed out a quick message:

YOU: @angelicc I owe you one. Seriously. Thanks for saving my ass.

A second later, Angel replied:

ANGELICC: lmao anytime, babe 💋 but let’s be real—u should be thanking me for putting u two in the same room long enough to FINALLY KISS.

Your face burned.

LUCA: wait wait WAIT??? U TWO KISSED???

FELICITE: They WHAT.

You: Aren't we already in a relationship?

You groaned, slamming your forehead against the table while your notifications exploded.

Goreboy: They act like everything is a horror.

Of course, it was him.

Every single photo—every—one of that viral post had his face conveniently blurred or cropped just enough to keep his identity a mystery. Fans online were already obsessing over the “Sinful Butcher Maid,” speculating who he was, but no one had a clear shot.

And you? You were suspicious.

So, naturally, you DM’d him.

YOU: okay, be honest. is this YOUR doing??

It took him exactly thirty seconds to respond—because, of course, he was waiting.

Goreboy: obviously.

You rolled your eyes. Of course.

YOU: why tho?? u love attention. don’t lie.

Goreboy: babe, I know I’m hot. but I also know when to keep my shit private.

Goreboy: plus, you know how messy it’d get if people started recognizing me? one glimpse of this face and your lil’ café turns into a damn crime scene.

You snorted. Dramatic as always.

YOU: sooooo, u admit you’re obsessed with me enough to hide your face for my sake?

Goreboy: tsk. don’t push it, darlin’. I’m already doin’ charity work lookin’ this good in cat ears.

YOU: HA. YOU agreed to the dare, don’t even play.

Goreboy: yeah, well. someone had to save your ass, and it sure wasn’t your tragic lil’ butlers.

You couldn’t help the stupid, giddy smile pulling at your lips. For all his teasing, he was right—if Ronin hadn’t shown up (in that outfit, no less), you might’ve lost your café. And now? Business was booming.

But, still.

YOU: soooooo... u gonna wear it again?

Goreboy: you wanna see me in it again?

Your face burned.

YOU: shut up.

Goreboy: nah. you’re cute when you’re jealous.

The worst part? He was right, and he damn well knew it.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Part Five

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The party is in full swing, everyone is having fun, until they're not. You let jealousy get the better of you, there's a mystery man and Dean is there to tug you right back into his arms... and bed.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY!!!) Swearing, jealousy, mutual pinning, these two are idiots. A little cameo crossover 👀

AN: Welcome to Chapter five, the arrival at the party. Things are definitely starting to shift, whether they can actually make it through we'll have to see. I hope you enjoy ☺️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

The party was at one of the most upscale venues in town—an old historic building that had been renovated into an elegant event space.

The second Dean stepped inside; his senses were overwhelmed.

The place reeked of money.

A massive chandelier hung in the centre of the grand ballroom, casting a golden glow over the polished marble floors. The walls were lined with intricate mouldings, and soft classical music played beneath the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

Dean’s eyes immediately landed on the buffet.

And damn. They did not cheap out.

A long table was spread with an assortment of high-end appetisers—perfectly arranged charcuterie boards, little bite-sized hors d'oeuvres that looked too fancy to actually enjoy, and a seafood station with cocktail shrimp that Dean was definitely coming back for.

“Wow,” you murmured beside him, taking it all in. “Roman really went all out this year.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Yeah, no kidding. Bet he blew half the budget just on the napkins.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you stepped further inside.

Dean followed, but not before grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed one to you with a smirk.

“Might as well make the most of it.”

You took it, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

As you took in the beautifully decorated room, your gaze swept across the scene, but Dean’s? His drifted right back to you. Just for a second. Just long enough for that all-too-familiar flutter to stir in his stomach—the one he kept pretending didn’t mean anything.

“You made it!”

Dean’s gaze broke away just as a blur of red came barrelling toward you. Charlie. She pulled you into a hug first, then stepped back with a low whistle, eyes raking over you in pure admiration.

“Holy shit.”

Dean had thought the exact same thing the moment he saw you.

You waved her off, a bashful smile tugging at your lips as your cheeks warmed. “Oh, please. What about you?”

Charlie beamed, twirling slightly to show off her dark-green Gatsby-style gown, the sequins catching the light. A matching headband sat atop her perfectly curled red hair, pinned into an elegant bun.

“I know, right?” She grinned. “I figured if I’m coming to this thing, I might as well go all out. Look.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a long cigarette holder, playfully pinning it between her fingers like she belonged in the 1920s. “I don’t even smoke.” 

You couldn’t contain the snort that escaped you, Charlie giggling along too, before her attention flicked past you, her smirk widening.

“Oooh, look what the cat dragged in.” She eyed Dean up and down before giving an approving nod. “Damn, Winchester, you actually clean up nice.”

Dean huffed a chuckle and pulled her in for a quick hug. “S’good to see you, kiddo.”

And just like that, another reason why this complicated mess you’d gotten yourself into, reared its ugly head. Your friends weren’t just your friends. They were Dean’s, too. Your lives were so tangled together that if—or when—this thing between you inevitably crashed and burned, the fallout was gonna be devastating. 

Which is why you couldn’t let it. 

“No offence to the overpriced champagne, that’s probably worth half our rent,” Dean muttered, nodding toward the bar, “but I need something stronger.”

“Agreed,” you and Charlie said in unison.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on Dean as he weaved his way through the crowd. He looked Goddamn edible. But the sensation of being watched made you shift uncomfortably. Turning back, you found Charlie’s sharp gaze locked onto you, her lips curling with curiosity.

“What?” you asked warily with a nervous chuckle.

Her smirk deepened. “Something happening here?” She gestured between you and Dean with a flick of her finger.

Your stomach lurched, and your grip tightened around your champagne flute. “What? No.” You shook your head, too fast, too defensive.

Charlie’s expression screamed bullshit.

“You know I call it when I see it,” she sing-songed, arms crossing over her chest.

Your mouth felt dry, and the bubbles from the champagne burned a little more than they should as you took another sip. With a sigh, you lowered your voice.

“Just… don’t say anything,” you muttered, glancing back toward the bar, where Dean was now getting served.

Charlie’s brows shot up; interest piqued. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“We slept together,” you admitted quietly. “Multiple times, actually.”

Her jaw dropped. “For real?”

You nodded.

Her face lit up like you’d just handed her the best gossip of the year. “That’s amazing! It’s about damn time you two admitted—”

“We’re not together,” you cut in, before she could continue down that road, and her excitement dimmed, brows furrowing in confusion.

“We’re just… sleeping together,” you explained, trying to sound casual, as if your heart wasn’t in a vice just saying the words. “No strings, no expectations. We both agreed—”

Charlie scoffed. “You?” She pointed at you incredulously. “Miss ‘Hopeless Romantic’ agreed to a no-strings thing?”

You plastered on a smirk, covering the raw edges with bravado. “I’m the one who suggested it.”

Charlie didn’t look convinced. “You sure that’s what you want?” Her voice softened, her gaze knowing. You weren’t exactly the casual type. Sure, you’d dated, but it was never just for the sake of it. You always wanted something real.

But you just shrugged, still wearing that practiced smirk. “Dean’s not looking for a relationship, and neither am I right now. It works for us.”

Liar.

Charlie pressed her lips together, clearly holding back more opinions, but she let it drop. At least for now.

And when Dean returned, drinks in hand, she didn’t say a damn thing.

But the look she gave you said it all.

This was going to end in flames.

And tonight it was you being burned, because you were in hell.

After some casual conversation between the three of you, more drinks, and even a couple of twirls on the dance floor, you spent the latter half of the night watching the women from HR fawn over Dean like he was a prime cut of steak in a den of hungry wolves. And worst of all? He didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he was currently leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with a woman you knew to be Carmen. She was nice enough—you’d exchanged a few polite greetings in the elevator—but that was about the extent of your interactions.

Your fingers tightened around your glass as you watched her laugh at something he said—too exaggerated, in your opinion. He wasn’t that funny. And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, her manicured hand squeezed his bicep. That was the last straw.

Charlie had abandoned you to use the restroom, leaving you with no distractions other than to sit and watch Dean practically fall in love with another woman right in front of you.

Okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic. But he looked interested, and it made your stomach churn.

Deciding you’d tortured yourself enough, you pushed to your feet and manoeuvred through the crowd toward the bar. More alcohol seemed like the only logical solution.

Except, before you got there, you walked straight into someone solid.

“Oh—sorry,” you blurted, glancing up and took a pause when you were met with a pair of striking blue eyes.

“You’re alright.” His voice was smooth, paired with a friendly smile that only made him look more devastatingly handsome. He was about Dean’s height, maybe a little broader—the type of guy who looked like he worked out seven days a week. His sandy-blonde hair was short and styled, and his jawline was something out of a damn movie.

Hot damn.

“I, uh, don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he mused, and you had to give your head a little shake to refocus.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you either.” You countered with a small smile. “Do you work for Roman?”

“I do—part of his security team.”

“Right.” You nodded. “Well, I’m about fifteen floors below where you’re probably stationed, so I guess it makes sense we haven’t crossed paths.” Roman enterprises was a fortress and you tended not to wonder often in fear of getting lost.

He chuckled in agreement. “I’m Steve, by the way.” He extended a hand, that easy-going smile still on his lips.

You slid your hand into his, warmth seeping into your fingers. His grip was firm but not overbearing.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

Steve’s smile deepened, like your name was the best thing he’d heard all night. And despite yourself, you swooned a little.

"You know, I've realised I don't really know a whole lotta people here," He chuckled with, what appeared to be, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Can I get you a drink? Maybe make a new friend?" He smiled shyly, his demeanour too sweet to come off as anything other than genuine.

You hesitated, your mind caught in a battle with itself. Steve seemed nice enough, but despite the storm brewing inside you from watching Dean with someone else, the last thing you wanted was to drag someone else into your mess. But then again, who said it had to be anything more than two colleagues getting to know each other?

Before you could even make up your mind, a warm, familiar hand settled against your lower back—possessive, grounding.

“There you are.”

Dean’s voice was low, tight, and when you turned, his green eyes weren’t on you. They were locked on Steve, sizing him up with suspicion. A tense, unspoken shift settled over the conversation.

“And you are?” Dean asked. To an outsider, his question might’ve sounded like casual curiosity, but you felt the rigid press of his body against yours, saw the tight clench of his jaw.

“Steve,” the blonde replied, offering his hand once again.

Dean took it, shaking firmly, his brow arching slightly. “You serve?”

Steve looked mildly surprised at the question but answered without hesitation. “Two tours in Iraq.” His posture straightened.

“My dad was a Marine,” Dean explained, his voice more neutral now. “Got used to military handshakes.”

Steve nodded in understanding.

Dean, however, wasted no time getting to his real point. “You mind if I borrow her?”

The question was phrased politely, but there was nothing optional about it. You glanced up at Dean with a frown, but his eyes never left Steve.

To his credit, Steve backed off with a friendly nod, though you swore you saw a flicker of disappointment in those piercing blue eyes. “Of course. It was nice meeting you,” he said, sending a small parting smile your way before disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, irritation bubbled up inside you. “What? You get bored flirting with the desperate housewives of HR and remember I exist?” you snapped, folding your arms across your chest.

Dean blinked at your hostility and then frowned. “I wasn’t flirting.”

You levelled him with a look.

He sighed. “Okay, maybe a little, but it was all innocent, I swear" He added at your disbelieving look. "It's not my fault you ditched me to schmooze with your boss.” He gestured vaguely toward the other end of the room with a huff.

“This is a company Christmas party, Dean. Of course i wasn’t going to ignore my boss when he asked me a question.”

Dean looked genuinely baffled. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly having a great time. Those women are nuts.”

You snorted. “Didn’t look like you were having a bad time with Carmen.”

Dean frowned, as if trying to remember who that was. Then, realisation dawned. “Oh—her? Only because she seemed the most normal out of the bunch. Until she asked if I wanted to take her into the coat closet so she could ‘suck me off.’” He quoted with wide eyes.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head.

Fucking HR.

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Look, I can be an ass, but I’m not a dick.” His voice softened slightly as he leaned down, waiting until your eyes met his. “I came here with you, and I intend to leave here with you.”

The warmth in his words settled deep in your chest, more powerful than you wanted to admit.

You were starting to sound like a broken record, but you’d never battled with your feelings this hard in your entire life. You felt like you were all over the place, an unsettling reminder of just how dangerous this thing with Dean was. But you were an idiot—hooked, unable to break free from the line he’d cast around your heart.

After a beat, Dean stepped closer, his presence calming the storm inside you, even if just for a moment.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hand slid around your waist, his warm palm flattening against the small of your back as his other hand trailed slowly down your arm. “You’ve been driving me crazy in this dress all night.” His voice was husky, rough, his breath hot against your skin.

Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your ear.

“What about Charlie?” you asked weakly.

“What about her?”

You both jumped apart to find Charlie standing there, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk on her lips.

Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were, uh, just thinking of calling it a night.”

“Dean’s been traumatised by the HR department,” you added with a snicker.

Charlie’s smirk widened. “Ohhh, so you’re the ‘green-eyed hottie’ Janet was talking about in the restroom.” She tilted her head, as if piecing things together.

It was almost comical the way Dean’s eyes widened in fear.

Ignoring his discomfort, Charlie waggled her eyebrows. “Man, she wants to do some naughty things to you.”

Dean visibly shivered. Janet was thrice his age, twice divorced, and way too handsy for his liking.

You chuckled and patted his back in mock sympathy. “Want to grab a cab with us?” You directed at Charlie.

“Nah, you kids go on ahead. I’ve got myself a ride home.” Charlie smirked, glancing over your shoulder.

You followed her gaze and spotted Dorothy from marketing, who was smiling back at her.

Turning back to her with a knowing grin, you nudged Charlie playfully. “Look at you, player.”

She swatted your hand away with a laugh, and then you pulled her in for a quick hug. “I’ll see you after the holidays.”

Charlie squeezed you back before turning to Dean. “Of course. See you later, bitches.” She flashed Spock’s signature salute before disappearing back into the crowd.

By the time you returned home, you were beat. Socialising in large groups wasn’t your forte and the night had been a roller coaster of emotions from start to finish.

Dean followed you inside, the silence from the cab ride stretching between you. But beneath it, a flicker of heat still simmered, unspoken yet undeniable. The weight of his gaze burned against your skin, heated and roaming, darkened with something primal.

You barely had time to breathe before he stepped into your space, backing you up until your shoulders met the wall in the foyer. Your pulse stuttered, shallow breaths mingling in the charged air between you as he braced a hand beside your head, leaning in close—so close his breath ghosted over your lips, warm and teasing.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was rough, hushed, wrecked. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and devouring, before they flickered down to your parted lips.

The heat between you coiled tighter.

“Thinkin’ I’d rather fuck someone else,” he rasped, his mouth brushing against your jaw, then lower, his breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your throat, “when you’re right here, lookin’ like this.”

Your body arched instinctively as his lips found the rapid pulse at your neck, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss that sent a shiver through you. His hands found your waist, fingertips pressing in just enough to ground you, to claim.

The scent of you filled his senses, sweet and intoxicating, and for a moment, he just breathed you in, savouring every second, every sharp inhale, every tremble.

“Dean.” Your voice was a whisper, wrecked and needy, and that was all it took.

A growl rumbled low in his throat as his hands slid up, cupping your face as his lips crashed into yours—hungry, desperate.

Your hands fisted the lapels of his suit jacket, simultaneously pulling him closer and using him as something to keep you upright. He groaned into your mouth, deep and raw, before shrugging out of it. The soft fabric pooled onto the floor as his fingers worked at his tie. His gaze never left yours as he slipped it free, the silk sliding through his fingers with an easy grace.

Then, with a smirk laced with something deeper—reverence, need—he reached for your wrists, lifting them above your head. You gasped, breath hitching as he looped the tie around them, binding them together with a care that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Trust me?” he murmured, voice rough yet achingly soft.

You swallowed hard, nodding, and he rewarded you with a slow, lingering kiss. Then, shifting your arms around his neck, he lifted you, strong hands supporting you as if you weighed nothing. Your heart pounded against your ribs as he carried you to your room, bridal-style, his gaze hooded as he laid you down onto the bed.

Dean hovered over you for a moment, drinking you in, his expression softer now, full of something raw and unspoken. His fingers traced down your arms after lifting them above your head, and then over your ribs, as if memorising every inch of you.

“You are…” he shook his head, almost in disbelief. “God, you’re beautiful.”

He knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands finding your ankles, lifting one delicate foot. With careful precision, he slipped off your heel, pressing a warm kiss to the inside of your ankle before trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up the curve of your calf. He took his time, savouring, breathing you in before repeating the same attentive worship on the other leg, drawing soft sighs from you with every touch.

By the time his lips reached your knee, your thighs trembled, anticipation coiling thick in the air. His hands slid up, skimming over the fabric of your dress before gently pushing it higher. His breath stuttered when he caught sight of the red lace hugging your hips, his fingers tracing along the delicate fabric with raw hunger.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he lowered his head, brushing his lips over you through the lace. The heat of his breath sent a shudder through your body, and when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the dampening fabric, a gasp escaped your lips.

“Oh, fuck.” You panted.

Your hips lifted instinctively, searching for more, but he took his time, savouring the way you writhed beneath him. His fingers then hooked into the waistband, peeling the lace down your thighs with aching slowness. He kissed each inch of newly bared skin, pressing his lips to your hip, your inner thigh, before finally settling between your legs.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, something dark and wicked flickering in their depths. “Keep ’em there, baby,” he murmured, nodding toward your bound hands still obediently resting above you. You nodded, biting your lip, your cheeks flushed, breath coming in heavy with anticipation.

And only then, with the lightest brush of his tongue, did he taste you—his eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring the most decadent thing he’d ever had.

Your fingers curled into fists, silk tightening around your wrists as your back arched off the bed. His mouth moved slowly at first, deliberate, savoring every sound you made like a man starved. He groaned against you, the deep, satisfied rumble vibrating through your core, as if he could do this forever.

And then, suddenly, he pulled away. You whined at the loss, but Dean’s gaze was alight with something new—a desire, a thought, a wicked idea that was his alone in that moment. He kneeled beside you, rolling up his sleeve with slow precision before running his warm, calloused palm up your inner thigh. Higher and higher, until his fingers traced along the seam of your soaked pussy.

You moaned, hips shifting instinctively toward his touch, desperate for more. But then he stilled. His thumb lazily stroked your skin as his gaze found yours, dark and unreadable. “I wanna try something,” he husked, voice thick, rough like gravel. His eyes burned into you. “You trust me, sweetheart?”

It was the second time that night he’d asked, and once again, your breathless “yes” came without hesitation—because you did. More than anything.

His pupils dilated, his Adam’s apple bobbed with a slow, deliberate swallow, and then—finally—he eased a finger inside you, achingly slow, curling it just right. Your breath hitched, thoughts dissolving into pure sensation. And when he pressed another in alongside it, stretching you, filling you, working a steady rhythm, your body clenched around him, lost in the intoxicating pleasure only he could give.

“So fucking tight. So wet,” he groaned, voice thick with lust, his darkened gaze locked on the way his fingers disappeared inside you.

His free hand slid up your stomach, palm pressing down just above your mound—grounding you, holding you in place as his movements grew relentless. The wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filled the room, each slick thrust of his fingers working you open, drawing you closer to something deeper, something more intense than before.

A new sensation coiled low in your belly—hot, insistent, unfamiliar. Your brows furrowed, uncertainty flickering through the haze of pleasure, yet your body chased it desperately, caught in the war between holding on and—

“Let go,” he murmured, his voice rough, but beneath the command, there was something else. Something deeper than lust. Devotion. “I’ve got you.”

A sharp cry ripped from your lips as his thumb found your clit, circling, teasing, pushing you past the edge. The pleasure built—stronger, overwhelming, impossible to fight. Your body tensed, the sensation cresting into something too big to contain, and then, with one final flick of his fingers—

You shattered.

A gasp tore from your throat as your release gushed from you, pleasure crashing through every nerve, leaving you trembling and wrecked beneath him. Dean groaned, a deep, guttural sound, his grip tightening as he worked you through it, his hand and arm drenched in your pleasure. He watched you fall apart like it was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

And when you finally slumped against the sheets, spent and shaking, he leaned down, brushing a kiss over your quivering stomach. His lips curled into a soft, satisfied smile as he made his way up your body, pressing slow, reverent kisses along your skin before claiming your lips in a deep, lingering kiss—one that felt like more than just pleasure. Like worship.

“Holy shit.” You gasped as you broke apart, chest heaving, body still trembling in the aftermath. “I’ve never done that before.” A breathless chuckle left your lips, but when your gaze flickered down to the large, dark wet spot on the sheets, embarrassment flared hot across your cheeks.

Dean groaned, low and appreciative, pressing a kiss to your jaw before nipping at your neck. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was rough with awe, and before you could dwell on your shyness, he was coaxing that fire right back to life.

He settled over you, not even caring about the dampness soaking through his trousers as he rocked against you, grinding his hard length against your bare, oversensitive core. The rough fabric, straining against his arousal, created delicious friction that made you gasp, hips tilting instinctively to chase more.

“Dean, please,” you begged, arms looping around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair as his mouth sealed over one of your hardened nipples through your dress. The teasing drag of his teeth sent a shiver down your spine, but just as quickly as he started, he pulled away. His green eyes burned into yours as he ran his hands up the length of your arms, lifting them once again above your head.

You sighed in frustration—until his lips were on yours again, kissing you slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs as he expertly undid the knot around your wrists. The moment you were free, your hands were on him—fisting his hair, deepening the kiss, tugging impatiently at his shirt. A silent plea.

He took the hint. Sitting back on his haunches, he made quick work of the buttons, slipping the fabric from his shoulders. You barely gave yourself a moment to admire the sight before you were sitting up, hands moving to his belt and zipper with urgency.

Dean stood from the bed, shoving his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and aching, the tip glistening with precum.

Your mouth watered. A fresh wave of heat pooled between your thighs. Fuck.

Shuffling to your knees, you moved to the edge of the bed, hands trailing reverently down his stomach as you pressed your lips to his. One hand wrapped around his length, your grip firm but teasing as you pumped him slowly.

“Shit.” He exhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder as he let himself feel, his body shuddering beneath your touch.

His cock twitched in your grasp, his skin hot, his breath uneven as your strokes grew bolder. “Can I taste you?” you murmured against his skin, voice soft but dripping with want.

Dean shivered. Straightening, his hand cupped your jaw, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip before you parted your lips for him, sucking the digit into your mouth. You held his gaze as you swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, and his breath hitched, nostrils flaring as his cock throbbed in your grasp.

His voice was hoarse, full of raw hunger. “Fuck, yeah.”

A triumphant grin tugged at your lips as you began your descent, kissing down the column of his throat, over his chest, lingering at the hard ridges of his abdomen. His muscles tensed beneath your lips, twitching slightly as you traced the sharp definition with your tongue.

By the time you reached your destination, you were lying on your stomach, feet kicked up behind you in an almost innocent contrast to what you were about to do. Your hands glided over his length once more, appreciating the heat, the weight of him in your palms.

Dean groaned, his head tipping back, fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you.

And then—without warning—you took him into your mouth.

“Jesus—fuck!” He choked on air, his hips jerking instinctively, his body betraying him as he twitched against your tongue. His muscles went rigid, thighs trembling as you guided him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth.

You hummed in satisfaction, sending vibrations down his length, and his hands finally found their way to your hair, tangling in the strands with a strangled moan.

Dean’s grip in your hair tightened, his breathing ragged, his control hanging by a thread. He groaned, head tilting back as he fought the overwhelming pleasure, but you didn’t let up. The slow drag of your lips, the way your tongue teased him—it was too much. His hips jerked instinctively, pushing deeper into your mouth, and a strangled moan ripped from his throat.

“Shit—wait, sweetheart—” His voice was rough, breaking apart with every shaky inhale. His hand trembled where it cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if he wanted to savour the moment, but he was losing himself too fast. “Fuck, I need you to—”

His restraint snapped. In one fluid motion, he pulled you off him, his chest heaving from being so close to the brink and denying it.

You sat up, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, satisfaction glinting in your eyes.

“That good, huh?” you teased, voice breathless, sultry.

Dean’s nostrils flared, his gaze dark and hungry, his jaw clenching—then suddenly, his mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was desperate, messy, his tongue claiming yours with the same hunger that had his hands roaming over your body.

His grip was everywhere—your waist, your breasts, your ass—before he spun you, pressing you back down onto your stomach.

Your cheek met the sheets, your body arching instinctively as his weight covered you. His chest was hot and solid against your back, his breath ragged at your ear as his hands smoothed down your sides—slow, deliberate, possessive.

“Fuck, baby…” He groaned, trailing his lips over your shoulder, his teeth scraping your skin before his palms slid over your hips, over your ass, spreading you open. He exhaled a harsh, shaky breath, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he rasped, as he ran the tip of his cock through your slick seam, teasing—just for a second—before he pressed forward, sinking inside in one long, devastating thrust.

Your mouth fell open on a sharp, breathless moan, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he filled you, stretching you perfectly.

“Oh—oh my God—Dean—”

A low, feral sound vibrated from his chest as he bottomed out, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the mattress.

And he didn’t hold back. 

He fucked you hard, the force of his thrusts driving you into the mattress, his hips slamming against yours, skin meeting skin in a sinful symphony.

“Jesus—” Dean groaned, his forehead pressing between your shoulder blades, his arms trembling as he caged you beneath him.

Your teeth sank into the fabric beneath you, muffling your cries as he pressed down, his weight anchoring you, moulding you into the mattress. The feeling of him inside you—deep, unrelenting—had your body trembling, pleasure coiling tight in your core.

His fingers sought yours, interlocking as he braced himself above you, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you close as if letting go wasn’t an option. The slick sound of skin against skin, the quiet whimpers, the desperate gasps—all of it built into something overwhelming, something unstoppable.

“Come on, baby,” he groaned, his lips ghosting over your ear, his hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. “I can feel it—so close—come for me.”

The second his fingers swiped over you, pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under. A sharp, broken cry tore from your lips, your body seizing, trembling, your walls pulsing tight around him as you shattered.

“Fuck—” Dean choked out, his rhythm faltering as you milked him, his grip on your hand tightening, his body trembling above you. With a ragged, shuddering groan, he buried himself deep, spilling inside you, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved—just tangled limbs, heavy breaths, and the aftershocks still rippling through you both. Dean pressed his forehead between your shoulder blades, placing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your damp skin as he tried to catch his breath.

Eventually, you groaned at the weight pinning you down, and Dean carefully pulled out of you, rolling to your side, blowing out a breath. His racing heart was still on the come-down, his sweat-slick skin sticking to the sheets beneath him.

You felt weightless, like your limbs were made of jelly as you remained sprawled out on your stomach. Dean turned his head to you, an amused, proud smirk tugging at his lips.

“You good, sweetheart?” he hummed, then thwarted your butt cheek with a light smack, making you jump and gasp.

You lifted your head, sweeping your hair out of your face, looking thoroughly wrecked—hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, the smear of your lipstick only adding to the effect. It was a look he secretly stashed away as one of his favourites on you.

“I don’t think I can walk,” you huffed, a giggle escaping as you tried to move your legs. Dean watched your half-hearted attempt, barely lifting your foot an inch before snickering.

“Hey, it’s not funny,” you protested, swatting his chest. He flinched but didn’t stop laughing. “I can’t sleep in these sheets,” you grimaced, feeling the dampness beneath you.

“It’s fine, you can sleep in my bed.” He suggested casually. You paused. Sleeping together, as in actually sleeping, wasn’t part of the arrangement. It was too intimate. The first night you’d slept together didn’t count, you’d both passed out. 

However, this time you could chose, and your heart was screaming at you to say yes, which is why you knew you should say no. 

“I can hear you thinking." Dean hummed and looked at you with a knowing smile. “Look, considered it a small clause, sleeping together after sex is just part of the aftercare; in this case, paralysis.” Dean bit his lip to contain his laughter, but it was no use at the deadpan look you gave him. 

“You’re actually a loser, you know that?” you muttered, shaking your head. You attempted to rise again, but your lower half wasn’t cooperating, so you flopped back down, frustrated.

“C’mon,” he said, calming down a bit, “It’s just for tonight. Then tomorrow you can wash your sheets, and presto.”

Just because it made sense didn’t mean you had to like it.

“Okay, fine,” you relented, missing the wide grin spreading across his face as he sat up. He helped you roll over and then scooped you into his arms effortlessly, just like when he’d carried you in here earlier.

You tried not to look at him on the way to his room, tried not to notice how his body felt against yours. He settled you at the end of the bed and grabbed one of his shirts for you to wear. For once, you didn’t argue. The change in temperature between rooms was stark, instantly pebbling your skin.

Dean also slipped on a pair of sweats, and you had a feeling he picked the grey ones on purpose. He then went into the bathroom, coming back with a washcloth so you could clean yourself up a little. That you were grateful for. You then tossed it into his hamper and let him help you under the covers. 

“Thanks.” You muttered softly, and Dean smiled down at you before walking over to the other side and settling in himself. 

He kept his distance, something you were both grateful for, but also hated.

The space between you felt like a void, the warmth of his body just out of reach. It was ridiculous—you were just tangled up in the most intimate way possible, and now you were suddenly hyperaware of the gap between you.

Dean lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling. His breathing had evened out, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet. You weren’t either. You were too busy thinking, overanalysing.

You turned your head slightly, stealing a glance at him. The dim light from the hallway cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the freckles on his nose. He looked—peaceful. More peaceful than you’d seen him in a long time.

Something tightened in your chest.

You sighed, rolling onto your side, trying to ignore the pull in your stomach, but Dean must have noticed because his head turned toward you, eyes lidded but alert.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was raspy, deep from exhaustion.

You hesitated before answering. “No.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, then, without a word, he lifted his arm in silent invitation. You should’ve said no, should’ve turned over and forced yourself to sleep. But your body betrayed you, dragging yourself closer until you could rest your head against his shoulder, his warmth seeping into you instantly.

His arm curled around you naturally, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your arm. You could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady beneath your ear.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whispered, more for yourself than him.

Dean let out a small huff of laughter. “No. Of course not”

And when sleep finally came, it found you tangled up in him, your fingers resting over his heart, his arm holding you like he didn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

AN: So how did you feel about the continuation? Did I surprise you? Did you think it'd be all angsty? 👀 Maybe there's still time for that... 🫣 Also I'm curious to see who you think Steve was based off... 😜And as always feedback is much appreciated 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell @nancymcl @happyfxckinghorrors @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

Next Time...

Dean sidled up next to you as you began resetting the table for the next game, leaning in close enough that you felt the heat of him at your back, the scent of his cologne—spicy, with deep, woody undertones—wrapping around you. “I didn’t take you for a dirty player, Singer,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp against your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, but you masked it with a smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You kept your tone coy as you finished racking up the balls, then turned to squeeze past him, pressing your ass just a little more firmly against his front. The low sound he made—half a groan, half a curse—was deeply, deeply satisfying. You didn’t turn around as you sauntered off toward the bar, but you didn’t need to. You knew damn well he was watching, that he was still standing there, fists flexing at his sides, teeth clenched.

[bwobgames]

Aha! Ángel spotted!

“I’m here! I have all my belongings! And did not get stabbed! You got the food?”

“What, Am I not enough of a snack?”

He looks relieved. As he tends to when they’re separated in places like these.

Dangerous places. Or so he says.

“Vivi messaged, she’s inside already. And! She says the train part of the station is pretty empty!”

“I accept the challenge.”

Hand in hand, they skilfully evade the incoming traffic. People traffic.

He can’t help but have a little fun.

He always ends up having fun when Ángel is around.

“Here!”

Ángel hugs her and they twirl around, as they usually do when they don't see eachother for more than a week.

“Vivi! You evil creature, why did it take you so long to confirm the invitation!”

“Hehe, I was busy! I had work! But! I no longer have work. I killed the guy who asked me to do it”

“What”

“Awesome!”

“Hey, no. What”

“Just kidding! The guys I was freelancing for suddenly decided to drop the whole thing. Probably some legal issue or something, but hey! Got paid!”

“Oh, thank god”

“Have you been okay, though? Being an essential worker and all”

“I am the masked vigilante this city needed. I left no crime unseen and no hand unwashed”

A sudden thought enters everyone’s mind

“Hm? Oliver. Why is your phone there. You do know where we are, right?”

“Huh? It’s just in my-

wh- My phone-!”

“In your back pocket? Of your jeans? The easiest place to steal in the world?”

“Give me that! Idiot thief.”

“If the capital is so great then why can’t I walk with my phone in my pockets. That’s what they were made for!”

“Ooh, Someone’s a grumpy bunny”

“He said he could take on the summer. He has been doing nothing other than sitting by the AC”

“Humans aren’t supposed to thrive in temperatures over 28°C!”

“Your max is 28? Oh poor thang”

“Don’t worry, even though it’s supposed to be a recreation of a fancy old train, it comes with AC”

“Thank god”

“Also Also! The more we travel, the colder it’s gonna get! I heard it will be raining when we get there”

Trains are awesome.

“Is everyone else coming soon? What time is it. Did we stall for too long?”

“We are still a bit early, Marigold and Nina must’ve gotten overwhelmed with all the things they need to bring”

“Speaking of belongings!”

“Oliver. Oliver twist. Twisted Oliver. Beebocious”

“That’s me”

“What is that. What mystery are you carrying with you. Is it 72 copies of Murder on the Orient Express. Both book and Movie?”

“Well, now that you say it, I’m regretting not bringing them with me”

“But no, this is…”

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