#trying to make simple yet eye catching backgrounds

[snowflake-sage]

I’m my experimental era ✨

[faebled-stories]

A Night Beyond the Stage

Kinkvember Day 25: Deflowering/Mommy

Red Velvet Irene (Bae Joohyun) x Male reader

TW: Age gap, reader is 19

14k words

AN: The timing of this fic aligning with Irene’s solo comeback is such a funny coincidence. I’ve tailored the story to fit with the excitement of her big moment—hope you enjoy it 💖

The crowd is a living sea of excitement, the lights dimming to signal the start of a moment fans have dreamed of for years. The air hums with anticipation, every breath charged with electricity. Brightly colored banners, lovingly adorned with Irene’s name, heartfelt messages, and slogans, ripple like waves in the soft breeze created by thousands of hands waving light sticks in unison. The synchronized glow bathes the venue in hues of soft red and shimmering white, a radiant tribute to her. You instinctively wave your light stick, matching the crowd’s rhythm as though tethered to the shared devotion filling the air.

You’re one of those fans—a devoted 19-year-old boy, standing near the front of the crowd. For years, you’ve admired Irene’s artistry, her poise, and the quiet yet commanding presence that sets her apart. She’s been your bias since the moment you discovered Red Velvet, captivating you with every performance, every glance, every smile. But tonight is different. This is her night. Her solo comeback. The energy is unlike anything you’ve felt before, and the significance of this moment echoes in the rapid thrum of your heart.

The stage glows with a soft light, and the room erupts as Irene steps into view. She’s radiant, a vision so perfect it feels almost otherworldly. Her outfit sparkles under the spotlights—a sleek, fitted ensemble in deep, jewel-like tones that catch the light with every graceful step she takes. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, glossy and flawless, framing her face in a way that feels too perfect to be real. Her smile is soft yet confident, the kind that somehow feels personal, like it’s meant just for you, even in a crowd of thousands.

Clutching a freshly purchased album close to your chest, your fingers tremble as you grip it tightly. The ReVeluv T-shirt you carefully chose this morning feels almost too bright under the glow of the stage lights, but you wear it proudly, a small token of your devotion. Around you, fans scream and cheer, their voices weaving together into a deafening symphony of love and support. Yet, for you, the sound fades into the background as Irene’s first note cuts through the air. Clear, emotive, and powerful, it sends a shiver down your spine, rooting you in place.

Her performance is mesmerizing. Every move she makes is fluid, every note she sings filled with a kind of vulnerability that feels intimate despite the size of the venue. The air vibrates with her presence, her voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The scent of faint perfume and the electric tang of stage smoke mix in the air, creating a sensory backdrop that makes the moment feel surreal. You’re rooted to the spot, utterly captivated, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as the realization hits: you’re witnessing something extraordinary.

When the final note fades and the crowd erupts in a deafening roar, Irene stands still for a moment, soaking in the adoration. Her gaze sweeps across the sea of light sticks and banners, scanning the crowd as if she’s trying to meet every eye. For a brief moment, her eyes seem to land on yours, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s fleeting, and you know it’s probably not meant for you—just a random glance in your direction—but the slight smile that pulls at her lips feels like it’s tied directly to your racing heart. You take what you can get, holding tightly to the illusion of connection in the vastness of the crowd.

As she raises a hand to wave, the gesture is simple but impossibly magnetic, radiating warmth and gratitude. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re the only one she’s looking at, even though you know better. You wave your light stick fervently in response, your heart pounding as though it’s trying to reach her across the distance.

When she finally bows, the crowd’s cheers swell to a fever pitch, the sound thunderous and all-encompassing. She steps back into the shadows of the stage, her figure slowly disappearing as the lights dim. You can barely remember how you managed to stay on your feet, the wave of emotion washing over you threatening to knock you down.

Clutching the album tighter to your chest, you stand frozen for a moment, determined to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible. The memory of her voice, her smile, and the undeniable presence she commands stays with you, a bright, glowing ember burning in your chest. You know this moment—this fleeting connection, imagined or not—will stay with you forever, a reminder of the night she shone brighter than ever.

The crowd gradually settles, but the buzz of excitement remains, rippling through the room like an unspoken connection. The event transitions to the fan interaction segment, and you feel the air shift as Irene takes her seat on the stage. Fans file into neat lines, each holding gifts, albums, and handwritten notes, their nervous energy palpable. Your heartbeat quickens as the line in front of you inches forward, each step bringing you closer to the moment you’ve dreamed of.

You grip your album tightly, the edges pressing into your palms, grounding you as your nerves threaten to take over. Around you, there’s a cacophony of sounds—the chatter of fans in line, the occasional burst of laughter, and the soft hum of background music. Yet, all of it seems distant, muffled by the pounding of your heart. You’ve rehearsed what you want to say countless times, but now your mind feels like a blank slate, wiped clean by the overwhelming reality of being so close to her.

As the fans ahead of you step forward, Irene greets each with her characteristic grace, her warm smiles and soft chuckles filling the space like a gentle melody. Watching her interact, you can’t help but notice how genuine she seems—her gaze attentive, her demeanor effortlessly charming. She accepts every letter, every memento, with a delicate touch, her hands brushing against those of the fans who hand them over. Each small moment feels precious, and your chest tightens with the realization that soon, it will be your turn.

When the fan directly in front of you steps aside, the world slows to a crawl. Irene’s eyes lift, locking onto yours, and the breath catches in your throat. The stage lights frame her like a halo, her features soft yet dazzlingly vivid—every detail etched into your memory. Her expression shifts to one of gentle curiosity as you approach, her lips curving into a small, encouraging smile that makes your legs feel like jelly.

You step forward, gripping the album so tightly now that your knuckles are white. Her presence is magnetic, pulling you in with a force you can’t resist. She’s even more breathtaking up close, her skin glowing as if lit from within. The subtle scent of her perfume, fresh and floral, reaches you, blending seamlessly with the charged air around her. Her hair, perfectly styled yet natural, catches the light in soft waves, framing her face in a way that seems impossibly elegant. Everything about her radiates a quiet confidence, a strength wrapped in warmth.

Your lips part, and for a moment, nothing comes out. The pounding in your chest drowns out everything else, your thoughts a tangled mess. Then, somehow, you find your voice, shaky but audible. “Hi… uh… Irene-noona,” you manage, the words tumbling out awkwardly. Your voice cracks slightly, and you feel your cheeks flush with heat, but her reaction erases any embarrassment. Her smile deepens, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that feels impossibly reassuring.

“Hello,” she says softly, her voice smooth and melodic, each syllable grounding and disarming all at once. “Are you having a good time?”

You nod so quickly it’s a miracle your head doesn’t fall off. “Y-yeah! It’s been amazing,” you stammer, clutching the album tighter before awkwardly holding it out for her. “I—I’ve been a fan of yours for… a really long time.”

Her delicate fingers brush against yours as she takes the album, and the gentle contact sends an electric jolt up your arm. You’re sure she notices the way your breath hitches, but if she does, her expression remains serene. “Thank you,” she says, her eyes lifting briefly to meet yours before they focus on the album. Her pen moves fluidly across the glossy surface as she adds her signature. “It means a lot to me that you came.”

You blurt out the first thing that pops into your head, your voice louder than you intended. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything!” Your face flushes immediately, and you scramble to backtrack. “I mean, not just this… I mean, anything you do is worth it. Like, you’re just really… uh, incredible.”

Her lips curl into a small, amused smile, and she tilts her head slightly, as if trying to figure you out. The soft light catches in her eyes, making them sparkle. “You’re sweet,” she says, her tone light and teasing. “Is this your first fan meet?”

You nod vigorously, then clear your throat, trying to compose yourself. “Yes. First time seeing you… like, in person.” Your words come out disjointed, and you wince internally. “I mean, obviously in person. Because otherwise, it’s just… online. Or videos. But now it’s real. Not that the other times weren’t real—”

Her soft laugh interrupts your rambling, and you freeze, realizing just how much you’ve been talking. “I get it,” she says, her tone warm and full of amusement. “You don’t need to explain.”

You bite your lip, nodding sheepishly as your fingers twitch nervously around the album. “Right. Sorry. I just… it’s surreal, you know?”

Her smile softens, and something in her gaze shifts, growing warmer. “Well, I’m glad I get to be part of your first experience,” she replies gently. Her voice feels so personal, so inviting, it’s almost as though she’s speaking directly into your thoughts. “Are you nervous?”

You laugh awkwardly, a dry, choked sound that you instantly regret. “A little,” you admit, your hand moving to the back of your neck in a clumsy attempt to play it cool. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

Her soft laugh feels like a reward, and you swear you see a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Don’t be,” she says, her voice light but carrying an undercurrent of sincerity. “It’s just me.”

“That’s kind of the problem,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I mean—not a problem! It’s just you’re, you know, you. And I’m… me.”

Her laugh is more open this time, a genuine sound that makes your heart flip. “And what’s wrong with being you?” she asks, her teasing tone laced with sincerity.

You open your mouth, then close it again, unsure how to respond. “Nothing, I guess,” you mumble, your voice so soft you’re not sure she even hears it.

Her expression softens further, and the simplicity of her next words catches you off guard. “It’s nice meeting you,” she says, and somehow, it feels like the most genuine thing you’ve ever heard.

As she finishes signing, she holds the album out to you, her fingers lingering just slightly against yours as you take it. The sensation is fleeting but searing, and your grip tightens around the album as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. Your music, your… everything.”

Her head tilts again, a habit you’re quickly finding endearing. Her eyes meet yours in a way that feels unguarded, and for a moment, it’s as though the chaos of the room has dissolved into silence. “Take care,” she says softly, her smile lingering like an imprint in the air as you step back.

You clutch the signed album to your chest as you move away, every sensation from the past few moments replaying in your mind like a loop. The warmth of her fingers, the sound of her voice, the way her gaze made you feel seen. Each memory burns vividly, etching itself into your heart as one of the most precious experiences of your life.

After your encounter with Irene, you leave the signing area, your heart still hammering from the interaction. The world outside the small bubble of that moment feels oddly distant, like you’re walking through a dream. Clutching your signed album tightly, you wander aimlessly, letting the energy of the lingering fans wash over you. Everywhere you look, posters of Irene smile back at you, her image larger than life and yet somehow still not quite as radiant as she was up close.

You pause by one of the posters and instinctively pull out your phone. The absurdity of the moment hits you as you angle the camera for a selfie, trying to capture yourself next to her glossy image. “As if this could compare to the real thing,” you mutter under your breath, but you laugh softly at your own awkwardness and snap a few pictures anyway.

Other fans, catching sight of your antics, approach with wide smiles, eager to strike up conversations. Their excitement is infectious, and before you know it, you’re swapping stories about your favorite songs, performances, and how incredible Irene looked tonight. For a while, the warmth of shared admiration eases the nervous flutter still lingering in your chest. You even manage to laugh along as one fan reenacts their over-the-top reaction to Irene’s smile during their brief meeting.

But just as you’re starting to feel like yourself again, the easy atmosphere is interrupted by the arrival of a staff member. Her polished, professional demeanor contrasts sharply with the casual energy of the fans around you, and her gaze is sharp as it lands on you.

“Excuse me,” she says, her tone polite but firm, her eyes scanning you as though assessing every detail.

You blink, startled. “Uh… me?” you ask, your voice coming out higher than you intended.

“Yes, you,” she replies, nodding briskly. “Please follow me.”

Your stomach twists into a knot, and a flicker of anxiety sparks in your chest. “Did I… do something wrong?” you ask hesitantly, clutching your album tighter.

“No,” she says, her tone still impassive. “We just need you to come with us. This way, please.”

Her vague response only fuels your confusion, but curiosity outweighs your hesitation. You nod mutely, trailing after her as she leads you toward a side entrance. The farther you move from the bustling crowd, the more the energy of the venue fades, replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere.

The staff member guides you through a discreet door, and you step into a backstage area. The contrast is jarring. The distant hum of fans is replaced by the low murmur of crew members and the soft clatter of equipment being packed away. The air feels cooler here, tinged with the faint scent of stage makeup and metal. Overhead lights flicker dimly, casting long, uncertain shadows along the corridors.

Your pulse quickens with each step, your mind racing to understand what’s happening. Was this a mistake? A misunderstanding? Why would someone like you be brought backstage? The question loops in your head, unanswered, as you follow the staff member down another hallway.

Finally, she stops in front of a small door, slightly ajar, light spilling softly into the hallway. “Please go inside,” she says simply, stepping aside.

You hesitate, glancing at the door with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. “Wait, what’s—”

But before you can finish, the staff member gives a small, polite smile and walks away, leaving you alone. You swallow hard, your palms clammy as you reach for the door and push it open.

The room inside is unexpectedly intimate. The warm glow of ambient lighting reflects off vintage mirrors, casting a golden hue over the elegant draperies and minimalist furniture. The faint scent of her perfume drifts through the air, calming but somehow charged with an undercurrent of mystery.

Your breath catches as your gaze lands on a familiar figure. Irene is standing by one of the mirrors, her back to you, adjusting a few strands of her hair. The sight of her in this quiet, private space feels almost unreal—like stumbling into a dream you hadn’t realized you were having.

She turns slowly, her movements so fluid and deliberate they seem almost choreographed, and when her eyes meet yours, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. A physical jolt courses through you, your body instinctively tensing under the weight of her gaze. Her expression is calm, but the glint of mischief in her eyes makes your pulse race. She exudes confidence, yet there’s an undercurrent of something playful—something that sets your nerves on edge in a way you can’t quite describe.

“Hi again,” she says softly, her tone light but with an intimacy that seems to wrap itself around you. The space between you feels charged, the kind of tension that makes the smallest movements seem monumental.

She takes a step closer, her presence magnetic and overwhelming. “I’m glad you didn’t leave right away,” she murmurs, her voice warm but carrying an edge that sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

You swallow hard, managing a shaky nod as you clutch the signed album against your chest like a shield. “I—I didn’t know this was going to happen,” you admit, your voice trembling under the intensity of her gaze.

Her lips curve into a deeper smile, the kind that feels dangerous yet alluring. “Did you hope for it to happen?” she asks, her tone teasing but laced with a gravity that makes your heart stutter.

“I… I don’t know,” you stammer, the words spilling out clumsily. “I mean, I didn’t expect—”

Her laugh is soft and melodic, wrapping around you like a silken thread. “You’re nervous again,” she observes, tilting her head slightly, her sharp eyes studying your face as if she’s savoring your reaction. “You were like this earlier too.”

“I’m not… that nervous,” you blurt out, but your voice betrays you, trembling just enough to make her raise an amused brow.

“Not that nervous?” she echoes, taking another deliberate step closer. The warmth of her proximity washes over you, her presence filling every inch of the space between you. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

Your gaze darts down instinctively, and your stomach twists when you see she’s right. Your fingers tremble as they clutch the album, and you quickly adjust your grip, trying in vain to steady them. “I’m just… overwhelmed, I guess,” you admit, your face burning as you glance back up. “This whole thing is just… so unexpected.”

Irene chuckles softly, the sound low and intimate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Unexpected, hmm?” she muses, tilting her head as though savoring the moment. “Did you not hope for a moment like this? Even a little?”

The weight of her words presses down on you, and your mind scrambles for an answer. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The silence stretches, her gaze unrelenting, and the way she looks at you feels like she’s peeling back every layer, leaving you exposed.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she says, breaking the quiet, her voice playful yet carrying an edge that sends heat coursing through you. She lets the words hang for a moment, the corners of her lips curving up just slightly. Then she steps closer, so close now you can feel her warmth like a physical touch. “Tell me something,” she continues, her tone dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “Have you thought about me before?”

The question spins in your mind, sending your thoughts spiraling. “I—I mean, yes,” you manage to stammer, each word a struggle. “I’m a fan, so of course—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice steady but with a sharper edge that makes your breath hitch. Her eyes narrow slightly, the teasing glint giving way to something more focused. “Not like that. I mean… have you ever thought about me in a way that’s… more personal?”

The meaning of her words crashes into you, and you feel your face flush hot. “I—uh, I don’t… I didn’t—” The words tangle together, and your voice dies in your throat, leaving you stammering helplessly.

Her smile widens, the satisfaction in her eyes unmistakable. “Relax,” she says, her tone softening, though the teasing lilt remains. 

She lets the silence stretch again, her presence consuming every corner of the room as her gaze lingers on yours. Then, with a tilt of her head and a shift in her expression, her voice drops to a softer, almost vulnerable tone. “Do you think I’m sexy?”

The question lands like a thunderbolt, the weight of it knocking the breath out of your lungs. “W-what?” you stammer, your voice cracking slightly under the pressure. “I—I mean…”

Her eyes remain steady, unwavering, as though she’s daring you to answer. “You heard me,” she says simply, her lips curving into a faint smile that feels both inviting and dangerous.

Your mouth goes dry, and the air between you feels impossibly heavy. After a long pause, you finally manage to croak out, “Yes. I—I think you’re… you’re very sexy.”

Her smile deepens, a flicker of excitement lighting her eyes. She steps even closer, the warmth of her body brushing against your arm. Her fingers trail lightly across your skin, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. “Good,” she purrs, her voice low and melodic, dripping with satisfaction.

She pauses, letting the tension between you build before her gaze sharpens again. “You know,” she begins softly, her voice intimate and steady, “it’s okay to be honest with me.”

You blink, struggling to steady your breath. “Honest about… what?” you manage to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her smile turns coy, but the intensity in her eyes only grows. “You’ve thought about me before, haven’t you?” she asks, her voice slow and deliberate, every word rolling off her tongue like honey. “Not just as a fan, but… in other ways.”

Your heart slams against your ribs as you scramble for a response. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” you stammer, though the heat rising to your face makes it clear that you do.

Her soft laugh is low and indulgent, sending a shiver down your spine. “Don’t be shy,” she says, her tone dropping to something more sultry. She leans in slightly, her presence dominating the space between you. “You’ve thought about me while touching yourself, haven’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, your body going rigid as your mind scrambles to process the question. “I… uh… I…” The words tumble out incoherently, your face burning so hot it feels like it might catch fire.

Her smile widens, her satisfaction evident. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she murmurs, her tone rich with amusement and a hint of something deeper. The flicker of excitement in her expression grows, her eyes bright with the thrill of the moment. “It’s okay,” she adds softly, her voice softening slightly but still charged. “I was just curious.”

The tension in the air is palpable, the intimacy of the moment sinking deeper into your skin as her gaze holds yours unflinchingly. Irene’s lips curl into a faint smile, the kind that sends your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking down for the briefest moment before meeting yours again, her expression softening just enough to keep you teetering on the edge of unease and fascination.

“And have you… done this before?” she asks, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Your throat tightens as her question lingers in the space between you, its meaning unmistakable. “Done what?” you ask, though your voice betrays that you already suspect where this is heading.

“This,” she replies, her hand gesturing vaguely between the two of you. Her movements are fluid, deliberate, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that feels impossible to look away from. “Have you been with someone? Touched someone? Kissed someone?”

Your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears, the blood rushing to your face as the words settle over you. The room seems to shrink, her presence consuming every corner of it, making it impossible to focus on anything but her. “No,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t.”

Her expression shifts subtly, a flicker of intrigue passing through her eyes before something deeper—something almost predatory—takes its place. “A virgin,” she says softly, as if testing the word on her tongue, savoring its weight. “That explains so much.”

You feel your breath hitch, your chest tightening as you struggle to respond. The silence between you stretches, thick and charged, every second heavy with anticipation. She takes a step closer, her movements unhurried but purposeful, and her hand lifts, her fingers grazing your cheek with a featherlight touch.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispers, her voice like velvet, each word wrapping around you and sinking into your skin. Her thumb brushes gently against your cheekbone, the touch so tender it sends a shiver down your spine. “In fact, I think it’s… beautiful.”

She pauses for a moment, her gaze holding yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. Her lips curve into a soft, almost wistful smile, and there’s a flicker of something unspoken in her expression. “This world,” she murmurs, her tone shifting, almost reflective, “it’s changed so much. People rush through things, chasing fleeting moments without ever stopping to truly feel.”

Her fingers trace a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, her touch grounding yet electrifying. “But you,” she continues, her voice dropping lower, as if she’s sharing a secret meant only for you, “you’re so… pure. So untouched. It’s refreshing, really.

Her gaze darkens, her expression unreadable yet deeply captivating, as though she’s peeling back every layer of your thoughts. “Do you trust me?” she asks softly, her voice barely more than a breath.

You hesitate for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, but there’s a vulnerability in her question that steadies you. “Of course!...I mean… I think so,” you reply honestly, your voice shaky but sincere.

Her lips curve into a faint smile, one that feels equal parts reassuring and dangerous. “Good,” she murmurs, her voice dipping into something even softer, almost a purr. “Because I’m going to show you things you’ve only dreamed about.”

Before you can process her words, she leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle it feels like it might vanish if you move too quickly. The warmth of her breath mingles with yours, her scent enveloping you, subtle but intoxicatingly her. Her hand moves to the back of your neck, her fingers threading through your hair as she deepens the kiss, her movements unhurried but deliberate, as though savoring every moment.

Your body freezes at first, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, but her other hand comes to rest lightly on your waist, her touch grounding you. Slowly, you find yourself melting under her, her warmth and presence consuming you entirely. The sound of your uneven breaths mingles with the faint rustle of fabric as she pulls you closer, her body pressing against yours with a natural ease that leaves you breathless.

Every sensation feels heightened—the softness of her lips, the faint tickle of her hair brushing against your cheek, the way her fingers grip you just tightly enough to send a thrill down your spine. Time seems to slow, the outside world dissolving until there’s nothing but the two of you, wrapped in a moment that feels both impossibly real and utterly surreal.

When she finally pulls back, her lips linger close to yours, her breath warm against your skin. Her eyes search yours, her expression a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something unreadable. “You’re trembling,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with amusement as her fingers trail down your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nod wordlessly, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, the rhythm of your pounding heart almost deafening in the silence. Every nerve in your body feels heightened, attuned to her every movement. Irene’s gaze remains locked onto yours, her eyes lingering with an intensity that leaves you rooted to the spot. She seems to savor the moment, the weight of it stretching as her soft smile transforms into a knowing smirk.

Her hands move with deliberate grace, reaching for the hem of her blouse. The gentle shift of fabric brushing against her skin fills the air, and her voice, low and commanding, cuts through the silence. “Let’s take this off,” she murmurs.

Your breath catches as she slowly lifts her blouse, the smooth motion revealing more of her flawless skin. The dim light of the room casts a warm glow across her body, accentuating the curve of her waist, the soft slope of her stomach, and the graceful line of her shoulders. The air feels charged, every subtle sound—her blouse slipping away, the soft rustle as it lands on a nearby chair—heightened to a point of almost unbearable clarity.

Your eyes widen as she reaches behind her back, fingers deftly unclasping her bra. The delicate garment slides effortlessly from her shoulders, falling away like water, leaving her bare before you. Her skin is smooth, luminous in the golden light, every line and contour of her body exuding confidence and an undeniable allure. The gentle swell of her breasts, the softness of her curves, the way she holds herself with such effortless poise—it all leaves you completely spellbound.

Your chest tightens as you struggle to process the sight before you, your mind stumbling over itself in disbelief. She’s breathtaking, like a vision plucked straight from your wildest dreams, and the sheer reality of the moment sends a shiver racing down your spine. This is happening. She’s here, with you.

Irene’s eyes flick to your face, catching the way your gaze lingers on her, and her smirk deepens, a playful glint lighting up her expression. “You’re a lucky boy, aren’t you?” she teases, her voice rich with amusement and dripping with confidence.

You nod again, dumbly, your throat too dry to form a response. Her words hang in the air, teasing but undeniably true, and the way she steps closer, closing the space between you, only magnifies the sense of intimacy crackling in the room.

Her hands reach for your shirt, her fingers moving with purpose as they work their way down the buttons. Each flick of her fingers sends a jolt of electricity through you, her touch light yet deliberate, igniting your skin with every graze. “Let’s see what you’re working with,” she murmurs, her tone equal parts playful and commanding.

The fabric slides off your shoulders, falling to the floor in a whisper. Her touch lingers for a moment, her fingertips brushing against your collarbone, tracing the line of your chest, before she steps back, her gaze sweeping over you with an approving glint.

Her eyes move slowly, deliberately, taking in every detail of your bare form as though memorizing it. The weight of her attention leaves you feeling exposed but not uncomfortable—there’s something almost reverent in the way she looks at you, her expression softening just slightly as a small smile tugs at her lips.

“Not bad at all,” she murmurs, her voice low and rich with satisfaction. The words are simple, but the way she says them sends a rush of heat through you, her approval a balm to your nerves. Her gaze flicks back to yours, her smirk returning as she leans in closer, her presence overwhelming in the best possible way.

The heat between you was palpable, every breath shared and every touch igniting the tension that had been simmering between you. Irene leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck as she guided you down onto the plush couch, her movements unhurried yet deliberate. The soft cushions pressed against your back, and her warm, bare skin against yours was a sensation so overwhelming it made your thoughts scatter. Her breasts, soft and inviting, molded against your chest as she pressed closer, her body moving with a fluid confidence that left you breathless.

Her presence was intoxicating. Every shift of her weight, every brush of her smooth skin against yours, sent jolts of electricity racing through you. You felt your arousal surge uncontrollably, your body betraying you as you leaked against her thigh. The heat pooling between you was undeniable, impossible to ignore.

Irene noticed immediately, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she shifted, her thigh pressing more firmly against you. Her lips curved into a knowing smile, her gaze dipping briefly before meeting yours again, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Looks like someone’s eager,” she teased, her voice low and sultry, the sound wrapping around you like silk.

Her teasing didn’t stop there. She adjusted her hips slightly, her movement deliberate as she ground against you just enough to make you gasp. The sensation was maddening, her warmth and wetness brushing against you, heightening your sensitivity to every tiny shift and touch. You tried to steady your breath, but the way she looked at you made it impossible.

“I like seeing you like this,” she murmured, her fingers trailing lightly along your jawline. The touch was featherlight, her nails grazing your skin as she studied your face with a mix of amusement and desire. “So vulnerable. So… willing.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, but it was her next move that truly unraveled you. Irene’s lips curled into a smirk as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear. “Before we go any further,” she began, her tone dropping to a low, commanding purr, “there’s something I want to hear from you.”

Her fingers tilted your chin slightly, her gaze locking onto yours with a playful intensity that made your heart race. “I want you to call me Mommy,” she said, her voice steady, laced with a confidence that left no room for hesitation.

The words hung in the air, heavy and electrifying. Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you tried to process her request. “M-Mommy?” you stammered, the word foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you struggled to say it.

“That’s right,” she murmured, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she whispered, “Call me Mommy. I want to hear it.”

Her tone was firm but coaxing, and the raw need behind her words sent shivers cascading through you. You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing against you as you finally whispered, “Mommy,” barely audible.

Her reaction was immediate. A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips, her hands tightening slightly on your shoulders as her body trembled with excitement. “Again,” she demanded softly, her voice trembling with arousal, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“Mommy,” you repeated, louder this time, the word rolling off your tongue with surprising ease. It felt strange at first, but the way she responded—her thighs trembling, her lips parting slightly, the subtle arch of her back—made it feel right. Natural, even. The connection deepened, the tension between you amplifying in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

“Good boy,” Irene purred, her voice thick with satisfaction and desire. Her hips moved against you again, her wetness brushing against your length, and the sensation made you twitch with need. “You have no idea how good that makes me feel,” she continued, her tone laced with unrestrained pleasure.

Her excitement was palpable, her arousal feeding off your submission to her request. The way she ground her hips against you, her movements becoming more deliberate, made your pulse race, and the soft, breathy moans escaping her lips spurred you on.

As you shifted, positioning yourself over her, a sudden thought struck you. You hesitated, your hands trembling slightly against her hips. “I… I don’t have a condom,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the moment made your confession feel like an interruption.

Irene’s eyes softened, her expression shifting instantly to one of reassurance. She cupped your cheek, her touch warm and firm as she pulled you down, letting your foreheads touch. “It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, her tone soothing yet steady. “Let’s just feel each other. This will be a proper first time.”

Her words washed over you, dissolving the last of your hesitation. The unwavering confidence in her voice and the tenderness in her gaze filled you with a sense of safety you hadn’t realized you needed. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as she spread her legs wider, welcoming you in with an openness that left you breathless.

You align yourself with her entrance, your body trembling with anticipation. The moment felt impossibly real, every nerve alive with the electric charge of what was about to happen. But as you moved to press inside, you missed—the head of your length slipping against her slick folds instead. A flush of embarrassment washed over you, and you stammered, “S-sorry,” your voice shaky as you avoided her gaze.

Irene let out a soft, melodic laugh, her hand reaching for yours with a gentleness that steadied you. “It’s okay, baby,” she said softly, her voice full of patience and understanding. Guiding you with practiced ease, she adjusted your angle, her touch deliberate and sure. “Here… just like this.”

With her guidance, you slid inside her, and the sensation overwhelmed you instantly, like a tidal wave crashing over your senses. The heat was all-encompassing, a searing warmth that seemed to pull you deeper, while the wet, silken texture of her body wrapped around you, cradling you in a way that felt impossibly perfect. It was as though she had been made for you, every movement drawing you further into a connection you’d only dreamed of. Your chest tightened, and your breath caught, the sheer intensity of the moment rendering you motionless for a heartbeat.

Your mind reeled as the reality of it sank in: you were inside Irene—the woman you had admired from afar for years. The one who had occupied your thoughts, your dreams, your quiet moments of longing. And now, her warmth surrounded you, her body fitting against yours like the last piece of a puzzle you never thought you’d complete. The intimacy was overwhelming, both physically and emotionally, and it took everything in you to steady yourself, to remember to breathe.

Your eyes darted to hers, seeking reassurance, and what you found made your heart swell. Irene’s gaze met yours, her eyes soft and full of tenderness, yet smoldering with desire that sent a shiver down your spine. Her lips curved into a gentle smile, one that held no judgment, only encouragement. She raised her hands to your shoulders, her fingertips brushing lightly against your skin, grounding you in the moment as she whispered, “You’re doing well, baby.”

Her words melted into you, a quiet melody that soothed your nerves and spurred your confidence. Slowly, she shifted, her legs wrapping around your waist in an embrace that drew you closer. The slight arch of her back, the way her body trembled faintly against yours, made the connection feel deeper, richer. Her warmth seemed endless, her body adjusting to yours with a fluidity that felt almost magical.

Each subtle movement of hers—her hips pressing gently into yours, her arms tightening around your back—spoke a language you didn’t need words to understand. The sensation of her, of being completely joined with her, was unlike anything you’d ever imagined. Her skin was hot and smooth under your palms, her breathing soft yet uneven as it matched your own.

“Look at me,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. One of her hands cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I want you to see how good you’re making me feel.”

You obeyed, your gaze locking onto hers. Her expression was raw, unguarded—desire mingling with affection, her lips parting slightly as a soft moan escaped. Her cheeks glowed in the dim light, her skin luminous with warmth as her breaths came quicker, matching your own. Every moment, every movement, felt like it was drawing the two of you closer, deepening the connection in a way that left you both utterly consumed.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured, her voice like honey, rich and soothing. Her fingers traced the curve of your jaw, her touch soft yet firm, grounding you as your body trembled with anticipation. “Just take it slow. Feel me.”

You began to move, your hips shifting tentatively at first, each thrust deliberate and cautious. Your body quaked with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness, every movement guided by the quiet encouragement in her voice. Irene’s soft moans spilled into the air like a melody, her sounds coaxing you, pulling you deeper into the moment. The way she responded to you—the arch of her back, the way her nails lightly grazed your skin—sent waves of heat through you, spurring you on.

Her eyes caught yours, and a smile tugged at her lips, equal parts reassuring and hungry. She reached up, cupping your face in her hands, and pulled you down into a deep kiss. Her lips moved against yours with a fervent intensity, her hunger unmistakable. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a connection, a melding of desire and trust that left you spiraling.

The sensations were overwhelming—the warmth of her body beneath you, the way her breath hitched each time you moved, the intoxicating taste of her kiss. Every inch of your skin seemed alive, buzzing with electricity as her soft moans blended with the sound of your labored breaths. Your hips faltered, your rhythm breaking as the buildup reached an unbearable crescendo. The heat coiling in your core surged forward, unstoppable, and with one final thrust, you erupted inside her.

The intensity of your release hit you like a tidal wave, your entire body trembling as a raw, primal energy coursed through you. It was nothing like you’d ever felt before—every nerve alight, your mind completely blank save for the sensation of her warmth enveloping you. Your legs buckled beneath you as the strength drained from your body, and you slipped slightly, unintentionally pushing deeper into her. A sharp, unsteady gasp escaped your lips as your entire body shuddered, unable to hold itself up under the sheer force of the moment.

Irene let out a soft, breathy moan as your weight pressed into her, her hands moving to steady you, her touch gentle yet firm. Her fingers trailed along your back, grounding you as your chest heaved against hers, your breaths coming in uneven bursts. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of your vision blurring as the aftershocks rippled through you, leaving you weak and trembling.

“Mommy, I–I’m sorry,” you stammered after a moment, your voice shaky with embarrassment and panic. The realization of what had just happened hit you all at once, and you struggled to lift yourself off her, though your arms felt like jelly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” Irene interrupted gently, her fingers brushing against your lips to quiet you. Her touch was warm, reassuring, and her smile, soft and knowing, made your panic ebb slightly. Her expression glowed with a mix of affection and satisfaction, her eyes sparkling as she held your gaze. There was no judgment, only warmth and a hint of playfulness that sent a flicker of heat through your chest. “It’s okay, baby. That was bound to happen.”

Her hand moved to the back of your head, her fingers threading through your hair as she pulled you down to rest against her chest. The rise and fall of her breathing was steady, soothing, a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “It just means you couldn’t help yourself,” she whispered, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. Her words were gentle, but there was a glimmer of something deeper in her tone—pride, even delight.

“And honestly…” Her voice dipped lower, almost a purr as her fingers lightly trailed down your spine, leaving a tingling warmth in their wake. “It makes me feel sexy knowing how much I excite you.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with an electric tension that made your heart race all over again. The confidence in her tone, the way her lips curved into a knowing smile, only magnified the pull she had on you. She shifted slightly beneath you, her body still warm and soft against yours, her every movement exuding an effortless sensuality that left you utterly captivated.

“Feeling this way,” she murmured, her nails lightly grazing your scalp as she held you close, “it’s like you’re showing me exactly how irresistible I am to you. And that… makes me want you even more.”

She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, her fingers threading gently through your hair. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, her voice a calming balm. “We have plenty of time to work on your stamina.”

Despite her reassurance, your face burned with embarrassment as you slowly pulled out of her. The sensation left you trembling, your heart racing as your eyes fell to the sight of your release seeping from her entrance. The visual was hypnotic—raw and intimate—and it sent an unbidden twitch through your already overly sensitive length. A mix of awe and arousal coursed through you, leaving your thoughts scrambled.

Irene sat up on the couch, her movements unhurried and graceful despite the intimacy you had just shared. Her bare skin glistened faintly in the soft light, her chest rising and falling with her steady breaths. When her eyes met yours, there was no judgment—only a playful glint dancing within them. She leaned back slightly, spreading her legs just enough to hold your gaze captive.

“Don’t look so embarrassed,” she teased, her tone soft but laced with amusement. “We’ve got plenty of time to figure this out.” Her voice carried an air of authority that both comforted and electrified you as she motioned for you to kneel. “Now, come here. Let me teach you how to pleasure a woman.”

The mix of her confidence and warmth quelled some of your lingering nerves, though your hands still trembled slightly as you lowered yourself to your knees. The position felt both humbling and thrilling, your gaze flickering between her face and her glistening folds, still dripping with the evidence of your earlier climax. The scent of her arousal hung in the air, musky and intoxicating, sending another pulse of heat through your body.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the back of your head before gently cupping it, guiding you closer with practiced ease. Her touch was tender yet firm, leaving no doubt about her control of the moment. “Don’t overthink it,” she murmured, her lips curling into a reassuring smile that sent a spark of courage through you. “Just follow my lead.”

The moment your lips met her warm, slick folds, your senses were flooded. The taste was intense and impossible to describe—earthy, musky, and utterly intoxicating. It was primal, a flavor that ignited something deep within you, rendering the nervous chatter in your mind silent. All that remained was the overwhelming need to please her, to feel her body respond to your touch.

“Good,” Irene breathed, her voice soft and laced with pleasure. “Now, use your tongue to tease me. Start with light strokes… right there.”

You followed her instructions carefully, your tongue moving tentatively at first, flicking gently against her entrance. The wet heat of her arousal coated your tongue as you explored her, drawing soft sighs of approval from her lips. Her hand remained steady on the back of your head, her fingers threading lightly through your hair as she guided your movements.

“Press a little harder,” she murmured, her hips shifting slightly against your mouth. Her voice was patient but tinged with desire, every word spurring you on. “Yes, just like that. Now move up… here.”

She pointed to her clit with one hand, her fingers brushing it lightly to show you exactly where to focus. You obeyed, your lips wrapping around the sensitive nub as your tongue began to flick against it in slow, deliberate movements. The effect was immediate—her thighs trembled slightly, and a low moan escaped her lips, rich and unrestrained.

“That’s it,” she gasped, her voice catching as her head tilted back. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

The weight of her praise lit a fire inside you, driving your movements to become bolder and more confident. Your tongue traced circles around her clit, alternating with quick flicks that matched the rhythm of her shallow, rapid breaths. Her body responded in ways that left you in awe—her hips shifting, her thighs trembling, her breathing growing heavier with each moment.

“Use more pressure here,” she urged, her voice breaking slightly with urgency. “Yes… just like that. Now flick… mmm, perfect.”

Her moans grew louder, her hands gripping your hair—not to guide you, but to anchor herself as the sensations overwhelmed her. The tremble in her thighs intensified, her body tightening as your tongue worked her closer to the edge. Her nails pressed lightly into your scalp, her hips rocking in time with your movements as she lost herself in the rising pleasure.

The rhythm of her moans and the way her body reacted filled you with a sense of accomplishment, a primal pride that pushed you to keep going. You adjusted, moving with her as your tongue worked in unison with her rising need, tracing every sensitive spot she pointed out. Her thighs quaked against your cheeks, her voice becoming a mix of gasps and cries as you brought her closer, her pleasure radiating through every part of you.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her voice breathless and tinged with desperation. Her hips began to move instinctively, grinding against your mouth, her rhythm purposeful and commanding. The slick warmth of her folds pressed firmly against your lips, her arousal coating your tongue as the taste and scent of her overwhelmed your senses. Every soft cry, every tremble of her thighs, spurred you on, pushing you to match her urgency.

Her moans grew sharper, raw and unrestrained, her control slipping as her body chased its breaking point. Her hips bucked harder, grinding against you, her movements becoming erratic as you pressed your tongue harder against her clit. You flicked and sucked with everything you had, fueled not just by the pleasure radiating from her but by the sheer pride swelling in your chest. This was Irene—the idol you had adored for years—and you were the one unraveling her, the one reducing her to this trembling, vulnerable state.

Her thighs clenched around your head, her hands tangling in your hair as her moans became cries, each sound sharper and more desperate than the last. You felt the tension building in her body, every shift of her hips, every quiver of her muscles driving her closer and closer to the edge. The knowledge that you—someone so inexperienced—were capable of drawing this level of pleasure from her only deepened your determination.

“I’m so close,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her back arched off the couch. Her tone was raw, almost pleading, as she clung to the final threads of control. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”

Her words hit you like a command, and you obeyed without hesitation, moving with a purpose that mirrored her rising need. Her body tensed beneath you, her thighs trembling violently against your face as the tension inside her finally snapped. With one final, desperate grind, Irene cried out—a raw, guttural sound that filled the room. Her body arched as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, her muscles pulsing and quivering against your mouth as her orgasm consumed her.

The moment was mesmerizing, intimate, and deeply humbling. As she came apart in your hands, you felt an immense swell of pride, the realization hitting you with staggering force: you had done this. You had brought her to this peak. The woman you’d admired for so long, this untouchable vision of perfection, was utterly undone because of you.

Her grip on your hair tightened briefly, her fingers threading through it as though to steady herself, before her hands fell away, her body collapsing back onto the couch in a state of complete surrender. You pulled back slightly, your lips and chin glistening, your own breath ragged as you took her in. Irene was a vision—her flushed cheeks, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. She was beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly yours in that moment.

As her breathing steadied, her eyes fluttered open, her gaze softening as it met yours. A satisfied smile spread across her lips, a mix of pride, affection, and something deeper flickering in her expression. She reached out, her fingers brushing tenderly against your cheek, her touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry, each word dripping with satisfaction. Her praise sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body, your heart pounding with both pride and awe. The fact that she—your idol—was praising you, calling you her “good boy,” only deepened the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re a fast learner,” she added, her tone laced with both amusement and pride. But as her smile widened, there was something else in her gaze—possessiveness, a quiet but unmistakable sense of ownership. She loved knowing that she was your first and only, the one who had drawn this effort, this passion, from you.

“You know,” she murmured, her fingers tracing your jawline as she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping lower. “I love how no one else has ever seen you like this, felt you like this.” Her lips curved into a smirk as her fingers trailed down to your chest, lingering there as she added, “And no one else will.”

Her possessiveness was subtle but undeniable, a claim spoken through her touch, her gaze, and the way her words wrapped around you. The thought of being hers, of belonging to her in this way, sent a thrill through you that mingled with the lingering pride of having brought her so much pleasure.

As her eyes drifted downward, her smirk deepened. She noticed your arousal, now fully hardened again, throbbing with renewed energy despite the intensity of what you’d just shared. Her confidence radiated as she leaned back slightly, her movements unhurried, her body still glowing in the aftermath.

“Well,” she said, her voice teasing but filled with promise, her fingers trailing down your chest, “it seems like you’re ready for round two.” Her tone carried the same mix of pride and playful dominance that left you completely captivated, her gaze holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race all over again.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, but the sight of Irene—her body still glowing, her skin flushed, her lips curled into a satisfied yet teasing smile—only drove your need higher. Her eyes, half-lidded but sharp, seemed to drink you in, a mixture of pride and hunger swirling within them. It was a look that sent a jolt through every part of you.

You knelt before her, determination and longing fueling your every move. “Mommy, let me try again,” you said, your voice low but trembling with nervous excitement. The smirk that spread across her lips deepened, her gaze sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle, as if she was already savoring what came next.

“Redemption, huh?” Irene teased, her sultry tone wrapping around you like velvet. She leaned back slightly, her hands trailing up your arms, encouraging and expectant. “Alright, baby. Show me what you’ve learned.”

Her legs parted gracefully, welcoming you in, and the heat radiating from her folds drew you closer, your arousal throbbing at the sight of her. You positioned yourself carefully, hovering above her, your hands steady on her hips as her fingers traced idle patterns along your arms. Every touch, every look she gave you felt like both a challenge and an invitation.

This time, you were resolute. With a slow, deliberate motion, you slid inside her, her tight, slick warmth enveloping you completely. A shuddering gasp escaped your lips at the sensation, the overwhelming pleasure igniting every nerve in your body. Irene’s head fell back against the cushions, her eyes fluttering shut as a soft moan slipped from her lips. Her hands gripped your shoulders, grounding herself as her body adjusted to your presence.

You began to move, your hips rolling in slow, steady thrusts, savoring every inch of her. Each motion elicited a quiet sound of approval from her, her breath hitching slightly as you set a confident rhythm. The connection between you grew with every movement, the sound of her quiet moans filling the space, spurring you on.

Then, an idea struck you—a bold impulse born of your longing to see her completely undone. Lowering your head, you brushed your lips against the curve of her breast. Irene’s eyes opened briefly, her breath catching in surprise, but she didn’t stop you. If anything, the slight arch of her back told you to keep going. Your tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it with light strokes before pulling it gently into your mouth.

“Ah—” The sound she made was sharper than before, a soft cry that sent a thrill coursing through you. Her nails dug lightly into your shoulders, her body responding instantly to the new sensation. “Oh… good boy,” she breathed, her voice trembling with pleasure as your tongue circled her sensitive bud.

The pride in her voice ignited something deeper within you, driving your lips and tongue to lavish her other breast with equal attention. You alternated between gentle nibbles and slow, deliberate flicks of your tongue, watching as her chest rose and fell more erratically. Her reactions spurred you on, her soft gasps and low moans growing louder with every touch, every kiss.

“You’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice rich with approval but laced with a faint edge of possession. The way you explored her body, your eagerness and growing confidence, made her heart race. The thought that she alone had awakened this side of you, that no one else would ever know this version of you, filled her with a fierce pride that only deepened her desire.

After a few more languid thrusts, you felt yourself nearing the edge again, the tight heat of her body pulling you dangerously close. But this time, you pulled out, your resolve firm. Lowering yourself between her legs, you replaced your length with your tongue, eagerly lapping at her folds to keep her pleasure building. The slickness of her arousal coated your lips, the intoxicating taste spurring you to push past your own limits.

“Fuck…. Such a good boy,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair as you worked her clit with focused precision. The way her hips bucked against your mouth, her breath catching with each flick of your tongue, filled you with a pride that matched her own. You wanted her to feel everything, to give her every ounce of yourself.

Her moans grew louder, her voice tinged with desperation as she clung to the edge. “Yes… just like that,” she panted, her body trembling as you brought her closer again. “Don’t stop, baby.”

When you felt ready once more, you rose above her, positioning yourself carefully. Irene’s legs wrapped around your waist, drawing you in as you slid back inside her. Her moan this time was deeper, her nails dragging lightly down your back as you set a steady rhythm. The wet, slick friction was overwhelming, but you were determined to match her pace, to give her everything she deserved.

As your thrusts quickened, you dipped your head again, your mouth capturing her nipple once more. The unexpected move made her gasp sharply, her back arching into you as her hips met yours in perfect rhythm. “Oh—yes,” she cried, her voice raw and unrestrained. The mix of sensations—your tongue on her breasts and your length driving into her—pushed her closer, the sounds of her pleasure creating a symphony that left you both breathless.

Her body tightened around you, her warmth and the sheer intensity of the connection sending you spiraling toward your own release. The way she moaned your name, the way her hands gripped your arms as if she couldn’t let you go, made you feel both powerful and completely hers. Every motion, every sound, every shared breath between you deepened the bond, leaving you utterly captivated by her and the moment you had created together.

“Mommy,” you murmured instinctively, the word slipping from your lips as if it were the only thing anchoring you to reality. Her name carried the weight of your longing, your admiration, and the raw intensity of the moment. The sound of it filled the air between you, intimate and charged.

The effect on her was immediate. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a look of wild hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. Her lips parted slightly, a soft gasp escaping as her body responded to the sound of her name. “Say it again,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need, thick with desire.

“Mommy,” you repeated, your voice rough and fervent, the syllables tumbling out with an urgency that mirrored the heat building between you. “You feel so good.”

Her reaction was electric. Her back arched off the couch, her nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to leave faint crescents in your skin. The way her body clenched around you, pulling you deeper with every thrust, made your pulse pound in your ears. Her moans became louder, more urgent, the sound of her pleasure igniting something primal in you.

The way she responded to you—her gasps, the tremor in her thighs, the flush spreading down her chest—filled you with an overwhelming sense of pride. You could see it in her face, the way she lost herself in you, and it made your heart race with the knowledge that you were the one drawing this from her. You moved faster, the rhythm of your hips frantic now, your control slipping as the tension coiled tighter inside you both.

“Mommy, I’m close” you groaned again, the title spilling from your lips like a prayer. Each time you said it, her reaction grew more visceral, her body tightening around you, her cries reaching new heights.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped, her hands cupping your face as she pulled you down into a kiss that left you breathless. Her lips moved against yours with desperate hunger, the connection between you electric. Her taste, her scent, the warmth of her skin—all of it consumed you entirely, blurring the edges of the world around you.

“I’m so close,” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling with vulnerability and urgency. Her body trembled beneath you, her hips meeting yours with unrestrained fervor.

“Me too,” you panted, your forehead pressing against hers as your thrusts grew erratic, the tension in your core threatening to snap. The sound of her voice, the way her body clung to yours—it was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Her release came first, a sharp cry of ecstasy tearing from her lips as her body convulsed around you. The sound was raw, unrestrained, and it echoed in your ears, sending a jolt of electricity straight through you. The way her inner walls clenched and pulsed rhythmically around your length was unlike anything you had ever experienced—an intoxicating mix of heat and pressure that made it impossible to hold back. Her thighs trembled violently, tightening around your waist as though she were anchoring herself to you in the overwhelming storm of her pleasure.

Her back arched sharply, her chest pressing against yours as wave after wave of ecstasy wracked her body. You could feel every shudder, every tremble, her body’s response drawing you deeper into the moment. Her hands gripped at your shoulders, her nails biting into your skin as though she couldn’t contain the sheer force of it. Each convulsion, each flutter of her body around you, only intensified the sensations coursing through you, pulling you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” she purred, her voice a sultry whisper as she let her body sink deeper into the couch. “Fill mommy up. You’ve been so good for me.”

The sight of her—her head tilted back, her lips parted as breathless moans spilled from her, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light—was enough to send you spiraling. You felt your own release building, coiling tighter and tighter until there was no holding back.

Your release surged through you, your body shaking as you spilled into her, the waves of pleasure crashing over you both in perfect unison. The shared intensity was overwhelming, each of you amplifying the other’s climax in a way that made it feel infinite, boundless. Your hips moved instinctively, prolonging the moment, the friction and heat drawing out every last shudder of ecstasy.

Her arms wrapped around you as you collapsed against her, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling in the aftermath. The soft rise and fall of her chest beneath you, the gentle rhythm of her breathing mingling with yours, created a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. Irene’s fingers traced lazy, soothing patterns across your back, grounding you as your heart began to slow. The scent of your combined musk lingered in the air, adding to the intimacy of the moment.

“Pretty good for your first time,” she murmured softly, her voice tinged with satisfaction and a lingering huskiness. There was pride in her tone, but also something deeper—an affection that made your chest tighten. Her hands slid into your hair, cradling your head against her as she pressed a tender kiss to your temple.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes sparkled with serene contentment, her expression relaxed but teasing as her fingers brushed through your damp hair. “So,” she murmured, her voice warm and playful, “how does it feel to finally cross that line?”

Your cheeks flushed, but the words came easily, carried by the warmth of the moment. “It’s… indescribable,” you admitted, your voice soft but earnest. “Because it was with you. Never in a million years did I think this would happen.”

Unable to resist, you leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder, your lips savoring the softness of her skin. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around you like a protective shield, the glow of your shared connection filling the room with a warmth you never wanted to fade. Her hand found its way to the back of your neck, her fingers lightly stroking your skin as she held you close.

As the intensity of the moment began to ebb, you collapsed fully against her, your chest pressing against hers as her arms wrapped protectively around you. Her fingertips brushed tenderly through your hair, each motion laced with affection. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice soft and full of praise. “You made mommy feel so good… I’m proud of you.”

Her words sent a fresh wave of warmth through you, the sincerity in her tone soothing any lingering nerves. You remained pressed against her, your bodies entwined in the afterglow of your shared release. Her soft breaths ghosted against your ear, each exhale a tender reminder of the closeness you had just shared. Slowly, her hands began to move again, tracing gentle, soothing strokes along your back. Her touch was light but steady, radiating a quiet affection that anchored you to the moment.

The high of your climax still lingered in the air as your breathing slowed and synced with hers. Irene’s arms remained securely wrapped around you, her fingers drawing delicate patterns along your spine. The warmth of her skin against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the faint hum of satisfaction in her chest created a cocoon of intimacy that made the rest of the world feel far away.

After a long pause, her voice broke the silence, quiet but firm. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” she said suddenly, her fingers stilling as she lifted your face to meet her gaze. Her expression was calm but serious, her eyes searching yours as though seeking a promise. “I mean it. I’m not letting you go after tonight.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, and your chest tightened as you processed the weight of what she was saying. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stay with you.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes shimmering with a mix of relief and affection. “Good boy,” she murmured, her tone gentle but laced with pride. “Let’s go to my place, then. I want you there. With me.”

Her words sent a surge of excitement through you, a mix of nerves and disbelief swirling in your chest. Irene’s house—her personal space, her sanctuary—it was something you’d only ever dreamed of seeing. But the warmth in her eyes and the soft, grounding pressure of her hand on yours erased any hesitation.

She helped you dress, her movements unhurried and deliberate, her quiet confidence calming your racing thoughts. Once ready, the two of you stepped out into the cool night air. The hum of lingering fans still filled the space outside, their energy a sharp contrast to the quiet intimacy you’d just shared. Irene tugged a cap low over her face and adjusted her mask to obscure her features, her elegant jawline and sharp eyes barely visible beneath her disguise. But even with her face half-hidden, her presence was unmistakable to you.

The crowd wasn’t massive, but it was enough to make your chest tighten with worry. What if someone spotted her? The thought made your pulse quicken, and you instinctively glanced over at her. She caught your gaze, her eyes softening as she squeezed your hand lightly. “It’s fine,” she murmured, her voice calm but encouraging. “Just stay close to me.”

You nodded, but the nervousness lingered, your mind racing with the thought of her being recognized. Then, without really thinking, you tightened your grip on her hand, an idea sparking in your chest. “This way!” you whispered, breaking into a grin as you gently pulled her along a quieter path.

She blinked, momentarily surprised, before a soft laugh escaped her lips. Irene allowed herself to be led, her steps quickening to match your pace. You darted through the dimly lit side alleys, ducking past clusters of fans and steering her confidently through the maze of the venue’s surroundings. Every so often, you glanced back at her to make sure she was keeping up, your boyish energy bubbling over in a way you couldn’t suppress.

She didn’t say much, but the amused twinkle in her eyes was impossible to miss. The spontaneity of your actions, the way you move with purpose yet couldn’t hide your youthful excitement—it caught her off guard in the best way. She hadn’t expected this side of you, and it made her chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she let you take charge, the simple joy radiating from you pulling her in further.

“You’re really into this, huh?” she finally said, her tone light but carrying a teasing affection.

You glanced back, your grin sheepish but bright. “Just trying to keep you out of the spotlight,” you replied earnestly, your voice slightly breathless from the adrenaline of it all.

Irene shook her head, her smile deepening. “You’re cute,” she murmured, her voice almost to herself. The way you darted through the shadows, focused yet visibly buzzing with excitement, made her want to laugh—but not in mockery. There was something so genuine about your energy, so pure, that she found herself falling for it without even realizing.

When the two of you finally reached her car, you opened the door for her with an almost comical nervousness, as though you were escorting royalty. She chuckled softly as she slid into the driver’s seat, watching you fumble slightly with your seatbelt before settling in beside her. The sleek interior of her car was exactly what you’d imagined—elegant, understated, and carrying the faint scent of her perfume. You tried to stay composed, but the reality of being in Irene’s car hit you all at once.

“This is amazing,” you muttered, your voice half in awe. “I mean… your car. I can’t believe I’m here.”

Her eyes flicked to you, amusement tugging at her lips. “It’s just a car, baby,” she teased, though there was a warmth in her tone that made your cheeks flush.

“Yeah, but it’s your car,” you replied, barely able to contain yourself. You glanced out the window as the city lights blurred into streaks of color, your thoughts spinning as you tried to process everything. “I never thought I’d—this is just… insane.”

Irene smiled quietly, shaking her head as she returned her focus to the road. “Relax,” she said, her voice gentle but teasing. “We’re almost home.”

The journey passed in a surreal haze for you, but for Irene, it was something else entirely. She kept stealing glances at you out of the corner of her eye, watching the way your awe slowly slipped out in small, unguarded bursts. The way you ran your fingers lightly over the seat belt strap as if to confirm it was real, the way you gazed out the window with wide eyes, taking in every detail like you were living a dream—it all tugged at something deep inside her. She didn’t say much, but her heart softened with every moment, the quiet joy you radiated making her smile more than she realized.

When the car finally pulled into her driveway, your breath hitched. Her house was grand yet understated, its sleek lines illuminated by the soft glow of the outdoor lights. The manicured garden added a touch of warmth, the entire scene exuding Irene’s elegance. You barely managed to follow her inside, your steps faltering as you took in your surroundings.

Inside, the awe only deepened. Photos of Irene adorned the walls, each one more striking than the last. You paused in front of one—a candid shot of her backstage, her face lit up with laughter—and your chest tightened. Her house felt so unmistakably her, a blend of sophistication and comfort that made every corner feel like an extension of her personality.

“This is…” you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the right words.

“Overwhelming?” she teased, her tone light as she watched your reaction.

You nodded, laughing nervously. “Yeah. It’s just so… you.”

Her smile softened, and she stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly against yours. “You’re so cute,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of pride. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment before she tilted her head toward the hallway. “Come on, baby. Let’s get comfortable.”

She led you to her bedroom, and your breath caught as the door opened. The space was stunning, every detail carefully curated to reflect Irene’s elegance and warmth. The soft glow of ambient lighting bathed the room in a golden hue, highlighting the muted tones of the walls and the understated luxury of her furniture. Her bed, draped in soft, inviting fabrics that looked as though they’d been handpicked for comfort and sophistication, seemed impossibly large and welcoming. The faint scent of citrus lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Each step closer made the nervous excitement bubbling inside you intensify.

Irene guided you gently toward the bed, her touch firm yet tender as her fingers brushed against yours. There was something unspoken in her movements—a quiet confidence that reassured you as she tugged you closer. “Come here,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady, laced with an affection that sent warmth flooding through your chest.

She perched on the edge of the bed, her movements fluid and deliberate, and pulled you down beside her. Her arms wrapped around you easily, holding you close. Her hand found its way to your hair, her fingers threading through it as she began stroking gently, the repetitive motion grounding you. “Relax, baby,” she whispered, her voice low and soothing. “You’re home now.”

You leaned into her touch, the weight of her arm around your shoulders anchoring you. The warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her breathing—it all felt so calming, so intimate. Then she shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“You trust me, don’t you?” she asked softly, her eyes searching yours.

You nodded, the sincerity in her tone and the softness of her expression easing the nervous flutter in your chest.

“Good.” Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stood, her movements graceful and unhurried. She reached for the hem of her blouse and, without breaking eye contact, pulled it over her head in one fluid motion. The sight of her bare skin left you breathless. Even though you’d just shared the most intimate of moments with her, the sheer beauty of her still made your pulse race.

Irene’s fingers moved deftly, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Her chest was fully exposed now, her skin glowing softly in the warm light of the room. Your eyes couldn’t help but linger, drinking in every detail as though it were the first time. She noticed your gaze and let out a soft, amused laugh, her lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Still staring?” she teased gently, her voice carrying a note of affection that sent warmth rushing through you. “You’ve already seen everything, baby.”

“I… I can’t help it,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You’re just…”

“Perfect?” she finished for you, her smile widening slightly as she stepped closer. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” Her tone was playful but tinged with a quiet pride.

She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “Your turn,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “Strip for me”

Your hands trembled slightly as you obeyed, pulling off your shirt and kicking off your shoes before working on your pants. The nervous excitement from earlier had returned in full force, your heart pounding as you stood before her in nothing but your boxers. She watched you with an intensity that made your skin tingle, her gaze unrelenting yet warm.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice low and satisfied as she took your hand and guided you closer. “Now, come to bed.”

The invitation in her voice made your chest tighten, and you followed her lead, climbing onto the plush mattress as she settled beside you. The softness of the bed cradled you, and Irene’s warmth as she pulled you into her embrace was both soothing and electrifying. Her hands found their way to your hair again, her touch gentle but deliberate as she stroked slowly.

“Let mommy take care of you,” she murmured, tilting your face toward her chest. Her fingers brushed your jaw, her touch tender but insistent. “Suckle.”

The word hung in the air, intimate and commanding, and your heart thudded in your chest as her gaze met yours. There was no hesitation in her eyes, only a quiet reassurance that melted away your nerves. Slowly, you pressed your lips against her, your mouth opening as your tongue brushed against the softness of her skin. The warmth of her breast was overwhelming, its tenderness enveloping you completely as you latched instinctively.

“That’s it,” she cooed, her voice soft and melodic, a lullaby just for you. Her hand returned to your hair, her fingers stroking through it in a gentle rhythm that matched her breathing. “Good boy. Just relax now.”

As you began to suckle, a wave of calm washed over you. Each slow, deliberate pull of your mouth deepened the connection between you, the act soothing you in a way you hadn���t anticipated. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft against your lips, the faint mixture of her musk and the lingering traces of her perfume filling your senses with every breath. The world outside dissolved, replaced by the steady rise and fall of her chest, her heartbeat thrumming softly in your ear, and the gentle hum of satisfaction vibrating in her throat.

Irene’s fingers continued their rhythmic strokes through your hair, her touch grounding you in the moment. Each sweep of her fingertips sent a tingling warmth through your scalp, a sensation that soothed the last vestiges of nervous energy. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh, your body sinking further into her embrace. Your limbs grew heavy with relaxation, your breathing naturally syncing with hers as you nestled closer.

For Irene, the moment was nothing short of exquisite. Every gentle pull of your mouth sent a ripple of warmth through her chest, a soft but insistent tug at something deeper within her. The sight of you, vulnerable and utterly trusting in her arms, filled her with a heady mix of pride and satisfaction. Your quiet dependence, the way your head rested against her so naturally, ignited an indescribable sense of fulfillment.

Her breath hitched slightly, the intimacy of the act stirring an unfamiliar but welcome heat in her core. Her nipples, already sensitive, responded to the gentle pressure of your mouth, the warm pull sending shivers of pleasure down her spine. She tilted her head back slightly, her lips parting as a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped her. The mixture of the physical sensations and the emotional connection was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice low and possessive, the words brushing against the top of your head like a promise. Her lips pressed a lingering kiss to your hair, the act both tender and claiming. “No one else will ever have this.”

The conviction in her voice wrapped around you, comforting and commanding all at once. Your movements slowed, the gentle rhythm of your suckling growing lazier as the soothing comfort of her embrace lulled you further into a haze of peace and safety. Her hand, still stroking your hair, pressed with just enough firmness to make you feel securely tethered to her.

Irene closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sensations wash over her. The warmth of your body against hers, the subtle vibrations of your breathing, and the soft sounds you made created a cocoon of intimacy she didn’t want to end. Her fingers moved from your hair to trace the curve of your cheek, her touch light and lingering, as if she couldn’t resist savoring the moment.

“Sleep, baby,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, thick with affection. “You’re safe here… with me.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, and with them came an overwhelming sense of peace. The glow of the room, the steady hum of her voice, and the enveloping warmth of her body surrounded you completely. Each pull of your mouth became slower, more relaxed, as the last remnants of tension melted away.

For Irene, the sight of you—so content, so utterly hers—stirred something deep within her. The possessiveness she felt was matched by an aching tenderness, the realization that you had given her something so precious and irreplaceable. She cradled you closer, her hand resting protectively on your back as her lips brushed another gentle kiss to your forehead.

As your breathing evened out and sleep claimed you, Irene watched you with quiet reverence. The weight of your trust, your vulnerability, filled her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t known she needed. Together, wrapped in the glow of the moment, she knew this wasn’t fleeting. It was the start of something profound, something she would hold onto with everything she had.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Just To Kiss

FINNICK ODAIR X GN! READER

SUMMARY: Showing Finnick how love really is. WARNINGS/TAGS: Before the Events of the first Hunger Games Movie/Book, Established Relationship, Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Kissing, Slight Making out

Comfortable, cuddled against Finnick's chest, wrapped in his arms, flipping through the channels, trying to avoid the Capital's reruns of old games with it drawing closer to the 74th.

Sighing with relief upon finding a movie channel, picking up halfway through a romance. Watching as the two actors have a heated exchange, abruptly showing their love for one another with a sudden kiss, quickly moving to the bed just as the screen fades to black.

Fixed on their faces as they awoke in the glow of the morning, the rest of the scene escaped your view as Finnick's finger planted up your chin, leading you to face him.

Barely given enough time to lose yourself in his sea-green eyes to see as he starts to shut down behind the same eyes. Finnick's soft lips touch against yours, his lips quickly work against yours.

Stunned by the suddenness, seconds go by before you finally kiss back, causing his hands to run down your body while pushing to lay you down on his couch.

Realizing his want for this to be more than just a kiss, you place a hand on Finnick's chest, pushing him away while moving back. Unlatching your lips from Finnick's, his eyes blank before flooding with confusion.

"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to." He apologizes, moving away while still slightly hovering over you.

"I do, but it's too early, don't you think?" Hearing your words, he stills, not knowing what to do, sea-green eyes flickering around the room as he moves away, letting you have some space.

Dating only for two months, with many dates lining those few weeks, picnics and walks on the warm sand of the beaches that make home to District 4. This was the first date you had in Finnick's home, cooking a meal together, then ending with a movie that still played in the background.

"Finnick?" You call him, turning his attention to you. "I don't know what to do." He admits, looking to you for help. Propping yourself up by your elbows, not knowing what to do either. Taking a minute to think, wanting nothing more than to calm the man in front of you,

"Let's take it slow," you speak softly, seeing as he nods in agreement, shoulders relaxing.

"We don't have to do anything tonight or even the day after," you reassure. Finnick nods again, taking a breath looking down to gather himself.

Hearing small whispers around the district of what the Capital does to their tributes, none knew which tributes, so they assumed all of them. Finnick hadn't told you anything that would make those rumors true or false, but he didn't have to it was clear at times that love was unfamiliar to him.

Sitting up, reaching out to Finnick, gently taking his hand in yours before asking a question he had yet to ask himself. "What do you want, Finnick?" Your question pulls his full attention.

"You." He quickly responds.

"To kiss you." He adds, brows furrowing, eyes filled with longing.

Moving closer to your nervous lover, gently cupping his cheek, looking into his sea-green eyes once more just to get lost in them. Seeing as Finnick melts in your touch, moving in slowly, wanting your lips to meet.

Starting with soft pecks that slowly work into firm kisses, hands dance along your body that pull you in closer. Combing your fingers through Finnick's golden curls, breaking through the salt from an early swim.

Face tingling with heat as Finnick cups your cheeks, causing the kiss to deepen before stopping. Breaking the kiss, looking back into his eyes, catching your breath, leaving the heated moment behind.

"Just a kiss," you whisper, reminding him that these moments can be just that. A moment. A simple one.

Watching as Finnick's eyes flutter up and down, taking all of you in, giving your lips a light peck before wrapping you in his strong arms. Cuddling back into his chest, attention turned back to the movie, hearing his heart race loudly, causing the side of your lips to curve upwards.

As the movie ended, the screen fading to black, still you both held onto each other until it was time for you to go home. Finnick's eyes never leaving your face as he drags out the minutes walking you home.

Standing in front of your home, Finnick gently holds up your chin to give you one last peck on the lips, just to then whisper in the bright moonlight, "Just a kiss."

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

Taglist: @hoffmanfan13 @miserablebl00d @bfintaks @sooofe2121 @bluewhale18

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon finds your tumblr blog

Simon Riley who decided to get tea from a nearby cafe only to be starstruck by you, the barista, as you took his order. Accidentally nodding, saying yes when you asked him, what kind of tea would he like.

“Sorry, love, what was that?”

So of course, like a person discovering a drug for the first time, he went back for more. Every day. Eventually learning your schedule, framing his around yours. Timing it so perfectly that it looked natural, casual. Like fate.

He told himself it wasn’t stalking. Said he was just checking your socials. Just looking. Making his favorite photo of you on Instagram his phone wallpaper. The one where you smiled at the camera, lipgloss shining, cheeks rosey from the late afternoon sun. The one he perhaps casually jerked off to. Once. Maybe twice. Definitely more than he’d ever admit.

Until that “not stalking” became breaking into your apartment one day when he knew you were working a shift. Going through your place like he had every right to. 

Inside, your place was everything he expected warm, soft, cluttered in the way homes are when someone actually lives in them. Your scent hitting his nose the moment he stepped in. Something sweet. Maybe vanilla. Maybe your shampoo. He didn’t bother guessing, just inhaled deeply as he moved through your space. Fingers brushing your throw blanket, your mugs still drying by the sink, the stack of books on your nightstand.

Lingered in your bedroom. Touched your pillow like it might give him a glimpse into your dreams. Snagging a pantie or two. Pressed one to his face. Just once. Maybe more.

Which eventually led to him taking advantage of his job, running a background check on you, the whole nine. Addresses, phone numbers, emergency contacts. He memorized it all. But what really surprised him was what he found buried in there. An anonymous Tumblr blog. No name, no tags ultimately linked to you. Clearly something not wanting to be found.

Silly girl. Didn’t you know he’d always find you?

You occasionally posted filthy little one shots about masked men on there, which got a snicker out of him at the irony, he had thought before he saw that hint of blush on your face when he came back from work that one evening, a simple black balaclava still covering his face. The way your eyes lingered a second too long. The way you bit your lip when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Scrolling through your posts, one in particular caught his eye. A story about a man— too similar to Simon to be a coincidence. A regular customer at a cafe. Bending his barista over in the back, stuffing her full when everyone else had left. Their shifts ending.

Well, if that’s what you wanted, love. Simon was never one to deny a pretty bird of what she wanted.

It was funny, really. You looked so sweet and innocent. Too sweet to be writing filthy smut in your free time. All soft lashes and polite smiles. But then again, here you were, taking his cock so well, just like you had with his fingers as he had you bent over some boxes in the back storage room, filling your pretty pussy full of his eight inches. Stretching you open until you gasped his name like a common saying.

Your hand clamped over your mouth, trying to muffle your moans after your second orgasm. Legs trembling, breath catching in your throat, cunt clenching greedily around him like you were made for him.

And after Simon came himself, zipping his pants back up, he looked over your state, seeing the way you were trying to regulate your breaths, coming down from your high, literally. Pussy buzzing with that happy, content feeling after getting stuffed. Sweat cooling on your skin, hair sticking to your forehead.

He gave your ass a light, playful smack, mumbling, “How’s that for your little blog?” as he walked out. Leaving you dumbfounded. Not just from the way he fucked you but from the fact he knew about your anonymous Tumblr account.

He wasn’t done with you yet. No, not even close. Didn’t plan on stopping until he tried every single thing you’d ever written with you. And even after that… he’d still want more.

You were his now, baby.

Can confirm, this happened. Not really… sigh 😞

[seumyo]

DADDY DUTIES 101: Learning how to buy fresh groceries.

Todoroki had never realized how complicated poultry could be.

“Thigh or breast?” the vendor asked with a friendly smile, hands already hovering over the chilled display case of neatly arranged cuts.

He blinked down at the various trays of meat with the kind of mild confusion that suggested he had, in fact, never made this decision before. And he hadn’t—not once in his life. Fuyumi had always handled groceries when they were young, and after moving out, Todoroki either picked up takeout, made simple meals, or followed a list you had written, item by item, down to brand and packaging.

Now, however, you stood beside him, baby Shuu strapped to your front in a soft gray carrier, looking up at him expectantly.

“Thigh,” you prompted gently, your hand brushing his as you leaned a little closer. “You like dark meat more, remember?”

Todoroki nodded slowly, still staring at the options. “Right. Thighs.”

It, in fact, wasn’t as simple as being asked how much he was planning to buy. 

The vendor chuckled kindly and began packaging the chosen cuts.

Beside him, you turned your attention to the baby, who had started kicking his little legs with excitement, his head poking out from the carrier to survey the colorful stalls of the open market. His soft hat was a little crooked, one sock slightly twisted, and yet he looked like the happiest creature alive, making unintelligible sounds and reaching for things that caught his eye—mostly bright bell peppers and leafy greens he couldn’t possibly reach.

“This one’s a busybody,” you murmured fondly, adjusting Shuu’s hat and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Todoroki looked at them both, quiet warmth blooming in his chest. The chaos of the market faded into the background. They were just… a family. His family. Something soft and ordinary, yet so deeply precious it made his breath catch.

“Do you want to pick the vegetables?” You asked, nudging him gently as you tucked the bag of chicken into their reusable shopping tote. “You’ll have to learn eventually. We can’t survive off your curry attempts forever.”

“I’ve been improving,” he said, mildly offended, but followed you toward the produce stand anyway.

“I don’t burn the rice anymore.”

“That was one time,” you teased, looping your fingers through his as they walked. “But the rice did come out… crunchy.”

Todoroki gave you a long, unimpressed look that only made you giggle more.

The vegetable stand was overflowing with color—deep green spinach, vibrant carrots, glistening cucumbers, and tomatoes so red they practically glowed. You picked up a tomato, turned it in your hand, and held it out to him.

“See the skin? No wrinkles, smooth, shiny, and firm but not hard. Try it.”

Todoroki took the next tomato and mimicked your movements, turning it over carefully. It felt strange to be learning this now, at twenty-three, in the middle of a peaceful market with a baby strapped to his wife’s chest. But there was something wonderful about it too. No villains. No patrols. No pressure to save the world. Just… tomatoes.

“This one’s good,” he said, holding it out.

You inspected it with a mock-serious expression and then nodded, placing it in their bag. “You passed. One point for Daddy.”

Shuu let out a delighted squeal at the sound of their voices, wriggling excitedly against your chest. Todoroki leaned down, brushing his nose against Shuu’s cheek until the baby squeaked and grabbed at his face with pudgy fingers.

“His grip is getting stronger,” he mused, letting Shuu yank gently at his hair.

“Probably from pulling your hair every morning,” you said, amused. “I keep telling you to tie it back when you sleep.”

“I like it when he plays with it,” Todoroki said, deadpan, even as his bangs were thoroughly tousled. “It’s his revenge for tummy time.”

He could get a haircut, but then he wouldn’t have those precious moments with his baby again. And you know what they say, that they’re only little once.

You laughed at that, bright and loud, and Todoroki wished he could bottle the sound.

You moved through the market leisurely, picking up items as you went—radishes, some eggs from a local farmer, and tofu from an older woman who complimented Shuu’s dimples. A pair of elderly shopkeepers stopped you two to coo at your baby, pinching his cheeks and offering a small toy, which Shuu instantly tried to eat.

“He’s a little celebrity,” you whispered as you walked on. “Everyone loves him.”

Todoroki adjusted the tote bag on his shoulder, watching his son with a small smile. “He’s easy to love.”

You eventually paused by a small cart selling hand-carved kitchen tools—spoons, spatulas, and even chopsticks. Todoroki was drawn to them, fingers brushing over the polished wood.

“You’ve been interested in this lately,” you said, watching him. “Pottery. Chopstick carving. You know you’re allowed to have hobbies, right? Things that aren’t life-threatening?”

“I’m getting used to that,” he admitted, picking up a pair of sleek rosewood chopsticks. “Not fighting every day.”

He turned the chopsticks over in his hand, feeling their balance.

“I thought it would be harder,” he added after a moment. “Slowing down.”

You watched him quietly, then leaned into his side. “You earned this peace, Todoroki.”

He let out a soft breath. “I think I’m starting to believe that.”

They bought a pair of beginner chopstick kits and made their way home as the sun started to dip lower. Shuu had fallen asleep somewhere between the spice stall and the fishmonger, his little head lolling peacefully against your chest. Todoroki walked slower, letting the soft weight of domesticity settle around him like a familiar coat.

Later that night, after dinner and a shared bath for Shuu (who managed to splash water all over the floor and into Todoroki’s face), Todoroki tucked his son into bed. He stood there for a long moment, just watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his tiny fingers curled slightly even in sleep.

You appeared beside him, pressing against his side, your hand finding his.

“You okay?” You whispered.

Todoroki nodded. “Yeah. Just… grateful.”

Your head rested on his shoulder. “We’ll make sure he grows up knowing he’s loved.”

“I know,” he said. “I already love him enough to last a lifetime.”

And that, more than any legacy or battle he’d ever fought, made him feel like he had truly won.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[earlysunshines]

L word

kim minji x fem!reader

synopsis: minji gets drunk while she’s away and you’re sent a video of her rambling on about how much she misses u

warnings: sappy sweet lovely ; minji a loser FORREAL i will never let this go. ; alcohol! yummmmmyyy ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: hello WHATS UP im HOME i have a new cat keychain and milk blush HOORAY anyways girlfriend of the year goes to

it’s the last day of minji’s stupid volleyball camp – the camp four hours away from you, her beloved girlfriend – and she’s surrounded by her teammates, a few bottles of soju and wine they somehow managed to sneak in, and the growing haze of too much alcohol. 

leaning her head against the back of the couch, she tries desperately to keep herself from losing her mind.

what’s pushing her to the edge isn’t just the alcohol—it’s the fact that she made the rookie mistake of glancing at her phone’s wallpaper. there you are, hair up, face bare, looking effortlessly beautiful as you make breakfast in the morning. you’re caught in the middle of a candid moment, gazing at the camera with a confused expression, your hand blurred as you try to grab the phone from her. 

(“hey!” you groan, rushing towards her with a spatula in your hand. minji laughs, backing away and pushing your head away with her hand, making you groan again. “delete that!”

“nuh uh.” minji grins at you, then puts her phone in her pocket. you still look annoyed, but minji finds it the best thing to wake up to. “what’s all this?” she asks, moving her head to to the side to eye the stove.

you blush, turning away and walking back to where the stove is. you check up on the four eggs you’re cooking, then mumble, “i figured since it’s your first time staying over at my place… i’d make you breakfast.”

it doesn’t show, other than the slight tint of pink on minji’s cheeks, but she might lose her mind, maybe even get down on one knee.

“aw, thanks.”)

the image is sweet, simple, and yet, to minji, you look absolutely adorable. it’s enough to make her heart ache with longing, the kind that no amount of soju can drown out.

minji tilts her head back and downs another shot, wincing as the burn slides down her throat. she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest. alcohol has never been her strong suit—not like you, who can handle a few drinks without batting an eye. minji’s a lightweight, and by the third shot, she’s already feeling the effects, regretting every dose more than she wants to admit.

around her, her teammates are lost in their own conversations, faces flushed from the alcohol. haewon, the team’s setter, has somehow managed to smuggle in a bottle of wine and is well past her limit, babbling on about some guy she’s been talking to and clinging onto bae defeatedly. 

minji tries to focus, to engage in the chatter, but her mind keeps wandering back to you. your image, your smile, the way you look at her—it all tugs at her heart, pulling her deeper into her thoughts, further away from the room full of laughter and slurred words. she checks her phone again after feeling it vibrate against the floor, immediately checking it and catching another glimpse of another photo of you in her lockscreen rotation; this time, she sees you studying in the background, the time covering apart of your head, and a few texts from you.

[y/n]

hey babe i hope you’re having fun! i’m going to sleep, goodnight! miss you xx see you tomorrow lovely

minji stares at her screen, her frown deepening as if the notifications had just announced the end of the world. she knows it’s the alcohol making her overly emotional, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling the weight in her chest. with a frustrated sigh, she lets her phone slip from her fingers, landing with a soft thud on the ground. the sudden movement draws the attention of her teammates, their chatter quieting as they turn to her.

“what’s wrong miss team captain?” ryujin teases, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

minji, usually the composed and level-headed one, surprises everyone when she lets out a dramatic whine and leans her head against danielle, who’s sitting next to her. the room falls silent as minji wraps her arms tighter around her knees, her voice small and filled with longing.

“i miss my girlfriend,” she confesses with a heavy sigh. she picks up her phone again, staring at the lock screen—another candid moment that you look adorable in. “i miss y/n so much.”

her teammates exchange glances, surprised by the rare display of vulnerability from their usually stoic captain, but they can’t help but smile at how deeply minji cares for you. hanni, the libero, is very entertained by this rare sight of minji. she pulls out her phone and snickers, pressing record and holding it up secretly. 

danielle lets minji sulk into her, she’s the only sober one in the room and is in the right mind to say anything meaningful in this situation. “do you need water?”

“i need y/n.” minji murmurs, rubbing her face in her hands and making her face even more red. “i miss her…”

“it’s been four days minji…”

“i want to be with her all the time… always.” minji confesses, her voice trembling with a vulnerability that takes everyone by surprise. her hand reaches for another shot glass, but danielle quickly intervenes, her concern clear. yet, minji manages to avoid her and downs the drink anyway, the alcohol burning its way down as she wipes her lips with the back of her hand.

“i–i…” minji stammers, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to hold back a flood of emotions. her fingers fumble for her phone, and when she finally grasps it, a soft smile spreads across her face. she turns the screen to show her teammates a candid picture of you nestled against her, your peaceful expression illuminated by the dim light from your lamp. you had completely passed out against her that day after studying for one of your more important tests, that was also the moment minji realized she loved you. “my beautiful y/n, my lovely…” she murmurs, flipping the screen back to herself as if savoring the sight. “...y/n.”

danielle can’t help but giggle softly, gently helping minji to her feet. “she’s very sweet, but i think it’s time we get this sweet girl’s girlfriend back to her hotel room. you’ve had enough, minji.”

minji shakes her head, her pout deepening as her eyes glisten with unshed tears. the rest of the team watches in stunned silence, taken aback by the raw, unguarded side of minji they’ve never seen before. they knew she adored you—her eyes always sparkled when she mentioned you, and her demeanor softened in your presence—but this...this was something deeper, something that laid her heart bare for all to see.

“i love y/n so much… she’s the only… girl… ever,” minji slurs, her words heavy with emotion as she sways slightly on her feet.

“well!” danielle tilts her head, laughing softly at minji's endearing confession. hanni, meanwhile, can’t resist giggling as she records the entire scene, already planning to send it to you later. danielle carefully helps minji to her feet, steadying her as she turns to the team. “i’m going to get her to bed—someone’s turned into a sappy lovebird.”

“no, please keep her here,” ryujin pleads, clearly relishing in her captain’s rare moment of vulnerability. “this is gold.”

but danielle, the only one with a working moral compass, shakes her head, her gaze shifting to minji, whose blinks are becoming slower, her hair a tousled mess, and her cheeks flushed a deep red. minji clings to danielle, her voice barely above a whisper as she mumbles, “i miss her… i wanna see my y/n… i love my y/n, i love her…”

danielle sighs, gently guiding minji toward the door. “come on, let’s get you to bed. you’ll see her soon enough.” minji nods, though she continues to mumble your name like a mantra, earning giggles from her teammates even after she’s dragged out by danielle.

–

minji feels like she’s been hit by a bus when she wakes up. her head is pounding, her hair is tangled and a chunk is in her mouth, and her body is twisted in an awkward position that leaves her neck sore. 

she groans, blinking a few times as she rubs her eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. blindly, she reaches for her phone on the bedside table, and when her fingers finally graze the cold device, she squints at the screen—nine in the morning. the bus back leaves at ten.

it strikes her with the sharpness of an unexpected breeze. she gasps at the sight of the numbers, shooting up from the bed in a panic. in her rush, she nearly trips over her shoes, cursing under her breath as she fumbles to get herself ready.

her phone ends up on the sink counter as she splashes water over her face, trying to clear the fog in her mind. as the cold water shocks her system awake, another revelation dawns on her—she hasn’t responded to you yet. panic seizes her chest as she reaches for her phone, guilt and worry mixing with the lingering headache.

your texts are still unanswered, and there’s also a text from danielle asking if minji is alright, but you’re her first priority.

minji clicks on your contact, then presses ‘facetime’. water drips down her face and onto her shirt a bit before you pick up. 

“hey babe–”

“sorry i didn’t get to respond.” minji apologizes. you can only see the top half of her face looking down on you before she sets up the phone clumsily. you giggle and catch minji smiling at the sound of it. “the team and i we were…” minji can’t exactly remember much from the night before, she can only recall around seven bottles of soju on the ground, plus those two bottles of wine haewon brought. “... up late.”

“right.” you mumble, trying to contain a smile. “i missed you.”

minji almost misses her toothbrush while putting toothpaste on it. she clenches her jaw and looks at you in the camera, trying to conceal just how flustered you make her.

“me too.”

“how much?”

“a lot.” minji says, then starts brushing. it’s almost inaudible, but you manage to make out the small, “more than you missed me.” she mumbles as she brushes her back teeth.

“you’re so cute.” you murmur, then take a picture her in the moment.

minji groans when she sees the notification that you captured her while she’s a mess, minji is not a morning person. she puts her hand up to cover the camera as she continues brushing, but moves it away when she hears you giggling, wanting to see your face scrunch up cutely and your teeth show slightly when you laugh like that.

your girlfriend rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless.

–

minji has always been the reserved, playful type. you've seen glimpses of her more intimate side, but she's still shy about fully expressing her emotions. just like you, she's new to romance, and sometimes it shows in the way she kisses you just because, holds your hand with a gentle smile, or whispers compliments that warm your heart. 

but underneath that playful exterior, there's a lot she keeps hidden. minji’s good at concealing her deeper feelings, partly because she's shy, and partly because she’s still in disbelief that she managed to win your heart.

truthfully, minji is a mess. she’s head over heels when you kiss her cheek before you two part ways on campus. she’s even worse when you light up immediately at the sight of her outside your lecture room, and really anything you do makes her go batshit insane. but minji’s not going to show that, she doesn’t show any of it, so you’ve only seen her ‘cool, calm, and collected’ side–you think it’s cute, but what’s even cuter is the new side of her you’ve just been exposed to.

another truth is that you woke up to a good morning text from hanni before minji had even stirred. the message instantly made you feel all warm and giggly inside. there was a cheerful "good morning sunshine!" followed by a video and a teasing ":P you’ll love this girly." you clicked on the notification, squinting at the screen as you opened the video hanni sent.

the thumbnail showed minji, her cheeks flushed as she leaned against the couch. when you pressed play, hanni’s laughter echoed from behind the camera as she shakily recorded your girlfriend.

you watched as minji, looking like an adorable, sad puppy, leaned against danielle and started confessing how much she missed you. the sight made your heart swell, a huge smile spreading across your face. minji, with her flushed cheeks and vulnerable expression, showed off her lockscreen to the team, getting even sappier as she proudly displayed your photo. 

 “my beautiful y/n, my lovely…” you hear her murmur, she turns the screen back to look at it lovingly. “...y/n.”

you couldn’t help but blush and kick your feet in bed, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. seeing how tipsy she was—four empty shot glasses scattered around her—explained why she was rambling about you, talking about how much she missed you. the whole thing made you giggle, your heart fluttering with affection for your sweet, slightly drunk minji.

what catches you off guard and nearly has you falling off your bed is when you catch minji saying:

“i love y/n so much… she’s the only… girl… ever,” she slurs it out drunkenly, but it’s heartwarming. she says i like a lead in a romance film, and it sounds genuine. then she says it over and over, and even if she’s drunk, drunk words are sober thoughts – that’s what you believe.

minji just said the L word and you weren’t there to witness it in real time. it’s been three months and minji said it first. if you could magically teleport to her in that moment you’d do it in a heartbeat.

–

your girlfriend arrives at your apartment in the afternoon. she knocks at your door and you open it with an eager smile, immediately pulling her in by the wrist and closing the door behind her.

minji giggles before you pull her in for a kiss, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling away to smile.

“missed you silly.”

“missed you more.”

“i bet.” you mumble before pecking her again, then smiling cheekily against her lips. “hey, i wanted to ask about something – also show you something too.”

your arms are still around her neck, and her hands rest above your waist as she looks at you through her adorable black frames. “okay?” she says, tilting her head.

you grab her by the wrist and lead her over to your couch, both of you flop down on it and you lean against her shoulder. she puts her arm around you as you grab your phone, then kisses your head softly while you pull something up.

“hanni sent me something interesting.” you shrug, fighting the smile that’s trying to form on your face. “i wanted to show you.”

“hm, okay.”

you pull up your messages and minji feels herself stiffening looking at the thumbnail of the video hanni had sent. you press play and she realizes it’s a video from the night before, so she stops you, grabbing your phone and turning it off.

“hey!” you groan, reaching over to grab your phone back. “don’t just–”

“whatever she sent, that’s not–”

“just watch the video!” you poke her side and she loosens her grip, which gives you a moment to snatch your phone back. “just–”

minji’s cheeks are crimson, she’s flustered beyond measure. she sighs, crossing her arms now and turning away from you. “that’s not– look, i was drunk out of my mind…”

“okay well i don’t care, i want you to watch it so i can ask you something.”

“y/n, please baby.”

“don’t baby me.” you say with fake annoyance, pressing play again. “watch,” you order, then mumble a small, “you’re really cute.”

minji shifts uncomfortably as she watches the video, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. she cringes at the sight of herself with flushed cheeks, collapsing onto danielle, and the video captures her in a state of drunken vulnerability–it’s mortifying to minji, but you’re enjoying every second of it.

as the footage plays, minji’s cringing even more. she sees herself leaning into danielle, eyes glassy, as she gushes about how much she misses you. her gaze flits to her lockscreen being proudly displayed, her face a deep shade of red. she bites her lip, feeling every bit of her embarrassment as the video continues.

"i– i just... missed you—" she tries to explain before you cut her off.

“shh, shh. we’re not at the best part yet.” 

hanni pham i’ll kill you. minji thinks to herself, forcing herself to watch the rest of the video. 

minji's face flushes even more at the sound of her own voice confessing her feelings. hanni’s giggles in the background only make the situation worse. minji hears herself repeatedly saying "i love y/n" with a tone of longing, the video ending with hanni's laughter echoing.

“so,” you pull away from her, looking at your thrown off girlfriend in front of you with raised brows. “what did you think.”

“i–” minji pinches the bridge of her nose, then looks at you looking at her with an expectant expression and a teasing smile. “--look.”

“you said the L word.”

she furrows her brows. “what?”

“you said it, the L word.”

“oh my god y/n.” minji can’t help but laugh in the moment, purely from disbelief. she sighs, giving you a crooked smile. “is this about me saying… that?”

“saying what?” you push her buttons successfully, watching her bite the inside of her cheek.

“you know what.”

“say it.”

“what?”

“say it to my face.” you purse your lips, then bite the inside of your bottom lip. 

minji glances away, her face a mixture of vivid red and palpable anxiety. the embarrassment still colors her cheeks, but now there’s an additional hue of nervousness. it’s not that she’s new to romantic things like this with you—far from it. it’s just that her feelings for you are so profound, so overwhelming, that they’ve left her floundering, struggling to match the intensity of her emotions with her actions. sometimes it feels like her heart and brain work independently, or maybe it’s just her heart doing most of the work, it’s a mess, a beating wreck always.

you’ve managed to make her feel like a mess, an idiot, and utterly smitten, all by existing.

she takes a deep breath, forcing herself to look you squarely in the eye. her cheeks remain flushed, and she fidgets with her fingers, betraying her inner turmoil.

“i love you.”

“who?”

“you, y/n.” minji groans, leaning towards you and sliding her hand above your waist again. she presses your skin lightly with her fingertips, before repeating herself, “i love you y/n.” her voice is low and she looks at you through her eyelashes, now you’re all nervous.

you can’t speak or breathe in the moment, so you opt for leaning in and kissing her, but she pushes you away after one peck, looking at you with raised brows.

“you’re not going to say it back?” minji smirks, her gaze unwavering as she watches you avert your eyes. her expression turns playful yet determined as she gently hooks her finger under your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze once more. her thumb rests lightly on your lower jaw, her fingers pressing gently against your cheeks. “what was all that interrogation for if you’re—”

“i love you.” you confess, breath hitching when she looks at you like that. “i love you minji.”

minji smiles, clearly satisfied. “wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“i hate you.”

“but you love me.”

“yeah, but i hate you.”

“uh huh.” minji chuckles, fingers still holding your face and using that to pull you closer and kiss you.

despite the embarrassment she’s feeling, minji somehow remains more composed than you. she pushes her glasses up to sit on the crown of her head before her lips brush against yours with a tender softness, and she hums as she kisses you again. when she pulls away just enough to speak, her breath mingles with yours as she murmurs against your lips,

“i L word you a lot y/n.” she pecks you again, then says one more time before taking your breath away, “i love you so much you loser.”

[wendichester]

.ೃ࿔*:･ safety distance,

summary. sammy's left for stanford and dean loves to play to overprotective older brother role

pairing. s1!stanford!dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 795

Dean’s been in Palo Alto for three days. Three days of lurking, watching, making sure Sammy’s okay.

He’s not proud of it. Feels a little like a creep, if he’s being honest. But someone’s gotta keep an eye on the kid, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna be Dad.

So Dean lingers in the background—just close enough to see, never close enough to be seen. Sam’s got a routine: early morning runs, way too much time in the library, cheap coffee from that one corner café he seems to like. No signs of danger. No signs of Dad’s kind of trouble.

But today, something—or rather, someone—catches Dean’s attention.

You.

He first notices you when Sam steps out of a lecture hall, and there you are, falling into step beside him like it’s second nature. You nudge Sam’s arm, say something that makes him laugh—really laugh, the way he used to when life was simple.

Dean watches, curious. You’re cute. Real cute.

And more than that—you’re comfortable with Sam, and he’s comfortable with you. There’s no stiffness, no hesitation. Just easy, effortless familiarity.

Huh.

Dean leans against his Impala from a distance, arms crossed, watching as you and Sam split off—him heading toward the library, you strolling across campus, earbuds in, lost in thought.

And that’s when Dean makes a decision.

It’s not technically interfering. Not really. Just… a little friendly investigation.

Besides, what’s the harm in saying hello?

You don’t hear him at first—not until he’s right beside you, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, voice smooth as honey.

"Hey there, sweetheart. You always this deep in thought, or am I just that distracting?"

You blink, startled, and turn your head.

Oh.

Tall. Green-eyed. Smirking like he’s got the whole world figured out.

"Uh," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Do I know you?"

Dean grins. "Not yet. But I’m an optimist."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Wow. You just ooze confidence, don’t you?"

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"I bet you do."

Dean watches, amused, as you sip your coffee, clearly debating whether or not to engage. He tilts his head, studying you.

"So, what’s got you so lost in thought? Deep philosophical questions? Existential crisis? Wondering if you should get bangs?"

You snort. "More like trying to figure out how I’m gonna survive my midterms."

"Ah." He nods sagely. "Yeah, college kids take that stuff real serious."

"You say that like you’re not one of them."

Dean smirks. "Do I look like a college boy to you?"

You glance him up and down. The leather jacket, the scruffy stubble, the way he carries himself like he’s seen some shit.

"No," you admit, "you don’t."

Dean grins, clearly pleased. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

You roll your eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile there. "Jury’s still out."

Dean chuckles. "Fair enough. So what’s your deal? You from around here, or did you get suckered into Stanford like the rest of ’em?"

"Wow," you say, pretending to be offended. "I like Stanford, thank you very much."

"Yeah? And what’s so great about it?"

You shrug. "I dunno. Good academics, pretty campus, nice people."

Dean hums, tilting his head. "Yeah, I can see that last one."

You blink. "Huh?"

He smirks. "Well, you’re here, aren’t you?"

For a second, you just stare at him—then, despite yourself, you burst out laughing. "Oh my God. That was awful."

Dean grins. "Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it?"

You shake your head, amused. "You’re ridiculous."

"I prefer charming, but I’ll take it."

You roll your eyes, sipping your coffee. "You do this a lot? Randomly approach strangers and hit them with the worst pickup lines known to man?"

"Only when I see someone worth approaching."

It’s bold—so bold that you actually feel your face heat up a little. But you don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

Instead, you narrow your eyes playfully. "You got a name, or am I supposed to just call you ‘cocky leather jacket guy’?"

Dean chuckles. "It’s Dean."

"Dean," you repeat, testing it out. "Just Dean?"

"For now."

You hum, pretending to consider. "Suspicious."

He smirks. "You’re cute when you’re skeptical."

You snort, shaking your head. "Wow. Do these lines ever work for you?"

Dean shrugs. "You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?"

You purse your lips, trying really hard not to smile. "Unfortunately."

"Hey, I’ll take it."

You sigh, finally giving in and grinning. "You’re so annoying."

"And yet, here we are."

You groan dramatically, tossing your head back. "Oh my God, go away."

Dean laughs, hands still stuffed in his pockets. "Nah. I think I’ll stick around a little longer."

And the worst part? You want him to so damn bad.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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[hollaforlyla]

Happy late Valentine's day!! could you write for Shadow x reader and they're already in an established relationship but reader is still new to relationships and is also REALLY touchstarved? Have a good day/night!

" LEARNING TO BE LOVED " ── shadow x gn!reader

so like, reader is me fr 🫶🏻 no warnings, i think, very detailed ── maybe too detailed 💀 but i love shadow, i love this concept, so im not complaining 💗 plz enjoy!!

pairing: shadow x reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Being with Shadow was the best thing that had ever happened to you. But even after months of dating, you still struggled with certain aspects of your relationship—mainly, touch.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be close to him. In fact, you craved it. Your entire body longed for warmth, for comfort, for the feeling of being held. But years of going without it had made you hesitant, unsure. The idea of simply taking what you wanted felt foreign, like it was something you hadn’t quite earned.

Shadow had never pressured you. He wasn’t overly affectionate himself, but he was perceptive, and you knew he noticed your hesitations. He always let you take the lead when it came to touch, but that was part of the problem—you didn’t know how to take the lead. You didn’t know how to ask.

Tonight, you were curled up on the couch beside him, a movie playing in the background, though neither of you were truly watching it. The flickering screen cast dim light over the room, making the atmosphere feel warmer, softer. Shadow sat beside you, his usual rigid posture slightly relaxed as he rested one arm on the back of the couch.

Your fingers twitched slightly in your lap, a silent war waging in your mind. You wanted to lean against him. You wanted to feel his warmth. But every time you worked up the courage, doubt would creep in.

Would he think you were being needy? Would he get annoyed?

“…Something wrong?”

Shadow’s voice broke the silence, his tone low but not unkind. You looked up at him, startled. His crimson eyes were focused on you, analyzing, waiting.

“I…” You hesitated, your fingers gripping the hem of your sleeve. “No. I just…”

Shadow’s eyes flicked downward, catching the way your hands clenched. He was silent for a moment before exhaling softly.

“You don’t have to ask,” he said simply.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I can tell you want something,” he continued. “If you need… anything, just say it.”

His voice was calm, patient—so utterly Shadow. The words were simple, but to you, they felt like permission. Like a safety net.

Swallowing hard, you hesitantly inched closer, pressing against his side. You half-expected him to tense up or pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he adjusted ever so slightly, allowing you to settle comfortably against him. Your heart pounded as you carefully rested your head against his shoulder, his fur soft and warm against your cheek.

And then, slowly—hesitantly—Shadow lifted his arm from the couch and wrapped it around you.

The moment his hand settled against your back, something inside you cracked.

Warmth spread through your chest, overwhelming in its gentleness. You had spent so long aching for this kind of comfort, and now that you had it, it almost felt unreal. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, you squeezed your eyes shut and gripped the fabric of Shadow’s furred chest, as if afraid he might disappear.

His arm tightened around you in response. Not enough to smother, but enough to ground you.

A shaky breath escaped you.

“…Thank you,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Shadow didn’t reply right away. He didn’t need to. Instead, his hand moved in slow, careful strokes along your back, his touch firm yet cautious—like he was trying to memorize you just as much as you were memorizing him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he finally murmured. “You deserve this.”

Your breath hitched.

You had never thought about it that way before. You had always felt like affection was something you had to earn—something fragile that could be taken away if you weren’t careful. But here Shadow was, holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like you deserved to be held.

The weight of that realization made your eyes sting, and before you could stop yourself, you nuzzled further into his chest. Shadow let out a small breath—something between a sigh and a chuckle—but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he held you closer.

Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to.

Because in that moment, wrapped in Shadow’s warmth, you finally felt safe.

And for once, you let yourself believe you were worthy of it.

RAAAHHHH IM GOING MENTAL

[kryptznnn]

♛/♡ -Tragedy

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

➸ INTERESTS; - aged up!neteyam x omatikayan f!reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - Love at first sight doesn’t exist, everyone knows that. There’s attraction, reaction, and understanding someone to call something love. Neteyam wasn’t sure what it was that he felt for you, but whatever it was, he didn’t want it to end.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc 5.6k, romantic tension, sexual tension, kissing, fluff, smut, yearning, build-up, stalking mentions, imaginative daydreaming, masturbation (m!undergoing), straddling, orgasm mentions, attraction, seductive mentions, sexual actions, slight dry-humping, arousal mention, etc.

➸a.i; - we are so back amen also not proof readddd + recommended songs below!!

(1st quarter)

(2nd quarter)

(3rd quarter)

(4th quarter)

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

It started with subtle glances, correction, it always started with subtle glances. Impressively it hadn’t gotten much farther than that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want it too.

Out at a large celebratory festival thrown by the entire village as a sort of remembrance of the great war is when he saw you. Of course, he and his family were the center of attention, being deemed some branch of royalty, and yet you were in his view all night.

His attention span wasn’t as good as he thought it was, or as well as his father had trained it to be, especially when it came to something he liked. Well, he wasn’t sure if he liked you, he hadn’t known you, not a name, a voice, or a touch, just a face, hair, skin, and your body.

Whatever it was you had him looking at you constantly, it was something he could do all the time without getting bored. Unexpectedly that’s nearly what he did all night if it wasn’t for his siblings and parents driving him elsewhere.

He watched as you interacted with your friends, or maybe they were family, he wouldn’t know. He watched the way you smiled and nodded as you listened to the conversation of others, oddly enough your smile was enough to make him smile as well.

His favorite was watching the way your chest heaved, and throat rumbled a bit before you’d laugh, quickly placing a hand in front of your mouth as you did so. Thankfully for him he was watching from the side, so he could still see your mouth as you laughed.

Or maybe the way you moved so fluently from one table to another to acquire more food and drinks for the others. The way you’d move to the sounds of the music, or how he’d read your lips to know you were slightly singing along.

Neteyam is a man of many things, an observer at largest. It’s one of the skills his father taught him that he’s always favorited. “Always check your surroundings when you enter a new crowd”, and somehow after taking in his father’s advice he’d always attempt to look for you.

In gathering parties after hunting cycles, visitors who would come to his family’s kelku or even his own, even while he trained the younger warriors as their general. Even if you managed to be somewhere off afar, he would be quick to catch your eye, you’d always stand for a second before waving him a quick hello before moving along.

That was enough to change his routine as embarrassing as it sounds. Like taking a completely different route to get out in the morning or get to base camp and train warriors earlier than anticipated on certain days of the week because you’d be in the forest across from the gentlemen.

He knew better than to approach you so suddenly, well not suddenly, it’s been weeks since he had first seen you. He wasn’t sure how he could form a simple conversation without fucking himself over.

It isn’t easy to start a small conversation and ask for the name of someone who you’ve been infatuated with for a while now. He would always just brush it off and try to surround himself with working or training to occupy his time.

Until of course his parents were sure to sit him down and now seriously talk to him about his future and their future heirs. The fact you continuously rotted his mind as his parents spoke to the point where his breathing was ragged was enough to say. His parents understood well enough there was someone who their eldest had an eye on, they just didn’t know if their son was ready for it.

Oh, he was more than ready for it, ready for you. If it wasn’t embarrassing enough, he prayed to Ewya several times throughout the day just to get closer with you, maybe bump into one another or brush against one another. Just to hear you laugh again or see what style you’ve done differently with your hair, and thankfully it seems she answered.

As Neteyam stayed late tidying up after the warriors he was training you waved off your friends, a basket clung to your side filled with fruits. His eyes never left your figure, narrowing them as he watched your movements as you spun around and listening to your words as you mentioned something that had given him interest.

“I can do next week's batch myself! Thank you, guys.”

Oh? That seemed like the perfect opportunity for him, at least to get past a hand wave each week. He smiled to himself softly as he began to think of what he would plan for then until he heard your friends reply back to you. They all yelled their goodbyes and your name following after, ringing in his ears like the roar of a palulukan.

“Y/n” he whispered to himself softly before chewing on his bottom lip. He hadn’t wasted any time in collecting his other belongings and making his way back to his kelku.

He had officially made up his mind on what he wanted to do, and how he would work his way up to you. He just needed to wait until morning and get as much sleep as possible.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

Neteyam was too clever for his own good, nodding too himself at a job well done before shoving the items he had taken back into his families kelku. Surprisingly enough he waited the whole week to remove the fruits on the lower branches, and leaving those only he could reach.

This was a new low, even for him, he’d never done something like this before especially not for a woman. Like everyone loves to say, there’s a first time for everything of course.

So of course, he waited and waited for you to arrive, keeping his warriors in training as he tightened the bindings by his waist before making his way over to you.

“Do you need assistance?” He asked, his voice calm but firm, looking down at you. You perked your head to the side slightly your eyes not leaving the fruits hung up from above you. He watched your arm reach back up again before lowering it slowly and fixing your eyes on him.

He took in your figure for a moment, watching as your hair now laid on top of your shoulders and collarbones now as you fully faced him. He also took in your scent, it was sweet and so captivating, if he wasn’t any stronger, he would’ve lost his mind over it, over you.

“Yes please, if you aren’t too busy” you said softly, nodding slightly and thanking him, taking a step back to give him enough space. He could never be too busy for you, never, even if he wasn’t he would’ve left whatever it was if he could just see you, let alone help.

He wasted no time in reaching his arm over, plucking a handful of fruits from each branch in front of the two of you. His hands were large, you took that into account, palming nearly 6 of the fruits in just one hand with a steady grip so they wouldn’t fall. Yet again he was gentle with them to the point where they wouldn’t burst or ooze out.

As you held out your basket for him to place the fruits in with others that were already inside you could hear his breath falter slightly. Your attention was focused upon his face, scanning it for something, whatever it was he hadn’t liked it, it made him uncomfortable. His gaze quickly diverted from yours, looking back at his warriors in training now on a ‘water-break’ before clearing his throat and speaking up.

“It’s nice to finally meet you properly, my name is Neteyam.” He spoke softly, turning his gaze back to you and motioning the ‘I see you’ gesture, as you did the same to him. He was whipped, his pupils widening slightly as he watched you in awe. Honestly if he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve assumed his jaw was open as he listened to your voice.

The way you nodded and smiled at him, not hiding it. Or maybe the way you greeted him and thanked him for his help, introducing yourself lines after. He liked the way you said your name, pronounced it in your thick accent, or how your lips pursed together when you said it. How it sounded differently coming from yourself than your friends from last week. He loved how you said his name, especially so fluently, so full of curiosity and care, or how your lips touched at the last letter of his name.

Maybe he does like you, just a little, remember he still doesn’t know you, or at least not as well as he wanted too, no matter how bad he wanted to change that. All he could do was watch you walk away from him yet again, a full conversation not even brewing between the two of you and it was killing him. Watching you wave your goodbyes to him, watching the way the small woven basket clung to your side like a newborn child, or even how you made walking look easy, different almost, in your own way.

He could only stand and close his eyes, bawling his fists for mere seconds to bask in your scent again, envisioning you again, you smile, your lips, your eyes, your everything. A snarl was practically ready to rip out from his chest, he was so close and yet so far. Temptation is such an evil thing, almost like a parasite eating at its host, but with Neteyam it seemed as if he loved the thrill that would come from it. Being nervous around you, going out of his way just to see you, or help you in any way he can, he’s not being weird or anything, just friendly.

Right

Friendly

He’s being friendly because he’s a nice kindhearted man, doing his duty looking out for the people in his clan.

So why was it so different with you? What made you so different? Everything made you different, like how you bring a heat to his face or chest, this isn’t normal in the slightest. He thought to himself how he interacts with other friends his age or how they make him feel, and it was nothing like this, and honestly, he wasn’t appalled, just drawn in further.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

It’s nothing but curiosity, he had questions and what better way than to answer them himself. He knows he has issues, like not liking to ask others for help, but he didn’t need it, he already knew so much about you from just watching you closely over the next few weeks.

What flowers you liked and how you liked them sorted, your favorite fruit being the same one he helped you pick, how many members of your family there were, and surprising enough you are the middle child. He was proud of himself, practically swallowing down the shame and guilt he had for following you around, he used his skills for great use, and it was only for a short period of time.

Now things have gotten even better, as your father had gone directly towards the leader of your people, Neteyam’s father for help on your behavior. Something new to get your energy out of, the stress and pressure of personal things were getting to you, and he was sure archery would be of great help.

Either that or sparring, and it seemed safer to spar, as he couldn’t dream of the casualty if you were to strike someone with an arrow. Whether you liked it or not you had no other choice to comply, but when you found out that Neteyam would be fitting you into his tight schedule and be your personal trainer things seemed to be a little better.

You were a very picky woman, but honestly you couldn’t hate or push past him, he seemed sweet and gentle, plus very handsome. You’d be completely stupid to send away a man like him, that you knew, and you were anything other than dumb, so you’d stick by him.

Like as of right now, being your first day of sparring with Neteyam. The two of you circling each other slightly, a small bruise on your arm as there was a much larger one underneath Neteyam’s left eye. Apparently, his job was to fish out whatever emotions he could out of you, and honestly it was working.

Of course, it was working because the way you attacked him was uncalled for, you were a fighter unlike one he’d seen before. You don’t fight with grace or precision; you fight with everything you have. As if your life is at stake and you’re struggling to stay alive, fighting however you can and using your surroundings. You fought against him as if he was genuinely inflicting harm onto you, as if it was kill or be killed in a simple sparring.

The several times he caught up to your tactics he only pinned your arms behind your back momentarily. His broad and heavy chest pressed against your broad back, both of your breathing patterns seeming to align with one another, heavy and rough. His breath fanning your skin by your neck, making you jolt slightly and kick his leg with force, knocking him back.

Is fighting supposed to have this much tension in it? It didn’t make any sense; this hadn’t made any sense. This was much more difficult than you anticipated, and worst of all Neteyam enjoyed every second of it. The touching, glances, subtle smirks or victorious expressions you’d give off.

He was doing it on purpose, between the two of you he was and would always be the better fighter, he was just letting you win. In his eyes you deserved it, you deserve anything he can provide for you, and so that’s exactly what he’d do.

He laid on the sandy floors beneath the two of you, sighing to himself heavily before propping himself up on his elbows. You turned around swiftly to take in his state, then looking back at yourself before offering him a hand. He happily took it and bounced back to his feet, announcing this would be the last fight between the two of you for the evening as the sun began to fade and colors filled the sky.

Well, that was a few minutes ago, as of now you were sure how or when this happened. Or maybe you made a wrong move to fuck yourself over, but this wasn’t expected at all. You laid back flat against the sandy floors now, Neteyam atop you, his forearm pressed against your collarbone as he used his hand to press down on your shoulder.

He was firm yet gentle, like he always had been, always had been with you. It’s not that you couldn’t move, you could, you just refused too. You refused to go anywhere or ruin this moment; with the way he was looking into your eyes or the way his seemed blown out you couldn’t help but look at him in awe.

The colors of the sky were now fully in effect as the dim sunlight shined brighter than ever, the hues mixing into his blue skin and eyes. Your eyes seemed to be moving at speed beyond explanation as you wanted to take in such a sight.

It hadn’t seemed like he wanted to move either, but unfortunately, he was quick to move off of you, apologizing. This time he was the one to offer you a hand to help you up, which you took and stood up, dusting yourself off. You also took this time to dust off your face if there was any dirt there before looking up at him.

His eyes were already fixated on you, correction, they never left you. You made your way around him slightly before squinting, as the sunlight was now directly on you and your face. It was hard to see with the nearly blinding light, but you could still feel his eyes on you. You only turned around, you're back now facing him as you packed your belongings before thanking him before getting ready to leave, and to which he wasted no time in stopping you.

“Will I see you tomorrow morning? After we return from our morning hunt?” He asked, his voice laced with anxiety and eagerness. Eager for you to say yes, hungry almost, and to see you nodding in agreement only sent a large smile plastered onto his face. The two of you saying your goodbyes and leaving your spot before seeing your families again.

The way you clouded Neteyam’s mind was intoxicating and sickening. He would trip over his own feet and tail if he hadn’t had a strong heart and mind. He finally had you exactly where he wanted you after so long and he was nonetheless happier than ever. He was happy that you finally saw him, saw how he saw you. Or at least he was content that you were able to see yourself through his eyes without having to share a word.

Oh, how he wishes he could come home to you every night instead of just the thought of you, his short, fixated imagination of you sprawled against his bed. Maybe even you waltzing around his kelku with that sly little walk you do, the one that makes him keep his eyes on your hips and thighs.

He wishes most of all in this very moment for you to be with him now, at the very back of his kelku, out of sight and out of mind. In his large cut off of water from the main rivers supply just to his satisfaction to clean off, the two of your bodies entangled with one another like how they had been earlier.

That would be perfect to him, feeling your hand graze down against his chest to his torso again. Or listen to you say his name over and over, and even the way you’d adjust your loincloth and top after every other fight. The sounds you’d make whenever he’d pin your arms, or how you groaned when he had you pinned to the ground beneath the two of you.

This is dirty, and wrong, so wrong, and something so wrong shouldn’t feel so good. Sadly, it did, and he just couldn’t help it or stop himself from going on, it was too much pressure to let build up. Neteyam could practically envision you in front of him, he traced his hands around his body the same way you had, picturing you with your small smile and scent talking to him.

He couldn’t stop himself he truly couldn’t, nothing could rip away this blissful moment from him. A moment so lustful and sacred and yet so beautiful and gentle to him was meant to be cherished and shared with you, and yet he still didn’t fully have you, he couldn’t have you.

The flicks of you replaying over and over in his mind as he quickened his pace down his body, his tip now leaning pre-cum as he continued, faster now. His breathing was heavier, and he felt more focused and intense than before, his non dominant hand gripping at the sides of his bath beside him as he went on.

Unexpectedly sooner than later, his climax came, much more intense than any other he’d had prior with any other woman he’d been with. This was raw and passionate, let alone the fact he was much more vocal than ever, mumbling your name over and over. Even though he bit down on his bottom lip to the point where blood was drawn, he couldn’t help his loud sounds as he reached his peak.

He was breathing like a man who hadn’t breathed fresh air in years. His chest heaving as he threw his head back with a sigh of relief, the hand gripping his sides of his bath now running through his messy wet braids. Cursing softly under his breath as he cleaned himself off with a slight smile on his face.

Desire is so dangerous.

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

Yearning is a strange feeling, at least towards Neteyam. He was so quick and easy to pick out what he liked and didn’t like. Like the other women in the village, he had ‘met’ with. It’s not that anything was wrong with them, but when it came to actually listening to their morals or finding out they’d only gotten close to him because of his title and physical attributes he was quicker to leave them then pleasure them.

To Neteyam the first thing that caught his attention from you was being able to hear your voice almost instantly in such a loud and unique crowd. It was fascinating to say the least, like how he had sat alongside the ocean back when his family seeked refuge from the metkayina clan. The oceans crashing waves being so loud and deafening yet so soothing like nothing he’d experienced before until hearing your voice, then seeing you.

This was supposed to be your second week of training with another, transitioning towards a third. The more the two of you would spar, with or without weapons, he was sure to go easy on you at times. He was sure to give you distance, as he felt it wasn’t right you weren’t given much of it the first time.

But whatever gap that lasted between the two of you was quickly sealed by you. You didn’t like the distance between you too, you didn’t like his quietness. You wanted to see him how you had prior; you wanted him close to you and you wanted his skin to brush against yours.

Maybe it was just between the heat of battle from the two of you, but it was enjoyable. You enjoyed spending so much time of your day alongside Neteyam, not worried if you were to be bruised or laid out on the floor time and time again.

It pushed you to arrive earlier than expected towards your training with one another, to which you clutched your woven bag in one hand. You laid it out on the rocks beside you as you watched Neteyam, his back facing you as you listened to a repetition of a scraping sound.

“You’re very early today y/n.” He spoke smoothly, not stopping his motion of sharpening one of the countless blades scattered in front of him. His ears picked up on your footsteps through the forest long before his nose picked up on your scent, bringing a wide smile to his face.

“I’m sorry, I had nothing to do with my extra time, I didn’t know you would be busy. Ohe tsun za’u ne’im mawkrr.” [I can come back later] You stated, only earning a disapproving head shake from Neteyam who stopped his movements and placed a blade off to the side. He raised that same hand to motion for you to take a seat next to him, and you did just that.

The distance between the two of you seemed so far apart, even aside the fact you were seated perfectly next to each other. Legs crossed and your knees brushing against one another with each action Neteyam made as he sharpened the next blade, you only watched him.

Whenever you saw him or was as close as you are now with him his eyes were always fixated on you. His entire body was fixated on your figure, following your every move. Now it felt different watching him put that energy into something else, it made you curious exactly what it was for.

His scent was stronger than usual, making you inhale the air around you stronger than you had before. He smelled like the strong trees of your people and the soft moss around your home, or how free the air smelled before a storm, it was soothing.

It was also soothing to watch how he worked; you could tell he was doing this for a while, the objects leaving harsh red indents on his hands and arms. Or how he was sweating and because of that his hair on his hairline was stuck to his forehead, with the rest of his braids tied back into a loose bun.

All except one strand, obviously blocking his vision, and it bothered you just as much as it must’ve been bothering him. So, you helped him, you simply reached out to his face slightly and brushed the braid behind his ear, watching as his ear twitched in response. His eyes darted over to yours for only a split second before he chewed on his bottom lip and diverted his gaze back to his work.

‘Just look at me like that one more time, please’ you thought to yourself. Whatever you could do to help quicken the process of whatever he was doing you’d do just that. You wanted this to be over with, for you to have his full attention, you missed it.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, now hunching over slightly and continuing his work at a quicker pace now. You only nodded and hummed in response, your own way of saying you’re welcome. Your attention now turned to the bowl of cut fruits to the side of the two of you and the blades as small flies began to fly around it.

They must’ve been attracted to its scent and appeal. Sweet and soft, as you were in Neteyam’s eyes. The fruits must’ve been his, he just hadn’t had time to eat them, and it seemed now the pests were ready to do the job for him.

“They’ll eat your fruits if you aren’t quick enough” you joked. Smiling as you continued to swat them away and bring the bowl to your lap as you earned a small chuckle from him. Your gaze fixated on his face before back to the pests that now found their retreat and flew away.

“My hands are too dirty to feed myself. If I were to eat them all of these blades would be dirty and sticky.” He said with a hum, his hands running over the blade he just sharpened before placing it to the side, grabbing one of the last few from the large basket to his side.

“I can feed it to you.” You replied almost immediately, desperately, your face buzzing with excitement as your tail began to swing from behind you against the sand. Neteyam now turned his head to you, eyes fixated on your face, then your figure and pausing when he saw the bowl in your lap.

A familiar heat crept up to his face and chest, making his fingers clamp down against the blade he was holding and look away for a moment. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact you seemed so eager to do this for him, or how you hadn’t even known how intimate something like that was.

Surprisingly enough you hadn’t even waited for his answer, already picking a large piece from the bowl into your fingers and bringing them to his face. He only turned his head back to his work, as if rejecting the offer and sniffling, working much faster now.

You hadn’t taken that as an answer however, now moving the blades that were in front of the two of you off to the side to sit directly in front of Neteyam. Placing the fruit up to his lips and watching them intently, a smile grew to yours as he took the fruit into his mouth.

He chewed softly as he continued, you only watched him, the way his jaw tightened with each bite he dug into the fruit. Now you were fixated on his throat, how he swallowed, or how his abs flexed when he hunched over again, tossing the sharpened blade behind you.

You continue to feed him, piece after piece, he was gentle. Careful to not let his lips touch your fingertips, but that’s not what you wanted, you wanted to be closer, to be intimate. Maybe if you moved your fingers closer, you’d feel his lips.

It made you curious as to certain things like how they felt, if they were as soft as they looked. Or how they tasted, if they were as sweet as the fruit he was eating now. You were flushed but it didn’t matter, it was too late to go back now you just couldn’t help yourself.

It seemed your body was moving without your mind controlling it because without a second thought of feeding him the last piece of fruit you licked your own fingertips. What was even worse was the fact you made sure to do it as he had his eyes fixated on you, you did it on purpose to this attention.

The same way you purposely took the tools from his hands and tossed them aside, now sitting up on your knees and straddling yourself into his lap. You hoisted yourself up and rested your arms on his shoulders, interlocking your fingers behind his back before kissing him.

And of course, with your quick actions Neteyam hadn’t wasted a single second kissing you back, practically eating you alive. He was eager, hot, starving, and so desperate for you, so desperate for more. This is more than a dream come true, it’s like a blessing from above for him, and he didn’t want this moment to stop.

He could see it in your eyes what you were planning to do since you were feeding him, how you caught onto his body language. He was observing you, eating along with him, brushing your fingertips against his lips, watching as he paused to fix his loincloth before he continued his work again.

He saw the look in your eyes, a familiar one, because it was a look he had constantly given you, a look of yearning, starvation, and curiosity. Now you were kissing him, straddling him, and he just couldn’t help but dive deeper into you, your tongues practically fighting one another. You folded quickly under the pressure, your knees sinking as you melted into him, now attempting to pull back to catch your breath.

You moaned into him, and he felt your hands now pushing against his chest, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop. He only grabbed ahold of your hands and continued, not caring to stop for air. He’d rather die than end this moment between the two of you, this blessed moment. Your lips hadn’t separated from his, your lips practically stuck together, you tasted so sweet, sweeter than the fruits the two of you were eating together.

Your mouth was hot and wet, it was welcoming, practically telling him to come in and make himself welcome, and he did so. After a few seconds he pulled away from the kiss slightly, your faces not even centimeters apart as you began to breathe heavy.

He watched your chest heave, placing a hand over it and feeling your heartbeat. It was fast, and strong, he only closed his eyes and focused on it, pining his ears to the sides of his head. He smiled to himself softly when you did the same, your smaller hand resting against his chest. He looked up at you, losing his thought in your eyes that only pulled him in deeper.

The two of you sat in the position for a while, lips brushing against one another but never being able to kiss as before. All until you pulled away, hearing footsteps make their way towards the two of you, Neteyam kept his hand in yours even after you stood up to cause distance between the two of you. You were startled to see the person making their way towards you was his sister, you jolted and pulled your hand back from him before she came over to the two of you.

She greeted you, and as she did Neteyam had stood up now, adjusting his loincloth from his obvious issue of earlier, a small wet spot on the side of it from you, now turning around to see his sister. The two greeted each other as you grabbed your bag, running your hands through your hair and placing a hand over your mouth, getting the image of earlier out of your head.

“Mom and Dad want to talk to you it’s urgent.” She stated, bumping her brothers’ shoulder before looking up at him. She followed his trail of vision to you, who had been waving bye to the two of them with a small smile.

She waved back as she watched her brother wave back with a large smile on his face, immediately catching on to his reactions. She only shook her head and sighed before taking her brothers hand to follow her in the opposite direction.

“Good luck with that, hopefully you can tell her before you meet the woman mom and dad have waiting for you tomorrow morning.”

What?

-ˋˏ ༻❁✿❀༺ ˎˊ-

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Black Dress

Part 4 - Mall Rats

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Inside a quiet department store, Jungkook’s playful tease turned heated as he chose a dress - and undressed Y/N with his eyes.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, kissing, cursing, clit play, fingering, public sex (there’s a door), wall sex, unprotected sex, slight manhandling,

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The department store loomed ahead, its gleaming windows reflecting the late afternoon sun in a haze of gold. The kind of light that made everything look softer, more cinematic, like we were walking into the opening scene of something we wouldn’t forget.

Jungkook’s hand brushed mine as we stepped inside, the blast of air conditioning washing over our skin and drawing a shiver from both of us. The air in the store was colder, chilled, unlike the rest of the mall. It made the moment feel instantly more intimate like we’d crossed into a space all our own.

The store was nearly empty, save for the soft footsteps of a few scattered employees folding clothes or adjusting displays in the distance.

The faint scent of new fabric and cologne lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of soft background music. It was quiet enough to hear each other’s breaths, and the subtle shift in Jungkook’s expression told me everything I needed to know: he was planning something.

That mischievous sparkle lit up his eyes, paired with a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The kind of look that meant trouble- the best kind.

I felt a flutter of anticipation in my chest, a tiny jolt that coursed down my spine and pooled low in my belly.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, tugging me gently toward the women’s section. His grip was firm, but not rushed. Deliberate. Teasing. His fingers were warm against mine, grounding me in the moment and simultaneously making my pulse race.

I followed without question, my curiosity piqued and heart pounding softly, every step closer to the back racks like a countdown.

The racks of clothes stretched out before us in rows. Fabric swaying lightly as we passed through them, brushing against our sides. A rainbow of textures and colors surrounded us, but Jungkook’s gaze was focused, scanning like he already knew what he was looking for.

Then he stopped.

His hand reached out, pulling a sleek black dress from the rack with an easy, almost instinctive motion. He held it up between us, the fabric catching the overhead light in a soft sheen.

It was simple but striking. Thin straps, a low neckline that hinted at something daring, and a fit that would cling to every curve like it was meant to.

I swallowed, eyes flicking from the dress to him. His expression had shifted, just barely, but I saw it. The way his gaze lingered. The way his tongue swept briefly across his bottom lip.

It was undeniably sexy- a form-fitting number that hugged the curves in all the right places.

“Try this on,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I want to see you in it.”

My cheeks flushed, and I couldn’t help but laugh nervously. “Really?”

He raised an eyebrow, his lip piercing glinting in the light. “Why not? It’s not like anyone’s around.”

I hesitated, but the way he looked at me, hungry, yet tender, made my resistance crumble. “Fine,” I conceded, taking the dress from him. “But you’re waiting outside the dressing room.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a wink, gesturing toward the nearby stalls.

The dressing room was small and dimly lit, the mirror reflecting my nervous expression.

I slipped off my clothes and slid the dress over my head. It fit like a glove, accentuating my waist and hugging my hips. I couldn’t deny it- I looked good.

But as I stepped out of the stall, my confidence wavered when I saw Jungkook sitting on a stool just outside, his gaze intense and unapologetically appreciative.

“Wow,” he breathed, standing up slowly.

His eyes trailed down my body, lingering on the way the dress clung to my curves. “Fucking perfect.”

My cheeks burned hotter, but his words sent a thrill through me. Before I could respond, he growled softly, his hand shooting out to grab my wrist.

He pulled me back into the dressing room, the curtain pulling shut behind us. The small space felt even smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

“You look so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice rough as he pressed me against the wall, knee shoved in between my legs.

His lips crashed against my neck, his kisses hot and hungry. I gasped as his teeth grazed my skin, leaving kisses that would surely bruise. His hands were everywhere, his touch both gentle and demanding.

“Jungkook,” I whispered, my voice shaky as his hands slid up my thighs, pushing the dress up to my waist. My breath hitched when his fingers brushed against my panties, already damp with anticipation.

“So wet for me,” he murmured against my ear, his breath warm. “You like this, don’t you?”

I nodded, unable to form words as he slipped his fingers inside me. His touch was firm, his thumb pressing against my clit in a rhythm that made my knees weak. I moaned softly, my head falling back against the wall as he worked me with practiced ease.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. He pulled his hand away, and I whimpered at the loss, only to gasp when he spat into his hand and pressed his fingers back inside me.

His other hand gripped my hip, holding me steady as he thrust his fingers in and out, his thumb never leaving my clit.

“Jungkook, please- ” I panted, my body arching toward him.

“Not yet,” he growled, his lips brushing my ear. “I just want to feel you first.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through me, and I couldn’t hold back the desperate moans that escaped my lips. He teased me mercilessly, his fingers driving me closer and closer to the edge.

Just as I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled his hand away, leaving me trembling and breathless.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice firm.

I did as he said, my face pressing against the wall as he stepped closer. His hands gripped my hips, his touch possessive as he positioned himself behind me. I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance, thick and insistent.

“Ready?” he asked, his breath hot against my neck.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He thrust into me in one smooth motion, filling me completely. I gasped, my head falling forward as he held me up, his hands gripping my hips tightly.

The wall was cold against my chest, but the heat between us was overwhelming. He moved slowly at first, his cock sliding in and out of me with deliberate precision.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “So fucking tight.”

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder and more urgent. I could feel the tension building inside me, my body coiling tighter with each movement.

His lips brushed my ear, his breath hot as he whispered filthy things, his words fueling the fire burning within me.

“Cum for me,” he growled, his grip tightening on my hips. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

His thumb found my clit again, rubbing firm circles that pushed me over the edge. My body shook as I climaxed, my walls tightening around him, my cries echoing in the small space.

He growled, his grip on my hips tightening as he pulled out, spinning me to face him. His eyes were dark, his expression raw with desire. “Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I obeyed, my legs locking around his waist as he lifted me, pressing me against the wall. His lips crashed against mine, the kiss hungry, desperate, as he thrust back into me. The angle was different, deeper, and I moaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured between kisses, his eyes holding mine. “All mine. Every inch of you.”

His words sent a fresh wave of desire through me, his thrusts becoming more urgent. I could feel him swelling inside me, his control slipping as he neared the edge. “Jungkook,” I whispered, my voice breathless. “I’m- ”

“Cum with me,” he growled, his lips brushing against mine. “Right now.”

His words were my undoing. My body shook as my orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure washing through me.

I cried out, my voice muffled against his lips. He followed soon after, his thrusts stuttering as he buried himself deep inside me, his groans filling the small space.

For a moment, we stood there, breathless and connected, his heart pounding against my back.

Slowly, he pulled out, his hands gently turning me to face him. His lips curved into a satisfied smile as he brushed a strand of hair from my face.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice soft now, almost tender.

I laughed weakly, my cheeks still flushed. “Thank you,”

He chuckled, pulling me into a hug. “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

As I slipped back into my clothes, the dress still pooled around my feet, I couldn’t stop smiling. Jungkook waited patiently, his gaze never leaving me. When we finally emerged, he took my hand, his thumb brushing my knuckles.

“You’re keeping the dress, right? It looks too good on you to leave it here.” he asked, his tone playful.

“Definitely,” I replied, laughing. “It’s got… sentimental value now.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Good. Because I’ve got plans for it.”

We made our way to the checkout, the dress clutched in my hand. The cashier gave us a curious look, but we just laughed, our secret safe between us.

As we left the store, hand in hand, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Jungkook’s plans for the dress, and for us, were far from over. And I couldn’t wait to find out what came next.

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These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

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Posted: 06/04/2025

[berrryparfait]

sweet, sweet dessert ⋆୨୧˚

❥ req by: @sadfragilegirl | prompt

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: xavier x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: the food is delectable, the ambience serene. your first date with xavier is going perfectly—so much so that you just might decide to grab dessert on the way home instead. 「you're taking me to new places...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] fluff and smut, wholesome dinner date, not-so-wholesome car sex, reader realizes she's falling in love

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: 1.6k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: touch – keshi

✧ a/n: sorry this took a while! i loved this prompt so much i wanted to make sure i did it justice XD

Everything about tonight is perfect.

Soft, jazzy music plays in the background, their sensual symphony occasionally interrupted by the soft clinking of champagne flutes and idle chatter between lovers. Everyone here is dressed to the nines, including you.

You take a seat opposite your date, fanning the underside of your dress out elegantly and trying not to let your nerves get the best of you. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re afraid he can hear it—afraid he’ll figure out he’s the cause of your anxiety. How could he not be? He looks undeniably gorgeous in that finely-pressed suit, his hair styled neatly and his skin almost glowing in the warm candlelight.

But the gentle expression on his face reassures you. You notice the way his eyes light up when you sit down across him, and it calms you. “You look beautiful,” he remarks shyly, and you reply with a simple thanks.

Is this what a date between two introverts looks like?

You tell yourself to stop freaking out and enjoy the evening. After all, how many times in your life will you get to dine at a fancy place like this, with a genuinely good guy like him?

“I took the liberty of asking the chef to prepare his finest, no specifics included. I hope that’s okay with you.” He looks away then, a sheepish blush spreading across his face.

“Of course. I love food surprises,” you giggle. Was that weird?

Xavier smiles at the sound of your laugh, and your breath catches in your throat. God, he’s so sexy. “Me too. I also sleep a lot, if we’re revealing fun facts about ourselves.”

You laugh at his “fun fact”, relieved. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a deep sleeper.” A lie. He looks sleepy already. But not in a way that implies he’s bored—more so that he missed his daily afternoon nap. “My turn. I think you’re very charming, Xavier.” It’s a bold statement, bolder than you would’ve tried with any other guy.

But he makes you feel safe, somehow. He’s not like the others. It’s a strange feeling; you’ve barely known each other a week and you already trust him with your life.

He blushes furiously, smirking. That was a really hot smirk. “I think you’re quite charming yourself, <y/n>.”

Suddenly, the temperature in the room skyrockets. The air has shifted—at least from your point of view. All this flirtation has escalated things from zero to a hundred, and you’re shocked—maybe even scandalized—by the thoughts that materialize in your head. Slow down, you ravenous slut. The guy doesn’t even know your favorite color!

You decide to shove those thoughts aside for later tonight. This is your first date, for goodness sake. Why are you thinking about his—

“Where do you work?” he interrupts your train of thought, a favor you’ll have to repay him.

The two of you fall deep into possibly the best conversation you’ve ever had, switching from topics like movies to siblings and music to lifelong dreams. He’s an incredibly insightful person, yet he never speaks out of turn and waits patiently while you fumble for the right words. He’s a great listener.

It turns you on.

I’m a horrible person, you think to yourself, berating your cycle for ringing in ovulation week now. “Are you alright?” he asks, mildly concerned.

Fuck, he noticed you zoning out. “Yeah, of course! Sorry, you were saying?”

That little smirk again. “I asked if you wanted to get dessert.”

“I never say no to dessert.”

“Shall we drive out?”

…

You step into the passenger’s seat of his car and try your best not to gape. It’s the most beautiful car you’ve ever seen, maybe, all smooth surfaces and shiny metal plates. He climbs in next to you after shutting your door, and instantly you’re consumed by his scent; pine leaves and fresh herbs. It leaves you feeling thick and heady and pools right in your core.

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

“Ready?” He starts the engine and waits for your cue.

You nod, unable to form words. Think about dessert. Strawberry shortcake. Crème brûlée. Lemon sherbert. It works for a while, before you notice the thin veins on his hands and the way his side profile looks in the dim moonlight.

This is the most painful drive ever. “Where are we going?” you ask, hoping for a distraction.

“There’s this really good ice cream place not far from here. I was thinking I could drop you home after.”

“That sounds great. Thanks.”

You sit in silence for the next fifteen minutes, watching the trees pass as he expertly navigates his way through the darkness. You aren’t exactly in the most accessible of areas right now, driving from one town to another and all.

He slows down then, staring at his GPS. A crease appears between his brows. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to park in this corner for a little while to check if we’re going in the right direction. This GPS can be faulty at times.”

If it were anyone else, your suspicions would’ve been raised. But Xavier has a way of making you feel completely at ease. You know in your heart that he wouldn’t try anything on you. Besides, you told a bunch of your friends about your date tonight, and they know who to call if anything were to happen to you.

As he fiddles with the GPS, pushing all these little buttons you would’ve had no idea how to work out, you attempt to avert your gaze from his slender fingers and that annoyingly seductive scent. It doesn’t work this time. Thoughts of dessert can only get you so far when there’s a whole dish sitting right next to you.

On an impulse, you do something you would’ve never done before tonight. You lean in close and gently kiss him on the corner of his mouth.

It’s a small peck, but his eyes go wide. He straightens and looks at your lips, struggling to even speak. “I—You—”

“Shhh…” you whisper, suddenly feeling brave. You stretch over the gear stick to plant another kiss underneath his eye, then one on his cheek. You’re in an uncomfortable position right now, back arched across two seats with your ass up facing the foggy window, but you don’t care. You’re so turned on right now he’s all you can think about.

He doesn’t pull away from your advances, instead slowly running his hands around your waist to guide you onto his lap. Every few seconds, a car zooms past. It’s exhilarating.

You settle inches away from his groin, placing your elbows on his shoulders and your hands on the back of his seat. When your lips meet, sparks explode from your chest, and your brain is flooded with him. The way his lips taste—feel. The warmth growing between your legs.

He kisses you back eagerly, his breath against your lips as he mutters, “What…about…dessert…”

“Fuck dessert… Later…” You grind against him, and he whines at the sensation. He’s hard as a rock, and he knows it.

Fucking on the first date? Why the hell not.

You reach for his belt, but he gets there first. He fumbles a little, too engrossed in your kisses, but he pulls it free with a single, devastatingly sexy tug.

Your hands grasp at his zipper and boxers next, and with one fluid movement his hard length is exposed to you. Fuck, he’s big. You clench at the sight of him, your clit throbbing.

Realizing that precious time is being wasted, you lift yourself up on your knees and pull your dress up to your waist. He pulls your wet panties to the side, drowning in the sight of your dripping pussy mere inches from his tip.

You slide onto him, feeling the length of his cock rub against your walls for the first time. It’s too much—the pressure, the friction. He throws his head back in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him.

Slowly, you begin to bounce on his dick, your moans echoing within the car as every pump sends your mind into a thoughtless spiral. His thumbs are digging into your waist, his fingers around your ass. “Fuck— You’re so—tight—” he bites out, his breaths belabored and strangled. He pushes the neckline of your dress down, freeing you tits and letting them bounce in his face.

It’s overwhelming. The feeling of your clit hitting the hard plane of his stomach. His tip planting wet kisses on the back of your cervix. The wet noises and vulgar squelches permeating the air. His cock pounding against your g-spot. The thought of you fucking a guy you just met in his car.

A guy you may or may not be falling in love with.

“I’m going to cum— I’m—” You both come undone at the same time, warm spurts of cum filling you up as you shake uncontrollably in his grip, your mind completely blank save for the blinding intensity of your first orgasm in ages.

When you’ve slid back into your seat, cum still dripping from your pulsating cunt, you’re both utterly exhausted. He’s the first to recover, his pants growing softer as he reaches for a blanket in the back seat and drapes it over your body. “Do you…need anything?”

You smile at him wearily, a warm glow emanating from every inch of you. He’s so sweet.

“I’d really like some dessert.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Lazy Mornings

Eddie Munson x gn!reader Summary: Just a lazy morning spent with Eddie

Eddie was never really one to spend his days doing nothing. It made him feel antsy, feeling his body thrum with unused energy when he would sit around in his trailer all day, waiting around for something to come find him. He found it hard to sit still, hard to wind down and just be, when his overactive brain was running wild with ideas of things to do and places to be.

But with you came a sense of calm that he was missing. A simple touch from your hand to his shoulder and he feels himself melt against it. You brought peace to his chaos that he badly needed.

The soft hum of his battered cassette player, Pantera playing at half volume, filled the background with a gentle noise to break the otherwise silent trailer. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains as the sun popped up over the horizon, painting golden streaks across the messy bed, across his bare arms, and most importantly—across you.

You were sprawled against him, head resting on his chest, your fingers moving lazily, tracing patterns against the warm skin of his stomach where you'd lifted his shirt up gently. The delicate, soft feeling of your hand on his body ignited sparks behind his skin, the feeling warm and fuzzy as he gazed down at you.

God, you were beautiful.

Your lashes fluttered slightly as you blinked slowly and lazily as you stared off into space, eyes catching the light in a way that made his chest ache. Your soft lips, were parted just enough to let out those quiet, sleepy sighs that he could feel against his skin, warm air brushing against him. Your hair, hanging messily across your back and face as you leant against him, tickling his skin, soft against his hand as he moved to run his fingers through there.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.

Eddie grinned, his fingers moving to trail up and down your back, lazy and slow, “yeah? And what if I am?”

You huffed a little, shifting to peek up at him through lidded eyes as you raise your eyebrows at him, “then I’d say you’re a weirdo.”

He smirked, fingers moving to your chin, tilting it up slightly so he could get a better look at you, “and I’d say you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen if we wanna be stating the obvious.”

Your face warmed instantly, and Eddie didn’t even try to hide his little chuckle. He loved catching you off guard, loved the way your nose scrunched when you got flustered. He’d spend forever making you look at him like that if he could.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, hiding your face against his chest again.

“And yet,” he teased, running his fingers down your back to wrap around your waist gently, “you stick around. You love it, don't even lie."

You hummed in response, pressing a soft kiss just above his heart, and Eddie melted against you, convinced he’d never move again. Screw the band practice later he’d promised to show up for. Screw the campaign notes that were half-finished on his desk. This—this was where he wanted to be.

You. His bed. Nothing else.

After a long pause, you sighed happily, “we should just stay here all day.”

Eddie chuckled, pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you, “I can only promise that if you relinquish control of the blanket.”

You only laughed softly, your hands trailing lazily up his chest. “Not gonna happen. I’ll keep you warm.”

He smiled, feeling his heart swell in a way that made him feel completely exposed, completely at ease. He didn’t have to be anything special when he was with you.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, eyes soft and so full of warmth that Eddie felt his throat tighten. You were looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You're perfect," he whispered before he could stop himself. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over the soft skin. "Do you know that?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you just smiled, and Eddie could feel his chest fill with something he couldn’t quite put a name to.

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his lips—soft, sweet, just the way he liked it.

[lyvhie]

the other way | zhong chenle

chenle x fem!reader summary: chenle finds you really endearing. c/w: fluff, very short because i'm sleepy 😴 a/n: because @sinisxtea broke my weak heart.

You like Chenle.

You like Chenle very, very much.

Everyone knows it, even Chenle himself, and that was just so amusing to him.

It was a delight for him to watch you try to hide your feelings when you were so obviously smitten. At first, he didn’t see you as his ideal type; to him, you were just a very… peculiar person who struggled to contain their emotions. But as he spent more time by your side each day, he couldn’t help but grow fond of you, inevitably developing feelings of his own.

Yet, how could he confess his feelings when it was so entertaining to watch you grow flustered after an affectionate gesture? Or when you gathered just enough courage to let your actions reveal what your words could not? He wasn’t ready to give up those moments, not yet. He wanted to savor them a little longer.

“Oh, I’m feeling so tired, Chenle,” you said with a dramatic sigh, letting your head tilt back slightly. He looked at you with a small, knowing smile and a raised eyebrow. By now, he was familiar with that tone—today, you were feeling bold.

The two of you were sitting side by side on the floor of a dimly lit practice room, the faint glow of city lights filtering through the large windows. The soft hum of a distant song played in the background. He had invited you to join him there after you texted him, saying you were bored, fully knowing you’d accept his invitation in a heartbeat.

“Hmm, really?” he replied, a teasing edge to his voice. “Why are you feeling tired when all you’ve done is sit there watching me practice the entire time?”

“I mean,” you cleared your throat, “i’m feeling so dizzy, Chenle,” you corrected yourself with another exaggerated sigh, earning a barely restrained laugh from him. How could you be this bad at lying?

“Oh no, dizzy?” a mock tone of concern in his voice. “What should we do now? Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he leaned back, propping himself up on his hands, palms flat against the floor, his legs casually spread.

As he didn’t question you any further about your little lie, you didn’t feel the need to come up with more reasons or details to back it up. You simply watched him for a few seconds, quietly admiring his beauty. He was dressed in casual, comfortable clothes, perfect for moving around, though today he had spent more time talking and having fun with you than actually dancing. Even so, the simple sight of him made your heart race.

It wasn’t unusual for him to catch you admiring him like that. He didn’t mind; in fact, he liked it—a lot. It warmed his heart. He often found himself doing the same to you when you weren’t paying attention or when you were too absorbed, just like now. He loved noticing the little details about you: the way your lips would purse in excitement whenever he was nearby or when he complimented you, the way your pupils dilated when your eyes locked on him, the coy smile and soft giggles that followed his words. Everything about you was utterly endearing to him.

“I think it would help a lot if you let me rest here,” you said, pointing to his chest. “It’s just that lying down on the floor would be way too uncomfortable, you know…” you shrugged casually, as if it were no big deal.

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, is that so?” he asked, leaning in slightly as if trying to gauge your true intentions. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, of course.”

He shifted his position, leaning his back against the wall. Then, he patted his chest lightly, his arms opening in a small gesture of invitation. Naturally, he wouldn’t deny you something like that, he never had before. Whether it was letting you rest your head on his shoulder because “it hurts”, holding his hand because “it’s too cold”, or sticking close to his arm so “he wouldn’t get lost in a crowd”—he always let you.

You happily welcomed his words but tried to mask your excitement with a small pout, as if wanting to appear like a poor, sickly person. Without hesitation, you crawled into him, settling comfortably between his legs and resting your head on his chest. A delighted sigh escaped your lips at the feeling. You couldn’t wish for anything better, being this close to him, listening to his steady heartbeat, so calm and in contrast to your own, which was hammering against your chest.

The same held true for Chenle. He looked down at you, all cuddled up on him, with adoring eyes. His hands moved instinctively: one gently caressing your hair while the other traced slow, soothing motions up and down your back. Those small, tender gestures made you melt into him even more, and this time, he couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle. It was nice, having you like this.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked, the smile never leaving his face as he tilted his head slightly to have a better look of you. “Better?”

“I don’t think so,” you replied, your eyes closed and a serene expression spreading across your face. “I need to stay like this a bit longer.”

“Are you sure that wasn’t just an excuse to hug me?”

“No, no, of course not. Why would I do that?” you replied, not even bothering to make your words sound convincing.

He chuckled softly at your response, his hand still tracing gentle patterns on your back. “Hmm, I don’t know... Maybe because you like me?” he said with a teasing lilt, his voice dripping with playful confidence.

Your eyes shot open, and you quickly lifted your head to meet his gaze. “W-What? That’s not—” you began, but the smirk on his face told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Relax,” he said, cutting you off with a grin. “I’m just joking… unless?” His playful tone made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn’t help but bury your face back into his chest, groaning in embarrassment.

“Ah, stop teasing me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt.

How could he stop when you acted so adorably?

“Then, I guess you don’t like me at all, huh?” he said with a dramatic sigh, pretending to sound disappointed. You quickly caught on and lifted your head to look up at him again.

“I mean, I like you, yes, but not like… you know, the other way. Just the normal way,” you stammered, trying to explain, as you always did whenever he confronted you like this.

“You’re always saying you like me the normal way, but what even is this normal way?” he asked, pressing further. His hand moved to cup one side of your face, his thumb brushing absently against your cheek. The sudden gesture made your heart race, and you panicked slightly as you struggled to find the words to respond.

“Oh, just, you know, like, um, for example, like this and that and… you know, when we like something…” your voice trailed off, getting quieter with each word. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t like him in a romantic way, but you also didn’t want him thinking the opposite.

As you wrestled with your thoughts, Chenle could only gaze at you with those amused, affectionate eyes, taking in every detail. He watched the way you unconsciously leaned even more into his touch. His gaze drifted down to your lips—slightly parted and as inviting as ever, perhaps even more so now.

As mentioned before, it was fun keeping this friendship status between you two, he enjoyed teasing you and drawing out those adorable reactions. But now, you had him wondering: what would it be like if he finally let things happen? Would you be even messier than this?

He wanted to find out.

In a subtle movement, taking advantage of your distracted state, he leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. The sudden warmth and softness of his lips against yours made your eyes widen in surprise. You blinked a few times, your mouth slightly open in shock as you tried to process what had just happened. It was as if you were frozen in place, your heart pounding so fast you thought you might be on the verge of a heart attack.

“Oops, did I break you or something?” he teased, though his lighthearted words were tinged with genuine concern as he took in your stunned expression.

“Now I think I’m really dizzy,” you said, your lips trembling ever so slightly. “And this time, I think the only solution is another kiss,” you had no idea where this sudden burst of courage came from; you were simply blurting out words at this point.

It was Chenle’s turn to look at you with a surprised expression before suddenly bursting into laughter, leaving you feeling as though you’d just said something ridiculous.

“Why are you laughing…?” you asked, shrugging your shoulders and looking away, your stomach twisting with embarrassment. “You’re the one who started it.”

Instead of replying, he cupped your face in his hands, pulling you toward him in a fierce, urgent kiss. Your startled gasp was swallowed by his lips as his tongue gently explored your mouth, moving in soft, teasing caresses. You found yourself gripping his shirt tightly, your body melting into his, kissing him back without thinking. One of his hands slid down to your hips, pulling you even closer, pressing your body fully against his.

He hummed softly against your lips, finally giving in to something he had wanted for quite some time. It felt nice, better than he had imagined. The wait was worth it, especially if it was going to be like this.

He only pulled away because you did first, needing to catch your breath. Your lips were swollen and glistening slightly, and your breathless state, combined with the mix of confusion, satisfaction, happiness, and desire in your eyes, made his heart pound.

“I like you,” he said, slightly out of breath. “Not in the normal way. But the other way.”

There was no way you could be more surprised than you already were, so you just went with the flow, your mind too clouded to think before speaking.

“Me too,” you nodded fiercel. “I like you. So, so much. I really like you, Chenle.” It felt so nice to finally say that out loud, directly to him.

“I know you do,” he giggled, leaning in to plant another soft kiss on your lips. you could feel the warmth of his smile against your lips, and his fingers gently brushed your hair back, his touch as tender as ever.

He preferred to have you like that after all.

↝ taglist: @ldh0000

[m1ckeyb3rry]

CHRYSOPEIA (OR, THE TURNING OF MERCURY TO GOLD)

“Stay here, thief of Okhema, and I will not give you riches, but something even more precious — knowledge,” he says. “If you can bear it, I will teach you something far beyond what your unimaginative mind can fathom at present: chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold.”

Synopsis: You try to steal from the wrong man, and he brings you to someone who promises you the impossible — a way to grow beyond your measly station as a petty thief, by taking something as common as mercury and turning it into gold.

HSR Masterlist

Divider: @/thecutestgrotto

Pairing: Anaxa x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: another nonsensical m1ckeyb3rry drop with 0 elaboration just vibes, idk anything about anaxa i was just making it up #allinmyhead, mentions of stealing and punishment and whatnot, castorice + mydei + phainon all make cameos to varying extents, this is like canon adjacent because idt it's fully compliant but whatever, reader is an unreliable narrator, formatted somewhat like a scientific paper but don't be fooled it's just aesthetic there's no correlation or anything i just felt silly, this is very like. wtf is going on yk, the biceps in his light cone overcame me sorry, i don't like him or anything, also i haven't played amphoreus yet LMFAOO I APOLOGIZE THIS IS MID <//3

A/N: WHEN I SAID I WAS GOING TO WRITE MORE OVER BREAK I MEANT IT...i lowkey shit this out in like a couple of hours though so it's very mid HELPME also it's like barely romantic icl but whatever #weup also thank you very much to my dear anaxaloving friends apollo @/hythlodayus and choki @/chokifandom for allowing me to bother them with my questions about their man for (seemingly) no reason...i am sorry for butchering your goat SDKJHLF i will do him better after i have played the game I SWEAR (maybe)

ABSTRACT

Background: Quick fingers are the hallmarks of an average thief; a quick mind is what is necessary for those who wish to last in this profession. Discernment and discretion are required — how many have gotten cocky and attempted to rob the Lady Aglaea, thinking her sightless eyes will render the task simple? As many as have lost their hands for it, you are sure. Yet amongst every crook in the fair city of Okhema, you alone have been brave enough to steal from the Prince Mydeimos, who, upon becoming aware of your wandering touch, only gave you a bewildered look and bade you to return his purse, after which he took out a fistful of coins and dropped them in your palm, his lips pressed together in pity as he told you you were worth more than this.

Methods: Your mother is the one who introduced you to this life, and she is also the one who tells you you must find some way to escape it. She insists you could be something better if you try, a temple maiden or a merchant’s wife or a royal attendant. You do not have the heart to tell her you are too dirty to be a priestess, too wicked to be a wife, and too shrewd to be an attendant, for in her eyes your every flaw is erased, your every virtue magnified. So you only smile when she brings it up, patting her on the cheek and telling her you will consider it well. She does her best to smile back, although you know it is difficult, for there is a knife ever-present in her mind, twisting and twisting with every breath she takes, every flash of light her feeble eyes are exposed to — still, she tries, which you are more grateful for than she can ever know.

Results: Even you are not infallible. Even you make errors in judgement. Less so than most, less so than any, but it is this perceived perfection which is your downfall, which drives you to pride and carelessness. It is a white haired man who catches you with your hand in his pocket, his eyes widening like he cannot believe it, and then he is frowning with a great, profound sadness. Your gaze flicks to the sword at his hip and you wonder if he will draw it; his trails after yours and his brow furrows, but he shakes his head as he takes your wrist, telling you that he will not be the one who decides your fate, that he does not trust himself to have that discernment, that discretion — traits, you suppose, that are as necessary for the judges as they are for the judged.

You are sure he is taking you to the Marmoreal Palace, where the Lady Aglaea will put you down for this great crime, this attempted pilfering of a golden Chrysos Heir, and you curse yourself with every step, wishing you had instead tried your luck with the prince of Kremnos again; for all his renowned barbarism, at least he would have to deal with you in his own way instead of bringing you to Lady Aglaea, for fear of his people losing what little faith they still had left in him. Yet to your surprise, the Chrysos Heir, who does not give you his name, takes you out of Okhema altogether, and so it is that you find yourself in the Grove of Epiphany, standing before a one-eyed madman.

Conclusion: “You attempted to steal from my pupil,” says the professor, his voice passionless and bland. He does not assign any moral value to the fact simply for stating it, and anyways, you have no grounds upon which you can deny it, not when your ring finger still itches and the white-haired Chrysos Heir’s face is still solemn. 

“I would’ve gotten away with it,” you say, quiet at first and then certain, sure. “Don’t think I wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t,” he says, and that is all. “So you are entirely consumed by the pursuit of wealth. How weak-minded.”

“It is not wealth but life I am interested in,” you correct him. He frowns; at your side, the white-haired Chrysos Heir clears his throat uncomfortably, though he does not move to interrupt the exchange.

“Well. And do you know what alchemy is?” the professor says.

“A fairytale for children,” you say promptly, for you have heard the stories of water turning to wine, of dirt to chocolate and death to life.

“I am only concerned with reality,” he says. “You are right — much of it is fantastical and wrong, or not worth pursuing. Who amongst us has any interest in mundane experiments that help no one? Yet even in fiction, there is truth to be found, and if it is wealth you want, then I will give you an endless amount.”

“You’re…rewarding me?” you say, and you cannot help but turn to the white-haired Chrysos Heir, thinking that he will surely be indignant. Yet he is placid and does not complain; when he notices you looking at him, he even smiles slightly, like he knows something you don’t.

“Make no mistake,” says the professor. “This is not a reward. It will destroy you, and you will fail, and this failure will destroy you further. You will become a shell of yourself, and you will do so willingly, for it is the price you must pay in order to ever attain success.”

“I don’t understand,” you say nervously, for you cannot tell yet if this is a better or worse fate than whatever Lady Aglaea would’ve sentenced you to. “What riches can possibly be worth that much?”

“Stay here, thief of Okhema, and I will not give you riches, but something even more precious — knowledge,” he says. “If you can bear it, I will teach you something far beyond what your unimaginative mind can fathom at present: chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold.”

1. Background

You report to Professor Anaxagoras’s lab five minutes after you are meant to, for you still cannot quite believe that it is real, that you have found yourself in the Grove of Epiphany, working alongside a Sage. He is hunched over a vial of some shimmering, flame-like liquid, his face pale as he scrutinizes it, and you stand in the doorway, wondering if you should introduce yourself. Before you can, however, he’s putting the vial away and pulling another out, rolling it between his fingers.

“Mercury,” he says. The liquid metal is runny and bright, a silvery egg-yolk that writhes in the glass he’s trapped it in. “Do you want to touch it?”

“No,” you say, because there’s something vile about it, about the trembling mass that almost has a life of its own. You think that he must be angry at you, for he stares at you, marveling at your hasty, blunt manner, but then he hums appreciatively.

“Good. It’s poisonous,” he says. 

“It is?” you say, and you wonder, then, how he can manage to handle it so casually. He shrugs.

“Not everyone agrees with the theory, but it’s an unavoidable truth that everything it touches is ruined, so how can it be anything but? That’s why I keep it contained whenever possible,” he says, setting the vial down on the table before you. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes,” you say, leaning forward in the anticipation of some showy form of magic or mystique. Yet all he does is look at you, and then he frowns, an expression which you are coming to find makes its home on his face more often than not.

“Do you not find my work noteworthy?” he says, motioning towards your empty hands. You don’t know what he means at first, but then, when you realize, you shake your head.

“I can’t write,” you say.

“If you are lacking in materials, I will tell Phainon to bring some for you,” he says.

“No,” you repeat. “I can’t write.”

What you want to say is that you are not a scholar, you are a thief, a girl his student brought from the streets for him to punish. Perhaps this is a part of that punishment, because you have never felt so humiliated as you do in that moment, the hot shame of it washing over you, and so you set your jaw and resolve not to defend yourself. You will not give him the satisfaction of it, of knowing that he has, with such a simple statement, already left you reeling, so you cross your arms and wait for him to continue.

“I see,” he says. “Very well, then. You can go.”

You return to your room, secure in the knowledge that you will be free to go home soon instead of keeping up this charade of intellectual pursuits. Indeed, that night, there is a knock on the door, and you are sure it is that white-haired Chrysos Heir, Phainon, come to take you to Okhema for your true reckoning.

And it is Phainon, but he is dressed casually, not in the way an official escort would be, with a scroll in one hand and a pen in the other. He is awkward when he enters the room, and when you do not greet him, this awkwardness only doubles.

“Professor Anaxa sent me,” he says, putting the scroll and the paper alike on the small, bare nightstand you have been provided with. “Castorice will come by tomorrow to help you.”

He bows in deference then, jauntily and unsure, before backing out of the room. You reach your hand out to stop him, and he does so at once, cocking his head at you, waiting for you to speak.

“Don’t you hold a grudge against me?” you say.

“For what?” he says. “Oh, my wallet? I don’t have anything in it, anyways. You would’ve been disappointed even if you were successful.”

“What?” you say, utterly taken aback. He rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Being a Chrysos Heir isn’t exactly a paying job,” he says. “I’m closer to being like you than being like, say, Aglaea.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” you say.

“I guess so,” he says. “Something about the look in your eyes seemed to remind me of the professor. I thought he would better know how to handle…all of it. I’m not so good with these things.”

“Do you still think he does?” you say. Phainon squints at you, and then, to your surprise, he nods.

“Yes, I do. Rest well,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

The next morning, a woman with mournful irises and gloves pulled up to her elbows comes to your room and introduces herself as Castorice, telling you she will help you learn how to read and write. You think of asking her why Anaxagoras himself will not, but you stop before you can. You’re not sure the answer is one you will like, anyways.

2. Methods

Castorice agrees to draft a letter to your mother, telling you Phainon himself will deliver it — he doesn’t have much better to do, she confesses, giggling shyly like the two of you are old friends poking fun at a third, Professor Anaxa will be glad to be rid of him for a while — and then she brings you to the laboratory, keeping you an arm’s length away from herself the entire time. You almost want to beg her to stay, for now that the veil of arrogance has lifted from your eyes, you are faced with the naked truth that Anaxagoras is a frightening man, perhaps as frightening as Lady Aglaea herself, but you have not lost that much of your dignity yet, so you keep your mouth shut, returning her farewell with one of your own and waiting until she rounds the corner before you enter the laboratory.

“Good morning,” Anaxagoras says, though as before, he does not look up from whatever he is absorbed in.

“It’s afternoon,” you say. He glances out of the window.

“And so it is,” he says.

“Is that gold made from mercury?” you say, pointing at the cup from which he is drawing little droplets and smearing them on blank parchment. It is sparkling and luxurious, but he only laughs at the question.

“In a sense,” he says. “This is what the principles of alchemy were founded on, some would argue. So, you can call it that if you’d like.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say.

“Is it?” he says. “I often wonder myself.”

“For you, I suppose it is meaningless, but to me…” Your words drift into a sigh. “How many cups of the like could I fill with medicine for my mother, just from the contents of that one?”

“Don’t presume things about people you don’t know,” he says. “And you’d be surprised to know the answer is very little. This isn’t the kind of gold that sells for very much.”

“What kind of gold doesn’t sell for very much?” you say incredulously, and now you are in the mood for fighting. “What sort of world are you living in, where such an amount of something so precious is meaningless? For I would like to pay a visit, I think!”

“The kind of gold that isn’t gold at all,” he says, and then the cup is in your hands and it’s warm at the bottom, you realize, warm unlike the clammy coolness of his palms. “This isn’t some metal. It’s infinitely more precious, and yet common despite that — ubiquitous, even. Blood, you insolent thief, this is blood.”

“Phainon’s?” you say, for he is the first you can think of, and you are immediately disgusted by the idea that you hold his life-force in your hands. Anaxagoras’s face mirrors your disgust, though the subject of his ire is you, like you have said something so horrible he cannot stand it.

“My own,” he says, curt, precise, cutting. “Put it down.”

You do so at once. You have known, as all do, that there is a Chrysos Heir in the Grove, but when you were so busy with the activities of daily survival, you had never had much interest in learning more than that basic knowledge. When the Grove was so far removed from you, when you had never believed you would see its fabled halls, why would you care? But now you are regretting your ignorance, for you have committed a grave sin and will surely be punished for it.

“Are you going to send me away?” you say.

“Do you want me to?” he says. You don’t even consider it before you’re nodding your head, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Then go.”

“Thank you,” you say, eager to escape the crushing atmosphere of the room.

“Wait,” he says before you can vanish entirely. “Did Castorice and Phainon bring you what I told them to?”

“Yes,” you say. 

“If you ever need anything, go to them,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll find them far more approachable than I am.”

He’s right, of course, but you don’t have enough mettle to tell him that in as many words, so you only mumble that you will before maintaining your composure for just long enough that the door can shut between you. Then you are running and thinking to yourself that no knowledge or riches are worth this, that maybe you should just seek out Lady Aglaea and submit to her yourself so that you can end whatever torment you have found yourself in.

3. Results

“What are you helping Professor Anaxa study, anyways?” Castorice says to you, pausing in the middle of tracing words on a page for you to copy. “He just said that you’re a trusted expert helping him make a scientific breakthrough, and that was that. I tried asking Phainon, but he said he had no idea either, or at least none that he could understand.”

“Trusted expert?” you repeat. She blinks when you drop your pen, bending to pick it up and setting it in front of you as you snicker. “What sort of a joke is he playing? What, do you think I’m some renowned scholar, too? When I can’t even read or write!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not smart,” she says quietly. 

“I appreciate that,” you say. “But I’m just a petty thief from Okhema who tried to rob the wrong man.”

“You tried to rob Professor Anaxa?” she says, eyebrows raising.

“Phainon,” you say, shaking your head and taking the pen, tracing the letters of the name she wrote for you, C-A-S-T-O-R-I-C-E. “Actually, I would have gotten away with it if, at that moment, he hadn’t dropped the juice he was drinking and therefore noticed me…”

“So he brought you here instead of taking you to Lady Aglaea. I understand now,” she says. “You’ve got a lot of courage for even trying that with a Chrysos Heir.”

Her nonjudgmental tone heartens you, and you double down on your writing with a small grin. You’ve never told anyone of your exploits, not even your mother, who would likely only grow more ill if she knew the truth; of course, they’re not something to be proud of, necessarily, but they’re all you have, and you’re suddenly filled with the need to brag to someone.

“I even stole from Prince Mydeimos once,” you say.

“You were successful!” she says with a gasp. You think back to the day, the disappointment on the younger man’s face, the dinner you bought with the coins he gave you, and then you nod. 

“Indeed,” you say.

“Most impressive,” she says. “So you are teaching the professor of larceny and whatnot?”

“It would be better if I was,” you say. “But no. He just says vague, cryptic things while I stand there and think it’d be better if I just asked Lady Aglaea to kill me instead.”

“I think most people get that sense from him,” she says. “Why do you stick around, then? You’re not like Phainon and I, who are trying to study and graduate. You’re not a student at all, so naturally, you can leave whenever you want.”

She is right. There is nothing tying you to the Grove, except that it is warmer here, the blanket thick, not threadbare, the room lit with cheery candlelight, your meals coming with a punctual regularity even if you do nothing but lie around all day, as you sometimes are prone to doing. And, too, there is that promise which Anaxagoras made to you — chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold. If such a miracle is possible, you want to see it. Even if you never learn how to accomplish it yourself, you think that just witnessing it might be enough to push you forward, to keep you from giving up entirely.

“Why did you tell me you would teach me about chrysopeia?” you ask Anaxagoras one day, while he is furiously scribbling equations with a piece of chalk that grates on your nerves with its every scrape against the black board. “In all the time I have been here, you haven’t even shown me anything about it. You tell me other things, about pricks of fire in the sky and the way the world will end, but that’s not what I was promised.”

“You’re still interested in that?” he says without turning around, though his handwriting grows exponentially messier, to the point that you cannot even hope to decipher it, if you ever could. “I thought you didn’t care for it any longer.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you say.

“You can read now, and you’re even beginning to write a little,” he says. “You know truths about our place in the universe that most can’t handle even beginning to consider, and you have taken them into consideration with a gameness that only someone with a uniquely open mind could. After all of that, how can you go back to living as a thief? How can you go back to who you used to be?”

Now that you have met him, how can you leave? It’s not what he’s saying, but it’s what you understand, or at least what you want to. You shake your head, because this is not something you should want, and then you draw your arms around yourself in an embrace.

“My mother needs me. I have spent so long here without checking on her, and I cannot in good conscience continue to leave her alone. As soon as you teach me, I will go from this place,” you say.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says calmly, blithely. “Be here punctually. I don’t have a moment to waste.”

“Right,” you say. “Yes, I’ll be here.”

Yet the next day, he says he does not have time, and the day after, he spends so long explaining the history of alchemy that he must sprint to his next lecture in order to avoid missing it — not that he does, of course, preferring to show up late than in a hurry — so on and so forth until you are sure he is doing it on purpose. 

“I’m serious,” you snap when you walk in on the day that you find yourself fed up with his dallying. “Whether you show me or not, I’m leaving after — hello?”

The laboratory is empty, eerie and haunting without Anaxagoras’s biting words slicing through the silence. You furrow your brow, and for a moment you are irritated to the point of leaving for Okhema then and there. Who is he, to make these arbitrary decisions about your own life? Phainon has long ago forgiven you, if he ever even held a grudge in the first place, and Castorice has never had any ill-will to you to begin with. It is only he who is stubbornly keeping you here, Anaxagoras, who keeps promising you something that he is determined to never follow through on, dangling it before you to tease you in the way one might tease a young Dromas with an overripe peach. 

Something stops you before you can, though, and then you’re tiptoeing further into the room with a thief’s well-trained footsteps, soundless like a whisper carried away by the wind, searching for the source of that urge, that odd sensation that you have never felt before.

You come across a small notebook, and before you can stop yourself, you tuck it into your pocket, close to your hipbone for safekeeping. It is not enough to calm the drumming of your heartbeat, but you feel as though it is important, so you keep it as you continue in your search.

Then you are gasping, for you see him on the other side of the desk, collapsed and pale, gold dripping onto the marble floor from a wound in his forearm. It’s mesmerizing, how the rivulets gleam in the dim light, how they still darken his sleeve the same as any normal person’s blood might. There is a deathly pallor cast over his slumbering form, his hair sticking to his brow, and it’s an opportune moment for you to take everything from him, to take the heavy ruby from his ear and the metal embossed onto his eyepatch and flee. They’ll never catch you, they’ll never even think to, but when your fingers reach for him, it is not to abscond with his adornments but to shake him by the shoulders and whisper wake up, wake up, over and over until he does.

“Are you alright?” you say when he clutches his head, sitting up with a groan.

“I’m fine,” he says. “What a waste. So much blood, and I didn’t even get to collect any of it.”

“This is how you gather your materials to experiment on,” you say rhetorically. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I told you back then, didn’t I? You have to destroy yourself if you want to succeed. To obtain knowledge, you must first become a shell of your former self. Only when you have sacrificed enough will the truth reveal itself.”

“You’re telling me to sacrifice more, aren’t you?” you say, because you’ve learnt about more than just the universe in the time you’ve been here. “I have to be like you if I want what I truly desire. But what else can I give up?”

You help him stand and give him water; he sips on it pensively before telling you once again that he’s alright and you can leave for the day, if you’re so inclined. You’re about to hesitate, but then you remember it’s not your place, so you raise your hand in farewell and promise him you’ll come back the next day, your irritation forgotten in favor of something that you have only ever felt for another once in your life — your mother, who you worried over incessantly all through your youth and well into your adulthood. But this is different, because he is not your mother, he is no one in particular, and so you have no reason to worry for him at all.

Yet you do, and of the many things you have gained from the Grove, this is the one you abhor most and welcome least, although cruelly enough, it is also the one that you are sure you will forget last.

4. Conclusion

The journal you took from the laboratory taunts you, but you know you do not yet have the skill to read it, and you are reluctant to ask Castorice for help. It feels like something you should keep to yourself, so day in and day out, you shirk your duties at the laboratory, instead practicing your reading diligently, so that you may one day understand the sloping, elegant words.

This is a double victory, because you are then also able to avoid Anaxagoras, who you cannot imagine facing after you have stolen from him in this way. It occurs to you, a few days later, that this is your second victory over the Chrysos Heirs, and for some reason, the thought that you, a mere petty thief, have managed to steal from those destined to be gods, sends you into peals of laughter. You cannot tell Castorice about this, you cannot tell anyone, so you keep it next to the journal under your pillow, petting the triumph alongside the letters of the title page with your index finger, trying to sound it all out and getting further with every subsequent attempt, until at last you are able to read the entire account in one go.

5. Afterword

CHRYSOEPIA (OR, THE TURNING OF MERCURY TO GOLD):

Phainon has brought me a thief from Okhema. I would call him a fool for it, but between the two of us, the greater fool is me, for I have come up with this way to keep her here, although she clearly has the barest amounts of interest in it. But I cannot help myself — she is inquisitive, albeit mistrustful, and I do not think I can leave her to die, as she inevitably will if left to her own devices.

I had Castorice and Phainon inquire into the thief’s background under the guise of a class assignment. She is a slippery and elusive thing, but the two of them have access to that accursed Aglaea Okheman resources that are not available to me. Phainon found her mother, and so I have tasked him with the upkeep of the ailing woman; he is stupidly eager to be of assistance, which I find somewhat infuriating, so I have told Castorice that she is to teach the thief how to read and write. In the meantime, I have continued my experiments, although mercury is proving to be difficult to work with, and I must take breaks frequently enough that it bothers me to no end.

The thief is interested in my blood. I suppose to the unknowing, it does look like something precious, and I commend her for never being afraid to ask her questions. She is right in one sense, as well — it is golden, and after all, the study of alchemy was once nothing but the study of the Chrysos Heir’s mysterious origin, that inexplicable shine in their veins, so perhaps there is some merit to the line of inquiry?

It is true! Aside from simple heat, if the mercury comes into contact with a sufficient amount of that, it will indeed transmute into gold. I have always known there was something missing from the simplistic equations and theories presented in textbooks on the matter, but to think that that final piece was in front of me the entire time, a separate branch of study that, were it not for her, I would never have attempted to connect with the first…

To all those who did not believe, this diary is the proof that chrysopeia is real. If you mix the blood of a Chrysos Heir with mercury over an open flame, it will first blacken, as the impurities of the mercury die, and then it will turn white. If you stop here, you will be left with a silver that never tarnishes, but if you wait, it will turn to a fiery red, and that is when you can be assured that you have made gold. If you doubt me, then you may try it yourself, though it will be difficult to find anyone willing to give up so much of their blood in the pursuit of proving a mere blasphemer wrong. 

In order to create the amount of gold necessary to become wealthy, one would need an entire body’s worth of blood. I have attempted to adjust the ratios, but it seems to be an exact and set proportion that resists change. This discovery is ultimately a useless one. I will have to keep trying, but I am not optimistic, and I have other things I must attend to, so I may soon abandon this study.

I can never give her what I promised her, but I hope that, whether she knows it yet or not, I have given her what she wanted all along. 

[missy4176]

Protective Instincts

Kim Dokja x Reader

Kim Dokja has always been someone who’s difficult to read, a man with a thousand faces hidden behind that ever-present, enigmatic smile. To most people, he’s an enigma, someone who effortlessly blends into the background, observing the world through his dull eyes as if he’s merely a bystander in his own life. But to you, the person he’s chosen to let in, he’s more than that. Beneath the layers of apathy and self-imposed distance, Kim Dokja harbors a deep, unyielding protective instinct—especially when it comes to you.

It’s not that you can’t defend yourself. You’ve proven time and again that you’re more than capable. The world you live in demands nothing less. The apocalypse, with its brutal trials and life-or-death scenarios, has honed your skills and instincts to a razor’s edge. Kim Dokja knows this; he’s seen you fight, seen you survive, and yet, despite that knowledge, there are moments when his concern for your safety overrides his typically detached demeanor.

The first time you notice it, you’re caught off guard. A sudden attack from a group of hostile survivors leaves you both cornered. You’re prepared, muscles tensed, ready to strike back, but before you can act, Kim Dokja moves. His body shifts instinctively, stepping in front of you, positioning himself as a shield. It’s a split-second decision, one that speaks volumes about his true feelings—feelings he often keeps buried deep within, masked by layers of self-loathing and detachment.

“Dokja, I can handle this,” you protest, even as you feel a flicker of warmth at his concern.

“I know,” he replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you.”

His words are simple, matter-of-fact, but there’s an underlying intensity in his gaze, something that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s in these moments, when his guard is momentarily lowered, that you catch glimpses of the man beneath the mask—a man who, despite his best efforts, cares more than he’s willing to admit.

It doesn’t stop there. Whether it’s guiding you through dangerous terrain, subtly steering you away from potential threats, or using his quick wit and vast knowledge to outmaneuver enemies, Kim Dokja’s protective instincts manifest in various ways. Sometimes it’s subtle, like a quiet warning before you walk into a trap, his voice low and serious as he murmurs in your ear. Other times, it’s more overt, like when he pulls you out of harm’s way, his grip on your arm firm but not painful, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.

“Stay close,” he often says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s not a command, not exactly, but a plea disguised as practicality. And you listen, not just because it makes sense, but because you know it’s his way of showing he cares.

Kim Dokja isn’t a man of grand gestures. He won’t sweep you off your feet or shower you with flowery words of affection. He’s too guarded for that, too aware of the fleeting nature of happiness in a world that’s constantly trying to tear you apart. But his actions, the way he places himself between you and danger, the way his gaze sharpens when someone threatens you, speak louder than any words ever could.

There are times when you catch him watching you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a softness in his eyes, a rare tenderness that he doesn’t show to anyone else. In those moments, you realize that his protectiveness isn’t just about keeping you safe—it’s about holding on to the one thing in his life that makes him feel alive. You are his anchor, the person who reminds him that he’s not just a character in a story, but someone who deserves to live, to feel, to protect.

And so, you let him. You let him be your protector, even though you don’t need it, because you understand that it’s his way of showing he cares. You don’t push him away when he steps in front of you, don’t protest when he pulls you close in the midst of danger. Instead, you accept his protectiveness for what it is—a testament to the depth of his feelings, a reflection of the connection you share.

In the end, Kim Dokja’s protective instincts are just another facet of his complex personality. They’re a reminder that beneath the layers of detachment and cynicism, there’s a man who cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always know how to express it. And in a world where everything can be lost in an instant, that protectiveness becomes a lifeline, a quiet, unspoken promise that no matter what happens, he’ll always be there to protect you—even if it costs him everything.

[sushiyuzu]

fixing your hair ☃︎❆

zayne x reader

you're sitting across from zayne, the conversation between you flowing easily as always. his sharp eyes are focused on you, and for a second, you wonder if he’s even listening or just watching you out of habit. the room feels comfortable, the low hum of the environment fading into the background, leaving only the two of you.

as you continue talking, a strand of your hair falls loose, brushing against your cheek. without a word, zayne leans forward, his hand moving before you can react. his fingertips are cool, yet gentle, as they brush against your skin, sweeping the stray strand behind your ear with a deliberate tenderness.

your breath catches in your throat. the simple gesture, something so small, suddenly feels intimate in a way you hadn't expected. his fingers linger there, just for a moment longer than necessary, and in that heartbeat of time, you can feel the weight of his gaze settle on you.

you glance up, your eyes meeting his. there's something unspoken in the air, something soft in the way he’s looking at you now, a flicker of warmth hidden behind the cool exterior he always wears. his lips curl into the slightest of smiles, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat.

"there," he says, his voice low and smooth, "better."

you nod, your cheeks warming, suddenly too aware of the space between you—how close he is, how easily he could lean just a little further. the thought makes you blush deeper, but you quickly duck your head, trying to focus back on what you were saying before.

yet, the moment hangs between you, lingering like a secret, one you’re not quite ready to acknowledge but can’t seem to forget. and somehow, you know he feels it too, even if he doesn’t say anything more.