#writing the stars

[writing-the-stars]

Where the Fire Settles

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Rebekah x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Kol Mikaelson has always been chaos wrapped in charm—fire and fury personified. But with you, he's something softer, quieter, settled. You can't help but wonder if Kol really sees you, or a lesser version of what he lost.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Angst (Of course! Are we surprised?), Insecurity, Hurt/Comfort. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

A/N: This is based on this request. Thank you so much Anon for sending this in. I hope this is exactly how you envisioned it! As always, thank you all so much for reading. I really hope you enjoy and that you have a wonderful day from this point forward!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

The chandeliers above the compound flicker with warm candlelight, casting long shadows over the worn brick walls and aged leather. Jazz drifts in from somewhere deep in the French Quarter—lazy and low—mingling with the clink of crystal and the occasional burst of laughter. Real laughter. The kind this house almost never hears.

At the heart of it all, Kol lounges on one of the vintage leather sofas, grinning like a king who’s conquered death itself. He’s practically glowing—relaxed in the way he only gets when he’s fully adored, which, tonight, he is. Surrounded by his siblings, and for once, no blood spilled, no daggers drawn. Just a toast to his eternal existence.

You’re tucked in beside him, a half-empty glass of champagne in hand, your fingers laced with his. The candlelight catches on the ring he gave you— antique, intricate, older than most empires. It gleams like a promise whispered across centuries. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, lingering just beneath the stone— a grounding gesture you’ve come to know well. He always touches you like he’s making sure you’re still there. 

The room smells like bourbon and birthday cake.

Rebekah is deep into one of her favorite stories, hands carving the air as she reenacts one of Kol’s more infamous escapades.

“You nearly exposed us that night in Madrid,” she says, laughing. “Nik was ready to dagger you on the spot.”

Kol scoffs. “Nik’s always ready to dagger me.”

“Only because you bloody earned it,” Klaus adds smoothly, swirling his bourbon with a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth.

“You impersonated a Spanish nobleman,” Elijah adds with a chuckle, “and seduced both the wife and the mistress. Simultaneously.”

Laughter erupts. You join in, but mostly, you watch. Listen. Trying to imagine this version of Kol— reckless, gleefully unhinged. It feels impossible. Not when the man they’re describing just gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Not when he looks at you like the world isn’t something to burn but something to protect.

It’s like hearing stories about a ghost. A Kol who doesn’t exist anymore.

Your Kol makes you breakfast in bed. He reads to you when you can’t sleep. He kisses your forehead like you’re made of glass. So different from the man who once danced on a burning bar with blood on his shirt and laughter in his lungs. 

Rebekah turns to Elijah, mischief dancing in her eyes. “What about the time he and Davina took on those cursed covens in the Quarter?”

You stiffen, just slightly. But Kol feels it. You know he does.

Davina.

The one name Kol never says around you. The one part of his past that stays locked away.

Elijah’s eyes gleam with the memory. “Ah, yes. Quite the spectacle.”

“She was a hell of a witch,” Klaus says, grinning into his glass. “Young, fierce, dangerously gifted.”

“She matched Kol in every way that mattered,” Elijah muses.

Something inside you twists.  

“They were inseparable,” Klaus continues, almost fond. “He adored that little spell of hers. Snap a neck with the flick of a wrist.”

Kol’s fingers are still laced with yours, but they feel heavier now. Or maybe it’s your heart.

You hadn’t heard much about her—just whispers, fragmented echoes. His partner in mayhem. The girl who nearly became Mrs. Kol Mikaelson. She had magic. Power. She had him when he belonged to the blood and chaos. The world he still carries in his bones. The world you’ll never fully touch.

What were you, compared to that?

Just… human.

Kol turns to you with a lazy smile, eyes warm. “You’re awfully quiet, darling. Everything alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And you mean to be. Because it’s his birthday. He’s happy. And you love him more than anything.

So you swallow the ache pressing against your ribs. You laugh at the next story. You raise your glass when they toast. You kiss him when they cut the cake.

But somewhere deep in your mind, a whisper takes root:

Why would he choose you?

-*-

You stand alone in the parlor, stacking a few stray glasses onto a tray. The air still holds the scent of melting wax and leftover cake. From the kitchen, Rebekah’s voice drifts in—giving Kol hell over something, probably the way he butchered the cake. His laugh echoes back, warm and carefree.

Your fingers drift unconsciously to the ring on your hand. You twist it slowly, again and again, the way you always do when your thoughts get too loud. A silent comfort. A grounding weight.

You should be happy. Content. The night went well. Kol is happy. The house hums with family, laughter, warmth.

But your mind keeps drifting.

To her. To those stories. To Elijah’s voice, low and reverent.  

She matched Kol in every way that mattered.

Your stomach churns. Not in anger. In something softer. Meaner. The slow, creeping ache you could never explain out loud.

Hearing about his time with the witch wasn’t new. You knew the broad strokes— the engagement, the subsequent heartbreak, the legendary love wrapped in blood and fire. You heard the whispers about her. The legacy. The power. Kol never talks about her, but the world does. Witches who whisper her name, Vampires who remember how fiercely they fought for each other. A girl who lit the Quarter ablaze and stood her ground beside an Original Vampire.

And you? You’re just… human.

No magic. No bloodline. No armor.

No place in this world except the one directly next to Kol.

You don’t hear him come in until his arms slide around your waist from behind. He presses a lazy kiss just behind your ear.

“You vanished,” he murmurs into your hair. “Thought I’d been abandoned on my own bloody birthday.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just cleaning up.”

He turns you gently in his arms, his fingers warm against your sides. His eyes— soft, brown, and endlessly mischievous— study you. His gaze narrows slightly.

“You’re quiet, darling. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You look up at him. Hesitant. 

It’s stupid, really. It’s not fair to ruin his night.

And yet.

“She meant a lot to you.” 

It isn’t accusatory. It isn’t bitter. Just factual. But it drops between you like a stone in still water.

You don’t say her name. You don’t have to.

His expression shifts— subtle, but immediate. The warmth drains just a little.

He lets out a slow breath, stepping back just enough to really look at you. He waits a beat, then nods. “She did.”

You nod too. You already knew that. That’s not what hurts.

Your eyes drop to your hands, to the ring on your finger. You twist it once, then again, like the motion might steady your thoughts. Like it might anchor you to him. But tonight, even that familiar weight feels unsteady. 

“She was powerful. Fierce. She was part of your world in a way I’ll never be.”

“Hey,” Kol’s voice sharpens slightly. He lifts your chin with two fingers, trying to catch your eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not trying to start something,” you say quickly. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. The stories. The way everyone talks about her like she’s fire and fury. Like she fit beside you. And I’m—”

“Mine,” Kol interrupts, firmer now. “You’re mine. You belong with me.”

You try to laugh, but it cracks halfway through. “Do I? Or are you still trying to convince yourself?”

Kol’s eyes narrow, the first real flicker of temper rising.

You keep going. The words are tumbling out faster than your brain can catch them.

“Everyone looks at us and wonders what an Original Vampire like you is doing with someone like me. And maybe they don’t say it out loud, but I see it. I feel it in every single one of their gazes.”

You take a shaky breath. Your voice softens.

“I don’t have magic, Kol. I don’t have power. I don’t even have a place in this city unless it’s beside you. And I know you love me — I do — but part of me keeps wondering…”

Your throat tightens. The ache crawls higher.

“If you ever miss what you had with her.”

Kol tenses. “This again?”

“Yes. This,” you snap, louder than you intended. “Because she fought with you. Bled with you. She was part of the fire and the dark. And me? I just sit here and hope you come home in one piece.”

Kol’s jaw tightens. “You think that’s what I want? That chaos again?”

“I think part of you misses it,” you whisper. “And if not the chaos… maybe just her.”

Kol runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Maybe I do miss her— at least she didn’t turn every bloody conversation into a trial.”

The words are out before he can catch them.

Silence.

Your breath catches, unable to breathe around the impact. You stare at him— disbelieving, shattered.

Kol’s face shifts instantly. “Wait—darling, that’s not—”

You don’t give him a chance.

“No.” Your voice is low. Flat. “That’s exactly what you meant.”

You step back. The weight of the ring on your finger suddenly unbearable.

“Maybe you should go find her, then.”

You twist the ring off your finger, undoing something that you thought was sacred. You shove the piece of jewelry into his palm like it’s searing through your skin. He doesn’t stop you.

“I’m sorry I’m not her,” you whisper. “But I won’t stand here and be punished for it.”

You turn, tears finally spilling over. The sound of your heartbeat drowning out the sound of your footsteps on the tile. You barely register Rebekah’s voice from the hall. All you see is the bedroom door and the blur of tears as you lock yourself inside. 

And when the sob finally breaks from your chest, it doesn’t stop.

Kol stares at the closed bedroom door, the ring heavy in his palm. The warmth of your hand still clings to the metal like a ghost. His brain hasn't quite caught up to his mouth— the words still hang in the air, ugly and unforgiving.

What the hell had he just done?

He takes a step forward, ready to knock, to beg, to undo it all— but a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and low.

“Don’t.”

Rebekah.

She steps out from the hallway shadows,arms folded, posture stiff with fury. Her heels click against the floor — precise, deliberate — as she closes the distance between them.

There’s a long beat. A quiet standoff between siblings, too alike in their anger. 

“I need to talk to her.”

“No,” she snaps, stepping firmly in front of her brother. “You don’t get to hurt her like that and then chase after her two seconds later like a kicked puppy looking for forgiveness.”

Kol clenches his jaw, frustration bubbling up. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” Rebekah cuts in. “I understand that the best thing that’s ever happened to you is in that room, sobbing her heart out, because you couldn’t keep your bloody ego in check.”

Kol flinches, jaw ticking.

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps suddenly, eyes flashing. “You’re the one who brought up Davina in the first place— stirred the pot and walked away. You practically lit the match.”

Rebekah doesn’t even blink.

“Oh, don’t you dare try to put this on me.” Her voice drops low, dangerous. “I mentioned Davina. You turned it into a bloody wrecking ball. Don’t confuse your guilt with my honesty.”

She steps in closer, her presence fierce and unshakable.

“She loves you. Do you get that? Do you have any idea how rare that is? Someone who loves you— not your charm, not your power, not your name. You. She’s stood by you when any sane person would have run. She makes you better, Kol.”

He looks away, guilt twisting his insides.

“You're softer with her. You smile more. Hell, you even think before you kill now— most of the time.”

He lets out a bitter breath.

“She’s not Davina,” Rebekah continues, softer now. “And thank God for that. Because Davina may have matched your darkness, but that girl in there? She made you want to leave it behind.”

Kol’s fingers tighten around the ring, knuckles white.

“She stands by you even when it terrifies her. Even when she feels small and breakable and wrong for you. She worries she’s not enough, that she’ll never be enough for someone like you. And instead of proving her wrong, tonight, you proved her right.”

“I didn’t—” he tries again.

“But you did.” Rebekah cuts in, merciless. “You did, Kol. And you need to fix it. Not with flowers or pretty words or that half-smirk you use to charm your way out of trouble. You apologize. And you mean it. Grovel if you have to.”

Kol is quiet. He looks smaller now— or maybe just exposed. The kind of pain he usually masks with cruelty bleeding through in silence.

Rebekah exhales and softens. Just slightly.

“She’s not a witch. She’s not a warrior. She doesn’t belong to this world like we do. But she’s chosen you anyway. She’s still choosing you. Don’t be such a bloody fool that you make her regret it.”

Kol stares down at the ring.

The weight of it— the weight of everything— presses against his chest.

“Give her time,” Rebekah says, finally stepping aside.Her voice lowers, warning laced with sibling affection. “But when you go to her, Kol… mean it. Or I swear, I’ll dagger you myself.”

-*-

You sit curled on the edge of the bed, knees hugged to your chest, eyes red and swollen. Rebekah steps inside, her heels now silent against the rug. She doesn’t speak right away. She just crosses the room and sits beside you.

The silence between you is gentle. Compassionate.

“I didn’t mean to ruin his birthday,” you whisper.

Rebekah glances over. “You didn’t. He did.”

You let out a small, broken laugh. “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore. All of it. The stories, the way people talk about her. About them. Like they were this perfect match. What do I have to offer compared to that? I’m just…”

“Human?” Rebekah supplies gently.

You nod, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. “I just don’t understand why me. I can’t fight beside him. I can’t protect him. I don’t belong in this world, Rebekah. I’m not strong. I’m not... anything like what he needs.”

“You are,” she says instantly. “And that’s not me being nice. It’s the truth.”

You let your gaze drop. “I just… I saw him tonight. The way he lit up talking about that time in his life. With her, he was… alive. Untouchable. He didn’t have to hold back.”

“He also left a trail of destruction in his wake,” Rebekah replies, her voice dry. “Kol back then was a storm with teeth. Dangerous, reckless, impossible to rein in. You think that’s something to envy?”

Rebekah’s tone softens. “You don’t tame him. You anchor him. You make him want to be still. To be better. And trust me— Kol Mikaelson has never wanted to be better for anyone.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“And look,” she continues, quieter now, “Kol lives in that same fear. Of being unworthy. Of not being enough. It’s been carved into him since we were children. Which is why what he said tonight…” She pauses. “It was cruel. And he knows it.”

You close your eyes. “It just hurt so much.”

“I know,” she says, placing a steady hand over yours. “But if there’s one thing I know for certain— and that’s saying something— it’s that Kol loves you more than he knows how to handle. That doesn't excuse anything. But it means he’ll fight to make it right.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, softly you speak, “I don’t know if I can forgive him tonight.”

“Good,” Rebekah says bluntly. “He doesn’t deserve it yet. Let him sit in it. Make him earn it.”

You manage a soft laugh through your tears.

“Come on,” she says, rising. “Take a breather. Let him wonder if he’s truly ruined it.”

You nod slowly, rubbing at your face. “Okay.”

You stand. Rebekah walks you to the door, arm lightly around your shoulders.

As she opens it, you glance up at her.

“Thank you.”

She squeezes your hand. “Always.”

-*-

You return just after dusk.

The Quarter is quieter now— its usual pulse slowed to a soft hum of distant music and street lamps flickering to life. You walk slowly, trying to breathe in the cool air, hoping it will help wash the hurt away. But your heart is still bruised. Your fingers twist absentmindedly in the absence of your ring.

When you reach the compound, Rebekah is sitting near the door with a glass of wine. She looks up as you enter, eyes scanning your face carefully.

“You okay?” she asks.

You nod once, offering a tired smile. “Is he here?”

She sighs. “Upstairs. Been pacing like a madman. Looks like someone gutted him and left him standing.”

You nod again and make your way up. Each step feels heavier than the last.

You open the bedroom door slowly. And stop.

The entire room is covered in flowers.

Hundreds of them— your favorite shade of pink, full and soft, overflowing from mismatched vases, lining the windowsill, scattered in delicate trails across the bed. The air is thick with the scent of honey and roses.

Kol stands near the bed, shoulders rigid, hands twisted together like he doesn’t trust them not to shake.

When he sees you, his whole body stills. His red-rimmed eyes lock on yours, wide with something raw. Desperate.

“Before you walk away again,” he blurts, voice ragged, “please. Five minutes. You don’t have to say a word. You can hate me. Just… let me speak.”

You hesitate in the doorway.

“I’m not ready to talk,” you murmur.

“I’ll talk,” he says. “You listen.”

You step inside.

He doesn’t move toward you. Just begins.

“I’m sorry.” The words scrape out of him, cracked and unpolished. “Not just for what I said— though that alone was bloody awful— but for even letting you feel that way in the first place.”

You don’t speak.

“I was an idiot,” he continues. “No, worse. I was cruel. I lashed out and I used the most painful thing I could find to hurt you because—” He cuts off, jaw tight. “I got scared.”

You blink. “Scared?”

“That I don’t deserve you.” His voice is quiet now. “Because I don’t. I never have. You’re kind, and human, and good. You let me be soft with you, and that scares the hell out of me.”

You’re still frozen in place, but your heart is beating louder now.

“I’ve never had anything this real,” he confesses. “Not in a thousand years. And I’ve done nothing in this world to earn it. So when you started doubting us tonight, I panicked. Because some part of me still believes that one day, you’ll wake up and realize you deserve better.”

His throat works around the next words.

“I don’t want her,” he says. “I want you. The woman who brings me back when my instincts scream to destroy. The woman who looks at me like I’m worth something. The woman who taught me that peace isn’t boring. It’s just... safe.”

You take a trembling breath. Your chest tightens.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small,” he whispers. “You are not. You are everything.”

The quiet stretches long between you.

Then softly, you say, “You can’t expect everything to be okay with an apology.”

“I don’t,” he says. “But I had to try.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls something out.

Your ring.

He walks to you slowly, then kneels— petals crunching faintly beneath him.

“I’ll wait,” he says. “If that’s what it takes. But I’m asking again. Will you still marry me?”

Your lips part. Tears finally spill over, silent and warm against your cheeks. You don’t speak. You just step forward and drop to your knees in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He clutches you like you’re the last thing anchoring him to the world.

“Yes,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. Gently, reverently, he slides the ring back onto your finger, then presses a kiss to your hand like it’s sacred.

“I’m still mad,” you murmur.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

“And you still have a lot of making up to do.”

“I plan on it,” he says. “Starting with dinner. Just us. Sushi. The good kind.”

You nod, breath catching on a laugh. “Okay.”

He kisses you then— slow and full of apology. Full of promise. His hands frame your face like you’re the only thing in the world that’s ever made him feel steady.

And in that moment, you believe him.

-*-

The next few days are… different.

Kol is everywhere.

He holds your hand when you walk. Wraps an arm around your waist while you make tea. Follows you from room to room like a cologne-wearing shadow who thinks everything you say is the most brilliant thing he’s ever heard.

And he is absurdly affectionate.

Every kiss is too long. Every compliment is too loud. The flowers multiply daily— fresh blooms on your pillow, tucked into your boots, even braided into a crown he insists you wear around the house until Rebekah snaps a picture (and promises to use it as blackmail).

You should be annoyed.

But you’re not.

Because he means every word. Because every brush of his fingers feels like a promise: I won’t hurt you like that again.

This morning, he’s curled beside you on the couch, your legs draped over his lap. The TV hums softly in the background, but Kol is more interested in playing with your fingers, absently twisting the engagement ring like he’s still marveling that it’s back where it belongs.

You sip your tea and side-eye him. “You do realize the ring’s staying on this time, right?”

He grins. “I’m just making sure it fits. Permanently.”

The door swings open. Rebekah strides into the room holding a half-empty vase, her expression one of theatrical exasperation.

“Kol,” she says flatly. “If I find one more flower in my shampoo, I’m going to make Freya hex your eyebrows off.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Please. I’d look dashing with no brows.”

“Seriously,” Klaus calls from the hallway, voice full of disdain, “it’s like a bloody florist exploded in here.”

You glance at Kol, who only smirks.

“I’m in love,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “We’re celebrating.”

“With daisies in my coat pockets?” Klaus mutters.

“You’re welcome,” Kol replies. Then he turns to you and drops his voice to a dramatic whisper, “Ignore them, darling. They’ve simply never known love like ours.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin tugs at your lips anyway.

Rebekah sighs. “I actually liked you better when you were brooding.”

“Impossible,” Kol declares, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m radiant now.”

Klaus snorts and disappears upstairs. Rebekah mutters something about needing more wine.

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You know they’re never going to let this go.”

Kol just pulls you closer. “Let them tease. I have you.”

You glance down at your ring again, your heart full.

Peace doesn’t come easy in this world.

But right now, it’s wrapped in a floral-scented Original Vampire who won’t stop looking at you like you hung the stars.

And for the first time in a long time, forever doesn’t seem so scary after all.

If you want to be a part of my tag list, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you (If you don’t specify, I’ll just assume you want to be on the general list)!

Taglist: @chaoticfanpeach @hazgold @devotedlycrookeddonut @catmikaelson20 @stargirly05 @sc4rrc

[elljayvee]

Genuinely don't know what it's called but there's a particular way of violating reality that doesn't work. For example, I am willing to accept an omegaverse university AU of nearly any fandom you care to name (except, for some reason, Sherlock, because I have an inexplicable hatred for unilock). However, a lot of Star Wars university AUs specifically fail on this aspect: they make Anakin an engineering PhD student and Obi-Wan something like literature or classics, and then they make Anakin his TA or GA.

You can't do that. Absolutely not. Anakin is unqualified for that and a university would not do it in any case. A university would literally hire a junior or senior undergraduate workstudy student to do as much of that work as possible first. They would do NOTHING other than do that and make the prof do all his own grading.

Is there a name for "I will accept [wild fantasy premise] but not [ordinary wrong thing]?" Please tell me there's a name for this. Probably someone who studies lit will know? I'm a systems person I don't know from lit theory just like Anakin

[heycallmeplease]

Was your star next to mine ?

@skyrigel

[hegodamask]

babe wake up, full canon accurate and up-to-date map of the star wars galaxy just dropped

[foreststarflaime]

Sure sure romantic pairings are fine and all. But more people should perhaps consider two characters loving each other to the point of incomprehensibility. To the point that there is no simpler way in english to define or describe it than just to say those characters’ names together, joined eternally by the vague conjunction ‘and’. There’s so many types of love and dependencies and emotions in general thrown in there that you can’t tell what colors they are anymore, they’ve just joined into a giant blobby mess that’s almost black, but when you look closer glistens with more colors than there are names for. Just a thought

[foldingfittedsheets]

One time I was ringing up this sweet older gentleman at the sex shop. I no longer remember what he was buying, just that he was in his fifties and radiated a bumbling gentleness that I had enjoyed.

He was chatting with me as he pulled out cash to pay, “You know, I always thought it would be so much easier to meet ladies. But then you meet a girl and you start chatting and they’re never as impressed that I know Captain Kirk’s middle name as I expected them to be.”

I took his payment with a grin and said, “I dunno, Tiberius is an amazing middle name, it was their loss.”

He looked at me with utter awe, radiating a disbelieving joy that I’d parried his quip so effortlessly with Trekkie lore. “If I were thirty years younger…” he’d said, absolutely delighted.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was gay to boot, so I just beamed and wished him a good day. He went out the door with a spring in his step and I still smile to think about it.

[star-struck09]

Do you think of me as often as I think of you?

[quimichi]

˚✦ ˑ 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐫, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭? ִֶ 𓂃⊹ - MDNI

WARNINGS: NSFW - MDNI, Pet names, sexual behavior, name calling, some a bit rough and mean

SUMMARY: They took your virginity. Case solved.

CHARACTERS: HSR Men X F!Reader (no aged up Charas)

WORD COUNT: 13.150

Argenti

All you can do is whine as his fingers scissor and stretch you, juices dripping down. His tongue softly rubs circles around your clit like he’s painting you, a masterpiece. And you can’t help but moan out at the new pleasure. His fingers hit that spot that sends an electric jolt to your toes and back, you desperately arch with another whine. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure. It's overwhelming you, he promised to be gentle, and he is. But never once did he tell you how good this will all feel.

“S-Shit Argenti-, I can’t—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence, your voice begins to crack, your hips bucking widly as he speeds up. And then you’re coming, babbling nonsense and his name like a prayer as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You don’t even comprehend that you squirt all over his hand and mouth, or that he’s rutting his hips against the bed and moaning into your cunt as he tastes you. Not only is it a pleasure to please you, beautiful you. It's a pleasure to be your first. It sends a wave of possessiveness through his body.

Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, his glistening fingers running up to your waist.  “Such a dirty little rose,” he murmurs as he leans down, teeth grazing across your neck, hair tickling your skin. “Youre a sight to behold, breathless, dazed...divine.”

Aventurine

“You like that, don’t you?” He asks, grip on your throat. Its not enough to hurt you, but enough for you to know his hand is there. “You like my cock stretchin’ you out, huh?” You're unable answer him, the only thing you manage are whines and moans slipping through his fingers through your throat. He'd be mean to not let you moan out like a bitch in heat after all. Aventurine smirks knowingly, continuing his assault on your insides.

“Can't believe no one ever went inside you, youre far too good. Shit-you love it too, don't you?” You whine out, hiccuping out a moan as his other hand travels down your tummy, the soft touch sending waves to your core. His fingers eventually find your clit, rubbinh the swollen skin over and over again. Your eyes glaze over and roll back, it's too much, too much!

Your vision goes white as your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, stealing the breath from your lungs as your legs shake and back arches. “Mine, ok? Youre mine, my girl. You don't mind do you? Surely you don't...look at you, sweet girl.”

Blade

“feels s’fucking good—“ you mindlessly babbles out. His large palms are stretched out on both sides of you hips, nails digging into your skin. “Such a greedy little pussy,” he groans out with another roll of his hips. “keeps suckin’ me back in…you're a little greedy slut, hm?" he teases.

You can feel his hot breath fanning your ear while his dark hair tickles your neck. The sloppy sounds that fill the room seem to only grow louder with each thrust, as your arousal practically drips down his balls. Headboard constantly hitting the wall. You wouldn't be surprised if something would break this night, and it doesn't need to be the bed.

“if you keep moaning like a bitch in heat, i won't fucking stop,” he hissed out, as he presses down on your stomach which makes you whimper in response. "Naw, look at that," he points at the bulge in your stomach, "that's me all the way inside your greedy cunt."

Boothill

"you still good, darlin?" he asked, amused, his hands moving up to grab one of your tits, giving it a squeeze with his cold hands. He hummed at your subtle nod, his fingers pinching your nipple from below with just the right amount of pressure to bring you to the edge but not send you over. He knows he could do this for hours, his stamina is much longer than yours after all, but he doesn't want to push you just yet.

"shit.." he cursed, though not out of frustration, “your pussy is driving me crazy." he whispered against your folds, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your entire body, it almost felt as if you were being electrocuted or something. “its so fucking pretty for no fucking reason...”

Caelus

“shiiit-just like that...” he mumbles out as he lazily guides your movements, helping you bounce yourself up and down on his cock. Hands softly gripping your hips as he guides you. He smirks when he heard your whine as a reaction to his groans, golden halflidded eyes stare up at you. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re like this, so desperate for him yet so adamant on not asking for his help. You had no idea what you were doing, well, neither does he. But you insisted on riding him.

“doing so well,” he says with a slight whine as he thrusts his hips up in time with your movements. It doesn’t take much effort for him to flip you over and have you at his mercy. Your legs are now lifted over his shoulders while his dick is fucking you even deeper, "sorry,-shit-sorry I couldn't-hold myself back much longer-!"

Dan Heng

“just as i expected, it slipped right in...” your arm immediately slung over your face to hide your embarrassment. Something about the way he talks to you has you throbbing.

“fuck, so deep inside you already.” he breathes, as he eases his way into you. He's so painfully splitting you open. You whine and whimper, it feels too good to be true. “that’s it, there’s my girl.” his raspy laugh fills the silence. “youre doing so good for me, just a bit longer, ok?”

He speeds up his thrusts, "eyes on me," he says, "you can do it, eyes on me." And when he hits just the right spot, your eyes roll back and flutter closed.

"Good girl."

Dr. Ratio

“it hurts, doesn't it?” he whispers, no mock, no tease, unusual for him. He knows it hurts, he's just deep enough inside you, balls deep.

“yes, it hurts…” you whine, eyes watering as you adjust. He’s letting you distract yourself a bit, letting you soak up the pain with pleasure. “… so bad.” you keep whining.

"I know, it will get better." he presses his hips flat against you, just to slowly drag his cock out of you again, leaving just his tip inside. “Doing good for a first timer. Don't worry, I'll teach you everything you need to know.”

You nod desperately, biting your lip between your teeth.

“I'll be slow, we got time.” he mumbles, a sick grin painting across his face. He'd be lying if he would say he doesn't enjoy the power play that's going on at the moment. "I'M gonna teach you everything you need to know."

Gallagher

Your mouth falls open when he grinds his hard cock against your ass. Youre breathing hard, chest heaving. But you can't help but lean back against his chest. He slips a hand back into your underwear, rubbing slow circles against your clit. His breath is hot against your ear as he chuckles at your reaction. His middle finger slips between your folds and gathers some of your arousal to use it at your clit again. Once he had your hips jerking and whines leaving your lips, he slips two of his thick fingers inside. He moves slowly, fingers working inside of you like a caress.

“I- ‘m gonna-” you muster, weakly clawing at his arms.

He slips his hand out of your pussy again, letting his tongue run over his fingers, lapping at your juices. He hums, as the taste hits his tounge, “Shit, girl. Got me addicted already.”

Gepard

“That’s it.. Just like that..” He takes hold of the hand, kissing your knuckles, whispering soft praises into your skin to help you work up courage to keep riding him. He knows it's embarrassing for you, he knows you doubt yourself. But he also knows that you can do it.

“Doing so good for me, ok? So good, keep going..”

It takes his everything to hold back his hips and not fuck up into you, it's all too inviting.  He holds you, wrapping both arms around your torso and pull you close to his chest. One hand slips down to your hips, guiding you on his cock. "Like that, yeah."

Hot breaths reach your ear as he hums in approvment. "Good...shit--good."

Jing Yuan

“ass up. There you go, atta girl.” and you almost shiver from his touch on you'd hips as he turns you over. Jing Yuan stares at your ass, bringing a rough palm towards your left cheek. “Mm, nice. You're doing good. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you...for now.”

As he speaks, your cheek presses further against the pillow, hiding in embarrassment. Jing Yuan watches as your ass writhes and he hums, springing out his thick cock. “I'm going in, ok? No need to be scared”

“ok...” you breathe, big talk for someone who probably has way to much experience for his own good.

"I'll go easy on you, I promised you that birdie." He whispers in your ear as he leans over, slowly pushing in.

Jiaoqiu

He dives in, his tongue delving deep into your soaked folds. He laps at you hungrily, savoring your taste as he eats you out with wild abandon. His tongue swirls around your clit before sucking it between his lips, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly. “you're so hot...,” he hums against your core, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “thank you for the meal...”

Your finger desperately looking for support and found his hair, scratching his scalp with your long nails in the process. You can't help but let one hand wander to one of his ears, tugging on it. Immediately a whine leaves his lips as he laps on you more desperately than before.

He doubles his efforts, lapping at your clit with broad strokes of his tongue before sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and suckling greedily.

"Do that again and watch me eat you up."

Luka

Luka leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly. His hands grip your hips hard you feel like you might see some bruises tomorrow as a souvenir.

"Damn, you take my cock better than expected, baby," he rasps against your mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Way to fucking well, you sure you're a virgin?" he breaks the kiss to gaze down at you. “look at me,” he commands, "that pussy is mine now. Mine."

As you meet his eyes, he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck-didnt know you could get any tighter."

Luocha

The next thing you felt was his cock entering you all at once, barely giving you time to get used to his huge size and thickness. Hes not a mean man by any means, but he figured that maybe him going in faster with the ammount of slick you already got, might be less painful. Wronh judgment in a hazy moment. And fuck if he didn't love feeling the way your cunt stretched to accommodate him, how your walls are so tight around his length.

When he did it, it was over for you, and you thanked him with the most beautiful sounds he ever heard. You squeezed him and croed out, making a mess of yourself as you grab onto his shoulders for support. It all was too much for you, too much happening all at once. But you'd be a lair to say you didn't enjoy it.

He would slowly start to run against you, holding your hips in place as he drags his cock in and out of your hole. His slow speed was annoying, painful, but so good.

But the best feeling was yet to come.

“Just you wait once I'm done with you. We'll have plenty of time left to get to know each other much better."

Sampo

Without warning, he pulled out – only halfway – and plunged back inside you with an almighty push. It .ade your eyes roll back into your skull, your mind went blank for a second. His teasing laugh pulling you back into reality, "Oops-went to hard there~" As a apology he went softer on you, slowly dragging his cock in and out of your hole.

“Doing so well for me,” he groaned, as he lightly speed up again, holding your hips in a tight grip.

"Damn-" he groans as you grap onto his shoulders and dig your nails in. "Careful there baby, you don't wanna hurt poor Sampo, hm?" He laughs again as he kisses down your neck and leaves yet another bite behind.

"We could do this more often, I know I wouldn't mind."

Sunday

The all so collected man practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back. You unknowingly push him against you, silently asking for more. "Needy, needy." he teases as breaths in your ear, giving it a soft kiss afterwards.

“Dont you worry, I'm not done with you yet.”

Although his words came out more scary than they should, his action of hiding into your shoulder makes it all seem more pathetic than dominant. His wings flutter as your parted lips let a whine escape.

He groans, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. Your nails dig hard into his scalp.

“That came...rather unexpected.”

Welt

“it won’t fit!” you sob out loud. No way this all will fit inside you, you never took anything, or anything that size. He's bigger than you, this wont fit without tears. But you're determined today, telling him you wanted to fit everything in you.

He trails his fingers up and down your side before one hand snakes down to thumb at your clit while the other large hand clasps your hip. "i'll make it fit, and I'll be careful." he promises, soft as he pleasures you. You expected nothing less of him, he always treated you with more care than any others. He softly rubs your clit as he enters, a way of distracting you from the pain that you will encounter.

"there you go, told you I'd make it fit."

[philtstone]

feel like psych deserves more credit for manifesting guest stars from almost every single property it referenced. i know plenty of shows have pop culture relevant guest stars but none of them make references that are so very specific and none of them get 99% of their references to actually show up. like psych will throw out a name exclusively for the bit and then an unpredictable number of episodes/seasons later that person will literally show up as murderer/victim/random extended family member of the week with no comment. george takei. william shatner. cybill shepherd from moonlighting. almost every single actor from the breakfast club (one of them recurring!). biff and doc brown from back to the future. dr frankenfurter himself. literally carey elwes. john cena??? john rhys davies. half the cast of twin peaks. the original "come on son" guy. alan ruck. michael rooker. both leads from she's all that. winston from ghostbusters. bud's mom from the cosby show. curt smith from tears for fears (who also sang live with them at an event, like, twice). they mentioned billy zane and val kilmer so many times per season that through sheer willpower they got billy zane and val kilmer to both show up in their series finale. those guys committed to their bits so hard that they ended their show with one of the most diversified and stacked cameo rosters in tv & thats honestly so funny and iconic of them

[cyofii]

⩩﹕IN WHICH Phainon finally works up the courage to confess his feelings for you. He’s prepared for the worst, but his overly enthusiastic and hilariously awkward confession turns out to be the very thing that melts your heart.

wc: 2.7k 𐔌 ᯓ fluff + crack, reader is a member of the astral express, english is NOT my first language, probably ooc, i might disappear again after this helpp

It all started with a simple glance. The moment you, Caelus, and Dan Heng arrived at Amphoreus and were saved by him, something shifted. He couldn’t help but take notice of you the instant your eyes met. Was it the way you stood your ground against the Strife Titan’s soldier minions? The steady strength in how you cared for your comrades? Or perhaps it was just you, intriguing in a way he couldn’t quite place.

The first time Phainon spoke to you, he found himself trying his best to impress you with his words. Were you the type to be drawn to intelligent people? The kind who could be charmed by facts, theories, or well-timed historical references? He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to find out. So he made it his mission to impress you with what he knew, slipping little details into conversation about Amphoreus’s ancient architecture, the myths behind its sky, or the lesser-known mechanics. His voice would drop to soft, thoughtful tones whenever you were near, as if every word he spoke was carefully chosen just for you.

Tribbie noticed it too. There was a subtle difference in Phainon’s voice whenever he spoke to you. It carried a softness, something warmer, something more genuine than the way he spoke to anyone else. On the way to Okhema, Tribbie couldn’t help but sneak glances at the two of you, quietly cheering for Phainon in her head. Even Dan Heng, ever observant, seemed to sense the way Phainon’s attention lingered on you a little longer than it should.

"Have you eaten anything yet?" Phainon asked, his gaze settling on you.

Fate must have been on his side when he asked if you wanted to ride the dromas with him, and you agreed, especially since Caelus and Dan Heng were already sharing one.

"I haven't, actually," you replied, your eyes drifting over the unfamiliar surroundings, taking everything in.

"Then once we reach the city gates, we can go eat. My treat, of course!" he said, his voice laced with excitement.

You could almost imagine a pair of puppy ears and a wagging tail behind him as he spoke, the image bringing a chuckle out of you.

"Sure, I'd like that," you replied, accepting his offer with a warm smile.

Because of the battle against Nikador, the little ‘date’ Phainon had planned was postponed. A week had already passed.

Now, Phainon stood outside the room you shared with Caelus and Dan Heng, quietly muttering to himself as he worked up the courage to knock. He kept rehearsing the words in his head, wondering how he should invite you to eat. Was he always this nervous? Or was it only like this when it came to you?

Trying to steady his nerves, Phainon took a deep breath and knocked on the door, his hand hesitating for just a second.

There was a long pause before a voice called out, "I’ll get it."

The door creaked open, slow and unhurried, and Phainon felt his heart climb all the way to his throat. For a moment, he was sure it would burst out of his chest.

But when the door finally opened, it wasn’t you standing there — it was Dan Heng, his expression calm but curious. The sight brought Phainon a small wave of relief, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly. If it had been you, he swore he might have collapsed right then and there.

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow, studying him for a second longer than usual. "Looking for someone?" he asked, though the knowing tone in his voice suggested he already had the answer.

Phainon cleared his throat, trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. "Are they here?"

Dan Heng glanced over his shoulder toward the room before stepping aside. "They’re inside. I’ll call them."

As Dan Heng turned to call your name, Phainon felt his heart pick up speed all over again. No matter how much he tried to prepare himself, it seemed that just the thought of seeing you was enough to stir something deep in his chest.

You heard Dan Heng call your name from inside the room, his tone as calm as ever. At that moment, you and Caelus were in the middle of teasing each other over some silly in-joke, the kind that only the two of you seemed to find funny. He nudged your shoulder with a grin, and you rolled your eyes playfully before excusing yourself.

As you stepped toward the door, still smiling faintly from the banter, Phainon felt his breath catch in his throat. Even though he had spent a whole week trying to find the right words, now that you were standing in front of him, his mind went completely blank.

You tilted your head slightly, noticing the way his gaze flickered away for just a moment. "Hey," you greeted, your voice light and easy, unaware of how much weight the simple word carried for him.

Phainon rubbed the back of his neck, forcing out the words he had practiced so many times. "About the meal... I was wondering if you're still up for it. I mean, if you're free, of course."

There was a pause, short but enough for Phainon’s heart to hammer against his chest all over again as he waited for your reply.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” you said, a small spark of realization flickering across your face. You looked at him with an apologetic smile, your tone light but warm. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Phainon felt the tension in his chest ease, his lips pulling into a bright, genuine smile. Without wasting another second, you turned your head back toward the room.

“I’m heading out with Phainon,” you called out, making sure both Caelus and Dan Heng could hear. Caelus gave you a playful wave from where he sat, and Dan Heng gave a small nod, his usual calm expression softening just a little.

Once you had said your goodbyes, you stepped out of the room and walked alongside Phainon. His steps felt lighter, and the shy glance he gave you couldn’t quite hide the excitement flickering behind his eyes.

“Snowy!” Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon all called out in unison.

There stood Phainon, his face redder than Mydei’s robe.

“What happened, Lord Phainon?” Castorice asked, a polite smile resting on her face.

Before Phainon could even try to answer, the sound of armor echoed through the bathhouse as Mydei strolled in, adjusting his gloves. His expression held the usual sharp edge of someone who knew far more than he let on.

“Oh, I can answer that,” Mydei said, his tone light and teasing. He stopped just a few steps away from the group, crossing his arms. “Deliverer here is fresh from a little outing, aren’t you?”

Phainon’s shoulders stiffened as Mydei glanced his way, that playful glint dancing in his eyes.

“Such an adorable sight too. Sharing a meal, walking side by side, and that little moment where he almost looked like he could steal the whole sky with one smile.” Mydei paused, clearly savoring the attention of the room. “Who knew the Deliverer had it in him?”

The room went silent for a moment, all eyes on Phainon, whose face somehow managed to burn even hotter.

Phainon opened his mouth to speak, maybe to deny it or maybe to change the subject, but all that came out was a strangled, “I—”

“Didn’t expect that, huh?” Trianne whispered to Tribbie.

Phainon turned away, covering his mouth with one hand in a poor attempt to hide the shade his cheeks had turned. He could still hear Mydei humming behind him, clearly enjoying himself.

His thoughts flickered back to just a short while ago. After their meal, the walk back had been warm, soft, and a little awkward, but in a good way.

“You didn’t have to walk me back, you know,” you had said, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as the two of you walked along the path leading to your room. The sky above Amphoreus was still the same as ever.

“I wanted to,” Phainon replied, not quite looking at you. “It’s only right to make sure you got back safely.”

You had chuckled at that, a quiet, content sound.

When you reached the door, he lingered for just a second longer than necessary, and you noticed.

“I’ll see you soon?” you asked.

Phainon nodded quickly, trying to look composed even as he backed away. “Y-yeah. Definitely.”

The memory dissolved the moment Mydei spoke.

“Speaking of,” Mydei said with a smirk, glancing toward the lift. “Look who decided to join us.”

Phainon turned around and froze.

There you were, walking in alongside Dan Heng and Caelus, your eyes scanning the room. Dan Heng gave a polite nod to the group, while Caelus stretched his arms up with a dramatic sigh.

“Apologies, we’re late,” Dan Heng said. “Aglaea asked us to come too.”

Phainon blinked, his mind short-circuiting. “Oh. You’re... here too?”

You tilted your head slightly, amused. “Didn’t expect us?”

“I, uh, well, I just—” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “I thought you’d be resting. After, y’know, earlier.”

Caelus narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Why does that sound suspicious?”

Mydei let out a low hum. “It was suspicious.”

Tribbie giggled behind her hand, and Trianne barely suppressed a laugh.

You glanced at Phainon, your expression unreadable for just a moment, then a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “You didn’t tell anyone about the part where you almost tripped over a bench, right?”

Phainon let out a groan, covering his face as the others erupted into laughter. “Please don’t.”

The market was buzzing with chatter, and the air smelled faintly of roasted nuts and fresh bread. Tribbie was holding a small pouch of star-shaped candies, but her focus was far from the snacks.

“So…” she began, tugging lightly at your sleeve as you walked. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Phainon lately.”

You glanced down at her, amused. “Have I?”

Tribbie grinned up at you, swinging her arm slightly. “Don’t pretend! He’s always sticking close to you — and I’ve seen the way you smile at him too.”

You paused, pretending to study one of the stall’s trinkets, though the question sat warmly in your chest. After a short moment, you finally answered.

“I guess he is interesting,” you admitted. “He’s smart, funny... and honestly, kind of charming when he isn’t trying so hard.”

Tribbie’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, clearly delighted by your answer. “And handsome?” she asked, her voice full of playful innocence.

A soft laugh escaped you. “Yeah, that too.”

Tribbie let out a happy little giggle, skipping beside you as the two of you continued walking. “I knew it! I knew you thought so.”

Tribbie, still beaming from your little confession, skipped ahead a few steps before turning on her heel to face you, walking backward with the confidence only a child could manage.

“You should tell him, you know!” she chirped, her voice light as the breeze. “I bet he’d be super happy.”

You shook your head, amused at her boldness. “It’s not that easy, Tribbie.”

She tilted her head, puzzled. “Why not? Grown-ups always make things more complicated.”

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed softly in your pocket. You pulled it out and saw a message from Dan Heng:

Dan Heng: Caelus is getting hungry. You heading back soon?

You smiled to yourself, typing a quick reply.

You: On my way! Tribbie was stalling me.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you turned to Tribbie. “Come on,” you said, gently taking her hand to guide her away from the crowd. “I need to head back before Caelus starts eating my secret snacks.”

Tribbie skipped along beside you, humming happily under her breath. But even as you walked, your thoughts lingered on Phainon — the way his voice softened whenever he spoke to you, the way his nervous smiles felt so genuine, and how his whole demeanor seemed to ease the moment you were near.

Unspoken feelings hung in the air, light but impossible to ignore, and you couldn’t help but wonder if, somewhere, Phainon was thinking about you too.

The sun hung high in the sky as you and Phainon found yourselves standing by a quiet corner of the bustling marketplace, far from the noise of the crowd. The moment felt like it was meant to be, but Phainon looked a bit too tense for it to be anything “casual.”

He shifted on his feet, clearly unsure how to start. You raised an eyebrow at him. “You alright?”

Phainon’s face turned a little pink, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh… so... you know how we’ve been spending a lot of time together lately?”

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face as you could already sense where this was going. “Yeah, I think I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve been thinking... a lot.” Phainon scratched his head nervously. “And I just... I need to say this before my brain explodes. It’s important.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his serious tone, though you kept it to a smile so as not to interrupt his flow. “Alright, lay it on me.”

He took a deep breath, staring at you like you were the most important thing in the world, even if his face was all sorts of red. “Okay, here goes... I like you. Like, a lot. And I’m not talking about, like, ‘Oh, I like you as a friend’ type of liking you. I mean, I like you like you. Like, if liking you was a sport, I’d be the world champion. That’s how much I like you.”

You blinked, trying to suppress your laughter. “Phainon, are you... are you trying to tell me you have a crush on me?”

He nodded vigorously, still rambling. “Yes! But it’s not just a regular crush, okay? It’s like... the kind where I’d write you a song if I knew how to play an instrument. Or maybe I’d bake you cookies, but only if I had a recipe. Which I don’t. But, you know, the point is — I like you. A lot. And I can’t keep pretending that I don’t. So there, I said it.”

There was a brief silence, and you stared at him, blinking slowly, trying to make sense of his very enthusiastic confession. Then, you burst out laughing.

Phainon’s eyes widened, his face going even redder. “Wait, wait! Is that—was that bad? Did I mess it up? I can try again—”

You waved your hands, still chuckling. “No, no! It’s just... I wasn’t expecting you to be this nervous about it!”

Phainon gave a weak laugh, scratching his head again. “Well, it’s not every day I tell someone I like them, you know? I mean, this is serious stuff. It’s like, ‘here’s my heart, don’t drop it’ kind of serious.”

You put a hand on your chest dramatically. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna drop your heart. I mean, you’re not that bad. You did make me laugh.”

Phainon sighed in relief, a little grin appearing on his face. “Okay, so... you’re not running away screaming, right?”

You grinned. “Nah. But only because you said it in such a funny way. You’re lucky I find that charming.”

Phainon blinked. “Really? You find me charming?”

“Sure,” you said with a teasing smile. “For a world champion overthinker.”

His grin grew even wider as he nudged you playfully. “Well, if you ever need a partner in crime for overthinking things, you know where to find me.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I think you’ve already got me.”

Phainon blinked, then broke into a big smile. “Wait, did you just say yes?”

You gave him a wink. “Maybe I did. But you still owe me those cookies.”

“Deal!” he said, a little too enthusiastically. “I’ll start baking immediately... once I find a recipe.”

[writing-the-stars]

The Quiet That Saves Him

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Finn Mikaelson x Fem!Reader (Enemies)

Summary: When Kol Mikaelson is pushed to the brink by his brother's cruelty and centuries-old wounds, it’s not rage or revenge that pulls him back — it’s her. In a house built on blood and betrayal, the only thing strong enough to steady the monster is the quiet, unwavering love of the woman who chose him.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: Angst (Always and Forever), Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Finn Mikaelson Being the ABSOLUTE WORST Mikaelson Sibling (Nothing New), Mikaelson Family Drama™. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something.

A/N: Hey guys! Back with another Kol Mikaelson fic. This is based on this request. Shout out to the lovely Anon who sent this in. I appreciate your support and I hope this encapsulates everything you imagined. As always, thank you all so much for reading! I truly hope that you and enjoy. Have a marvelous day!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

There is a certain chaos that comes with living in the Mikaelson compound. You’d grown used to it — the bickering, the endless sarcasm, the ancient grudges — but nothing ever truly prepares you for when Kol and Finn are at each other's throats.

You were folding laundry in the bedroom you shared with Kol when the shouting started, humming softly as you folded one of his shirts, still warm from the dryer. The scent of him lingers in the fabric — warm spice and that smoky cologne he likes — and you smile a little, pressing one to your face for just a second before neatly setting it aside. It was a small comfort, grounding you in the normal.

You don’t even notice the raised voices at first — the compound is never truly quiet. But when Kol’s voice rises above the usual buzz of life downstairs, your hands freeze mid-fold.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Finn. You always did love preaching from your throne of superiority!” 

Kol’s voice cracks like thunder through the walls, causing you to flinch.

Finn’s reply is a sharp echo. “And you’ve never grown up, Kol. Still reckless, still dangerous. Still dragging others down with you.”

Your stomach twists. That tone — the contempt in Finn’s voice — you know that all too well. It always sets Kol off. It digs into him and presses against the thought that he’s never been enough. You abandon the laundry and hurry out of your room, heart climbing your throat as you step out into the hallway. Every footfall echoes louder than the last.

When you push open the double doors to the lounge, the scene before you astonishes you. Freya stands between her brothers, arms raised to keep them apart. Her expression is tight — not panicked, but strained. Finn’s jaw is clenched — expression a marble mask of judgment. And Kol…

He looks wild — eyes dark with a look that says he’s about to become someone even he’s afraid of. His fangs flash beneath his fury, body coiled like a predator seconds before the pounce. You’d seen him angry before — jealous, reckless, even unhinged. But this is different. This is old anger. Grief. Rejection. A thousand years of pain with nowhere to go. And now it’s clawing its way to the surface, teeth first.

You step into the room slowly as if any sudden movement will cause an explosion.

“Kol,” you call out to your husband gently, hoping to coax him back from the edge. “Baby, please. Come with me.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge you at first. His entire focus is fixed on Finn. 

“He doesn’t get to talk about me like that — not in my own home!”

Finn scoffs. “Your home?” He looks around dramatically, eyes gleaming with disdain. “Please. This house was standing centuries before you ever stopped playing with daggers and temper tantrums. If anything, we’re all just guests in Niklaus’s shrine to himself.”

Kol’s jaw clenches, his fingers twitching like he is seconds from snapping. But before he can unleash another retort, you step forward. 

“Kol,” you call again, your voice firmer now, aiming to break through the mounting storm. You place a hand on his chest, feeling the rage vibrating through him, a pulse of something ancient and dangerous trying to claw its way out. You press three taps right over his heart — your grounding technique — hoping to center him and draw him back to you. 

Slowly, your husband’s eyes drift to yours, softening ever so slightly. 

“Oh, look,” Finn sneers from behind, “he needs his wife to come save him. How precious.”

Kol’s entire demeanor darkens — the air around him turning electric, suffocating. His voice is a low, venomous hiss, “Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth.” 

“What, Kol?” Finn snaps, stepping in closer, Freya’s hand barely holding him back. “You’ll kill me? Over her?” His laugh is bitter. “You think being shackled to a mortal makes you strong? Makes you better? It’s pathetic. She’s your leash — and you wear it proudly.”

The words strike you hard. A cruel and calculated attack. Not because they’re true, but because Kol believes they might be. That loving you has made him soft. That choosing you was some kind of vulnerability. You’ve fought so hard to be more than that — to be his anchor, not his weakness — but Finn wields words like weapons, and he knows just where to strike. 

You fight the urge to step between them, to defend yourself, to demand some semblance of respect. But this isn’t about you, not really.

This is about everything Kol has ever been denied — respect, belonging, love — and the one thing he won’t let anyone take from him.

The fragile restraint Kol had left snaps. He lunges at Finn, fangs bared, hands curled into fists.

Freya’s magic surges — a barrier forming that sends Kol ricocheting back with the force of his attack. He’s up in an instant, eyes blood red, veins dancing beneath his skin. 

“Say it again!” Kol roars, “Say it again, I dare you! I’ll rip that smug face of yours apart.”

Finn only smirks from behind Freya’s protection — the kind of smug silence that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Kol,” your voice breaks through again — urgent and desperate. “Baby, please. He’s not worth it.”

You slide a hand over his tightly clenched fist, then bring your other to his cheek — soft and coaxing. 

His chest is still heaving, but his eyes find yours again. His jaw twitches, but you can feel him calming under your touch. He takes your hand in his, possessive and shaking. He lets you guide him back a step.

But Finn isn’t done.

“Let her keep coddling you, brother,” he says, his tone icy. “The moment her usefulness runs out, she’ll see exactly what you are. And so will everyone else.”

You see the rage reigniting in your husband.

“Kol,” you whisper, thumb brushing his cheek. “Enough.”

He doesn't move at first — but then his fingers squeeze yours. A silent signal. He is listening. For you.

As you turn to leave, you glance back at Freya. 

“You should’ve stopped this before it started,” you tell her, voice low and cold. “But instead, you stood there. Let it burn. That’s not neutrality, Freya. That’s betrayal.”

She says nothing. Just watches, silent and still, as if that absolves her of everything. You leave with Kol’s hand tight in yours, your heart hammering in your chest.

-*-

The bedroom door clicks shut behind you with a soft finality, but the tension doesn’t leave with it. It clings to Kol like a second skin — taut, volatile, coiled tightly beneath his immortal calm. 

He paces your bedroom in agitated silence, fists clenching and unclenching as though the mere act of standing still might splinter him apart. His movements are sharp, all edges. Dangerous, even in their restraint. You can see it — the storm still burning behind his eyes, veined shadows lingering beneath the surface.

You stay by the door for a moment, watching him. It isn’t over — Finn’s words have wormed their way in too deep.

"Kol," you say gently, stepping closer. "Look at me."

He pauses, only slightly — but he does.

His eyes find yours, still burning dark with residual fury, but something in them cracked, softened, the moment he truly saw you.

"I hate him," he says, voice rough. “I hate how he talks about you. About us. Like we’re something lesser because we chose happiness instead of ancient pride.”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his.

"He talks like that because he doesn’t have what we do,” you murmur. “He doesn’t understand it, and maybe he never will."

Kol lets out a harsh exhale, shaking his head like he was trying to shake the memory of it loose. “He called you a leash.” His voice catches on the word. “As if you’re some chain keeping the beast in check.”

Your heart aches — not just at the insult, but at the way he repeats it, like it echoes in his bones. You tug him gently toward the bed, guiding him between your knees as you sit. Your arms wrap around his waist, grounding him again. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes close, and for a moment, just a moment, you feel him breathe again — as if your touch finally allowed him to.

Silence stretches — not empty, but full. Full of all the words he can’t quite say yet. Your fingers move gently through his hair.

Then, carefully: “Kol… can I ask you something?”

His jaw flexes. “Always.”

You hesitate. Just long enough to feel it in your chest.

“Do you… think I hold you back?”

He flinches, blinking like the question physically struck him. “What? No. Never.”

“Then why does it matter what Finn thinks?” you ask, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “He wants to get under your skin. He wants you to believe love is weakness — that I make you vulnerable. But Kol…” You looked up at him, voice quieter now. “There’s nothing weak about love. Not the kind that survives everything we’ve been through.”

His eyes search yours, wounded and open. The storm hasn’t passed — but it has slowed, shifted. “He doesn’t get to speak about you like that,” he says, voice low. “Like you’re some leash I wear. Like I’m a beast that needs taming.”

Your fingers graze his cheek, soft. Steady. “He says those things because he’s bitter. Because he’s afraid of who you’ve become. Because he’s jealous, Kol.”

He leans into your touch like it hurts to be without it. Then, in a whisper like a confession torn from a wound:

“And what if he’s right?” 

Your heart skips at your husband’s question. “Kol—” 

“I’ve spent centuries being the monster he says I am,” he admits, eyes distant now, voice shaking. “I used to revel in it. And what if…” He swallows hard. “What if I lose control again? What if I hurt you? What if this version of me isn’t permanent — just borrowed — just… borrowed because you’re here?”

You hate the way his shoulders slump. Like the past has found a way back in. Like all the progress, all the healing, has come undone by one cruel word from a brother who never cared to see who he has become.

You pull him tighter, like your arms alone can stitch him back together — every shattered piece, every ancient scar. Like maybe you can keep the dark from sinking back in.

“Then I’ll remind you,” you tell him, voice firm now. “Of who you are. Of who you chose to become. You’re not the boy Finn remembers. You’re not the monster you were forced to be. You’re Kol. And I love every part of you — even the parts that still scare you.”

He lets out a trembling breath, some of that buried weight seeming to ease. Not gone — not yet — but shifted. Bearable.

“I’m so damn grateful for you,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “For loving me. For choosing me..”

You smile softly against his chest. “Always.”

-*-

Kol has calmed — at least enough to kiss your hand, promise to come right back, and disappear down the hall in search of Elijah.

You stand in the doorway a moment longer, watching his retreating form. There is still a hum of tension under his skin, like lightning searching for ground, but he needs this conversation. Someone rational. Someone with centuries of restraint — someone who isn’t you.

You trust your husband. But still your hands tremble.

So, you make your way to the kitchen. It’s a ritual. A place where your fingers have purpose and your thoughts have a rhythm. The compound is quieter now, though the remnants of the fight still hang in the air like the scent of ozone after a storm.

Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Oven preheated by muscle memory.

You’re not even sure what you’re baking — only that you need something warm. Something that feels like comfort in a world of blood and broken glass. 

You just cracked the second egg when the sound of footsteps behind you makes your spine stiffen.

You know who it is before you turn around.

Finn.

Of course.

He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but unmistakably smug. You don’t acknowledge him, don’t feed his appetite for confrontation. Instead you focus on measuring ingredients. But then —

“You know he was in the wrong, don’t you?”

The measuring cup pauses in your hand. Just slightly.

“I know Kol is angry,” you say carefully, without turning around. “And I know why.”

Finn lets out a humorless laugh. “That’s not what I asked.”

You sigh and set the cup down, setting the cup down with deliberate calm. “What exactly do you want me to say, Finn? That you were justified in calling your brother a monster in front of his family? That insulting me was somehow noble?”

He steps further into the kitchen. His presence is colder now — more pointed. “I want to understand how you can stand by him. Knowing what he is. What he’s capable of.”

You turn to face him fully now, your posture steady even as your heart beats faster.

“He’s my husband,” you say simply. “I’m always going to stand by him.”

Finn scoffs. “Even when it costs you your life?”

The words hit like ice down your spine.

“Because make no mistake — it will,” He says, stepping closer still. “One day, that rage will find you. And you won’t survive it. You know that, don’t you? Deep down?”

Your breath catches in your throat — not from fear. From fury.

“I know Kol better than you ever have,” you inform the eldest Mikaelson. “He’s not the same man he was a century ago. He’s not the monster you’re so desperate to see.”

Finn’s mask slips — just enough to let something sharp shine through.

“He’s not changed,” he snaps. “He’s just distracted. By you. You think standing by his side makes you strong? It makes you expendable.”

You tense. “I’m not afraid of him. Or you.”

In the blink of an eye, Finn is on you.

He lunges, slamming you back into the kitchen counter. The air leaves your lungs in a stunned gasp, pain flaring in your lower back. The sharp edge digs into your lower back as his cold hand presses to your throat, not choking, but threatening. But worse than the ache is the venom in his voice — the way he speaks of Kol like you’re just another casualty waiting to happen. 

“He’ll destroy you,” Finn hisses through clenched teeth. “And when he does, you’ll finally see what the rest of us have always known. He’s nothing but a monster in disguise.”

You struggle, shoving at his chest. Panic surges beneath your skin, but you refuse to scream — you won’t give him that power.

“You’re not his salvation,” he spits, voice like rot in your ear. “You’re his possession. And when he’s done with you—”

He never finishes.

Kol explodes into the room — faster than thought, louder than thunder.

The air cracks as he rears Finn off of you in a roar of pure rage, sending his brother crashing through the far kitchen table in a shower of splinters and broken glass.

“You dare touch her?!” Kol bellows, a snarl ripped from centuries of rage and pain. He is on Finn in a blink, straddling his chest, fangs bared, eyes aflame with bloodlust. “You dare lay a single hand on my wife?!”

His fist comes down — once, twice — with brutal, deafening force.

“You think I’m the monster?” Kol roars, dragging Finn up by the collar. “Try me.”

“Kol!” you cry, stumbling forward, your hands flying to his back. “Stop! Kol, please!”

He doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he couldn’t. His rage is deafening — a scream carved in marrow and blood. You throw yourself against him from behind, arms around his shoulders, lips near his ear.

“Kol,” you whisper,your mouth near his ear, your heart in your throat. “Look at me. I’m okay. I’m here.”

Kol’s entire body locks.

His shoulders shake beneath your touch. His fists loosen on Finn’s shirt. Slowly, he turns his head just enough to see you — your tear-streaked face, your trembling hands, the raw fear in your eyes.

That is what breaks through.

Kol shoves Finn away with a final burst of disgust that sends him stumbling hard into the cabinets. The impact rattles the dishes and makes the whole wall tremble. But Finn doesn’t fall. He braces himself with one hand and lets out a low, breathless laugh that coils in your stomach like smoke.

“There it is,” he breathes, eyes glittering. Blood slips down from the corner of his mouth, but the twisted grin on his face is near euphoric. “The monster you keep pretending doesn’t exist.”

Kol takes a step forward, chest heaving. The rage burning in his eyes is blinding, all fangs and fire and old, wounded pride. You move quickly, stepping between them and planting both hands against his chest, feeling the furious tremble beneath your palms. 

“Kol,” you whisper, voice strained. “He wants this.”

Kol’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t look at you right away — his eyes are locked on Finn, murder written in every line of his face. But your hands stay on his chest, grounding him, anchoring him back to you.

Slowly, reluctantly, he lets you push him back. His fists curl, knuckles white, barely restrained. But he stays still. 

Not calm. Not yet. But still.

That’s when footsteps thunder into the kitchen. 

“What the bloody hell—” Rebekah’s voice cuts off as her eyes land on you — still pressed to Kol’s chest, trembling — and then on Finn’s bloodied face.

“Kol,” Elijah says sharply, his voice like steel wrapped in silk, stepping forward. His gaze flicks to you, then to the wreckage. “What happened?”

Kol doesn’t look at him. His stare is still locked on Finn like he’s seconds away from finishing what he started.

“He attacked her,” Kol growls. “Put his hands on her.”

Rebekah’s face goes pale, then cold with fury.

“He what?” she hisses, whirling to face her eldest brother. “Are you insane?”

Finn doesn’t even flinch, simply wipes the blood from his mouth like it’s a minor inconvenience and shrugs, unrepentant. “She got in the middle of something that didn’t concern her.”

Kol steps forward again, and you instinctively tighten your grip on him

“She’s my wife,” Kol snarls. “Everything concerning me concerns her.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet,” comes a cool, amused voice from the doorway.

Klaus.

He steps into the kitchen, eyes scanning the chaos with clinical detachment — the broken dishes, the blood, your trembling frame, Kol’s fangs. Behind him, Freya follows, her expression unreadable but already brimming with restrained magic.

“Always said your taste in women would be your downfall, little brother,” Klaus adds with mock fondness. “But at least this one seems to give a damn.”

“You’re late,” Kol snaps, voice still edged with venom.

“Forgive me,” Klaus says dryly. “I thought perhaps I could get through one bloody day without the usual symphony of violence. Silly me.”

“He put his bloody hands on her,” Kol growls, his voice quieter now but far more dangerous, motioning toward you with a flick of his head.

Klaus’s eyes flick to you.The bruising on your temple. The way your fingers are still clinging to Kol’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. The amusement slips from his expression like a mask falling away.

“Finn,” Klaus says, voice suddenly too calm — too quiet. “Have you completely lost your bloody mind?”

“She stepped into a fight that wasn’t hers.”

“She stepped in,” you snap, unable to stay silent, “to stop you from doing something idiotic. You call yourself the voice of reason, but all you ever do is pour oil on the fire.”

Freya moves forward now, magic humming under her skin, her energy crackling in the air like a charged storm.

And Finn — coward, zealot, or both — emboldened by the presence of his elder sister, sneers at you.

“You’ve made him weaker,” he says, voice quieter now, more insidious. “You think you’ve tamed him, but all you’ve done is leash a beast. And when that leash snaps—”

Kol breaks.

He’s across the room in less than a second, but Elijah is faster. His hands snap out, catching Kol mid-stride, holding him back with practiced, immortal strength.

“Let me go!” Kol shouts, his voice ragged with fury. “He threatened her again—!”

You’re already moving, desperate to quell the fury raging inside of your husband. “He wants this, Kol,” you plead. “He’s trying to pull you under. Don’t let him win.”

“Say one more word,” Kol snarls at Finn, straining against Elijah’s grip, “and I swear I will tear out your throat.”

“Do it,” Finn taunts. “Go on. Show everyone exactly what you are.”

But Kol doesn’t move. He’s still trembling, still burning — but your hand in his is the anchor. He stays where he is. For you.

“Enough,” Elijah says, his voice dropping to a deadly low. “You’ve crossed a line.”

“He crossed it the moment he laid a hand on her,” Kol spits, his body still taut with unreleased violence. “And if he ever touches her again—”

“He won’t,” Rebekah interrupts, stepping beside you, her voice like cut glass.

“Get him out of here,” Klaus says, all humor gone now. His tone is sharp, decisive. “Before I let Kol do what he’s dying to.”

Freya raises a hand, casting a containment spell that encircles Finn like a shimmering golden cage.

“Let’s go,” she says. No softness. No room for argument.

Kol’s hand finds yours again, tighter now, desperate. Grounding himself in your touch. As Finn is escorted from the room, still smirking like a man who thinks he’s won something, Kol exhales sharply. The sound is guttural. Pained. Like it physically hurts to let his brother walk away.

But he does.

Because of you.

You glance around the room — at Rebekah, Elijah, Klaus. All silent now. All watching. For once, they don’t press. Don’t prod. They understand.

Kol doesn’t need eyes on him. He needs you.

So you tug gently on his hand.

“Come on,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the buzz still lingering in the walls. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kol doesn’t speak. He just nods once — jaw clenched, eyes still burning — and follows.

-*-

The moment the bedroom door shuts behind you, the weight of the last half hour crashes down like a wave.

You barely have time to breathe before Kol is moving — pacing the room in sharp, restless strides, like if he stops, the rage will consume him whole. His hands drag through his hair. His jaw clenches so hard you’re sure it hurts. His fangs are still half-bared, and his eyes… they haven’t really met yours since you pulled him away.

He’s stuck somewhere between fight and flight. A storm with no sky to break open.

You wait. Let him burn.

“I should’ve killed him.”

The words come out hoarse. Barely human. It’s not a confession. It’s a failure.

You say nothing.

“He touched you. He put his hands on you and I—” His voice breaks off, strangled, thick with self-loathing. “I let him walk away.”

You take a step toward him, slow and careful, like approaching a wounded predator.

“Kol—”

“He deserved worse.” His tone drops, quieter, cracking at the edges. “And I… I let him win.”

His fists curl at his sides, shaking with tension he can’t burn off. Unresolved and toxic. Guilt and fury curled so tightly together there’s no way to pull them apart.

You close the distance and lay your hand gently on his arm. His skin is cold. Tense. Vibrating with restrained violence.

“He didn’t win,” you say, soft but firm.“He just made noise. That’s all Finn ever does.”

Kol laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just bitterness.

“He called me a monster. Called you my leash. And I… I proved him right. I lost control. I always do.”

You reach up and touch his cheek, fingertips barely grazing the line of his jaw.

“No. You chose control.” You touch his cheek, guiding his gaze to yours. “You stopped. You could have torn him apart, but you didn’t. You chose me instead.”

That breaks something in him.

His face crumples — not dramatic, not explosive, just... broken. The mask slips, and underneath is all that raw, aching guilt. He folds into you, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s trying to hold himself together by holding you. His face buries into your shoulder, breath stuttering against your neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. “I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve—”

“You did.” You whisper it, over and over, threading your fingers through his hair. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s all that matters.”

His breathing is ragged, staggered with centuries he’s never fully let himself feel. You don’t try to fix it. You just hold him. There’s no spell in the world stronger than this — than choosing him, again and again, even when the rest of the world calls him damned.

Eventually, he lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed but clear. Fierce. Still storming, but no longer drowning.

“He doesn’t get to touch what’s mine,” he says, voice low but absolute.

You press your forehead to his.

“He never will again.”

And for the first time since Finn’s hands were on your throat, Kol exhales — really exhales — like maybe, just maybe, he believes you.

“I love you,” he breathes, like a promise made from the ruins. “So bloody much.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, grounding him with every stroke of your fingers through his hair.

“I love you too, baby. So much. Always.”

He pulls you closer, tighter, not in possession but in desperation — like you’re the only thing that can quiet the ache. And when he kisses you, there’s no fire, no fury. Just the quiet ache of devotion. The kind that rebuilds. The kind that saves.

-*-

The atmosphere in the compound shifts the moment the news spreads.

You knew something was wrong the instant Rebekah slammed through the doors, rain-soaked and pale with fury. 

“Finn’s been bitten,” she announces grimly, brushing mud and blood from her jacket. “Took one too many steps into the bayou thinking he could reason with a pack that doesn’t care about the name Mikaelson.”

You straighten from the floor, where you’ve been sorting through old books in the corner of the room. Your heart doesn’t exactly sink — not with worry for Finn — but you brace yourself. Kol is going to have a field day with this.

Sure enough, his voice appears in the doorway before he does — all silk and sarcasm.

“Well,” Kol says, swirling a glass of bourbon with practiced indifference. “Isn’t that just tragic?”

You shoot him a warning look.

“Kol.”

“What?” he says, all faux innocence – that signature smirk already blooming. “Just seems a bit of karma, doesn’t it? All that moral superiority — you'd think it would protect him from rabid mutts.”

“Don’t be coarse, Kol.” Rebekah snaps. “He’s delirious. Rambling. And twice he tried to bite me.”

“Sounds like a Tuesday,” Kol mutters under his breath, sipping.

Elijah enters the room, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The venom’s affecting his mind. Illusions. Paranoia. He’s convinced we’re all enemies.”

Kol lifts his glass. “So… no change, then?”

“Kol,” you say more firmly now, stepping toward him.

He shrugs, unrepentant. “Forgive me if I don’t cry for the man who nearly broke your spine against a kitchen counter.”

“He’s still our brother,” Elijah says, but the conviction in his voice is fading.

Kol’s eyes flash red. “And if he ever touches my wife again, I will do more than crack ribs.”

Before anyone can respond, Freya storms in, magic humming just beneath her skin.

“That’s enough,” she snaps, voice ringing like a spell.

Kol turns slowly, the smirk fading into something darker.

“No, I don’t think it is.”

“He’s suffering, Kol” Freya says. “You could show a little restraint.”

His laugh is low, mean. “Restraint? That’s rich. The man tried to kill my wife, shattered what’s left of this family, and now you want me to hold his fevered hand? Not bloody likely.”

Then it happens — so fast you don’t even see it coming.

Freya slaps him. 

A sharp, clean hit that echoes in the tense room.

You gasp.

Kol’s expression shutters. Still. Cold. Dangerous.

“Freya,” you breathe, horrified. “What are you doing?”

His jaw ticks once. Then he takes a slow step forward.

“You want to strike me?” he hisses, eyes glowing now, voice low and lethal. “Let’s not pretend you ever stood on higher ground.”

You dart between them, both palms braced against Kol’s chest, grounding him.

“Baby,” you plead with your husband. “Not like this. Not now.”

His eyes stay locked on Freya — a storm barely restrained. But your touch — always your touch — softens the fury, just enough. Just barely.

Klaus strolls into the room.

“Lovely,” he drawls, walking in with a towel slung over his shoulder. “Another delightful display of familial violence. Let me guess — someone’s bleeding, someone’s dying, and someone’s threatening fratricide.”

“Finn was bitten,” Elijah says without looking at him.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Klaus says, scanning the tension in the room. “From the yelling, the slap, and Kol’s very creative use of sarcasm.”

“He’s hallucinating,” Rebekah adds. “He thinks we’re all out to get him.”

Klaus raises a brow. “And that’s new?”

Kol huffs a bitter laugh. But your hands are still on him, and you feel how taut he is beneath it. He’s not laughing. He’s boiling.

You press a kiss to his shoulder and gently guide him to the couch. He lets you — but not without one last look toward Freya.

A quiet betrayal sits behind his eyes. Not rage. Not yet. Just… grief.

The siblings murmur around the room, discussing blood, antidotes, and next steps. But your attention never leaves your husband.

You crouch beside him, hand gently tracing the spot where Freya struck him.

“He’ll suffer for a while,” you murmur. “He’ll recover. And then he’ll owe you one hell of an apology.”

Kol gives a low laugh. “He won’t apologize.”

He glances at you — eyes softer now, quiet with exhaustion.

“You always know what to say,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “No wonder they hate how soft I’ve become.”

“You’re not soft,” you say, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You’re just not alone anymore.”

The others have scattered — Klaus trailing after Elijah with a muttered complaint about “family dramatics,” Rebekah storming upstairs with a slammed door. Kol finally exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders under your steady hand.

But Freya stays. Lingers.

You feel her presence like a static charge across the room, her gaze flicking up occasionally, then back down to the spellbook in her lap.

She’s pretending to read. You’re not pretending anything.

You wait until Kol is still — until the violence in him has dulled into weariness — and then rise.

“Freya,” you say quietly. “Can I speak with you?”

She glances up, caught off guard by your tone. But she nods, setting the book aside and following you into the side corridor near the wine cellar — away from anyone else. Away from Kol.

You turn to her, voice even, but firm.

“You slapped him,” you say quietly. “You slapped Kol. For being angry about a man who tried to hurt me.”

She exhales like she expected this. Maybe even rehearsed it. But not from you.

“He was provoking. Laughing. I reacted—”

“You didn’t react.” You take a step closer. “You chose. You’ve been choosing — every time you give Finn the benefit of the doubt and Kol the back of your hand.”

Freya’s expression stiffens.

“He lost control—”

“So did Kol. But only one of them gets your grace. And it’s not the one who was trying to protect his wife.”

Freya’s mouth opens. Closes.

“I know Kol isn’t easy,” you say, softer now. “He’s sharp. Restless. Reckless. But he’s been trying. For you. For this family. He held back when no one else would have. He walked away. After what Finn did to me.”

Freya’s eyes fall.

“He was trying to kill me, Freya. You don’t have to like Kol. But if you want him to be better, you can’t punish him for every inch he manages to crawl away from who he used to be.”

Silence stretches between you.

You could twist the knife. You don’t.

You just say, softly, “He shouldn’t have to keep fighting for a seat at a table he already belongs to.”

Freya looks down, then toward the lounge — where Kol sits with his head bowed, one hand covering his eyes like the weight of it all finally hurts.

“I’ll talk to him,” she says at last. “Later. When he’ll listen.”

“Make sure you do.”

You leave her there — not with cruelty, but with truth.

And when you return to Kol, his eyes lift the second your footsteps near. His fingers reach for yours — instinctive. Immediate.

Like he never doubted you’d come back.

-*-

Tension in the compound finally thins once Klaus finishes healing Finn — complete with a sarcastic comment about not making a habit of saving ungrateful brothers.

Finn and Kol exchange biting remarks almost immediately. It’s the only language they know — sharp words, old wounds, and a mutual disdain they mistake for honesty. They circle each other like wolves too tired to fight, but too proud to back down.

“Try not to bite anyone next time you go for a stroll,” Kol mutters as he walks past him.

Finn, pale and still reeling, fires back: “Try not to embarrass yourself in front of your mortal again.”

You sigh softly and slip your fingers into Kol’s. He looks down at you instantly — tension in his jaw softening just enough. That’s all it takes now. A glance. A touch.

“Dinner?” you ask, with a small smile.

He nods, letting you tug him gently toward the kitchen. “Lead the way, darling. Though I do hope you’re not expecting me to cook.”

“You could chop something,” you offer. “Or stir. Or just stand there and look pretty.”

He grins, stepping into the warm light of the kitchen beside you. “I like the last one best.”

You start gathering ingredients — garlic, onions, fresh herbs from the charmed planter Freya insisted on keeping alive. Kol leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like you’re casting a spell without saying a word.

But he doesn’t stay on the sidelines for long.

You’re slicing vegetables when he comes up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back into his chest.

“You know,” he murmurs against your ear, lips brushing the shell of it, “I could get used to this. You. Me. The scent of basil… and something else entirely sinful.”

You smile, tilting your head as he nuzzles into your neck.

“You’re not helping me cook.”

“That’s because I’m far too distracted,” he breathes, placing a kiss just beneath your ear. “You’re too pretty to ignore, darling.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat anyway — Kol always did know how to unravel you with a sentence.

“Stop,” you murmur, giggling despite yourself.

“Never,” he says. “I love you too much to stop.”

You turn in his arms, hands bracing against his chest as he leans in. The kiss that follows is slow, tender — the kind that says we survived, without needing to speak it.

Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. His hands settle at your hips. For a moment, the world narrows to just this: warmth, quiet, and the luxury of peace.

Until—

“God, you two are nauseating.”

You startle and pull apart with a breathless laugh as Rebekah steps into the kitchen, arms crossed and eyebrows high.

Kol groans. “Really, Bekah?”

“I came in for a glass of wine, not to walk in on a live romance novel,” she says, but her tone is playful. “You’re like some enchanted lovesick puppy.”

“Let me love on my wife in peace, sister,” Kol grumbles, pulling you protectively into his side.

You giggle, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“I don’t mind,” you say sweetly. “I kind of like enchanted Kol.”

Rebekah grins, heading for the wine rack.

“You’ve turned him to putty. It’s terrifying.”

You glance up at Kol, eyes full of quiet affection. “It’s perfect.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then your lips — a gentle, reverent thing.

“I love you so bloody much,” he whispers.

You smile against his mouth. “I love you too, my sweet baby.”

Rebekah pauses mid-pour, nodding toward your neck. “Very subtle, by the way. The necklace. Let me guess — claimed and branded?”

Your fingers instinctively touch the small silver pendant resting against your collarbone — a stylized K, delicate but impossible to miss.

Kol smirks. “It suits her.”

You tilt your face up to him, smiling so full and radiant that even Rebekah softens.

“It’s my favorite thing I own.”

“Well,” Rebekah mutters as she turns away, “if you start baking him cookies shaped like hearts, I’m moving out.”

She disappears with a dramatic flick of her hair, wine in hand, muttering about needing noise-canceling spells.

Kol just laughs, brushing another kiss to your temple.

“Remind me to make you a matching one,” he murmurs. “Your initial. So they know I’m yours too.”

You turn back to your forgotten dinner prep, cheeks still pink.

“I already do,” you say quietly. “Everyone does.”

Behind you, arms still wrapped around your waist, Kol hums his contentment like someone who has spent centuries waiting to finally exhale.

The war might start again tomorrow. But tonight?

Tonight, you won.

If you want to be a part of my tag list, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you (If you don’t specify, I’ll just assume you want to be on the general list)!

Taglist: @chaoticfanpeach @hazgold @devotedlycrookeddonut @catmikaelson20 @stargirly05

[llukeskywalker]

there's thousands of layers

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

[insert poetic title here]

fun fact: this did not start out as isat fanart

(rambling in tags)

[timetravelsong]

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

excerpts from a book I’ll never write

[kominigiru]

milkshakes and misunderstandings.

summary: You’re drunk, and now you’re Phainon’s problem. It really doesn’t help that you’re really pretty, too.

contains: 2.1k wc, gender-neutral reader, modern and college/university settings, fluff, drunk shenanigans, mc is implied to be short (shorter than phainon), mydei as your brother

part two

The music is still going strong inside the house, bass vibrating through the floorboards like it has something to prove. People laugh, drink, spill things, and dance badly. Phainon steps outside, fingers adjusting the strap of his backpack as he inhales the crisp night air. It’s too loud in there. Too many people, too much sweat. He’s halfway down the steps, ready to head to his car, when—

“Phainon!”

He turns, half-expecting someone to try and drag him back in. Instead, it’s Stelle, balancing you awkwardly on her shoulders like you’re a particularly clingy scarf. You’re giggling—loudly—arms dangling down her back as you hiccup into her hoodie.

Phainon blinks. “…Are you okay?”

“No,” Stelle says, grinning. “But not because of me.”

You choose that moment to mumble something incomprehensible into Stelle’s hair, which only makes her snort.

“You’re leaving, yeah?” she asks, eyeing the car keys in his hand.

Phainon nods slowly. “Yeah. Why?”

Her eyes light up with sudden mischief. That’s never a good sign. “Perfect! I need a favor.”

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what it was.”

“I don’t need to,” he replies flatly, already turning back toward his car.

But Stelle is persistent. She adjusts her grip on you and jogs forward, nearly dropping you in the process. “Wait—okay, okay, listen. I can’t leave. I’m the host, and there’s still like, fifteen people inside trying to start a game of strip Uno.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is!” she says, laughing. “Which is why I need your help.”

Phainon sighs. He already doesn’t like where this is going. “What do you want.”

“Just take them home,” she says, nodding toward you.

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You have really pretty hair,” you slur, then burst into laughter for absolutely no reason.

Phainon stares at you. “Seriously?”

“C’mon,” Stelle pleads. “You two have classes together. You at least know each other.”

“Barely.”

“But you’re not total strangers. And you’re not drunk,” she adds with a meaningful raise of her brow.

He hesitates. You’re swaying now, your arms thrown dramatically over Stelle’s shoulder as you hum some off-tune version of a pop song. You’re a mess. But a harmless one, probably. A pretty one too, not that he wants to admit that part out loud.

“Why me?” he asks.

“Because I trust you not to murder them,” Stelle says, pushing you toward him. “And I’m desperate.”

He catches you out of instinct, your body slumping against his chest with a drunken sigh. You smell like cheap vodka and a hint of whatever overpriced cologne you wear. You blink up at him, dazed.

“Are we dating now?” you whisper.

Phainon flushes and looks away. “No. We’re going to your apartment. If you can tell me where it is.”

“I live… somewhere.” You smile proudly. “I can show you with my feet.”

“I don’t think your feet can walk right now.”

Stelle claps her hands. “Wonderful! This is going so well. Thank you, Phainon. You’re the best.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“You didn’t say no,” she sing-songs, already retreating toward the house. “Get home safely, you guys!”

And just like that, he’s left holding a very drunk, very warm, very giggly you, with no escape route.

You look up at him again. “I want milkshake,” you murmur.

He closes his eyes.

This night is going to be a problem.

The corner store glows like a little haven in the night—one of those 24-hour places that somehow sells everything from cough syrup to fried chicken to, thankfully, milkshakes. The bell above the door jingles softly as Phainon pushes it open with you half-limp under his arm.

The guy behind the counter barely glances up. The woman in the back, though—older, with kind eyes and a hairnet—offers a small smile as she wipes down the counter.

You’re humming.

Phainon glances sideways at you. You’re perched on one of those tall stools by the counter, your feet swinging because they don’t quite reach the ground. You’re humming something loud and off-key, the kind of tune that sounds like it came from a cartoon. Or maybe a kid’s show. He has no idea what it is.

But at least you’re not shouting. Or crying. Or breaking anything.

He’s seen all types. Angry drunks who punch walls. Sad drunks who sob into their phones. Touchy-feely drunks who hang off strangers. And the tantrum-throwers—the ones who scream at vending machines and accuse chairs of betrayal. But you? You’re just… weird.

Weird and wobbly and maybe two sips away from knocking over your own milkshake when it arrives. But harmless.

Pretty, too, he thinks yet again.

You gasp when the woman behind the counter sets down the milkshake in front of you—a towering swirl of vanilla and chocolate, with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry on top. Your eyes light up like you’ve never seen something so beautiful.

Phainon watches you, completely captivated.

Yeah… you’re pretty and cute. Dangerously so.

The woman chuckles as she hands over the second milkshake—his, much simpler. Just plain vanilla.

She wipes her hands on a towel and glances between the two of you. “Are you their boyfriend?”

Phainon nearly chokes on nothing. His hand shoots up in defense as his face goes red. “Oh—uh—no! No, no, no, nothing like that—”

But you’re faster. You turn to her, eyes wide with a dopey grin and whipped cream on your upper lip.

“We just started dating today,” you declare proudly. “I think I really love him.”

Phainon stares at you. The woman laughs, full-bellied and warm.

Phainon rubs the back of his neck, eyes wide. “N-No, ma’am! You’ve got it all wrong, I swear. We’re not dating. A mutual friend asked me to take them home—uh, safely. We barely even know each other.”

The woman just raises an eyebrow, still smiling.

“You’re a good man,” she says. “Not a lot of people would go out of their way for someone like that. And you’re only acquaintances?”

He laughs, awkward and strained. “Haha, yeah. That’s all.”

Then your phone starts ringing.

It’s not a sound he recognizes, which means it’s yours. You fumble for it with a dramatic groan, clearly annoyed at the interruption from your milkshake bliss. Your lower lip juts out into a pout as you dig the phone out of your bag and stare at the screen like it personally offended you.

Phainon watches you and, unbidden, a single thought pops into his mind: How is it even possible to be this adorable?

He exhales slowly and looks away, focusing on his milkshake instead.

You fumble with the screen, tongue sticking out in deep concentration before finally managing to answer the call.

Phainon tries not to listen—he really does—but he can’t help it. Not when it’s on speaker.

“Where are you?” a man’s voice says—deep, steady, a little stern. “You told me you’re coming home early.”

Phainon stiffens.

His milkshake suddenly tastes weird. Too sweet. Too artificial. It sits on his tongue like plastic.

Boyfriend?

His eyebrows pull together. There’s something tight in his chest. Annoyance? Discomfort? Jealousy?

Wait—what the hell is he even feeling?

You roll your eyes dramatically at the phone. “You’re sounding a lot like mom, De.”

Oh.

Phainon nearly chokes on relief.

Brother. Right. That makes way more sense. Still, he feels the heat creep up the back of his neck. Why was he even curious? You’re just classmates. Barely that. He’s doing a favor, that’s all.

“And you interrupted me!” you grumble. “I was enjoying my milkshake when you called.”

From the other side, there’s a sigh. “Sorry. Are you by yourself? Do you need me to come get you?”

“Nope!” you chirp, far too quickly. “My boyfriend is with me. We got milkshakes and he’s bringing me home.”

Phainon’s soul leaves his body. His hand freezes mid-sip. He slowly lowers the straw from his lips, blinking as the words echo in his skull.

My boyfriend is with me.

Silence stretches from the phone like a bomb waiting to explode.

“What do you mean by that?” your brother finally says, voice low and dangerous. “What boyfriend?”

Panic hits Phainon like a sledgehammer. He sees your mouth open—nope. Nope. Nope nope NOPE.

He snatches the phone from your hands before you can say anything else that might end in his funeral.

“H-Hello! Hi! This is—uh, this is not your sibling’s boyfriend,” Phainon blurts out. “I swear, we’re not dating! A mutual friend—Stelle—asked me to take them home because they couldn’t and—uh—it’s just a huge misunderstanding, they’re really drunk right now, I swear I’m not trying anything—!”

The line is quiet. Too quiet.

Then finally, “Do you even know the address to their apartment?” the man asks flatly.

“Uh—no. Can you…?”

“I’ll send it here.”

“Thank you!” Phainon says too fast, voice a little too high.

“…Whatever,” your brother mutters. A pause. “If you don’t bring my sibling home unharmed, I’m going to beat you into a pulp.”

Click.

Phainon stares at your phone.

He hasn’t realized he’s holding his breath until it comes out in one slow, shaky exhale.

Your brother is terrifying.

A ping snaps him out of it. He glances at the screen and sees the notification—a text from “De.” A dropped pin. Your address.

You, blissfully unaware of the chaos you’ve caused, are still sipping your milkshake with a dreamy smile.

Phainon rests his forehead on the counter for a second.

What the hell did I even get myself into?

By the time Phainon pulls up to your apartment complex, the milkshake incident and the accidental fake-boyfriend phone call have fried his brain into static. He parks the car carefully, shifts it into neutral, and sighs.

You’re asleep in the passenger seat with your head slumped against the window, a faint trail of drool on your chin. The milkshake cup is still cradled in your arms like it’s precious treasure.

God, you’re adorable even when you’re not doing anything.

Phainon rounds the car and opens your door, crouching to gently coax you out. “Alright, come on, you’re home. Up we go—”

You groan, eyes barely opening. “Is this heaven?”

“No,” he mutters, slipping an arm around your back, “it’s your apartment complex, which is definitely not the same thing.”

He pulls you out with minimal resistance, hoisting you bridal-style because your legs clearly don’t know how to function right now. You blink up at him, dazed, smiling.

Then he hears it—the heavy, deliberate thump-thump of footsteps behind him.

Phainon freezes.

He turns around slowly, instinctively holding you closer. And he gapes.

Standing in the soft yellow glow of the apartment complex’s outdoor lights is a tall, broad-shouldered figure in a black Kremnos University hoodie, arms crossed, jaw set, and a mop of unmistakably golden hair gleaming like a freaking anime character.

Phainon’s stomach sinks.

No.

No. No. No way.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he breathes.

Because the man standing before him isn’t just your brother.

He’s Mydeimos.

The Mydeimos.

The Golden-Haired Lion of Kremnos U. Captain of the basketball team. Star player. Media darling. Enemy of Okhema University. Phainon’s personal rival.

The same Mydeimos Phainon has spent three years trying to outscore, outrank, and outshine on the court.

And he’s your brother.

Mydeimos stops a few feet away and squints. Then his lip curls.

“It’s you,” he says coldly.

Phainon opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“You’re my sibling’s boyfriend, huh?” Mydeimos continues, like the words taste sour in his mouth. His eyes narrow, voice sharp as a knife. “Phainon of Okhema University.”

Phainon’s brain short-circuits. “Wait, no, hold on—this isn’t what it looks like—!”

Too late. You’ve stirred in his arms, letting out a sleepy sigh.

“I really, really love you, Phainon,” you mumble with a dopey grin before nestling against his chest like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Phainon’s soul leaves his body for the second time tonight.

Mydeimos raises an eyebrow. There’s a pause. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

He steps aside as Phainon carefully carries you inside and sets you gently on a couch. You’re out cold again, snoring softly.

When he turns back, Mydeimos is standing in the doorway, still as a statue, arms crossed like a final boss guarding the last checkpoint.

Phainon gulps as he walks himself outside the apartment complex.

“I know that look in your eyes,” Mydeimos says quietly behind him.

Phainon flinches, turning around and eyes darting up to meet his.

“You’re not getting my blessing.”

Then, without waiting for a response, Mydeimos turns on his heel and slams the door in Phainon’s face.

Silence.

Phainon stands there, in your apartment, with his heart racing, his face burning, and the distinct sense that his life has just gotten a lot more complicated.

© 2025 kominigiru.

note: i should really be writing hwftch but i decided to write a one-shot instead. i also dont know how apartments work so yeah 😁 hope this was an enjoyable read tho!! lots of love ❤️❤️

also posted on ao3!

[lovegasmic]

⋆ OVERSTIMULATED PHAINON

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ ; creampie ◞ overstimulation ◞ multiple orgasms on Phainon + f!reader

“b-ah...by! n-not that fast!” Phainon’s whines of pleasure won’t go unnoticed by anyone walking nearby his private quarters. the all mighty Chrysos Heir, reduced to a trembling, gasping state, with a few tears filling those pretty blue eyes of his, flushed in his paleness with twitching thighs and cock heavy and thick coated in delicious slick from your eager pussy that swallows the whole length of his, “p-please, oh please...” finally a sob breaks through his lips, “can’t... take it... ah! ugh!” with hands getting slightly tighter on your soft hips that bounce and grind.

you chuckle to that, almost purring, “again, Phainon? you’ve already cum” each word comes accompanied with a sharp yet sloppy smash of skin against skin, so wet and loud the man underneath squirms with a bubbling up broken cry.

“so good— this... this pussy is so good, need to.... nghh...., need to cum...” he sounds drunk, one eye keeping open and locked on the lustful sight of how your needy cunt spreads to take him whole, lips brushing on the skin of his pelvis that’s stained with slick and cum, creating a few strands of pearly translucent webs connecting your skin, “f-uuck, c-cumming again!” that’s all he needs to shoot yet another thick wave of cum, although this time is a bit less, you’ve successfully begun to dry his balls, milking that cock until he slumps with cute cries coming out of his trembling lips.