#Best Floating Mat

[littlelovelunette]

Hii! If you don't mind could you do gymrat!sevika x pilates princess!reader? So sevika has been curious about pilates and reader decided taking her to pilates class, because i've seen my friend who often to the gym tried pilates for the first time are trembling. i can't imagine this jacked, 6ft tall butch who can lift more than 180 pounds struggling for the first time, thank you darl <333

Trying It Won't Kill You

Gymrat!Sevika x Pilates Princess!Reader

"Oh, come on, Sevika!" You laughed heartily, leading your muscly wife out of the gym. "Pilates isn't as easy as it seems!"

"Oh yeah? It's just some stretching and holding stuff, I'll be fine." Sevika said with a grumble, arms crossed and everything.

Oh, Sevika wished it was just some stretching stuff. If she wasn't sore already, she sure was when the instructor told the class to do some slow bicycle crutches. She regretted every bit of telling you that Pilates seemed easy but she wasn't about to back out now.

Seeing the way you were effortlessly complying with everg rep, Sevika grunted and tried her best to not give up and lay across the mat hopelessly. It wasn't as if she was the only one struggling but she was usually the only one not struggling so this was new to her.

"Enjoying the stretch?" You asked with a smug grin from beside her.

Sevika didn't answer, she couldn't. If she did, her voice would probably break. With her abs locking up and breaths shortening, she wanted to give up badly. But her pride and ego held her still where she was. Sweat beaded at her temple, her eyes twitching as she forced them open instead of squeezing them shut due to the struggle.

"Engage your core," the instructor said in a calm, breezy voice. Her voice floating about the room, "Don't rush it."

Her words weren't targeted towards anyone but Sevika felt mildly attacked by the 'don't rush it.' She gritted her teeth, breaths coming in short and ragged. You giggled, a toothy grin spreading across your face as you watched her struggle.

"I am engaging my core, you floaty demon," Sevika muttered under breath, muscles trembling to keep up but she forced them to.

"Oh, dear."

You laughed, almost losing your own balance as you continued your routine. It wasnt easy for you too, but you were used to it having done it for weeks now.

Sevika gawked at you as if you'd grown two heads but in reality she was just innocently wondering how you were so calm about the routine which in her words were "destructive to human body".

"You're doing great, honey," you said, giving her a pat on the thigh. "Just 12 more per side."

Sevika gave you a glare that could cut, before huffing and continuing. The Teaser Holds hurt more than that, Sevika struggled the most with those. You must've thought someone as muscular and built as Sevika wouldn't struggle with something so... Easy. Well, it was easy for you because you were used to the routine but the latter wasn't.

If anything, she was dying. Her body trembled as she tried to hold a V-position, legs shivering from the effort she gave into the act. Her abs squeezed and contracted as she strained but she lasted perhaps a few seconds only before her legs landed on the mat with a thud.

"I bench more than this hurts." Sevika complained.

You only giggled to infuriate her further as you continued your routine. By the time the class ended, Sevika stayed flat on her mat, limbs spread like she’d been defeated in battle. Her tank top clung to her skin, soaked. Her face was flushed. Her pride? Just slightly cracked.

You leaned down beside her, propping yourself on one elbow. "Still think it’s easy?"

She tilted her head toward you, grinning through her exhaustion. "I think you’re evil,” she said. "But you look real damn cute doing it."

You smirked. "C’mon, tough girl. I'll get you some protein and maybe… an ice pack for that sore ego."

Sevika grunted, dragging herself upright. "I’m only coming back if we get to fight the instructor next time."

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Six Matches, One Love - Harry Lewis

Harry Lewis x Reader (1500+ words)

From sideline banter to stadium-wide declarations of love, follow Harry Lewis and Y/N through every iconic Sidemen Charity Match as their friendship slowly evolves into something unforgettable.

warnings: alcohol consumption,

⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎

masterlist x

⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎

1.Charity Match 2016 - The Beginning

St. Mary's Stadium was buzzing life. People are shouting, vlogging, chanting. You're sat first row away from the field. Clutched in your hand is a handmade sign that reads, "GO HARRY GO," written in obnoxiously large glitter letters. You made it to mess with him more than anything else. Just friends, after all. Best mates since school... and nothing more.

Harry spots the sign during his warm-up on the field. Doing a double take of which dissolves in laughter. He jogs to the sidelined.

"You're actually insane," he calls out as he jogs.

You grin as he comes closer to stand on the sideline. "Only for you, Harold."

He catches your over-exaggerated blown kiss and dramatically throws it to the ground like he thought it be the worse thing in the world. The banter's easy with him, drawing a fine line between joking around together and flirting.

You watch the match, yelling out his name every time he gets near the ball. He doesn't score, but he gives it everything. When the final whistle blows, you make your way over with the crowd of fans and friends.

"You were class," you say as he wipes a towel across his forehead.

He shrugs, smiling and resting the towel across his shoulders. "You screaming my name name helped, obviously."

You laugh, in hopes of hiding your blush. That's all it is. Laughter, friendship, teasing.

But later that night, scrolling through blurry videos and clips of the match, you pause on a still of Harry looking in your direction.

And your stomach flips.

A small part of hope settling.

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2. Charity Match 2017 - A Shift

This year, it's bigger. The Valley. More fans, more camera, more pressure. But Harry is still the same. Loud, energetic, clumsy and confused.

Before kickoff, he jogs over to where you're standing just beyond the pitch - your special access lanyard granted from Harry.

"Nervous?" You ask.

"Only cause you're here," he says casually, then smirks. "Gotta impress my girl with the special lanyard." He reaches for your lanyard and giving it a tug - pulling you closer ever so slightly.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush at the sudden closeness. That wasn't normal banter. Was it?

He play like he's on fire. Scores a goal and points at you on the sideline. You swear he winks but just think maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

Later, backstage with everyone buzzing, you find him in the hallway - freshly showered. He was wearing sidemen merchandise; his hair still damp from the water.

There was no cameras. No crowd.

"You looked good out there," you say. It feels heavy. Almost like you meant a double meaning.

He pauses. "You always look good."

Your eyes meet. Nether of you speaks. For the first time in your friendship, silence is loud.

You laugh nervously - brushing the comment under the mat thinking he meant nothing of it. "Smooth."

"I try."

A voice is heard from behind him, Simon calling him back to film some extra parts. You bid goodbye and walk away, and he watched you go.

And for the first time, you're both wondering: what are we doing?

⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎

3. Charity Match 2018- The Almost

The energy this year is electric again. Harry's in top form, yelling instructions, cracking jokes. Your sign this year is smaller - a picture included, but he still beams when he sees it.

You're pulled into the afterparty later than planned, a little tipsy from champagne floating in the warmth of another successful day. You find Harry leaning against a balcony, looking out over London, a beer in his hand.

"Hey you," he says when you join him - offering a sip of his beer to you. "Didn't lose you to Tobi's dance floor domination, then?"

You smile, taking a swig on the beer and handing it back - folding your arms next to him.

There's a long pause - he turns to look at you.

Really look at you - taking it all your features.

You turn with a puzzled look.

"I've been thinking about us," he says finally.

Your heart skips. Your heart beating for the conversation you have been waiting for.

But before Harry can continue, Tobi calls him from the inside before he can say more. You glance at the doorway, then back at Harry.

"Later?" You say.

He nods, eye soft. "Promise."

But later never comes.

You both leave the party in different Ubers.

⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎

4. Charity Match 2022 - The Kiss

After a few years of no matches, the return is massive. The stadium is packed, and millions are watching the livestream. You're standing on the sidelines again, lanyard still around your neck - curiosity of Harry again.

You and Harry have stayed as close as ever. Always texting, calling, somehow orbiting each other without crossing the line - the 'later' conversation never coming up once again.

As the players warm up, you're chatting with Talia and Sarah when Harry jogs by.

"He's practically glowing," Sarah says, grinning.

"That's the Y/N effect," Talia teases, nudging you.

You roll your eyes - use to the constant teasing from the group, but you can't help smiling.

During the match, every time Harry touches the ball, JJ and Ethan standing on the sideline shout exaggerated commentary in your direction: "And he's looking to impress someone in the stands!"

When Harry scores a long rage banger, he doesn't celebrate with his team.

Instead - he runs to the camera, blows a kiss, then mouths your name.

The internet erupts - reposts everyone all over Twitter; as fans start recalling every shared moment between you and Harry.

After the final whistle, the players are swarmed by fans and staff, but Harry makes a beeline for you.

"I don't care if everyone knows," he says, breathless. "I've been pretending I haven't been in love with my best friend for years. I'm done."

Your hearth thuds.

Tobi and Simon spot the two of you from a distance, and immediately start whistling and clapping like idiots.

You grab Harry's shirt and kiss him, right there among the boots, jerseys and sidemen.

You're not pretending anymore.

⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎

5. Charity Match 2023 - The World Watching

This time, you walk in together - wearing Harry's number in support of your boyfriend.

Harry's holding your hand. Cameras flash, fans cheer.

No more hiding.

"Nervous?" You whisper before he runs off to warm up.

"Not with you here," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

As the match begins, the boys are relentless - as they have been the past year constantly teasing you and Harry.

Ethan shouts from across the pitch, "Harry, don't mess up! Y/N's watching!"

JJ joins in with exaggerated swooning every time Harry runs.

You're in the stands next to Freya, who is laughing every time the camera cuts to your reaction.

Harry scores again, of course. The celebration is simple this time - a heart drawn in the air and a wink your way.

After the match, he records a behind-the-scenes vlog, dragging you into frame.

"This is Y/N, everyone loves her. The reason I've ever scored a goal in my life."

You laugh, pushing him off-camera. But the internet is is love. With him. With you. With your story.

⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎

6. Charity Match 2025 - The Proposal

You feel it coming all day.

He's acting weird, not nervous, just - shifty. Like he's got secrets. And for once, not the kind he'll tell you... yet.

The match is intense. He misses a shot early on, then comes back with a clean goal in the second half. The crowd goes wild.

But instead of a celebration, he runs to the sideline. To you.

You blink, confused, as he stops in front you, catching his breath.

Then he drops to one knee.

The stadium freezes. Even the players stop.

"Y/N," he pants, eyes wide and full of love, "you've been there for every match, every goal, every miss for so many years. I don't want to play another one without knowing you're mine forever. Will you marry me?"

Your heart could burst. You throw your arms around him.

"Of course I will, you idiot."

The stadium explodes. You lean down to press a kiss to Harry's lips. The Sidemen rush to his side after, Tobi lifting Harry onto his shoulders while Ethan leans up to give you a hug.

That night, at the celebration party, Harry holds your hand tight.

"Told you I'd score two for you," he says, kissing you knuckles as he admires the ring.

Your scored the one that mattered."

And he did.

⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎⚽︎

Hi all! I hope you enjoyed my first Harry post.

See you soon,

mwah x

[springtyme]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 ♡

Dad!Simon will never leave my mind, I fear 😔

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Simon comes home to the most importent people in his world, the suns of his universe.

word count: 2.2k

note: Just Simon being the best dad and loving his family so, so, so much. Mom!reader. No use of y/n.

As he reaches the front door of your shared home, Simon feels the weight of the day bearing down on him. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, and he pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath to shake off the fatigue that clings to him like a thick fog. 

Simon, pushes open the door and steps into the warm, familiar space, his work boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He calls out to announce his arrival as he toes off his boots, first your name, and then your daughter’s, even though she is still way too young to respond to it, but he doesn’t get a response. He first checks the living room and then the kitchen, but the house is quiet, the usual sounds of giggles and playful shrieks absent. A hint of worry pools in his stomach, which he knows is ridiculous, but he of all people should be allowed to be overprotective. 

He walks back out in the hallway, feeling a sense of relief as he hears a muffled giggle from upstairs. The sound washes over him like a balm, and he can’t help but smile, knowing that whatever mischief is brewing, it’s likely harmless. He heads up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps resonates softly beneath his feet. 

As he pads down the hallway, the familiar sound of giggles floats from the nursery, and the melody of laughter pulls him closer. His heart swells with affection for the little life you’ve created together—a tiny whirlwind of joy who is now at the centre of his world. He pauses outside the door, where light filters in, softening everything it touches.

Peering through the half-open door, Simon catches sight of you sitting on the floor surrounded by soft toys. Your little baby girl, who lies on her padded play mat in front of you, has her eyes fixed on her mother, her eyes wide sparkling with wonder. The sunlight dances across her tiny features, highlighting the delicate curve of her chubby cheeks and the soft wisps of baby hair that frame her face.

His heart swells with a feeling so profound that it almost takes his breath away, a deep-rooted sense of responsibility to protect this happiness and nurture the sparkle in her eyes. Simon knows just how easily the world can dull that shine, and he is determined to shield her from it, just as you have always shielded him whenever his mind goes to darker places. 

Simon is sure that she is going to grow up to become your little mini me. She is already looking so much like you. Her smile, the colour of her hair, even her laugh, it all reminds him of you in every possible way. 

Simon is never going to forget the first time he heard her laugh—it was like music to his ears, a sweet, innocent sound that filled the room with warmth and joy. He can still recall the way her giggles floated through the air as you played with her, your gentle voice coaxing bubbles of laughter from her tiny body. 

Each time she smiles, it’s as if the sun breaks through the clouds, illuminating not only her face but the entire room, just like the way you illuminate his life. She really looks more and more like you everyday. But she has his eyes. The same shape and shade of brown. His mother’s eyes. Sometimes it is as looking into a mirror, his own eyes reflected back at him on her little precious face. 

He remembers the look on your face when you first noticed it. Your eyes were shining with happy tears, and your face was glowing like a little sun as you looked at your daughter and then up at him, exclaiming, “She has your eyes, Si,” like it was the most beautiful revelation in the world.

As Simon leans against the doorframe, he feels a rush of warmth spread through him, filling him with a mix of pride and gratitude. This is his family, the life you have built together, laughter and love echoing from every wall of your home. He takes a moment to commit the scene to memory—the way you are playfully tickling your daughter, you both lost in your own world of giggles and coos, the shared glances that speak volumes of understanding and love. 

The little girl lets out a happy shriek as she reaches out, grasping at a plush giraffe, you’re holding up in front of her, slightly shaking to make her laugh even more, her tiny fingers curling around its fabric as if it holds the secrets of the universe. He can’t help but smile softly to himself, imagining the way the world must seem to her—so big and full of wonder, yet safe and warm in the presence of her mother.

She lets out another string of laughter, her delighted squeals echoing through the room and wrapping around Simon like a warm hug. It’s a sound that feels almost ethereal, a reminder of the purest joys in life that exist in these fleeting moments. 

The little shriek your daughter let out ended in a distinct ‘mmmah’ sound. She is still so young that it most likely was nothing more than a coincidence, and Simon knows that you know that, but your face still light up with delight. “Oh, baby, are you trying to say mama?” 

The little girl just laughs in response, her innocent giggles filling the air as she clutches the toy giraffe tightly to her chest, her small body bouncing with unrestrained joy. Each squeal and laugh sends ripples of happiness through the room.

“Mmmm-a,” you coo, your voice melodic and encouraging. “Can you say that, sweet girl? Ma-ma.” 

Your voice, so nurturing and full of enthusiasm, reverberates in his heart, bringing forth a flood of emotion. It’s as if love itself is floating in the atmosphere around you. Your daughter doesn’t try to repeat the sound but you don’t seem to care, you just keep smiling and cooing down at your little bundle of joy. 

The laughter and warmth radiating from the room feels like a tangible thing, wrapping around him like a soft blanket. He wonders if you realise just how much you both illuminate the lives of those around you. There is something profoundly beautiful about the connection you share with your daughter—an effortless bond that seems to flow seamlessly between you, a dance of love that only the two of you could have choreographed together. Even though he could stay here and watch the two of you all day, utterly lost in your own little universe, a world woven from giggles, joy, and affection, the pull of his own role in that dynamic becomes too strong and he can’t hold himself back any longer.

Simon steps quietly into the room, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Hey, gorgeous,” he murmurs, and you look up at him, eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrors the laughter echoing around them. 

“Si!” you exclaim, your voice a blend of surprise and delight as you redirect your attention toward him. The little girl, sensing her father’s presence, brightens even more, her face transforming into a beaming smile that could rival the sun. 

Simon steps over to the two of you, dropping to the floor beside you both, his left knee creaking a little in protest, but it doesn’t matter in the least. The soft sound of your laughter draws his attention back to you, your face radiant with joy. The baby’s eyes light up at the sight of him, and she reaches out, her small hands waving excitedly in his direction. For a heartbeat, the world falls away, and it’s just the three of you—anchored in this moment of pure love.

He watches you, how your eyes dance with delight as you pick up your daughter, and it strikes him anew just how lucky he is to have this—this life and this love.

“Look who’s here!” you exclaim, your voice wrapping around Simon like a tender embrace. The little girl’s gaze shifts from you to Simon, her bright eyes shining with recognition. She leans forward, dropping the plush giraffe to reach for him, her tiny hands outstretched as if she knows he holds the key to an infinite source of comfort and safety. 

“Hey there, little lady!” Simon beams, his heart swelling with love as you hand her over so he can take her in his arms. She giggles, a sound that fills the room with warmth as she nestles against his shoulder, her soft hair brushing against his cheek. The scent of baby soap and a hint of something uniquely her—pure and sweet—wraps around him, grounding him in this moment.

As he holds her close, he glances up at you, your face glowing with that unmistakable maternal warmth. You watch with adoration as father and daughter share this moment—a bond that seems both ancient and brand new. Your eyes meet with a knowing smile, an unspoken language shared between the two of you, one that speaks of dreams and shared hopes for your child.

“Did you two have fun while I was gone?” Simon asks, his voice light and playful.

“We did, but we missed dada, didn’t we princess?” you reply, your voice softening as you stroke the little girl’s head. 

“I missed you too,” Simon responds, the four words don’t feel quite sufficient to express the depth of his feelings, even after only a few hours away from the two of you feels like eternity sometimes. He has not been away for longer periods of time since your daughter was born, and the day he has to go on longer deployments again is a thought he tries to push to the back of his mind. Simon wants to savour this moment, the laughter, the joy, the warmth of family, before the inevitable separations that come with his work. 

He gently shifts his gaze back to his little girl, who coos softly in his arms, her tiny hands grasping at the collar of his hoodie as if trying to pull him even closer. The innocence in her eyes captivates him, a mirror reflecting the joy and hope he feels in this precious moment. As he bounces her gently, he can’t help but marvel at the sheer beauty of her being—a blend of both of you, encapsulated in this tiny, giggling bundle.

“Look at you, all smiles and sunshine,” he says, his voice filled with warmth, as he feels the weight of her trust in the way she snuggles against him. 

Her eyes widen at the sound of his voice, and she lets out another series of delighted shrieks that echo through the room, joyful and free. As he revels in her laughter, he feels the world outside fall away, replaced by this crystalline moment of connection—a fleeting piece of eternity. 

He adjusts his grip on her so that he only needs one arm to hold her and in a way that she is cradled more comfortably against his chest, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against her delicate skin. 

“Come here,” he urges, reaching out for you with his free arm, beckoning you to join in on this tender embrace. You scoot over to his side, and Simon wraps his arm around you, tugging you into his side as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

Your warmth against him reinforces the sense of belonging that fills the room. The three of you, intertwined in a cocoon of laughter and love, create an unbreakable bond that feels eternal. The little girl giggles again, a sound that reverberates through Simon’s heart, as he feels the gentle rhythm of your breaths mingling with hers.

Watching you both, he marvels at the way life has unfolded, how simple moments like this felt like something he would never get to experience. “You two are my everything,” he murmurs, his voice deep but soft, wrapping around the words like a protective embrace.

Your head lifts slightly, and you share a smile—the kind that speaks volumes, filled with understanding and shared aspirations. “And you are ours,” you reply, your voice echoing the sentiment with warmth and assurance. The honesty in your gaze meets his, reaffirming the commitment you both share to nurture this little one and build a loving home.

Simon’s heart swells at the sight of you, the way you effortlessly weave joy and comfort into your daughter’s life. He brushes his thumb across her forehead, marvelling at how perfect she is, how much she represents both of you. “I can’t believe she’s growing so fast,” he says, humour lacing his tone. “Feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home.”

You nod, your eyes misty with nostalgia as you watch your little girl.

He leans down slightly, giving your daughter a gentle kiss on the top of her head before kissing your forehead as well, letting his lips linger there for a moment, savouring the connection you all share. He holds the both of you a little closer. It’s a moment suspended in time where everything feels just right. The two of you are the most important people in his world, the sun of his universe, and in this instant, he knows that no matter what lies ahead, this love will always be his anchor.

Thank you for reading! ♡ if you enjoyed this then please consider reblogging

[misseviehyde]

BLAME HER, NOT ME

PART 1: ASCENSION

It was Jim's curse to always be used by other people because he was too nice. He was one of life's push-overs.

As his once loving ex-girlfriend threw his bags out into the street and laughed nastily as his former best-friend pushed past him with an arrogant grin to walk inside... he was left cold and empty on the street.

"You can keep your keys loser, we've changed the locks anyway," giggled Izzy as Liam slid an arm round her waist and gave her a deep sloppy kiss.

"Mmmmh, sorry dude. Your girl is mine now. Blame her... not me. She is such a good fuck and led me astray."

"Mmmh you know I am. Take me inside and do me right now. My pussy is dripping wet having finally dumped this loser. Fuck me doggy style in the bed he used to share with me."

Laughing the evil couple headed inside slamming the door and leaving Jim standing in the street, his keys still in his hand.

Jim felt a curious mix of helplessness and rage. He had always been resigned to being too nice for his own good, but for a while with Izzy he thought he'd finally met someone who loved him. She'd turned out to be cruel and evil, just using him whilst she rebounded from her last relationship. When she'd met Liam, his hot sporty friend, sparks had flown. Now he'd lost a friend and a lover.

Blame her, not me.

That reminded him of something. Something he'd tried to resist until now.

Jim looked down at the keys in his hand. His eyes were drawn to one key different to the rest. It was made of a dull black metal and was curiously fashioned. This key opened no lock, it was a different kind of key.

This key opened up potential. Evil potential. That was why he had never used it... and yet... here it still was on his key ring. He'd always told himself he kept it because it served as a temptation to resist, a challenge to overcome. The allure of easy power and revenge took character to overcome. It took grit... but maybe there were other darker reasons he had never thrown it away.

He had been given the key two years ago by a blonde girl he had helped out of a jam at great personal cost to himself. She'd used him just like everyone else, then mocked him and taking some form of pity on him given him the key, telling him when he was finally tired of being a loser he could use the key and change his life. The key would blacken his soul... give him a new life... unlock the evil potential within him.

All he had to do was hold it in his hands and say 'loser, loser, looooser,' in a mocking tone and he would be transformed. He'd sworn he would never use it.

My pussy is dripping wet dumping this loser.

Jim felt his teeth grind and a snarl appear on his face. He was tired of being a door mat. He wanted to hurt Izzy and Liam... but he knew he wasn't strong enough to do it.

"Loser," he spat, holding the key tightly, "loser... looooser!"

Jim regretted what he'd done almost instantly... but it was too late. The key in his hand glowed and he gasped as the world spun around him and changed. No... he was the one changing and it felt amazing.

The key floated out of his hand and leapt to his neck. Instantly a black choker formed and it hung there like a dominatrixes chastity key, bouncing as his bones popped and his body writhed.

"What's uhhhh happening to meee?" wailed Jim as his body shrank and grew slimmer and more feminine shaped. Wide hips popped out and a shapely ass slowly inflated as his boys clothes hung baggy on his now feminine frame.

"Fuckkkk I feel goooood."

Soft pink lips parted in a wicked pout as Jim ripped the glasses from his face and threw them to the ground. His sneakers became black stiletto boots and with a giggle he crushed his glasses beneath them, giggling in pleasure as he heard them crunch.

His vision was perfect now... dark, wicked, hypnotic eyes gazing out on the world. He wouldn't be needing to wear those again.

Jim's stance shifted and he adopted a confident feminine posture. His other clothing began to change as he shook free his hair and felt it cascade down his shoulders and back in a elegant femme-fatale style.

A tight black corset crushed in Jim's waist and long black gloves ran down his arms. Beneath the sheer material, his short fingernails became sharp and manicured... perfect lacquered tips extending into points.

Jim purred as his hands went to his chest and he sighed in satisfaction as his chest began to swell. It felt good to feel his womanly breasts growing on his chest even as his useless dick began to slither away to nothing between his legs.

"This feels soooo much better," sniggered Jim as he stretched and felt the pull of his perfect body, toned muscles and smooth skin. He felt like a Goddess.

No... SHE felt like a Goddess.

As perfect makeup shimmered into place and the smell of expensive perfume rose from her skin, the woman who had been Jim felt her face relax into an evil bitchy expression of dominance and power.

Cruel twisted thoughts flowed through her mind as useless emotions such as kindness and helpfulness were replaced with new ideas such as selfishness and narcissism.

Genevieve smiled as she admired herself in a nearby car mirror. She was perfection personified... the very model of the evil feminine trope that no man could resist. Slender, elegant, cruel and dominant she commanded attention just by existing.

She played with the key above her perfect breasts... it was now white and pure, polarised by the transformation. If she just said the phrase no doubt she'd turn back into Jim.

She took off the key and slid it safely into her handbag.

Mistress Genevieve or Lady Genevieve would suit her very well. She needed to be spoiled, she needed to have power. But most of all she needed revenge on those who had wronged her.

Not because she cared what had happened to Jim... not because it mattered... but simply because it would be so much fun to put Izzy and Liam in their place.

Just because she could.

Laughing a rich evil laugh and winking at an embarrassed older man who she caught staring at her in lust, Goddess Genevive turned and walked with a clop of heels into her new existence as an evil manipulative bitch.

***

PART 2: REVENGE

THREE MONTHS LATER

Liam yawned lazily, stroking Izzy's long blonde hair fondly as they lay together naked and entangled. They were both sheened with sweat after another marathon fuck session. Discarded condoms lay around the room.

Liam grinned. How the fuck had Jim ever kept this insatiable bitch satisfied?

"Ughhh I should get up and get ready for work," yawned Izzy.

"Really? I thought you could do whatever you wanted now you and the business manager are in cahoots."

"Shhhh. I wish I'd never told you about that. Fiddling the accounts is kind of illegal but luckily the idiot sent me pics of his dick after being drunk at a party so now I own his ass."

She picked up a Gucci handbag. "Which has its benefits. Still I better show up and make it look like I'm working."

Liam slapped her ass and she walked off giggling heading to the shower. He opened his phone and browsed social media. He'd catch up with some news and then maybe hit the gym.

Going into his secure folder, Liam checked his Tinder profile and other sex apps almost from habit. Izzy was currently making him very happy but he still liked to play the field. After all, she'd cheated on Jim so who was to say she wouldn't betray him too?

He sighed as he thought of Jim. The guy had gone missing months ago after the break up and no one had seen him. He hoped he was okay and hadn't thrown himself off a bridge or something.

As he scrolled, he noticed he had a push notification.

Goddess Genevive? Who was that?

Opening the app, he whistled appreciatively. Wow, she was hot. Hitting subscribe he began to scroll her page....

***

SIX MONTHS LATER

Knocking nervously on the door to the hotel room, Liam checked the address again and felt his heart hammering in his chest.

He'd never done anything like this before and yet he had never been so excited. He was beginning to wonder if he was a sex addict or was just seriously fucked up. It felt like for the last three months his life had begun to spin apart.

First he'd stolen Izzy from his best mate (who no one had seen in six months now) and then he'd found himself in thrall to a woman who he had only ever met online after a chance encounter.

"Come in."

Then again had it been chance? He sometimes felt like the Goddess had been the one who had chosen him!

After 3 months of messages, edging sessions, increasing findom control and growing subservience from Liam - he was no longer sure.

Entering the hotel room, Liam felt his breath catch as he saw the Goddess waiting for him on the bed.

"Welcome slave. I've been expecting you..."

***

NINE MONTHS LATER

Liam gasped and squirmed as the ropes bit deep into his wrists and ankles. The ball gag was deep in his mouth and he could hear the wet sound of lube being squirted as Goddess Genevive got her strap on ready.

"You're making such good progress slave. You hardly ever whimper when I peg your ass anymore."

Liam gurgled as his Mistress slid her giant dildo into his ass and tears of happiness leaked from his eyes.

"But you're still holding back from me... you still need to tell me EVERYTHING about Izzy. Be a good boy and tell Goddess everything."

Liam gasped, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as Genevive expertly massaged his balls and pounded his prostrate... he would do anything for Mistress. Anything.

****

ONE YEAR LATER

Izzy knew she was in the shit the moment she walked into her office to see the auditors.

Mr Smith - the useless bastard she had been milking for over a year now was already being led away in handcuffs.

A smart man in a suit walked over with a tight false smile.

"Ahhhh Miss Green. I'm Agent Knowles. I was wondering if we could ask you some questions about some financial irregularities we've found out about."

Izzy felt a shiver of fear up her back, yet she maintained her air of innocence. She'd taken care to shield herself from any financial trail so hopefully this wouldn't cause her any major difficulties.

She was just beginning to formulate an excuse in her mind when at that exact moment she got a message telling her to go to the ladies from an unknown number.

"Of course, but could I please just visit the restroom quickly?"

Agent Knowles hesitated... and then agreed swiftly. "I'll post an agent by the door but I guess we can allow it. You and I have a lot to discuss."

***

Walking into the washroom Izzy could feel the cold sweat of panic. How the fuck had these bastards tracked her down? She had been careful hadn't she?

"Hello Izzy."

Another woman, absolutely gorgeous and stylish was doing her makeup in the mirror. Izzy looked at her curiously.

"Sorry... do I know you?"

Genevive grinned like a predator as she regarded Izzy. "I guess not. Not anymore. Listen, we don't have much time. The only way out of this building is either in their custody... or by doing exactly what I say."

Izzy blinked in surprise.

"Sorry... I don't know what..."

Genevive grinned as she tossed a paper dossier onto the basin counter. It was thick and comprehensive.

"Take a look if you want. It's a copy of the one I sent to the authorities. Dates... times... places.... payments. You're fucked."

Izzy's mouth dropped open as she flicked through. How the fuck could this woman know any of this? Only Liam had known... what was going on?

"No... this is... you've got everything."

Genevive laughed. "That's right. I do. I know everything. You're finished. Unless..."

Genevive smirked as she tossed Izzy a white key. "There is one way you can leave here. One way you can escape prison... you just have to do exactly as I tell you..."

***

TWO YEARS LATER

Ian bowed his head as he presented Goddess Genevive with her dinner.

It was over a year since he'd used the key to escape punishment and transformed into a weak willed sub for Goddess. Since that day he had served his Goddess faithfully... alongside Liam. The two of them were broken slaves, and they would never be free.

Watching her two slave boys simp for her, Genevive felt a thrill of delicious power. She'd more than had her revenge on these losers and all was right with the word. Being an evi bitch felt delicious.

Dressed in exotic red lingerie like some Empress of old she lorded it over her slaves... her every wish for vengeance and dominance complete.

Goddess Genevive laughed as she thought of all she'd achieved. "Don't blame me... blame Jim..." she laughed as she began preparing to torture her two favourite slaves once again.

Why did it feel so good to be so fucking evil?

Genevive was never turning back into Jim. Her vengeance was complete and she had everything she could have ever wanted. The key was long gone and so was any chance of Jim returning.

Blame her.

Blame her for everything.

THE END

[smutmind]

Rachel stepped onto the mat, black sports bra hugging her chest, sky-blue leggings painted to every curve. Her long black hair fell loose down her back, smooth and straight. The way the fabric hugged her hips made it impossible not to notice the way it pressed between her legs.

"Alright," Liam said, clipboard forgotten. "Start with cat-cow."

Rachel dropped to all fours, hips rolling deliberately as she arched. Her tone was sweetly dry. "You sure this one isn't just for your entertainment?"

He grinned. "A little of both."

She dipped lower, giving him a full view, back curved and breath measured. Her voice floated back. "You gonna spot me, coach? Or just stare?"

Liam stepped closer, crouching behind her. "Just making sure your form is... perfect."

His hands slid along her hips, thumbs brushing the waistband. She didn't flinch. Instead, she looked back over her shoulder, lashes heavy.

"Feels like you're checking more than my posture."

"Maybe I am."

Rachel dropped her chest to the mat, arching her back further, presenting. Her breath came softer now. "Tell me what comes next."

"Downward dog. Spread wider."

She obeyed, shifting, letting the tension pull the fabric tighter between her legs. Liam watched the way the seam pressed to her, so vivid it felt like an invitation.

"You're wet already," he murmured.

"I warmed up early," she said, glancing back.

Liam moved behind her, hand grazing between her thighs. She moaned softly, not protesting, and when his fingers traced her seam, she pushed back into his touch.

"You keep doing that," she whispered, "I won’t last through the set."

He turned her around, sitting her on her knees. Rachel looked up, eyes daring. Her hands reached for his waistband, pulling him free.

"You’re the coach. Lemme show you how obedient I can be."

Her lips wrapped around him slow, tongue tracing every inch. She kept eye contact, one hand stroking while the other cupped his thigh. He groaned, fingers threading into her hair.

Rachel moaned around him, hollowing her cheeks, pace quickening. Her throat flexed as she took more, eyes watering from the effort. She loved it. Showed it in every wet suck, every teasing swirl of her tongue.

"Fuck," Liam hissed. "You’re gonna make me lose it already."

She pulled back with a slick pop. "Not yet. I want more first."

He pulled her to standing, flipped her easily back to all fours. Her leggings were peeled down slow, revealing flushed skin and the glisten between her legs. She grabbed the yoga rail, bracing.

Liam pressed into her with a grunt, slow at first. Rachel gasped, hips arching into him.

"Harder," she panted.

He obeyed, driving deep. Her breath stuttered with each thrust, rail creaking under her grip.

"You feel how tight you are?"

She only moaned louder.

His hands gripped her waist, then her hair, pulling her up so she could see them in the mirror. Sweat slid down her spine. Her breasts bounced with each movement.

"You like watching yourself?"

"I like watching you," she said breathlessly.

Her body tensed, climax shaking through her. She bit her lip to muffle the sound but couldn’t hide the shudder.

He pulled out quick. Rachel turned on her knees, panting, face flushed.

"Finish in my mouth," she whispered. "Wanna taste all of it."

Liam stroked himself fast, watching her lick her lips, eyes wide and greedy.

"Tongue out," he growled.

She obeyed, mouth open, eyes locked on his.

He came with a groan, hot streaks hitting her tongue, lips, cheek. She moaned at the taste, swallowed, smeared the rest with two fingers across her mouth.

"Best training session yet," she whispered.

He chuckled, breath ragged. "We're just getting started."

[mzyjxu]

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣

Satoru is running, or maybe floating. Someone is chasing him, he is scared. Suddenly- everything is gray and quiet, except for the sound of footsteps that isn't his. He is back in that house; his grandparents’. The ceiling is wood, old, and warm with the scent of rice and dust. The sounds of a kettle whistling and a cicada chorus hummed in the distance. He is wearing his school uniform, standing in the old genkan. The summer light pooled across the tatami mats.

He slowly goes inside the house and there she is- his grandma, her small and stout figure gracefully working around the kitchen, she ladles the golden broth into a wide ceramic bowl, steam curling into the air. Her hands tremble slightly from age, but they’re still so sure. She hums as she works, a soft tune, that lullaby she used to sing when he was feverish, half-asleep on the futon with a cold towel pressed to his forehead. “Oba-chan” he whispers, he looks around the house and finds his grandpa, he’s carefully dusting the spines of Satoru’s childhood manga volumes, stacking them neatly, one by one, just like he used to when Satoru left them scattered around “Ji-chan” he breaths.

Then-thump. Something heavy landed on his chest, it's soft, tiny and wiggly. Then came a faint purring near his shoulder.

““Pa… pa-pa… mmm…pa..ma… KOOO!”

Satoru slowly blinks open, his vision adjusted, the world came into focus.

“Mmfff—what the—”

A diapered baby butt planted firmly on his chest, his son, his chonky, red cheeked, victorious son was squarely planted on top of him, cupping his face with tiny sticky fingers, giggling, babbling and drooling like a tiny king claiming his kingdom; his Papa.

Satoru blinked again, the fog of sleep lifting, and looked to his left.

Lady Purrshia, now five and even more elegant than ever, and the roundest she has ever been had draped herself across his ribs, purring deeply as she flicked her tail in approval. She narrowed her eyes in that royal way only cats could master.

The bedroom door creaked open, there was you- his goddess, wearing one of his shirts, barely buttoned, sleeves rolled up, sunshine ricocheting on your skin, looking ethereal.

“Goodmorning Toru” you smiled lazily, holding a baby bottle, climbing on the bed and kissing him softly, ruffling his hair.

“Hello my love” Satoru yawns leaning towards your touch, asking for more love.

“Buh… buh… Puh! Ma-ma?” his son babbles for attention.

“Oh sorry, goodmorning to you too my little squish ball” He laughed, and kissed the baby’s cheek until he squealed and tried to roll away, which didn’t work at all. He was still mostly a potato with limbs.

“Okay come on baby, aren't you hungry, mama brought you milk” You scooped your baby off of his chest and laid him on your lap, “here you go” he reached for the bottle but Purrshia’s tail came into his line of sight and he got distracted by it, he sits up determined to bite on it with his chubby hands trying to grab on her flicking tail.

You both cracked up by seeing his antics.

“Noo, that's a lady, you don't do that, be a gentleman” Satoru scolded him softly, trying his best to not laugh.

Lady Purrshia, unbothered by the chaos and how her tail was literally being hunted by a chonky monarch seconds ago, snuggled closer to Satoru softly dozing off again.

You grabbed the baby from his thigh and offered him the bottle again, he excitedly starts drinking on it once he realises that its his favorite food.

“You planning to get up today?” you teased him, “New interns are joining today, so I can be late, make sure to bring him to the hospital it's his vaccination day” you told him.

“Noooo, Ynnnnnn I can't look at him crying, he is indeed soo damn cute while crying but I can't, especially when he looks at me after the shots, so betrayed and full of vengeance” he exclaimed dramatically “I'm sure he is plotting against me, he woke me up by literally sitting on my chest like a monarch, heaviest monarch I swear to god”

You giggled “You are so silly Toru, just do it for me, please, I don't have a heart to see him getting shots” you pouted.

“This family and their cuteness would be the death of me” Satoru complained while picking up sleeping Lady Purrshia cuddling her against his chest. “Only you are in my side Purrshie” Satoru coddles her, Lady Purrshia promptly stoods up eyeing Satoru as he ruined her sleep, walks towards your side and settles herself beside you dozing off again.

You laughed, Satoru pouts, Baby sleeps, Lady Purrshia won again.

Its home.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ִֶָ ִֶָ

Note: thanks for reading lovies ﾟ𐦍༘⋆

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter three, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, first day of training, sneak peak at possible allies? me not proofreading because its 3am

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

you wake up to a white light. you blink a few times, slowly coming back into yourself, eyes dragging toward the bedside where a small floating orb hovers over the nightstand. the capitol doesn’t do clocks like back home. this one spins gently, its digital time cycling in slow motion along a ring of light, like a planet caught in orbit.

8:03.

you groan. it feels earlier. like the kind of early where the sky should still be dark and everything should be silent.

your head aches a little from the lack of sleep. you remember finally coming back to your room after standing out on the balcony with rafe. something about that quiet conversation settled your nerves, at least enough to try sleep again. maybe you’d felt . . . human. for a second. despite knowing what he was, what you were, what you both had to become.

you hear the door creak open just seconds later. no knock. of course not. and then a voice you’re already too familiar with.

“rise and shine, sweetheart.”

enobaria. sharp and smug and already dressed like she’s ready to give someone hell. your eyes roll before you even sit up, but you do as told.

the next half hour is a blur. your prep team cycles through you like you’re something to be tuned up. a hot shower, someone checks the water for you first. someone else towels off your hair. someone is already laying out your uniform for the day while you’re still dripping. another pulls your socks up for you.

it’s . . . invasive. overbearing. but you let it happen. what else are you gonna do?

your training attire is simple and dark: a black short-sleeved shirt with a stretch fit, soft red and light gray stripes that loop down your arms and underarms. your district number is stitched into both sleeves and the center of your upper back, almost like a warning label.

your pants match, black, breathable, striped down the sides. the shoes are all black too, a little stiff, leather with a hard rubber sole. you can already tell they’ll be louder than you want them to be. your hair’s pulled back into a tight style, something practical. you barely noticed it happening honestly.

rafe shows up in the hallway right as you’re stepping out, dressed the same. he gives you a once-over and then a small nod. doesn’t say anything about the bags under your eyes, though you can tell he clocked them. good. because you clock his too.

breakfast is short, mostly just food you don’t recognize. you and rafe talk in low murmurs on your way down the long, chrome hall to the training center eventually. just little things, like if he’s got a strategy, which stations he wants to try first. you don’t mention the quiet kid from five who hasn’t said a word since arriving. or the tiny girl from three who barely ate at breakfast.

you enter the training center soon. it's a massive underground space. cold but clean, stretching longer than you expected. the floors are matted in sections, polished dark rubber with drawn rings and arrows and symbols you don’t understand yet.

stations line the walls, each marked by clean signage and equipped with tools, instructors, and polished weapons. there are sections for knot tying, survival gear, plant identification, camouflage. a whole row of bladed weapons. another for climbing, throwing, agility. even a space that looks like a makeshift wilderness setting. nothing in here is for show.

everyone’s standing now, spaced out across a wide circle marked on the main mat. a foot between you and the next tribute. a few inches between you and rafe. no one’s talking. no one’s moving.

then, right on time, the head trainer enters. her uniform is clean-cut and razor sharp. her eyes move over all of you like you’re parts on a conveyor belt, and she stops in the center of the circle and raises her voice, cool and clinical.

“two weeks from now, only one of you will still be breathing,” she says flatly, like she's done this a hundred times before and doesn’t care to sugarcoat it. “the rest? well, you’ll figure out what that means soon enough. if you want a shot at staying alive, you better focus over the next three days—especially right now.”

“let me be clear. there’s no sparring with each other in here, save the bloodshed for the arena. you’ll go through four mandatory stations, the rest is self-guided. and before you all rush for the blades and axes . . . remember this: most of you won’t die from a weapon. you’ll die because you didn’t learn how to survive an infection.”

she pauses, arms crossed. eyes sharp.

“infection, thirst, the cold. all things that’ll gut you faster than any knife if you’re not prepared. so don’t waste time. and don’t waste my patience.”

her words last a minute or two longer, just explaining how the day will go. then silence hangs heavy after she finishes. you glance around slowly. some tributes look shaken, some expressionless. rafe stands still beside you, unreadable.

you glance up at him once the trainer finishes her little speech, her voice still ringing somewhere in the back of your mind. “infection, thirst, the cold”? all of it sounding so casual coming from someone who isn’t about to die.

rafe meets your eyes briefly, dull as ever. it’s the only interaction you get before the peacekeepers start lining everyone up. female tribute first, male behind. straight line. district order. you’re toward the front, but not the first obviously.

then you’re escorted to the first station.

the first test is some free climb, a forty-foot steel wall that’s like a rocky terrain, each handhold slightly different in texture or shape. some are slick. some jagged. it’s designed to screw with your muscle memory.

you don’t fall, but your arms shake by the time you reach the top and slap the buzzer. you hear someone below scream on their way down. not dead, but definitely bruised.

rafe climbs like he’s done this before. one hand after the other, legs locked in, perfect grip. he hits the buzzer before you’ve even caught your breath on the descent ladder.

the second station is rope traversal. thick ropes hang from one end of the platform to the other. the goal is to cross using only your upper body.

your palms burn by the halfway point, and your ribs feel like they’re being pulled apart by your own weight. you grunt through it, don’t fall, but you do let go with a near-drop at the end, stumbling onto the platform as you land.

station three is a weighted sprint. you’re handed a duffel bag filled with an unspoken amount of weight, and told to run two laps around the obstacle perimeter. it’s meant to simulate carrying gear or injured allies, maybe even dragging a kill?

you start off strong but slow on the corners, but you make it. you’re not bad. you’re not the worst. you’re surviving. but next to him, it’s clear. rafe’s built for this.

the final mandatory station is balance and precision.

thin beams rise ten feet off the ground, twisting and zig-zagging over a safety net. the goal is to make it from one side to the other, picking up three sandbags along the way without falling. if you fall, you start over.

you wobble on the second beam, your hand twitching just over the sandbag as you try not to look down. but you recover, breathing slow, keeping steady. you make it, knees bent, hands on your thighs, trying not to show how out of breath you really are.

you catch yourself watching rafe when he’s done, arms crossed over your chest, eyes narrowed just slightly. not in judgment. more like in thought.

you’re glad, in a way. not just because he’s from your district, but because he’s already in your alliance.

you think about districts one and four. haven’t even seen their faces yet, just vague impressions at the line-up from earlier. you don’t know who to watch, but you’ll figure it out soon enough. you have to.

once you finish the final station, your name is logged, and you’re finally cleared for individual training. most people make a beeline for the obvious, the weapons. so do you.

but tributes scatter to different corners of the gym, gravitating toward what feels familiar. some head straight for the swords, others to the climbing walls again, one to camouflage and another to the edible plant stations.

you walk, steady, eyes locked on a small rack nestled near the far wall, one you clocked earlier but hadn’t gone near yet. it's the dagger station. the setup is split in half: one side for still targets, the other clearly for simulations, like moving dummies, real-time challenges, all of it watched over by a quiet capitol instructor with a clipboard and an unnerving smile.

as you approach, there’s already someone there. a tribute. tall, lean, maybe from eight or six, you're not sure, but he’s lingering, standing too still in front of the rack of blades, like he’s weighing the decision to try or walk away before anyone notices his hesitation.

he notices you instead. your boots don’t make much noise on the padded floor, but you know your presence does. you don't say a word. just look at him, one brow slightly raised in passing curiosity as your gaze shifts to the daggers. that’s all it takes. he steps aside without protest. not rude, not scared, just smart. he can sense it, that you won’t wait or ask.

you don’t react. you just stop in front of the rack and let your gaze trail over the knives. sleek, symmetrical, clearly custom-forged here in the capitol. even the grips look different than the ones you’ve trained with back home. too polished. too perfect. not broken in. no bite in the steel yet.

you hover your fingers over the hilts, considering. but before you grab one, you look behind. not for anything in particular, just instinct, and you find him again. rafe. across the room near the maces.

he’s already picked one out. the thing’s massive, iron or something close enough, and he holds it with both hands, adjusting his grip once before bringing it down over the head of a practice dummy. the crash is loud. you can hear it even from where you’re standing.

it’s not clean. not like a sword would be. the mace is messier, heavier, built for blunt force damage. the dummy rocks from the impact, its shoulder tearing where the blow landed.

rafe pulls the mace back, steps aside, resets, and slams it again. over and over, calculated, patient.

you face forward again to wrap your fingers around the dagger hilt, finally. it’s just definitely capitol-made. they cared more about how it looks than how it feels. but it’s not bad. the balance is decent.

you turn it slowly in your palm, testing the blade’s alignment, the way your fingers press against the smooth edge of the guard.

you don’t throw the dagger right away. you just grip light at first, shift your weight slightly, and eye the targets set up in front of you. four of them. they’re just stationary, so they don’t move. not yet. they’re lined up in a row at the far end of the station, each shaped like the upper torso of a tribute with a head, chest, stomach. flat, padded, replaceable.

you roll your shoulder back and bounce the dagger once in your palm. it’s like it clicks into place, the way it fits.

then you exhale slow, step forward, and throw. it’s not precise, it’s just to see.

the blade sinks into the board, low, left, just below the ribcage. not bad, not a miss, but not what you were aiming for.

you tilt your head, glance down at your stance. your mouth tugs into the faintest smile, not out of arrogance, more like recognition.

there it is.

you get it now.

you throw five of them after. by the time you hit the last dagger, you don’t even hesitate. each one lands sharper than the last. headshot. headshot. headshot.

you nod to yourself, barely. just a small dip of your chin, like an invisible pat on the back. that was good. not perfect, because perfect would’ve been being able to get that first one right, but you were close. enough to be proud of without getting cocky.

you step aside to give the instructor room to collect the knives, brushing your hands against your sides and exhaling through your nose. you’re still rolling the momentum out of your shoulders when—

“that’s it?”

the voice is close. too close. it startles you. you turn quick, brows pulling together, and there he is. rafe.

you swear he was just across the floor a second ago. but now he’s here, leaning into your space like he’s always been there, like he didn’t just sneak up on you like some smug little shadow.

you press a hand to his chest, more like a shove. “you’re not funny.”

he barely budges, but his grin flickers to life anyway, crooked and amused. “you didn’t answer the question.”

you roll your eyes as you look away. “yes, i’m done.”

he glances at the targets behind you, then back to you with a raised brow. “you sure? i mean . . . impressive, yeah. solid hits. but kinda felt like the warm-up.”

“i didn’t ask for a critique.”

“i’m just saying.” he shrugs. “they weren’t even moving.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “and what, you think i can’t handle the simulation?”

“i think you haven’t tried it.” he’s already starting to walk backward, slow and deliberate, nodding toward the second half of the station. “which is weird. considering you’ve got decent aim. i figured you’d want to show off a little.”

you don’t move, arms crossed.

he stops a few feet ahead, hand resting on the edge of the rail track, glancing back at you like he already knows you’re gonna follow.

right. a career who doesn’t wanna show off. how is that gonna look in front of the tributes and gamemaker?

you’re silent, just watching. but you finally walk over, catching up to him with a narrowed stare, though there’s a faint smile threatening to tug at the corner of your mouth. he sees it. doesn’t say anything about it, but you know he sees it.

“fine,” you say, stepping into place. “but you have to show me your skills with a mace after.”

“deal,” he says, already watching like he’s waiting for a show.

you turn your eyes to the simulation track, grip settling around the hilt of a new dagger. no second to waste.

you flick your gaze to the instructor, give a subtle nod. no words, just that. he seems to get it right away. he taps a panel on the edge of the control board, and suddenly the whole station shifts.

you step back slightly, give yourself space.

the dummies begin to move.

not all at once, but in patterns. some slide laterally on hidden rails, others pivoting or swaying like they’ve got minds of their own. they’re not human, but they mimic the chaos, like fast feet, unpredictable angles. it’s the kind of motion meant to rattle your focus. but you don’t let it.

you take a slow breath. the dagger is already familiar in your hand. you twist it once between your fingers, then again, and your eyes lock on the first moving target. you step into it.

the first throw is clean. blade sinks into the chest of a dummy mid-glide. not dead center, but close. you don’t react to it, just shift to the next. you pivot on your back foot and hit another one on the right, this time with a flick of your wrist that feels more instinct than aim.

you’re not thinking hard anymore, just flowing. moving like this is something you've done before. not like a killer, but like someone who knows their body. where the weight is. where to let it go.

you spin once, low and fluid, like you’re dodging something invisible, then plant and launch another blade. it cuts through the space, hitting a target mid-turn.

you don’t look at rafe, but you feel him watching.

when the final dummy rolls into place, you throw the last dagger without stopping, and it hits so close to center it gives the instructor a pause.

you exhale, and finally turn your head to glance at your district partner.

he’s leaning against the rail now, arms crossed. his brows are lifted, and he nods once, slowly. “okay,” he says. nothing else. just that.

but the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s holding back something else. a smirk. a compliment. a challenge.

you don’t push for it. you just smile, barely, and look away. like you didn’t care if he saw or not. like this was always just for you.

your smile swiftly fades the second your eyes drift past rafe. a pair of tributes are watching.

not in the casual, curious kind of way. not admiring. not impressed. they stand shoulder to shoulder at a nearby station, hands still at their sides, not even pretending to train. just watching. both of them.

the boy’s tall, broad-shouldered, hair the color of sand after a storm. it flops over his forehead, nearly into his eyes. blue, if you look close enough.

there’s something striking about him, something almost familiar. you can’t quite place it until a memory drifts back. he looks like some victor from a few years ago. it’s obviously not him, but close. close enough it makes your throat dry a little.

next to him, the girl looks different. she’s composed, still, but with a simmer under her olive skin. curls spill down her back in a way that feels intentional, not careless. she stands straighter than him, more poised, like she’s already figured out the game and is choosing not to play her hand yet. she’s just watching with a kind of quiet calculation you’ve only ever seen in people who don’t speak until it matters.

they look nothing alike, but they match.

and they’re both looking at you.

rafe catches the shift in your expression immediately. his head tilts, a little. that lazy kind of curiosity he wears like a second skin. and then he turns. just slightly, barely a full movement, but it’s enough.

his gaze cuts across the room like a blade, and you swear you can feel it. the pair of tributes react immediately.

their eyes dart away fast like they hadn’t been staring at all. like they didn’t just watch every single move you made. they turn back to their station, grabbing at the spears in front of them with quick hands, and neither of them look back again.

you watch them for another second, then catch it, literally stitched in white thread on the upper part of their black shirts. a number.

district four.

cassaline’s voice flashes in your mind, that district four had shown interest in teaming up with you and rafe. an early alliance. a temporary one, if necessary. and now they’ve seen you.

you look up at rafe again. he’s still facing their direction, unreadable. but then he turns his head back to you, slow, steady. your eyes meet.

it’s like you’re both thinking the same thing again. they saw what you could do. and now you’ve seen them.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Could you write an x reader where Bob Reynolds interacts with a female thunderbolt with gravitational powers who has a calm demeanor. She doesn’t talk much but will when Bob is around.

Gravity attraction to eachother

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

warning : mutual feelings, fluff, kiss, hurt/comfort, cuddling

Summary : Bob loved his friends and his new home, but above all he liked the quiet one of the group. 'Gravitas', the talented member of the group who seemed to be bursting with energy, found her voice and finally started talking, especially when she was with Bob. Maybe there was more between them than just a love of milkshakes and doing the dishes.

info: Thanks for the request, dear anon. I like the power the reader has and hope you enjoy reading it ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It seemed like pure coincidence that they had all found each other, that they had all ended up in the same room of the facility at the same time.

That they had all been looking for each other and that they had met Bob, who, at the end of this confusing mission and somehow reunion, meant so much more to them.

Who could have guessed that Val wanted them all dead, that Bob would become more than just a few comments, and that at the end of the day they would live as a real team in the former Avengers tower?

None of them could have known this, not Bucky, who was getting more and more at odds with Sam, not Yelena, who was trying her best with Bucky, Ava, who was providing moral support, John, who still didn't have a new shield, and Bob, whose bright eyes were always curiously fixed on one person.

The moment he saw how she had practically stuck Ghost to the floor with her power back then, the dark-haired man was fascinated and amused at the same time.

Whenever she used her power, he watched in fascination “You're like an astronaut with superpowers,” he smiled as he watched his friend and teammate attaching several mats to the floor and wall during training, Bob's comment, although meant kindly, made her heart beat faster.

Gravitas after an experiment in a pressure chamber got out of control and they wanted to use her for testing purposes, her gravitational control emerged.

What had started with pain and fear, causing her to withdraw and work in secret, was now something different.

Something that made her realize for the first time that there was good in the world, that made her smile back when Bob or Ava gave her a cheerful look in the morning.

She helped John and Bucky with their endurance training with her strength or simply washed up with Bob in the kitchen while he told her about his day. She liked her friends, and she especially liked Bob.

She wasn't the most talkative, but when she was alone with him, it seemed as if he was her gravitational field, as if he was pulling her toward him and she was letting him pull her.

“Thanks, Bob,” she had replied briefly back then, raising her hand slightly in farewell as he let her continue training alone with a goodbye smile.

The warm feeling in her chest, that he liked her strength, that he liked her and wasn't afraid of her, meant more to her than anything else.

Something she couldn't help, however, were her glances, perhaps too conspicuous or too inconspicuous. When she looked at Bob, he always seemed to look away.

She didn't dare to talk to him, and when she did, she never really knew what to say, what topic to bring up, or whether he even wanted to talk to her.

One glance from Yelena told her that the blonde had noticed everything, that she and Ava knew something was going on. “I'm sure he likes you,” she whispered to her friend and teammate after dinner when the girl of the same age looked at Bob again.

The dark-haired man was stacking plates when one of the top ones suddenly started to slide. Without a word, she moved her hand and the plate floated toward her.

She smiled at Bob “Thanks, that was incredible!” he called from the table, his broad smile making her cheeks flush.

He seemed to have no idea how he affected her, how grateful she was that he didn't ignore her despite her awkward manner.

How could she say no when there was a knock at her door that evening? The others had all retired after a movie night, and she had wanted to go to bed too.

She went to the door in her blue pajamas and opened it silently, looking away into a pair of friendly eyes. “Hi, Astronaut, I thought you might want to look at the stars with me?” he asked.

Bob, using the nickname he had given her and pointed to a small package of star-shaped cookies before pointing to the window behind him, where the city was lit up at night and the bright white stars shone above it.

Her first reflex was to close the door again and say nothing, but with Bob, he always seemed to understand her. “Thanks, Bob...you're very kind,” she said, grabbing a coat before they both went out onto the large balcony of the tower.

Wrapped in a blanket, Bob kept holding out the packet of cookies to her. They ate them quietly and calmly, looking up at the sky.

She heard him smile, his joy when he saw a new star, and how he leaned carefully against her. “You're so quiet sometimes. Is everything okay?” he asked after another moment of silence, and she looked up from the stars at him in surprise.

The team had taken her in and they were all friends, more than that, but no one had ever asked her about it directly, pulling the blanket a little tighter around herself.

“I'm not the one who talks a lot, I observe, think my own thoughts, smile...but with you it's different Bob” she slowly revealed herself and looked cautiously at him and saw him give her a proud look.

As if all of this were a plan, as if he were trying to help her, when she felt his hand reach for hers and he looked back up at the sky, she felt the warmth.

Her own gaze followed his, full of relaxation and joy, as he held her hand and she rested it on his shoulder after a moment. “Everything for the sweet astronaut,” she heard him say as he took another cookie and happily munched on it, giving her the support and care she needed.

Under the starry sky, as they sat there next to each other and cuddled, his heart beat just as fast with joy and affection as hers. Gravity also attracts love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@vanguardlady , @fadingbatmuffindonkey , @lihims , @alpinesmommy , @yourloverslost , @eurydicesxshadow

[leighsartworks216]

Sitting Here With You

Zayne x gn!Reader

Inspired from a couple months ago when it was raining all day and I was so tired, so I opened my door and just sat there and ate a sad lunch while watching the rain. The things I would have given for Zayne to appear at that moment

Warnings: fluff, comfort, rain, cuddling, caretaking, established relationship, references to depression

Word Count: 910

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADs Masterlists

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Tag List Form (Haven't updated my tag list recently but I will soon)

You're exhausted today. God knows why - maybe you overexerted yourself, or the burnout caught up, or a million other reasons. You slept in late, later than usual, until you were tired of sleeping the day away and crawled out of bed to do something, anything else.

The anything else culminated into you sitting in front of the door, opened wide, to watch the rain fall.

It's cold out, but you're too tired to get a jacket from the hangers nearby. You just let the chill hit your face, hug your body, spill into the warm house behind you. A blanket laid out underneath you cushions your butt from the entryway mat. You don't bother trying to pull up the edges around your shoulders. You just lean against the door, hugging yourself, and watch.

It's been raining all day. The earth is soaked and muddy. The streets and paths, all washed out. The sky is a dull grey. Branches and leaves bounce under the onslaught. Water from the gutter gushes out of the pipe at the bottom in a low chug, bleeding out onto the ground. A puddle nearby is full of restless ripples, reflecting back the world in blurred lines.

A blanket is draped across your shoulders. Your husband bends overtop of you to pull it closed at the front, scarred hands ensuring you're wrapped up tight against the chill. He presses a kiss to your head. "I hope you don't catch a cold."

You smile sleepily. As Zayne steps carefully onto the blanket and sits down beside you, you heave your body from leaning against the door to lean against his shoulder instead. He wraps an arm around your back, hand curled around your arm to rub the chill away through the blanket. He leans his head atop yours.

Rain dominates the conversation. Tapping away at the house for entrance. Passing cars drive through the water with a rough sound, splashing puddles up onto the sidewalks, casting their beams of light into the reflections on the ground. But through it all, you feel the brush of Zayne's lips against your forehead as he speaks softly, just loud enough for you to make out the words.

"Are you alright?"

You don't know how to answer. You're tired on a bone-deep level. Exhausted, but so sick of sleeping. But you're not upset, not really sad in any way. Not that you're happy, either. Just existing. A ghost floating through the day.

The worry radiating off of him ratchets up in time with the dripping water. Seconds ticking by in silence that allows him to run through every symptom you're showing to assess the best course of action to make you feel better. He lays his cheek on your forehead, subtly feeling your temperature, trying to figure out if you did happen to catch a cold, or some other illness, worsened by the chilled wet air hitting you in the face.

Finally, you hum. Slowly turn into his side to wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his neck. He wraps his other arm around you in return. Both hands rubbing up and down your back to warm you up, assuring you of his support. Your eyes fall closed on their own accord. Heavy, weighed down, strained. "'M so tired," you mumble, lips barely parting around the words. You sigh, long and low. "It's like a vampire came by and sucked me dry of energy."

He hums his acknowledgement. "Could it be due to the weather?"

"Maybe..." You rub your cheek against his shoulder, cold nose tracing ticklish lines against his neck. You sigh. "I hate it, Zayne. I just want to be not tired. I don't want to keep feeling like this."

"You've been working hard lately. It's possible your body is forcing you to rest to make up for the strain."

"Mmm, and what does Dr. Zayne recommend to deal with it?"

"I recommend not fighting against your body, and allowing it the rest it needs. There are other ways to rest aside from sleep that may interest you more. A good meal, for one. Watching or listening to something familiar or doing some low-energy hobbies."

"And will Dr. Zayne be overseeing these treatments personally?"

He smiles softly, pulling you tighter against him as a cold wind blows by. "Of course. I think we should begin treatment immediately, starting with getting you warmed up and away from the cold. If your body isn't well rested, you're more susceptible to getting sick."

You sigh, long and drawn out, like he's just told you to climb up the side of a mountain on your hands and knees while carrying 80 pounds of supplies on your back. But you know he's right; it would be best not to get sick now, when you're already feeling drained and awful.

Still, you hug him tighter. "Just a little longer. I like sitting here with you."

He readjusts the blanket around you, bringing the edge up to cover part of your face from the cold. You can stay for as long as you want, but that won't stop him from playing damage control. Won't stop him from continuing to rub your back and arm through the blanket, or sharing his warmth with you. His head resting on yours to further block you from the wind.

You open your tired eyes again. Both of you, staring out of the doorway, watching the rain.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one @always-just-red @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @nothankyew @nezuswritingdesk @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @moon-inthe-sea @perla-drg @leiakitty

[mockerycrow]

ghost x gn!reader — “sharper teeth” pt. 2 (pt 1) this has been in my drafts for a year. oops

Ghost didn’t realize how far your problem would go, honestly. You already caught his eye with your sudden change in behavior, how rash you had become since Las Almas. How.. reckless you had become. You were doing better than ever before, breaking duty station records.. But of course like everything else, there was a clear cost.

Ghost had caught wind of whispers about you—that you have recently developed the habit of refusing to tap out whilst sparring. He’s heard how your hits are harder, you’re relentless when previously you always had a hint of hesitation floating around you when trying to take one of the others down to the ground. You haven’t thrown down with him on the mat in a while, and he wanted to see this first hand.

“Do it.” Ghost’s voice is strained as his arms are wrapped around your neck, applying pressure on your throat, his knee on your lower back, applying almost all of his body weight to your spine, pressing your stomach to the mat slick with sweat. You choke and wheeze, trying to push yourself off of the floor with one arm but failing miserably due to Ghost’s weight against your back. Your other hand is grabbing at his thick forearm, pathetically trying to pull it away. You’re losing this battle that you were never going to win.

Ghost listens to you, watching your movements and body language the best he can whilst forcing you into this impossible predicament. He isn’t even using all of his strength. Ghost utters your name in your ear, tightening his grip a little, adjusting so he’s squeezing the sides of your throat inside of compressing your windpipe. “Tap out.”

You don’t. You fight and struggle, not once slapping his arm nor the mat. It infuriates Ghost. This is where you’re supposed to tap out and he can give you pointers.

Ghost lets go, standing up and taking the pressure of his body off of you. He watches you crawl across the map, gasping for air and drooling as you stand up a bit too fast.

He catches a glimpse of your eyes—you look wild and feral, like you’re actually in real danger. Ghost is gonna find out why.

[froginmygarden]

It started with an ad: an unlikely opponent

It had been late. Danny was exhausted, could bareley look straight, giving Dani a bath - getting splashed by soapy water. It happened almost too quickly, one second she was in front of him, the next - held above his head, water dripping down on him. There was a shattered tile in the tub.

"mmmmmmmu", Dani was kicking around in the air, almost nailing Danny in the forhead.

"Yeah, that was a close one, honey," he'd kissed her cheek. Was it to calm her or himself?

"Well, off to bed for you!", that had raised another round of protest, it wasn't even that late!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was a puddle in his kitchen.

Scratch that.

There was a pond in his kitchen!

Indeed. The sink was overflowing with used water, spilling over it's brim straight onto the floor, flooding it. The lake had some small islands of soap and hardened fat floating around - the smell was terrible, Danny was going to barf (preferably not in the sink). He had to snatch Dani off the floor, least she grabs one of the floating bits and, just for the fun of it, stuffs it in her mouth.

Yeah. He can't quick-fix that one. Time to call an actual plumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's going to be fine for now. Some genious seperated the drain pipe to go into the garden, probably for wattering," they were able to drain the kitchen (thank god) without much spillage to other rooms - since, as it turned out, the room is tilted so that the lowest point is towords the buildings outer wall. It still needed to be ventilated though.

"The only reason this happened is because of the rainstorm. The garden probably got flooded, whitch ended with the water comming up the pipes." Thankfully someone was able to come on short notice, and was soft harted enough to give the poor sod a discount - on acount of having a small child living with him.

"It's unlikeley to cause you much truble, well- at least not untill next rainy season. But you might wanna take care of it before then. God knows what else might be wrong with the pipes."

Danny thanked him prefusely, offering some tea and sandwitches, to atleast somewhat repay the man - he insists!

And that's how the Fentons got only 90 dollars poorer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another late night. It's so dark, so quiet, strange for such a liveley city.

There's a bright light shining up ahead.

"Hey, man...", Mark must've changed the bulbe.

"Hi..."

"Did you think about it?", wasn't that strange as well, how this stall allways seemed to be open just past it's time, how this young man seemed to care just a bit too much about someone he didn't know (how he cared about Danny more then people he had needed to trust with his life, a complete stranger)?

"I don't know...", what else were he supposed to say - Actually my kid and I are half human half magical extraterestrials and I don't want to expose my doughter to anyone that might suspect her peculiar development!! - "It just doesn't seem worth it..."

The kid was frowning at him something terrible, "you would't know untill you try. That's. The. Whole. Point.", really he was way too nice today - something good must have happened, "besides- it's only 85 cents. It wouldn't be a loss!"

"..."

"Just do it. If not for yourself then for Dani... Think how this could help Dani..."

"okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

---"and if the room's still available I'd like to have a look- thank you! *clik*"

"Well will you look at that... Let's not get too excited", he sipped his tea, "one thing at a time..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is bullshit! She didn't want to sit here! The best place was obviousley by the tall table!

Dani had been placed, per her wishes, on her mat in the livingroom, but now had deduced that shed much rather have her dadis company.

"aaaaaaahhhh..."

She'd started off small, but that didn't seem to get more then a quick checkup. "But that's fine," she thought to herself, "it's just one guest, dadi will get me soon."

Then she waited and waited.... and waited.... damn it!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"

"Ohmygod, hunny!" In a moment's notice Danny was rushing in, scooping and checking her for any harm, while Dani simply cooed at him.

"So this must be the little missus?" The bad guest - yes he was bad, Dani decided, good guests don't stay for too long - asked her, but he wasn't worth responding to, she wanted dadi to take her to the tall table (maybe there would be some food on it again?). She simpley turned away, pressing her cheek to her fathers chest, you know like a dignified lady.

"She's a little shy, doesn't like new people." No she wasn't, she was very vividly expressing her distaste for the man! Dorri would be proud no doupt.

"She'll get used to you in no time, I'm sure! That is if you'll stay?" ..what

"Well it seems nice, so... if you'll have me." ...excuse me?

The bad guest had the audacity to wave at her. Stay? Stay where? Here? NO! She was wrong! This man wasn't a bad guest but a VERY bad guest! How dare hE??

"Hi, I'm Hal. I'll be staying with you and your dad for a while."

Dani shook his extended finger. Hal was it? Well, bad-guest Hal, I'm going to make you regret this - and so she plotted away, there were tons of ways to get back at bad guests, because bad guests deserve to be punished. Teribley.

"See, she likes you already!"

[callsign-mayhem]

loving is easy (b.b)

Part three of the 'Heartbreak Feels So Good' sequel series!

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 2.5k CW: Use of Y/N

The rest of the Dagger Squad find out about your relationship with Bradley—some in the most inconvenient way possible.

FIND THE ORIGINAL SERIES HERE!

The morning sun hung high over the base, casting long shadows across the tarmac as the squad went about their daily routines. Reuben Fitch stretched his legs out on the tarmac, basking in the warmth of the sunlight. He’d already done his laps and his push ups, and he was taking five with a cup of crappy coffee from the cafeteria. 

He closed his eyes and turned to face the sun—he could feel the positive effects it was having on him. 

Well, up until Javy stood directly in the sun, dousing him in shadow.

‘What the hell, man?’ Reuben snapped.

Javy stepped aside and sat down next to him. ‘You seein’ this?’ He asked.

‘Seeing what?’

He pointed to you and Bradley. The two of you stood out like a beacon of light—though you weren’t intentionally drawing attention to yourselves, it was difficult not to notice. Bradley was giving you a piggyback ride, your laughter floating in the air like a sweet melody. His strides were carefree, and his back was straight and proud as he carried you. Your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck, and the way you moved together—so comfortable and at ease—made it clear that you were something more than friends. ‘When did that happen?’ Reuben exclaimed. Javy shrugged, pulling out his phone to take a video. ‘I have no idea. I gotta send this to Jake.’

Jake, who was still on deployment, would definitely want to know about this interesting turn of events. ‘Honestly,’ Reuben said, sipping his coffee and wincing. ‘I’m glad. For a minute, I was scared she’d never get over Viper.’ Javy’s lips twitched in a half-smile. ‘I wasn’t worried. They were always gonna get together. Shouldn’t come as a surprise.’ He watched you and Bradley with an air of mild amusement. ‘More surprising that it’s taken this long.’ 

Reuben’s eyes flicked between you, watching you laugh, utterly oblivious to the attention you were attracting. ‘Did we miss the announcement? Or do they just suck at hiding things?’ ‘They’ve always been like this. Always lookin’ at each other like—’ He paused, mimicking how Bradley looked at you in a way that made Reuben laugh. They watched as Bradley set you down, both of you still laughing. Bradley wrapped an arm around your waist as you walked, heads together as if you shared some secret nobody else knew. 

‘They’ll tell us when they're ready.’ Javy reasoned. ‘We just have to do our best to act surprised.’ 

Bob wanted it on the record that he thought this was a bad idea. Being a backseater meant he’d perfected the art of listening to his intuition; right now, it was screaming at him.

‘Will you stop being such a pussy?’ Natasha hissed, lifting the welcome mat in front of your door. Underneath, your house key glistened in the late morning light. 

‘If she’s not answering our texts, she probably has a good reason.’ Bob rationalised. 

Nat glared at him as she put the key into the lock and twisted it. The door swung open to your tidy apartment, and she stepped in. ‘Look, you can wait outside if you want, but after everything she’s been through with Viper, I don’t trust this situation. She used to freeze us out, even when she needed us the most.’ Nat reminded him. ‘Maybe she hasn’t broken that habit yet.’ 

As much as Bob didn’t like this plan, he knew that Natasha had the right idea and that she meant well. Besides, he was worried about you too. He followed her in, gently closing the door behind him. 

The apartment was eerily quiet.

‘She must be sleeping.’ Bob whispered. ‘We should go.’ 

‘We had breakfast plans, though. She wouldn’t forget; we arranged it yesterday before leaving base.’ Nat started heading down the hall that led to your bedroom, the bathroom, and the guest room.

‘You can’t go in there, Phoenix!’

‘I can and I will.’ 

God, Nat could be stubborn as hell. She couldn’t back down even if she wanted to, not when it came to her friends. 

Your bedroom door was already slightly open. Nat pushed it, and Bob reluctantly followed her in. The curtains were open and hazy, golden light pooled on the floor below your window. Bob’s eyes landed on the group photo you had stuck to your vanity mirror, and he smiled thoughtfully. 

‘Well, shit.’ Nat murmured bemusedly. 

You were nestled into Bradley’s side, tangled under the covers, asleep in each other’s arms. Bradley’s face was relaxed and soft in sleep, with your head resting on his chest and your hand lying gently against his stomach. The faint sound of your synchronised breathing filled the air.

Bob and Nat shared a look, trying to contain their smiles. 

‘I guess this answers some of our questions.’ He said. 

‘I guess so.’

You started to stir, eyes squinting as they adjusted to the light. When you noticed two of your best friends standing at the foot of your bed, you sat bolt upright. The sight of your bedhead was Nat’s final straw, and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

She crossed her arms casually. ‘Wondered where you’d gotten to. Did you forget about our plans?’

You groaned in embarrassment, covering your face with your hands. Bradley started to stir next to you. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. Looks like you had more pressing matters to attend to.’ She smirked.

‘Phoenix!’ Bob hisssed.

Bradley blinked his eyes open slowly. He shifted, trying to pull you back down as he groggily mumbled something under his breath. When he heard Natasha’s voice, he stiffened slightly. His brows furrowed when he saw her and Bob, clearly trying to process the bizarre situation.

‘What the fuck are you two doing here?’ He grumbled, voice thick with sleep. 

‘Checking on Y/N since she didn’t make it to breakfast. Seems to be a regular occurrence these days.’

Bradley squinted at her. ‘Couldn’t you have knocked? Like a normal person?’

‘I told her to knock.’ Bob said. ‘I’m sorry. She’s sorry.’

‘No, I’m not.’ She smirked. ‘Cause if we hadn’t let ourselves in, we would never’ve known.’

Bradley launched a pillow at her, which she dodged. Instead, it hit Bob, knocking his glasses slightly. 

‘Okay!’ You exclaimed. ‘This is officially the weirdest wake-up call I’ve ever had! Both of you, wait in the kitchen while we get dressed.’

‘No funny business, you two. I’m starving.’ Nat winked. 

Bob practically dragged her out of the room, leaving you and Bradley to get ready and salvage what was left of your dignity.

‘Guess the cat’s out of the bag.’ You grumbled. 

The morning air was warm with a slight breeze as the four of you stepped out of your apartment building. The drive to the beachside diner was quick, and as the sun climbed higher, the ocean glistened against the horizon. Bradley walked beside you, the two of you comfortable in each other's company. Bob and Natasha were ahead of you, still talking, but Natasha’s eyes were sparkling with that familiar mischief. The diner was quiet, a perfect little spot overlooking the beach. You settled into a booth beside Bradley, and Natasha wasted no time. ‘So, you guys finally stopped dancing around each other.’ Bradley stirred his coffee, his eyes soft as he glanced at you. He let Natasha have her moment, though you could see the amused smile tugging at his lips. ‘Stop with the teasing.’ He warned, although his heart wasn’t in it. ‘I’m just curious. All the years of ‘nothing’s going on’, and now you two are all cosy in bed together?’ Bob, who’d been quietly sipping his coffee, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was not as eager to probe into your personal life. ‘I mean, come on,’ she continued, her eyes dancing between you and Bradley. ‘You two are practically inseparable. What was it that finally did it?’ You looked over at Bradley, your heart swelling with affection. The teasing might have been playful, but a part of you was still not used to having a public conversation about your relationship. With Elijah, you pretty much kept it all bottled up—partly because you didn’t know how to talk about it and partly because you knew it was fucked up, and if you told anyone, they would convince you to end things. Bradley leaned in slightly, his voice gentle. ‘I’ve always liked her, but I didn’t want to push things too hard while she had a boyfriend.’ Your heart clenched at the mention of your ex, but you were starting to realise that the only way you’d ever get over it was if you stopped bottling things up. ‘Bradley helped me through it, made me realise that I deserve better.’ You smiled at him, momentarily forgetting that your friends were there. ‘And he’s the very definition of better.’ Nat watched the two of you, shaking her head with a smile. She already knew all of this. She just wanted to hear the two of you say it. ‘Well, thank God. Honestly, I was waiting for someone to finally admit it. It was like watching a slow-motion car crash.’ Bob chuckled under his breath, which he quickly tried to hide with a sip of his coffee. ‘It was getting a little painful watching Rooster pine for you, Y/CS.’ This made all of you laugh, probably because Bob rarely spoke his mind so frankly. Despite the playful digs, the warmth of the moment was comforting. ‘We had to get there in our own time,’ you said, squeezing Bradley’s hand under the table. ‘And we’re there now.’ Natasha’s expression softened momentarily, her teasing smile giving way to something more sincere. ‘I’m happy for you two. It’s about time you stopped being idiots.’ Bradley smirked but didn’t argue with her, his hand resting comfortably beside yours. ‘It feels good not to be an idiot anymore.’ He said, his voice low but full of affection. Nat tapped her fingers on the table, grinning. ‘So... when’s the wedding?’ You choked on your coffee, but Bradley just laughed, squeezing your hand a little tighter. ‘Slow down, Nix.’ You glanced at Bradley; how he looked at you made your heart flutter. ‘Yeah, slow down.’ You repeated softly, but it was clear to everyone at the table that you’d already taken the biggest step. The rest would fall into place in time. Bob shook his head, not interested in delving deeper into the teasing. ‘Can we just have a peaceful breakfast for once?’ Everyone laughed again, the tension easing. You felt a deep sense of contentment as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. With Bradley by your side and your friends around you, you knew you’d found your place—together.

Drenched with warm summer rain, you entered The Hard Deck on Bradley’s arm—your favourite place to be. With Elijah, it had never felt this way. With him, entering a bar spiked your anxiety levels beyond control, as there was never any telling how he would act after one too many beers. And if he decided to go for top shelf spirits that night, it would undoubtedly end in tears. With Bradley, you never had to worry about any of that. When you went out together, you only had to worry about trying to pay for a round of drinks without him catching on and snatching your debit card out of your hand. Tonight, the bar was quiet. It was a Wednesday and you knew that a lot of the pilots who frequented Penny’s place had been deployed on an emergency humanitarian aid air drop mission. It was pure chance that none of your squad had been sent away. Aside from Jake, who was still away on a classified mission. It had proven difficult to stay in contact, but you all did your best. Besides, you knew how quickly time flew—he would be back where he belonged in no time. Mickey, Reuben, Javy were already in the group’s usual spot by the dart board. When they saw you and Bradley approaching, their conversation trailed off and they looked up. ‘Hey.’ Bradley greeted, pulling a stool out for you. Mickey glanced at the others. He seemed to be silently asking permission to say something. Reuben nodded once, granting him permission. ‘So, Coyote and Payback have something they wanna ask you two.’ Mickey said. Javy glared at him, and Bradley’s eyes darted to you. Had Mickey slipped up and let on about what he’d seen in the hangar the other week? Bracing himself, Bradley said: ‘What’s going on?’ Reuben smiled sheepishly. ‘Coyote and I saw you giving Y/N a piggyback ride across the runway on Friday morning, and we thought you looked kind of like a couple.’ The last thing Bradley expected you to do was laugh, but that’s just what you did. ‘That’s ‘cause we are.’ You said nonchalantly. Even though Reuben and Javy already seemed to be in the know, both of their mouths dropped open at your admission. Maybe they’d expected you to lie, or be embarrassed, but what was the point? You and Bradley had already had your fun, sneaking around for a month or so. After Mickey had found out, and then Nat and Bob, you realised it was time to tell your closest friends—your family. Mickey beamed, and Bradley eyed him suspiciously. ‘Did you tell them?’ He asked, pointing to the others. Mickey’s happy smile faltered. ‘What, no! I promised I wouldn’t.’ You put your hand on Bradley’s thigh. ‘He wouldn’t do that, babe. Besides, we haven’t been all that secretive lately.’ ‘No,’ Bradley smiled. ‘I guess we haven’t.’ A soft, electronic trill filled the air. Javy leaned his phone against a pint glass, and after a few seconds, Jake picked up. It was rare for him to pick up his phone. ‘Jakey-boy!’ Javy exclaimed. ‘How are you, man?’ ‘All good. They reckon I’m gonna be home sooner than they thought.’ ‘That’s great. I told you that would happen.’ ‘What’s up, anyway? How is everyone?’ Jake inquired. With a knowing smirk, Javy turned his phone around. ‘These two have something they need to tell you.’ You rolled your eyes playfully and grabbed the phone. ‘What’s goin’ on, darlin’?’ He asked. Before you could speak, Bradley snatched the phone. ‘There isn’t gonna be a wedding invitation waiting for you when you get back, but maybe someday.’ Jake’s face split into the brightest grin you’d ever seen. You nudged Bradley, confused. ‘What are you talking about?’ Jake chuckled. ‘Before I left, I told him there better be a wedding invitation waiting on my doorstep when I get home.’ Your breath hitched in your throat at the thought of marrying Bradley. What a dream that would be.

‘So you really were crushing on me the whole time?’ You teased. ‘Oh, he has it bad.’ Jake replied. Even though you already knew this, hearing it from someone else made it hit home.

‘Well, that’s just fine, because I do, too.’ Jake pretended to gag, and you handed the phone back to Javy with a laugh. Suddenly, you couldn’t remember why you and Bradley had wanted to keep your relationship secret, even for a little while. It was so much more fun, and so much more real now it was out in the open. The jukebox switched songs, the squad’s laughter filled the bar, and Bradley pulled you a little closer—because after all, this was just the beginning.

A/N: It's finally here! Sorry for the wait. I thought it would be interesting to see how the rest of the Daggers would find out, so here it is. I've got something really exciting planned for the next part... I'm thinking the Daggers take a long weekend trip somewhere. :)

Taglist: @crowdedimagines @sadgirlgiselle @sleepy-writersblock @lovelyygirl8 @my-therapist-hates-me @primroseluna @eloquentdreamer @sgt-barnesveins @daybleedsintonightfa11 @constructivejudger @honey-and-bi @caitsymichelle13 @alwayshave-faith @rosedurin @impossibleblizzardstudentposts

[pwettybbybunny]

HSR Men and After Care ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

Argenti is a yes, the jack of all trades, everything you can think of, cuddling, talking, cleaning, everything, always, prolonged after care, almost giving you a home spa and massage. Making you feel the luckiest price/princess in the world, yet so effortlessly.

Aventurine's likes cuddles, massaging you and words of affirmation, telling each other pretty things and kissing each other's scars. Staring into each other's eyes before falling asleep.

Blade just lays their and let you do whatever you want to with him, or just do anything you tell him to, really need to be taught tenderness, but will try his best for you.

Boothill will be the one needing some positive pep talk. The man's 95 percent body is metal, so he feels really insecure in his ability to pleasure you. Tell him he did good, and hold him if he tears up. Once he's feeling better again, he help clean up and massage the knots out of your back.

Caelus is so lovely. Oh please teach this sweet racoon puppy how treat you, and he put all his effort into it. He loves you so much and is so desperate for you. He put's the most effort in aftercare, as unlike Argenti who's actions come naturally, Caelus always try to go extra mile to make sure his lover his happy. Maybe even shamelessly ask Himeko for advice or better yet Kafka.

Dan Heng is really good. Coziness is his forte, so bunch of quality time with each other. Not much of a talker, but will listen to you as you lay in his arms, venting out anything and everything that's been bugging you recently, and then kiss your worries out your pretty mind.

Dan Feng (the actual high elder in past) will do the same, but will have tail rapped around your waist, as you two sit on the mat, your back resting on his bare chest, his robe lazily draped, barely hiding his mat, looking at the fountain out in your private courtyard, smoking from his pipe as your beautiful voice fills the room.

Dr Ratio is methodical. He has an algorithm like schedule he likes to follow, laying a towel below you as he prepares the bath, then carrying you princess style, cuddling you in the warm water. His rubber duckies floating around, as he lazily feeds you some grapes and your drink of choice he had prepared. Sometimes he likes to read you whatever stupid fiction book you're into at the moment, things he would never even open himself, but if it's for you, he happily read you the entire thing like an audiobook.

Gallagher is a simple man, he help you clean up, be there till you recover' and then have a smoke, and go about his day, unless you specifically ask him to d something, he don't see the point of doing it.

ForJiaoqui, well is it really a surprise, he will feed you first thing first after some rounds? He needs to ensure you have enough energy. Maybe you're still stuck on his knot, as he make you sit all pretty in his lap, as he feeds you the herbal porridge he had kept ready for his amazing mate.

With Jing Yuan it's cuddle central baby! Gonna plop your body in his, as if you're a plushie, clutch you tight and just fall asleep. Smack him awake if you want proper after care or pass out too, it's not like to you will have energy left after multiple rounds with him.

I believe Luocha will be the best with after care. Very tender, and gentle. The pretty man will be insistive for cuddling you, will clean you so good, make sure you are hydrated, fed and in top notch condition. Will flatter you so much and only be satisfied once you feel like a spoilt prince/princess.

Moze gives you no time for a breather pick you up like a sack and carries you the bathroom, help clean you up, and takes a shower as you yap whole soaking in warm water. Will cuddle after you two are fresh and clean.

Sampo is a meanie, he's the type to tease you even during after care. Calling you a nighty slut, and reminding you the way you acted so desperate and whiny during sex, as he scoop the cum out of your holes, or simply plug you up, if he feels like it. If you tear up he simply his your tears, and hug you tight. Will start calling you sweet names, and i love you's, when you're on the verge of falling asleep tho.

Sunday is well Sunday, he would have water prepared, maids already ordered to run you bath, and even some snacks for you. Even if it's compulsive office sex, he would always be prepared. Very determined while taking care of you. Likes worshipping your body, and trail you with kisses, telling you how perfect, and how pretty you are.

[hettyoon]

❥︎ Character; Lilia Vanrouge Game; Twisted Wonderland

❥︎ Prompt; 𝗖𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗟𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗔 !! || 2nd pov || established relationship

❥︎ Notes; Fun fact, this was originally a Teru oneshot I wrote back in 2021. Hopefully, nobody who saw that remembers it. I did not have a blast reading through my old writing ☺️ Also, I may do a part 2 to this ? Idk. + The banners are like 3 years old I need to redraw them so bad </3

MAIN M.LIST

"So, what are we gonna make?"

It was a known fact in diasomnia that Lilia had quite the unique skill when it came to cooking, and what you mean by unique skill is that he always somehow ended up with something that was at best inedible, at worst poisonous. No matter how good of a recipe you gave him, no matter how many instructions and warnings you nailed into his head, none of it seemed to work.

Which led you to the following conclusion, you would have to personally supervise him in order for you to actually come out with any worthwhile results that you would be able to risk putting into your mouth.

Now, this was not your first attempt at this. The first one didn't quite go to plan when you had to leave Lilia for a couple of minutes to go get one of the missing ingredients before coming back to smoke floating around from a mini explosion coming from the kitchen.

He was banned from entering the kitchen for a while after that one.

"We're gonna make some pizza." You replied to your dual-haired boyfriend, shuffling your way through the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards to get out all your needed ingredients. "Should be easy enough for even you to make."

Lilia placed a hand on his heart in a dramatic manner, a feigned look of hurt on his face. "You wound me with your words, love."

You rolled your eyes at that. "I'm trying to help you here, you know. Everyone else thinks that you're a lost cause."

As you were setting out the tools, a familiar warmth brushed up against your back. A pair of arms came to wrap around your waist. His head settled down onto the curve of your shoulder, breath soft against your neck as he uttered the next words. "I'm surprised you're letting me try again at all after what happened last time.”

"Well, this time I'll make sure not to leave your side for the whole time, okay?"

His head tilted up a notch to land a light kiss to the tip of your ear, as a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Can't say no to that."

A couple more minutes had passed, and you were now halfway through making the dough for your pizza. To your delight, Lilia was doing surprisingly good so far. The dough was successfully mixed together, and he was now standing in front of the mixer as it kneaded it all together.

"Okay, I think that's enough with that. You can take out the dough and lay it on the mat that I prepared." Your finger followed your words pointing to said mat before changing directions towards the flour and sift right next to it. " Make sure to add some flour onto the mat so the dough doesn't stick. Just sift a spoon or two gently onto the surface."

Fulfilling your self-admitted role of supervision, you came to stand next to Lilia's side, watching him take out a spoon and dip it into the bag of flour with no fault. As everything on his end looked stable enough, you briefly turned to face the cupboard on your other side. The plan was to get out the rolling pin so he could use it in his next step, but alas it was a bad decision on your end.

Your hand didn't even make it to the intended shelf before you saw a cloud of white powder suddenly engulf your vision.

Nearly giving yourself a whiplash from how fast you turned your head, you rushed to quickly take control of what was happening. "Oh my god, Lilia! I said gently, gently!"

Your hands reached out to stop him from his aggressive shaking motion in hopes of stopping the flour from spreading any further. The old fae had the audacity to blink at you owlishly with his red eyes, as if he were totally innocent from what had just occurred.

"Oh? Was I doing it wrong?"

A sigh left your lips at his words, swatting your hand back and forth to get the floating particles of flour out of the way. "Do you really think that the flour is supposed to get on every surface within a meter of the mat I told you to sift it on?"

"Hmm, I admit, I think I may have gotten a little carried away there. But no need to fret over it. There's still plenty of flour in the bag." His body turned to face you while his finger pointed over to the bag of flour that was slowly folding over, just seconds away from falling down and spilling its contents all over the floor.

You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to get to it in time. Luckily, you managed to do so successfully.

An exasperated sigh left your lips. "That's not really my point, but anyways. Here, let me do the sifting for you. It's not like it's part of the actual recipe."

"No objections to that."

A little while later, you had both the flour and dough spread out in front of Lillia. With the rolling pin secured in both of his hands, he began the motion of rolling back and forth on the dough to spread it out.

Except, of course, he was rolling it out way too hard and absolutely flattening the poor thing to a crisp. No wonder any pizza he attempted beforehand came out burnt and disfigured to oblivion.

Honestly, you weren't even surprised at this point. You had to grasp one of his hands with yours to stop him from going any further. "Lilia, that's too thin. How on earth are you even going to get that thing into the oven tray? It's going to rip to pieces the moment you even try to lift it up. You can't even stick anything on top of it."

Lilia shot you a confused look. "Can't I just stick it back together with glue or something?"

A look of horror presented itself on your face. Okay, maybe you did have the ability to be surprised after all. You pleaded in your mind that what he just mentioned is not the disgusting plastic-y taste that you've had to gag from in Lilia's cooking before. "Lilia, people are going to eat that!"

"Hmm, I'll use caramel then. That should be sticky enough, no? Or you think melted marshmallows would work better?" His hand came up to hold his chin in thought.

No words could describe the absurdity of what you were hearing right now, so you just decided to shake your head in disbelief. "Okay, we're going to start this again, and this time, I'm gonna help you roll it out."

Kneading the dough back into a ball, bringing you two back to step one. You positioned yourself in front of your lover, standing right in between his extended arms. Both his hands were on the handles of the rolling pin again, except this time you had your hands layered over his, holding them tight and positioning them into the right place. He was also floating up higher so he could see from over your shoulders.

"Well, I will say, I definitely prefer this rather than doing it on my own." Lilia said cheekily. He leaned forward even more, so his chest was basically glued to your back. The breeze of his breath tickled the tip of your ears, and you could feel the heat rise up to said place at the proximity. "You're so cute like this. I could just lean in and take a nibble." Of course, before your brain could even process his words, you felt his sharp canines brush along the curve of your ear before gently sinking them in to give it a soft bite.

"Lilia!" Your ears weren't the only part of your skin flushed in red now. There was no doubt that your non-human lover could feel the heat radiating off your cheeks, too, as you turned to face him with a half-hearted stern expression.

The only reply you got out of him was that infamous laugh of his.

You had absolutely no idea why you still got flustered by such moves from him even after all this time being together. Unfortunately for you, Lilia was well aware of this and often used it to his advantage.

"Can we focus on what we have on hand now?" A poor attempt on your end to stir the conversation back to its origin.

"What do you mean? I am focused." An innocent grin paired with his closed eyes and a slight head tilt. However, you were far from fooled.

It was at moments like these that you wished you had the ability to be able to tease him back. Hard to do that, though, when he's a centuries-old fae who's seen and been through it all.

Soon enough, after a little more teasing from Lilia, much to your embarrassment, you two were back on track, rolling out the dough. With your help (specifically, your hands making absolutely sure he did nothing out of the ordinary), the dough was spread and ready to be decorated in no time.

“Phew. We finally did it.” You turned to face Lilia with a satisfied look. All with no casualties too this time. Very impressive if you were to ask yourself.

Said fae leaned down to land a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, causing a smile to draw on your face. “We always work great as a team together, don't we?”

Now that the hard part was over, you were definitely feeling much more optimistic about the outcome of you and Lilia's creation. The successfully shaped out dough gave you quite the confidence boost.

Hopefully it all goes sailing smoothly with no more mishaps.

Although, maybe it was a little too wishful thinking considering this is Lilia you are talking about.

[handful0fteeth]

pull on your pout (just open your mouth)

stranger kinks 1: pegging

summary: eddie has some kinks he's never told anyone about, let alone explored, and you're more than happy to help him out.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader (eddie munson x afab!reader if you squint)

warnings: smut, minors DNI, explicit language, lots of dirty talk, sub!eddie, dom!reader, rough sex, (mild) painplay, (slight) puppy play

words: 4.5k

The moment you laid eyes on Eddie Munson, you knew you had to make him scream.

He was so pretty, so cocksure as he floated through the crowd of the metal show you’d happened to meet at, and his easy smile ignited something within you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. A few people called out greetings as he strolled past them, and he’d return them in kind, either with a flourish of his hand or an exaggerated bow. He had a red cup he’d been sipping from when he sauntered up to where you were, leaned against a metal barricade just after the show ended, and the grin he flashed over the lip of it only confirmed your newfound desire.

“Mind if I bum one of those off you?” he asked, pointing a ringed finger at the cigarette that dangled from your mouth. You puffed once, twice, looking him over in thought before reaching into your skirt's waistband and pulling out your pack.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” he crooned. He plucked a cigarette out and tucked it between his lips, shifting his cup to his opposite hand so he could pat down his pockets, clearly in search of something. After a moment, you reached into your shirt and retrieved your lighter from its place inside your bra.

“Need a light?” you asked, flicking the wheel and illuminating Eddie’s face with firelight. His dark eyes, smeared in black kohl, glittered at you, and the way his smile stretched around the cigarette as he bent toward your flame made your stomach flip. He smelled of cheap weed and beer, sweat and cigarette smoke, cologne and earth - you had to physically restrain yourself from leaning down and taking an indulgent whiff of his hair only because you knew it’d make you look like an absolute lunatic.

“Much obliged,” he said, smoke curling from his full, pink lips. You watched them purse, and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his smoke, the end flaring cherry red, before he tipped his head back and exhaled audibly. When his eyes met yours again, you realized they sparkled all on their own without the assistance of a lighter.

“Wha’s your name?” His speech was just the slightest bit slurred, and you huffed out a laugh before angling your body toward him.

“Y/N. Yours?”

“Eddie Munson. ‘S a pleasure.” He draped one arm across his stomach while the other swept out dramatically behind him - unfortunately, it just so happened to be the arm that clutched his drink. As he bowed toward you, his hand accidentally tipped his cup just a little too far, and dark liquid began to pour out onto the asphalt freely. It splattered noisily for a few seconds before Eddie seemed to realize what he’d done, and he swore as he straightened up and snatched his arm back. 

“Fuck. Aw, well, ‘s for the best, I guess,” he reasoned, staring into the nearly empty cup as if it’d personally offended him. You surmised that, at this moment, it probably had. “Tastes like shit anyway.”

Even in his inebriated state, talking to him was easier than talking to most men - hell, it was easier than talking to most people in general. No awkward silences or lulls compelled you to drag on your cigarette just to give your mouth something to do - the words flowed out of you effortlessly, as if you’d known him for years. His laugh was like music, loud and sincere, bursting out of his mouth with abandon even when you didn’t think you’d said anything amusing. He kept edging closer and closer to you the entire conversation, and you let him, mainly because you wanted a closer look at his pretty face.

His hair, long and curly and matted to his forehead with sweat, coiled softly around his high, pale cheeks, and if you’d had enough alcohol in you, you would’ve reached up and pushed a lock behind his ear for him. He towered over you, which made the filthy thoughts swirling around in your head all the more thrilling. Something inside you, something mean and wicked, wanted to make this boy cry beneath you.

When Eddie stumbled into you, tripping over his own two feet, you asked if he needed a ride home. He shook his head but didn’t move to pull away from you. His hand was behind your body, curled onto the barricade for purchase, and you were so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body as you tilted your head up to look into his eyes.

“Got a friend ‘m stayin’ with,” he murmured, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be okay. You can gimme your number though if you wan’ me to call you when I get to where I’m goin’.”

It was so forward that had it come out of anyone else’s mouth, you would’ve snorted and left him cold. Eddie wasn’t anyone else, though.

“You got a pen?”

Shockingly, he did - he extracted a fat-tipped permanent marker from the pocket of his leather jacket. You kept it to yourself how funny it was that he didn’t have a lighter but was carrying around a huge marker.

Without missing a beat, you lifted a hand and tugged down the collar of his shirt, exposing the creamy flesh of his collarbone. The little whoosh of air that left his lips didn’t escape you as you touched the felt tip of the marker to his skin and slowly wrote down your phone number. Beneath it, you signed your name and punctuated it all with a small, black heart. Eddie stayed still as stone while you wrote on him. It was as if your audacity, the arrogance of marking his flesh, had shocked him into a state of placidity. 

When your eyes met again, there was a heat in his gaze that hadn’t been there moments before. You smirked, capped the marker, and slipped it back inside his jacket.

“Make sure you call,” you said, your voice low. “You wouldn’t wanna worry me, now would you?”

Eddie shook his head slowly, almost dazedly. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and flashed him a cloyingly sweet smile. 

“Good.” You raised one hand and rested it gently against his cheek, silently reveling in how tiny shivers rippled throughout his entire body at your touch, and patted him on the face condescendingly. You swore that, for a moment, right as you were pulling your hand away, you saw Eddie go to lean into your touch.

“I’ll be waiting.”

With that, you untucked yourself from against Eddie’s body and traipsed away.

He did, in fact, call you the very next morning and ask you on a proper date.

Whether or not that date ended up with Eddie fucking your brains out while you bent over the front seat of his van, scratching grooves into the cracked leather seats and practically drooling at the way his cock felt as it drilled inside you, was another matter entirely. (It did; you offered to help pay to fix the upholstery; Eddie refused, and the scratches still stare up at you knowingly every time you enter the van.)

That said, it didn’t take long at all to figure out that sometimes - a surprising number of “sometimes” - Eddie loved foisting control over to you just as much as he loved wrenching it away. He’d first admitted as much a few weeks after you started seeing each other. You’d been making out, ass planted firmly in his lap and hands plunged in his thick mass of hair when you gave a handful at the nape of his neck an experimental tug. Nothing too hard, just a test of the waters.

Eddie moaned.

He looked positively scandalized the second the sound had left his mouth, but you didn’t give him enough time to be embarrassed. Instead, you twisted your hand, yanking the curls in your fist until they were taut; Eddie’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, lids fluttering, and his jaw dropped wide open to loose another pathetic, delicious sound.

“That feel good, baby?” you asked. 

“Y-Yeah,” he whined. You slackened your grip just enough to let his head bob forward a bit and then snatched it straight back by tangling both hands in the hair on either side of his neck. He sat up straighter, his spine snapping into one long line as you gave him a wolfish grin. You only paused when you noticed the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“D’you need me to ease up?” You would have, of course, in a heartbeat - pain for pleasure’s sake was one thing, but it was another thing entirely to inflict pain just for the hell of it, especially when the person you were inflicting pain on couldn’t handle it. But Eddie just blinked at you, his brown eyes glossy and distant, almost as if he was starting to drift off somewhere, and smiled dreamily.

“No,” he said. “Pull harder.”

And so you did.

Later, when he was bucking into you from below, keening and whimpering like he was dying, scalp no doubt burning from the consistent abuse you’d demonstrated toward his hair, you leaned down into his ear and asked him if he liked when you hurt him like this. 

“Yes, fuck,” he gasped. “I love it, I love it, please, more, please.”

“You think I should do this more often? Hm?”

“Whenever you want, Jesus Christ.” His back arched beautifully as you dragged your long, sharp nails down his bare chest, staining his pale skin with angry red lines. He grabbed your hips and held you in place, fucking into you desperately, unable to contain himself.

“You like it when I mark you up?” you growled, determined to stay focused through the stars exploding behind your eyes and the pleasure burning its way through your body. “When I own you like this? You’re just a little painslut for me, aren’t you, baby?”

When Eddie came, and he came hard, he was sobbing, “Yes, yes, yes, own me, use me, fuck, hurt me, I’m yours.”

You made sure that afterward when you could extricate yourselves from his bed, you took great care in tenderly washing and kissing the marks you left on him in the shower. You also washed his hair for him, choosing to massage his stinging scalp for so long the water was cold by the time you both hopped out. 

You asked him later, while he was snuggled up behind you in his bed, arms wrapped possessively around your middle and nose buried in your wet hair, if he really, really liked everything you’d done.

“Most definitely,” he murmured, kissing your neck. 

“You made such pretty sounds,” you said, and Eddie squirmed. He could sing your praises all day, wax poetic about how beautiful and sexy and perfect he thought you were, but when you returned that sentiment in kind, he tended to shrink. You resolved to fix that habit at a later date.

“You never told me you liked all that,” you said, reaching back to rest a hand on his flank. “I woulda done it sooner.”

“You never asked,” Eddie said simply. “‘Sides, that stuff is tame compared to other shit I’m interested in.”

Oh? Eddie tensed as soon as it seemed to register what he’d said, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He piqued your curiosity; that wasn’t your fault, and besides - you needed to know what else could make Eddie Munson whine for you immediately.

“You don’t say? Pray tell, what would be that ‘other shit?’”

“Uh…sorry, can’t hear you, sleeping.” He crushed himself against your back and faked a loud, raucous snore right in your ear. You laughed, and to his credit, he did actually fall asleep rather quickly after that, but you both knew you weren’t going to let that go so easily.

It took a while, months, before you could chip away at the embarrassment barring you from all of Eddie’s desires. You never pushed, never wanted to make him feel like he had to tell you anything, just gently encouraged him by promising there was nothing he could say that would scare you off or gross you out. Mostly, Eddie just liked pain - receiving and giving. He made the sweetest sounds when you satiated the more masochistic side of him: slapping him squarely across the face, scoring marks into his smooth back and chest, winding his hair around your fist, and pulling. 

He liked it when you whispered filthy, degrading things into his ear, too, possibly even more than the pain. You discovered how deeply he appreciated being called a slut early on, but it wasn’t until one night when you were riding him into the mattress, that the phrase “good dog” tumbled past your lips without much thought. Eddie’s orgasm swept through him without warning, and you drank in the shocked, blissed-out expression that contorted his face while making a mental note of that particular kink.

His final confession came after the fog of intoxication had settled over the pair of you one day, beer and weed buzzing through your veins and making Eddie’s inhibitions low enough to admit that he’d always, secretly, been curious about what it’d feel like to get fucked in the ass.

“Oh?”

“I…yeah, I guess,” he said, throwing an arm over his eyes as he lay on his back. 

“How curious are we talkin’ here?”

“Like…I dunno…very?”

“Baby. Look at me.”

One of your favorite things about Eddie was how quickly he obeyed when you lowered your voice. It was like it didn’t even occur to him not to listen. He peeked at you from around his forearm.

“Do you want me to fuck you in the ass, puppy?”

The sweet, high noise that bubbled up his throat as he nodded stoked that need in your belly, which demanded you do everything in your power to bring Eddie to tears as he writhed underneath you. 

That conversation is how you got here tonight.

Eddie waits for you patiently on his bed, naked, rolled onto all fours with his head bowed low between his shoulders, the pale globes of his ass arched skyward. His dark curls pool around his face, so you can’t see it, but you watch his back rise and fall rapidly with his breathing, and the backs of his thighs are trembling with anticipation. 

Fenagling a strap-on is more challenging than you’d originally thought. Slotting the dildo into place was unexpectedly tricky - it’s one you purchased years ago, and admittedly, the pink, sparkling hunk of silicone looks a little silly nestled amongst the otherwise imposing black material. But when Eddie caught a glimpse of it coming out of your bag tonight, his eyes went wide as saucers, and it took a moment for his brain to stop short-circuiting enough to carry on a conversation with you. You told him to stay put while you fought with the smooth, cold leather around your hips, and he has, wanting so badly to be good for you. His cock hangs hard and flushed between his hips, twitching intermittently as precum beads from the tip and drools onto his bedsheets.

“Just a minute longer, puppy. Are you okay?” you call, and Eddie nods.

“‘M fine, angel.”

“Good. Why don’t you stroke your cock while I finish up here, hm?”

He obeys, slipping a hand down between his legs to grip the base of his cock. His body slumps slightly, and he turns his head out as it’s pressed into the sheets. Eddie mewls softly as you tighten the last strap against your thigh, and you steal a glance at him. His fist moves slowly over himself, stroking from base to tip and then back again in carefully measured pumps. 

He doesn’t notice when you sidle up behind him, totally unaware of your presence, until you drag your nails featherlight over the back of his legs. He shudders, gasping sharply through his teeth, and his hand stills on his cock.

“Will you hand me the lube, baby?”

Eddie releases his dick to pat a hand around the bed, and eventually, he presses the small, cylindrical bottle of lube into your palm. It’s half-empty, thoroughly used in the weeks leading up to tonight, and the plastic sticks to your skin a bit as you snap the cap open and drizzle lubricant onto your first two fingers.

He’s taken more than just two fingers, many times now - a few nights ago, you squeezed four inside his ass before he came all over his stomach. You’ve taken this entire process very slowly, partially because you’d hate to hurt the poor thing and ruin his fantasy before it even really had a chance to begin and partially because you just love how he cries when you tease him open nice and lazily. 

You lean over him, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades as you swipe a dollop of lube over his hole. He hisses, flinching away from your fingers a bit.

“Cold,” he complains, and you shush him gently.

“I know, baby. Just relax, you’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

“‘M excited,” Eddie mumbles, and you kiss his back again.

You swirl your fingers around his puckered hole, teasing the rim and nudging the tips just the slightest bit inside to coax the muscle into softening for you. Eddie sighs and shifts a bit so he can grab his cock again.

When you press your index finger inside him, up to the first knuckle, Eddie keens and drives his face into the bed. That just won’t do.

“Uh uh,” you admonish. Your free hand tangles in his hair at the root, and you yank his head back up, forcing him to steady himself on one elbow. He gasps, then whines, trying to cast a look over his shoulder at you. 

“You don’t hide from me,” you remind him. “‘Specially when it muffles those pretty noises. Understand?”

“Y-Yes. Sorry, angel,” he breathes, and the slick, hurried sounds below you alert you to how much faster he’s stroking his cock now. You probe your fingers inside him further, watching and waiting for any sign of distress or pain he doesn’t enjoy until you’ve sunk all the way to the top of your palm. After you’ve given him a moment to adjust, you pull out almost entirely and bend over him until your chest presses into his back. 

“D’you remember what you say if you can’t take it, puppy?” you whisper against the shell of his ear. He shivers and nods.

“Mmhm. Mercy,” he says. 

“Good boy, that’s right. Feel that?” You release your hold on his hair to fist the dildo in your hand and tap it against where your fingers stretch his hole. Eddie chokes on the breath he tries to suck in, and his hips stutter forward.

“This is goin’ in your ass tonight, baby. Do you think you can handle all that?”

“Fuck, yes, yes, I can,” he assures you. 

“Yeah? Gotta finger you open first. Make sure you’re ready. Although, I bet you’d love it if I just stuffed my cock inside you right now.” You never would, and you both know that; you mutually agreed that foregoing necessary prep work would end disastrously. But the way Eddie swears and clenches around the tips of your fingers is so fucking cute that, for a moment, you’re tempted.

You drive your fingers inside him again, pumping it in and out fast enough that Eddie doesn’t have a moment to catch his breath. He splutters pathetically below you, bucking into his hand while simultaneously trying to fuck himself back on your fingers, and you just let him - far be it from you to deny yourself the pleasure of watching Eddie Munson act like a complete slut.

A few minutes pass before you feel comfortable enough to add a third finger inside his ass, and this time you purposefully thrust them right against his prostate. His back curls like a cat’s before he allows himself to fall flat on his face. He’s a wonderful, obedient boy because he makes sure no sheets or pillows obstruct his pretty mouth, just as you asked.

“Fuck, that feels so fucking good, angel, Christ,” he moans, brows knitted together so tight he almost looks pained. “More, please, I want more. I can take it.”

“Aww, my puppy’s so excited,” you croon, and he nods fervently. You crook your fingers and settle them deep inside his ass, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves until he’s panting and thrusting sloppily into his fist. You could make him cum like this, you know you could, but where’s the fun in that? You want him to cum on your strap-on; you want him to experience spasming around something thick and hard and unrelenting, just as he’s fantasized about. 

He hiccups when you slot your pinky finger inside his ass alongside the three other slick digits. When you start pumping into him earnestly, spreading all four fingers inside the loosening ring of muscle, Eddie gives you what you’ve been craving since the moment you met.

Eddie cries.

Sobs wrack his lithe frame as you work him open, dribbling more lube onto his hole and pressing it inside. If you weren’t so turned on that your pussy was drooling down your thigh, you might’ve giggled at the obscene, wet sounds his ass made every time you stuffed him full again. 

“You’re doing such a good job taking it, puppy. My good little slut. That’s what you are, huh?”

“U-Uh-huh, shit.”

“I know, baby, I know. You’re so pathetic for me, crying on my fingers like this. You gonna cry on my cock, too?”

“If you - fucking hell - if you want me to, angel,” he offers, and you laugh, licking a stripe up the side of his neck. His skin is rich with the salt of his sweat, and you can’t help yourself. You force his head to one side with a hand in his hair and follow the trail you licked with your teeth, setting their edge against his soft, welcoming flesh until you bite. Eddie whimpers and trembles for you, so pretty, so perfect, and you bite him even harder. You want him to bruise; you want him to walk around Hawkins tomorrow with your mark proudly emblazoned on his pale throat. 

“I-I need, I need, angel, I n-need,” Eddie stammers, breath coming in shallow, short puffs around the fragments of his sentence. You detach your teeth from his neck and straighten back up.

“You need? What do you need?”

“You, I need you,” he weeps. “Need you inside me, please, please, I can’t take it anymore-”

“You’ll take whatever I decide you’ll take, puppy,” you say. When you pull all four fingers out of Eddie’s twitching hole, he cries out like he’s in pain, like you’re trying to kill him. You admire your handiwork, spreading his ass apart with both hands and watching his red, slick hole flutter as it attempts to remain open despite its newfound emptiness. 

“You’re so beautiful down here. All gaped open for me like a whore.” Eddie nods, though you aren’t sure if he actually registers anything you’re saying. He’s so blissed out already, so eager, you think he’d agree to whatever happened to fall out of your mouth right now.

“What color are you on, Eds?” you ask, and the way your voice swings upward into its usual cadence seems to snap him back to reality. He reaches for you, fingers outstretched until they manage to graze your thigh and squeezes it in reassurance.

“Green. I’m so fuckin’ green, baby.”

You smile. “Yeah? Havin’ fun?”

“Absolutely. I’m alright, angel, don’t worry.”

“Alright. Keep yourself spread for me, puppy. I wanna watch my cock disappear inside you.”

Eddie swears and complies instantly, releasing his slippery, dark red cock and placing both hands on either side of his ass. He pulls his cheeks apart dutifully, black nails digging into plush flesh, and even deepens the arch in his back for you as he settles into this new position. 

You slather an abundance of lube on your dildo, so much that it drips onto the sheets, and line the head up with Eddie’s hole. 

“Ready?”

“Mmm.”

“Take a deep breath, baby.”

The head pops in with little to no resistance, vanishing completely inside Eddie’s hole, and though you obviously can’t feel it, a moan tumbles out of your throat. It’s so fucking hot, seeing Eddie like this, knowing you’re the cause of it, and it takes quite a bit of self-control not just to feed him the rest of your cock right away and pound him into the mattress. He’d like it, too, the slut. But you refrain.

You drag in a breath through your teeth and press into him slowly, filling him bit by agonizing bit, and he voices his need loudly beneath you. One hand claws his mattress desperately, almost like he’s trying to crawl away, while the other jerks his swollen cock thoughtlessly, and it seems all he knows how to say right now is “please.” Please, please, please. After a while, when you’re more than halfway inside him, the word loses all meaning for you. You have to wonder if it even had meaning for Eddie in the first place or if it was just the only one his brain could conjure up to say.

“That’s it, baby, look at you,” you pant. Your hips are pressed flush to Eddie’s ass, the dildo buried inside him to the base. He writhes, gasping, sputtering, the picture of desperation. You want to keep him this way forever - speared on your dick, aching for it, needing you more than air, crying so prettily just for you. It’s selfish, but fuck, maybe you’re okay with that.

“Do you need a second, puppy?”

“No,” he wails, apparently offended by the question. He bucks against you so hard you almost lose your balance, and you steady yourself by laying your hands over where he’s still spreading himself. “God, fuck me, fuck me please, fuck my ass, angel, I’m going fucking crazy here.”

A wicked smirk curls across your lips. If that’s what he wants, who are you to deny him? That’d just be plain mean.

You yank him toward you, dragging him to the very edge of the bed, causing him to lose his balance - and his grip on his ass. Before he can collect himself, you gather his wrists into one hand and pin them to the small of his back. It looks a bit silly, you have to admit; his hands are so much bigger than yours, rough and callused from hours of guitar practice, and truthfully, if he wanted to break free of your grasp, he could do so with not even half the strength you’re currently exerting just to keep him somewhat contained. But that’s the beauty of Eddie’s submission - he doesn’t want to break free. He wants to be manhandled, thrown around like he’s so much smaller and weaker than he truly is; he wants to be used.

Most importantly, he wants you to use him.

It’s fucking intoxicating.

You twist a long, thick rope of his hair around your free hand and tug his head back, forcing his gaze skyward. You notice the shimmer of drool on the corner of his lips and chuckle.

“You wanna take it, then take it.”

You pull out, just until the very edge of the dildo is left inside Eddie’s quivering hole, and then slam back inside him again. He slackens against you, and you’re confident he would collapse if you weren’t forcing him up by the hair. You can see his lashes twitching, no doubt from his eyes rolling straight into the back of his head. Your name wrapped inside his wrecked, watery voice is all you need to keep thrusting.

You set a brutal pace almost immediately. Eddie’s bed squeaks and rattles from the force of it, lifting far enough off the ground that the frame starts to screech into the adjacent wall. The sound of Eddie’s strained, keening cries, punctuated by skin slapping viciously against skin, is like the sweetest harmony you’ve ever heard. You pull him toward you, forcing him almost back on his haunches and plaster sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across his back and shoulders.

“You’re doing so fucking good, puppy,” you grunt. “You’re taking it like a fuckin’ pro. So hard for me, too, I bet you’re just aching, huh?”

All Eddie can do is nod. You twist your hand, compelling him to turn his face toward you, and crane your neck to capture his lips in a kiss that’s mostly teeth and tongue. He whimpers into your mouth, allowing you to lick your way inside and swallow all the beautiful, agonized sounds he’s making just for you. You don’t have enough hands, you decide - you need more to scratch him with, to stroke his cock, to choke him and slap him and make him gag on your fingers. You need more of him; you need to take anything that he can give you all for yourself. It belongs to you, just as he does.

The possessiveness that burns through your belly spurs you on, and you growl filth huskily into his ear. “You’re mine, you understand that? Mine. No one else’s ever gonna make you feel this good, are they, puppy?”

“N-No, angel, jus’ you…yours, all yours,” he slurs. 

“That’s right. Your pretty little hole is mine, mine to fuck and fill as much as I want, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, uh huh, yes.”

“Next time, I’m gonna fuck you on your back. Have you spread your legs for me like a little whore. I wanna watch your face while I wreck you, watch how much of a cockslut you are-”

“Jesus Christ, God, angel, I-I’m cumming, I can’t st-ah!”

Eddie shudders and falls silent for a moment, just long enough for you to look around his shoulder and see how his cock pulses before the first rope of cum splatters onto the sheets below. Then, Eddie screams. It’s a sound torn straight from the depths of his soul, suffering and ecstasy all rolled into one perfect package. You keep fucking him through the shockwaves of his orgasm and watch the cum dribble down his throbbing cock, spilling onto the bed and dripping messily down his thighs. 

“That’s my good boy, you did so fuckin’ well for me, baby,” you coo. “You didn’t even have to touch yourself, I’m so proud of you, sweet thing.”

It takes a while for Eddie to come back down to Earth after that. He mumbles nonsense as you ease out of his ass and lower him onto the bed - in a dry, unsullied portion next to the wall - and doesn’t even notice when you leave for a moment to grab a wet, warm washcloth to clean him up with. He seems to snap out of his haze when you loosen the harness straps, and it falls to the ground with a thud.

He reaches for you wordlessly, long, thin fingers shaking as he clenches and unclenches them against his palm. Your heart swells and aches inside your chest as you clasp his hand and press a kiss to the back of it. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you repeat. You gingerly brush a lock of hair out of Eddie’s face, revealing his flushed, tear-stained cheeks and swollen lips. He blinks wet lashes at you, brown eyes foggy and unfocused. His smile is sweet, shy even, and he tucks himself against you as you settle into bed.

“Wanna…do that again,” he rasps after you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. You chuckle and kiss the top of his head.

“We can do that whenever you’d like, sweet thing.”

He hums in approval. You lay like that for a while, bodies curled around each other, stroking Eddie’s cheek and occasionally pressing a kiss to his temple. You don’t realize you’ve nearly dozed off until Eddie calls your name, and you shake yourself awake.

“Hm?”

“D’you hear what I said?”

“No, puppy, I’m sorry. What was that?”

“I said my arm’s asleep.”

You snort, and so does Eddie as he rolls himself out from under you enough to free his tingling appendage. He drapes it around your shoulders, and this time, he drags you in against his chest. His hair tickles your cheek as he kisses the tip of your nose.

“Thank you,” he breathes. 

“My pleasure. Oh, and baby?”

“Hm?”

“Next time, you’re taking something bigger.”

The shiver slithering Eddie’s spine tells you all you need to know.

[diamonddaze01]

The Somerset Affair | Chapter 1: Whispers in the Garden

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.2k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, eventual smut, more to be added a/n: CHAPTER 1 IS FINALLY HEREEEE // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 2nd chapter will be up soon!!!

summary: lee seokmin is a scoundrel for having beaten your brother at fencing. or... is he?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

Age 8

Mayfair is alive today. The Somerset estate hums with energy, a ripple of excitement passing through the gathered crowd, their eyes all fixed on the fencing match taking place in the wide, manicured garden. The afternoon sun casts a golden haze over the scene, warming the air and wrapping everything in a soft, honeyed glow. Laughter and chatter float like music across the grounds, underscored by the occasional ring of steel clashing against steel. The sweet fragrance of roses drifts on the light breeze, mingling with the fresh scent of cut grass. You sit near the front, your small hands gripping the edge of your chair, bouncing with excitement as you watch your older brother, Minghao, spar against a boy you've never seen before.

This new boy stands tall, his dark hair tousled in the breeze, and a sharp determination shines in his eyes. The way he moves—it’s confident, with an energy that seems far beyond his years. Your brother, usually so self-assured, falters as the boy steps onto the mat. A flicker of unease passes through you, twisting in your stomach. You can feel the tension, see it in the way Minghao adjusts his grip on his sword. The match begins, and every time the swords collide, the sound reverberates through your chest. Your heart sinks a little more with each point your brother loses, and soon, the inevitable happens—the newcomer disarms Minghao with a flourish so smooth it draws gasps and murmurs from the audience.

"Such skill!" someone whispers, while others erupt in applause, their cheers filling the air. But you remain still, arms crossed tightly over your chest, brows drawn into a deep frown. How dare this boy defeat your brother? And so effortlessly! You want to scowl, to hold on to your anger, but the sound of the crowd’s cheers washes over you, making your resentment grow.

Seokmin—that’s his name, you overhear—steps forward, offering Minghao a hand, his smile wide and bright like the afternoon sun. "A splendid match, my lord," he says, his voice rich and full of youthful pride. "I must confess, I didn’t expect to come away unscathed!"

You narrow your eyes, watching as your brother, ever gracious, accepts the handshake. There's a mixture of admiration and annoyance in his expression, a good-natured acknowledgment of defeat. They exchange lighthearted jests, their laughter mixing with the lingering applause. But you? You're fuming. This boy, with his easy smile and seemingly endless charm, had just bested your brother, and you feel a burning need to dislike him for it.

Then, as if sensing your discontent, Seokmin turns to you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Ah, you must be Lord Minghao’s sister?” he says, his grin widening into something playful, teasing. “Goodness, you make him look like a toad by comparison!”

Your mouth drops open in shock, a wave of indignation rushing through you. How dare he say such a thing? And worse—how could your brother laugh?  "I beg your pardon?" you snap, standing as tall as your small frame will allow, arms crossing even tighter across your chest.

"Oh, I mean no offense, miss," Seokmin chuckles, clapping Minghao on the shoulder. "I jest, of course! Merely saying that you’re far lovelier than your brother—though, admittedly, it’s not a particularly high bar."

Despite yourself, your scowl begins to soften. There’s something about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the lightness in his voice. It’s hard to stay angry when he looks at you like that, as if daring you to join in on the joke.

“Mama says men who try to charm without revealing their titles aren’t to be trusted,” you counter, lifting your chin with defiant pride. The quip comes out sharper than intended, but you’re determined not to let him get the better of you.

Minghao gasps, hands raised in mock horror. “Sister, truly, must you always speak so boldly?” He turns to Seokmin with an exaggerated sigh. “Please Seokmin, do forgive her. I assure you, turning eight has done little to improve her temperament.”

“You’re only two years older than me, brother!” you huff, your voice a touch more indignant. Before you can continue, though, Seokmin drops into a low, dramatic bow, the movement exaggerated and theatrical.

“The fault is entirely mine, my lady,” he says in mock seriousness, rising and extending his hand toward you. “Lord Lee Seokmin, future Duke of Lancaster. At your service.”

Two years of etiquette lessons flood your mind, and with a sudden burst of excitement, you place your small hand in his. Seokmin bows once more, this time dropping a playful kiss on your knuckles as you curtsy. You can hear Minghao’s exasperated sigh as he rolls his eyes, but you ignore him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Maybe Seokmin isn't such a scoundrel after all.

As the day wears on, you find yourself watching Seokmin from the corner of your eye. Despite your earlier indignation, there’s something undeniably captivating about him. You notice the way he treats everyone with kindness, far beyond what’s expected from someone his age. When a younger child stumbles near the fencing ring, it’s Seokmin who rushes to their side, kneeling in the dirt, his voice gentle as he asks, "Are you alright?" He helps the child up, brushing off their clothes with such care, you can’t help but be touched. "Fear not," he says, a smile returning to his face, "you’re not a toad—you’re a knight in training!"

The sight makes your heart soften further. How could someone so infuriating also be so kind? The lines of irritation you had drawn between you and Seokmin begin to blur, shifting into something more like curiosity.

As the sun sinks low, casting a warm amber glow over the estate, you find yourself gravitating closer to where Seokmin and Minghao stand, their voices rising and falling in animated conversation about fencing techniques. Seokmin’s laughter, bright and carefree, fills the air like music, and before you know it, you’re smiling too; there’s something undeniably magnetic about him.

Despite your best efforts, you can no longer deny the strange fluttering in your chest—a curiosity, perhaps even fascination, that you hadn’t expected. Maybe, just maybe, Seokmin isn’t such a scoundrel after all.

The days of the social season unfold like a delicate fan, each gathering adding another layer to the tapestry of your life, and with every event, Seokmin becomes a constant presence. He is no longer just an occasional guest—he’s a breath of fresh air, his laughter ringing through the halls of your family’s estate, turning even the dullest moments into something lively and bright.

The lively soirées your parents host become a stage for his effortless charm. Ladies in the latest fashions exchange flirtatious glances in his direction, while gentlemen engage in animated debates about politics and sport, the buzz of conversation always punctuated by Seokmin’s easy laughter. His presence transforms these gatherings, turning what once felt like routine social maneuvering into vibrant affairs filled with warmth and genuine joy.

Whether he’s lending a hand to your mother in the garden, his sleeves rolled up and face relaxed in concentration, or sparring with your brother in a friendly match, Seokmin has this uncanny ability to elevate the ordinary. What might be a simple afternoon stroll or an idle conversation becomes a moment of significance when he’s around. Sun-drenched afternoons spent wandering the estate take on a new glow, each moment painted with the sound of his voice, the infectious energy he brings.

Age 14

The day Minghao and Seokmin leave for Eton is etched in your mind with vivid clarity, every detail sharp and impossible to forget. The morning is cool, yet the sun spills across the courtyard in golden rays, casting long shadows from the trees that sway gently in the breeze. The scent of dew-laden grass mixes with the faint perfume of your mother’s rose garden, but even the beauty of the estate feels muted by the melancholy lingering in the air.

Minghao, ever composed, stands with the straight posture expected of him, his hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the young man ready to step into his responsibilities. His face, though calm, carries the weight of leaving home, but he hides it well, his eyes betraying only a flicker of the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Seokmin, on the other hand, struggles more visibly with the impending farewell. His usual cheerful grin falters, the lightness of his presence dimmed as he glances between you and Minghao. He tries to keep up his usual charm, cracking jokes that feel just a little too forced, his laughter not ringing as true as it normally does. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a softness you haven’t seen before, as if he’s trying to hide his own sadness behind that well-worn mask of joviality.

As they load their trunks into the carriage, a heavy knot forms in your chest. You know you’ll miss your brother, but it’s Seokmin’s departure that stings deeper. He’s been more than a friend these past years—he’s been a constant, a steady warmth you’ve come to rely on. His laughter, his easy charm, the way he could turn even the most mundane day into something special. The thought of him being gone, of not seeing him wander the estate with his boundless energy, makes your heart ache in a way you didn’t anticipate.

You step forward, your fingers trembling as you reach for Seokmin’s hand, your grip tighter than intended. “Promise me you’ll write?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, each word trembling with the effort to hold back tears.

Seokmin’s eyes soften as he looks down at you, his usual grin giving way to something gentler. "Of course," he says, his voice steady but quieter than usual. He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture meant to comfort. “I’ll make sure you get the best letters—no boring stories, only adventures, I swear.” His grin returns, albeit a little weaker. "Besides, my lady, your brother and I will be back to torment you again come springtime!"

Minghao coughs politely. “No tearful goodbye for me, sister?”  he asks, his voice teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of affection in his words. His eyes flicker between you and Seokmin, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, though his posture remains upright and composed as ever.

You tear your gaze from Seokmin and offer your brother a watery smile. “Do not fret, dear brother,” you say, a bit of your usual wit returning. “I’ll save the tears for later, when the house is quiet without the two of you causing chaos.”

My Dearest Y/N,

I trust this letter finds you in fine spirits, though I daresay it is far more likely that you are wrapped in the cozy embrace of your favorite blanket, lost in a book, while the world outside continues on its merry way. I cannot help but smile at the thought, for you have always possessed the rare gift of finding joy in the mundane. 

Eton is quite a spectacle, I must confess. The architecture is enough to make one feel as though they have stepped into a storybook. However, I must admit my fellow classmates lack the charm and wit of my beloved friend.

Oh, how I miss our little chats! It is a curious sensation to feel so far from home, yet I am bolstered by the knowledge that you are there, keeping our little world intact. Do tell me that you have not yet taken up knitting—your penchant for wool is far more than my eyes can bear. 

Yours most fondly,Seokmin

My Dearest Seokmin,

Eton sounds positively enchanting.I must admit, the thought of you amidst all that grandeur brings me no small measure of joy—though I do hope you have not yet been swept away by the grandeur of it all! I find it impossible to imagine anyone there being quite as dashing as you.

Life here, as you suspected, is a touch quieter without your vivacious presence. I feel compelled to admit that I found myself rather melancholic the day you left. It was a curious sadness, one that clung to me like a shadow. The house feels a touch emptier, and while I do find solace in my books, nothing compares to the ease of our conversations. The warmth of your laughter is a melody I find myself longing for, especially on the coldest evenings.

Do keep writing, dear friend. Your tales from Eton are the very lifeblood of my days, and I shall regale you with the ongoing drama of our little realm. Until then, consider me your most devoted fan, ever eager for your next missive.

With all my affection,Y/N

P.S. You will take great pleasure in knowing that I have, in fact, taken up crocheting. A lovely cap, perfect for early springtime chill, awaits you at the estate. 

Age 15:

Seokmin’s return each spring is as reliable as the first crocus peeking through the thawing earth, marking the true end of winter. His arrival is never just an event—it’s a burst of life that sweeps away the dullness left by the cold months. Every year, your excitement bubbles over as you anticipate that familiar moment when the world feels a little brighter with his return. The sunlight bathes the garden in warmth, a golden hue spreading like liquid over the well-trodden path he walks down, Minghao beside him. Their laughter floats through the air, a melody that harmonizes with the soft rustle of blooming flowers and the hum of spring.

When they finally come into view, your heart quickens, as if drawn into the rhythm of their steps. With Minghao’s ever-amiable grin and Seokmin’s radiant energy, they are a pair that seems to make the world tilt just a little toward joy. Every spring, it's the same—they stride toward you as if no time has passed, as if the long months apart were nothing but a brief blink in the grander scheme of your lives. And each time, the three of you fall into the same routines as though nothing has changed.

It usually begins with some mischief. They never fail to poke fun at you until you’re red-faced with exasperation. Seokmin, with that teasing glint in his eyes, will say something absurd or playfully condescending, and Minghao, ever the instigator, will back him up with a sly smirk. It’s only a matter of time before you lose your patience, yell, and stomp your foot, your protests ringing louder than you’d intended.

Your raised voice inevitably draws the attention of your mother, who reprimands you from the kitchen window with her usual fond disapproval. "Now, now," she’ll chide, a soft laugh hidden in her voice. "There’s no need to shout, dear. They’re only playing."

Of course, that’s the cue for Seokmin and Minghao to burst into laughter, doubling over in amusement at how easily they’ve ruffled your feathers. You scowl at them, but it’s hard to keep a frown on your face when they’re both so gleeful, their joy infectious, lighting up the entire garden.

One afternoon, not long after their return, Seokmin and Minghao find their old practice fencing swords—long forgotten and buried deep in the flowerbeds, peeking out from beneath the tulips. You watch as they unearth the swords with a mixture of surprise and amusement, both of them laughing as if uncovering a treasure trove of memories. Their faces are bright with nostalgia as they pull the dirt-encrusted weapons free, brushing off the petals clinging to the blades.

It's then that Seokmin starts to call you "Tulip," a private little nickname he utters only when it's just the two of you. The first time he says it, there’s a lightness to his tone, his lips curling into that mischievous smile of his. “You know,” he says, leaning in closer as you both watch Minghao attempt a ridiculous fencing stance in the distance, “it only makes sense. After all, you’ve been hiding our swords with the tulips. I think ‘Tulip’ suits you.”

At first, you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance, but there’s a warmth in your chest at how easily he’s assigned you such a tender nickname. 

One particularly warm afternoon, your mother summons you to help her with the flowerbeds, a chore you reluctantly take on. The sun beats down, the heat pressing into your skin and the earth beneath your fingers, while the scent of soil and fresh blossoms hangs thick in the air. You sigh, resigning yourself to the tedious task when, suddenly, a familiar voice cuts through the stillness.

“Ah, the fair lady in her noble endeavor!” Seokmin’s voice rings out, full of his usual playful grandeur. He strides through the garden gate, sweeping an imaginary cape behind him with exaggerated flair. His smile is as bright as the sun itself, lighting up the whole space. “Fear not, for I shall be your loyal squire in this quest for botanical beauty!”

Despite your earlier annoyance, a reluctant smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Seokmin has a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel like an adventure. You watch as he bounds toward you, his movements light and full of energy. With an exaggerated show of determination, he rolls up his sleeves, pretending to prepare for battle. The weight of the day feels lighter already.

Together, the two of you dig your hands into the soil, your fingers dirty and the air filled with the soft rustling of the leaves around you. Laughter bubbles up between the two of you, mingling with the breeze as Seokmin’s animated voice brings life to the still afternoon. As you plant flower after flower, he regales you with tales of his fencing matches at Eton, his voice lively, arms waving dramatically to mimic the grand duels he’s fought.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he says with mock gravity, “this boy was at least twice my size, and I won the match with nothing but clever footwork and a flick of the wrist!” He pantomimes the move, his arm cutting through the air like a sword.

You laugh, shaking your head at his theatrical retelling, the tension of the task dissolving with every story. It’s impossible not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. “Is that so?” you tease, barely holding back a grin.

“I daresay, footwork in fencing is quite the advantageous skill,” Seokmin says, dropping to his knees beside you with faux-seriousness, inspecting the flowerbed as though it holds the secrets to the universe. “If one can move with the grace of a dancer, one can—”

Just as he gestures again, his elbow brushes against your arm, and suddenly, time seems to slow. The lighthearted atmosphere is pierced by a spark, a ripple of warmth that travels through you. Both of you freeze, his eyes widening in surprise. His cheeks flush a light pink as he quickly pulls back, his confidence faltering for a brief second.

“My sincerest apologies,” he stammers, the usual brightness in his voice now tinged with uncharacteristic bashfulness. He resumes his work, his fingers trembling slightly as they sift through the soil. The warmth of the sun suddenly pales in comparison to the heat between you.

“It’s quite all right,” you reply, your voice shaky, your heartbeat far more rapid than you’d like. “Just... gardening, after all.” You try for casualness, but the words sound ridiculous even to your own ears, given the charged air lingering between you.

Moments later, you stand to stretch, hoping to shake off the strange energy that has settled over the both of you. Seokmin leans in to grab a nearby tool, and his shoulder brushes against yours again—this time, the contact lingers for just a second too long. The heat of it sends another jolt through you, making your heart stutter.

You gasp, startled by the unfamiliar sensation, your breath hitching. The warmth spreads from your chest down to your fingertips, a strange, foreign feeling you can’t quite name.

“Goodness! I beg your pardon again,” Seokmin says quickly, his sheepish smile returning, though this time it’s softer, more hesitant. His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place. “It seems I have a propensity for unintentional collisions today.”

That smile—it makes your chest tighten. His presence, usually a source of comfort, now awakens something new within you, something unsettling yet undeniable. Gardening, once nothing but a mundane chore, has transformed into something far more intimate with Seokmin by your side. The flowerbeds seem to flourish under his laughter, vibrant blooms swaying as if they, too, revel in the joy of the moment.

But that foreign sensation? You tuck it deep into your mind, burying it along with the seeds you’ve planted, afraid to decode what it could mean. After all, this is Seokmin—your friend, your constant. And yet, the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin longer than it should, as if it’s quietly asking you to look closer.

My Dearest Seokmin,

I hope this letter finds you in moments of solace amidst the tumult of your recent loss. It is with a heavy heart that I pen these words, having heard of your father’s passing. The news struck me with such a weight, as though the very air around me had grown thick with sorrow. I cannot begin to fathom the grief you must be experiencing, yet please know that my thoughts and prayers are ever with you during this difficult time.

Your father was a remarkable man, a beacon of kindness and integrity, and his absence will undoubtedly leave a profound void in the hearts of all who had the privilege of knowing him. I remember fondly the stories you shared, of his wisdom and warmth, which have clearly shaped the exceptional person you have become. His legacy, I have no doubt, will endure through you.

With his passing, I know you now bear the title of Duke. While this new responsibility may feel daunting, I have every confidence you will honor his legacy with the same grace and strength he embodied. I want you to remember that you are not alone. I am here, dear friend, steadfast and unwavering, ready to support you as you navigate this uncharted territory.

I eagerly await the day when I can see your smile again, and we can talk about the flowers in the garden, just as we always have.

With all my love and deepest sympathies,Y/N

My Dearest Tulip,

Your letter brought me a flicker of light amidst the shadows that have enveloped me since my father’s passing. It is a solace to know that you, too, share in my grief, and your words resonate deeply within me, reminding me that I am not alone in this turbulent sea of sorrow.

Thank you for your kind remembrance of my father. He often spoke of you with such fondness, and knowing how he impacted your life brings me a measure of comfort. His lessons of kindness and integrity remain etched in my heart, and I strive to honor his legacy in every decision I make as Duke. It is a weight I carry with both pride and trepidation, yet the knowledge of your unwavering support gives me strength.

Though this season feels uncharted and daunting, your friendship is a cherished constant. I, too, long for the day when we can stroll through the gardens, exchanging thoughts about the flowers and sharing laughter, just as we once did. Until then, I will hold onto the warmth of your words and the memories we’ve created.

With heartfelt gratitude and affection,Seokmin

Age 16: 

When Seokmin and Minghao return home the next spring, it’s clear that Seokmin carries more than just the usual joy and liveliness he always brings with him. A new weight settles over him, one you haven’t seen before. The responsibility of the Dukedom starts to bear down on him, heavy as the cloak he will one day wear. His laugh remains bright, his smile still warm, but there’s something different now—an unspoken awareness that the carefree boy of the past is slowly giving way to the man he is becoming.

He has grown taller, his limbs long and strong, and the way he carries himself now commands attention. The once-boyish face is now defined, the angle of his jaw sharper, while his arms, corded with muscles, show the signs of hard work and training. It’s as if each inch he’s gained has come with a newfound strength, and when he meets your gaze, his eyes hold a certain seriousness, as if he is seeing everything with a fresh perspective.

The easy rhythm of your old routines stays intact—Minghao teasing you until you yell, Seokmin’s booming laughter echoing across the fields, and the reprimands from your mother when your playful shouts interrupt her afternoon peace. It all feels the same, yet beneath it all, you know things are changing.

On one such afternoon, you discover their practice swords—once lost and forgotten—buried haphazardly in the flowerbed among your mother’s beloved tulips. You pull them free with a gasp, the soil still clinging to the metal, and when you bring them to Seokmin, he chuckles, the sound a little sadder than you remember.

“Well,” he says, wiping the dirt from the hilt, “seems like even the tulips want to keep us from growing up too fast, eh, Tulip?”

Despite the weight of responsibility that now shadows him, he still calls you “Tulip.” The name slips easily from his lips, playful and tender, a thread that ties your past to the present. The quiet nickname carries the bittersweet truth: your days of carefree adventures and playful banter are slowly fading, giving way to the responsibilities of adulthood. And while the world around you shifts, that name—whispered in secret—feels like a promise that some part of him, some part of both of you, will always stay the same.

My dearest Tulip, 

It is with a heart full of sorrow that I write to you, upon receiving the most distressing news regarding your father’s passing. The world seems dimmer without him, and my thoughts are consumed with the weight of your grief. I wish I could be there, to hold your hand and share in the memories of a man who undoubtedly brought so much light into your life.

When the silence envelops you, when the days stretch long and heavy with unshed tears, know that I am here for you. You need not wear a mask of strength; I shall not expect it. Life has a way of changing in an instant, and though we are thrust into roles we may not be prepared for, there remains solace in companionship.

Please remember, my dear friend, you are not alone in this journey. I stand with you, ready to lend my support and share in whatever you need.

With the utmost affection,Seokmin

My dearest Seokmin, 

Your letter reached me at a time when silence has settled heavily over the estate, wrapping around us like a shroud. It feels as though the laughter that once danced through these halls has been swallowed by a void, leaving behind a hushed emptiness. My mother, once so vibrant, now moves about with an air of resignation, her spirit dimmed as if she carries the weight of the world upon her shoulders. The joy that once bloomed within her seems to have withered, and even the flowers in the garden appear to droop, their colors muted in sympathy for our grief.

I often find myself worrying for Minghao. The new title of duke weighs upon him like a heavy cloak, and I fear that the responsibilities thrust upon him will change him in ways I cannot yet understand. I can only imagine the burden he feels, trying to uphold our father's legacy while grappling with the uncertainties of leadership. It frightens me to think of how this shift may alter our relationship, how he might feel compelled to step into a role that distances him from the brother I’ve always known. I fear I may lose him just as I have lost my father.

Yet, amid this uncertainty, your words bring me a flicker of comfort. The knowledge that you stand with me during this turbulent time is a balm for my spirit. I long for your return, for the laughter and warmth that you bring.

Until then, I hold your friendship close to my heart, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest of times, I am not alone.

With all my affection,Y/N

Age 17: 

At the onset of spring, when Minghao and Seokmin return to the estate, the world feels subtly transformed. The air is perfumed with the scent of blooming flowers, yet there’s an unmistakable weight in the atmosphere, a quiet acknowledgment of the changes that accompany their new titles. As dukes, both acquire an aura of responsibility that overshadows the playful ease they once share.

The lighthearted teasing that characterizes your interactions is now less frequent, often replaced by a more thoughtful camaraderie. It’s as though their titles impose a certain decorum upon them, one that even the most mischievous of spirits cannot easily shake off. Their laughter, while still present, bears the faintest echo of seriousness that wasn’t there before.

Yet, despite this change, you find immense joy in their company, particularly when they engage in spirited sparring sessions in the training yard. As wooden swords clash and echo, it’s impossible not to feel a thrill at the sight of them—two young gentlemen, once boys, now embodying a gravity that demands respect even in their play.

The matches become a spectacle, each clash of wooden swords accompanied by shouts and laughter that echo through the estate. You perch on the sidelines, an amused spectator, as Seokmin and Minghao banter playfully between bouts. “You call that a strike?” Seokmin teases, deftly dodging your brother’s advance with a lightness that seems almost effortless. “I’ve seen more ferocity from a kitten!”

Minghao rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth betraying a grin despite his best efforts to maintain an air of dignity. “One day, Seokmin, you shall learn that mocking your opponent is a perilous game.”

You perch on the sidelines, unable to stifle the laughter bubbling forth at their antics. Each exchange between them is a delightful dance, weaving a tapestry of shared history and unspoken affection. Yet, as you watch, you cannot help but feel a twinge of wistfulness; the exuberance of their banter now seems to emerge from a place tinged with nostalgia.

The sun dips low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the training yard; both young gentlemen wield their wooden swords with a fervor that sends a thrill through the onlookers. You remain at a distance, your heart pounding in rhythm with each clash of wood, an exhilaration mingled with unease coursing through you.

Seokmin, with his characteristic bravado, flashes a teasing grin as he engages your brother. “Come now, my lord! Surely you can do better than that!” The laughter in his voice rings like a bell, though you can’t help but feel a knot of apprehension tighten in your chest.

As the match continues, you find yourself transfixed by Seokmin’s agile movements, the way he dances about the training yard with a carefree spirit. However, just as you begin to relax, a delicate butterfly flits past, capturing Seokmin’s attention momentarily. It is in this fleeting distraction that your brother seizes his opportunity, lunging forward with surprising speed.

“Seokmin!” you cry out, the word escaping your lips before you can restrain it. Time seems to elongate as you watch, breathless, as Seokmin turns just in time to evade the wooden sword’s path. He stumbles slightly, regaining his balance as he casts a quick glance your way, surprise etched upon his handsome features.

With your heart racing, you dash to his side, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Are you quite well?” The urgency in your voice is unmistakable, for the thought of his injury sends a chill through you.

“Indeed, I am unharmed,” he replies, though the forced joviality of his laugh belies the tension of the moment. “Merely caught off guard, I assure you.”

Yet your heart refuses to calm. “You cannot be so reckless! What if you had been injured?” The fervor of your concern envelops you, and you see a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes as he steps closer, the air between you thick with a burgeoning intimacy. That same foreign sensation – the one from years ago when he had brushed against you in the gardens – ignites within you, one you had tucked away and kept hidden, rearing its head in this moment of vulnerability.

“Thank you, Tulip, for your ever-present concern for my well-being,” he murmurs, his voice lowered as he meets your gaze, the world around you fading into an indistinct haze. Just then, Minghao loudly clears his throat, and Seokmin drops his eyes, a bashful blush appearing on the apples of his cheeks.

You step away, embarrassed, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Minghao corners you in the gardens that night, the cool summer breeze brushing against your skin as you take a walk, seeking solace from the tempest of thoughts swirling in your mind. The encounter with Seokmin lingers like a gentle whisper, an unsettling mixture of warmth and confusion that dances at the edges of your consciousness, teasing you with emotions you struggle to understand.

“Sister,” he begins, his voice so soft that you nearly startle. In an instant, he presses a hand against your mouth, his finger raised in a quiet plea for silence. “It’s only me, Y/N. I fear you’ll wake the entire estate.”

“It’s your fault for skulking about the gardens like a common thief!” you whisper back, fiercely. “What on earth could possibly require such urgent discussion that you couldn’t grant me one night of peace?”

His expression grows serious, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “You must be careful, sister,” he admonishes, and in that moment, he seems less like your brother and more like the Duke of Somerset—tall, proud, and formidable. “There are whispers… about you and Seokmin.”

“Whispers? Whatever do you mean?” You search his face for clarification, anxiety bubbling within you.

Minghao shakes his head as if dismissing the very idea of this conversation. A wave of indignation washes over you, eager to burst forth. He may be only two years your elder, yet he still insists on treating you like a child. “Your debut into society draws near,” he continues, his voice measured and resolute. “You mustn’t jeopardize it.”

“But Minghao—” you begin, but he raises a hand, silencing you with a mere gesture.

“Listen. You know how these things unfold. A mere hint of impropriety could tarnish your reputation. I don’t want you to suffer from the kind of gossip that twists the truth.” His tone softens, revealing a hint of genuine concern that pierces through your indignation. “I only want what’s best for you.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “I am not a child anymore,” you protest, the tremor in your voice betraying a mixture of frustration and uncertainty. “I am capable of making my own choices.”

“Perhaps,” he replies, his eyes steady and unwavering. “But I have a responsibility to protect you, Y/N. I don’t wish to stifle your spirit, but you must grasp the implications of your actions.”

The night air grows thick with unspoken sentiments, and as the stars twinkle overhead like mischievous spectators, you grapple with the tumult in your heart. There’s something about Seokmin that sends ripples of confusion coursing through you, a fluttering sensation that stirs your chest whenever his name crosses your mind. You do not fully comprehend what it is, but it’s undeniably present—a flicker of something more, leaving you teetering on the precipice of feelings you are not yet ready to confront.

My dearest Seokmin, 

As I sit here with this pen in hand, I find myself quite at a loss. The arrival of my debut looms on the horizon, and while I am certainly filled with anticipation, I must confess that trepidation dances in my chest, quite uninvited. The notion of standing before an audience of peers—well-bred and well-mannered—fills me with an unease I cannot quite articulate. Will my words tumble forth in a jumbled mess? Or worse, will they fall on deaf ears?

I cannot shake the dreadful thought that I may never find a match. What if I enter that grand ballroom, adorned in my finest gown, and am met with indifference? Will the charming suitors twirl past me, whisking away others while I stand, forgotten, on the periphery? The idea sends a shiver down my spine, as I fear I may spend the evening watching the festivities unfold without me.

As I consider the expectations that accompany my debut, I can’t help but reflect on how you and Minghao have gracefully embraced your new roles as dukes. You carry the weight of your responsibilities with such elegance, while I find myself yearning to flourish in a world that feels daunting. Will I, too, be able to navigate this landscape of expectation and propriety, or will I falter under its weight?

Forgive my ramblings, dear friend. I suppose I am merely hoping for reassurance, a kind word from you. Perhaps if I know you will be there—your presence a familiar balm—I might muster the courage to dance and revel in the splendor of the evening.

With warmest regards and hopeful heart,Your Tulip

My Dearest Tulip,

Your recent letter has landed in my hands like a most delightful spring breeze, though I must confess it carries with it a hint of unease that quite unnerves me. How is it that my steadfast friend, who has faced the world with such spirited determination, now frets over the prospects of the ballroom?

First and foremost, allow me to put your mind at ease. The mere thought of you standing in that grand ballroom, adorned in the finest gown, is enough to illuminate the dimmest of corners. Your charm will be as radiant as the most exquisite of chandeliers, drawing the gaze of all who are fortunate enough to cross your path. I assure you, the gentlemen will hardly be able to focus on anything—or anyone—else.

Now, I cannot let this opportunity pass without a bit of teasing – regarding your step upon my toes during our lessons –  I daresay I must bring up a rather amusing memory. I cannot help but recall how you sent both Minghao and me reeling across the room, much like a pair of wayward marionettes! One can only hope that with age comes grace—or at the very least, a better sense of foot placement! If not, I shall be prepared to don the most resilient shoes in all of England.

Worry not, dear Tulip. I shall be by your side the entire season, if you shall have me (although, I am not entirely certain your dear brother will be entirely pleased by this idea). 

Your most loyal servant,Seokmin

Dearest Sister, 

As I sit at my desk, I cannot help but feel a mixture of pride and exasperation as I pen this letter. Our infrequent exchanges have become quite the tradition, have they not? I find it amusing that as your brother, I am often left to await your words while Seokmin is constantly regaled by your stories. 

With your debut looming closer, I feel it is my solemn duty as both your brother and your Duke to remind you of the delicate nature of polite society. Your debut is not merely an occasion to don a gown and curtsy to the queen; it is a rite filled with expectations and decorum. I implore you to be mindful of the company you keep and the propriety that is expected of you as a young lady and the sister of the Duke. I have taken it upon myself to speak to Seokmin, warning him of the same – he has a habit of forgetting his own station in moments of levity. 

While I know you must find these constraints stifling, know that the eyes of the ton will soon be upon you, not only assessing your beauty but also your character. You are the jewel of our family, and I trust you will shine brightly, even amidst these expectations. 

Write to me when you can, dear sister, even if it is infrequent. Your musings are treasures to your dear elder brother, and I await them constantly. 

With all my love, Minghao

Dearest Brother, 

I say this with the utmost love and devotion:

Damn you. 

(Please forgive my language, and please, do not show this letter to Mama. I fear her admonishments may never end if she hears of my vernacular)

I am acutely aware of the expectations that accompany my debut – how could I forget when both you and Mama loom over me like a pair of hawks? While I recognize your intentions, your words do little to alleviate my anxiety. 

Your warning regarding Seokmin only serves to make me laugh. It is amusing, truly, to envision the Duke of Lancaster being chided by my brother on the virtues of propriety. I promise to keep my wits about me and to present myself with all the elegance expected of a young lady of my station (the sister of a Duke, no less!). 

I will do my utmost to avoid a scandal – or at the very least, I shall ensure that you do not hear of it. I shall write again soon, if only to unleash more of my exasperation upon you. 

Yours, in (implied) rebellion, Y/N (Sister of the Duke of Somerset)

Age 18: 

On the eve of your debut, you find yourself seated on the swing in the garden of the Somerset townhome, the night cloaked in an almost palpable tension. The sounds of Mayfair filter through the stillness—a symphony of distant laughter, the soft clatter of carriages, and the occasional rustle of silk skirts—as the ton settles into slumber. The air feels electric, crackling with anticipation, as if the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the events of the morrow to unfold.

You take a deep drag from the cigarette you swiped from Minghao’s rooms, the smoke spiraling into the night like a fleeting thought. With each inhale, you hope to drown out the anxious fluttering of your heart, a dissonant rhythm that accelerates at the mere thought of tomorrow’s debut.

“Why, Lady Xu Y/N, are you smoking?” The voice breaks through your reverie, causing you to sputter and cough, hastily attempting to conceal the cigarette behind your back. You turn to see Seokmin, leaning casually against the sturdy oak tree that secures the swing, his figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

His presence is both familiar and disarming, the boyish charm of his smile juxtaposed against the weight of his title. “No, Seokmin, I—” you stammer, flustered.

“Shove over,” he commands lightly, and before you can protest, he plucks the cigarette from your frozen grip, taking a deep, leisurely drag. The sight of him—so confident, so carefree—sets your heart racing in a way that both delights and terrifies you.

“What on earth are you doing here?” you ask incredulously, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I was with your brother at White’s,” he replies, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It was my mistake to forget how little he can imbibe before devolving into an utter fool. I was merely making sure he returned home safely.” His tone shifts, curiosity sparkling in his gaze. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

“Excited? Hardly,” you grumble, kicking at the scattered rocks beneath your feet. “What my heart truly desires is to run away—pack my things, flee to Paris, and open a quaint little bookstore. Perhaps live out my days as a spinster, surrounded by novels and solitude.”

Seokmin’s expression shifts, a shadow of understanding passing across his features. “We cannot always have what our hearts desire,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow as he exhales a plume of smoke. “Sometimes, we must accept that we can find happiness in what we have, not in what could have been.”

You watch the smoke dance and dissipate into the night sky, thoughts swirling as restlessly as the tendrils of fog around you.

“And you?” you ask quietly, the question escaping before you can catch it. “What does your heart desire?”

“Desired,” he corrects, taking another deep drag. “I once dreamed of being a fencer, of dueling beneath the sun. But above all, I yearned to find love.”

Your heart stutters at his admission. His thigh brushes against yours, an electric touch that feels so scandalously intimate you can hardly breathe. You suddenly become acutely aware of the nightgown you wear, the thin fabric doing little to shield you from the heat radiating from his body. If Minghao were to catch you in this moment, you are certain he would demand that Seokmin either marry you on the spot or duel him for your honor.

The very thought sends a shiver down your spine—an improper thought that both terrifies and thrills you. You are a young lady, poised to make your debut, and here you are, perched so closely to an eligible duke, the expectations of the ton looming like a dark cloud. What would society say if they were to discover you in this clandestine moment? The whispers would be deafening, your reputation in tatters, and yet… the thrill of it, the danger, pulls at you like a siren's song.

“And you believe you shall never find it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I am a Duke, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it barely pierces the night air. “Duty must come first. If there is any part of me left, which there rarely is, only then can I pursue love.”

The distance between you feels both impossibly vast and achingly close, the weight of his words pressing against you like an invisible force. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken longing that mirrors your own.

You hum, encouraging him to continue, yet the weight of his words presses down on your chest.

“But how fortunate am I,” he continues, his gaze piercing through the night like a beacon, “to have found such a remarkable friend who stands by me even as duty threatens to drown me where I stand.”

A friend. The word lingers between you, heavy and loaded. Is that truly all he sees you as? The realization sends your mind reeling, your heart racing in an entirely different way.

No, the trees whisper, urging you to reconsider.

Could it be…love?

That foreign sensation, long buried beneath layers of propriety and friendship, now unfurls within you, roots taking hold. You realize with a start that you have loved Seokmin, perhaps from that very first kiss on your hand all those years ago, long before you could articulate the feelings swirling in your heart.

Panic courses through you, and you leap up from the swing as if it has burned you. “It is late, Lord Lee. I must take my leave now,” you stammer, unable to meet his gaze. “I hope you find your way home safely.”

He reaches out, his hand brushing against your wrist, and your breath hitches at the contact. “Wait,” he says, his voice low, almost laced with concern. “Are you alright? You seem... distant.”

His eyes search yours, and you feel the weight of his gaze, an anchor that both comforts and terrifies you. Your pulse quickens, a frantic rhythm echoing in your ears. What would it mean to linger here a moment longer, to let the night wrap around you like a cocoon?

But all the books you’ve read offer no preparation for the heartache that comes with knowing he regards you as merely a friend. A friend, just like your brother. You are his friend, and the shattering realization settles in: he will never love you back.

“Tulip?” he adds softly, the word a whisper that brushes against your skin like the wind.

You swallow hard, every part of you aching to give in, to lean into the connection pulsing between you. But the truth looms like a storm cloud overhead, dark and inevitable.

You love Lord Lee Seokmin, Duke of Lancaster, but he will never love you.

And with that heavy knowledge weighing on your heart, you turn to leave, every step toward your room feeling like a betrayal to the emotions simmering just beneath the surface. 

You don’t sleep at all, thoughts consumed by a boy you had once known and the man you now love. 

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