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dior-luxury · 23 days ago

Note

Hi, I just want to say that I love your writing and blog, and I love how trey, jack, jade, jamil, epel and silver propose, can you do one with leona, malleus, riddle, azul, ace and deuce propose please?

How'd They Propose To You

PT.1 [trey clover . jack howl . jade leech . jamil viper . epel felmier . silver] PT.2 [cater . ruggie . floyd . kailm . vil . rook . idia . lilia . sebek] PT.3 [riddle . ace . deuce . leona . azul . malleus]

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/romance - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] riddle . ace . deuce . leona . azul . malleus

- [𝐩:𝐬] Emotional vulnerability/intense emotional moments . Mentions of insecurity/self-doubt . Romantic proposals/Marriage themes . Fantasy setting/magical elements

Note: I'm back at it again chat, I'M CONTINUEING THIS SERIES! Also thank you for the compliments anon!! You're too sweet!

Riddle Rosehearts

With Riddle, you knew it wouldn’t be impulsive. It wouldn’t be wild or loud or rushed. But what you didn’t expect was just how much of his heart he’d pour into every word, every step.

It started with a formal letter—inviting you to a “private tea engagement” in the Rose Garden, signed in his perfect cursive, sealed with his house crest. You smiled, knowing full well he didn’t need to go full etiquette mode with you anymore. But you appreciated it. That was Riddle’s love language: thought, intention, care.

The garden had been transformed when you arrived. There was a single round table with porcelain tea sets, fresh macarons (his handmade specialty), and enchanted roses blooming in perfectly coordinated reds and whites. A soft classical piano played from a gramophone tucked under a tree. No one else was in sight.

And then, Riddle appeared.

He wore a tailored white suit with subtle red accents, crisp gloves, and a pocket watch glinting in the sun. His hair was combed neatly, though you noticed he kept touching it nervously.

“I wanted this to be perfect,” he admitted, guiding you to your seat. “Not just because I enjoy order, but because… you deserve something beautiful. Because you've given me beauty where I once saw only duty.”

You talked, sipped tea, and shared stories like always. But eventually, he grew quiet.

He stood from the table, stepped in front of you, and reached into his coat. His hands were shaking. Riddle Rosehearts—who once had no room for nonsense—was trembling with emotion.

“I was taught rules. I lived by them. But no one taught me how to fall in love. I had to learn that on my own. With you.”

He knelt, stiff and awkward, but there was something deeply endearing about how hard he was trying to do this right.

“You made me believe that love isn’t chaos—it’s growth. Not something to fear, but something to nurture. Like a rose, it only blooms when given time, space… and a little rebellion against expectation.”

He opened the ring box.

It was elegant and timeless—rose-gold with a deep red ruby shaped like a heart within a crown. Subtle vine motifs twined around the band.

“I love you,” he said, voice steady now. “Not because it’s logical. Not because it’s proper. But because you are the one truth I know beyond all reason. Will you marry me?”

And in that moment, Riddle—who once feared breaking rules—broke every one that kept him from living fully.

Ace Trappola

With Ace, you always expected surprises. A prank here, a flirty smirk there, a joke when things got too serious. But when he started acting weird—like, really weird—you knew something was up. No teasing, no dumb games, just him being... nervous.

He invited you on a late-night walk through the empty halls of Night Raven College, casually tossing a “Let’s ditch curfew. Just once.” over his shoulder. Typical Ace.

But the walk didn’t end with some hidden snack stash or silly joke. He led you to the old botanical greenhouse—long since overgrown, half-forgotten—and flipped on a string of charm-lit bulbs overhead. It was suddenly filled with warm golden light, the scent of jasmine and roses, and a blanket set in the middle of the vines.

“Okay, okay, I know what you're thinking,” he grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Real cheesy, right? Bet you're waiting for me to pull a rabbit out of a hat or something.”

He sat across from you, fiddling with a tiny velvet box in his pocket like it might explode.

“I used to think love was just another game. You play your hand, you bluff, you fold. But then you came along and wrecked that theory like a house of cards.” He paused, mouth twitching between a smirk and a tremble. “I thought I had you figured out, y'know? But I kept losing track of the rules. Because every time I made you laugh, every time you saw through my B.S., it felt like I’d already won.”

Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a card deck, fanned it with practiced ease… until one card stuck out—slightly thicker than the rest. He pulled it free and handed it to you.

On it, in bold red script: “Marry me?”

He opened the box. Inside was a ring shaped like a curled heart made from rose-gold metal, a single ruby sitting crookedly at its center—just enough to look like him. Daring. Flashy. And real.

“I didn’t want to just ask,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “I wanted it to be us. So, will you do me the honor of being the only one I don’t want to trick? My player two? My heart card?”

You laughed. You cried. And Ace? He laughed too—because for once, this wasn’t a joke.

It was everything he’d ever meant but never said until now.

Deuce Spade

Deuce had always said he wanted to be a man you could be proud of. And he worked hard for it—climbing from “troublemaker” to “model student,” all because he wanted to stand next to you with confidence. But when it came time to propose… all of that bravery? Yeah, it went out the window.

You noticed it weeks before it happened. He was fidgety. Overly serious. Practicing things in mirrors when he thought no one was watching. You’d ask what was wrong, and he’d just go red and mumble something about “school stuff.”

So it wasn’t surprising when one day, he showed up at your doorstep, dressed in his ceremonial Heartslabyul uniform—neatly pressed, crimson and black with gold trim. His hair was slicked back the way he used to wear it when he tried to “look proper,” and in his hand was a single white rose.

“I… uh… I was wondering if you'd go somewhere with me?” he asked, clearly trying to sound casual. His voice cracked.

He took you to a quiet hill just outside campus—one you'd both picnicked on before, overlooking the mirror lake where the sky turned glassy at sunset. He spread out a small blanket, revealed a homemade bento box (his cooking still needed work, but you loved the effort), and talked. About memories. About dreams.

Then, the air changed.

He stood, suddenly fumbling with something in his pocket. “I had a speech,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wrote it like, ten times. Wanted it to be perfect. But now I’m standing here, and my hands won’t stop shaking, and I realized… I just need to say it how it is.”

He took your hands in his. His grip was warm and tight, like he was anchoring himself.

“I used to think love was something you had to earn. Like, if I wasn’t good enough, I didn’t deserve it. But then I met you. And you didn’t ask me to be perfect. You just asked me to try.”

He dropped to one knee so fast he almost stumbled. “I want to keep trying—for the rest of my life. I want to grow old with you, build a life where I never have to say goodbye. So… will you marry me?”

In his hand, a ring gleamed—a silver band shaped like interlocking wings, with a small gem nestled in the center. Not expensive, but chosen with care. The stone reminded him of your eyes, he’d say later.

You didn’t even have to answer right away—Deuce’s eyes were already watering, full of every hope and fear he'd ever carried.

And when you said yes, he hugged you like he’d never let go again.

Leona Kingscsholar

The desert air was thick with heat, but you barely noticed it. You were in the Sunset Savanna for a royal festival, something Leona had insisted you join him for—though not without his usual grumbling. He didn’t admit it, but everyone could see he was different around you. Lighter. Less guarded.

The festivities were loud, colorful, full of roaring laughter and dancing drums. But when the celebration reached its peak, Leona disappeared.

You found him hours later—not in the palace, not at the feast, but far beyond the city, in the heart of the savanna. The stars burned overhead, and the winds whispered across golden dunes. He was lying in the sand, arms behind his head, eyes locked on the sky.

“You really are a royal pain in my ass, following me all the way out here,” he muttered when he heard your footsteps.

But then he sat up—and you noticed something rare in his face: nervousness. No lazy smirk, no dry sarcasm. Just... silence. Thought.

“Sit down. You’re gonna want to be eye-level for this,” he said, patting the sand beside him.

When you did, he glanced at you for a long time. That warm gaze, always sharp, had softened.

“You know, when I first met you, I didn’t give a damn what you thought of me. I figured you'd see the same thing everyone else does—a second-born who’s too dangerous to trust and too lazy to respect.” He looked away. “But you didn’t. You looked at me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just a shadow behind someone else’s throne.”

He pulled something from the folds of his pocket—a ring. The band was forged from dark gold, almost bronze, etched with Savannian patterns and tiny lion paw prints around the base. In the center sat a blood-red garnet, catching the starlight.

“You made me want more. Not power, not revenge. Just… mornings where I wake up and you’re there. Even when I’m a pain. Even when I forget how to say what I feel.”

Leona knelt—not because tradition asked, but because his pride could bow for you.

“I’m never gonna be perfect. Hell, I’ll probably mess this up a dozen times before I get it right. But I want you. Always. So, herbivore—” his voice cracked, just slightly, “—will you marry me?”

And for once, the desert wind stilled. As if even the stars were holding their breath.

Azul Ashengrotto

The Mostro Lounge was closed for a “private event,” though no one quite knew what that meant. Azul had been acting secretive for days—more so than usual. Jade and Floyd wore matching smirks and refused to answer any questions. You knew something was coming. You just didn’t know what.

You arrived at the Lounge that evening, finding the entrance framed by soft, flickering lanterns. Instead of the usual deep blues and rich violets, the decor was ethereal—pearlescent whites, translucent fabrics flowing like sea foam, and the soft sound of a harp echoing through the air. Azul was nowhere to be seen.

Then, Jade appeared with a small bow. “Right this way,” he said smoothly, leading you past the dining area and into a completely transformed underwater-themed room. Coral structures glowed gently, and magic reflected soft ripples across the walls, making you feel like you’d sunk to the ocean floor.

At the center of the room, Azul stood—nervous.

He wasn’t in his usual double-breasted suit. Instead, he wore something reminiscent of his mer-form—a flowing robe that caught the light like the inside of a shell, sea-green embroidery glinting around his cuffs. He adjusted his glasses, clearly trying to maintain composure, but you could see his fingers trembling slightly.

“You always said I was dramatic,” he began with a sheepish smile. “So I thought… why not embrace it?”

He motioned to a table beside him, set with mementos of your relationship—photos, the first menu he designed with your favorite dish, even a little keepsake from your first festival together. “You changed everything. You saw me when I didn’t want to be seen. Not as the businessman. Not as the ‘dangerous Octavinelle housewarden.’ You saw Azul. Just Azul.”

He walked closer, taking your hands. “For the longest time, I thought love was a transaction. That giving meant losing. But you… you proved me wrong. You taught me that the right deal isn’t a trap—it’s a promise.”

Suddenly, the floor beneath you shimmered. A magic circle lit up—a contract glyph. Azul chuckled softly at your surprise. “I drafted something,” he murmured, pulling out a single scroll sealed with a soft blue wax sigil. “No fine print. No loopholes. Just one clause: ‘To love and be loved, without condition, for as long as we both shall breathe—on land or in sea.’”

With a flick of his fingers, the scroll vanished, replaced by a velvet box. Inside was a ring crafted of polished coral and silver, twined like sea vines, with a glistening pearl set in the center. “This isn’t a contract, not really,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “It’s a question.”

Azul lowered himself to one knee—not to outmaneuver or manipulate, but to offer something honest.

“I want to build a future with you. Not behind negotiations or smiles I wear for profit—but beside you, where I am most myself. Will you marry me?”

And in that moment, the ocean 'prince', who once feared vulnerability more than anything, had placed his heart in your hands.

Malleus Draconia

The night had fallen in a way only Briar Valley could conjure—an otherworldly hush blanketed the earth, and the trees glowed with faelight, their branches heavy with crystal dew. You had grown used to the eerie majesty of this land after many visits, but tonight, something different lingered in the air.

Malleus had asked you to accompany him to the ruins near the edge of the Valley—a place he said was “woven into his memory.” His expression had been unusually solemn when he extended the invitation, yet behind that stoic face, his eyes glimmered with anticipation.

As you walked through the tall, whispering grass, the ruins came into view. Marble columns entwined with ivy stood like sentinels of time, and the remnants of an ancient arch framed the star-filled sky. Malleus stood there, his back to you, arms clasped behind him.

When he turned, you saw he had changed into ceremonial fae robes—deep emerald silk embroidered with silver dragons, the crest of his royal lineage stitched over his heart. It was a vision straight from a fairytale. He didn’t speak at first, simply walked toward you, each step heavy with emotion.

“I brought you here because... this was once the place where my ancestors pledged themselves in union,” he began, voice a low rumble. “Even when it was reduced to ruin, I found myself returning. At first, for solitude. But now… for something far more precious.”

He extended his hand, and small orbs of green light danced from his fingertips, floating upward like will-o’-the-wisps. Slowly, the ruins came to life—not physically, but in illusion. Stone mended itself, the columns rose whole again, and fae music hummed softly through the air. It was as if he was summoning the past just to share it with you.

Then, he knelt.

Not because tradition demanded it, but because he chose to—offering the humility of a prince to the one who held his heart.

“I have lived longer than most humans will ever dream. I have seen kingdoms fall, and empires rise. And yet… the time I’ve spent with you feels more fleeting, more treasured, than centuries alone. You are not merely the light that softens my shadow—you are the home I never knew I was searching for.”

In his hand, he held a ring unlike any other—twisted vines of silver and black onyx forming a delicate, open dragon’s wing, with a single tear-shaped emerald nestled at the base.

“Will you allow me to build eternity with you? Not as a ruler, not as a fae… but simply as Malleus, the one who loves you?”

Your answer would not change the stars above—but in that moment, you knew you had become his North Star.

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hellfirenacht · 1 year ago

Text

Candygram

Summary: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fluff, sfw

4.8k Words Master List

“Just do it.” Robin said, following your line of sight to the booth in the corner of the Hawkins cafeteria. It was a simple table with a red cloth thrown over it and a handmade banner that read ‘CANDYGRAMS $1’ and was decorated with tacky hearts.

Every time you glanced over at the booth, your heart would start pounding and your stomach would twist in knots. You had never considered yourself to be shy before, when you first moved to Hawkins a few years ago, Robin had joked that you didn’t need a welcome wagon because you had thrown yourself into band and had introduced yourself to everyone with ease.

You had masked your anxiety over being the new kid with an overinflated sense of confidence and it had worked out really well for you until you caught feelings for the freak who sat next to you in remedial science.

“I think... I would rather chug formaldehyde.” you said slowly, staring so hard at the offensively pink and red booth that Robin was sure it was going to catch flames.

“Either go up there and buy a candygram or I’m going to do it for you.” Robin said. “If I have to hear you waffle about this for one more day I’m gonna rip my hair out.”

“But if I send him one, then he might actually acknowledge me and realize I might have something resembling a feeling for him, and that’s just not really cool, you know? Goes against my chill and mysterious personality.” you said, leaning back on your chair with a cocky grin.

“Last night I saw you and Steve cry over Bambi.” Robin deadpans.

“Okay, so we were drunk and also shut up.” you snorted, rubbing your face.

“How are you going to know if there’s anything there if you don’t even take the chance?” Robin scolds. “Come one, I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’m surprised the whole school doesn’t know-”

“Again, cool and mysterious personality.” you tried again.

“Plus I know he’s just as weird as you.” Robin continued, ignoring you. “I mean, last week I saw him get Jason Carver to back off one of the freshmen by pretending to exercise a demon out of him!”

You stared at Robin for a beat before thunking your head on the lunch table. “I’m going to marry him. Holy shit, he actually tried to expel the demon lurking in Carver?” You were laughing at the thought.

During your first senior year and his second, Eddie Munson had caught your eye when you had the same lunch period. He was loud and energetic and so fucking weird you couldn’t help but to be drawn to him. Had your parents not forced you to stick with band, you would have considered joining Hellfire. Unfortunately even with this last go-round as a super senior, they still made you stick with it despite your senioritis reaching terminal levels.

You never had a good opportunity to talk to him, and the more time passed the harder it became to justify just randomly approaching him. This semester you finally had your opportunity when you’d been put in the same class and sitting next to each other no less. Still, the most you’d been able to say was “yeah, sure” when he’d asked you for a pencil once.

Four weeks sitting next to Eddie, and you had barely spoken to him while noticing every little thing about him. He read a lot in class when he could get away with it, and doodled in his notebooks constantly, especially dice and dragons seemed to be the biggest theme. His school notebook wasn’t nearly as filled in as his Hellfire notebook, and he was always fidgeting in class. He also didn’t talk much, and at least once a week he’d end up falling asleep in class with his head in his hand.

“There’s not gonna be a wedding if you can’t even talk to the guy.” Robin said. “He’s not even scary! Dustin comes in to talk to Steve all the time about Hellfire. He’s just a dork.”

“I know and that’s the problem.” your voice was a strangled laugh mixed with a groan.

“You showed up the first day of band and introduced yourself to everyone, even if they weren’t in your section. What is the hold up with you talking to Eddie?” Robin pried.

“Because back then, it didn’t matter.” You looked over at Robin, poking at your mystery meat. “When I first got here it didn’t matter if anyone liked me or not. I was only supposed to be in this school for a few months and then graduate. Then I didn’t. I could handle it if someone didn’t like me. None of you were really supposed to matter to me. No offense.”

Thankfully, Robin didn’t seem offended. “You were just making nice with the inmates until parole.” she joked and you nodded.

“Yup, and then when I realized that I was going to have to actually have a full other year of school, that meant that I was going to have to care if I was ever gonna graduate.” You continued. “Luckily you saw through all my bullshit bravado and started dragging me to movie nights with you and Steve.”

“Yeah yeah, we love friendship. So what does any of this have to do with Eddie?” Robin said, not needing you to explain the backstory that she had been present for.

“It means that with Mr. Munson, I unfortunately, care so fucking much what he thinks of me.” you relented. “He’s the biggest freak in school, and the dorkiest loser, and if I try and talk to him and he’s not interested in talking back I won’t be able to take it. Robin, I will simply lay down and be dead for the rest of my life.”

“That’s not how that works, you can’t be dead for the rest of your life.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “Because if you’re dead then... you’re not alive”

“Schrodinger's corpse then. Alive and dead at the same time.”

“Look, just send him the stupid candygram. The worst he can do is say no.” She stood up from the table and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”

And that’s how you ended up at the booth, jotting down Eddie’s name on a piece of paper and shoving a few quarters in the till with Robin looking smug. “I doubt he’s ever gotten one anyway, if anything he should be thrilled that someone wanted to send him one.”

“If this kills me, Steve’s in charge of the music at my funeral.” you sighed.

---

Candygrams were being handed out and delivered through the week. You weren’t paying attention to what period they were supposed to be handed out, and so when two students in obnoxious heart shirts and fake wings burst into your science class with Eddie right next to you, you were about ready to throw yourself out a window.

No one was surprised when Janet and Charlie were tossed a few candygrams, but everyone’s head whipped around when the red heart shaped lollipop and card was set on Eddie Munson’s desk. Eddie himself seemed more surprised than anyone.

He had the lollipop in his mouth before he even opened the note attached and you were seconds away from bolting out the door. With any luck, maybe he didn’t know your name even after weeks of sitting next to each other.

“Who’s it from, freak?” asked Patrick, the basketball jock who sat a few rows ahead. That earned a few snickers from the class.

“It’s from your mom.” Eddie said without missing a beat and taking out the lollipop. “Tell her I say thanks.”

More laughter from the class as Patrick stood up as if ready to fight, but the teacher quickly told him to sit down.

Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You felt a bit guilty that your candygram had kicked up a fuss, but at least Eddie didn’t out you as the person who sent it to him. In fact he wasn’t looking over at you at all.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the card around, as if looking for something. All that was written was his name and “YOU’RE SWEET!” written in cheesy font and his name scribbled in your handwriting.

And nothing else.

You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry at your stupidity. You’d been so jumbled and nervous that you’d forgotten to sign the damn thing. Robin was gonna have a field day with this one.

Eddie kept fidgeting with the card through the rest of class, twisting it and bending it until it was as crumpled and torn as your heart felt. He shoved it in his pocket and didn’t even glance at you as the bell rang and he stood up and tossed the eaten lollipop stick in the trash.

It’s not personal. You told yourself. He has no idea who sent it to him.

That’s when you had a horrible idea, so stupid it might actually work.

---

“Explain how this is going to work again?” Robin asked. “You’re going to keep sending him lollipops this week until he notices you?”

“Sort of.” you said, buying another candygram. “I’ll just send him a few joke ones as a feeler and if he responds positively I’ll come clean. If not, I keep my dignity. It’s a win-win.”

“Since when do you care about your dignity?” Robin sorted.

“Since I caught feelings for the least dignified guy in school, I guess.” You knew it was stupid, you knew it was ridiculous, but you already messed up once so you might as well lean into it. You scribbled his name down, this time signing it with a satisfied giggle. “This is so dumb.”

Oh, but it was so worth it. You had bought it before school started, guaranteeing that it’d be delivered the same day, handing over a crisp dollar to Nancy Wheeler who had volunteered for the booth. If Eddie had been surprised the first time, he looked almost shocked now.

Eddie, sorry I forgot to sign the first one! This card said, once again not giving away any sign of who it was actually from. You saw his eye sparkle in amusement as he ate his lollipop, and this time the card was read over a few times before being carefully tucked into his dungeon master notebook.

By the third day, the novelty of Eddie Munson getting candygrams had worn off with the rest of your class, but Eddie’s grin only grew wider each time.

“Anything for me, Cupid?” Eddie asked as the student council members walked back in to hand out more lollipops.

He whooped as another one was dropped on his desk and he snatched up the card quickly and you had to cover your face and bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his excitement.

Eddie, sorry I’m so bad at remembering to sign these things! I just get way too excited about sending them out that I lose focus. So anyway this card is actually from-

You had carefully spaced out your writing on the small rectangle of paper so that it left absolutely no room for you to sign your name. Eddie looked downright giddy as he read the note over and over. Seeing him so happy made your stomach burst into butterflies and even if he decided after this he wasn’t interested, this was enough. Knowing that he was smiling because of you was enough.

Someone said your name and you looked up, surprised to see one of the student council members standing next to you and handing you a candygram. Your eyebrows shot up as you took it with a thanks and opened up the card.

Who had sent one to you? You’d been so wrapped up in your little scheme you didn’t even consider that someone would try and send you one either.

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw your name and a small drawing of what looked like an egg in a nest as the sender. Robin, of course. Probably making fun of you for sending candygrams to Eddie without signing either.

You tucked the candygram in your own notebook safely and dared a glance over at Eddie again. You hadn’t expected for him to be looking back at you, and your heart jumped in your chest. He unwrapped his lollipop and lifted it slightly as if he was trying to toast. You held yours up as well to him, an off sense of camaraderie between two people who had their day temporarily disturbed for commercialized love.

Thursday came around, Valentine's day proper, but they’d be doing one last day of candygrams on Friday as well. This was a fundraiser after all, and capitalism trumps any semblance of real sincerity. Well, you said that but that wasn’t exactly going to stop you from continuing your little plan.

Today was the day you were going to pull out the big guns. You handed over a full $5 to have a carnation sent to Eddie, as well as a return to sender card to Robin for being a good friend.

“Shouldn’t he be the one sending you a flower?” Nancy asked, handing you the card to write on. You wondered how Nancy had time for all of the extracurricular activities she had going on, working with the student council and the school newspaper.

You just shrugged at the question, not realizing how wide you were smiling or how obviously warm your cheeks were. To anyone with two eyes, you were glowing and to anyone with one eye, you were phosphorescent.

The disinterest that your classmates had from the last two rounds perked back up with a flower was delivered to Eddie that afternoon.

“For little old me?” Eddie said, batting his eyelashes at the delivery boy as he took the carnation. You giggled to yourself as he opened the card again.

Man, I’m bad at this aren’t I? Don’t worry, this time I’m writing very small so I have room to sign this card. Seeing you light up when these get delivered has made my whole week, and totally worth it. Anyway this is from-

To be fair, you had actually signed your name this time. However this time you had made an attempt to erase it with one of those erasers. The horrible stiff ones that only made big smudges and made the mistake worse and nearly tore through the paper. You had carefully looked at your smudged signature for a long time before deciding it was illegible enough to send.

Eddie faked a swoon in his seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor. “Come on!” he laughed, pushing himself back upright, smiling with his whole face. He looked over the note again, something clicking in his brain and you quickly looked down at the book you were currently pretending to read.

“It’s someone in here.” you heard him mutter to himself and your heart started pounding in your chest. You focused on your breathing to try and stop yourself from giggling and giving yourself away.

“Stop sending yourself stuff, Munson. It’s pathetic.” Patrick called out.

“If you wanted me to be your Valentine, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask nicely.” Eddie said, but he sounded distracted as his eyes scanned the room for any hint of who this mysterious person is. “And next time, I’m more than happy with just the lollipop, it’s saving me on smokes.”

You didn’t even notice the lollipop on your desk until class had started back up. Unfolding the card you smiled to yourself, seeing that it was from Robin again. This time the egg in the nest had a crack in it and seemed to be hatching. You’d ask her about it later.

Nothing said during the rest of class even registered with you, every word was in one ear and out the other. This had been a fun week sending Eddie all the lollipops and flowers but tomorrow was the last day to have something sent to him.

Were you going to sign your name? That’s the million dollar question. You had told Robin that you would if Eddie seemed interested, and he had made it clear he was enjoying the attention.

But would he still enjoy the attention if he learned it was from you? You two weren’t exactly friends, but not complete strangers either. He didn’t seem to dislike you, after all he’d raised a toast with you with your lollipops the other day.

Well, if you were gonna put yourself out there, you were gonna do it on your own terms.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Robin said that Friday morning as you dropped a handful of ones on the table for one last hurrah.

“Nope, I’ve committed.” you said, taking the small stack of cards and getting to work.

“I’m going to have you committed.” Robin shook her head. “I mean, this is actually insane, you know that right? There’s no reason to go through all this trouble, when you could just talk to him.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Buckley?” you asked, as you added one letter of your name to each of the cards. “Gotta make him work for it.”

“So you’re gonna give him a Valentine's themed word jumble as your big sign off?”

“Yup.” you confirmed, adding his name to each of the cards. He’d get them all in one go and then it’s up to him to unscramble your name and figure it out.

After that... well, the ball is in his court.

Besides, if he liked the lollipops enough that he’d reach for one instead of a cigarette then that’s good enough.

“You’re such a weirdo. You deserve each other.” Robin went on. “The Weirdo and the Freak. It’s like Beauty and the Beast except.. Not.”

“Robin, don’t you know three languages?” you snorted finishing up your stack and handing them over to be sent. “You are so much smarter than me, but this is where you lose words?”

“It’s Friday and I haven’t had coffee.” she pointed out. “Oh, thanks for sending me one by the way.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean you sent me one so I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging.” you nudged her playfully.

“I didn’t send you one.” Robin looked at you, confused.

“What?” You reached into your backpack and pulled out the notebook where you had placed the card and handed it to her. “But that’s a robin’s egg...?”

“It’s an egg, probably.” Robin agreed. “But I’m broke. I didn’t send any out.”

You stared at the card with new eyes. If she didn’t send it, then who did?

---

“Holy shit.” Eddie muttered as a bag of lollipops was dumped on his desk with no rhyme or reason, earning a round of laughter and snickers from the class. The teacher had long since given up on trying to keep the class’s attention when the Cupid’s showed up.

He sorted through the cards, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the different letters on the cards until he found one that had real words on it.

Figure it out, Sucker <3 Eddie’s face was a wonderful mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and mild offense.

One of the Cupid’s handed you another two lollipops as well. One was actually signed by one of your friends in band, and the other had another doodle of an egg. This time the egg was completely hatched and there was some sort of weird bird flying off.

Not a robin. You decided, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be.

You barely paid attention in class for the rest of the hour, your attention split between the three egg Valentines you received and the man next to you. Eddie had pulled out his Dungeon Master notebook to try and decode your message. You felt flattered that he was using his favored notebook to try and figure out your puzzle.

Eddie was sucking on one of the lollipops diligently as he scribbled down random letters. Now that you thought about it, you’d never seen him look so studious in class before. You wondered if this is what he looked like when he was working on his campaigns and your brain decided to give you a treat of a daydream where the two of you were sitting around in your room while he explained his campaign and how he’d love to have someone like you join Hellfire-

It was three minutes before the bell, and that meant just a few minutes until your last period and the weekend. With Valentine’s day falling in the middle of the week, most of your friends were going to be off doing things with their partners. Maybe you, Robin, and Steve- no wait, Steve actually got dates. Robin worked on the weekend.

Maybe Eddie- NOPE. Not going there, you were not about to get your hopes up for this.

You glanced over at him again, looking at his notebook to see if he was anywhere close to decoding your name. Eddie had the worst handwriting you’d ever seen and so you would be surprised if he could even figure out his own notes. Between unjumbling your letters, he had started doodling in the margins. You assumed that they were D&D monsters from the look of it, since none of them looked like actual animals except for the bats in the corner.

The only other thing you recognized was a dragon, drawn in a larger scale on the side of the page. It’s wings were expanded and it was flying off, and from this angle it looked like a weird...

It looked like some bird

Some sort of weird bird

Your head snapped back down to the card in front of you. This wasn’t a weird bird. It was a dragon. A dragon hatching from an egg. An egg that hatched a dragon. A dragon that was drawn with the same pose as the one in Eddie’s notebook. Eddie’s notebook had your dragon no wait, your card had his dragon-

Eddie Munson had sent you the cards.

Eddie had-

“Oh.” You said out loud. You were nearly fighting back hysterical laughter at this, and you pressed your hands against your face, with your shoulder shaking with repressed laughter.

Why the hell had Eddie sent you those cards? The two of you had barely spoken to each other!

You did the same damn thing, dipshit. You reminded yourself. In fact you had gone way harder than he had. But what did this MEAN?

The bell rang and everyone scrambled to get out of the classroom, and before you could say anything, Eddie was off and running out of the classroom at the speed of light.

What was that about?

Robin was right. If you were ever going to have a chance with him, you were going to suck it up and talk to him, even if it meant possibly embarrassing yourself. Plus, finding out why he sent you three candygrams was currently trumping any fear of rejection. Curiosity killed the cat, but at least he died satisfied. You’re pretty sure how that saying went at least.

You knew that Eddie had Hellfire today, it was Friday and he and all of his friends had been running around in their club shirts. With a deep breath you...realized you had no idea where the hell they actually met.

This whole thing could have been planned better, actually.

You started walking around the school blindly for any sign of the signature baseball tee that they all wore. If you found one of them, they were sure to lead you to Eddie. God, you felt like a stalker.

There. Long dark curls against a stark white shirt with black sleeves. Your heart leapt in your chest, and you had to make the choice now.

“E... Eddie! Wait up!” you called out, walking quickly towards him.

When he turned around to look at you, you felt the air disappear from your lungs. How was it possible for him to be so beautiful and why the fuck did no one in this school seem to notice?

Eddie pulled the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth, surprised to see you.

“Hey.” he said. “Uh... you sit next to me in class.”

He was either playing dumb, or you were about to make an ass of yourself. But, like Robin asked, since when do you care about dignity?

You reached into your bag and pulled out the candygrams that had been sent to you and holding them out.

To your relief he gave you a bashful smile. “Guess you caught me, huh?” he asked. “You solved my Valentine’s puzzle.”

“I have a pretty high intelligence when I apply myself.” you said, which only made him grin wide. “But I gotta say, Munson. I’m actually a little disappointed. I mean, sadistic and scary dungeon master of the Hellfire club, and this is the best puzzle you could come up with?”

He crossed his arms and took a step towards you. “Well, I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” he said, and your stomach erupted into butterflies. “Had to start somewhere.”

“I guess I had to be sneaky and pay attention to you to figure it out. You’re hard not to notice, you know.” you admitted, crossing your arms as well to mimic him.

“Being The Freak means I fail most stealth checks.” he shrugged.

“High charisma though.” you threw out there, hoping that line would land and to your delight it did.

“It’s the Munson Magic. I come by it naturally.” Eddie’s smile was so wide it was cheesy but shit, it was working on you.

“Not great intelligence though.” you smirked at him.

“Oh? And how do you figure that?” He looked a little offended now, and you saw his shoulder stiffen as if he was waiting for this to suddenly go south.

“Spell my name, Eddie.”

You could see the lightbulb go off in his mind and his eyes widened.

“You- wait, you were the one who kept sending me the cards?” Eddie looked nothing short of bewildered and ecstatic. You had a feeling that if things went well, you wouldn’t have to worry about ever knowing what he was thinking as he wore every emotion on his sleeve.

“Surprise?” you asked, playing with the strap of your backpack.

Eddie licked his lips, chasing the last of the flavor of the sucker he’d been eating. He looked at you, as if searching for something, and you cut in before he had the chance to find it.

“Do you want to hang out sometime?” you asked, a little louder than you meant to. “Like, just us.”

“Do you think you can handle a date with The Freak?” Eddie asked, standing a little straighter. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I promise the worst of them are true.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eddie, I’ve always wanted to join Hellfire.” you smirked. “I’m sure there are worse things for a first date than sacrificing someone to Satan, or summoning demons, or joining a cult.”

“I’m a gentleman, I would never ask a lady to summon demons on the first date. That’s at least a third date activity.” Eddie held his hand to his heart and raised a hand as if making an oath.

Oh yeah, you were going to marry him. You were already picturing proposing to him and taking him away from this town.

“Then how about dinner at Benny’s?” you suggested. “Burgers and shakes on me and you can tell me more about Hellfire and dragons and I can give you a spelling lesson.”

Eddie ran his ringed fingers through his hair and you giggled as the rings got snagged and he struggled to untangle them.

“It’s.. a date then.” he said, but it came out as more of a question, as if he was asking if this was really happening.

“A date.” You agreed, handing him your number, having come prepared.

As you began to walk away, he called out after you.

“Wait! You said you wanted to check out Hellfire, right?” Eddie said and you turned to look at him. “I’m... I’m actually running a one shot tonight. Kind of beginner friendly enough. I don’t often do this in the middle of the semester but one of our usuals dropped out because he had a date so... we have an open seat at the table. If you think you can handle it.”

Your smile widened as you walked over to him. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Eddie offered his arm to you, as if he were a gentleman which you took eagerly.

“So... how do you actually spell your name?”

---

Dear Reader, I hope you have the easiest name to spell because that would make this fic at least 3% funnier. Also, I'm proud I got this done before Valentine's day because I never even finished my Halloween or Christmas fic. Be proud of me.

Please reblog if you enjoyed it <3

Tag List: @gagasbee, @ihaventgotaclue-really @tastefullyferal @anonymouskiwi @hellfiredarling

#nacht fic #eddie munson x reader

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studiogrimm810 · 28 days ago

Text

Happy Birthday

// Est. Dean Winchester x birthday!you

summary: birthdays as a hunters kid have always sucked and let you to hate the celebration of yourself, but dean can’t help but at least try to show you how much he cares // ~700 // base content: birthday celebration!!, mentions of a neglectful childhood :/, happy ending, lovesick dean

A/N: this is for you, elle, happy birthday <3

Plastic bags crinkled as you turned the Impala back into the garage of the bunker. When Dean had asked you to go out, in his car, to get some ‘necessities’, you knew something was up.

Equal parts of you wished and dreaded the same thing.

Your birthday.

It’s stupid, really. Birthdays were a sore subject for any child of a hunter- slice of stale cake from a roadhouse or diner, thrifted gifts of toys or trinkets that went out of style years ago, and a potential guest appearance from your parent. Birthdays were no big deal, seriously.

Dean knew this. He knew your history with shoddy ‘parties’, if you can even call them that, and he wouldn’t throw some elaborate scheme behind your back, right?

You grabbed the bags and got out of the Impala, ignoring how no breath felt like enough, and walked back inside the bunker. It’s quiet.

If it’s a surprise party you swear you’ll turn right back around and leave.

All you can do is remain casual and walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen, so you do. You turn past the door frame and into the kitchen that is mellowly lit with string lights and dotted with fake flowers- replicas of your favorites to match the lush vase of the real thing on the island. There’s a small, handmade banner strung above the stove and a simple, round cake decorated with cherries and red sprinkles. One, single candle is settled in the center and it’s freshly lit by a careful Dean.

He hasn’t even noticed you yet.

There’s a gift on the table next to two fresh plates of that one meal Dean has been mentioning a lot lately and you realize he was trying to gauge if you’d like it or not in subtle conversation.

The bunker is still quiet and Dean pockets the lighter and finally looks up to see you. His face lights up in excitement but his eyes are unsure as you’ve just been standing there- completely still.

“You’re back!” He beams, scoffing nervously and rounding the counter. “I-,” he looked back at his popsicle stick party held with cheap kindergarten glue. It’s simple and effortless but meaningful and so goddamn sweet. “I know you’re not a big ‘birthday’ person,” he looks back at you. “I told Sam to get lost for the day and he doesn’t even know it’s your birthday, I promise. I just couldn’t let another year go by where you thought no one cared enough to put something on for you. Even if you hate it,” he shrugged, his face apologetic but stubbornly careless of what your reaction would be.

You look back over the room, the wax melting onto the cake in a forgetful puddle. You felt stunned and beyond loved.

“It’s vanilla, despite the cherries,” he clarified with a nervous smile. “So..,” he swallowed, flicking his right thumb over his other fingers nervously by his side. “Do you? Hate it, I mean,” his free hand scratches the back of his neck as he anxiously awaits your reaction.

“Dean-,” you start but the words get caught in your throat. As you stand here now, with love displayed physically, emotionally, materialistically, and vocally, you can’t help but think if maybe it wasn’t the birthday’s but instead the person. “I love it,” you whisper, keeping your eyes on the cake. The perfect, simple, small cake that is all for today. For your day. “It’s perfect,” you sniffled, unable to pull your eyes to look at him just yet but you can see the relief flood his face from your peripheral.

After all this time, you finally realized that birthdays aren’t a selfish endeavor for attention and forced love. It’s a day that the ones who love you want you to relish in the life you’ve made and the way you live it.

It’s a celebration of you.

And Dean never wants you to forget that he’d celebrate you every day, just like this, as long as you’ll let him.

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>>check out my other works here

tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere @bejeweledinterludes @funkenniffler @iamaslytherin0

#supernatural #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #fandom #dean winchester #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #supernatural fluff #supernatural fandom #spnfandom #spn

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kumkaniudaku · 6 months ago

Text

Unplugged

Summary: Terry makes a big mistake on Christmas Day.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

Word Count: 2,061

Warnings: Sexual themes

Previous: From Terrence, With Love + MASTERLIST

With the last hours of Christmas ticking away and their precious little girl safe and sound at her Papa and Maman’s house less than 15 minutes away, Terry and Patrice were free to let the abundance of alcohol and holiday cheer still buzzing in their systems from family dinner do the all talking.

From her spot on the bed, Patrice bit her lip to calm the flame inside her body as she watched Terry’s bare back flex and tense while he slid a trio of black boxes from a secret spot on the top shelf of their closet. She’d been watching him all night, waiting for the best time to flash the car keys and rush him back into the house for alone time. The playing cards and second round of sweet potato pie could barely hit the dinner table before they were hastily throwing scarves around their necks and wishing everyone a final Merry Christmas.

“Baby, I need you,” Patrice commented, her voice impatient yet sultry under the influence of tequila.

Terry looked over his shoulder with drooping lids and a lazy smile. “You keep talking to me like that and we might not open a single gift tonight.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

In their second Christmas as a married couple, they’d agreed to exchange their gifts in private to preserve the sentimental value of the moment and avoid prying eyes when the innocent giving took a turn toward their personal business.

Patrice carefully guarded small cache of packages topped with neat, black velvet bows and numbered based on the order she wanted Terry to unveil his surprises. She’d worked hard on the right mix of practical, sentimental, and sexy since the summer and couldn’t rest until Terry had unwrapped each one according to her very specific instructions.

Though Terry didn’t have the same propensity for extravagance, he had spent the last three weeks bursting at the seams to watch his wife’s eyes light up with every overly expensive gift box lid popped.

He carefully balanced each box in his arms on his way to the bed before gingerly placing them at her feet like precious rubies presented to a queen. The mattress dipped under his weight as he pressed on his hands and knees to lead their umpteenth french kiss since they’d escaped the family.

“Wanna go first?” His question was nearly lost in a deep mumble once he focused his energy on dragging his lips and tongue frome her ear to her clavicle.

“What if I made you go first instead?”

He chuckled against her neck before pressing a kiss in a random spot. “Then I’ll do whatever you tell me. You know how much I love to follow your directions, Mrs. Richmond.”

The mention of her favorite title on the tip of his skilled tongue made Patrice’s body react with a visible shiver. He knew how to use his power as a willing listener to get exactly what he wanted.

Patrice watched him slowly take his place at the head of the bed, one leg bent and propped while he watched her watch him with beautifully dark eyes under long lashes. Her bottom lip found itself trapped beneath her top row of teeth again to keep her thoughts in check.

“Okay,” she spoke, barely above a whisper. “Start with this one.”

Tickets to an experience, a handmade coupon book for redeemable favors, and a digital album featuring racey photos and videos from a recent boudoir shoot all laddered up to Patrice’s final reveal.

“Are these restraints for you or me,” he asked as he pulled the apparatus from its cozy spot inside of a discreet box. He eyed the small round spaces meant for his ankles and wrists before looking up at Patrice and her mischievous grin.

She nodded. “Both of us. We don’t have to use them immediately but give it a thought. I’ll take good care of you, baby.”

Uncertainty in Terry’s eyes and furrowed brows made Patrice crawl closer to capture his chin in her hand, allowing the tips of her stiletto nails to graze the fresh shaven skin on his face. He searched her disarming smile for confirmation.

“You got me?”

“The whole time. However you need me.”

Gentle reassurance that she would, in fact, be there during their exploration seemed to satiate Terry long enough to ask for a kiss that quickly introduced large hands seeking refuge beneath the shirt of Patrice’s thin lounge set. Flashes of being under her control with nowhere to run fell somewhere between fear and undeniable arousal that manifested itself physically once she moved to straddle Terry’s waist per his quiet request.

She leaned forward to nip at his neck. “Mmm, someone’s excited to see me. We should take a break so I can tell him hi.”

“Feels like he ain’t the only one that’s excited,” he answered, attention shifting to the meeting in his lap. “C’mon, open your stuff first. Then we’ll move on.”

“We should skip me and double back after.”

Whining and a little begging wasn’t enough for Patrice to change Terry’s mind. He remained bullheaded with his desires, adding a quick smack to her ass as motivation to do as he asked and to preview what was to come if she was efficient in the process.

The first gift, a sappy custom vinyl with all the love songs that made Terry think of her, earned him a heartfelt thank you and sweet kisses between murmured declarations of undying love. The newly restored and engraved wrist watch from her Nana’s collection nearly made her scream in appreciation that he’d been able to help her keep a family heirloom.

She was so full gratitude and appreciation that, when she popped the lid off of the final gift and found a shining gold necklace adorned with a photo pendant of their daughter, she accepted it as commonplace.

Terry listened with his eyes closed, waiting to hear the gasp he expected as Patrice pulled the item from its box.

“Aw, baby, this is super cute. I’ll wear it everyday!”

“Everyday is kinda excessive, don’t you think?” He asked, eyebrow pulled high while his eyes remained shut.

He’d heard that prolonged wear could make the experience more comfortable, but multiple times a week struck him as odd even for his wife.

“It’s a cute necklace. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Necklace? What are you…” A necklace? He’d purchased something for the other end of her body. She’d even picked a few out to guide his shopping. As his mental roladex sped through the list he’d compiled, sudden realization made his body grow hot with anxiety.

His worst fear had materialized.

Patrice watched Terry’s face morph into a uncharacteristic mix of horror and dread, painting winter pale light skin a faint red across his ears and forehead. His eyed opened wide while he frantically searched for his phone amongst the bed’s clutter. He moved without words and palpable fear that started to transfer to Patrice as his grip on her thigh tightened.

She started to help him look though she didn’t know for what exactly. “Terrence, what is wrong with you? I like the necklace! Talk!”

Nothing. Not even a second glance as he pulled his cellphone from beneath a box lid and feverishly tapped at the screen.

“Answer. C’mon, c’mon.” The line on the other end rang twice, three times, and an agonizing forth until the intended party answered with hearty laughter. “Imani! Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you, love. What you need?”

He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather the necessary words to remain vague but thorough. Patrice leaned in closer in hopes of receiving the information that he was withholding.

“I…made a really big mistake and I need your help without judgement.”

“Oh-kay. Is this a drug heist or something?”

“Say what you mean, TJ.”

Terry shot a look in Patrice’s direction, earning a mouthed ‘what’ as opposition. “I mixed up gifts for Treece and my mama. If she opens that box and sees what’s inside, she gon’ think less of me. I need you to get that back.”

“What’s in it?”

“It’s personal.”

“Clearly,” she laughed. “But what is it? We family!”

“Imani, please don’t make me say it.”

The guilt in his voice helped put the pieces together for Patrice, widening the pit of anxiety she already felt. Think less of him? What would Diedra think of her once she saw what her sweet daughter-in-love was doing to corrupt her only son?

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Imani cleared her throat and ended her prying as quickly as it had begun.

“I actually don’t wanna know anymore. Keep it to yourself,” she answered. “Can you at least tell me where the gift is? And if I should wear a glove when I touch it?”

Terry sighed. “You don’t need a glove but I do need you to explain in as little detail as possible that she has the wrong gift and that I’ll take her to brunch and give her the right one tomorrow. If she asks, just tell her to call me.”

“Please believe me when I say you never had to worry about me telling Ms. Dee Dee that her son likes to buy all kinds of gadgets and gizmos to keep his nasty wife excited.”

“Hey! I can hear you!”

“I know you can! And, honestly, do your thing, friend. We’ll talk on the side.”

“We will,” Patrice added, flipping her pressed hair over her shoulder for added flair. “Thank you, Moanie! We owe you.”

Another reminder of her duties from Terry and a laundry list of potential repayments sent Imani on a covert mission to recover the goods and ease their worries.

Patrice’s hands blazed a soothing path from her husband’s chest to his ears to softly rub the area while she pressed a kiss to his lips that he feebily returned. The thought of his mother opening that small black box in front family members and finding his initials enscribed on an aquamarine gem meant to grace his wife where the sun didn’t often shine was enough to exhaust Terry more than any workout ever could.

His heartrate began to slow once Patrice reminded him to breathe with calming instructions for him to match her rhythm.

She spoke against his cheek after adding a kiss. “Was it the silicone one I showed you? With your birthstone on it?”

“Mhm. You convinced me and I looking forward to seeing it in you tonight. Now that’s ruined.”

“Ruined? Oh, baby,” she cooed into his ear, one hand traveling south to wedge itself between them and reignite a waning fire. She giggled when he tensed and released a shaky breath that fanned across her neck. “How can it be ruined when he’s still so happy to see me. You sure you don’t wanna finish what we started?”

“A little.”

“What can I do to turn that little into a lot? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

Sliding her tongue against the shell of his ear before a beginning a slow kiss kicked Terry into overdrive just as she intended. Anticipation mingled with desire. Desire became primal urges fighting for freedom. Urges made Terry groaned into Patrice’s mouth as a reminder that he while he was typically calm and collected, there was a still man inside that craved physical contact.

Patrice lowered her voice to reiterate her point. “Anything. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

Like a moth to a bright light, Terry’s fingers danced across the bed to connect with the cold metal attached the restraints that both and intrigued and terrified him. Patrice listened to the chains clink against each other as he pulled them closer, a smile creeping across her face when their eyes met.

“You’re gonna go first. Arms in front or behind?”

“In front. Like this.”

Seeing her wrists pressed tightly together, the motion lifting her clothed breasts higher, was the perfect demonstration for a visual learner. It wasn’t long before Patrice found herself fully exposed, bound, and waiting for further instructions upside down at the edge of the bed.

Tonight, the teacher would be the student, receiving gift after gift after shaking, breathless, filthy gift. Crisis averted. A Merry Christmas, indeed.

-------

Comment if you'd like to be tagged!

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge #ficmas

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polkadotzzzz · 2 months ago

Note

I had a dream about Sevika with reader and her two twin girls. Could you make it happen?

(Expand as much as you want, add what you want, and if this is an inconvenience you can ignore it, nothing happens, we love you anyway)

Only if you could add the line of one of the little girls going towards Sevika, opening her hands so that she can pick her up and say "mom, I'm hungry."

(Yes, God exists, and that is you)

a/n: THIS WAS MY FKRST EVER ASK!!!!! im ashamed to say it took me this long to write it but in my defense, it took forever i wanted it to be perfect

mdni, no warnings!

the city of piltover had always been a place of grandeur, its towering pristine penthouses and gleaming facades shining against the horizon, a testament to its wealth and influence. but for sevika, the industrial shadows of zaun felt like home. it was a place where she had been forged—both hardened and softened by the brutal rhythm of life in the undercity.

though she had long left behind her life as a soldier, the echoes of her past still followed her. yet, in the quiet moments, when the weight of the world seemed just a bit lighter, sevika found peace in the presence of those she loved most—her wife, and their two twin daughters, nyra and lila.

the house they shared in the lower levels of the city was modest but filled with warmth. it was a small refuge from the chaos that often lurked in the streets of zaun. the walls were adorned with handmade decorations and trinkets, each telling a story of the lives they had built here. every corner of the house was lived in, and the scent of cooked meals and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the hum of machinery outside. sevika had never been one for sentimentality, but there was something about these small, tender moments that made her feel as though she could breathe again.

you were at the stove, hair tied back in a loose ponytail, humming softly as you prepared the evening meal. the girls were nearby, playing with a set of wooden blocks, giggling as they built towers and knocked them down with delighted shrieks.

sevika leaned against the doorway, watching the scene with a rare smile. her large, calloused hands, still scarred from years of combat and hard work, rested at her sides. the sight of her family—the quiet peace they shared—was something she had never thought possible. she had lived a life of violence and struggle, and yet here, in this small home, she had found something worth protecting more than anything else.

you noticed your wife’s gaze and smiled back. “you’re staring again, sev.”

sevika’s smile widened, though she tried to play it cool. “just making sure you haven’t burned dinner. wouldn’t want to eat your cooking again."

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “you’ve eaten worse, and you still kept me around. must be something about me that’s more than just my cooking.”

“you’re right about that,” sevika replied, stepping into the kitchen and brushing a kiss across your cheek. her voice softened. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

you placed the spoon down on the counter and turned to face sevika, expression warm. “you’d survive, just like always. but i’m glad you don’t have to.”

before they could say more, a small voice interrupted them.

“mama, i’m hungry!”

it was nyra, her little hands outstretched toward sevika. the toddler’s big, curious eyes were wide with innocence and hunger, her round face flushed from play. she waddled toward sevika, her short legs moving quickly, as if her very being demanded immediate attention. nyra's twin, lila, followed closely behind, though she was more reserved, her arms crossed as she leaned against the nearby table, watching her sister’s antics with quiet amusement.

sevika chuckled softly, crouching down to her daughter’s level. “you’re always hungry, little one.”

nyra reached up with grabby hands, eager for her mother’s embrace. sevika couldn’t help but smile as she lifted her up, cradling her close. the warmth of her daughter’s small body in her arms always grounded her, reminding her of the simple joys of life.

“we’re almost done, sweetie,” you called from the stove. “can you wait a little longer?”

nyra pouted slightly, but then a mischievous grin spread across her face. “but i’m hungry now!”

sevika kissed the top of nyra’s head, feeling a swell of affection. “i think i’ve got something for you,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a sweet she had gotten from a vendor earlier.

nyra’s eyes lit up as she took the candy, her hands grasping it eagerly. “yay, mama!” she squealed, sinking her teeth into the treat as she clung to sevika.

lila took a few steps forward. “i want something too,” she said, her voice quiet but insistent.

sevika smiled softly at her other daughter, brushing a lock of hair out of lila’s face. “don’t worry, sweetie. you’re next.”

you, still stirring the pot on the stove, glanced over your shoulder with a knowing look. “you spoil them too much.”

sevika raised an eyebrow, grinning. “you spoil them too. it’s just in our nature.”

you chuckled. “true. but they do deserve it.”

for a few moments, the world outside their home seemed to fade away. there were no gang fights or political unrest in the streets of zaun, no looming threats to their peace. it was just the four of them, safe and content, in their little corner of the world.

though the peace in their home was often enough to make sevika forget the world outside, it never fully went away. the shadow of zaun’s darker realities always loomed, just beyond the walls of their little haven. there were days when sevika couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to break—that the fragile peace they had built could be shattered at any moment.

one such evening, as the girls played in the other room, sevika found herself staring out the window, her thoughts drifting to the streets below. her mind wandered back to her past—back to the fights, the betrayals, and the violence she had left behind when she chose a different life.

but even as she thought about it, she knew she could never truly escape it. no one who came from the depths of zaun could. the weight of that knowledge sat heavy on her shoulders, even here, with her family at her side. she had made a choice to stay, to build something with you, but the past had a way of resurfacing when least expected.

you noticed her wife’s distant expression and stepped over to her, wrapping your arms around sevika’s waist from behind. “you’re thinking too much again.”

sevika’s shoulders relaxed as she leaned back into your embrace. “i can’t help it. sometimes, i wonder if i’ve made a mistake staying here.”

you kissed the back of sevika’s neck softly. “you’ve built something beautiful, sev. we’ve built something. and we’ll protect it. together.”

sevika nodded, drawing comfort from your words. “i just want the girls to have a life without all the bloodshed. a life where they can dream without looking over their shoulders.”

“they will,” you reassured her, your voice firm but tender. “you’ve already given them that.”

sevika let out a long sigh, turning to face her wife. she placed a hand on your cheek, her thumb brushing across the familiar, soft skin. “sometimes i’m afraid the world will take them from us.”

you smiled, eyes filled with love and adoration. “then we fight. for them. for us.”

sevika could only nod, the weight of the world lightened just a bit by the warmth of your presence.

#arcane #sevika #sevika x female reader #sevika x f!reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika x reader #wife sevika #domestic sevika #wlw #mdni #hannah's little corner ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

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thejourneymanandco · 2 years ago

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#thejourneymanandco #customfurniture #handmadefurniture #handmadeuk #customfurnituredesign #bespokefurniture #custommade #bespoke #custom #handmade #oakbenches #round oak side table

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project-1000 · 6 months ago

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hellinistical · 4 months ago

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in which the lemurian you work for is dealing with some things...good thing you can help him! happens after ebb and flow. Sub! Rafayel x afab. reader. mdni.

a/n: for @venomaniyah

tw: heat. piv. nipple play (sucking, teasing, pulling, ect.). oral (m. receiving). semi-plot. hand jobs. edging. teasing. "good boy". dacriphyllia. slight dub con. reader is kinda a bully. whiny rafayel. he's desperate to all hell.

wc: 8k

The apartment was small but inviting, with its warm, honey-colored hardwood floors that creaked in greeting with every step. Soft, natural light filtered through sheer white curtains, which swayed slightly in the breeze from a cracked-open window. A hand-me-down sofa, its cushions sagging just enough to show years of use but still firm and comfortable, sat against one wall. A colorful patchwork quilt, likely handmade, was draped over its back, adding a splash of personality to the otherwise neutral tones of the room.

The kitchenette was compact but functional, with a stove that looked older than the apartment itself and a tiny, round table tucked into the corner. A single vase holding fresh daisies served as the centerpiece, hinting at a quiet care for the space. Above the sink hung a row of mismatched mugs, each telling a different story—one from a tourist trap in Paris, another adorned with a faded cartoon character, and a plain one chipped at the rim.

Books lined a modest shelf in the corner, their spines worn but loved, while a few framed photos leaned casually against the wall, featuring smiling faces frozen in candid moments. The apartment had the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee, mixed with a hint of lavender from a diffuser on the table.

Though the space was humble, it lacked of nothing essential. Every detail, from the carefully folded throw on the armchair to the small cactus perched on the windowsill, spoke of a life not defined by abundance, but by contentment and care.

And yet, even though it was well into the day and there were sure to be other things to do, you found yourself staring. Staring at just how pretty he was, dozing off on your couch.

Rafayel’s face was softer in sleep, the usual sharpness of his features dulled by the even rise and fall of his chest. His lavender hair fanned out across the pillow you’d wedged beneath his head, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost otherworldly. His nose twitched every now and then, and his lips parted slightly with each breath, almost as if he were mid-thought, even in dreams.

Yeah, maybe it was creepy. Okay, definitely creepy.

But you told yourself you were just watching over him, making sure he stayed warm and comfortable while he recovered from his fever. The faint pink flush on his cheeks wasn’t entirely gone yet, and his brows furrowed every so often, like even in sleep he was trying to work something out.

The quilt you’d draped over him rose and fell with his breathing, and you noticed he’d unconsciously grabbed hold of one corner, clutching it like a lifeline. It was such a small, uncharacteristic thing for someone who always seemed so composed, so larger-than-life, and it made your chest ache in a way you weren’t sure how to describe.

You wanted to do something—anything—to keep that fevered look from returning. To see his eyes open and find them clear again, their usual sharp, captivating hue instead of the dull, glassy sheen they’d had when he’d stumbled through your door. For now, though, he just needed rest, and maybe you needed this moment, too. “Your scales are so pretty…” you murmur softly, trailing your fingers against the ones on his cheekbones, down his jaw, almost about to linger on his plush bottom lip. And they were. The most beautiful blue you ever did see.

You press a kiss to the one under his right eye. “Get better, Rafayel.”

It had started slowly. The occasional sharp inhale, the restless shifting, the way his breath had begun coming in shallow pants. At first, you’d thought his fever was just worsening, maybe a bad dream, maybe some kind of delirium. You’d knelt beside him, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead, whispering reassurances you weren’t even sure he could hear.

Then he had grabbed your wrist.

His grip had been desperate, trembling, but strong. When his eyes cracked open—hazy, dazed, pupils blown wide—you’d barely had a second to process before he had shuddered, body arching slightly, and let out a soft, wrecked sound that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

He was awake.

You turn, eyes wide when you meet his own blue-pink gaze. “You mean it?” Pearly tears pricked at his eyes, dripping down the sun-bleached ends of his lower lashes, accompanying them to grace his skin with butterfly kisses.

His cheeks were rosy, ears tinged with embarrassment and bashfulness.

“How long were you awake?”

“That- that doesn’t matter. Did you mean it?”

***

That was hours ago. Now? Now Rafayel- and you- are a mess.

A mess of sweat, drool, tears, and soon enough, exhaustion.

The fever had been a warning, a quiet tremor before the storm. But you hadn’t known. How could you have?

Now? Now, Rafayel was sprawled beneath you, a mess of sweat, trembling limbs, and ragged breaths. His skin was hot—too hot—his usual pale flush now a feverish pink, iridescent blue scales glistening with sweat. His hands, usually so careful, so hesitant, clutched at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline, fingers tightening every time a wave of whatever-this-was crashed over him.

You had no idea what to do.

That was hours ago.

Now, the apartment was thick with it—heat, tension, the scent of sweat and something else, something uniquely him, something that curled into your lungs and refused to let go. It was sickeningly sweet.

"Rafayel," you rasped, trying to keep your voice steady. "You—you're burning up. You need to—"

A whimper, a needy, helpless sound, cut you off. His grip on you tightened, nails digging in just enough to make you shiver. His demeanor normally so elegant and fluid, was curled awkwardly against the couch, scales twitching in an unfocused rhythm.

He was shaking.

Your heart pounded.

It was sudden.

His hands fisted in your shirt, pulling you down so suddenly you barely had time to gasp before his lips crashed against yours. It was messy—desperate, awkward, like he didn’t know what he was doing, only that he needed to do it. His feverish body pressed against yours, trembling with something too raw to name, and his breath hitched as his lips moved clumsily over yours, needy and unpracticed.

Your teeth knocked together, the kiss more heat than finesse, but Rafayel didn’t care. He made a small, helpless sound—something between a whimper and a growl—as if frustrated he couldn’t get closer, couldn’t melt into you completely. His fingers were shaking, gripping you like you might disappear, like letting go wasn’t an option.

“Rafayel—” you barely managed, voice muffled against his mouth, but he only made another needy noise, tilting his head and kissing you deeper, more insistent, as if silence was the only answer he’d accept. His breath came in ragged gasps, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, seeping into you, making your skin prickle with warmth.

He was burning up.

His lips dragged against yours, wet and desperate, his sharp canines scraping at your bottom lip like he didn’t know how to be gentle—like he couldn’t. His body trembled under you, fevered and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before, in a way that made your chest tighten with something dangerously close to want.

You swallowed thickly, hands bracing against the couch as you tried to steady yourself, tried to think past the heat curling through your veins. But Rafayel only whined softly, frustrated, needy, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You had no idea what to do.

But Rafayel needed you.

And gods help you—part of you wanted to give in.

Your head was spinning, your breath uneven, but no. No.

If Rafayel needed you this badly, then he was going to have to play by your rules.

You pushed against his chest—firm, but not cruel—breaking the messy kiss with a wet gasp. He let out a desperate, frustrated whimper, eyes fluttering open, unfocused and glassy. His pupils were wide, swallowing the sea-blue and pink of his irises, his flushed lips slightly parted as he panted.

“Rafayel,” you warned, voice low, steady.

His hands twitched where they still clung to your shirt, fingers flexing like he wanted to pull you back down, like he couldn’t stand even the inches of space you’d put between you. But you stayed firm, watching the way his legs curled tighter, his whole body shuddering.

“Please,” he breathed, voice wrecked, needy. His nails dragged lightly against your skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he was still desperate, still burning, still aching.

But you weren’t going to let him lose himself like this. Not without control. Not without you in control.

You exhaled slowly, tilting his chin up with your fingers, forcing him to meet your gaze. “If you need me so bad,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the fevered heat of his skin, “then you’re gonna have to listen.”

His breath hitched.

“You’re gonna have to be good for me.”

A shiver ran down his spine, his lashes fluttering. You could feel his legs twitch against the cushions, restless, a telltale sign of his struggle. His lips parted as if he wanted to argue, to protest, but instead, he nodded, slow, hesitant—obedient.

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Good.”

Now this was how you played the game.

His breath was uneven, hot against your throat, and his grip on you was tight—like if he let go, he’d lose himself completely. It was honestly a strange situation. Here you were, perched on the crappy couch you hadn’t even fully paid off yet, straddling him—this Lemurian, this siren of a man who, by all accounts, should have been the one in control.

And yet, it was you he was desperate for.

You swallowed, watching the way his lavender hair clung to his forehead, damp from fever and sweat. It curled just slightly at the ends, framing his face like seafoam against the tide. He was beautiful, infuriatingly so—his features sharp and delicate at the same time, otherworldly in a way that made your stomach twist. The iridescent sheen of his scales caught the dim light of the apartment, casting soft glimmers across his fever-flushed skin.

He shuddered beneath you, fingers twitching at your waist, like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to pull you closer. He looked up at you through heavy lids, his slit pupils dilated, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.

It was intoxicating, having him like this—this creature who could command the ocean itself, who carried an air of danger, of mystery, reduced to a trembling mess beneath you. And it was you he was reaching for.

A sharp exhale left his lips, and he swallowed thickly. “Miss body guard…you’re… cruel,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, hushed.

"Cruel?" Your brow furrowed, lips parting slightly as you studied him.

Rafayel let out a shaky breath, his fingers flexing at your waist, as if torn between pushing and pulling. His expression was something raw, something caught between desperation and frustration, his flushed skin practically glowing in the dim light.

“You are,” he murmured, voice uneven, a touch hoarse. His eyes, blown wide and glossy, flickered over your face like he was searching for something—permission, relief, control. “You sit here, watching me like this, knowing I—” He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. His breath hitched as your fingers ghosted over the faint ridges of scales along his ribs. “And you do nothing.”

Your lips curled at the accusation, at the way his voice wavered. You tilted your head, fingers trailing upward, just barely brushing against the curve of his throat. Rafayel swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His lashes fluttered, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, torn between frustration and yearning. His fingers twitched at your waist, grip tightening just slightly—like he wanted to pull you closer but knew better than to push his luck.

“You tease me. You—” He exhaled sharply, his head tipping back against the couch, exposing the pale column of his throat. “You make me wait.”

You huffed, tilting your head. “And you hate that?”

His lips parted, hesitation flickering across his face—his pride at war with his need. His legs curled against the cushions, restless, his body tense beneath you.

“… No,” he admitted finally, voice softer, raw. “I—” His breath hitched, and his fingers flexed against your hips. “I like it.”

“Rafayel.”

He shivered at the way you said his name, and gods, the sight of him—half-lidded, lips parted, body tense beneath you—sent a thrill through your veins. He was trying so hard to keep it together, to keep some semblance of control. But you saw the way his hands twitched, the way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched every time you so much as shifted against him.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to argue, to snap at you. But all that came out was a soft, needy sound—one that sent heat curling low in your stomach.

Rafayel’s eyes flickered down to your hands as they rested on his chest, then back to your face, his breath still coming in shallow, erratic bursts. His lips parted as if to say something, but then he hesitated, shifting beneath you in frustration. The usual smoothness of his voice was gone, replaced with something rougher, more desperate.

“I don’t…” He swallowed, shaking his head as though trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know how to handle this,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands twitched again, but he didn’t make a move to touch you, his fingers almost trembling with the effort to resist. “I’ve never felt—like this—before. You—” He exhaled sharply, almost like a growl. “You make me weak.”

You paused, staring at him, the words sinking in. It was strange, hearing him say it out loud. This creature, who’d seen things you couldn’t even imagine, who lived a life full of power and mystery, confessing that you—you—had somehow unraveled him.

For a moment, you almost forgot the tension, the power play, the strange game you were playing. You were staring at him, really staring, noticing the vulnerability in his gaze, in the way his body shook beneath yours.

You wanted to say something, anything that could make sense of this situation. But for once, you were at a loss for words.

“Be good for me,” you murmured, lips ghosting just over his,

You pressed a kiss to his lips, soft, inviting—just a hint of warmth, just a taste of what might come. His breath caught as your lips brushed against his, a feather-light kiss that could’ve easily been pulled away from, that could’ve left him hanging. It was your test, your way of gauging whether he could control himself for even a moment.

But the moment he felt it, the moment he sensed your willingness, Rafayel tried to take a mile when you only gave him an inch. His hand shot up, gripping your face as his lips crashed against yours, frantic and desperate, demanding. He pushed, hard, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together, until the kiss was no longer gentle, no longer soft.

You pulled back, a sharp breath slipping past your lips, but Rafayel, still holding you tightly, tried to pull you right back into the kiss, his lips urgent and needy against yours.

“Rafayel,” you breathed, voice low and almost scolding. But you weren’t sure if you could be mad at him, not when he was so completely consumed by whatever feverish, wild desire had taken hold of him. His desperation was palpable, the heat between you two thickening with every second.

The desperation in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He was so far gone, lost in the intensity of whatever feverish longing had taken hold of him. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils dark and blown wide, his breath ragged as his hands twisted at the fabric of your shirt, fingers trembling with the need to rid you of it.

“Please—just—take these damned clothes off,” he begged, his voice hoarse and raw, full of frustration. His breath came in jagged gasps, chest heaving, and you could see just how far he was willing to push for whatever he needed in this moment.

You couldn’t ignore the way his body pressed against yours, his skin fevered and hot under your hands, every part of him calling out for something more.

“I…” You sighed, faltering for just a moment, the heat of the situation almost overwhelming. You had to maintain control, but the way he was looking at you, the desperation on his face, it was starting to make your resolve slip. You could feel your own breath quicken, the tension rising, but just as you opened your mouth to say something, Rafayel made his move.

With a sudden shift, his hands were at your shirt, undoing it with a speed you weren’t prepared for. His fingers were sure, eager—almost frantic—as he peeled the fabric from your body. Before you could even react, his own shirt was gone too, his chest exposed, the scales on his skin shimmering under the dim light.

He was bare now, his body trembling slightly from the fever, but his expression was anything but weak. It was raw, hungry—unashamed. His chest rose and fell rapidly, a desperate fire in his eyes as he leaned in, hands roaming over you, pulling you in closer.

The moment was slipping away from you, and for a heartbeat, you let yourself feel it—the heat, the pull between you both, the need so palpable it was almost suffocating.

But just as quickly, your mind sharpened again. You had to pull back. You had to stay in control.

“Rafayel…” you breathed, voice shaking slightly, but firm. "Not yet."

But as you tried to regain that distance, his hands slid down your sides, pulling you closer as he groaned low, his lips already at your neck. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling, raw, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. "I need you..."

“I know—I know, baby, just…” You half-joked, the words leaving your lips breathlessly as you pulled away just slightly, feeling the tension between you rise and fall like an unsteady wave. “We can’t do much on this couch.”

You blew a weak, cool breath toward his face, hoping to ease the heat radiating off of him, but the air was barely enough to touch his flushed skin. His eyes fluttered for a moment, a tremor running through his body as he leaned in closer, not satisfied by the brief space between you. His hands were still gripping at you, searching for more—more of your skin, more of your touch, more of anything to soothe the ache.

His lips parted, breath warm against your cheek as he groaned. “Then let’s move,” he muttered, more demand than suggestion.

You could feel the tug of temptation, the pull of his need, but you held onto that sliver of control. "Easy, Rafayel," you warned softly, your hand pressing lightly against his chest to hold him back just a fraction, just enough to catch your breath. "We need to take it slow, alright?"

He groaned, head tilting back in frustration, his legs twitching with impatience. "You're killing me," he rasped, the fire in his eyes still burning bright, but there was a flicker of understanding there too. He wasn’t ready to let go, but he was starting to grasp that you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

“I’ll be good,” he promised, voice hoarse, still desperate, but laced with that same vulnerability you’d seen earlier. "Just—just please."

Fuck.

You heard the frustration in his voice, and despite the resolve you had to keep the reins in your hands, something about the way he said “just—just please” got to you. The vulnerability, the desperation—it was hard to resist. He had let his guard down, just for a moment, and you could see it.

"Fine," you breathed out in exasperation, your voice a mix of teasing and concession.

His eyes flashed with that dangerous, hungry gleam again, and before you knew it, he was pulling you back into him, more assertive now. His lips found yours, urgent and demanding, and there was no more hesitation, no more games. The heat between you was undeniable, and you could feel the way he melted into the kiss, pressing into you like he had to, like he couldn’t wait any longer. You pushed him down further into the couch, your hands sliding over his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin under your touch. The shift in position only heightened the tension, your body pressing into his, the sensation of him beneath you intoxicating. There was no room for restraint now—only the raw, unspoken need that hung in the air.

Breaking the kiss, you trailed your lips to his neck, tasting the salty warmth of his skin. His breath hitched as your mouth brushed against the sensitive spot just below his ear, and he groaned, his hands tightening around you, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t get enough.

"Gods…" His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with need. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his body arching into yours as you continued to explore the curve of his neck with your lips.

You grasp his chin with your index and thumb, tilting his head to give him a quick peck before grasping his arm. Your fingers traced the heat of his skin, gliding up his arm with slow, deliberate intent before finding his hand. His grip was tight, almost instinctual, like he was afraid you'd slip away if he didn’t hold on. But instead of pulling, instead of giving in to the urgency that burned between you both, you laced your fingers with his, grounding him.

Lifting his hand, you pressed a soft kiss to the back of his palm. It was a contrast to the heat of everything else—gentle, reverent, like you were reminding him that he was yours, that he didn't have to chase or beg for what you were already giving.

Rafayel let out a shaky breath, his body shuddering beneath you. His free hand curled around your waist, squeezing as if he could hold onto the moment, as if he needed something solid to keep himself from unraveling completely. His eyes, hazy and desperate, searched yours.

"You’re so unfair," he murmured, voice hoarse, breathless.

You only smirked, pressing another kiss to his knuckles before whispering, “I never said this would be easy, baby.”

You let go of his hand, watching the way his fingers twitched in the empty space where yours had been. Then, slowly, deliberately, you adjusted yourself, shifting your weight until you were fully straddling his hips. His breath hitched as your hands found his chest, palms pressing against the warmth of his skin, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your fingertips.

Rafayel looked up at you, lips parted, his iridescent eyes blown wide with something between frustration and helpless want. His legs curled against the couch, twitching, betraying just how much restraint he was holding onto—if he was holding onto any at all.

You tilted your head, dragging your thumbs over his collarbones, watching the way his body responded to even the smallest touch. “You’re burning up,” you murmured, voice teasing, though there was genuine concern beneath it.

He swallowed hard, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you, but he was waiting—waiting to see what you would allow. “Then help me,” he pleaded, voice thick, almost desperate.

You leaned in, just enough so your lips hovered above his, just enough for him to feel your breath against his skin. “Patience, baby.” You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, reveling in the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

A frustrated groan rumbled from his throat, his head pressing back into the couch. “You’re torturing me,” he muttered.

You chuckled, the sound light and teasing as you watched his scowl deepen. “Always so dramatic, fish-for-brains.”

His grip tightened on the zipper of your hoodie, yanking it down with more force than necessary. “I’m not dramatic,” he grumbled, though the slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

You arched a brow, amused. “Really? Because you sound like you’re one second away from throwing a tantrum.”

He huffed, pushing the hoodie off your shoulders with an impatient tug, his hands lingering against your arms, warm and just a little unsteady. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “A little bit.”

Rafayel rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his breath stuttered when your hands slid back up his chest, nails grazing his skin. He was trying so hard to play it cool, but you could feel the tension in his body, see the way his tail flicked against the couch in restless anticipation.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw, barely touching, just enough to make him chase the contact. “You’re cute when you pout,” you murmured.

His hands tightened on your waist, his voice lower now, almost a growl. “Keep testing me.”

You giggled at his half-hearted threat, feeling the way his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your clothes, warm and greedy. He wasted no time, fingers splaying against your sides, tracing up your back, like he needed to touch everything at once. Pushing him down harder, guiding his body to really settle into the couch, feeling the weight of him beneath you, the heat from his skin searing through the thin barrier of clothing between you. Your hands slid over his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath the smoothness of his skin, pressing yourself into him now, just as desperate.

Rafayel’s hands immediately found their place against your back, pulling you closer, fingers digging into your flesh, but you held control.

You trailed your lips down his jawline, then to his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, the warmth, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath your lips. You could hear the hitch in his breath, the subtle shiver that ran through him as you nipped gently at the sensitive skin of his neck. His hands gripped your hips harder, trying to pull you even closer, but you refused to give him that.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, shifting slightly in his lap just to hear the sharp inhale he tried—and failed—to suppress.

Rafayel’s grip tightened, his nails lightly dragging against your skin. “You started this,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as if that would hide the way he was practically trembling beneath you.

You hummed, your fingers threading through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Mmm, did I?” He groaned, frustrated, before nipping playfully at your shoulder in retaliation. “You know you did.” You laughed, letting him tug your hoodie the rest of the way off, his touch growing more eager, more desperate, as he worked on whatever layers remained between you.

Sliding his hands under your shirt, his fingers worked with practiced ease, undoing the clasps of your bra beneath your shirt as if he’d done it a hundred times before. But just as he started to slide the straps down, you caught his wrists, stopping him in his tracks.

Rafayel blinked up at you, startled, his pupils blown wide with need. “What—” His voice was rough, breathless.

You released his wrists, the subtle tension easing as you slowly took off your hoodie, then your shirt, letting the fabric fall to the floor. The movement was deliberate, giving him just enough time to fully appreciate the shift before you leaned back in, watching him watch you, your gaze daring him to speak, to move.

Rafayel’s breath caught, his eyes flicking between you and the space where his hands had been moments ago. He didn't say anything, just a low, desperate sound escaping him as his gaze heated further, taking in every inch of you like he couldn't quite believe it.

You gave him the smallest, teasing smile. "Easier for you now."

The sound that escaped him—low and almost reverent—made your pulse quicken. His hands came to rest against your chest, flat and careful, like he was in awe of the way you felt under his touch. The tension between you, that delicate balance of wanting and restraint, hummed in the air.

"Gods…" His voice was soft, a little shaky, as if he couldn't quite believe this moment. His thumbs gently brushed over your skin, tracing the lines of your chest with a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine.

You held his gaze, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips, teasing him, but inside, there was a soft warmth that you couldn’t quite ignore.

"Careful," you warned softly, your breath catching slightly. "I might get used to you looking at me like that."

His hands faltered. "N-no, no, I want you to get used to it- please, if you’ll let me,"

His words were desperate, trembling with an intensity that made your chest tighten. The raw vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at you like he was begging for permission to do more, hit you in a way you weren't expecting.

His hands remained on you, tender yet needy, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. “I want you to get used to it,” he repeated, his voice rough, pleading. “Please, if you’ll let me…”

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity of everything building as his eyes locked onto yours, as though this moment was something more—something deeper—than just the heat between you.

There was no teasing, no games now. Just a raw, open honesty that left you breathless.

“You’re not as good at hiding what you want as you think,” you murmured, voice soft but laced with the heat of the moment.

His words were soft, but there was a tremor in them—vulnerable, unguarded, like he was afraid of the answer. His gaze searched yours, intense and almost desperate for reassurance.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to hide nothin’.” His voice had a quiet edge, a mix of frustration and something deeper. “You... you said I was beautiful… did you mean it?”

You could see the way his throat worked, the way his body seemed to hold itself back, waiting for your response. His question felt so much more than just a passing curiosity—it felt like he was seeking something from you. For a moment, you just looked at him, taking in the way he trembled beneath you, the earnestness in his voice. The way he needed to hear it again, needed to feel validated in a way that went beyond just the physical.

You let your fingers brush gently across his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw as you gazed into his eyes. “I meant it,” you whispered, your voice soft, but full of the sincerity he needed to hear. “You’re gorgeous, Rafayel.”

His breath hitched at your words, his eyes darkening, but there was something different this time. The need had shifted, the hunger now mingled with something deeper—something more emotional.

***

The cool air from the A.C. blasted over your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from both of you. The scene was almost surreal—the hum of the air, the mess of tangled sheets, and the feeling of Rafayel beneath you, his body taut with anticipation, but still yielding, soft to your touch.

You weren’t sure exactly how you got here. It was all a blur of sensations—his hands on you, the heat of his body, his desperate kisses—and now you found yourself in your bed, his breath ragged as your teeth sank into the soft skin of his neck. His back arched up to meet you, responding to your touch with an almost frantic need.

You could feel the pulse of his heart beneath your lips, the way he shuddered every time your teeth made contact, leaving behind dark, angry love bites that were sure to last. He moaned, a low, guttural sound, as if he couldn’t get close enough, as if he needed more.

His legs were tangled with yours, bodies pressed so close that it was impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. You were so absorbed in him—his scent, his warmth, the way he writhed beneath you

Rafayel groaned, the sound deep and guttural, as your tongue traced over the sensitive mark you'd left on his neck, his hips bucking upward in response. His skin was hot, slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your hands as your fingers splayed across his bare chest.

You could feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, the tension in his body only building as you met his hips with yours, the sensation of him pressing up into you sending a jolt through your own body. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth parted as he gasped for air, his grip on the sheets tight as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

Rafayel's breath hitched at the nickname, the teasing tone in your voice cutting through the haze of heat that clouded his mind. His body twitched beneath yours, his chest rising as your hands kneaded his skin with gentle insistence.

"Careful now, fishie baby," you murmured, lips pressing to the bite you had left on his neck, a soft kiss that made him shudder in response. He closed his eyes, a soft groan slipping from his throat as your hands worked over his chest.

“Don’t,” he panted, his fingers curling into the sheets beside him, but his voice was soft, almost pleading. “You know I can’t... I can’t control—”

He stopped mid-sentence as your hips rocked against his, making him forget whatever he was about to say. Instead, his breath hitched, and his back arched up again, trying to meet your movements.

“You can control it,” you whispered, lips curving against his skin as you kissed him again. The teasing, the soft touches, the way you knew just what buttons to press—it was intoxicating. “But you just don’t want to.”

His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh with urgency, as if trying to pull you closer, desperate for more. The heat between you both was almost unbearable, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he ached for you.

You hummed in approval, your lips brushing his as your hands moved to trace the line of his jaw, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse under your fingertips. The way he was holding you, the way his body responded to every small movement, made the air feel thick with anticipation.

He was right on the edge, barely hanging on, and you could feel the way his muscles tensed, his breath hitching with each passing second. "I know you want more," you whispered, your voice low and teasing, knowing how badly he needed you to push him further.

But you held back just long enough to let the tension build, feeling his frustration mix with the desire in the air, until he couldn't take it any longer.

You kissed down his body, the sensation of your lips trailing over his skin sending a shiver through him. Each kiss, each gentle brush of your lips, left him breathless, his body taut beneath you. When you reached his chest, you paused for a moment, taking in the way his muscles twitched under your touch, the way his breath quickened.

He moaned softly as your lips pressed to the sensitive skin there, your hands sliding along his ribs, feeling the heat radiating off of him. His fingers found your hair, tangling in it as he pulled you closer, desperate for more of that touch, that connection.

The air was thick with the unspoken tension between you both, and as your lips moved lower, he let out a strangled gasp, his back arching into you again, searching for the next wave of sensation. He was completely undone, lost in the feeling of your touch, and you couldn’t help but smile at the power you had over him.

Rafayel’s nipples were a pretty shade of pink, his areolas and the buds formerly puffy- you had made sure of that with your teasing groping and kneading, taking them between your fingers and teasing them. You take a nipple into your mouth, tongue flicking over it as it stiffens impossibly more, peeking against your wet muscle, your free hand going to play with his other nipple, giving both attention., Biting it softly, you tug on it before sucking it. He mewls, throwing an arm over his eyes. The sound of his whine, soft and desperate, sent a shiver through you, making your heart race. His body tensed beneath you, every nerve alive with anticipation, and the vulnerability in his voice made it impossible to ignore how much he needed you.

“S’good- ah, Miss Bodyguard, mm,” Rafayel’s voice was shaky, lip quivering in want.

You paused for a moment, looking up at him through your lashes, your lips still hovering just above his skin. His chest rose and fell quickly, eyes locked on you after he lifted his arm with a mix of longing and something deeper—something more desperate.

"What's wrong?" you teased softly, your voice low and almost playful as you brushed your fingers over his skin, just enough to make him ache, but not enough to give him what he wanted. His whine only grew louder, more pleading.

He shifted beneath you, hands tugging at your hair again, trying to pull you closer, his breath ragged. "Please," he gasped, voice cracking slightly. "Please, don't tease... not now."

“Mmm….but what about what I want?”

His breath stuttered at your words, the weight of them settling over him like a slow burn. He lifted his head, eyes dark with need, lips parted in a silent plea for you to understand. His hands grab at you, and they tighten around your wrists, pulling you just a little closer but not enough to get what he wants. His body, still so tense and aching beneath you, was desperate to meet yours in every way, and yet, he couldn't quite push forward.

"Anything," he whispered, voice raw. "I’ll do anything, just—" He cut himself off, unable to finish the sentence, the frustration evident in his eyes.

"You'll do anything?" you whispered, your voice teasing, almost mocking. "What if I want you to wait?"

His plea came out in a rush, his voice thick with frustration and need, like a confession he couldn't keep in any longer. His hands clenched tighter around your wrists, pulling you even closer, his body pressing up against yours as though he couldn’t wait another second. The vulnerability in his eyes, the desperation in his voice—it was almost too much to resist.

"Please," he repeated, his words shaky, his breath shallow. "I can't take it... not like this." His lips parted, the tension in his body making every word sound almost like a plea for mercy.

You really couldn’t deny him. Not when he looked at you like that—eyes blown wide, lips parted, body trembling beneath you as he clung to your wrists like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

A shaky breath left your lips as you finally, finally gave in, pressing yourself flush against him, your fingers threading into his hair. His whole body shuddered, his grip on you tightening as if afraid you might pull away again.

"Alright, fishie baby," you murmured against his lips, the teasing lilt in your voice softened by the warmth in your gaze. "I'll give you what you want."

And with that, you closed the space between you, letting him have everything.

So you sit up- just a little over him now, and look at his aching dick.

Because fuck. Even his dick was pretty. You’d have to take a mental note to really admire it later. A grower, but still. It wasn’t like it was hard to get him up. Lining him up with you was easy enough, but sinking down on him?

His tip was flushed, crying. A pearl of pre building up, like he was just seconds away from just coming undone and you hadn’t even done anything except tease him and make out.

It was adorable, really.

So you don’t put it in.

Because fuck that.

Scooting down albeit a little awkwardly, you lay on his thighs, looking at him cheekily. Rafayel’s eyes meet yours, and he swallows thickly.

“Silly Rafayel- I think we’re on a first-name basis by now, wouldn’t you agree?” “I…”

You kiss his tip, and he gasps, arching his back off of the couch. “F-uck!”

And how cruel of you, to just grin, pressing your hand down on the soft of his stomach, forcing him to lay down, to hold back his twitching as you tease his dick with your licks and kisses.

He lets out a sharp gasp, his head knocking back against the pillow as your palm presses firm against his stomach, grounding him. His body jerks, instinctively trying to follow every sensation, but you don’t allow it.

“Stay still,” you murmur, voice low and commanding, watching the way he shivers beneath you. His breath is ragged, his chest rising and falling in frantic, uneven movements as he stares down at you with wide, desperate eyes.

“I—I’m trying,” he whimpers, his fingers twitching against the sheets, like he doesn’t know whether to grab onto you or tear them apart.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach, watching as his muscles jump under your touch. “Trying isn’t doing, fishie.”

Rafayel whines, head tilting to the side, but he obeys—barely. His tail thrashes behind him, his fingers gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles pale, his whole body trembling with the effort of not moving, of letting you take control.

“Good boy,” you praise, and the way he shudders—gods, it’s almost enough to make you lose your patience. Almost.

Taking him into your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, letting out a moan as your spit all but covers his shaft.

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck- I’m, o-oh!”

You had started to pump him in your hand as you worshiped his tip, the sounds of squelching skin too much for his red ears to bear.

“Y/n- oh, g-Y/n, mm-ah!”

A mess. A nasty, lewd, beautiful mess.

Rafayel was trembling, panting, his skin glistening with sweat, his body writhing despite his best efforts to obey. His hands fisted in the sheets, his knuckles turning white as he tried, tried so hard to stay still like you told him. But the pleasure was too much—too overwhelming, too intoxicating—and he was losing himself to it, drowning in sensation.

His chest heaved with every ragged breath, his lips parted, wet and swollen from all his whimpering and moaning. His lavender hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, his legs twitching and thrumming, seeking something to hold onto, anything to ground him.

"P-please," he choked out, his voice cracking, desperate, needy. His body arched again, barely able to contain himself, his fingers twitching like they wanted to grab you, to pull you closer, to make you move faster.

But you pull off of his dick completely, your lips connected to him with a string of spit before you wipe it off with the back of your hand. You grab his tip again, pressing your thumb into the pretty slit as you look at him. “God, I just wanna eat you up when you’re like this. Can I? Can you beg f’me pretty boy? C’mon, beg f’me.”

And now the Lemurian is just reduced to nothing but his own spit and tears, his cock pitifully hard and angry as he helplessly tried to get some kind of friction. But Rafayel wouldn’t beg anymore, oh no. He had said ‘please’ far too many times for his tastes.

But when he reached to grab his length to give himself some semblance of relief, he cried out; you had swatted his hand away.

“Gods- what the he- mmph!”

You were quick to fix yourself over him, delighting in the way his breath hitched.

The plummet was a slow one.

Whether to tease him or to enjoy yourself, you didn’t know. Maybe both. His angry tip kissed your folds, and that alone had him squirming- as if he wasn’t already, though.

“Steady, Raf’. Be a good boy, yeah?” “I- y-yeah, yeah, I’m a good boy,”

He of course, would never in the right state of mind call himself that, but god did he need it. So you sink down, gasping as he fills you up, the odd ridges of his cock against your walls making you nearly melt. Because how.

It’s like the fish-for-brain’s dick was designed to fill you. What could you compare it to….

It wasn’t fat or anything, not super super long..-

A knot? Yeah. But not exactly.

As soon as you bottomed out, he threw his head back, gasping like it was too much. Okay, it was too much. But you’re helping him!

“Fuck- are all Lemurians like this, pretty boy?”

He doesn’t answer, his grip on the fat of your hips almost bruising. You start to move, rolling your hips to really get that motion

Up and down, up and down, up and down. His eyes were bleary, pretty and swollen from his tears, the pink almost matching his sore nipples. He’s grabbing onto you anywhere he could- your thighs, your tummy, your chest, your hips or waist… he just couldn’t ground himself!

“Y/n, oh gods, please, please- more-” You don’t answer, suddenly too focused on reaching a high, pretty lips forming a cute lil ‘o’ in surprise.

Your surprise gives way to him finally able to take some semblance of control, hips bucking up into you like a wild animal. He kinda was a wild animal.

“I-i need to- I’m sorry, ‘m sorry cutie, ‘m sorry miss body guard, ‘m sorry Y/-”

Your lips slam onto his again in a teeth-clashing kiss, letting him chase his high too as it suddenly dawned on you that you weren’t gonna last like you thought you would. The sound of skin slapping on skin, the lewd squelches, and fuck, the taste of him- it was simply too much!

Sucking his tongue, he mewls into your mouth, and you swallow his pretty moans.

And you both come early. There was no warning, or no warning you paid attention to, when he suddenly started bucking his hips faster, his cock dragging and kissin’, dragging and kissin’ all along your pretty pussy walls and shooting straight to your womb.

“Rafayel- mmph!”

It happens fast, how he flips you over to be the one laying on your back, hovering over you while he cries pathetically about how sorry he was for finishing inside, kissing your forehead, gasping for breath before ultimately falling over you, collapsing.

***

The room is quiet now, save for the low hum of the A.C. and the steady rhythm of Rafayel’s breathing. His body is slack against the sheets, his chest rising and falling in the aftermath, completely spent. His lavender hair is a tousled mess against the pillow, damp strands sticking to his flushed skin.

You huff out a breath, watching him. He’s knocked out, utterly exhausted—but at least his ache has been alleviated. Finally.

Rolling onto your side, you brush a few strands of hair away from his face. He looks peaceful now, the tension that had wracked his body completely melted away.

You let out a soft chuckle, pressing a fleeting kiss to his temple before stretching out with a satisfied sigh.

You’d let him sleep.

Gods know he needed it.

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