#keep the boy away from the cutlery

[spidermilkshake]

Nagito merboy... and the pufferfish, wondering what the hell is going on with this noticeably-deranged kiddo just ogglin' and pokin', like there's no tetradotoxin around.

XD Nagito I appreciate as a character, but unlike most of my beloved Dongusrongus students I don't think I'd much enjoy meeting the dude. Especially not during Has-Creepy-Arm times. His primary traits are "way too willing to commit murder", "manic-depressive rambling about Hope(TM)", "bending over to pick up change on the ground exactly as the train derails and shoots right over him", and "following the more patient classmates around like a puppy with a vaguely Benadryl-stoned expression". XD I suppose there's a charm to that.

[eclipixels]

Afterglow

Character: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Hyoma Chigiri, Rin Itoshi, Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage, Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser

Content: Blue Lock boys after pound town (tiktok trend)

A/N: A request from my one of my fav moots @captainshindo <3

Warnings: Mentions of sex

     Yoichi Isagi

     You’re sitting across from Isagi in a quiet corner of a late-night restaurant, the hum of low conversations and clinking cutlery filling the space around you. The air is thick with the scent of grilled meat and spices, but all you can focus on is him—slouched in his seat, eyelids heavy, hair still slightly damp from the sweat of what you’d done barely an hour ago.

     He looks exhausted.

     The kind of exhaustion that settles in your bones after giving everything—after pushing, pulling, and losing yourself completely in someone else. His navy-blue hoodie hangs loosely on his frame, collar stretched just enough to reveal the faintest trace of teeth marks near his collarbone, evidence of the way your lips had claimed him. He probably hasn’t noticed, too busy fighting the drowsiness that keeps dragging his head downward, only for him to snap back up again when his chin nearly meets his chest.

     “You look like you’re about to pass out,” you murmur, stirring your drink with a straw, amusement curling at your lips.

     He blinks at you, dazed, as if only now remembering where he is.

     “I’m fine,” he says, though the hoarseness in his voice betrays him. He shifts in his seat, one hand lazily rubbing at his face before reaching for the glass of water in front of him. His fingers fumble slightly, like even the effort of picking it up is too much.

     You bite back a grin. “You sure? You look like you had the life drained out of you.”

     At that, a slow, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I kinda did,” he admits, voice dipping into something softer, something just for you. He leans back, stretching his legs under the table until his foot nudges against yours. “Not that I’m complaining.”

     Your face heats up at his words, but you roll your eyes to cover it. “Eat something before you actually collapse.”

     He groans but picks up his fork, obedient for once. You watch as he takes a bite, chewing slowly, his gaze flickering to you in between. There’s a quiet intimacy in this shared space, the remnants of passion still lingering between you, woven into the way his shoulders relax and the way his foot stays pressed lightly against yours.

     Yeah, he’s tired. But he’s here, with you. And there’s something about that that makes your chest feel warm, like the afterglow hasn’t quite faded yet.

     The waiter approaches, setting down a plate of food in front of you both. Isagi lazily thanks him before turning his attention back to you. You notice the way his fingers grip the fork with a little more steadiness now, the small bites he takes as he refuels his drained body. The sight makes you bite back a smirk, he really had no energy left to spare after earlier.

     “You’re staring,” he says between bites, eyes flicking up to yours.

     “So?” you challenge, resting your chin on your hand.

     He swallows, setting his fork down just long enough to rub a hand over his face again. “So, it’s distracting.”

     You raise an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “Distracting from what? Chewing?”

     “Yes,” he mutters, the confession dragging a laugh out of you.

     “Just admit I wore you out,” you tease, nudging his foot beneath the table.

     He exhales a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking his head. “You already know you did, love.”

     The admission hangs in the air between you, making your stomach flip. He doesn’t shy away from it, doesn’t try to cover it up with some cocky remark. He’s just… honest. Open. Your heart does something stupid in your chest, and you quickly focus on your food to keep from letting it show too much.

     “God, what was I even thinking of letting you ride? You nearly killed me,” he sighed dramatically.

     “Oh, but you enjoyed it,” you teased, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

     He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hm, well… I might just let you do it again.”

     “Oh?” you smirked, leaning in a little closer, intrigued by his sudden change of heart.

     “Yeah,” he nodded, “but only after my soul finds its way back into my body,” he joked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

     You catch him stifling a yawn behind his hand, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a quiet chuckle. Then he lets out another yawn, barely covering it with his hand. “I think I’m gonna just pass out here. Wake me up when it’s sunset, yeah?”

     You snort, flicking a stray napkin at him. “Not happening. I’m not carrying your heavy ass home.”

     “You could try,” he mumbles sleepily, already slouching further into his seat.

     You shake your head, watching as his head starts to dip again. “Fine, but if you snore, I’m filming it.”

     Meguru Bachira

     The restaurant is dimly lit, buzzing with soft chatter and the occasional clatter of dishes. You sit across from Bachira, who is currently melting into the booth like a man who’s just ran a marathon. His cheek is squished against the cushioned backrest, golden eyes barely open as he stares at the menu, though judging by the way his pupils aren’t even tracking the words, you highly doubt he’s actually reading it.

     He lets out a long, dramatic sigh and slouches even further, which you thought was physically impossible until now. “M’too tired to read. You pick.” His voice is thick with exhaustion, slow and slurred like he’s seconds from passing out on the table.

     You scoff, flipping through the laminated pages. “You’re the one who insisted on coming here.”

     “Didn’t think you’d drain my stamina that much before we got here.” he mumbles, stretching his legs under the table until his foot nudges yours.

     You roll your eyes, pretending not to feel the warmth creeping up your neck. “Quit being dramatic, you’re acting like you just did a whole workout.”

     “I did,” he insists, lifting his head just enough to look at you before flopping back down. “A very, very intense one.”

     “You sound proud.”

     He grins, not even denying it. “Well, yeah.” Then, he waves his hand. “Give me your hand.”

     You arch an eyebrow, but give in, letting him lazily play with your fingers. His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your knuckles, his touch featherlight, but there’s a sort of intimacy to it that makes your stomach do an embarrassing little flip.

     “You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

     He pouts. “You love it.”

     You do. But you’re not about to give him that satisfaction out loud, so you just shake your head instead.

     The waiter comes by, eyeing Bachira with slight concern, probably wondering if they need to call emergency services for the half-conscious man draped over the table like he’s just fought for his life. Bachira somehow musters enough energy to order something simple, though you’re pretty sure he just pointed at a random item on the menu. The moment the waiter leaves, he groans and drops his forehead against the back of your hand, exhaling loudly.

     “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

     “Mmm,” he hums, muffled against your skin. “No promises.”

     You sigh, but your other hand moves on its own, fingers combing through his damp hair, still messy from earlier. He exhales again, this time with a content little sound that makes you freeze because oh no, that was cute.

     “You’re so spoiled,” you mutter.

     He cracks an eye open, smirking. “By you? Yeah.”

     You smack his forehead lightly, and he laughs, though it quickly turns into a yawn.

     It doesn’t take long before the food arrives, and you thank the waiter while Bachira blinks at his plate like he’s not sure what it is or how it got there. He picks up his fork, twirls it between his fingers, then—

     —immediately drops it with a clatter, staring at his own hand in betrayal.

     “Honey,” he says gravely. “I can’t hold things.”

     You stare at him. “What.”

     “My arms are dead. My fingers? Jelly.” He lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers dramatically. “Look at this. I have no grip strength left.”

     “Oh my god.” You stare in disbelief.

     “This is your fault.” He insists, and your mind wanders back to how he worked you with his hands for what felt like hours before you got here. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands at the thought. You broke your man. All for an orgasm. They were great orgasms but still.

     “Do you want me to feed you?” You offer, feeling slightly guilty.

     He gasps. “Would you?”

     You were joking, but now that you see the way his eyes are lighting up, you realize you’ve made a mistake.

     Before you can retract your words, he’s already leaning forward, mouth slightly open, waiting.

     “…I regret everything.”

     “C’mon,” he sing-songs, grinning like an idiot. “Say ‘ahhh’ for me first so I don’t feel weird about it.”

     You grab a fry off your plate and shove it into his mouth to shut him up. He hums happily, chewing like a satisfied child.

     “This is amazing,” he sighs, slumping even further against the booth. “I should let you ruin my stamina more often.”

     You nearly choke on your own food at what he said. You grab a napkin and dramatically press it against your forehead like a distressed Victorian widow. “I can’t do this.”

     “Yes, you can.” He nudges your knee with his foot again. “You love taking care of me.”

     “Debatable.”

     “You’re still feeding me.”

     Ugh, he’s right.

     He grins triumphantly, but it’s quickly interrupted by another yawn. His eyes are drooping again, and you can already tell he’s not going to last much longer.

     “Meguru, if you fall asleep in your food, I will take pictures.”

     He waves a lazy hand. “That’s fine, just make sure you get my good angles.”

     You stare at him in disbelief before shaking your head, picking up another fry to pop into his mouth before he actually does pass out. Yeah. He’s definitely not making it through this meal awake. You place a chaste kiss on his cheek as he snores.

     And honestly? You don’t mind.

     Hyoma Chigiri

     You’re sitting across from Chigiri in a quiet corner of a late-night restaurant, the air rich with the scent of sizzling meat and freshly baked bread. The dim lighting casts a soft glow over the table, reflecting off his crimson hair, which is slightly disheveled—strands sticking to his damp skin, the aftermath of everything you’d put him through just an hour ago.

     He looks done.

     Not just tired—wrecked. Like he’s been through a battle and barely made it out alive. His normally graceful posture is completely gone; he’s slumped in his chair, arms sprawled across the table like he physically can’t hold himself up anymore. His long legs stretch out beneath the table, one foot lazily nudging yours as if he can’t even muster the energy for a proper kick.

     “You good over there?” you ask, taking a slow sip of your drink, watching him with thinly veiled amusement.

     He exhales, blinking at you like you’ve just pulled him out of a deep trance. “I think you ruined me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

     You smirk. “You’re acting like I made you run sprints for three hours straight.”

     Chigiri groans, dragging a hand down his face. “That would’ve been easier.”

     You chuckle, setting your glass down with a quiet clink. "Oh? Are you saying I’m worse than your training regimen?"

     Chigiri gives you a deadpan look, but there’s the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I’m saying I might need a recovery period before I can walk properly again."

     You hum in mock consideration, reaching for a fry from the basket between you. "There’s a reason why you stretch before doing stuff. Maybe you should’ve done that"

     His ears flush pink, and he exhales sharply, shaking his head. A smirk falls on his lips as he sends you a look. A look that got you two here in the first place.

     “Is that why you’re doing alright? Because I stretched you out so good?”

     Now it’s your turn to be flustered. “H-Hyoma!”

     Well, you can’t deny it. You stammer as he lazily steals one of your fries, though it takes considerable effort, his hand moving slower than usual. You watch as he chews, blinking like he’s on the verge of passing out right then and there.

     The restaurant hums around you, the low murmur of conversations blending with the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen. Outside, the neon lights of the city flicker against the glass windows, casting a soft glow over Chigiri’s already exhausted face.

     He stares at his drink for a long moment before frowning. He groans again, tilting his head back against the seat. "I’m not sure I have it in me to get up."

     “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before bending me over.” You shrugged, a sly grin on your face as you sipped on your drip.

     "I hate you."

     "That’s not what you were saying earlier.” You tease, “Should I jog your memory again?”

     "Again?" he nearly shouted. "I don't think I can handle that for a while. Give me three to five business days."

     “Yeah right, I give it less than twenty-four hours before you’re begging me to let you do me.”

     His lips part like he wants to argue, but all he does is sigh, shoulders sinking further into his seat. He doesn't need to say it—you both know the truth. Instead, he rubs his thumb over your hand, lazy and affectionate, before stealing another fry.

     Rin Itoshi

     You sit across from Rin at the dimly lit restaurant. Your legs feel weak, a pleasant ache lingering in your thighs, but it's nothing compared to the exhaustion practically radiating off Rin.

     His teal eyes are half-lidded, and his usually sharp expression is softened by fatigue. He leans against his hand, fingers buried in his dark hair, as he stares at the menu like it’s some unsolvable puzzle. Every now and then, his gaze flickers toward you, as if blaming you for his current state.

     “What?” You blink at him stupidly.

     Rin exhales through his nose, not dignifying you with a response. Instead, he lets his head rest against the back of the booth, eyes closing for a moment. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, controlled, but you can tell that he’s drained. You did that. Hehe. Wait, oh my god, you did that to him. The thought makes warmth creep up your spine.

     “Maybe you should’ve paced yourself,” you tease, flipping through your own menu. “Not my fault you can’t handle a few rounds.”

     His eyes snap open, irritation flickering across his face, but there’s no real malice behind it. Just a grudging kind of admiration, hidden beneath layers of stubbornness. “Shut up,” he mutters, voice rough, as if he’s still recovering.

     You bite back a laugh. It’s rare to see him like this—unguarded, spent, completely at your mercy in a way that isn’t physical but still intoxicating.

     The waiter arrives, and Rin straightens, but there’s a sluggishness to his movements. You order for yourself, then glance at him expectantly. He sighs before muttering something about just getting whatever you’re having.

     “Too tired to decide?” you hum, resting your chin on your palm.

     Rin glares, but it lacks its usual bite. “Too tired to deal with you,” he corrects, rubbing a hand down his face.

     You grin, satisfied, and reach for your glass of water. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

     And from the way Rin looks at you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, you know that’s exactly what it was.

     You glance over at him, your fingers tapping against your own glass. “So,” you start, breaking the quiet, “how was that game of yours today? You actually manage to score this time?”

     His eyes narrow slightly, but the smile on his lips is knowing. “Of course. Not that you’d understand the level of skill it requires.”

     You arch a brow, leaning forward a little. “Excuse me? I could totally play circles around you.”

     “Sure, you’d be great at running interference. ‘Oh no, I can’t block, I’m too cute, please don’t hurt me!’” he mocks you.

     Your eyes narrow, “You’re lucky I’m too tired to slap you.”

     Rin winces dramatically, then leans back with a smirk. “I don’t think you could handle me one-on-one. You’ve already proven you’re not great with stamina.”

     “Oh? You’re one to talk. Don’t make me remind you how well I can handle my stamina against yours.”

     Rin coughs, his face flushing slightly, but he recovers quickly. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

     “I’m insufferable? Is that why you were trench deep in me a few hours ago?” You smirk, taking another sip of your water.

     He scowls, but there’s a certain softness behind it. “That’s enough conversation, shut up. I’m exhausted.”

     “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to go for as long as you did.”

     Rin’s expression darkens with what could almost be called a glare, but it’s too tired to be truly threatening. “Don’t even start. Do you think you have more endurance than I do?”

     “Mhm, I would prove it to you again but,” You lean in a little closer, smirking. “I don’t think you can handle another round of me just yet.”

     “You talk a lot for someone who’s too tired to even sit up straight.”

     “Well, maybe I just enjoy teasing you.” You lean back.

     The waiter comes back, placing your food in front of you. You immediately dig in, savoring the taste. Rin follows suit, though he’s still slower than usual. You catch him glancing at your plate from the corner of your eye, a barely concealed hunger in his gaze.

     “Are you still hungry?”

     He looks up, and this time, his glare is sharper. “I’m not that weak.”

     You smile and slide your plate closer to him, just out of reach. “Sure you’re not.”

     Rin narrows his eyes at you, then at the plate. It’s clear he wants it, but his pride’s getting in the way. The tension is palpable as he debates internally, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “Just take it,” you say, amusement coloring your voice.

     He glances at you, his lips twitching into a grin. “Fine, I’ll take it, but only because I’m too tired to argue.”

     “Ah, see? You do know when to give in,” you say triumphantly, handing it over.

     “Don’t make me remind you how easily I can make you give in.” He threatens, but you hope it's a promise.

     Seishiro Nagi

     It’s a quiet evening at a small, intimate restaurant nestled between two towering buildings. The dim light casts a soft glow over the wooden tables and delicate plates of food. The quiet hum of conversations fills the air, but the two of you are wrapped in a peaceful bubble of exhaustion. You can still feel the lingering heat from earlier, the way his skin pressed against yours, the feeling of his hands tracing patterns along your body.

     Seishiro Nagi sits across from you, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he rubs at them lazily. His eyes flicker to you briefly, but they don’t seem to fully focus. There’s a soft, tired smile playing on his lips, the kind that lets you know he's content, but at the same time, it's clear he’s almost struggling to stay awake. You can’t help but chuckle softly at his state.

     "Hey, Seishiro..." you say, leaning across the table just enough to catch his attention. His eyelids flutter, and he blinks a couple of times, as if trying to summon the energy to keep them open.

     "Yeah?" His voice is hoarse, low, and barely audible. It’s clear that he’s fighting sleep, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

     “Are you okay?” You ask.

     “Mhm,” he replies, his voice raspy. "Just never had someone wear me out quite like you."

     Your heart skips a beat at his words. The casual tone in which he speaks holds a sincerity that’s hard to ignore. The two of you had just come from your apartment, tangled up in each other in ways that left you both breathless and sore, and now, here you are, in a cozy little restaurant, trying to gather yourselves.

     "Oh, um. You’re not falling asleep, are you?"

     He shakes his head slowly, but you can see the effort it takes to do even that. His eyelids slide shut for a brief moment, and you can practically hear the exhaustion in his sigh.

     "I'm fine," he mumbles. "Just... really sleepy..." His voice trails off as his head lulls slightly to the side, before he catches himself, blinking rapidly to stay alert. You watch him for a few seconds, amused, as he fights the pull of sleep.

     "You sure we should’ve come out to eat?" you ask. "I can’t help but feel like you’re about to face-plant into your food."

     "Maybe..." he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded. "But the food here’s good… 'sides, I want to be here with you."

     Your stomach fills with butterflies at that, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. Despite his exhaustion, he’s always thinking of you. He makes sure you’re okay, that you’re happy, even when his own energy is completely drained.

     “Okay, but next time, we’re definitely staying in,” you tease, leaning back in your chair. “You look like you could fall asleep any second.”

     He smiles lazily, not bothering to fight it. His head drops forward for a brief moment before he jerks back up. "Nah... I’m fine..." But even as he says it, you can hear the faint slurring in his words.

     You decide to let him off the hook. The waitress comes by with your food, and Nagi lifts his head slightly as she sets a steaming bowl of ramen in front of him. His eyes widen momentarily at the scent, but they immediately begin to droop again as he lets out another long yawn.

     "Ramen," he mutters to himself, poking the noodles half-heartedly with his chopsticks. “S'good, I’m sure. Just... I’m gonna... just eat a bit."

     You watch as he takes a few bites, each one slower than the last. His head sways a little as if he’s on the verge of tipping over, and you can’t help but feel a sense of endearment well up inside you. There’s something almost too cute about how he’s always so completely and unapologetically tired.

     "Seishiro," you say softly, reaching across the table to gently touch his arm. "C’mon, let’s just go home. You look like you need a nap more than food right now."

     He stirs a little at the mention of sleep, finally looking up at you with that same, sleepy smile. "No... I want to... eat it myself..." His voice barely rises above a whisper. But after a few more bites, his resolve crumbles.

     “Alright, alright," you say, moving your hand to cup his face. His cheek feels warm under your fingers, the soft skin giving way to the faintest stubble. "You should nap after though. You’ve earned it."

     You offer him a gentle smile, one that conveys everything you’re feeling. The tenderness, the affection, the adoration. He closes his eyes at that, his shoulders sinking further into the chair, his body going slack with exhaustion. A few seconds later, he’s practically dozing, his chopsticks still loosely clutched in his hand, hanging precariously near his bowl.

     It’s not long before you’re the one gently guiding his head to rest on your shoulder. He lets out a soft, content sigh, his body softening into you like a piece of clay, finally free from the constant pull of the world. You shift your arm around him, letting him lean into you as you pick at your food, savoring the flavors but most of your attention on the sleepy, warm figure next to you.

     "How do you always manage to make everything feel so peaceful?" you murmur to him, though he’s half-asleep and doesn’t respond. You don’t need him to. His quiet presence is enough.

     Reo Mikage

     The quiet hum of the restaurant surrounds you as you sit across from him, your heart still racing from the moments shared just hours ago. The dimly lit space feels cozy, and you can't help but grin at how relaxed Reo looks, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the weariness of the afternoon. Normally, he’s composed of confidence, like a guy who could tell you the meaning of life while simultaneously solving a Rubik's cube. But now? Now, he looks like someone who just tried to run a marathon, got distracted by an ice cream truck, and then took a nap halfway through.

     His posture is slouched, his shoulders are practically begging for a pillow, and his eyes are half-lidded with a satisfied haze that matches your own. There's no trace of his usual high-strung self. Instead, there’s a vulnerability in the way he lounges in his chair, as if the very concept of sitting upright is an effort.

     He runs a hand through his hair with slow deliberation. You smile, watching him. It's kind of adorable how tired he looks. You’ve always seen him as the guy who has everything under control, but right now? Right now, he’s more like a human noodle.

     The waiter places two glasses of water in front of you, his smile polite but with just a hint of curiosity, like they're trying to figure out if the two of you are on a first date or if something more... intimate... just went down. You can’t blame them. Reo looks like he might collapse into a puddle any second, and you’re still glowing like you’ve just won an Olympic medal in... well, let’s say “passionate hugging.”

     "Are you alright?" you ask softly, leaning forward just enough for him to hear you. His gaze flickers to meet yours, and a low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

     "Can’t believe you’re the one who’s asking me that," he murmurs, his voice rough in the way people sound when they’ve just done something that requires a lot of energy. "I’ve never been so tired in my life."

     You can’t help it. The laugh that escapes you is soft, affectionate, and a little too amused.

     "I don’t mind," you reply, your tone teasing. "I kind of like seeing you like this."

     He raises an eyebrow at that, lips curving into a slow smile, the glint in his eyes now a little more playful. He leans back in his chair like he’s got a question to ask, but it takes him an unusually long time to find the energy to do so.

     "I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried that you enjoy this version of me," he mutters, his hand dragging over his jaw like he’s thinking of adding a full-body stretch to the mix but ultimately decides against it.

     "You’re cute when you're tired," you say before your brain can catch up. The words slip out like they’re your new favorite outfit. Reo blinks at you for a moment, clearly processing the compliment like someone who’s just been told they’ve won the lottery. And honestly, with that tired smile spreading across his face, he kind of has.

     "Is that so?" His voice takes on a slightly deeper, amused tone, as he leans forward just enough that you can feel his presence press down on you. But not enough to touch. He’s definitely holding back, probably saving up that last bit of energy to make it through dinner without literally falling asleep mid-bite.

     "Yeah."

     "I’m not good at this," he suddenly says, his voice so quiet that it makes you lean in a little.

     You blink. "Not good at what?"

     "Being tired," he admits, his voice almost sheepish. "I’m always on the go, always thinking, always—" He stops, then laughs, like he’s just realized how absurd the whole thing sounds. "But right now, I don’t even have the energy to make a joke or flirt with you. I’m just... done."

     The confession hits you like a slap to the face. This is the Reo Mikage who can talk his way out of almost anything and charm the socks off anyone, yet here he is, admitting that he’s exhausted beyond cognition all because of you.

     You let out a laugh, not unkindly. "That’s actually kind of adorable, you know?"

     Reo sighs, his hand reaching up to rub his temples like he’s holding onto his last ounce of dignity. "I never thought I’d get to the point where I’m adorable when I’m barely functioning. This is new."

     "Okay, maybe next time we can take it slower." You reach across the table and place your hand over his. It’s a small gesture, but there’s something comforting about it. Reo’s gaze softens.

     "I’ll take you up on that," he murmurs, his voice laced with a new kind of tenderness. You were already thinking of next time? The thought made him ache between his legs.

     Reo is doing his best to keep his eyes open, but honestly, you can tell he’s fighting a losing battle. It’s like watching a cat try to stay awake, but eventually, it just gives in to the nap.

     "You’re going to pass out in a restaurant, Reo," you tease him softly, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.

     "I trust you’ll make sure I don’t embarrass myself."

     You smile fondly. "No promises."

     Reo doesn’t respond. His eyes have long since fluttered shut, and his head starts to tilt back. For now, the world can wait.

     Sae Itoshi

     It was a quiet evening, the soft hum of chatter from other diners filling the air, but you barely noticed it. Your mind was still swimming from the rush of what had happened only hours ago, the lingering weight of the experience heavy between you and Sae.

     The two of you had just finished a rather intense bout of passion in the privacy of your bedroom, and while the fire had simmered down, it had left behind a raw, comfortable silence that felt as thick as the air around you now. You sat across from each other at a small table by the window, Sae's face relaxed into something unfamiliar, softer perhaps, but still radiating that effortless cool. Yet, there was an unmistakable tiredness in his demeanor now, a contrast to the usual energy that typically buzzed off him.

     Sae had always been the type to dominate any room, but now, with his legs stretched out beneath the table, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his glass, there was an undeniable exhaustion in his posture. His usual confidence seemed to have slipped away, replaced with a rare vulnerability. You studied him for a moment, his sharp features softened from the wear of the day, the slight crease between his brows as if he was deep in thought or maybe just too tired to think at all.

     You smirked slightly, leaning forward against the table, meeting his eyes. "You alright?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. You knew him well enough to know when something wasn’t quite right. His body language wasn’t the usual effortless grace; it was more like someone who had just run a marathon, but at the same time, was reluctant to admit it.

     He turned his gaze towards you, blinking slowly as if your voice pulled him out of some trance. His eyes, usually sharp and intense, had softened into a haze of exhaustion, though there was still a playful glint in them.

     "Yeah," he muttered, his voice low and almost drawn out, "Just a little tired."

     "Oh? Is it from what we did earlier?" The teasing tone was unmistakable, but you couldn't help it. It had been wild. Sae had been insatiable earlier, his hands never still, his mouth hot against your skin, and his energy was something else entirely. He fucked you so deep and good into that matress you thought you we’re melting into it. But now, he was the one who seemed to need a rest.

     "Don't remind me," he groaned, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. His usual air of confidence had given way to something much more human, and that made him all the more fascinating. It was almost like he didn’t quite know how to handle it.

     The waiter arrived at the table, placing your drinks down with a soft clink of glass. Sae barely acknowledged the server, his eyes still closed, his fingers drumming lazily on the edge of his empty plate. You gave the waiter a polite smile before they left, focusing back on Sae.

     "You know, for someone who's so used to pushing limits," you said, leaning in just a little, "you sure look like you're ready to collapse."

     He opened one eye, "I could’ve kept going if I wanted to."

     You tilted your head, studying him as he let out a sigh, the way his broad shoulders sagged as if carrying an invisible weight. "You sure? You seem pretty out of it."

     "I don’t do ‘out of it’," he replied lazily, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. It was the kind of response you would have expected from him, but it lacked the bite it usually had.

     You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, unable to hide your amusement. "Yeah, sure."

     "You think I'm lying?" He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to yours with a hint of challenge, though the weariness behind it was impossible to ignore.

     You shrugged. "Yeah. You look like you’re about to pass out right on the spot.”

     "Yeah, well..." Sae trailed off, looking at you as if he were trying to decipher something. He reached out across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. "Guess you wore me out. But I can promise you, I could’ve kept going."

     "If you say so, Itoshi."

     "Don’t get too cocky now. You’re not the only one who can wear someone out. Should I remind you of what happened on your birthday?" There was still a playfulness there, but it wasn’t quite the same as before.

     “S-shut up…” You mutter curtly. Even remembering what happened on your birthday with Sae made your legs ache.

     But as you glanced up at him again, you noticed that his eyes were now closed. A little snore escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but snicker. Sae Itoshi, the unstoppable force, the man who never showed weakness, he was human after all. He could get tired. He could let himself rest. Even if it was slumping over in his chair at some random restaurant.

     "Well, I guess I really did wear you out," you whispered, resisting the urge to laugh out loud.

     Sae’s eyes fluttered open just enough to send you a sleepy glare. "I’m awake, don’t get cocky," he muttered, but the sleepy tone betrayed him.

     “Yes, sir." You teased, taking a sip of your water as you analyzed his features. Oh, how much you adored him.

     Michael Kaiser

     You lean back in your chair, trying not to giggle too loudly as you glance over at Michael, who’s sitting across from you, looking like he’s about to pass out at any given moment. His hair is disheveled, his shirt slightly untucked, and he’s giving you the most exaggerated, tired expression.

     “Are you okay?” you ask, leaning across the table with a soft smile. You trace the rim of your water glass with your fingertips, watching him as he lazily looks up at you.

     He blinks a few times, as though the question takes him by surprise. Then, as if processing your words, he lets out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

     “Yeah… I’m good,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, though you’re not sure if it’s from the aftereffects of your time together or just exhaustion. His gaze drifts to the menu, but it’s clear that he’s not really seeing it.

     “Did our earlier activities tire you out?” you muse, tapping your chin.

     “How could it not? I had you on that bed for hours.” He shook his head in disbelief at how you expected him to not be exhausted. “Only reason you’re fine is because I let you be pillow princess.”

     “Hey, I didn’t tell you to be so rough though, that was done in your own self indulgence.” You narrowed your eyes at him. How dare he try to blame you?

     Michael looks up, clearly attempting to muster some strength for a comeback, but all he manages is a weak smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/n,” he mutters under his breath.

     “Are you saying you don’t have it in you for another around?” you ask with a teasing tilt of your head. He stares at you like he’s about to say something, but then his shoulders droop again as if the thought of moving is a monumental task.

     “Round two?” he repeats incredulously. “You’ve already broken me. What do you want from me, a medal?”

     You chuckle, leaning back in your seat as you give him a playful smirk. “Maybe,” you say before continuing “but, I think you deserve an award for stamina”

     Michael scrunches his nose, clearly starting to get embarrassed, but trying to hide it.

     “I don’t even know if I remember the last few minutes, Micha, you just kept going. Are you human?” You laugh, taking another sip of your water.

     "I came here to eat, not to get all worked up again," he grumbled.

     You flashed him a mischievous grin and winked. "Well, maybe you should've been clearer about what you wanted. I did offer you plenty to consume earlier."

     "Yeah, and you drained all the energy with it," he shot back, barely holding himself together. His breath came in shallow gasps. "Careful, darling. I can have you teary-eyed and screaming again. Don’t talk your way into something you won't be able to handle."

     The thought made you ache between your legs, a burning desire coursing through your body. You had to stop yourself from thinking about it too much, or else you might accidentally kill Kaiser by asking for another round. As much as you wanted it, you knew it would be too much for him in his state.

     "Really? You look like you're about to pass out," you said, raising an eyebrow as you studied his flushed face.

     "Might," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was still a faint glimmer of a smirk on his lips.

     "You know, this is all your fault, right?" you teased, your tone light, but there was a definite edge of playful accusation in your voice.

     "What did you say?" His eyes snapped open at your words, narrowing in your direction as if ready to challenge you.

     "You didn’t have to be so rough," you shrugged nonchalantly, though the memory of what had just transpired made your pulse quicken. "You did this to yourself."

     "As if you'd have accepted anything less from me," he scoffed, his voice hoarse but laced with pride. "Keeping you satisfied is the real workout. The things I do, the way I wreck myself just to make sure you’re pleased..." His words trailed off, and you could feel the smugness in his tone even as he struggled to stay awake.

     "Oh please," you teased, leaning closer, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw. "You think I don’t know how high you get from making me see stars every time you make me come undone?"

     A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he was already starting to drift. "Hm. I guess we both have our own reasons," he rasped, exhaustion overtaking him as his head lolled to one side, his eyes fluttering closed. You couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly he had given in, how the mighty had fallen. His pride might have been unshakable in the moment, but you had a way of bringing him to his knees. You snapped a quick picture, wanting to capture this rare sight of him defeated and completely fucked past exhaustion.

     "Guess we do," you said softly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you admired the man who had given you so much yet couldn’t resist teasing you back.

[thekinslayed]

Show Me Your World - (Edge of Desire Special Chapter)

summary | Glimpses of your ever blossoming marriage with Aemond, through the eyes of people around you.

pairing | aemond targaryen x niece!reader

tags | teeth rotting fluff! ooc aemond, mentions of oral (f), ooc criston lol, alicole tease idc sue me, third pov (?), pure marital bliss

song rec | My Kind of Woman - Mac Demarco

wordcount | 3.8k

note | surprise! this is my lil thank you gift for 2k hehe this isn't necessarily a pt 2, but Edge of Desire has received soo much love and i want to try and give even just a little bit back!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

There was no doubt that the marriage of princess Rhaenyra’s only daughter to the king’s second son caused much worry from the court. The strife between the Hightowers and the Targaryens was no secret, festering into a nasty, outward conflict that ended in a boy maimed, and a family divided by sea. Viserys the Peaceful, ever faithful to his name, sought to mend this rift. 

In the moons following their marriage, it was plain to see the princess and the one-eyed prince rarely agreed with each other. A womb bearing no fruit, eyes rarely meeting, and twin frowns often decorating their features. The concerns aptly only grew. But then, something had shifted in the air.

The princess grew to be exuberant, practically glowing as her belly swelled with child. There was rarely a moment the prince was not found by her side, save for when he was training in the Keep’s yard, and even then, his ladywife was sure to be found on the castle’s balcony with a pleased smile on her face. Whispers of concern soon turned into that of courtly gossip, nobles and staff alike most eager to discover the secret in the couple’s newfound bliss. Many strained their neck to catch a glimpse of the two royals at court, keeping a close eye to notice any indication of a display of affection, though none of them ever did. The prince stood as stoic as ever, while you took your place beside him, hands clasped over your growing bump. Save for the communicative looks you exchanged now and then, the signs of a budding romance between the two of you were sparse. 

It was rather odd. Such whispers from the servants would make it seem that the prince had somehow taken on a persona straight from their mother’s tales about love, like a dashing knight head over heels for his princess, but none of them ever caught such a glimpse. All except for one. 

Sera was no significant person among the residents of the Red Keep. She was a servant, tasked with changing linens, emptying chamber pots, and seeing that the more valued inhabitants of the castle were satisfied. Any ounce of value in her low rank only came when she was made handmaiden to the princess. Stepping up to her new position, she would admit that she was quite curious. What she heard about your marriage piqued her interest, even more so when she began to step into the space that separated the royals from the lowborns. 

In your private marital chambers, the whispers began to take form, proving themselves to be true. It became customary for her to hear the rhythmic thump, thump, thump coming from your bedchamber while she set up your morning meals in the solar. High-pitched moans would penetrate through the red brick, bringing about a hot flush in the young woman’s cheeks as she hastened to lay down the cutlery before scurrying off. Sera remained invisible, merely a shadow that passed through your life, invisible hands that aided in your day. She knew her place, especially when prince Aemond was in the room while she assisted the princess. 

Once the copper tub was filled for your bath, she must make her leave in haste with one flick of the prince’s wrist.

When your husband started to approach your seated form upon the vanity as you readied for the day, Sera knew better and would step away so the one-eyed prince may inhabit your space, no matter the intricacy of the braids she was twisting your hair into. Averting her eyes, the servant could only listen to your dreamy sighs as your husband peppered kisses onto every bit of skin his lips could find.

Did it make her work lighter? Perhaps. It helped to serve two royals who wanted little but each other, who were never cruel or harsh with their tongue. It was odd to say such sentiments for what the court knew as the cold, rigid one-eyed prince, but marriage had changed much of him.

He was always handsome, despite the scar and the menacing glint in his good eye. The fearful aura he exuded in his stride made any good woman weak in the knees, coupled with that sleek, soft hair the shade of moonlight, and his lithe, tall form. Prince Aemond was far more fancied by the young maidens that served as the keep’s staff, Sera included. 

It was a particularly beautiful morn when she realized this. The spring breeze brought about a lightness through the castle, while the early morning sun beamed with hope for warmth after winter’s end. Sera made her way through Maegor’s Holdfast, her feet taking a mind of its own as it led her to your chambers. She had been at your service for a few moons at this point, a routine suitably established with time and experience. 

As she was granted entry by the White Cloak at your door, she made quick work to draw every curtain open, before making her way to the bedchamber. You must be awakened soon, and with a light knock, Sera was answered with a sleepy hum that indicated your rise.

However, such disruptions to one’s routine should always be expected. When she turned the doorknob with a soft greeting on her lips, Sera was taken aback by the sight that met her. You were, indeed, freshly awake, eyes half-lidded and hair aptly messed from the sheets, but with the addition of your husband’s kneeling form in between your thighs. His silver hair was loose, draped over his sculpted back as you gripped them in between your fingers. Neither of you seemed to notice the intruder, clearly lost in the dizzy haze of your pleasure as your hips continued to cant against Aemond’s face. It was her stunned gasp that made Sera’s presence known. For the first time, she had gotten too close, had touched the bubble that encased the couple in their marital bliss, and now it had burst. 

Both royals snapped their heads towards the door, but it was prince Aemond that made her heart beat erratically in her chest. He was without his eyepatch, nor his clean updo that kept his mane out of his face, nor a tunic or any clothing for that matter. The dazzling sapphire glinted in the morning sun, drawing her into its tantalizing spell. It was a good thing her eyes stayed there, never drifting downward to the other treasure in between his legs for the scowl on Aemond’s face made his displeasure known.

“Out,” was all he said, sending poor Sera scurrying out of the room. You would apologize to her later in the day, giving her clammy hand a soft squeeze with nothing but gentleness in your face. 

“Whatever happened to you?” Elara had asked her upon her return to the servant’s wing. The younger girl’s brows furrowed in confusion and slight worry at the beet-red flush on Sera’s face. Unlike her acquaintance, Elara’s experience with serving prince Aegon was nothing short of harrowing, and such a reaction on Sera was enough to have her assuming the worst. “Were you harmed?”

“No, no! Hells, I–” Sera stammered. When did she begin to perspire so much? Her nape was damp with flustered sweat from the aftermath of such embarrassment. Detailing the moments of her eventful morning was a struggle, even more so when Elara burst out giggling in her face. Sera slapped her hands over her face, groaning. “The prince wasn’t supposed to be there so late. He would be off to the yard with Ser Cole at this hour!”

The young blonde shook her head in amusement, hands still busy with folding linens. “Gods, the princess is a lucky one, isn’t she? Prince Aemond seems like a total dreamboat compared to his brother.” She leaned closer to Sera, whispering. “Did you see his—?” 

“His what?” she replied, not fully understanding the cryptic tilt of her head and the smirk on her face.

“Well, you know… his High Tower!”

Both girls erupted into a fit of laughter, though old Hilda wasn’t too happy with their slacking off. 

The second time Sera had found herself bestowed another close glimpse of the couple was during the hour of the owl. You were only a few days away from term, and the maester had you isolated for the rites of seclusion prior to your labors. Aemond, in an isolated state of his own, was forbidden to visit you even in daylight for propriety’s sake. Your marital chambers never felt so empty, with your absence ridding it of any life that came with your mere presence.

It was a miserable affair, both for you and your husband. Sera had seen how the separation was affecting her princess. You were lonely, weary from the aches of your belly, and losing your appetite from the desolate state of your chambers. It had her worried, even more so when word of your husband’s anxious state reached her ears. She ought to do something, but she had little power over the order of the maesters, even more so when it was approved by the queen herself. 

Perhaps it was by fate when one night, she… forgot to close the door firmly behind her when she was granted her leave for the evening. It granted the prince entry, after many nights of pacing through the halls for any chance to slip into his wife’s chambers without being detected. She stayed in the shadows of an alcove, counting the minutes until she heard the familiar gait of the one-eyed prince taking the path she had just passed. 

She couldn’t help herself. With featherlight steps, Sera tiptoed back to your door, peeking through the slight crack left ajar. What she saw almost had her thinking it was a repeat of that one morning, but it was something far more intimate.

There he was, the one-eyed prince Aemond, kneeling before your seated form like a devotee. His face was nuzzled into your lap, his arms wrapped around the swollen bump that housed your offspring. Your hands rubbed down his back soothingly, while your cheeks glistened under the dim light of your chambers. Tears of happiness, Sera realized. Like always, your husband peppered kisses all over— your hands, your belly, even on the swell of your bosom that threatened to spill from your garments.

It was nothing debauched, nor depraved, but filled with far more passion than she had ever seen in her young life. She had never seen two souls so profoundly intertwined, deep into the throes of your love in a way that seemed unfathomable in this cruel life. It was no fairytale, but very much real. 

He looked unrecognizable like this, with a face so peaceful and a touch so gentle. His thin lips moved with words inaudible to Sera’s ears, but the way your face glowed brighter than it had been for these past days made the young girl’s chest swell with a yearning for something of her own. She could only pray that her princess would only find happiness in her marriage, and that the gods would grant herself a love that could be half as full as yours.

Prince Aemond was no man of big gestures. He was not one to scream his love from the rooftops, nor wear his heart on his sleeve, but with his forehead pressed into your bump, Sera learned that whispers of a true love were far greater than proclamations of folly.

Criston Cole did not believe in love. It was a fool’s wish. The only time he had gotten close to dabbling into the idea of it had left him broken, honor sullied for a princess who returned little of what he had given. Rhaenyra was a thorn in his past, and her bastards were a blatant reminder of his divulgence into her trap. Hence, his apprehension upon the news of the marriage of the heir’s only daughter to Alicent’s thirdborn. 

What was he to say? To do? Nothing. Criston had overstepped his bounds once and it had ended with his white cloak dirtied and his sanity balanced on the tip of his sword. This match was doomed to fail, he had no doubt of it, but he kept his mouth shut. The Dornishman was quite famed for his good swordsmanship, and his humble beginnings, but especially more so of his handsome looks. Olive skin, luscious dark locks, and wide brown orbs that glimmered like topaz under the southern sun. Those eyes held less composure than the rest of his face. They were a window of his thoughts, and they spoke of the words his tongue held back. Cole’s contempt for Rhaenyra’s blood was ever evident in the sharp gaze he threw your way. You were of your mother’s sin, yet you walked in these halls as if though you were anything but a blaring reminder of it. 

Criston knew of Aemond’s nature. He had spent many hours honing the young prince’s skills with a sword, had taken him and his mother to the Sept for their prayers. Cole had even held him while he writhed in pain when the maester took out the stitches of his slashed eye. The second prince shared his disdain for Rhaenyra and her brood, perhaps even more so than the knight himself. And so, he was well aware that Aemond found no positives in his marriage. 

For a while, the knight believed the younger to share such sentiments, but the stories of your blossoming marriage had filtered through the Keep, inevitably reaching the ears of the White Sword Tower. His response was nothing but a scoff. Criston did not consider himself a believer of such change, but when he began to see it for himself, his views faltered. 

Namedays of the royal family were always celebrated with grandeur and splendor. Helaena’s twins had just turned five, and the court had taken to the Kingswood for the royal hunt. It was a splendid affair, the young babes garnering much attention from the guests. Aegon, surprisingly enough, was enthusiastically present for his children. The elder held much love for his children, and it made for an endearing sight to see. This had lightened the attention on prince Aemond and his ladywife, who were bound to be parents of their own.

The news of your pregnancy had garnered much praise and well wishes from the court, and before you even began to grow round with child, all eyes were constantly on you and Aemond. Though that night, you had been granted reprieve. 

Cole stood beside the queen Alicent as she sat, ever faithfully upholding his duty. It was customary for him to scan the room constantly, keeping himself aware of any potential threat to his queen. There he found prince Aemond and his ladywife, secluded in their own little corner of the royal tent.

You had whispered something into Aemond’s ear with a cherubic smile, before covering your mouth with a ringed hand as giggles spilled from your lips. The knight fought back the urge to roll his dark, chocolate orbs at such a display, knowing the second prince well enough that such behavior did not bode well with him. 

Yet, he found himself mistaken. In the dim amber glow of the royal pavilion, it was easy to overlook the way Aemond’s silver tresses swayed as his head bowed followed by the most peculiar sight. The leather of his doublet moved up and down as his shoulders shook. Criston may have been granted only the sight of the prince’s back, but it was plain enough to see.

He was laughing. 

In all his years serving the Hightowers, the most he had ever seen from Aemond was a smirk, or a dark chuckle when he bested his mentor while they trained. Cole believed his eyes to be deceiving him, but the pleased look on your face and the bubbling laughter that echoed through the night was testament enough that you had the power to loosen the prince’s otherwise rigid grip on his composure. You were stuck to his side, heads huddled together as you whispered about gods know what. It might have been the wine or the warmth exuded by the torches littered about, but your cheeks were flushed like a rose. 

Beyond his conscience, the sight had pulled a smile of his own. Something akin to elation sweltered in the knight’s chest. It pleased him to see the prince so relaxed, free from the tension he always carried. Criston would have you to thank for it. 

Beside him, Alicent was looking at him as though he had grown a second head. Her sworn shield seldom found things that amused him, and even then, it was rather disturbing to her. “What amuses you, good ser?” she asked, taking Criston by surprise. His cheeks quickly dropped to his usual formal state, throat clearing to regain his composure. The queen, ever observant followed where his eyes had flickered to. Across from where she sat, her second son held an arm around his wife’s waist, whispering into each other’s ear while sharing a cup of wine. Wide smiles mirrored each other, their gazes focused on no one else but them. The sight made the queen’s cheeks dimple into a small smile, a warmth in her motherly heart filling her with hope. It had been many years ago when Alicent deemed herself cursed by the gods, given a fate so cruel. It had shaken her faith, even more so when it appeared to have trickled down to her children. Aemond had the worst of it— a dragon egg turned to stone, an eye cruelly taken, and a ghost of a father. She feared for what may become of him, with his wrath and fury that seemed to guide his aspirations. Yet now, as she watched her favored son let his wife take his cheek into her hand so publicly, Alicent prayed that the tides were turning for him. Perhaps you might change his fate. Perhaps he might be spared yet. “He’s been quite happy as of late,” Alicent mentioned, turning to Criston. A look filled with mirth equaled that of the Dornishman before her, who nodded in agreement.

“He has, my queen. It pleases me greatly to see the prince so content. The princess brings out the best in him,” Cole replied. They shared smiles of their own, and the knight felt emboldened by the glee they shared. He shuffled ever so closely to her seat, the warmth exuding from her pale flesh emanating through the cold steel of his armor. As they both watched you take Aemond’s hand to lead him out of the pavilion, Criston willed himself to keep his composure as Alicent ever so subtly leaned against his arm.

Criston was present in much of what happens in the royal family. He was there for every nameday, every birth, and every milestone that Alicent’s children had. Albeit, he was in the background, but he was there. It did not change when they became parents themselves, with Helaena and Aegon having three babes, while Aemond and his ladywife were now about to have a child of their own.

Aemond had been an anxious mess all morning. Your labors had begun just as dawn broke, and pursued well through noon. Queen Alicent made her way to your chambers to check on your well-being as soon as the council dispersed, with Cole naturally in tow. Your husband had to be pushed back by several knights as the grand maester forbade him to enter the birthing chamber, fighting to be by your side. Your wails and cries had him distressed, even more so when he could clearly hear you call for him. It was only when his mother arrived did Aemond settle, uneasily staying in the common room as she was permitted to see you in his stead.  “This is her fight, Aemond. You must let them do their work,” Alicent said, planting a soothing kiss on her son’s cheek before entering the birthing chamber. 

His mother’s presence did little to quench his worries, and the one-eyed prince had settled to lean on the windowsill, fists clenched on the stone as his head bowed. From his place by the door, Cole approached him with quiet steps, settling beside his tense form. “She will be alright,” he said. “The princess is strong. A dragon in her own right.” He was responded by only a grunt from the younger, who kept his good eye closed as he steadied his breathing.

It was quiet between the two, just as it always was with Aemond. The only sound in the room was your outcries of pain that only seemed to grow louder by the minute. With a heavy sigh, Aemond spoke. “What did she thank you for?”

“My prince?” Criston asked, confused.

“My wife. When she first arrived from Dragonstone, I heard her whisper her thanks to you, and her apology for having done so too late. What did she have to thank you for?”

Cole huffed a small chuckle at the memory. It was many, many years ago when you were merely a girl. You used to play with Helaena in the gardens so often, especially during the spring afternoons when the butterflies danced above the bushels of flowers. Alicent would find time to watch over the young princesses, with her sworn shield following their tail through the royal gardens.

One afternoon, both girls had been so enthusiastic with the amount of colorful butterflies that flittered about. Helaena had her eyes set on a pretty blue one, crossing the wooden footbridge over the small pond in the middle of the greenery. 

The pair made haste to follow the girls, but you came running back, with a quivering frown. You had clutched onto Criston’s cloak, refusing to cross over the small, wooden bridge. It was littered with frogs from the pond. The tiny green things gave you a fright, and Criston had to carry you in his arms over to where Helaena played in the grass. Your excitement had quickly been restored once your fear was gone, short legs quickly wriggling out of the knight’s grip to rejoin your aunt.

A decade later, you voiced your regrets over your rudeness and thanked Criston for his help on that day.

“It was for something so little that did not require such importance, but the princess was gracious to remember so,” Cole smiled. Aemond’s lips had lifted into a smile of his own at the thought of you, slim cheeks dimpling. 

“She is full of nothing but kindness,” the prince said fondly, straightening his posture with more ease. “I am rather undeserving of it.” Aemond’s response made Cole frown, the elder knight clasping the prince’s shoulder in a fatherly squeeze. 

“The gods have deemed you most deserving of it, Aemond. You were fated for each other. I have witnessed no other pair to have been more well suited in this lifetime, believe me.” Such words were so foreign to leave Cole’s lips, but they held no lie. A shrill cry had then pierced through the air, and Alicent had opened the door with a wide smile on her face. ‘Tis a girl! was her exclaim, and Aemond had rushed off from Criston’s side to see his wife. 

Pleased, the knight stayed in his place, off to the side as the royals celebrated yet a new beginning in their lives.

Criston may not believe in love, nor has he felt it, but he has seen it. 

It could be quite beautiful, he realized. 

[skyrigel]

Simon Riley came every Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. He always bought ‘one’ of many things. One plate, one milk carton, one coffee mug, one yogurt cup, and several other one's.

It was infuriating, the mystery he possessed — hardly any word, he simply nodded and left. Came back again in his very sexy- very much left to your own devices all black attire and damn that stupid mask you'd tore from your own mouth if ever such opportunity came, that treacherous thing !

Considering how you bribed lads round the corner to get that man's name was pretty embarrassing.

But you had to do something; wondering what those arms and chest and face and thighs and inserting many immoral curiosities would look like wouldn't get you anywhere.

“You and your wife eat from the same plate or what ?”

Simon's eyes were already on you when you risked a glance up from the single ceramic plate, but you had taken him by surprise by speaking first. Well it's rare when he buys dishes, very rare, and all of them are mismatched and what a bachelor would work upon, but proof was much needed.

“I don't have a wife.” He said quietly, punctuated with the beep as you scanned other many items. You scrambled further to ask for husband, or —“or anyone.” Simon added with soft nod.

You sighed with relief, while Simon looked with widened eyes, analysing you. Fuck.

That shouldn't have made your heart flutter, and his voice — god, his voice was different from the one you presumed in your head. It was husky, and deep, but the smoothness of it strung like iyre played.

“What do you do when your friends come over ?” you asked because Mr. Riley apparently wasn't looking away, and your cheeks could've rivaled a beetroot.

“I have no friends.” He said simply, eyes locked, assessing, you felt numb and breathless — his gaze was heavy, and addictive.

Another beep. “What if someone visits you?” You swallowed hard, and Simon's jaw pulled back. Was he smirking !?

“Why would someone visit me ?”

“To check on you. To spend time with you. Be your friend or something…you know.”

Simon definitely knew, since the glint in his eyes was jolting sparks inside you, making you glitter up like confetti.

The store was empty except for two sixteen year olds who were picking through booze, one's ear was bleeding — possibly a post restroom piercing souvenir.

“Why would someone want to spend time with someone like me ?” He was asking you a question, uncertain but confident to get an answer back.

“You are a mysterious man, Mr. Riley.” You said instead, bobbling your head like a teenager as you felt so high school just by looking at him, he had you all giddy, all desperate to keep going the conversation and now it didn't seem like something was needed to keep the fire going, the flames were high on.

“Yet someone knows my name already.”

“Someone would —” you gasped, clenching your eyes shut for one brief moment, this was it, you couldn't back down now, “Someone would like to know more.”

Simon's gaze was unwavering, then wordlessly he disappeared back in the store.

You scrambled to hold on to something, almost half dashing to check over cameras and find him, or just chase after him to apologise…for being so pathetically terrible. Mindlessly with biting lips and trembling hands and tapping feet you scanned cigs and booze for the two boys with swollen lips and smug smiles, at least someone was lucky tonight.

“Fuck.” You sighed, red with embarrassment, you'd scared him off. Although no one would believe it because Simon was a pretty intimidating man. Big and strong and ghost-like.

Then out of nowhere, several cutlery and groceries and a wine bottle came by a cart and behind it stood Simon Riley, with muscular thighs and a shy smile.

Simon's hand hovered over the items you'd already scanned and billed, then blinking he unclasped his mask — revealing his jaw, and his white smirk that was dwindling to an inevitable, involuntary smile — he smiled like someone who didn't smile a lot, that needed to be changed.

“Would someone like to eat Chicken curry, and possibly drink some wine ?” Simon said with a coy smile, holding out the wine bottle to you.

You chuckled softly, taking the wine bottle and scanning it with a beep, “Someone would like that.”

Masterlist

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

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

CONTENT chapter two, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rest of the night narration, rafe and reader slowly getting along.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

cassaline dabs her lips with a napkin the color of crushed rose petals, sitting with a straight back and the posture of someone who’s never known discomfort.

“i know it’s all overwhelming, darlings,” she coos, pouring herself a bit more wine. “but if the tribute parade was any sign, you’ve both taken to the capitol beautifully. i mean, truly, the presence . . . you’ve got people talking. my inbox is glowing.”

you glance at her from across the table, chewing slowly. “good,” you say, voice even.

rafe doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth ticks up. not a smile. not really. just something close.

enobaria sets her fork down with careful precision, then lifts her glass. “she’s not exaggerating,” she says, her voice lower. “we heard from two different sponsors tonight. both asking when your training sessions start. they want to come watch.”

that catches your attention. you raise a brow. “already?”

“mhm.” she sips once, then adds, “and one of them’s on the gamemaker board. just so you know.”

rafe glances at you briefly, then shifts in his chair, letting one arm rest lazily across the table. “so we’ve got fans,” he mutters.

“you’ve got interest,” brutus says gruffly, standing up from his seat. he leaves half a steak on his plate and barely touched the glass of whatever cassaline poured for him. his arms are crossed, “but you need allies.”

you sit straighter at that. rafe’s already watching him, brow twitching.

“you’ll meet with district one tomorrow during training,” brutus continues. “maybe four, too. we’re working on the timing. you’ll make the call if you want the alliance.”

cassaline gives a soft nod, her earrings sparkling with the motion. “nothing is final, of course. but we’ve spoken to both teams. they’re open. interested.”

“they always are,” enobaria says smoothly. “no one wants to start a bloodbath between the careers on day one.”

you know what brutus means, though. alliances are useful, if they’re balanced. but three districts joining together? that’s six tributes, a quarter of the arena’s bloodthirstiest kids, all in one pack. and if it goes that way this year, it’ll be hard to break.

rafe seems to be thinking the same thing. “big group,” he mutters. “harder to manage. harder to trust.”

“harder to kill,” brutus adds, one eyebrow raised. “unless you’re ready to start with a war.”

you breathe in once through your nose and look at enobaria, who meets your eyes like she’s sizing you up all over again. “what would you do?”

she shrugs one shoulder, “i’d meet them, feel them out. see which ones have tempers, which ones like to follow. then i’d keep the ones who do what they’re told, and gut the ones who don’t.”

cassaline gasps, almost delighted. “enobaria! manners!”

enobaria smirks. “i used my fork.”

you don’t laugh, but you do look down at your empty plate and think about how different tomorrow will be. training. watching. reading every step, every hand, every flinch from the other tributes. you and rafe may have caught attention tonight, but now comes the real work: deciding who to trust before you're forced to kill them.

brutus gets up and steps away without another word, already done with his part—the advice and the meal. you hear the heavy thud of the door closing behind him, leaving only the soft clink of cutlery and cassaline’s gentle humming as she sets down her goblet.

“sleep well tonight,” she tells you both, smiling brightly. “you’ve made a lovely impression. tomorrow’s about making it last.”

you push your chair back slowly, rising from the table. you catch rafe doing the same across from you, both of you moving like something’s already shifted.

you glance at enobaria. she just nods once. you nod back. and then, looking at cassaline, you speak, “wake me up if someone dies.”

you walk out before anyone can reply.

the bedroom was way too big for one person. that’s your first thought when you finally get to be alone in it. there’s no cassaline talking your ear off, no brutus brooding in a corner, no rafe’s unreadable expressions across the table. just this room and you.

you’re not sure if his looks the same. rafe’s, that is. it’s across the hall, same size probably, but you didn’t peek when you had the chance. didn’t want to look too interested. you’re curious, though. you always are.

the floor in your room is marble, smooth and cold beneath your bare feet, a color you can’t quite name. there’s a vanity near the far wall, lined with bottles and brushes and jars of products you don’t recognize, probably don’t need, but the capitol put them there anyway. just in case.

the bed sits like a throne in the middle of the room, covered in too many pillows, too many layers. it’s clean, quiet, still.

the bathroom is attached, tucked away behind a set of sliding frosted glass doors that seal silently. it’s just as ridiculous as the bedroom. the kind of space you’ve only ever seen on capitol tv.

the showers have more buttons than a control panel. there are shelves full of body creams, hair masks, oils, facial rollers, scented salts. toothbrushes that buzz when you hold them, rows of toothpaste in different flavors. moisturizers labeled by time of day, skin type, weather conditions. you barely touch any of it.

you just rinse off the sweat from the day, scrub your face, change into the soft nightwear folded neatly on your bed. it’s nothing like home, but it’ll do.

when you’re done, you dive straight into the mattress like you’ve been waiting for it all day. it swallows you instantly.

you lie there for a while, staring at the wall of a window across from you. the capitol glows beyond it with impossibly tall buildings. it’s dizzying, a little nauseating. you’ve seen it on a screen before, back home. but this is different. real. loud. blinding. it doesn’t look like it ever sleeps.

you won’t, either, not with that glow crawling across the floor of your room.

you push off the bed with a groan, walking over to see if there’s a curtain or anything you can tug shut. but there’s nothing. it’s just smooth wall, smooth glass. no handles. no switches. you pause, then glance behind you, remembering the remote you saw earlier on your nightstand.

you pick it up and look at the buttons. a few have symbols, like mountain peaks, a sun, maybe a wave, but most of them are blank. figures. you try one, and for a moment, nothing happens.

and then the wall shifts.

it’s not like a regular projection. it’s too immersive. no glare, no distortion. just a seamless image stretching across the full height and width of the glass, and suddenly, your room is filled with the soft orange and dusty gold light of a wide, open canyon.

the wind doesn’t blow through the walls, but you swear you can feel it. it looks like somewhere people lived before cities were even a thought.

you lower the remote and sit back on the bed again, cross-legged this time. the colors soak into the walls. into your skin. it’s not quite comforting, but it’s distracting enough. that’s all you need.

your hand finds the small bowl of iced cookies on the nightstand. they look sugary, almost fake, like they were made of pastel chalk. you take one anyway, bite into it. it crunches, then melts, like snow under sunlight.

you heard that apparently, capitol treats don’t go bad. they can sit out for weeks and still taste fresh.

great for you. great for the ghosts who’ll live in this room after you.

you lean back slightly on your palms, chewing quietly, watching the canyon stretch on forever. just breathing. just listening to the silence, for now.

but now it’s been hours since you first laid down.

you’ve changed the wall at least four times. from canyon to forest to snow-covered field to soft ocean waves, each one more soothing than the last, but none of them work. you can’t sleep.

you’re curled under the covers now, still wide awake, staring at the window wall. it should be peaceful. quiet. you picked it because it reminded you of something still. something far. but your eyes won’t close for long. every time they do, something pulls them open again.

it’s too hot. too cold. too bright. too dark. the blanket doesn’t sit right on your shoulders. the air shifts strangely in the room. even your skin feels off, and you’re too aware of the sound of your own breathing. and every time you try to fix it, you reach for the remote to adjust the lights, toggle the air temp, you wake yourself up all over again.

you’re frustrated. angry in the quietest, smallest way.

tomorrow is training. the start of it. you don’t even know what time they’ll wake you, just that someone will. cassaline had told you and rafe you wouldn’t need an alarm. “an avox will be there at some point,” she’d said lightly, “if not one of us.”

and wasn’t that funny? not funny-ha-ha, but funny like a punchline delivered too early. the capitol cuts their tongues out, calls it justice, and then expects them to silently rouse tributes from their beds.

you’d seen them earlier. avoxes. a few stood near the corners of the main living space, close enough to act quickly, far enough to not draw attention, watching, waiting for the mentors or stylists or prep team to be done so they could sweep through and clean what’s left.

it wasn’t creepy exactly, but you hadn’t approached them. hadn’t really looked them in the eye. you weren’t supposed to talk to them anyway. weren’t supposed to acknowledge too much of anything.

your head falls into your hands, fingers dragging through your hair. you sigh.

“you have training tomorrow, go to sleep.” it echoes in your mind, soft and strict and familiar. probably your mom’s voice. or your dad’s. either one.

you almost laugh, because for a second, you really do wish one of them were here. just to scold you. just to be loud enough to snap you out of this feeling. maybe then you’d sleep.

but they’re not. they’ll never be in this building.

and so, after a moment, you rip the blanket off your body and swing your legs off the bed, planting your feet on the freezing floor. your teeth almost clack together at the cold. you groan under your breath, stepping to the dresser and tugging open a drawer, pulling on the first pair of socks you find. then, quietly, carefully, you push open the bedroom door and slip into the hallway.

it’s dim out here. not pitch-black, but close. the kind of darkness that has no intention of being inviting. your arms wrap around yourself on instinct. it’s colder than your room. empty, too. no footsteps. no soft laughter. just silence and carpet.

you walk slowly, tiptoeing across the hall, and into the living area.

everyone’s gone. probably asleep.

you glance at the dining room as you pass it. it’s spotless, like the chaos from earlier never happened. no wine stains, no crumbs, no twisted napkins left behind. you remember cassaline spilling onto herself, brushing it off with a soft laugh, enobaria amused. it’s as if it never happened. the table gleams like it’s brand new.

you move on, walking deeper into the living room, where the massive couch takes up more space than any normal family could need. a fireplace sleeps beneath a blank screen, both waiting for someone to wake them.

maybe, if you were normal, if this were a regular night in a regular place, you’d sit here and watch something. let yourself fall asleep to the soft flicker of warmth and white noise.

but then you notice it.

the balcony doors are slightly open. just enough for a thin, pale glow to slip through the curtains.

your brows furrow. it’s late. too late for anyone to be out there. close the door, that’s why it’s so cold out here.

you step closer, slow and quiet, fingers brushing the curtain aside, and through the narrow crack in the door, you see him.

rafe.

you stand there, staring at him through the crack in the door, and it’s just—why the fuck is he out here?

he’s just standing there, leaning against the railing, elbows propped on the edge, hands laced together. he doesn’t move. doesn’t notice you. he just stares out over the capitol. the city looks different at this time at night. not quieter. just lonelier. maybe you were wrong before.

you hover behind the door for a second, the cold draft brushing your face. he’s out there, just like you’re in here, sleepless, restless, waiting for something that won’t come.

you eventually push the balcony door open and step outside, the wind enveloping you immediately. as soon as you go to close it behind you, the thing lets out the loudest, most god-awful creaking sound you’ve ever heard.

it seals with a heavy clunk and you freeze, wide-eyed like you just got caught sneaking out.

rafe’s already spun around, shoulders tense, like he’s ready to lunge at whoever decided to sneak up behind him. but when he sees it’s you, his posture shifts. he’s less defensive, more irritated. he looks at you like you’re ridiculous for that. like really?

“that’s why i didn’t close it,” he says, turning his back on you again. his forearms settle on the railing, crossed casually like this is his personal hideout. this is night one, buddy.

you shoot him a flat look as you walk over, glancing behind you once at the door like it betrayed you. “how was i supposed to know that?”

he doesn’t even look at you. just shrugs. “and how did i know the door would sound like that?”

you blink. “yeah, actually.”

rafe exhales through his nose, amused in that dry way only he knows how to pull off. “my dad’s a high-ranking peacekeeper back home,” he says finally. “brought me here one time when i was a kid. to the capitol.”

you look at him, a little confused. “here here?”

“yeah.” he shifts slightly, letting his forearms relax. “i met some of the tributes that year. he showed me around the tribute center like it was a museum. made a whole point to bring me to the floor for district two.” his jaw flexes. “like he knew i’d end up here someday. or hoped.”

you watch him for a second, your hands coming up to rest against the top of the railing beside him.

“that, and the couches in the living room fold out into beds,” he adds, offhand. “just in case someone can’t sleep in their actual room.”

your eyebrows twitch up just a little, impressed despite yourself.

“huh,” you murmur, gaze slipping away from him and onto the city below.

but you stand there, quiet, next to rafe.

you eventually steal a glance at him again. he hasn’t said anything in a bit. his face is cut from stone, but his eyes look distant. like he’s not even here. at least not on the balcony, not in the capitol. maybe not even in his own body. you wonder where his head goes when he goes quiet like that. probably somewhere ugly.

you shift a little, toe nudging the cool floor. “so . . . was that your dad’s thing? training you early?”

he doesn’t move. not even a twitch. for a second you think he won’t answer at all, but then his thumb brushes absently along the railing. “his thing was control.”

you nod, slowly. your eyes flick back to the city.

“and your parents?” he asks, softer now, almost cautious.

you let out a breath. it fogs slightly in front of you, the night colder than you realized. “they’re not like that. they’re just . . .” you think about it, really think. “they’re quiet. good people. never wanted this for me.”

rafe finally turns his head just enough to look at you. “but you volunteered.”

you nod once. “i did.”

he waits. doesn’t push, but waits.

you chew on your lip for a second, then say, “there was this kid in our district. younger. maybe thirteen? untrained, like it was obvious her parents took care of everything for her and never needed her to train at the academy like we did. but she would’ve been dead by the first hour.” you pause. “figured if anyone was gonna die, might as well be me. someone who at least knows what they’re walking into.”

the silence that follows is thicker than before. it settles into your skin, makes your shoulders feel heavier.

“you?” you ask, voice lower now. “you’ve probably been raised for this since birth, right?”

rafe lets out a short breath. maybe it’s a laugh. maybe it’s not, “pretty much.” your brows knit, your grip on the railing tightening slightly. “i used to think getting reaped would be the worst thing that could happen to me,” he says, voice steadier now. “but being trained for something your whole life . . . only to be scared of it anyway?” he turns his head a little toward you. “that’s worse.”

you watch him. not saying anything. not really sure what to say.

there’s a pause before you mumble, “well i haven’t slept either.”

he shifts, slightly. “figured.”

you glance at him. “yeah?”

“i heard you pacing earlier. you walk loud.”

a huff of a laugh leaves you before you can stop it. then you lean a little more into the railing, your hair falling into your face. “think they’ll wake us with some kind of trumpet in the morning? or like, cannons to get us ready for the real thing?”

“nah,” he says. “probably just an avox, like cassaline said. just starin’ at you until you open your eyes.”

you laugh again, quieter now. “creepy, but possible.”

you fall into silence after that. the wind pulls through the balcony and you shiver slightly, shifting your arms closer to your body. you notice rafe glance at you, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

your voice drops to a whisper. “i hate this place.”

he’s quiet again. and for a second, you wonder if you said too much. but then—“me too.”

you look at him, and he’s looking right back. his eyes aren’t cold like they were earlier in the day. they’re tired. like yours.

you both look away at the same time, gazes falling back to the skyline. it’s a strange thing, sharing this moment. a quiet sort of closeness, made from exhaustion and fear and the knowledge that in a few days, one or both of you might be dead.

“so . . . you cold?” he asks, not looking at you.

“a little.”

he shrugs off the light jacket he’s wearing and holds it out. doesn’t say anything. just waits for you to take it.

you hesitate for a second, then reach for it slowly. “thanks.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he says, but his voice is softer than before.

you smile. barely. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you slip the jacket on, sleeves a little long on you, and return to your place beside him.

you don’t say anything else for a while. you just stand there together, watching the city, letting the quiet stretch between you again. but it’s different now. less heavy. less lonely.

maybe, just maybe, the night will pass a little easier now.

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

[evilgwrl]

hey sunshine 🥰 could you possibly do the 141 with a hyper independent reader? id love to see how they handle a s/o like this!! if not, i totally understand 💜💜 enjoy your sunday

Ofc!! I hope this is what you were looking for, I'm not the most educated on hyper-independence but I tried to do a lil research <3 Sorry it took me so long to write it, I've been having a hectic week

Your feet strummed against the floor; body restless as you looked at the flock of emails piling up. Fidgety hands were tugging at your hair as you looked at the time. Your laptop shut with a huff as you walked into the kitchen, eager to eat as your stomach grumbled.

There was a soft shell of steam covering the room, food broiling in the oven as you turned your attention to the chopping board. You swore quickly, the smell of burning sauce catching your attention as you turned to quickly stir it. Your body swayed back and forth, constantly focusing on something new as you struggled to keep up.

You had a strict schedule, always needing to be on top of everything. You enjoyed the smiles on the boy’s faces when they came through the door to a cooked meal. It was different today, however. Work had finished later than usual, pushing your activity back as the boys walked through the door.

“Hey, bonnie,” Soap flattered, pressing a kiss to your head as he looked at the kitchen, every saucer in use.

“Hi,” you smiled, swatting his hands away as he attempted to stir something.

“Smells good, love,” John cooed, husky breath against your neck as he hugged you from behind.

“I’ll set up the dining table,” Kyle chirped as you quickly yelped at a ‘no’.

“No, no. I’ve got it. Just go sit down. It’s nearly done.”

Simon raised a brow, taking in your quick no. They knew you enjoyed working alone, it just seemed easier for you, but the scene before him was overwhelming to look at as you rubbed at your forehead, pulling something out of the oven.

“We’re happy to help, sweet’art, just let-“

“No, no, I promise its fine. Please just go sit down.”

You were consistent as you shushed them out of the kitchen with a handtowel, turning your attention back to the scene in front of you. Soap frowned as he sat down, resting his chin in his hand.

“She’s gonna work ‘erself to death,” Simon scowled, concerned.

“You know how she is, she’s independent,” Gaz quipped, rubbing a brow.

You were a flurry, piling food onto the plates before they grew cold. You were quick to place all their plates down and hurry back, grabbing a stack of cutlery and cups, the glass pile slightly tipped. John raised from his seat to assist you as you pulled back, offering him a gentle smile.

“Let me help, dove.”

“I’ve got it, I don’t need help,” you spoke quickly as you moved too fast, the glasses tipping over as they clattered against the floor, shards of crystal collecting at your feet as you hissed, the four men surrounding you quickly raising to their feet.

Your legs padded against the floor as you hurried to the kitchen to grab a dustpan from under the sink, Soap quickly in toe. It was overwhelming as they crowded around you, trying to grab the scoop from your fidgety hands before you snapped, “I don’t need your help, just eat your food.”

Your tone was harsh as they stilled, staring at you with concern. Your face felt hot, unshed tears welling in your eyes at the situation. The glass collected in the black box, flickers of shimmer dancing off the sharp shards as you grabbed your own plate, heading to your bedroom.

You weren’t sure where it came from, the need to never ask for help but it ate at you until your body was scolding with overworked heat. The night ticked by slowly as you cooped yourself up in the warmth of your sheets, only getting up to clean as you walked to the kitchen, no mess in sight.

“I hope you don’t mind that we cleaned up, figured you had done enough for us today,” Price’s voice was soft, a glide of comfort slipping from his tongue as he placed his hand’s on his hips.

“I could’ve done it.”

“I know, we all know. But we’re here too, love. It’s not fair for you to take on every load of responsibility. You deserve help. We’re not going anywhere, and we want to show you that we appreciate you too.”

The words settled in your chest as you stared at him, placing the plate in the sink as you offered him a polite glance, attempting to wrap around everything he was saying.

“Thank you,” you said, eyes low as you began to wash. The tickle of hair was felt around your waist, along with two arms as Kyle pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.

“We want to help you, love. You don’t need to go through anything alone, we’re here to support you the way you support us.”

You swallowed deeply.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you either, we just want our girl to feel the best she can,” Price spoke.

It was harder for you to talk about your feelings, your heart chained in between your rib cage, the need to ask for help always at the tip of your tongue but never able to leave, keeping you prisoner to your own despair. The boys left you for a little bit, asking you to join them in the living room when you were ready. There was a gentle pit of anxiety in your stomach as you huffed, ensuring everything had been done before you joined them.

It was a sweet sight to walk into. They were spread on the couch, reassuring smiles on their faces as Soap held his hands out towards the table, a chocolate cake decorated with the words ‘Thank you’ on it along with a bouquet of pink peonies.

You laughed, “When did you have time to get all this?”

“I’m quick,” Ghost beamed, tapping the spot between them as you huddled over.

“Thank you,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks. It was hard for you to comprehend you had people wanting to help you, and you knew they would never be able to understand what it was like for you, but they tried their hardest, and that was the greatest gift you could ask for.

“Can I eat some cake now?” Soap chorused as you laughed, rubbing the back of his head before nestling into Kyle.

[jasmines-library]

Would it be too much to request a batsis oneshot, about her knowing how to cook😆 like whenever Alfred is not available he leaves her in charge to help ensure the other family members are eating without buring down the house🤭 also a lil thing u could add is she often visits the manor just to cook cuz Alfred always keeps the kitchen fully stocked with ingredients which means she can cook pretty much anything she desires💜 I just thought it'd be cute to have Bruce be envious of his daughters cooking skills whereas he lacks them🤭

Kitchen Antics

Thanks for requesting! This was cute to write!

Word Count: 1k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

“I still don’t think this is very fair.” Bruce pouted as you slid the plate in front of him.

“Hm?”

“This.” He gestured to the plate that you had served to him, piled to the brim. It had taken you hours to prepare, especially without Alfred’s help, but it was well worth it. “How come Alfred lets you cook and not me. I’m a fully grown adult. I should be allowed to cook a meal for my family.”

“Maybe it’s because you can’t actually cook.” You threw over your shoulder with a smug grin. 

That earnt a snort from Damian which he hid poorly behind a hand. Bruce shot him an unamused look. 

“Can too.” Bruce said. This time you raised a brow as you slid into your seat.

“Oh yeah, because the last time you cooked it turned out great.” Jason rolled his eyes. 

You remember it distinctly. It was one of the first times Alfred was away and had reluctantly let Bruce use the kitchen. He had regretted it the moment he returned because his kitchen was hardly recognisable. And the food Bruce had cooked was less so. If you could even count it as food. It was the furthest thing from edible. Somehow undercooked and burnt to a crisp around the edges at the same time. Even Alfred wasn’t sure how he managed to do that, and he had seen almost everything when baking with the rest of your brothers. It was safe to say that Bruce was no longer allowed in the kitchen after that. So, the responsibility turned to you. 

Alfred had always said you had a natural talent for cooking, though you swore it was because you had the best teacher: You had spent countless hours helping him when you were younger and you were the only person he didn’t seem to physically wince at when you walked into the kitchen. So, naturally when he announced he was leaving this week he entrusted you to make sure the family were fed without the entire manor being burnt down, or being filled with takeout boxes.

Your brothers had tried countless times to worm their way into the kitchen, but you ushered them out every time. They were just as bad as Bruce when it came to cooking. There was one time Damian and Dick had tried to bake a cake to surprise Bruce on his birthday. And it did…when the fire they had started nearly set the whole kitchen alight. Luckily Alfred had smelt it before any real damage could happen, but the pair of adults were far from happy. Jason had never shown much interest in cooking. He would usually just grab himself a snack from one of the cupboards instead of actually cooking himself something, so he had never really been an issue to keep out. Though, often he would try to sabotage your work just to wind you up. As for Tim, he was the best out of the four boys. By no means a master at work, it was often slightly bland but he was the only one who hadn’t tried to kill everyone with his cooking so he got bonus points for that. 

“That was one time.” Bruce turned his head away, pouting like a small child.

“Tt. Father, I think you’ve tried to poison us every time you’ve gone near the kitchen.” Damian jested through a mouthful of food. “Perhaps you should ask Joker to try it. Might take a villain off of our hands.”

Tim stifled a laugh. “This is lovely, Y/N. Thank you.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

The six of you fell into a comfortable silence as you ate, before Bruce finally spoke up again. Cutting through the sound of cutlery scraping against china plates.

“Is my cooking really that bad?”

He was answered with silence. And a lot of smirks.

“...Are you jealous of Y/N, Father?” Dick grinned.

“Psh…No.”

Bruce was a terrible liar. 

~

“Do you need any assistance, Miss Y/N?” Alfred poked his head around the kitchen door. He had returned from his trip not too long ago, glad to see that everyone had been well fed and that the house was still in one piece. 

Glancing up from the bowl of ingredients you were whisking, you met Alfred’s proud glance. “No thank you, Alfred. You already have everything I need.”

Alfred smiled up at you. It was nice for you to stop by once in a while to see them. He enjoyed seeing you cook. Better yet he enjoyed tasting your new creations each week so he kept everything stocked, even if he knew he wouldn’t need it himself. The shelves were lined with all sorts of spices, flours, sugars and ingredients for you to create something new so that if you ever decided to stop by (which you liked to do at least once a week) he would have everything  you could ever need.

Your brothers loved it when you would bring over food to them too. Most of it would be gone in minutes and they would turn to you asking for more. Bruce would do the same too, although he would still have that look of teasing jealousy on his face. But he was proud really. And glad that at least one of his children had enough common sense to not set the entire manor alight when baking a cake. 

BATFAM TAGLIST:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@mamapucket

@hearts4robs

@harleycao

[pascalislove]

DESIRE |Gong Yoo x Reader

Summary: You want a baby and he is willing to give it to you.

Warning: unprotected sex, breeding kink.

It was 1920 in Seoul. Night fell gently over the city, blanketing it with a blanket of tranquility. Inside your home, the soft crackling of the firewood in the kitchen accompanied the aroma of the dinner you were carefully preparing. You had arrived in Korea a few years ago, and although everything had been strange and new at first, this country now felt like home, especially since you married Gong Yoo.

He was the owner of an antique shop, a hardworking man who left early and returned when the sun had already set. His love for objects from the past seemed to be reflected in his calm and thoughtful demeanor, but when he was with you, that seriousness faded away to give way to a warmth that made you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

You'd only been married for a few months, and every day with him was a new reason to love him more. But lately, a new desire had begun to blossom in your heart. Your friend Ji-Ah had given birth to a beautiful baby boy, and ever since you saw him, you couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to have a baby with Gong Yoo.

The sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts.

—"I'm home," his deep, familiar voice announced. You smiled, setting aside your utensils to greet him. He approached you and, without hesitation, took your face in his hands and placed a kiss on your lips, as he did every night when he arrived.

—“Go to the table, dinner is ready,” you told him with a smile.

He nodded, calmly taking off his coat before sitting down. His eyes followed you fondly as you carried the plates to the table. Once the food was served, you sat across from him and asked curiously:

—¿How was your day?

—"Hectic, but good. I sold a beautiful piece of porcelain to a Japanese collector, though it took some convincing.” He smiled proudly. Then, he looked at you and asked, “And you? How was your day?” You took a sip of water before answering excitedly:

—Ji-Ah had her baby today. A boy. He's beautiful. Gong Yoo's eyes widened in surprise.

—Really?

—"Yes," you nodded enthusiastically. "So small and delicate..."

You continued eating, but your mind was still focused on the image of that baby. After the meal, Gong Yoo helped you wash the cutlery as usual. When you were finished, he settled onto his single sofa, flipping through a book he'd brought from the store.

You changed into your sleepwear and, heart pounding, approached him, sitting on his lap. Gong Yoo looked at you curiously, putting his book aside.

—What's happening?

You bit your lip, a little nervous, but you didn't want to keep this to yourself.

—"Seeing the baby... it made me want one," you confessed quietly, seeking his reaction.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, a crooked smile appeared on his face.

—Oh really?

—Yes. Don't you want one?

He exhaled slowly, looking at you tenderly.

—I never thought about having children… but imagining a baby that looks like you… oh, that would be a dream.

Your heart filled with joy and you couldn't help but smile sweetly at him.

—"So... do you want to try it?" you asked with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Gong Yoo narrowed his eyes, his smile growing.

—“Fine,” he agreed without hesitation.

Without waiting any longer, you kissed him passionately. He reciprocated, deepening the kiss with a new desire blossoming between you. But suddenly, you pulled away and quickly stood up.

—“Let’s go to the room,” you said, holding out your hand.

He let out a low, amused laugh.

—"Come on," he replied, taking your hand.

And together, with laughter and breathless kisses, they ran to their room, letting love envelop them on that night full of promises and shared dreams.

In the bedroom, Gong Yoo quickly unbuttoned his shirt and took off his suit pants. You helped him remove it while still kissing him. He then removed the white sleeveless shirt he was wearing underneath, and your hands ran over his muscles and shoulders as he kissed your neck, causing you to sigh.

With slow movements, he slid the straps of your nightgown off your shoulders, leaving kisses on your skin until you were left in only your panties. Then, he completely removed his pants, leaving you in only boxers and stockings. Impatient, he effortlessly picked you up, tired of having to bend down to reach you, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He quickly carried you to the bed and, as he placed you on the mattress, began to leave kisses on your chest and neck. He took one of your nipples in his mouth and sucked it gently, drawing involuntary moans from you. Then he went down kissing your belly and, with a deep voice, he murmured:

—In a few months...

Without giving you time to respond, he moved down to your panties and gently removed them. He parted your legs and, holding them on the side of his head, positioned himself between them. When his mouth made contact with your skin, a stifled moan escaped your lips, causing you to arch your back as your hands gripped the sheets. His name drifted between your sighs until, unable to resist any longer, you climaxed.

He sat up, his mouth still wet and a satisfied smile on his face, wiping his lips with a hand. Although it wasn't the first time he'd done it, you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Gong Yoo moved up on top of you and kissed you again, deepening the contact with passion. As they kissed, he removed his underwear and tossed it to the side of the room. He settled between your legs, aligning himself at your entrance, and stared at you before whispering intensely:

— My Wife...

You smiled at his words and kissed him tenderly. Then, he began to move slowly inside you, setting a rhythm that soon grew more intense. You both moaned into each other's mouths until, with increasing desire, his thrusts increased in speed and depth. Your nails dug into his back, and your gasps mingled with his. Gong Yoo broke the kiss and lowered his face to your chest, capturing a nipple between his lips as he continued his movements. Your head fell back against the pillow, his eyes clouded with pleasure. He smiled at your reaction and let out a satisfied groan.

The peak reached you first, and soon after, he followed, burying his face in your neck as he trembled against your body. Breathless, you both stared at each other before kissing desperately.

—"I like this whole trying-to-have-babies thing," he murmured against your lips with a mischievous smile.

You let out a soft laugh and hugged him close. And so, between caresses and whispers, you fell asleep together.

I know I disappeared, but now I'm back my loves🫶

I'm using seller tags to make them appear🫦

[monster-effer]

Hello if when you are able to I have a request about problems with touching certain textures (for me that styrofoam that comes in packages 😖) how would the LaDs boys help us with textures we can’t stand to touch? ( Hello fellow autistic bbs 💖💖)

Here’s my take on how the LaDS men would try to help an autistic!reader who has issues touching styrofoam. In this headcannon it is assumed that all LIs are aware that the reader has autism and experiences sensory issues. But, this is the first time they witness it with styrofoam specifically.

I hope you like this 💗💗💗

Sylus

While you hang out at Sylus’ home base Mephisto along with Luke and Kieran (from the shadows) witness you unknowingly opening a package that has styrofoam inside. They can clearly see your face contort into disgust and pain. You abruptly drop the package on the floor and have to physically shake off the sensation of touching that cursed material.

You feel dysregulated after that, so you retreat to Sylus’ bedroom for the rest of the day.

When Sylus comes home, he can tell you are sulking, but when he questions you about it you don’t give him a straight answer. So he goes to his reliable sources, Mephisto and his henchmen.

Luke and Kieran provide an over-exaggerated retelling of what went on that day. When Sylus raises his eyebrow in disbelief, Mephisto squawks at him and describes what actually happened.

You were still sulking in Sylus’ room, none the wiser about their secret meeting.

Since that day whenever you order something in the mail, it is mysteriously removed from the box and placed on your bed by the time you come home. When you ask Sylus about this phenomenon, he feins ignorance.

Luke and Kieran won’t fess up either.

But one day, you catch Mephisto coughing up bits of styrofoam before flying out of the room.

Rafayel

Rafayel is aware that certain textures feel wrong to you. But he didn’t think anything of it when he asked you to open the package of new paint brushes that just arrived at his home.

He decides to keep painting while you go open the package. The next time he looks away from his easel he sees that you haven’t returned.

Curious now, he leaves his studio to find you ransacking his kitchen in search of something.

“Hey cutie, what treasure are you hunting for in my kitchen?”

“Rafayel…that package had styrofoam in it and I hate the texture of it. Especially when I pick it up or when it drags against my fingernails.”

Not needing to hear another word, he picks up the package from the table you placed it on and grabs out the paint brushes himself.

“Instead of making a mess in my kitchen, I have a request to make.”

“From now on, let’s shop for my painting materials in person. I think the unique shade of paint I need next is only available in Madrid, Spain.”

You stand there stunned that he didn’t make a big deal over your styrofoam frenzy.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Pack your bags cutie, we have a trip to take.”

Caleb

Caleb first noticed your aversion to the sound styrofoam makes when you were teens.

On that day, he was surprising you with celebration dinner after you both passed a tough exam with flying colors.

He came over with food from a new restaurant in the neighborhood to surprise you.

Both of you settle down to eat in the dining room. When he begins to pull out the styrofoam takeout containers from his to go bag he notices that you freeze at the sound it makes, then rush to cover your ears.

Caleb silently observes you, because this reaction is new for you.

“What’s the matter pipsqueak?” he asks you, trying to decrease the tension in the room.

You begrudgingly confide in him that the sound that styrofoam makes is very unpleasant for you to the point of being painful. While you explain, you desperately hope that he doesn’t tease you over this because you may just cry.

Instead of replying Caleb stands up immediately and heads into the kitchen. You hear him rifling through the cabinets before he comes back with some plates and cutlery.

When he returns, he says “Why don’t you leave the room for a bit? I’ll dish out the food and shout when everything is out of these dastardly containers.”

You are so grateful for his thoughtfulness as you huff in faked annoyance and scurry out of the dining room.

When he shouts for you to return, the styrofoam containers are nowhere in sight.

After you sat down, Caleb joked around and talked with you like nothing ever happened.

Since that day you have not encountered anymore styrofoam when you’re around him. He makes sure to plate your takeout meals before serving you. Your comfort and happiness are of the utmost importance to him, because you are his pipsqueak.

Zayne

You and Zayne decide to bake cupcakes together one weekend. It was a pleasant day, breezy with the sun shining brightly outside.

Zayne asks you to grab the carton of eggs from the fridge, so you go do that. When you open the fridge, you notice that the eggs are in one of those styrofoam egg cartons.

You steel yourself for the inevitable yucky feeling and quickly grab the carton from the fridge. You have a very expressive face. And the disgust you feel when your hands make contact with the carton is clear as you rush to place it down onto the kitchen counter.

Working with pediatric patients has enabled Zayne to have a sixth sense for knowing when someone is in pain/uncomfortable. He watches you from his peripheral vision and sees you rushing to put down the styrofoam package. He also takes note of the full body shiver that takes over your body right after.

Without turning away from his task, he questions you. “You seemed to have trouble handling that carton of eggs. Are you in pain?”

Feeling a little flustered at your failed attempt to “act normal” you explain to him that touching styrofoam causes a physical reaction in your body. It is a very unpleasant sensory sensation for you.

Zayne listens silently and makes it a habit to only get eggs in the cardboard containers from then on.

He also consciously avoids getting items that include styrofoam because he cares about you and your sensory needs.

Xavier

You are away on a long mission, so you ask Xavier if he can stop by your apartment and water the herbs and plants sitting on the windowsill. Xavier happily agrees because why would he refuse you anything?

As he opens your door with his personal key and walks in, he notices a pile of opened packages in the corner of your living room. He walks closer to get a better look and he sees that each package has some form of styrofoam in them.

He is curious about why you are holding all these opened packages. Maybe it was for recycling day or a craft? Ultimately, he decides to ask you about it when you return from your mission.

When asked, you have a conversation with him and explain that styrofoam is a sensory nightmare for you. And handling it is overstimulating. You have had the worst luck, because most of the packages you’ve received lately have been filled to the brim with it.

You told him that you’ve been thinking of paying one of your neighbors to throw them away for you.

Xavier volunteers to handle your packages that contain styrofoam from now on because he doesn’t want you to have to rely on others for help. He wants you to rely on him.

[laswells-ashtray]

How I think different COD characters act with kids:

Price is like that scene from Heat where Pacino picks up the little girl from the middle of a shoot-out and walks away holding her, muttering "I got you, it's okay." If a toddler walks up to him looking for help finding Mum, he'll pick them up and walk around holding them as they try to find her: "What colour is Mum's hair, sweetheart?"

Soap is great with kids, rough at first but when he works out if they're the boisterous or quiet type, he'll adjust himself accordingly so that the little one isn't uncomfortable. If he has a snack on him then he'll share it with them. Has a lot of nieces and nephews and he is the favourite uncle because he will let them swear when Mum and Dad aren't around.

If you let Gaz look after your kids then they'll leave thinking he's the coolest person ever, no-one knows how he does it but kids just think he is the single most impressive guy they've ever met. Has one niece and she adores him, that's her best friend. Will lie to kids though, big fan of "I'm friends with Batman."

Ghost is unbelievably gentle with kids, hand him a baby and they're falling asleep in his arms. Toddlers will cling to his legs or grab at his hands. Even teenagers at their bitchiest trust him, isn't the first time he's had to defend a group of teens from some withering old pensioner with nothing better to do than yell at them. Soap takes him home and he very quickly replaces Johnny as the favourite uncle.

Nikolai will let a kid use him as a climbing frame. A kid comes up to him because they can't find Mum or Dad? He's lifting the kid up and telling them to point at where their parents are. No-one is stupid enough to try and approach the lost kid with him around because he mouths threats at them over the little one's head.

On more than one occasion a little girl has wandered up to Farah and asked if she can braid their hair like hers, she'll take a split second to look over at their guardian to see if they approve and if they do then she'll sit and very patiently braid their hair. Listening to anything the little one wants to ramble about with a smile.

Leave Alex with a kid of any age and he'll teach them about wrestling and WWE. He once accidentally spends 20 minutes talking to a teenager about The Undertaker and his lore. Had an entire conversation about the CM Punk/ Drew McIntyre feud with a 16-year-old girl once and walked away the happiest he'd been in weeks because he had no one to talk to about it before that.

Rudy is phenomenal at getting kids to calm down. If a toddler is crying or having a tantrum he'll get them calm and soon enough they'll be sitting on his knee. Kids just take to him, he visits Alejandro's family and one of the little ones grabs his hand and pulls him into the kitchen. They need to get something off of a shelf? They want Rudy's help. Need help with cutlery? Rudy has to help.

If you leave your kids with Alejandro then he will get them boisterous and excited, bouncing off of the walls and then give them back to you so he doesn't have to deal with it. Big fan of that thing guys do with babies where they lightly toss them up and catch them, subsequently scaring the tits off of any mother in the general vicinity. He has a handful of distant relatives that meet up around family times, he get's the kids all hyper and Rudy spends the next half hour calming them down while the parents drink

Valeria is a little awkward with kids. If one walks into her legs then her instinct is to scowl but once, and she'd deny it if anyone asked, a little boy walked into her legs and she automatically moved to scold him before seeing that he was crying and trailing his blankie about with him, no parents in sight. She picked him up, held him on her hip and hunted down his father before thoroughly scolding him for leaving a boy that small unattended. All while the little boy covers her shoulders with his blanket and keeps a hand fisted in her shirt, she doesn't even seem to notice that she's rubbing his back to keep him settled.

Graves isn't great with kids but he isn't bad either. If a kiddo comes wandering up to him in public because they lost their Mommy then you bet your ass he'll wait with them for as long as it takes. Any more than ten minutes and he's buying them juice. A kid wandered up to him once, their babysitter walked away and left them in a store. He finds the babysitter and forces them to call the kid's parents, waits for them to arrive and lectures the babysitter on not doing their job properly. By the time that kid goes home, he's bought them a hotdog, a juice box and a little plush bunny.

I know a lot of people are of the surprising opinion that Laswell sucks with kids but I disagree. Her wife comes from a big family and certainly, one with money. Any family event and there are seven kids minimum. Kate likes buying them animated Scooby-Doo films because it keeps the little ones quiet even for a little while. Every year the kids get a new blanket, new socks, an action figure/doll and candy of their choice from Auntie Kate. The two auntie Laswells are a favourite with little ones, school-age kids, teens and basically anyone under 25. Kate has a niece named after her on her wife's side and she'll die before anything happens to the chubby-cheeked baby girl.

[nownahc]

Lee Know (or whoever you feel fits best, I’m not picky) with 52, 61, and 67? The boys tease him for his feelings/crush on reader. Something gets misconstrued and a feelings get hurt?? Hurt/comfort, is what I’m going for? Totally down to see where your mind goes with these prompts! Your writing is phenomenal! Thank you!!

voicemail | lee know

lee know x reader

main masterlist

prompts list send in an ask to request

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. wanted u by joji

notes. loved writting for him, it's a challenge though, to try and be as accurate as possible to his peculiar personality. hope you liked it :)

warnings.

prompts. “I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death.”/“If you go anywhere near them, you’ll have to deal with me!”/“Oh my god! You’re in love with them!”

“I’m not saying it doesn’t fit you it’s just… a shocking sight that’s all.”

Hyunjin’s grunts of disbelief is drowned in by the sound of the cutlery and Changbin’s giggles at his own playful jab against his new hair cut. It had been long since Changbin, Hyunjin and Lee Know gathered like that, to share a simple meal (made by the latest). Choosing to stay silent as he chews on his food, Lee Know looks at his two friends, this, cheeky look in his eyes telling that he’s waiting for the right opening to throw in his own sharp remark.

“Y/n said it made me look edgy so whatever really;”

That name brings back some energy in Lee Know’s body, all thought of bantering with his friends gone as he tries his hardest to shift the conversation. “The meat is too chewy.” His comment go unheard as Changbin’s voice keeps raising, adding his own remark to Hyunjin’s comment. “Y/n is too nice to tell you that you just look bald though.”. Lee Know shifts in his chair, why you may ask? Well, it happens when your name is mentioned, his brain makes him believe that the sole mention of you will give away his undenying love for you. So, he continues to comment on his food, trying to change the subject. “Ah even the veggies feels too raw right?”. That doesn’t faze neither Hyunjin nor Changbin though as they continue to banter, using your name from time to time: Hyunjin to state that your opinion worthed more than Changbin’s and Changbin to state that you were merely lying to him for his own sanity.

“That broth tastes bland too…” Uneasiness settles in him the more your name is thrown in the conversation. They know, they know, they know is what his brain keeps whispering to him. “Did I add salt? Ah I should have add pepper.”

What warned Changbin wasn’t how Lee Know was suddenly uncharacteristically talkative about food, no far from that, it was the way his skin was flushed red, the way he kept fidgeting in his seat anytime Hyunjin or him said your name. Then, it clicked.

“Oh my god! You’re in love with them!”

Silence settles between the three friends. A grin appears on Hyunjin’s face, mimicking Changbin’s devilish one as they stare at Minho. They had never seen him like that. It was as if they had caught him up in the most embarassing, hole digging type of situation.

“Holy-” “Really I should add some pepper in that broth, it’s bland as hell.”

Lee Know goes to stand up, trying his best to be fast enough as to hide in the safety of his kitchen. He didn’t plan on Hyunjin’s next words though. “Wow, I’m so going to tell them...”

Anyone else in their right mind would whine, deny or beg even but, Lee Know has never been in his right mind. What he does, doesn’t leave Hyunjin a single option. He’s quick to grab the pot of steaming hot broth, moving it right above Hyunjin freshly shaved head.

“If you go anywhere near them, you’ll have to deal with me!”. Hyunjin stares at him, bewilderment. Changbin speaks up, to save his other friend from Lee Know's sudden outburst. "Chill man, it was a joke."

Lee Know puts the pot back on the table mindlessly as he plops down in his seat again. A joke. Were his honest, genuine feelings a joke to them?

"They like someone else anyway, I wouldn't put you in the spot man."

Hyunjin's words had been meant to soothe Lee Know, but it did everything but so. Of course, why would you, of all people, fall for him, of all people. And, his friend comment proved that even his own friends believed that you would NEVER fall for him. Of course, you already had your eyes on someone else still, the unnecessary reminder stil hurt right where it should.

"Yeah so, that's why you can't tell them..." Lee Know wasn't a man who hated people, he judged them hard yes, but he'd never hate anyone. Right now though, that one person you fancied, he wishes he could tell straight to their face that, he despises them with his entire being.

Later that night, Lee Know is pacing in his bed room, thinking over the small accident that occurred earlier. His greatest fear finally came true and he had no idea how to deal with it. Should he trusts Hyunjin he won’t say a word to you or should he really take him out? He was only half serious about the latter option. His cats observed him from his bed, wondering what the hell got into their owner, not fully grasping the huge, chaotic mess going on his head right now. Lee Know knew that, confessing to you would be useless, you’d never reciprocate his feelings. Never. He had decided on that, as soon as he realized his feelings for you. It wasn’t because he wasn’t good enough, or that he was insecure, nor something else really, it was just as the fact that water wets, you could never love him back end of. To top it all, Hyunjin's final comment had stabbed him straight to the heart, slowly making its way in. In a final moment of dramatic despair, he throws himself on the bed, closing his eyes shut tightly, begging his brain to let him sleep in peace and dream of alligators or some shit instead of your pretty smile. Luckily, the stress, fear and adrenaline of the accident allows him to basically faint into a short length nap.

A few hours later, he wakes up groggily, cheek squished on his mattress, the feel of one of his cat sleeping soundly on his back and, the sight of his phone right by his head. If his short sleep has been dreamless, his awakening was already flooded by thoughts of you. He can’t help the humourless chuckle that leaves him as he stares at the phone.

If you’d ask him what made him do his next action, he’d answer that he doesn’t know. Perhaps sometimes, it’s unexplainable things that lead you to do things that’ll change your life forever. So, he picks up his phone,r est of his body unmoving, fingers swift, knowing the exact movements by heart as they dial your number. Phone to his ear, cheek still squished on his bed, the call gets him straight to your voicemail. He gulps once, clears his throat, then, he talks.

“Y/n… y/n…. Y/N! Ah, if you weren’t awake, now I’m sure you are. Alright now, you listen to me yeah? I’m not drunk, I’m not high, I’m not… stupid either. Look, whatever the boys tell you, do not believe them… wait no, it depends actually. If they say that I love you, you can believe them but if they say otherwise, you can… cook them… on my behalf… Ah yeah so, I… It’s harder when it doesn’t slip up uh… *meow* Soonie wants to talk to you wait… my mistake, it didn’t want to talk to you. I do though… all the time. Ah, I’m an idiot actually, didn’t even ask if you’re doing okay, just straight up told you I love you. Idiot. How are you? No wait, I didn’t mean to call you idiot. There’s a dot between idiot and my question… You think we should mention punctuations when we talk? Or just… leave a huge pause to say that there’s a dot? Anyway… *meow* Meow… sorry I might not sound like it but I’m nervous right now. I don’t know how many times I said I…”

A bip sounds in his ear signalling that the length of his voicemail reached his maximum. Grunting he dials your number again, waiting for the call to be sent to the voicemail. As soon as it bips, he starts his… mindless rent again.

“Sorry about that, so, as I was saying, I… Honestly, it’s stupid, I’m calling you right now just because they kept nagging me and saying they’ll spill the beans to you, and also because Hyunjin said you liked someone else. I could end their lives in a few words for each why am I getting so worked up over this… So what if I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death? There’s nothing wrong with that right? And... and what if you love someone else, doesn't mean... I can't love you right? Like… yeah I love you so what? And, I’ll get to tell you whenever I want, and not when those ass wipes threatening me or something, I mean I know you're not into me anyway. It's kinda a selfish confession on my behalf you know, to I don't know, soothe the pain? It doesn't sooth anything though... yeah anyway I-"

“Lee Know?”

His body turns rigid in his bed, so much, even his cats wonder if they’ll have to find a new owner sooner than expected. Why is he hearing your voice… why the hell is he hearing your voice. Slowly, as if terrified of witnessing what he dreads the most, he moves his phone so he can see the screen. Hell. What he sees on the screen is hell. His second call wasn’t sent to your voicemail, you had picked up. Millions of scenarios run around his mind, each one worst than the other. He doesn’t have the time to react though, as your voice rings out again.

“Don’t hang up on me Lee Know and, yes, I heard everything you said.”

He’s certain that you could hear him gulp on the other side of the phone. He’s screwed and he can’t even blame the boys about his current position, the only idiot in this story, is him.

“Even my first voicemail?”

“Not that one no, but, considering what you said on the actual call, does that matter?”, was he dreaming or could he hear a smile in your voice? “Yeah no, not really.”

For a moment, both of you are silent, him struggling to register that he basically confessed to you more than he should have in the span of a few minutes and you, basking in the fact that, Lee Know loves you.

“Can I rant to you too now?”, Soonie meows in the background as if to answer for his stunned owner. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I love you too.”

After a few beats, Lee Know speaks again, his brain still on auto pilot, not quite understanding the… weirdly welcomed predicament he ended up in. “That’s not a rant, that’s a sentence.”

He hears you snorts, and he finds it cute. “That’s not a sentence, that’s just a fact.” It makes him smile how you never laugh awkwardly or just brush off his witty comments, how even, you use the same tone as he does, as if it was obvious just how much he should have never been scared of letting you know about his feelings for you. As if he had been the dumbest idiot to believe that you could ever love someone that's not him.

“So,” He’s not sure where to go from there. He confessed, you confessed too, so what now? “Does that fact implies that we can go on a date… or something.”

A beat. Again, he hears your smile widen through the phone, making his own grow too. “It does implies that we can go on a date… or something.”

The Lee Know that had all but fainted on his bed earlier, terrified of not being the one for you, would certainly faint again if he saw himself right now. The fact, and not the sentence, that he gets to go on a date with you, knowing that you already love him too, is probably the best lucky mistake his stupid friends could ever generate.

main masterlist

[xoxoch3rry]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕌𝕤 | 𝔽𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕎𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕪

@ xoxoch3rry do not steal or translate my work.

ᴳᴵᶠ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ~

Word count: 1,453

────

Fred Weasley x fem!Malfoy reader

Warnings: Unrequited love, Angst.

Summary: Fred refuses to give up, determined to prove that love can transcend their families' hatred—even if it means facing heartbreak along the way.

────⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˖ ࣪⊹────

The Hogwarts corridors were quieter than usual. Most students were at dinner, the Great Hall alive with chatter and clinking cutlery. You, however, found solace in the emptiness of the castle. You didn’t feel like sitting through another evening surrounded by the icy stares and cutting remarks of your housemates in Slytherin. The weight of your last name—Malfoy—was one you carried silently, its expectations heavy on your shoulders.

You turned a corner, your robes brushing against the stone walls, only to come face-to-face with Fred Weasley. His fiery red hair was unmistakable, even in the dim light of the torches lining the hall. His face lit up when he saw you, a grin spreading across his freckled face.

“Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy,” he said, leaning casually against the wall as if he hadn’t deliberately waited for you.

You sighed, your grip tightening on the book in your hands. “What do you want, Weasley?”

Fred’s grin faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly, his brown eyes sparkling with something between mischief and longing. “Just wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

“Yes,” you said curtly, though your voice lacked the venom you wished it carried. You stepped around him, your pace quickening, but you weren’t surprised when he fell into step beside you.

“You can’t keep avoiding me forever, you know,” he said, his tone lighter than the conversation warranted.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you muttered, keeping your gaze fixed ahead.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Fred shot back, his voice softening. “You’ve been avoiding me since last week. Since—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, coming to an abrupt stop. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. “Don’t bring that up.”

He frowned, his usual confidence faltering. “Y/N, I meant what I said.”

You clenched your jaw, the memory of his confession playing in your mind. Fred Weasley, the Gryffindor prankster, the boy with an infectious laugh and a heart far too kind for someone like you, had told you he loved you. And you had turned him away.

────

Later that night, you sat by the fire in the Slytherin common room, absently stroking Draco’s white owl as it perched on the arm of your chair. Across from you, Draco slouched on the couch, one leg draped over the other, his silver eyes watching you intently.

“You’re brooding again,” Draco said, his voice cutting through the silence.

“I’m not brooding,” you snapped, though you both knew it was a lie.

Draco smirked, his trademark arrogance shining through. “You only sit in that chair when you’re thinking about him.”

You glared at him, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fred Weasley,” Draco said, his tone dripping with disdain. “That one twin who seems to think following you around like a lovesick puppy is charming.”

“He’s not following me,” you muttered, though you knew it wasn’t entirely true. “And he’s not… he’s not a bad person, Draco.”

“He’s a Weasley,” Draco said sharply. “That’s bad enough.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Try me.”

For all his faults—and there were many—Draco was still your brother, the one person you could confide in without fear of judgment. You hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“He… he told me he loved me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in irritation. “And you didn’t hex him?”

“Draco,” you said warningly.

“What?” he said, throwing his hands up. “You can’t seriously be considering—”

“I’m not,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. We can’t be together.”

Draco studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he said finally. “Because if Father found out—”

“I know,” you said, cutting him off. “I know, Draco.”

He nodded, leaning back into the couch with a satisfied smirk. “Just make sure it stays that way.”

────

But it didn’t stay that way. Fred didn’t give up.

The next day, you found a note tucked into your Potions textbook. The handwriting was unmistakably Fred’s, the letters slightly slanted and playful.

Meet me by the Astronomy Tower after class. Please.

You crumpled the note in your fist, your stomach twisting. You told yourself you wouldn’t go, that it was better to stay away. But as the day wore on, your resolve faltered. By the time night fell, you found yourself climbing the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

Fred was waiting for you, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the railing. When he saw you, his face lit up with that familiar grin, though it quickly faded into something softer.

“You came,” he said, his voice tinged with surprise.

“Don’t make me regret it,” you replied, though there was no real bite to your words.

Fred stepped closer, his brown eyes searching yours. “Y/N, I meant what I said. I love you. And I know you feel something too.”

You turned away, your hands gripping the cold stone railing. “It doesn’t matter how I feel, Fred. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Because of our families? Because of some stupid rivalry that’s been going on for centuries?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because of that. Because my family would never accept this. Because your family would never accept me.”

Fred stepped closer, his hand brushing yours. “My family would love you, Y/N. If they knew you the way I do, they’d love you.”

You pulled your hand away, tears stinging your eyes. “You don’t understand, Fred. You don’t understand what it’s like to be a Malfoy. The expectations, the pressure… I can’t just walk away from that.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice soft but desperate. “I’m not asking you to give up your family. I’m just asking you to give us a chance.”

You turned to face him, your heartbreaking at the look in his eyes. “Fred, I can’t.”

“Won’t,” he corrected, his voice bitter. “You won’t.”

“Call it whatever you want,” you said, stepping back. “But this… this has to stop.”

Fred stared at you, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re wrong,” he said finally, his voice trembling with emotion. “This doesn’t have to stop. I won’t give up on you, Y/N. I can’t.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the cold night air.

────

The following weeks were torture. Fred didn’t give up, no matter how much distance you tried to put between you. He left notes in your books, charmed enchanted paper planes to find you in the library, and even sent you a bouquet of enchanted flowers that bloomed in Slytherin green and silver.

Your housemates teased you mercilessly, though none of them knew the truth. Only Draco knew, and he made sure to remind you of the consequences every chance he got.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said one evening, his voice low and sharp. “If Father finds out…”

“He won’t,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Draco scoffed, shaking his head. “You can’t keep this up, Y/N. He’s not going to stop.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how to.

────

It all came to a head one evening in the library. You were sitting alone, trying to focus on your Potions essay, when Fred appeared, soaked from the rain. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his usually mischievous grin was replaced with a look of pure determination.

“Fred,” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. “What are you doing here?”

“Talking to you,” he said, sitting across from you. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”

“For good reason,” you said, your voice tight. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

“Because it’s worth it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re worth it.”

Your resolve cracked, tears welling in your eyes. “Fred, please…”

“No,” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you, Y/N. And I think you love me too, even if you won’t admit it. So tell me—tell me right now that you don’t feel anything for me, and I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Because you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t true.

Fred leaned forward, his brown eyes locked onto yours. “Say it, Y/N. Say you don’t love me.”

At that moment, you realized that no matter how hard you tried to fight it, Fred Weasley had already claimed a piece of your heart.

“I love you.”

[better-setterv2]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 - 𝒫𝓉.5

Authors Note: Hi all! Here’s is the next chapter, hope you enjoy! Part 6 is almost completed, I just need to edit it. Lots of love xx

Summary: The reader finally meets the group chat boys in person, only to realise with breathless tension that the mysterious Hammertime is none other than Lewis Hamilton.

Warnings: mild swearing

Taglist: @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mits-vi @mimisweetz @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog

MASTERLIST

Pt1,Pt2,Pt3,Pt4,Pt5,Pt6,Pt7,Pt8,Pt9

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You barely had time to register the soft clink of cups and the low hum of conversation before it happened.

A sharp bump at your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt but enough to jar you off balance. You stumbled slightly, your hand flying out to steady yourself on the edge of a nearby table.

“Shit far out - sorry!” a low voice said at the same time you blurted out, “Oh sorry!”

You looked up. And time slowed.

It was him. The man from the airport.

Up close, the déjà vu hit you hard. The same profile, sharp but soft around the mouth. The same casual hoodie, pulled up just enough to cast a shadow over his face. Dark sunglasses. Curls peeking out, slightly damp at the temples like he’d just come from a shower or was still shaking off the morning sun.

A faint scent clung to him again - clean, expensive, fresh. Citrus and something deeper, like warm amber and woodsmoke. It made your stomach flip and not just because of the near collision.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Your eyes met, briefly but the sunglasses made it hard to tell what his were saying. There was a split second where something flickered behind his expression. A pause. A hesitation. Like maybe he recognised you too. Or thought he did.

But then it was gone.

He gave a polite, quiet smile. “Didn’t see you there.”

“No, my fault,” you murmured, heat crawling up your neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

The moment hung strangely in the air between you. Charged with something. But like so many small, fated moments, it passed too quickly.

He dipped his head in a subtle nod and turned, walking away. You caught a glimpse of tattoos running down his hand as he reached up to adjust his hood again, slipping deeper into the café’s interior, vanishing behind a tall potted plant and a low divider near the back wall.

You didn’t even get a chance to see where he sat.

Your heart was still thudding. You didn’t know why.

And then your phone buzzed.

[Private Message – Hammertime 💬]

Hammertime: Still doing okay?

Your breath caught. You glanced toward the back of the café again, even though you couldn’t see him anymore. No way, you thought.

No way it’s him. Right?

User (You): Just had another almost collision.

Same guy from the airport, I think. Weird.

Three dots. Then nothing. Then they came back again.

Hammertime: Twice in one city. That’s a pattern.

You stared at the screen, biting your lip.

User (You): Weird kind of energy.

Hammertime:Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.

A voice beside you made you flinch slightly.

“Table for one?” the waiter asked, smiling.

You nodded, slipping your phone back into your pocket though your fingers itched to keep the conversation going.

As you followed the waiter deeper into the café, past rows of tiny marble tables and elegant chairs filled with the chatter of strangers, your mind kept circling back to the man you’d run into twice.

He had felt…familiar.

Too familiar.

But it wasn’t like you’d know Hammertime if he stood right in front of you, would you?

Still, as you sat down your eyes scanned the café one more time.

Just in case.

The waiter brought over a menu and a small glass of water, but you barely glanced at it. Your attention kept drifting toward the warm clatter of cutlery, the soft murmur of French and English voices and the low familiar hum of anticipation you couldn’t shake.

You hadn’t spotted him again.

The man from the airport twice now, you reminded yourself had disappeared into the café like a ghost. You’d scanned faces, corners, booths. But no sunglasses. No curls. No citrus and amber scent.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Your phone vibrated again.

GridGremlins 🛠️

SmoothOperator: We're close. Don’t run off now.

Pastry: Order the croissants. Please.

Baguetteboi: order the whole menu while you’re at it actually.

MadMax: Five minutes. Hope you're ready.

You exhaled slowly. Five minutes.

You weren't sure if it was excitement, dread, or something in between pooling in your chest. The last few weeks had been digital shadows and anonymous jokes and teasing names. This was real now. Physical. You were breathing the same air as them. Sitting just streets away.

Your eyes drifted to the door every time it opened. You swore your fingers trembled just slightly as you picked up your glass of water.

Behind you, a chair scraped across the tiled floor.

You turned instinctively only to catch the tail end of a hoodie disappearing out the side exit.

It was him.

Your pulse jumped.

You opened your phone again, not thinking, only feeling.

[Private Message - Hammertime💬]

User (You): Weird question…what are you wearing?

The typing bubble blinked on instantly.

Hammertime:Why? Trying to pick me out in a crowd? 😌

User (You):Maybe I already have.

There was a long pause. You stared at the screen, your heart thudding again.

Hammertime: Then I hope I made a good impression.

You smiled, tucking your phone away as the café door chimed again behind you.

You didn’t turn. Not yet.

The quiet lingered in your bones, the weight of that accidental touch still pulsing in your skin. Whoever he was, he smelled like warmth. And his voice, even softened by apology, had curled low in your chest, nestling there.

But you shook it off. You weren’t here for strange encounters with strangers, not today.

Your phone buzzed again.

GridGremlins 🛠️

MadMax: OI. We are literally waving from a table. Come over if you see us!

Hulk: Turn left. LEFT. Wait wrong person…

SmoothOperator: She’s ignoring us. She hates us.

Baguetteboi: Starting to take it personally.

Pastry: I swear if she backs out, I’m eating all these pastries in protest.

Norrified: stop being rude!

You laughed under your breath, finally turning toward the far end of the café.

And there they were.

A chaotic table crammed into the corner like it belonged to them, and maybe it did. They looked like trouble, the good kind. Energy electrified around them like static jokes flying, chairs half turned, coffee cups scattered. It was the most alive group in the whole café.

MadMax spotted you first. His cap was pulled low, but you could still see the mischief in his grin as he stood to wave. “About bloody time,” he said.

“You sure you’re not lost?” Hulk asked with a smirk, nudging SmoothOperator who was already half standing to pull out the seat beside him.

You sat down slowly, eyes flicking to the one empty chair.

“Someone else coming?” you asked lightly.

They all shared a glance.

“Yeah,” said Pastry. “He had to step out for a second. But he’ll be back.”

“Soon,” added SmoothOperator, stirring his espresso. “You’ll like him.”

You nodded, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder toward the café entrance.

“So,” MadMax said, leaning back in his chair, “now that you’ve met us in the flesh...we figured it’s only fair we drop the usernames.”

You blinked. “Wait, actual names?”

“Yeah,” Pastry said, grinning. “Welcome to the reveal party.”

“Right,” said MadMax, sticking out a hand. “I’m Max. Max Verstappen.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “The Max Verstappen? Sorry I don’t know much about the sport but my friend raves on about you constantly.”

He winked. “You expected less?”

Norrified gave you a teasing smile, “Lando but you can call me yours.”

SmoothOperator raised two fingers in a salute. “Carlos Sainz. And yes, the smoothness is earned.”

“Hulk,” said the tall one with a smirk, “is Nico. Nico Hülkenberg.”

“Daniel sweetheart, also known as the HoneyBader,” he smirked giving you a wink.

Pastry leaned in. “Oscar. Not Pierre, call me that and I’ll pretend I don’t know you.”

“Baguetteboi, at your service,” said the last with a dramatic bow, “Charles Leclerc.”

You stared at them, the names clicking into place like puzzle pieces.

The group chat. The banter. The weird memes and midnight confessions.

And now, them.

You glance over at two others that hadn’t introduced themselves yet.

“Hope you don’t mind, we also dragged George and Pierre here to meet you.” Charles speaks.

You smiled politely as George and Pierre both leaned in to greet you, their expressions warm and easy.

If you weren’t already overwhelmed, the sudden realisation that your entire phone screen for the past few months had been filled with them, actual Formula 1 drivers it might’ve knocked you sideways.

It was too much to wrap your head around at once.

Your gaze drifted back to the empty chair.

“Still waiting for Hammertime?” you asked, trying to sound casual, even though the question came out softer than intended.

They all looked at each other again. Another brief flicker of silence.

Carlos nodded. “He’ll be here soon. Said he had to make a quick call.”

Oscar sipped his coffee. “He’s always last. Fashionably dramatic, that one.”

“Always has to make an entrance,” Lando added with a grin, though something about his tone was gentler now. “But don’t worry he’s worth the wait.”

You chuckled lightly, but your fingers played with the edge of your napkin. The nervous energy returned, stronger now. You didn’t know why, but that name Hammertime felt heavier somehow. It sat at the edge of your mind, waiting to make sense.

You’d felt something when reading his messages these past few months. They weren’t always the most frequent, but when he did say something, it stayed with you. Late night thoughts, playlists, quotes that somehow matched your mood. He’d seen pieces of you that even people in your life didn’t catch.

And then, this morning.

That bump at the café door.

The scent. The apology.

Couldn’t be.

No. That would be too ridiculous. Just your nerves projecting fantasies.

You shook the thought off again.

“So,” said George, drumming his fingers on the table. “How does it feel to meet your favorite internet trolls in real life?”

“Intimidating,” you answered honestly, earning a round of laughs. “But also weirdly familiar.”

“That’s how we knew it would be,” Charles said. “We figured if you could handle us in a group chat, you could handle us in person.”

“But let’s not get too cozy,” Pierre cut in, narrowing his eyes in mock seriousness. “We haven’t heard your real name yet.”

You gave a sheepish smile and told them your first name, at least. The one you signed off with on your rare emotional messages to the group.

“Oooh,” said Daniel, leaning back in his chair. “Now it’s official.”

“She’s one of us now,” Nico said with a mock toast, lifting his coffee cup.

You smiled again, letting the warmth of their welcome settle in. It was strange but good. Still, that one missing presence left the whole thing feeling off balance. Like the stage was set, the cast all assembled except for the lead.

You glanced over toward the café entrance once more, just in time to see the door swing open.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Your thoughts were racing faster than your ability to catch up. The air inside the café felt oddly still, like it was holding its breath for something, waiting for something to change. And then, without warning, you felt the temperature shift.

The chime of the door caused a brief gust of warm air that rippled through the room like a quiet promise.

The figure that stepped inside seemed to fill the space with an energy that made your pulse spike. It wasn’t so much about his physical presence, though that was undeniable. It was the way the room seemed to soften around him, as if everything else had been muted just for him to exist in the moment.

You could see the silhouette before you could see the details. A tall, broad shouldered frame. The kind of posture that spoke of easy confidence. No rush, no apology for taking up space. A man who belonged wherever he went.

But it was the air around him that clung to you. That feeling of having been here before.

No.

You forced the thought away, but it lingered. The strange recognition tugged at you again. Faint, like an echo, pulling you deeper into something you hadn’t expected to feel.

Your gaze remained fixed on your coffee, your fingers curling tighter around your phone, gripping it like it could anchor you to reality. Focus. You couldn’t afford to lose yourself in this moment not when you had a dozen questions swirling inside your head, not when you had a seat at the table with them all.

You didn’t want to turn. Not yet.

But the tension in the air was growing harder to ignore. Every inch of your body seemed to pulse in time with the rising awareness inside you. The group around the table, their voices light and teasing, had quieted, just for a second.

You could feel their attention shifting. It wasn’t sudden, but it was unmistakable. Everyone was waiting for him, waiting for the one who’d just entered the room.

Your stomach fluttered uncomfortably, the space between your ribs tightening as you forced your focus away from the door. You didn’t need to look, didn’t want to look. You were fine just sitting here, right?

But then the unmistakable sound of boots against the wooden floor reached your ears. Each step deliberate, slow, yet unmistakably sure, like he had nowhere else to be but here. Your heart kicked up in your chest.

For a moment, your eyes remained locked on the table in front of you, not allowing yourself to glance over. You could almost feel the pull of his presence across the room. It was magnetic, charged with something you couldn’t quite identify. Something you weren’t ready to face.

“Everything alright, love?” Daniel’s voice cut through your thoughts, teasing lightly but even he couldn’t hide the glint of curiosity in his eyes. The sudden shift in energy hadn’t gone unnoticed by anyone.

“Yeah.” You said it a little too quickly, a little too nervously. “Just… tired.” You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the lie settle in your stomach. You weren’t tired. You were jittery. You were unsettled. Your skin was tight, restless. The same sensation of having a weight on your chest.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the man’s shadow approach, saw the way the light shifted when he stepped closer to the table. Your breathing faltered for a moment, and that was all it took.

You couldn’t resist anymore.

Your gaze flicked upward.

And there he was.

The man from the airport. The one who had been a stranger, an accidental brush of shoulders earlier and a soft, lingering voice. The same man that bumped into you earlier at the cafe door before disappearing from thin air. The one whose presence had unknowingly stayed with you since that fleeting encounter. Standing right in front of you.

For a second, the world around you seemed to blur. The laughter, the conversation and the clinking of cups all of it faded into the background. All you could focus on was him. His tall frame, casually leaning against the table, a soft smile curling on his lips.

Your heart skipped a beat.

It’s him.

His cologne still lingered in the back of your mind. His warmth. His easy charm.

Now, here he was, looking like he belonged. Like this moment was supposed to happen.

His gaze swept across the table, settling on each of them briefly, but then slowly, his eyes turned toward you.

And when your eyes met, everything inside you stilled.

The noise of the café faded away, replaced by the rapid pulse of your heart, the faint breath you’d held in your chest.

His gaze was deep, curious, yet somehow knowing, like there was an understanding between you two that neither of you had voiced, but both of you could feel. His lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t smile. Not yet.

The air between you was thick with unspoken questions.

But neither of you broke the moment. You held it there, suspended, for a breathless second.

Did he know? Did he remember?

Before you could even begin to process the question, his lips parted and he broke the silence. His voice warm but laced with something else. Something familiar. Something that made your stomach twist.

“Small world,” he said softly, his eyes holding yours with that quiet intensity.

And just like that, everything you thought you knew about this moment, about the online chats and about the people around you shifted.

It wasn’t just a chance encounter anymore. It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was him.

It was Hammertime.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The world snapped back into focus with startling clarity.

You blinked. Once. Twice. The breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding slipped past your lips with a quiet, shaky exhale. His words “small world” still echoed in your mind, threading tightly around your pulse.

Your gaze remained locked on his and his expression hadn’t changed. He looked calm. Controlled. But there was a flicker, just a hint of a smirk in the corners of his mouth like he knew the storm you were trying to hide behind your eyes.

The table was silent.

“Wait,” Max said, eyebrows raised as he glanced between the two of you. “You two have already met?”

“I - ” you started, but your voice cracked under the weight of too many unsaid things. “Kind of. We bumped into each other at the airport this when I arrived yesterday. As well as accidentally when i first got here and then he disappeared afterwards. Probably to do with the phone call you mentioned .”

“Literally bumped twice,” the man Hammertime added, folding his arms across his chest, casual as anything. “Didn’t even get your name.”

Carlos let out a low whistle. “No way.”

“I thought you were joking when you messaged us,” Lando muttered, eyes wide as he looked at him.

“Felt familiar,” he corrected, eyes not leaving yours. “Didn’t click until I walked in.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re - ”

“Lewis,” he said gently. “Hamilton.”

The name hit like a soft detonation inside your chest. All the online mystery, the teasing usernames, the jokes in the group chat it all condensed into the man standing in front of you now. Lewis Hamilton. Hammertime.

You only knew snippets of him because of your best friend but didn’t know you were literally speaking to him over social media…

And he was still watching you like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

You opened your mouth, trying to form a coherent thought but your brain was spinning.

The tension between you had shifted, it was still electric, still there but now it was tangled with the sudden flood of realisation. The stranger from the airport wasn’t a stranger at all. He was him.

Daniel grinned, breaking the moment. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

Oscar leaned in toward Charles. “He’s smirking like that because he knows he’s dramatic.”

George raised his brow. “He walked in like a plot twist.”

Charles chuckled under his breath. “Imagine being mysterious and legendary. Must be exhausting.”

Lewis finally moved, stepping closer to the table pulling out the empty chair beside you. The one that had been waiting. He sat down with effortless ease, knees brushing yours under the table.

You swore your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, this time just for you.

You managed a nod, eyes still wide. “I just, didn’t expect you. Someone so famous.”

“Didn’t expect you either,” he replied, that glint in his eye returning. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

The table buzzed again, voices rising, jokes flying once more, but it all blurred around the edges. You weren’t quite hearing them. Not fully. Because Lewis Hamilton was sitting next to you, close enough that you could feel his presence humming under your skin.

And you realised, as his knee nudged against yours and he offered you a quiet, knowing smile, that this day had only just begun unraveling.

[yan-lorkai]

how would the boys react if darling escaped and they caught darling trying to hang themself before being caught again? I'm thinking of idia and malleus, but any other boy that would kidnap them works too

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, YANDERE CONTENT.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ A/n: tbh I read that and immediately thought of Riddle, so we're going with this loveable short king

The rope against your neck was harsh, unforgiving, just like your actual situation, digging into your neck just enough to make you gasp for air as you fought to breathe. Not yet, not yet, you kept repeting. You kept searching for another solution, another way to ran away from this.

You found none.

It felt hopeless, like sand falling from your fingers.

Like trying to swim against the sea.

Like trying to run barefoot amidst flames and broken glass.

You could feel it on your bones; an excruciating pain, an unphantomable feeling that made you sick, as if someone were twisting your guts again and again. Regardless, here were you.

Standing over a chair, reminiscing your short life, your wrongdoings and rights. All those laughters shared with friends, the way you cried after a good movie, feeling like life was good enough to be lived, the sun shining bright on your face, dancing on the rain with your love, pranking your parents. There were so many memories, so much to explore, to do and see.

So much that was stolen because of a miserable man.

You shudder by just thinking of him.

The way he used to touch you, the way he would gaze at you for hours on end, that arrogant smile because he knew you couldn't escape from him. He was wrong. He was terribly wrong, as this wasn't your first attempt but it would be your last.

It would be your last.

That scared you. You gasped for air, the rope was digging even more on your skin now, bringing tears to your eyes as the air was slowly leaving you. You didn't care. It will be ending soon.

All the pain.

All the suffering.

Everything would be just gone.

Or so you hoped. This was a desperate way to escape, and you didn't want to do it, as you loved living more than anything. But you couldn't keep living beside him. Not when you feared breathing and be promptly corrected because you breathed too loudly.

Or because you didn't know each cutlery served what purpose. Or a million other reasons that forced his hand to punish you, to educate you, as he liked to say right after bruising and hurting you, right after he destroyed your hopes and crushed your will.

But no more would he do this.

For no more, you would be here.

If you couldn't escape him while living, you would escape in death.

You kicked the chair from beneath your feet, dangling in the air as a fish trying to breathe out of water. It was suffocating, your nails digging into the rope. Everything; too bright, too loudly. You could feel your veins running over your arms, blood pumping frenetically, your spine aching from how hard gravity pulled you down.

Tears streamed down your face as black dots danced across your vision. At any moment, your spine might snap your neck, and you would die — slowly, painfully.

You hoped so.

You closed your eyes. You accepted Death with open arms, like an old friend visiting after years without contact.

Your body was getting numb now, colder. A fear plagued your chest as more tears still streamed down your eyes, like shooting star falling down the sky.

At some point, because of lack of air, you felt what seemed like hands holding you up and current of air invaded your lungs. It seemed like a distant dream. Everything was so hazy and misty on your mind. As if real and dream didn't had any distinction between them.

But a pair of red eyes staring at you with a maniacal glint proved that this was indeed very real. Few were the times that Riddle expressed what he truly felt - for he was ashamed of feeling those things -, but fear and sadness clogged his eyes as his entire body was shaking.

You didn't realize how or when, but he had cut the rope that you were using to hang yourself with, clinging to your body as if to feel your warmth, your breathing, the lack of strength and fight that left you in this last desperate attempt.

In the end, you were both crying, for different reasons.

[bubbleggum444]

— ❝SUDS N' SWEETNESS❞

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 bruce wayne x female!reader, maid!reader au, fluff 2k+ wc.

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 falling for her is inevitable, isn't it? part 2 of "the lovely maid"

"I'm glad to see the kids smiling," she said with a light laugh before adding, "mischievous too—even if it's at your expense, Mr. Wayne."

She placed the dirty dishes in the sink, unaware of the emotional storm brewing in her employer’s mind as he joined her, unloading the dishes beside her.

'They could be your kids...and you could be Mrs. Wayne', he thought, glancing at her quietly before picking up a spare sponge.

"Don’t," she said, reaching for the sponge in his hand. Her much smaller fingers wrapped around his in an attempt to stop him.

"That’s my job, Mr. Wayne."

'Dear Lord, call me ‘Mr. Wayne’ one more time and I’ll lose it.' He licked his bottom lip, trying for the hundredth time that evening to drag his thoughts out of the gutter.

In an attempt to salvage what remained of his self-control—and to not desecrate the image of the woman he increasingly saw as someone worthy of worship—Bruce gently dabbed the tip of the soapy sponge on her nose, leaving a playful streak of suds behind.

She looked up at him.

Blink.

Then again.

"Achoo!"

The sneeze startled the older man, her movement nearly jolting him. She quickly reached for a paper towel, wiping her nose and the soap off it.

Great, Bruce. Just great. You made her sneeze. And not even in the cute way.

"Uh... I apologize—"

"It’s fine, sir," she said with a bright laugh, her shoulders trembling softly, her face still hidden behind the tissue.

He nodded, silently grateful for her forgiving nature... and wondering, somewhere deep in the corners of his mind, what else came easily to his little maid.

He gulped, loosening his tie slightly. Grabbing a dry cloth from the hook on the wall, he began to dry the cutlery she washed, his heartbeat skipping every time their fingers brushed.

"They’re happy because you’re here."

She looked up at him, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Do you think so, Mr. Wayne?"

He gripped the edge of the sink at the sound of his last name again, fighting the urge to show her exactly what Mr. Wayne was really thinking.

"I do, doll."

"I’m glad—I mean, flattered. But I’m glad too. I just don’t want the children to feel uncomfortable because of me."

'Believe me: they’d be nothing but happy with you as their mother.'

Bruce exhaled slowly, struggling to keep his thoughts in check. Her sweetness was turning him into someone entirely new. This wasn’t the billionaire playboy. This was just Bruce Wayne—a man hopelessly in love with someone he doesn’t think he deserves.

"I mean it," he said firmly, placing the washed dishes in their cabinets.

"And I mean it too. I really like the boys. I wish nothing but the best for them."

As she handed him the last plate, it clattered to the counter, slipping from his grasp as he gently caught her wrist instead—pulling her closer.

His hands found her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her maid dress as he lifted her onto the counter.

The plate shattered at his feet.

He stepped between her knees, eyes locked on hers, their noses nearly touching. Their shallow breathing filled the silence between them.

What now, Bruce?

'I know I’m your employer, but I want to kiss you.'

'I swear this isn’t about power. I love you. Marry me. Have my babies.'

'May I kiss you?'

He was frustrated. Scared. Completely at a loss. How do you ask to kiss the angel who has you wrapped around her little finger?

"What the..."

Their heads snapped toward the kitchen archway.

Damian stood there, holding a dirty glass and looking like he’d just witnessed a war crime.

With surgical precision, he set the glass on the floor.

"I’m going to pretend I didn’t witness this," he said flatly, before pivoting and walking away.

─────────────────── 𐀔

𝑏𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑚444©

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

[@zalme, hope you like it 🫶🏻]

[kingsoowolves]

birthday boy | h.sh

pairing: idol boyfriend!seunghan x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

author's note: idk if any of you know it, but Seunghan is actually my first bias in riize. since his hiatus, i miss him so much and each day that passes without his presence in the group, i want him to come back even more. i know there's a bunch of ot6 briizes and i honestly don't really care who everyone chooses to stan. we're all different and have different tastes and likings, i get it. but i'm still holding out hope for him to comeback and that feeling won't die down untill i see his beautiful smile while he's on a stage along with his members again. this work is to showcase my love for him, nothing else. and also for all the ot7 briizes and hongjjangus that miss him just as much as me. i hope you like it, babes 🐈‍⬛🫧🧡

contents: established relationship, aged up!seunghan. mentions of riize members. set in the future, on seunghan's 25th birthday. he is active in the group and riize has been in the scene for a few years. smut and fluff. seunghan wants to have his cake and eat it too, lol. fingering, sex in the shower. sex without protection, cumming inside (don't be like them).

you can also read this work on my ao3, if you’d like

Seunghan is needy and dramatic towards you on a daily basis. But on his birthday, it always gets worse.

He ends every request with a “Please? It’s my birthday”, pulls you to sit on his lap every chance he gets and asks for smooches and attention each half an hour that passes by. It’s adorable and charming, and you always find yourself a willing victim to his whims, kissing and hugging him whenever he desires.

However, in times like this, when you’re rushing to get everything done for the small dinner party you’re hosting for his 25th birthday, it does annoy you a little bit. You’re already preoccupied about failing this day for him because the cake wasn’t yet delivered by the bakery and you only remembered to put the wine inside the freezer twenty minutes ago. At least, there’s still forty minutes left until the time you set for his members to show up and you hope that the wine is cold by then and the cake is inside your fridge.

You’re thinking about all of this while you’re finishing setting the fancy cutlery on the table. Seunghan should be checking on the lasagna inside the oven, but instead he catches you midway through your task, rubbing his chest on your back and his hands on your hips as he starts to place kisses on the side of your neck.

“Babe, the lasagna,” you warn.

“I just checked it. It’s still cooking,” he whispers over the wetness his spit gathered on your skin, making you shiver. He runs his nose from the side of your throat to your ear. “You smell so freaking good.”

“No, I don’t,” you say, closing your eyes, letting your body sag a little against his and reaching a hand back to his neck, keeping his face still on your neck while he resumes peppering kisses on your skin. “I still haven’t showered.”

“You always smell good for me, baby,” he says before nipping your earlobe. You can’t help but sigh from the attention he’s giving you. “And I can help you shower.”

His obvious naughty intentions make you open your eyes and spin around, your hands going to his chest to push him slightly away from you.

“No way,” you shake your head. “I know you’ll be distracting me and not helping at all. Plus, you’re already ready and someone needs to answer the delivery truck when they bring the cake.”

Seunghan gives you his best puppy look and steps closer to you again, his hands going around you to encircle your waist. “Baby, please,” he whines. “We spent the whole day organizing this place. I haven’t been able to fuck you yet and it’s my birthday.”

You chuckle and look up at him, resting your chin on his chest and squeezing his cheeks. “Well, you should’ve thought about that before hosting a dinner party at our place, birthday boy.”

He whines again, pressing his forehead on yours whilst his agile fingers start bunching up the skirt of your old saggy dress, one hand pressing on the underside of your left thigh as if he’s preparing to lift you over the table. “I could just slide right in like this. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“No, Seunghan,” you say, voice firm and serious. He gives you a defeated look and steps back, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m sorry, baby. But we’re already late as it is. We can do all the shenanigans you want later, okay?”

You get on your tiptoes and press your hands on his shoulders to drop a quick peck to his lips, but Seunghan holds you there, his fingers closing on the back of your neck to turn the kiss into a heated one. You wrap your hands around his neck to give him a little taste of what he’s been craving, letting him kiss you the way he wants, his tongue licking up every crevice of your mouth. When he pulls back, you have to blink your eyes open to wake up your hazy mind.

“Okay,” he whispers, a sly smile playing on the corner of his lips as he watches the reaction only one really good kiss pulled out of you. “Go get ready.”

You gulp and nod your head. “Finish setting the table up for me, please? And don’t forget about the lasagna, too. Oh, and–”

“And the cake should be delivered any minute,” he completes for you. “I know, baby, I know. Now go get yourself prettier for my day.”

You nod again, giving him one last peck on his lips and finally turning around. Seunghan takes the moment to pat your butt lightly and you laugh back at him while you walk to your bedroom. After getting to the en suite bathroom, you turn the water to the temperature you like and hastily slip out of your clothes. You sigh when you step into the shower and the warm water hits your head and shoulders, massaging the knots on the back of your neck.

After you shampoo your hair and begin to cover yourself in soap, you hear the door to the bathroom open up and spin around to see Seunghan a few meters away from the glass enclosure separating you both, his fingers quickly removing his denim jacket and tugging his black t-shirt up.

“Seunghan, no!” You exclaim, watching him slide the shirt out of his body and dropping it on the floor along with your clothes. “I told you, I–”

“Babe, I already turned off the oven and put the lasagna to rest on the counter. I also texted the guys saying they should come an hour later,” he explains, moving his hands to his belt buckle to unfasten it and then zipping down the fly on his pants. “Wonbin hyung agreed to pick up the cake. Already let the bakery know it, too.”

You open your mouth at him in shock and your pink sponge falls from your hand onto the shower tiles. “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did.” Seunghan laughs at you and resumes taking his jeans off, his briefs going sliding down his legs along with it. He steps out of the fabric and his semi-hard cock springs free, the head of it slapping along his thigh. You bite your bottom lip whilst he slides the shower door open just enough for you to see him in all his glory, perfect body exposed bare right in front of your eyes. “So what it’s gonna be, baby? Are we going to fuck or do you prefer to keep pretending you don’t want this as much as I do?”

“Come in,” you say through gritted teeth and he laughs again, stepping inside and sliding the glass door back on its place. You wind your arms around his shoulders and press yourself against him. “You’re a pain in my ass, Hong Seunghan. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, and you love me,” he mutters while he holds you, splaying both of his hands on your ass.

“Unfortunately, I do,” you whisper back, pulling him in for a kiss.

Seunghan’s lips have always been addictive to you. You love how full and beautiful they are, how his smiles come easily when he quirks the sides of them up just a bit and especially how soft and moist they become while he’s kissing you. You always get lost in the feeling, biting on his bottom lip and drawing pretty sounds out of him. You’re so lost in him at this moment that you don’t even notice how his hands snake down your body, gripping on your flesh until his fingers find the place in between your legs.

He spreads you open with his fingers and you moan, your lips disconnecting with his. He laughs darkly as his forefinger rubs on your clit and you hold onto his shoulders for stability.

“You tried to deny me like that but yet you get this wet from just a few kisses?” He says while he watches your face contorting in pleasure.

“I was trying to be responsible,” you reply, trying to keep your moaning to a minimum while it’s still so early in the game. “Instead of you, who only thinks with your dick.”

Seunghan smiles, fingers massaging over your hole and trying to coax louder moans out of you. “That’s just your effect on me, sweetheart. I can’t help it.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you’re just a horndo–” You get cut off because of course Seunghan chooses that exact moment to insert two of his fingers inside of you, making the words on your lips turn into a groan and your head loll back.

���What were you saying, baby?” He asks slyly over your exposed neck, pumping his fingers in and out of you with precision. How can he be so fucking good at this?

You gulp down the saliva that collects in your throat and scrunch your eyes while you bask in the feeling of him pleasuring you. “Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought,” he replies with a smile, moving you to press your back against the bathroom wall and reaching down to wrap a hand around one of your thighs, hooking it up around his waist. You press the arch of your foot on his ass to pull him closer to you and soon enough his dick is pressed in between your bodies and he’s rutting on your lower belly. “That’s it, such a good girl for me.”

You move your hand down to cover his pretty cock, pumping him in your fist the best you can while Seunghan distracts you by scissoring his fingers inside your cunt. You try to look down to see what you’re doing, but Seunghan’s head eclipses your visions when he starts dropping kisses on the valley of your breasts. His lips move to one of your perk nipples and you moan out loud when he sucks it into his mouth, flicking the bud with his tongue. Your pace falters on his length and he pulls your hand away from it to intertwine your fingers together, resting them on the coldness of the bathroom tiles beside your head.

“Hani, it’s your birthday,” you say, and he looks up at you with your boob still inside his mouth. “I should be the one pleasuring you.”

He releases your nipple with a pop, then sinks his teeth on the flesh of your other breast. “But you are pleasuring me, baby. Doing whatever I want with you is all I need.”

You sigh when he licks over your neglected nipple, his tongue tracing around the areola over and over again until he gets tired of it and suctions on that one, too. He keeps the unrelenting pace of his fingers inside of you and moves his thumb up your clit again to rub on it.

“But I want to do more for you,” you whisper, starting to thrust your hips up against his hand. Your head already feels dizzy and your vision starts to get hazy with how much he’s overwhelming your senses. You feel that any moment now you might snap.

Seunghan releases his nipple from your mouth t at the same moment the revolutions down your clit get faster, and you can’t stop your moans from echoing around the restroom anymore while he kisses his way up to your lips again.

“Then you can suck me off after dinner, okay?” He mutters, his natural foxy eyes glinting at you and his mouth drinking up your sounds. “You’re close, right?”

“So close, Hani,” you cry out, gripping his hand tightly on yours and tugging on his hair with your other one.

He smiles at you and presses his lips to yours two times. Then, he mutters, “Cum for me now, pretty girl.”

It’s ridiculous that that’s all it takes to get you there. But either way, your orgasm washes over you, the tingling forming in your belly spreading through your limbs and head while your walls convulse around Seunghan’s fingers. He still keeps his work in your pussy while you scream and drop your lips to bite on his neck to give you something to do.

“That’s it, my love. You look so pretty when you fall apart. I want to watch this for the rest of my life,” he whispers in your ear while you sink your teeth on his flesh.

Once there’s no energy left in your body and you’re babbling incoherently on his skin, he slides his hand up to lift your chin and press your head back on the wall. His fingers wipe the drool from the corner of your mouth and you smell your juices on them, your tongue instinctively darting out to lick at them.

“Shit, baby, you got me so hard already,” he heaves while you suck his digits into your mouth, limp hand searching for his cock again. “There’s no need for that.”

You only release his fingers from your mouth after pressing little kisses on the tips of each one, then you smile at him and wrap your hand around his dick, slapping it against your folds to share your wetness and his precum with each other. “You’re going to fuck me now, birthday boy?”

“Are you up for it already?” He asks, trying to convey worry through his little groans and expletives. “I don’t wanna do too much too soon.”

“I don’t care, you can overstimulate me all you want,” you reply back, hitting his dick on your clit to show him that you’re serious. “I just need your dick inside me, Hani.”

“Fuck yeah,” he groans at both your words and how you guide his dick to your entrance, your cunt sucking his fat head inside. “I’ll fuck you dumb, baby.”

“Be my guest,” you moan back, feeling him slide all the way in one go and bottoming out, your walls stretching to accommodate his heavy girth inside.

Seunghan slides out and inside of you slowly only three times. Then he sets a merciless rhythm, hitting you with smooth, fast and hard thrusts. You wrap your other leg around him and he holds you up with his strong legs and arms, hands grasping your back and ass cheeks. You tug on his hair, kiss his cheeks, nip on his lips and suck on his neck and chest while he keeps fucking you through it all. The wet sounds of his dick fleetly moving in and out of your cunt and your skin slapping together bounce around the walls, becoming the back tracking for the harmony of moans you voice out together.

He doesn’t falter for a minute, not even when you reach down to squeeze his balls. Instead of easing down his flow, he spreads one of your legs apart, securing it to the wall behind you while he scrunches his nose and gazes down to watch how your cunt clutches to his cock every time he pulls back and your hand fondles his testicles.

Seunghan is giving you his everything. Hoisting you up, holding you together, pining you to the wall and fucking you deliciously. Ruining you. His arms bulge and his legs flex while he does it and you can see sweat forming on his forehead. The water still falling from the shower hits his shoulder blades and splash warm droplets on your skins and the shower doors, like it’s painting freckles on the scene, covering you both in the marks of your lovemaking.

You think he never looked as beautiful as he does right now.

“Seunghan,” you call for him and he looks at you with lust and love swimming inside his eyes. You run a hand over the fringe that falls on his forehead, slicking it back and then rubbing your fingers on his cheek bone. Handsome as hell. You can’t quite believe this man is all yours. “I’m close. I want you to cum inside, okay?”

He nods fervently and presses kisses on your hand that’s still on his face. “Yeah, baby, you got it,” he says, his voice faltering slightly.

Just then he slows down the drive of his hips, moving his legs and balancing himself again in between your thighs until he finds the new angle he’s searching for. Your breath hitches when it seems like he slides even deeper inside your pussy. The head of his cock starts to hit that amazing spongy spot inside you and he smiles victoriously when you’re reduced to a blubbering mess. When his thumb rubs on your clit, joining his dick in his effort to make you mad, you’re done for.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moan out, squeezing your eyes shut. Your legs tremble and you try to hold it together, but your peak is coming at you faster and faster. “Baby, I think I’m gonna– I’m cum–”

You’re interrupted by Seunghan’s lips crashing on yours and his tongue being shoved inside your mouth. Your orgasm rips through your body like an out-of-control train flying off its tracks. It’s brisk and powerful, leaving your heart racing and your breath short, your mouth hanging open while you moan your boyfriend’s name until your voice feels raw.

“That’s it, baby. That’s a good girl, cumming all over my cock,” Seunghan says, his eyes locking on yours when your jaw clenches. “I’m right behind you, baby. Going to give you my cum now.”

“I want it, Hani, please do it,” you request with a hoarse voice, fighting your words out through the soreness in your throat.

“Oh, shit,” he groans, his hips jerking and stuttering, his cock swelling up and twitching inside you. “Yeah, fucking take it, baby.”

He spills inside your cunt and you moan deeply one more time before he slumps against you, his forehead pressing on your shoulder while your pussy milks him dry. He’s still holding you up, but the hand that was pining your thigh to the wall is now limp, and you move your leg back to wrap around him, tightening your hold of him to keep him inside you as long as possible.

Seunghan moans some more in your ear and you press reassuring kisses on the moles over his shoulders while you both calm down and catch your breaths. When you feel his gasps mellowing out, you press your fingers on his nape and pull his head back to look into his eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper and he gives you the sweetest smile ever, the lines around his eyes cracking and his whisker dimples appearing on his cheeks. “Happy birthday, Hani.”

He hums happily and rests his forehead on yours, dropping five consecutive pecks on your mouth. “Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say, pressing your lips on his to give him a full kiss. He responds eagerly, tongue stroking yours and hands sliding to the back of your thighs to kee you up.

You feel his dick stirring inside you again when he pulls back and says, “You think we can go for round two before the guys show up?”

You laugh incredulously at him and unwrap your legs from his body, pushing on his shoulders until he pulls out of you. He whimpers pathetically at the loss of contact and you lift a finger to shut him up.

“Don’t you start, Hong Seunghan,” you admonish him.

He just pouts and catches your finger with his hand, puts it inside of his mouth and starts to suck on it, looking at you wickedly as he does so, all that while his cum starts to seep out of you. Your breath hitches at the scene and because his remnants now sticking to your thighs. But you keep your cool, withdrawing your finger from between his lips until it’s out with a pop. You give his chest a slap and then turn, moving to stand under the shower head to clean yourself.

However, before you can get the soap on your body, his arms are around you again and his lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear. “I’ll be quick, baby. Please, it’s my birthday.”

You roll your eyes at him. He’s insatiable. And he’s definitely going to be late for his own birthday party.

happy birthday, hani, i love you! If you liked this work, consider sharing your thoughts with me on the comments or my ask box. thanks for reading! 🧡