#same for waiting to be perfect and ready for something

[tempfrangit]

who eats your heart

price x reader, 1.2K, 18+. MDNI content: alcohol, aphrodisiac, breeding, drugged sex, monsterfucking, noncon to dubcon, piss, unrealistic painful sex, hemipenes (two dicks) dividers by @/cafekitsune

thank you red5cars for letting me talk your ears off about points. (and thank you for letting me take your much better fic name, red 😹💚)

when you start to work with him, you don’t think anything of John’s offers for coffee, lunch, dinner. you’ve always been a moderately independent person, meal prepping everything so that you were always ready, so you just can’t bring yourself to be a bother. you don’t think about how often you turn him down, honestly. you remember the times you say yes to a morning coffee or a very early dinner before going home to continue to work.

a part of you thought he was quite sweet, in all honesty.

you couldn't have known he was trying to figure out how to help you realize that he was perfect for you, happy to help you come to the same point as him. it takes seven months of knowing you, seven months, to finally get you to agree to accompany him on a work trip. you don't think much of letting john handle everything, because you'll be meeting with another specialist and want to make sure you don't embarrass yourself… or john.

everything goes smoothly. you know you’ve both done well, and when you exchange emails with kevin, you can’t wait to chat with a new person in your field (and reading for fun, as it turns out you share some common interests). john is kind enough to offer his place for the night, where you’re able to make dinner together to celebrate and you don't stop yourself from having a glass of wine, even though this was work. the day had been truly… lovely.

you can feel your eyelids growing heavier as his deep voice rumbles through you, talking about his other work. you try to apologize as his strong hand touches your shoulder so feather light despite his size. when you look up, you swear his eyes are like jewels shining in the light. your words slur as they fall from your mouth and suddenly you feel like you’re slipping too.

the first thought to bubble back up into your head is that it’s so pleasantly warm. like a balmy summer night in your childhood, sleeping with the window open, listening to the frogs out there.

blue eyes like jewels stare into yours and you do not scream, but only because you cannot find it in you to scream, cold terror flooding your brain as you stare up at him, dazed mind still trying to fully comprehend everything, something, anything.

you'd always known there were other humanoids in the world, you just hadn't known john was a naga. you never would have even thought to guess he wasn’t a standard human. the realization is a heavy chunk of iced slowly settling low in your stomach as his thick scaly body moves, and you are made aware of how massive john price is.

his smoky words are so smooth but you don't understand them, brain still reeling and simultaneously slow cottony.

it's this lack of response that seems to draw his attention, leaning closer.

you don't know what spurs your next actions. you would never understand the thought that led you to rear up to bite him, to sink your blunt teeth into the heavily muscled spot where his shoulders joined his neck, desperately trying to break skin. some part of you must have been convinced the pain would make him let you go.

it was wrong.

his hiss so close to your ear makes your body lock up, fear making you fall limp like a ragdoll as the tip of his tail so gently begins to wind around your ankle. your bare ankle. a shudder courses through you as you try and bring all naga knowledge you have to the forefront of your mind, however, you... can't.

you're never felt so useless in your life.

you're just a rabbit caught in his coils.

you think you scream like one as his fangs pierce your neck, as he oh so lovingly begins pumping his venom straight into your veins.

you can feel the hot rush of piss between your legs but can do nothing to stop it, thighs shaking as if you’re freezing.

his breath hitches in your ear, you can feel the quick flicks of his tongue.

the splash of liquid startles you, makes you jump as your eyes shoot down and...you... you didn't know naga's really had hemipenes. the one currently splashing his musky piss on the underside of your tits, each drop that hits your nipple making you shudder, shares its brother's fat head, but it was definitely longer, thinner. you'd rather not focus on the other, avoid it as best you could.

the stream edges lower, coating your belly before he takes aim between your legs. your clit throbs at the contact, pulling a strangled moan from you as you throw your head back. you'd never — no one had ever — why did your belly feel so warm?

"there we go, darlin'," john soothes down at you, rough hand stroking the side of your face as his eyes meet yours. "knew you were perfect for me the moment i saw ya. and look at this, my venom getting my pretty bird in the mood, having her show how ready she is."

"gonna make sure your cute little cunt'll be full of me."

you want to correct him, to tell him you weren't his, that you didn't want whatever the fuck he seems to think you'll be doing.

but you can't move. and worse, it's not terror holding you still this time.

you can feel your clit swell, heart beat in your ear as his musky scent washes over you. oh. you can't stop yourself from moaning, hips canting forward in search of some relief. the room felt too hot. or maybe you were too hot.

but more importantly, you needed him.

when john chuckles, you can feel it, the heavy cockhead bumping against your aching hole with his amusement.

"deep breath, luv."

there's no real bracing for the fat intrusion, your breath catches and the next moment you've never been so full in your life.

you feel john speaking more than you understand it, his words are a rumble against your neck. when his thumb parts your lips, you start. or try to, really only accomplishing pulling your eyes back up to his face to stare owlishly up at him as the room continues to ring soundlessly around you.

it felt like he was right behind your bellybutton, which you knew was impossible, but-

you can't stop the moan that's dragged out with his cock, a high shuddering thing that seems almost punched out of you as a strong thrust has your hips meeting again. john tilts your head, keeps your eyes locked. you know you’re still rocking, still being fucked, trying to get him to hit that spot he’d grazed past upon sliding in. 

when he laughs again, he does. and you’re not proud, you wish you were, but it had been so long. your moan is instinctive, as you clench down on him, trying to keep the pleasure, follow it so that it continues to be just right. 

but you... can't.

your current position was too flat. 

a disappointed whine leaves your throat with the realization. 

leading to john's immediate freezing. 

his breath pants across your bare chest. “what do you need, luv?”

your tongue feels so thick as you stare up at him.

“more.”

[selunefae]

Hello! I read your Sylus fanfic and WHAT WAS THAT? WOW 🫦🫦🫦 need to ask, can you write something spicy between Rafayel and the MC/reader please? I beg you 🙉🙉🙉🙉

Be my reliever (+18) - Sick!Rafayel (Love and deepspace) x Reader

Rafayel is sick again. You're tired of him not taking care of his health, but you visit him nonetheless. Maybe he can do something to compensate you.

masterlist

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,126

tags: rafayel (lads) x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader

cw: smut, fluff, oral sex (female receiving), v fingering, breasts fondling, nipple licking, use of insults in a loving way, use of petnames (babe)

notes: Inspired by the fact that I'm currently sick. xD This is my first time writing for Rafayel, he's also the character that I least interacted with (along with Xavier), so I hope I captured his personality correctly. Sorry if he seems too OOC. :') All my notions of Rafayel are from the main story and some facts I read about him to help me with this fic. (English is not my first languages, the work is neither proofread nor betaread, sorry for any mistakes).

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” 

You say it without looking up, arms crossed as you sit in the chair beside Rafayel’s bed. 

He groans. “I’m dying and all I get is abuse…”

You finally glance over at him. He’s half-buried under a pile of blankets, purple hair sticking out in tangled waves, flushed cheeks covered by a light sheen of sweat - hell, why does he still look attractive even in his worst state? His eyes crack open, barely, and you catch the faint shimmer of amusement.

"You're supposed to feel bad for me. Take care of me. Maybe even lie down with me.” He pats the pillow beside him. “Look, right here." 

You narrow your eyes.

"This wouldn't have happened if you weren’t so damn reckless!" You lean forward, voice sharper now, letting your annoyance break through the surface. "Who told you to stay out in the rain like that!? You could’ve ducked into a store and waited for the storm to pass!”

He shrinks under the blanket like a kicked puppy, eyes glassy with fever but still defiant in the most pathetic way imaginable.

“The sky was this perfect shade of grey,” he argues, voice raspy and congested.

“Cool tones bleeding into the city lights, the reflection on the wet pavement… I had to capture it.”

You glare daggers at him. Not this again…

“You stopped to paint .”

“Mentally.” He sniffs. “I didn't have my sketchbook.”

You pause, blinking.

“Wait – let me get this straight.” You can't stop the incredulous smile on your face. “You stood out in a thunderstorm, like an idiot, to paint , and you didn’t even have your sketchbook?!”

He offers a weak shrug. “The light was excellent.”

You throw your hands up with an exasperated sigh and push off the chair. You don’t know what to say anymore. You want to scream, shake him, maybe even strangle him. It’s always the same damn thing with him: forgetting meals, skipping sleep, losing himself in work until his body gives out. You genuinely don’t understand how he’s still alive. 

“Rafayel I –”

He must have noticed the shift in your voice because he sits up straighter. "If it bothers you so much," he snaps, "then why did you even come?”

…

That’s it. Rafayel has finally pushed your strings too far. Without looking at him, you snatch up your bag from the nightstand and turn on your heel, ready to walk out. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating him, but this ? This is a new level of nonsense. You took time off work to come and take care of him because – surprise! – he’s sick again, and this is how he thanks you?

“Hey, wait!”

Before you can storm off, his hand reaches out and gently wraps around yours. You freeze. With a gentle tug, he pulls you towards him. You stumble forward, landing half on the bed, half on him, your face just inches from his.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says, voice lower. His hand rises to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing down your cheek before retreating. “I know I’m an idiot. And an ungrateful bastard. And that I take you for granted all the time.” His eyes meet yours. The usual glimmer of mischief is gone, replaced by something more sincere. “But… I’m really glad you came.”

And that’s all it takes for the anger in your chest to go away.

You wrap your arms around him, careful not to jostle him too much, and bury your face into his shoulder with a soft sigh. “Dummy…” You mumble against his skin, trying to sound annoyed. But he knows better.

He chuckles, warm and weak. His arms tighten around you. “I love you.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. You’re pouting, and his smile grows when he sees it. “I love you too…” You whisper, barely a breath between your lips and his. His eyes drop to your mouth. He licks his lips, and you know he’s dying to kiss you, but he doesn’t. So you take the lead. Without thinking twice, you close the distance and press your lips together.

The kiss is sweet and innocent, just your mouths moving together. His lips are softer than you remember, and you relish the feeling.  You gently caress his cheek as he hugs you tighter, trying to get you closer.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this…” he mutters against your lips, his once cloudy eyes now staring at you with desire. He couldn’t care less about being sick. He kisses you again, deeper and with more confidence. His fingers slide down your waist, guiding you gently as he shifts, rolling the two of you so you’re now lying beneath him. You gasp when he settles between your legs, one knee pressing in the center as his weight shifts forward. The sound spurs him on. He tilts his head, and his tongue finds yours. Desire clouds your reason. In the heat of the moment, nothing exists but the warmth of his mouth, the feel of his hands. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with the same intensity.

You only part for air, both of you breathing hard, lips kiss-bitten and flushed a deep crimson. His pupils are blown wide with lust, dark and unfocused, no trace of their usual color left. You’re not doing much better. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape your ribs. A sheen of sweat is starting to coat your skin, and your fingers twitch with the need to touch him more.

Rafayel smiles and lowers his head again, this time trailing kisses along the soft skin of your neck. His lips find the spot he knows drives you crazy, and he lingers there, pressing a gentle kiss, then grazing it with a teasing nibble.

“R-Rafayel…” you whimper, and he lifts his head for a second, eyes scanning your face, as if to make sure everything’s okay. 

You nod silently, but your hands slide down his back to tell him all he needs to know.

Taking the invitation, he returns to your neck with renewed purpose, his mouth eager against your skin. He sucks gently, then nips, lips dragging over sensitive spots in a way that makes your back arch off the mattress.

“Don’t leave visible marks…” You mumble between shallow breaths, even if your body betrays your protest by pressing closer.

“I think you look the prettiest with them,” he replies as he mouths along your collarbone. His hands are everywhere now – grabbing the plush of your skin, caressing, teasing – and his kisses travel lower. When he reaches the hem of your shirt, he pulls it up, eyes locked on yours. And when he sees you wearing nothing underneath, his breath catches, eyes going wide. 

“You're not…?”

You shake your head with the smallest smirk. It’s not the first time he’s seen your breasts, but he’s always mesmerized by them.

“Holy shit…” he echales, completely awestruck. His hands come up, cupping them as he takes in every inch of exposed skin. And then, like gravity is pulling him, he lowers his head again, lips brushing the top of your breast in a kiss so soft it sends a full-body shiver through you. He does this again and again, placing feather-light kisses over the periphery, circling closer each time. You writhe beneath him, nails digging into his back, half a second from begging. 

And then, finally, his mouth closes around your nipple.

A sharp gasp tears from your throat as his lips wrap around it, tongue flicking softly at first before lapping more firmly. He sucks, licks and bites, sending waves of heat straight to your core. His free hand doesn’t neglect the other breast – he palms it, thumb circling your nipple, teasing until it’s just as sensitive, then gently pinching, just enough to make you arch into him with a breathless moan.

“You’re beautiful…” he says while still savouring you. 

His hands cradle your breasts as his lips travel lower, kissing the underside of one, then the other, dipping down further. His mouth trails down your torso, warm and wet kisses brushing the curve of your ribs, down the slope of your stomach. When he reaches your lower belly, just above your waistband, he pauses. His hands slide down, fingers curling playfully at the edge of your jeans. He presses one final kiss just below your navel, then looks up at you through his lashes

“Should I keep going?” he asks, thumbs toying with the denim.

The question hangs there for only a moment before your answer spills out, needier than you intended. “Yes. Please.”

His smile is wicked now, pleased and predatory, and you swear he’s never looked more beautiful than in that moment. His fingers start to work, undoing the button, then sliding the zipper down. All the while, his lips stay busy, kissing the curve of your hip, just above where the fabric clings to your body. When he finally pulls them down, he grabs your now bare thighs, squeezing the soft skin. He throws the fabric somewhere on the floor, and then settles between your legs again, eyes drinking you in like he’s never seen anything so worth worshiping. He starts leaving open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thigh, making you tremble. His hands anchor you in place, fingers splayed wide on your hips. He continues kissing up until he finds your underwear, then he pulls it aside to take a look at your bare cunt.

“Look at you…” he murmurs, voice hoarse with awe and something darker. “Every part of you is art.”

Spreading your wet folds, he lowers his mouth to the center of your desire. You let out a broken whimper when his lips close around your clit and suck. You try to buckle up your hips, but his firm hand holds you in place. He continues to suck your clit as one of his fingers finds your hole, easing its way inside. He moves patiently at first, giving you time to adjust, and then begins to pump, syncing the motion with the rhythm of his mouth. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling at the roots, and with every lap of his tongue and thrust of his hand, your grip tightens. He groans, and the vibrations only make you dizzier.

Rafayel adds a second finger, picking up the pace along with it. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up – hips rolling, legs trembling, toes curling. This time, when you push your hips forward, he lets you chase the rhythm. The movements of his tongue become messier, tongue and lips working in perfect harmony with the thrust of his hand. You squirm in his arms, moans getting louder as he manages to hit the spot that sends you over the edge.

“A-ah – !”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures. “Come for me.”

The orgasm hits like a crashing wave, stealing the air from your lungs. Your back arches off the bed as a cry tears from your throat, every nerve lighting up with pleasure. He doesn’t stop just yet, working you through your orgasm and tasting your release. 

Finally, when your muscles relax and the tension drains from your body, he eases back. Sitting on his knees, Rafayel just looks at you. You’re sweating, your hair’s a mess, and your chest is still rising and falling like you just ran a marathon…but he still stares at you with the most loving gaze, like you’re the most beautiful piece of art.

You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss when suddenly –

“ACHOOO!!!!”

He freezes above you, wide-eyed and completely still.

You blink at him.

Your expression changes in an instant, brows drawing together in a deadly glare.

“Rafayeeeeeel… I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!”

He lets out a nervous laugh and scrambles toward the edge of the bed. “W-would you look at that! I feel so much better out of a sudden!”

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING!? YOU GOT ME SICK!!!”

You grab the front of his shirt before he can escape and yank him back down into the bed with a thud. He winces and throws his hands up, surrendering.

“Come on, babe, don’t be mad…” he pleads, switching to his softest, most charming voice.

You cross your arms and turn your back on him with exaggerated annoyance. He tries again.

“Look on the bright side… now we can watch a movie together.”

…

Silence.

“...and order takeout?”

You glance over your shoulder, interested.

“Only if you’re paying.”

He lets out a sigh, but smiles nonetheless. “As if you ever pay…”

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - hole in one

pairing: siren!reader x rafe warnings: some suggestive content.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Rafe knows he’s been played the second Ward asks, "You taking her with you?"

He fucking knows it when he turns around and sees you, leaning on the kitchen counter after tattling to daddy cameron behind his back.

“She said she doesn’t have anyone else to spend the day with,” Ward adds, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t leave her out.”

Rafe glares at you, fuming in silence, as you gawk up at him with your "what, me?" expression and slowly sip your water, another mild day declaring psychological warfare on his sanity.

You wink once Ward leaves the room.

Every summer, it's the same old bullshit punishment—Rafe dragging you to who knows where while pretending he doesn’t want to leave you at the nearest bus stop to get some peace.

He thought you’d do him a favor and dress like a normal human being. Something that wouldn’t make Kelce and Topper’s tongues hit the pavement.

How silly of him.

You step outside as he’s loading his clubs into the back of the Rover.

Wearing a skirt so short it doesn’t cover anything if the wind so much as thinks about blowing. Tight little white polo, unbuttoned enough to show cleavage you don’t need to show. Socks pulled up high enough to be suggestive, and a small pink visor on your head.

You spin your club once, resting it over your shoulder.

“Ready for a hole in one?”

Rafe slams the trunk.

“You could’ve said no.”

“But then I’d miss out on quality time with you. I thought you wanted me to tag along."

“I’d rather set myself on fire, thanks.”

You twirl the club again, this is just so funny to you, hijacking his entire afternoon.

“I can stay in the cart,” you offer sweetly. “Just sit there lookin’ pretty.”

“Don’t act daft, please.”

“You let me join."

“No, my dad let you,” he corrects, moving around the car to open the door. He pauses, staring at you, teeth clenched. “You’re gonna change, right?”

“Into what?”

“Something longer.”

“Why?” you ask. “You think Topper and Kelce are gonna say something?”

“I think Topper and Kelce are gonna try to fuck you with their eyes.”

You inhale dramatically, “Rafe!”

“What makes you think I want to spend four hours watching them stare at your ass every time you bend over to pick up a ball?”

You smile, waiting for that. Then you reach up and pat his cheek as if he’s a child, your palm light and patronizing against his face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon. “Don’t act like you won’t be doing the same.”

His jaw clenches as you touch it. You don’t move your hand, allowing it to linger for a second, your thumb grazing the corner of his mouth, and his eyes drop to your lips, then lower entirely against his will.

Your lashes lift like a curtain, revealing a look that could shake God’s strongest soldier. 

“At least they don’t get to touch.”

“Yeah. Lucky them.”

“I don’t see what you’re so mad about,” you shrug, giving him a little spin. “We’re gonna make such a cute team.”

He stares at you.

“You’re not even wearing shorts under that, are you?”

“Why ruin the fun?”

He’s already considering murder, or at the very least, two forced disappearances and a deep pond behind the club where no one would look. Rafe’s still recovering from his pool day and that fuckass shopping trip he was coerced into. 

That fucking bikini. That kiss on the cheek. You buying that lingerie set.

He's begging someone to strike him down and save him from this particular brand of hell again. He had to spend a long hour in the shower on both days, jerking himself off with his forehead pressed to the tile like a man possessed.

He came so close to seeing God, and now this. You, in that outfit—Golf is not supposed to be sexy; that’s the point. 

It’s his boring, rich-boy escape. The one place no one tempts him, no one flirts (except the old divorced ladies), and no one looks like this in a skirt short enough to be outlawed in all states or in a tiny white shirt that clings to every breath you take.

He has to sit in a car with you for half an hour, with your legs crossed and skin everywhere, and the smell of your overwhelming perfume crawling up his throat.

He yanks the passenger door open so hard it creaks.

“Get in the car.”

You give a little salute and skip past him. 

“Yes, Daddy.”

He watches the way your ass bounces, and he almost throws his keys across the driveway.

Rafe’s nostrils flare, taking a slow inhale through clenched teeth, dragging the rage down his throat until it explodes. His hand curls around the car door, picturing snapping your neck.

He gets in on the other side, and as expected, you’re already reaching for the aux cord.

“Do you think Kelce’ll play caddy for me if I ask nice?”

His head snaps toward you.

You tap your phone screen, unbothered. 

“Someone’s cranky.”

You move in your seat—innocently, of course—crossing one leg over the other, pulling the skirt tighter across your thighs. Rafe has to look away, forcing his gaze out the windshield and blinking hard, hitting the gas harder than necessary.

“You know what?” he speaks suddenly. “I hope they flirt.”

You half-turn to him. “Oh?”

“I hope Kelce calls you baby or asks you to show him your swing. I hope Topper offers to help you line up a putt.” His tone is venomous. “I really fuckin’ hope they try something.”

You raise your brows, amused. “Why’s that?”

“So you’ll leave me the fuck alone.”

“Aww, baby.” You lean in, pity coating your words. “You poor thing.”

Your voice is doing that thing, dripping with honey and venom at the same time, curling around his neck like a silk noose. You turn up the volume on the aux, and some stupid pop song begins to play, your playlist full of garbage that would have made him cringe if it had not been for the way you mouthed every word, tapping your thighs in rhythm as if you were intentionally ruining him.

He hates you for sitting in the passenger seat like a wet dream come to life. Hates the way you snort when your visor slips and you tilt it back. He hates that fucking skirt, that glint in your eye, which tells him you know how long it took him to come the other night and how many times he whispered your name into the steam.

(He came three times. For what? A kiss on the cheek and a pink bikini?)

An hour later, you barely make it through the first two holes before Rafe is mentally rewriting his will.

You’re doing it on purpose. You have to be.

He watches from a few feet back, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek as you stand at the tee—legs spread, skirt riding scandalously high, pretending you don’t know how to hold the fucking club. 

You do. 

He’s seen you play before, years ago, in the backyard at Tannyhill with lemonade in your hand and grass stains on your knees. Now you’re batting your lashes at Topper like he’s your knight in shining Under Armour.

He doesn’t know if he wants to yank the club out of your hands or wrap it around Topper’s neck. He’s so fucking tired of this game, watching you drag your teeth across your bottom lip when you pretend to focus, pretending that lining up a putt is the most serious thing you've ever done in your life.

It’s not. Rafe knows what your serious face looks like, but now you’re doing this thing, your little routine 

"Wait—so I’m supposed to… bend like this?" You twirl the club between your fingers before angling your body forward, slow and dramatic, the skirt is tight across your ass, hair bouncing enough to look rehearsed. 

You’re artful with it. Elegant in the way only something devastating can be.

Kelce trips over a divot.

Topper’s already stepping forward. “Yeah, I can help—here, let me just—”

He should’ve left you at the curb.

“I got it.”

Rafe’s voice cuts through the air enough to make Topper freeze mid-stride.

You glance back over your shoulder, biting your lip to hide the shit-eating grin he knows you’re holding.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I got it.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, continues to storm forward, snatching the club from Topper’s hand like he might take your waist next if he didn’t move fast enough.

Rafe steps up behind you, silent, close. He doesn’t touch you, wouldn’t, couldn’t, unless he wants to lose the last shred of control he has left.

But God, he wants to.

“Feet apart.”

You do what he says, and he watches the hem of your skirt sway.

“Back straight.”

You tilt your hips, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Hands here.”

You lift them—delicate, manicured, obnoxiously perfect—and he guides the club into your grip, his fingers brushing yours.

He doesn’t mean to inhale, but he did. Coconut shampoo and sugar.

Fucking siren. 

The backs of his fingers graze your stomach as he adjusts your stance; it tenses under his touch. Maybe from the contact. Maybe from the game, because that’s what this is.

It always has been. From the minute you showed back up that summer in Tannyhill—grown, glowing, dangerous—with your little sandals and your innocent voice and your habit of walking into every room like you owned it. 

“Keep your head down,” he murmurs, breath warm by your ear. “Don’t make me correct your posture again.”

You swallow, he spots it, and feels the way your back straightens. The way your thighs tense when his fingers ghost near your hip again. Not touching.

Rafe steps back, heart tighter.

“Go ahead,” he instructs. “Hit.”

You glance at him once, eyes unreadable. Then you swing—and miss entirely, spinning halfway in place as the club slices air.

Topper laughs.

Kelce shouts something about “Don’t quit your day job, Cameron.”

Rafe doesn’t move, standing there, watching the little smirk creep onto your face; you’re proud of yourself for making him look like a terrible teacher.

“Funny,” He clicks his tongue.

You don't have time to turn before he steps in again—right in your space—and suddenly his hands are on you, insistent, dragging you back a step, manhandling you toward him. His knee slots between your legs, not politely, and the club almost slips from your hands, forgotten. 

You don't flinch or squeal or scold. You stand there and blink at him with those irritating eyes.

“Do that shit again,” he challenges, gaze locked on yours. “I dare you.”

You tilt your head, “Do what?”

He smiles for the first time today.

“Bat your lashes at those fuckin’ idiots like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing again.” His fingers flex on your waist, thumbs grazing your ribs. “Play dumb again and I swear to God—”

You arch an eyebrow. “You’ll what?”

He doesn’t have an answer he can say out loud.

The truth is, if you so much as look at them again, he’s going to drag you behind the nearest tree and remind you—make you understand—that he knows you better than they ever would.

You can play the little act all you want, but he’s already seen the edges underneath. Felt them. Dreamed about them.

“Didn’t know you cared so much, Rafey.”

His grip tightens, thigh pressing enough to make you move your weight—and he notices it. Catalogues the way your lashes flutter for half a second before you remember to smile.

He leans down, his mouth a breath from your neck.

“Don’t fuckin’ test me.”

He steps back, while you you stand there, chest rising and falling a little quicker now, lips parted, still playing coy, pretending he didn’t rattle you.

You bend over the ball, adjusting your stance. Rafe watches as you swing and hit it clean, the ball sailing exactly where you mean it to go.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutteres, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t say another word as you walk ahead, hips swinging too much for it to be innocent. He stays back, watching, grinning, soaking in his victory over you.

Topper jogs to catch up with you, probably cracking a dumb joke, angling to impress. Rafe doesn’t bother listening, doesn't have to.

He’s too busy replaying the moment your breath hitched, how your thighs tensed when he got too close. He walks slower now, keeping a distance for his sanity. Arms crossed again. Trying—and failing—not to look at you every other second.

At the next hole, you don’t ask for help or look in his direction, but you don’t look at Topper or Kelce either. You’re quiet and focused, which somehow makes him more tense than when you were being a brat.

You line up your next shot, pretending your legs didn’t shake when his thigh was between them.

Rafe feels weirdly proud as he watches you hit another perfect drive down the fairway, no theatrics this time.

The next hole drags.

You don't speak, choosing to sit one out, in the passenger seat of the gold buggy like nothing happened, fiddling with your phone.

Rafe’s not stupid.

He knows silence from you means plotting, so he would rather take the whining, the games. Nevertheless, a win is a win.

He grips the wheel harder, turns the cart too sharply around the bend, catching gravel and tossing dust up behind them. You don’t flinch, continuing to tap your screen, gum snapping faintly in your mouth like a war drum.

He hates that he still notices, knows the flavor even—peach.

Topper yells something from the green. Kelce cracks another joke, probably about his “form.” Rafe doesn’t laugh, barely hearing them, the edge of your thigh is brushing his arm every time the cart bounces. 

You don’t speak, never mind look at him. You don’t do a single goddamn thing except sit there silently, and Rafe eats it up like it’s the first real meal he’s had in days.

It’s kind of hilarious, actually—how peaceful it is with you like this.

That gum is still clicking between your teeth, and he should hate it, but it’s fucking music to his ears.

He cuts a peek your way—quick, sideways, hidden behind the brim of his cap. Rafe nearly smiles, having to bite his lip to stop it.

“Would you look at that,” he drawls, focus straight ahead as he guides the buggy down the next hill, “Someone’s quiet.”

No response. He waits.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Still nothing.

He stretches one arm across the back of the seat; this is the best part of his whole week.

“What—pissy now? That it?”

You chew your gum harder.

Rafe fucking grins.

This is so much better than you tossing your head back and taunting him in front of the boys like you’re the belle of the ball. This is rage, thinly disguised as indifference. 

You cross your legs even tighter, tap your phone harder, and drag yourself a bit closer to the edge of the seat.

“You mad, baby?” He coos, mock-gentle. “Gonna cry?”

Your jaw clenches.

It's fucking delicious.

He taps the brakes again to jolt the cart to see if he can get a little gasp, a snap, or something. You grab the edge of the seat but don’t complain.

“What happened to all that mouth from earlier? 

Rafe slows to dip off the main path, tires crunching, sliding halfway into a dip between the trees where the shade thickens and the noise of Kelce and Topper fades behind them. They’re too drunk to notice, shouting over their beers and stumbling around the green like idiots.

Once he cuts the engine and looks up, there you are.

Brows arched. Lips parted, suspicious.

“…What are you doing?”

“Don’t ever pull that airhead shit again, yeah?”

You scoff, eyes flicking upward.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That fake-dumb little performance you put on back there,” 

“You’re so hot and bothered about it.”

“Do you know how dumb you looked? Pretending you don’t know better so you can watch them trip over their dicks?” A dry laugh scrapes his throat. “It’s pathetic.”

Rafe watches your tongue press the pink wad to your cheek and pop it. He already knows what's coming.

“Thanks for the tip.”

You lean forward, elbows braced on your knees, your shoulder grazing his as you turn your face toward him, the scent of you wafting straight into his bloodstream. 

“Giving me this whole lecture,” you murmur, “It’s cute.”

He scoffs. “You think this is me caring?”

“Mmhm.” You hum, twisting a piece of your hair around your finger. 

“I’m not—” His voice cuts short when your hand—your fucking hand—lands on his arm. It’s the fakest innocent touch he’s ever felt.

You blink up at him again, saccharine smile sharpening as you let your thigh press fully against his.

“You didn’t like me needing Topper’s help?”

“I didn’t like the act,” he snaps.

Your brows knitted in perfect symmetry.

“What act?”

He needs to shove your hand away, start the cart and get the fuck out of this shady hideaway.

Leave you behind in the dust where he can breathe again.

“I know what you’re doing.”

You smile wider, fingertips gliding higher up his arm now, under the sleeve of his polo shirt. Goosebumps follow the path instantly.

“I like it when you get mean,” you whisper, lips parting slightly, the idea of pushing him further is too sweet to hold in.

“Keep touching me like that,” he grunts, face crinkling with impatience, “and I’ll show you just how dumb you can get.”

That’s when the gum clicks again between your teeth and you grin, biting it between your molars. You lean back, finally pulling your hand away, dragging your nails down his arm as you go. 

“Okay,” you say, voice airy. “You win.”

No, he doesn’t.

An hour later, Rafe has no time to shut the front door before Ward calls out from the den.

“How was the course?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, dropping the keys into the dish. He doesn’t answer because you’re already there somehow. Perched delicately on the edge of the couch, toned legs tucked beneath you, that ridiculous little cardigan back on like butter wouldn’t melt.

And your face—Jesus. Head tilted just so, lashes dipped low, bottom lip pushed out in that subtle, tragic sulk you mastered back in middle school.

Rafe stops in the hall, suddenly very still.

You look up at Ward with that look.

“Um,” you start, voice all breath and hesitation. “It was… okay.”

Here it comes.

Ward sits up straighter. “Just okay?”

You shake your head, playing with the hem of your skirt like a fuckin’ child. 

“It’s stupid,” you mumble, then glance over your shoulder toward the door—where Rafe now stands, arms crossed, watching it unfold with slow-burning fury.

He already knows what you’re about to do. Knows this was the plan the second you went quiet on the back nine.

You blink at your dad, who has stepped into the room with a glass of scotch. Great, another fucking idiot.

“Some of the guys were… kinda mean, I guess.”

His dad’s brow furrow.

Rafe’s fingers flex at his sides.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your father said, setting the glass down with a clink. “What do you mean?”

You look at him, “They made fun of my swing. Said I was embarrassing myself.”

There it is. Delivered with such a straight face, Rafe wants to clap.

Ward’s mouth twists. “Which ones?”

You hesitate, prentending you're not dying to snitch—but you fucking live for this, the performance, the setup.

Rafe calls it the final kill.

“All of them. But… Rafe didn’t say anything either. He let it happen.”

Boom.

You turn your eyes toward him then. Big, glassy.

Rafe doesn’t mutter a single word in his defense. If he does—if he so much opens his mouth—he might start shouting and never stop.

Ward's already frowning at him.

“That’s true, son?”

He stares at you, at the girl sitting there with pretend sadness on her face and blood on her hands.

“Sure,” Rafe replies coolly. “Whatever she said.”

The worst part is, you keep going, weaving this gentle lie with your whiny voice and your kicked-puppy tremble, until Ward’s patting your shoulder and muttering something about how “they’re just immature boys” and “you’re too good for that.”

Your brow twitch, not enough for anyone else to see, but he does, that delight behind the curtain

You lean into your father’s side, letting him wrap a protective arm around you. 

“It’s fine. I don’t care. It was just a little humiliating.”

Ward shoots Rafe another look—disappointed, irritated.

He's the asshole, once again.

You ran home to them the second you jumped out of his car and sold the story first. Painted yourself small and trying your best.

He turns on his heel, teeth gritted.

“Where you going?” Ward calls after him.

“Shower,” Rafe lets him know. “Gotta wash off the bullshit.”

You nestle deeper into the cushions, letting Ward pat your shoulder and murmur something reassurin, getting tucked into the moral high ground like a damn bedtime story. 

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he takes the stairs two at a time, shoes thudding against the hardwood, louder than they need to be.

He’s not even trying to hide it—he wants you to hear.

By the time he slams the bathroom door shut, his hands are shaking from rage.

The faucet hisses as he yanks it on; it’s not the humiliation, it’s that you knew he’d let you. You counted on it.

He never calls you out in front of his dad.

He’s up here, dripping water onto tile, body braced against the sink, trying not to break the fucking mirror.

Downstairs, he can still hear murmurs. Rafe wants to storm back down and say it.

And despite that, he doesn’t.

He knows how this game works and he’s starting to think maybe it’s time he finally learns how to play it better than you.

[robidentevil]

˗ˏˋmy spot ˎˊ˗

collegestudent!leon kennedy x fem!reader

college au

-fluff and a bit of swearing-

this is so short! but i wanted to see how well the intro to my new au would do. this is the firstish chapter but more of a intro to the au! hope u like this small intro/drabble!

You didn’t know his name. You didn’t want to.
All you knew was that he was in your seat.
Your spot — far window, perfect light, great outlet access, exactly one table away from the loud-breathing psychology majors. You’d been sitting there for weeks. It was yours.
And yet… there he was.
Hood up. Headphones in. Backpack slouched like it belonged there.
You cleared your throat. Loud. Nothing.
Then you dropped your books. Louder.
Still nothing.
He didn’t even look up.
So naturally, you sat down directly across from him and glared at his stupid hair for the next two hours.

“Something on my face?” The sound made you jolt from your laptop.
“What? No.”
“Then why have you been glaring at me for the past...” He stopped to look at his phone. “Two hours.”
You crossed your arms, ready for business. “I don’t know. Why are you in my spot?”
He snickered. “Why? Got your name on it, princess?”
You rolled your eyes and figured he’d sit somewhere else tomorrow. When the library was about to close, you got up and left.

You walked in the next day. The seat was taken. Again.
Same guy. Same hoodie. Same infuriatingly pretty face half-buried in his hand as he scrolled through something on his laptop. You stood behind him like a ghost, waiting — hoping — he’d look up. He didn’t.
Okay. Cool. Fine. You totally didn’t come all the way across campus in the rain to find this idiot in your sunlit corner.
You dropped your bag a little too hard on the table across from him, and for the first time, he looked up — just barely. His eyes were tired. Blue. Sharp. And unfairly pretty.
“Morning,” he muttered, voice hoarse like he hadn’t spoken to a human in hours, but still had a sly smirk like he had won.
Your brain stalled. Your mouth didn’t.
“Do you live here or something?”
A pause. Then he smirked.
“Do you?”
You raised your eyebrows at the rapid response. “Oh, okay. Fine. It’s on.”
He held back his smirk, looking at his laptop once more, but all you could think was war. You needed that spot back—not because it benefitted you, but because this fed your inner competitor. You had a mission now: get here before he did. Yet you always failed.

“Early bird gets the seat!” he’d say, smiling as he shrugged while all you could do was glare at him and sit across from him. Then you heard it. Tap. Tap tap. Was he... tapping his fucking pen? Could he get any more annoying? This went on for a whole hour until you snapped. You had enough stress — your shitfaced professors, midterms coming up, projects, projects, projects. Now him, your fucking spot, and his pen tapping.
“Will you stop?!” you shot at him, a bit too loud. You turned heads... oops!
“The hell’s your problem?!” he shot back, clearly confused.
“Your pen tapping! My... SPOT! It’s like all you wanna do is annoy me!”
He chuckled slightly as he held eye contact.
“Not my problem you can’t wake up earlier.” He snapped, teasingly pouting too.
Oh, this guy’s a fucking dick.

All you could do was text Jill. She’d know what to do. Right?

you: there’s a demon man in my fucking spot
jill: what??? who
you: don’t know. will kill him tomorrow
jill: okay why are we plotting murder at 11am

This unknown guy had no idea what was in store for him.

Next chapter ➛ (here!)

[queenofmorningstar]

See You in Hell

Lucifer x f! Overlord Reader

Summary: Is there a perfect moment to say I love you? 💕

CW: MDNI, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v

Word Count: 5.4K

Notes: Various posts by lovely @willoryn have inspired this: Post 1, Post 2, Post 3

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8| Part 9| Part 10

CHAPTER SIX

It had been a few months.

A few blissful, dizzying, almost-too-good-to-be-true months since that starlit night under your sky. And it had been wonderful. Brilliant. Steady.

The kind of unease that whispered in his ear when things were going too well, warning that surely something was about to break.

Maybe it was something he did. Maybe he had gotten too excited. Maybe he had overwhelmed you again. Maybe he was just too much, like always.

He shook his head and tugged at the cuffs of his crimson coat, trying to banish the thought. It wasn’t like you had pulled away. Just… your time.

Still. It was enough to seed the panic again, gnawing quietly beneath his ribs.

Lately, you’d been so busy. Overlord meetings, territory disputes, truce discussions.

Lucifer understood. But understanding didn’t make it sting any less when you left dinner halfway to take a call. Or when you left his room before breakfast. Or when you didn't reply to his five consecutive messages…She’s just busy, he told himself.

“Daaaamn, you look like someone ran over your favorite duck,” came Angel’s voice from the lobby.

Lucifer blinked, startled out of his thoughts.

At the bar, Angel Dust was already sipping some pink and suspiciously glowing cocktail, legs crossed and head tilted with a teasing smirk. Beside him, Husk grunted into his whiskey.

“Come on, daddy,” Angel patted the seat beside him. “You need a drink.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Lucifer wandered over and took the seat next to Angel, looking somehow simultaneously dramatic and deflated.

Angel passed him a drink. “Sooo…what’s on your mind?.”

Lucifer gave a soft laugh. “I was just thinking…”

“About her?” Husk asked flatly.

Lucifer blinked. “...You knew?”

Angel snorted. “Knew? Babe, the way you look at her like she hung the stars—anyone with eyes knew you were crushing.”

Lucifer flushed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… actually… we’ve been… seeing each other. For a few months.”

Both Angel and Husk paused mid-sip. Angel slowly set his glass down. “Wait—what?”

Lucifer looked vaguely guilty. “We’re keeping it under wraps for now.”

Angel leaned in, wide-eyed. “Okay, wait, wait. So you’re together. Officially. And yet you look like someone kicked you in the ass.”

Lucifer sighed heavily, fingers curling around his glass. “It’s just… she’s been so busy lately… I barely see her anymore.”

“So talk to her?” Husk offered, already pouring himself another drink.

“I want to,” Lucifer said quickly. “But then I wonder—what if it’s me? What if I said something wrong? Did something wrong?”

Angel laughed. “Look, if she didn’t want all of this,” he gestured vaguely at Lucifer, “she wouldn’t have dated you in the first place. So, what’s really bothering you?”

Lucifer hesitated. Then he looked down at his drink and muttered, barely above a whisper, “I want to tell her I love her.”

Angel froze. “Wait—what?”

Lucifer buried his face in one hand, groaning. “I do, Angel. I’ve never felt like this before. She makes me want to dream again. Laugh. Be better.”

Husk gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

“But…” Lucifer looked up, brows drawn together, “what if it’s too soon? What if I scare her off? What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin everything?”

Angel softened, watching him more seriously now. Angel shrugged. “Look, worst-case? Maybe she’s not ready to say it back yet. That don’t mean she doesn’t care. It just means she’s not at the same point. But from what I’ve seen? She’s crazy about you. And you’re both just dumb enough to assume the worst instead of talking.”

Lucifer let out a soft breath, pressing the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I hate that you’re right.”

Angel smirked. “Everyone does.”

*

You were barely a block away from the hotel when your phone buzzed.

Angel: Your man’s drunk off his royal ass. Come get ya king bef he starts cryin again.

You frowned, reading the message twice, and quickened your pace. Lucifer? Drunk? That was rare. 

By the time you reached the Hazbin Hotel and pushed through the double doors, your eyes immediately locked onto the bar.

Lucifer was slumped over the counter. Angel sat beside him, legs crossed, sipping a cocktail like this was all completely normal. Husk leaned against the counter, looking like he’d aged a century in the last hour.

You stormed across the lobby. “Angel,” you said sharply. “What the hell happened?”

Angel raised both hands. “Hey hey, don’t shoot the messenger. He came down all mopey, we offered him a drink to loosen up and—”

“He never stopped,” Husk finished gruffly.

You looked down at Lucifer, who blinked up at you slowly. 

Lucifer looked up at you, and there was something so soft in his expression it made your chest ache. “You look…” he whispered, his voice slow and heavy with intoxication, “more pretty than usual today.”

You blinked. “Lucifer—”

And then he leaned forward and pressed the sloppiest, warmest, drunkest kiss to your lips.

It was messy and slow. The kiss lingered only a moment before he broke away, giving you a dopey smile… and promptly slumped forward, head resting heavily against your shoulder with a sigh of relief like he’d finally come home.

Your arms tightened around him instinctively, heart stuttering in your chest.

Angel let out a low whistle. “Okaaaay. That’s new.”

“Shut it,” you mumbled, smoothing Lucifer’s hair as he nuzzled into your collarbone.

Husk raised an eyebrow. “You good? Want help dragging his ass upstairs?”

“No. I’ve got him,” you said softly.

The halls were quiet as you carried him in your arms. His head rested against your chest, arms loosely looped around your neck, his words slurring gently into the soft space between your collarbone and heart.

“I missed you…” he mumbled, barely louder than a breath.

You looked down at him, at the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol.

“I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

But he shook his head weakly, as if your presence wasn’t quite enough to fill the ache inside him. His arms tightened slightly around your neck.

“No,” he murmured. “You’ll leave. When the morning comes, you’ll be gone. Just like before.”

You reached his door and pushed it open with a flick of your fingers, carrying him into the room you knew so well now—the scattered blueprints, the strange half-built inventions, the familiar sweet apple wine scent. Your things were added in his place as well.

You gently lay him on the bed, brushing his hair out of his eyes, smoothing the frown creasing his brows.

“I won’t,” you promised, but he caught your wrist before you could pull away.

His crimson eyes fluttered half open—hazy, unfocused, but desperate.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered. “Stay. Please. Just this once.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, kneeling beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “I’ve been so… caught up. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Your heart clenched. You lowered yourself beside him, one arm wrapped gently around his torso. His body instantly relaxed against yours like it had been waiting for this, craving it.

“I’ll be here,” you said, resting your forehead to his. “When the morning comes, you’ll find me right next to you. I promise.”

He exhaled, deep and shuddering, and whispered something into your hair that sounded like “thank you.”

Moments later, he drifted into sleep, one arm curled around your waist, holding on like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go.

*

You woke to the sound of a strangled breath.

The room was still bathed in dim golden light—one of the star-projection globes you’d gifted him still softly spun in the corner, bathing the walls with low light. Beside you, Lucifer tossed and turned, his brow furrowed, sweat dotting his forehead. His hands twitched, reaching out for something unseen, his lips murmuring fractured, broken things.

“No... don’t go…don’t—please…”

“Lucifer?” you whispered, gently placing a hand on his arm. He didn’t wake. 

You sat up, heart tightening. “Lucifer—wake up.”

You shook him softly at first, then a little firmer.

His eyes snapped open. He gasped as if drowning, chest heaving. For one frantic moment, he didn’t register where he was. Then he saw you—your worried face above him, your hand on his shoulder, your voice steady and gentle.

He didn’t say a word. He sat up and immediately wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, burying his face into your lap like he needed to anchor himself to the reality of your presence. His grip was strong, trembling slightly.

“Was it bad?” you asked softly, your fingers slipping into his hair, brushing it back as he took deep, slow breaths against your thighs.

“I thought you were gone,” he whispered, voice thick and ragged with sleep and emotion. “That you left… or they took you… I couldn’t stop it…”

Your hand slowed, caressing the nape of his neck.

“You’re safe,” you whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanting to lift the heaviness lingering in the space between you, you cleared your throat and began, “You know, one of my spies got stuck in his own disguise today.”

Lucifer stirred slightly. “Hmm?”

“He was posing as a coat rack in a gambling den,” you chuckled softly, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. “Someone actually hung their coat and fedora on him. He didn’t dare move for five hours. Thought he’d blow his cover.”

Lucifer gave a breathy, sleepy laugh, eyes still half-lidded. “A coat rack?”

“Mm-hmm. I found him cursing under his breath and shaking like a leaf. Said his back will never recover. I gave him a medal.”

Lucifer grinned, full and genuine now. “Deserved. Five hours of dedication to espionage? He should be knighted.”

“You’re the king,” you teased. “Why don’t you do the honors?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, gazing up at you. “Maybe I will.”

Then he grew quiet, and you noticed that thoughtful, nervous furrow returning to his brow. “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said quietly, carefully, like the words carried weight he wasn’t sure he could hold.

You blinked, sitting up straighter. “That’s a coincidence,” you replied. “So do I.”

Lucifer hesitated. “You first?”

You shook your head with an affectionate grin. “No, you.”

He exhaled a small laugh, and it took him a second to gather his courage. Then, still half curled beside you, he gently reached for your hand. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he brought it to his lips first, brushing a reverent kiss across your knuckles before resting your entwined hands between you.

“I’ve... been thinking about this for a while,” Lucifer murmured, his eyes searching yours. “And I wanted to wait for the right time, but—I don’t think there’s ever a perfect moment, is there?”

You smiled but said nothing, sensing the weight of what he was building toward. He leaned a little closer, still holding your hand like a lifeline. “I love you.”

The words were barely above a whisper. You froze. Not because you didn’t feel it, not because it was unexpected but because of the honesty in his voice. 

Seeing your silence, Lucifer’s eyes widened slightly, panic trickling in. “I—I know that’s a lot,” he said quickly trying to backpedal. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know I—”

“Only a fool wouldn’t love you,” you interrupted softly.

His mouth parted slightly, stunned. You reached for him, your hand curling gently at the nape of his neck. “And I,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his, “am no fool.”

Then you kissed him.

There was no hesitation this time. His lips were warm, slow at first—tasting, relishing but as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss, he melted into you.

You felt his hand settle at your waist, the other brushing your cheek as if in awe of you, of the fact that this was real. His devotion poured into the kiss, reverent and unhurried.

When you pulled away for breath, he leaned his forehead against yours, both of you flushed and breathless.

Then, he tilted his head and smiled. “You said you had something to tell me too.”

You sat straighter, looking at his fingers wrapped around yours. “I did,” you murmured.

Lucifer’s eyes were still on your face, patient and full of warmth.

“I’ve been preparing my territory for the next extermination,” you said finally.

The words dropped like a stone in still water. Lucifer blinked once. So that's why you've been busy. His smile faltered, barely, like a candle flickering in a sudden gust. 

He didn’t say anything right away, and you rushed forward before the silence could grow teeth. “I know it’s... a heavy topic,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “And I know I might be overstepping, or asking too much—but… do you really think it still serves a purpose?”

You saw the shift in his eyes. “I’m sorry to ask this of you,” you added, lowering your head slightly. “It’s not fair of me, I know—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, taking your hand more firmly. “Don’t be sorry to ask for anything from me. Tell me what you've in mind, darling.”

You spoke calmly, though your heart beat loud and firm in your chest. “There are sinners who want to live. Not to destroy, not to hurt. Just… live. Love, heal, try again. And Heaven comes down and tears that away.”

Lucifer didn’t interrupt.

“They may be flawed, broken even,” you said. “But so are most people. That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a second chance. That doesn’t mean their existence should be erased.”

His fingers tightened briefly around yours.

You met his gaze. “I’m not saying redemption is for everyone. I’m saying the right to live shouldn’t be decided by those who never understood us in the first place.”

Lucifer exhaled slowly, tilting his head. “I agree,” he said, voice soft but edged. “More than you know, I do. But you’re looking through a lens. I’ve seen the worst of what Hell holds. There are souls here who aren’t just lost, they’re rotten—corroded to their core. And I believe they should be dealt with.”

You frowned, but not out of anger. “Then let Hell decide that. Not Heaven.”

You didn’t rush him. You knew better than to push someone who had carried the burden of rebellion and consequence for eons. But then he finally turned to look at you, expression soft but unreadable.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he said quietly. “For Hell to pass judgment.”

You nodded gently. “In the mortal world, the Greeks had this idea—the Underworld wasn’t just for punishment. There was a system. Judges, trials, decisions based on deeds.”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Like Minos and Rhadamanthus and Aeacus,” he said, almost playfully. “Mortals really do come up with fascinating myths.”

You leaned forward, a light in your eyes. “We could build something like that. A tribunal here.”

He exhaled with a chuckle, clearly charmed. 

“Is that a yes?” you asked, raising a brow.

Lucifer looked at you properly then. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s work on it together. Once we’ve built something concrete… we can present it to Heaven.”

Before you could even register the wave of emotion rising in your chest, your arms were around him—tight, full of joy, full of relief. He let out a small “oof” of surprise, but instantly melted into your embrace, his arms wrapping securely around your waist.

You pulled back only enough to look into his face and then you kissed him. Your lips lingered against his for a long, breathless moment. But eventually, you did pull back just slightly, enough to meet his eyes. Lucifer was flushed, pupils blown wide. 

He laughed softly, nervously. “Sooo… would it be entirely inappropriate,” he began, voice a bit too high-pitched with nerves, “if I asked if you wanted to… um… maybe…” 

You blinked at him, amused.

He tried again, rambling, “I mean, we’ve been together for a while now, and I’m very—very—into you, but also! I don’t want to assume! I never want to assume anything and ruin this, and you don’t have to, we can just cuddle, I’m great at cuddling, I was actually voted Most Cuddleable Angel once upon a ti—”

You silenced him with a soft kiss, your hand trailing to the back of his neck, your fingers curling into his blond hair. Then, without a word, your lips brushed down to his jaw. To the corner of his throat. You felt his breath hitch against you as your mouth moved along the sensitive skin just beneath his ear.

Lucifer made a sound somewhere between a surprised laugh and a groan. “Oh,” he breathed, “that’s… you’re… wow.”

You smirked softly against his skin as you reached for the buttons of his vest, slowly unfastening one, then the next.

He swallowed thickly. “Okay, okay, I’m just making sure—this is definitely a thing that’s happening, right? I’m not hallucinating? This isn’t a very intense dream sequence where I wake up alone and—oh…”

You hummed, amused by how flustered he was even as his body arched into your touch.

Your fingers made quick work of the last button on his vest, your lips trailing kisses down the smooth skin of his chest. Lucifer trembled under your mouth, his breath coming in soft gasps.

You moved lower, kissing down the line of his abdomen, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath each touch. His skin was warm, flushed a gorgeous shade of golden where your lips grazed. Just as your mouth ghosted along the edge of his navel, your hands sliding teasingly toward his belt—

And in one blur of motion, faster than your eyes could track, he flipped the both of you, your back hit the soft sheets again. Lucifer now loomed over you, face bright gold, hair a little wild, and stunned. “Stop teasing me. It’s cruel.”

You blinked up at him, then laughed—an unfiltered, delighted sound that made him groan and bury his face in your neck. “I was this close to combusting,” he mumbled against your skin, muffled and thoroughly flustered.

You stroked your fingers through his hair, enjoying the way he practically melted into you, even while trying to preserve a shred of dignity. “Luci,” you teased, voice honey-sweet, “We don’t have to –”

And then he kissed you, breathlessly and without hesitation this time. You sighed into it, your arms wrapping around his back, pulling him closer as he melted into the warmth of your body.

The soft fabric of your nightgown slid up your body with every kiss he placed along your skin, his eyes drinking you in like you were a masterpiece painted just for him.

When the fabric was gone and you lay bare before him, he paused, kneeling between your legs. He looked breathless, entranced by you.

He glanced up, voice low and soft. “May I...?” His hands trembled slightly as he settled between your thighs.

You nodded, your breath catching as he kissed just above your inner thigh. And then his horns curled out from his head. His tail appeared behind him, swishing like an overexcited cat’s. It wagged once, twice, before he noticed and stilled with a panicked gasp.

“Oh god—don’t—don’t look at that, please,” he stammered, trying to hide his tail with one hand, the other reaching to cover his horns. “I—sometimes it happens when I’m, uh, this excited. I know it looks—monstrous—”

You sat up and took his hands gently. “Lucifer,” you whispered, “you’re beautiful. All of you. The horns, the tail and um…it’s kind of...hot, actually.”

He blinked. “You—really?” His voice cracked adorably.

You grinned, leaning up to kiss one of his horns, making him shiver. “Really.”

Lucifer swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “O-okay then, um. Right. Please,” he added, almost bashfully, “lay back for me?”

You did.

And when he settled back between your legs, his hands glided up your thighs. He kissed the inside of your knee, then a little higher, and higher still, until his breath fanned across the most sensitive part of you. “Oh my…” he murmured. “You’re perfect.”

He kissed you there, slow, soft and then deeper, his tongue finally slipping between your folds.

Your hips bucked with a gasp, but he pressed you down with his hand splayed on your stomach. The other hand reached up blindly until he took your hand in his. He brought it to his horns.

“Here,” he said against your heat, “Please hold on for your own safety, sweetheart.”

You let out a broken laugh, breathless already. The King of Pride, truly.

And then he dove back in—eager, loving, hungry. Every flick of his tongue made your body arch, and when your fingers gripped his horns, he groaned so deeply you felt it in your spine.

Lucifer was unrelenting. Every kiss, every stroke of his tongue against your sensitive folds, was filled with intention, like he was memorizing how to best please you. His eyes flicked up occasionally, glowing with soft awe every time you gasped or moaned his name.

Your grip tightening around his horns as the pressure built, pleasure coiling in your stomach.

“Just like that, you’re –nghhh– doing so good, fuck…” you whispered, voice shaking, back arching off the blanket beneath you.

Lucifer let out a soft sound, half groan, half whimper, utterly lost in the moment, like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered in the entire realm. His tongue moved in deeper, more precise circles, holding you in place as your thighs trembled.

He angled his mouth just right, and when he gently sucked on your clit, stars exploded behind your eyes. The tension snapped. You came hard with a broken moan of his name, your body writhing beneath him, thighs clamping around his head as waves of heat rolled through you.

Lucifer didn’t stop. He held you close, mouth still working you through every aftershock, slow and steady, until your thighs twitched and you whimpered from the overstimulation.

Only then did he finally pull back—his lips glistening, cheeks flushed golden, pupils blown wide with desire. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving.

He looked completely undone. “Was that okay?” he asked, voice soft as a prayer.

You were still breathless, dazed, your chest rising and falling quickly. All you could do was nod, your hand reaching for him, pulling him up to kiss you.

You lay still for a moment, catching your breath. Lucifer watched you with a dazed smile, clearly proud of himself. 

“I just need a minute to recover,” you murmure.

Lucifer's smug grin widened. “Oh, I know,” he said. You didn’t let him be smug for long, sitting up and swinging one leg over him, settling atop his lap.

The smirk on his face faltered as his breath caught. “Sweetheart…” he whispered, a golden blush rising high on his cheeks.

You rolled your hips once, teasingly, and the whimper he let out was nothing short of delicious. His hands flew instinctively to your waist, holding you like you were both his salvation and his undoing.

Your fingers worked open the front of his pants, slow and deliberate. You freed him from the confines of his trousers and there he was: thick, flushed gold at the tip, heavy and aching in your hand. Lucifer let out a strangled groan at the contact, his tail flicking erratically behind him.

You glanced down, biting your lip in appreciation. You held him steady, your palm wrapping around the base. He twitched in your grip. “Darling please…”

And then you angled your hips.

The tip nudged at your entrance, slick with need. With one slow, smooth motion, you sank down onto him. Both of you gasped.

His head fell back against the pillow with a groan of your name, while your breath hitched, feeling every inch stretch and fill you. He fit perfectly, almost maddeningly so.

Your hands pressed against his chest as you adjusted, steadying yourself.

“You feel—” he started, but couldn’t finish. You rolled your hips in answer.

His groan echoed through the room.

Your hips rocked in a steady rhythm as you rode him, the wet sound of your bodies meeting echoing softly. Lucifer’s hands clutched your waist, guiding your movements.

His breath hitched every time you rolled your hips just right, every time your walls clenched around him. “You’re… magnificent,” he gasped out.

You smiled breathlessly, your hands braced against his chest as your movements quickened. His cock hit all the right spots inside you, and the heat in your belly was building again, so sharp and urgent.

Lucifer’s gaze dropped slightly, to where your breasts bounced softly with each movement. A low, needy groan escaped his throat. He reached up, hands tentative for only a moment before he cupped them gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

The touch made you cry out, back arching slightly into his hands.

“Please– Fuck please —,” His grip on your hips tightened, grounding himself as your pace grew more erratic. You were both gasping now, lost in the heady rhythm, the sheets tangled beneath you. His tail coiled around your thigh.

“Mmmnghh— you’re—” he tried to say, but another moan cut him off as you clenched around him. “You’re everything.”

You rolled your hips harder, and Lucifer’s eyes fluttered shut. His fingers found your nipples again, rolling them gently between his fingers to draw out another whimper from your throat.

Lucifer’s breath hitched, and before you could react, he suddenly flipped you onto your back with ease, yet his touch was careful. “Sorry—sorry,” he panted. “I just… I need to feel you closer.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a gasp as he thrust back into you, deeper now, his body pressing flush against yours.

One hand held your thigh tightly, the other caressing your cheek, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing the edge of his lips as he leaned into your touch like a man starved of softness.

“I’m glad I found you,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. His thrusts grew more intense, more desperate, but still laced with that aching tenderness only love could bring.

The stretch felt impossibly good, your bodies pressed so close now that you could feel his heart pounding wildly against yours.

“Y-You’re so beautiful,” he panted, pressing kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your lips. “I—damn it—I don’t deserve you, but I—thank you. Thank you for loving me.”

You opened your eyes, and the look you gave him nearly undid him right then.

He was lost in the sight of you beneath him—hair fanned out like a halo, skin flushed, body open and trembling for him.

And when your walls tightened around him, your body clenching as you moaned his name while cumming, it was too much.

“I love you,” he gasped against your neck, voice cracking. “I love you so much…mmmngh.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your back arching as pleasure surged through you like wildfire.

He groaned deeply, arms tightening around you, his pace erratic now. “Gonna—fuck—I’m gonna cum—” he choked out. 

“Yes, L-love you so much…nghhh,” you gasped, pulling him closer. “Don’t stop. Please, Luci—”

With a deep, broken moan, Lucifer folded you beneath him, pushing your knees up as he drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard. His eyes fluttered shut, his face twisted in pure bliss as warmth flooded inside you.

Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, heartbeat still thundering from the storm you both had just weathered. Lucifer’s weight was still on you, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, his arms tightly wrapped around your waist.

You gently ran your fingers through his tousled golden hair, the scent of him clinging to your skin—sweet, like apple blossoms.

But then… you felt it. A slow roll of his hips. You gasped softly, your body overstimulated, nerves still singing from the high. “Lucifer…” you breathed, not in warning, but in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse and trembling with emotion but his hips didn’t stop. “I just… I can’t stop...please?”

His cock, only semi-hard a moment ago, was already hardening again inside you, impossibly slow and deep with each roll of his hips. Your body ached, but it throbbed with want, your heart aching just as fiercely as your flesh.

You moaned softly, arching into him despite the tenderness. “You’re insatiable,” you said with a strained laugh, your fingers gripping his back.

He nuzzled into your neck, voice shaking as he whispered, “I just love you. So much.”

“I love you too, honey. You don’t have to stop,” you whispered. “I’m yours. Just… slower this time?”

That was all he needed.

His lips found yours again, slower now, deep and full of aching affection. He moved gently, every thrust slow and fluid, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You trembled under him, gasping against his mouth.

You were beneath him, around him, etched into every corner of his being. And he never wanted to move. Not from this bed. Not from this moment. Not from you.

She chose me. The thought looped in his mind like a quiet mantra. Over and over.

Even now, after months of being with you, of sharing laughter and arguments and kisses, he still couldn’t understand how something like this—someone like you—could be real and his. You looked at him like he was something beautiful and worth holding. 

_____________________

You woke slowly, body pleasantly aching from the night before. The claw marks and ripped pillows made you chuckle.

You turned to look at him, and your heart clenched in that stupid way it always did around him. Lucifer, sleeping with the softest expression on his face—his chest rising and falling in even breaths, lips parted slightly. His arm still draped over your side, as if he refused to let go even in dreams.

Carefully, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

You slid out from the bed, naked. You grabbed a robe from the armchair, tying it loosely around yourself, and quietly stepped out of Lucifer’s room.

The moment you turned the corner in the hallway, you froze. Angel Dust was standing there, a mug in hand. He looked at you for a solid minute.

Then slowly raised a brow as a slow, wicked grin stretched across his face. “Well, well...” He gave a dramatic whistle. “Daaaamn, babe, you look like you just had a religious experience.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Good morning to you too, Angel.”

He sipped his coffee. “I only let the king get drunk so he can talk to you…and guess he did, hmm?”

You gave him a flat look, but couldn't stop the small smile forming. “Don't tell me you were standing here all night, listening.”

He smirked, tossing his hair. “Please, I'm not that desperate for porn. You too were so loud, it's not my fault. I had to go sleep somewhere else.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to head down for your own cup of coffee, the heat in your cheeks refusing to fade. But your heart? It was full and warm. 

“So…” he drawled, “does Charlie know?”

You froze mid-sip. “…Know what?”

Angel arched a brow. “That you’re bangin’ her dad.”

You coughed violently, slamming your mug down, wiping your mouth with your sleeve as Angel cackled in glee.

“It’s not like it’s a secret,” you mumbled.

Angel tilted his head. “It isn’t?”

You lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “We’re not hiding it—we’re just… not advertising it. That’s different.” You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “I told Lucifer to tell her. He promised he would.”

Angel snorted. “The king? Confront something emotionally difficult? Babe, I love the guy, but come on.”

You groaned again, louder this time, and slumped dramatically in your chair. “Oh my god. It’s going to be so awkward if I tell her.”

“You know you gotta tell her, right? It’s better coming from you than her walking in on you guys.”

You gave a long, heavy sigh. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’ll… talk to him first.”

“Sooo,” Angel wiggled his brows. “How was the ride? You need to give me freaky deets.”

You threw a snowball on his face as he cackled.

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

Taglist: @atlantis-just-drowned @elegancefr @uniquecutie-puffs @petalsrdead @jazztato @fangthesandwing @rfox1998 @ravensdecent36 @qardasngan @lxxahazel @david-tennant-obsessed @n3bula-glitter @hunt3r0

[allmondbuttergirl]

pick a pile - your soul reminder.

༘⋆ Before you begin, take a moment to center yourself and reflect on your current journey. Trust that the universe has a plan for you, and the messages you receive today are here to help guide you towards your next steps. Pick an image whose energy you're drawn to the most. ⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────

✧ Pile One

🧿 What the Cards Say: The Empress, VII of Wands, Justice, The Moon and VII of Cups.

What a cosmic storm of awakening you’re standing in. The universe isn’t whispering here — it’s singing your name.

You are stepping into your divine Empress era — whether you feel “ready” or not. The Empress doesn’t ask permission to bloom; she just does. But here’s the twist: your blossoming is triggering resistance — both from others and your own inner protector (hello, Seven of Wands). That fire in you is not for burning out — it’s for standing tall when people question your rise. Justice, Moon, and Seven of Cups? That’s truth vs illusion, baby. You’re being asked to discern what’s real — not just what’s shiny. With Justice in play, karmic balance is being restored. Something hidden is coming to light — something that clears the fog and gives you the power to choose wisely, not desperately. The Moon invites you to trust your subconscious instincts. You might feel unsure or like you’re being pulled in multiple directions — but that’s just your higher self testing your clarity before handing over your next big gift. Dreams, signs, déjà vu moments? Pay attention. You're already being guided. With water and fire showing up side by side — this is deep emotion meeting unstoppable action. Passion with purpose. Vulnerability and power.

Your Soul Reminder: You are not here to shrink to make others comfortable. You are here to bloom wildly, truthfully, beautifully. Let the illusions fall. Let the truth rise. And when it does? Walk through that portal with grace — and fire in your eyes. You’ve earned this.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

✧ Pile Two

🧿 What the Cards Say: Queen of Wands, Ace of Swords (R), The World and Two of Pentacles

This one hits like a quiet flame under pressure. Your energy? Fierce. Focused. But there’s a mental fog you're moving through — and it’s not here to break you, it’s here to refine you.

You are the Queen of Wands right now — magnetic, radiant, and turning heads whether you mean to or not. But here’s the catch: with the Ace of Swords reversed, your mind might be spinning. Overthinking, second-guessing, doubting your voice. Maybe you're waiting for clarity or a "perfect" sign before you act, but the truth is — you already know. The World says a chapter has already ended or is about to, and the only thing holding you back is the juggling act (hello, Two of Pentacles). You’re trying to keep everything in balance — responsibilities, decisions, emotions — but deep down, something’s gotta give. You can’t hold on to the old storyline and step into the new one at the same time. This pile is realignment energy. You’re in a powerful transition from scattered thoughts to solid purpose. From managing to mastering. You don’t need all the answers — just the courage to say, “I’m ready to move forward, even if the path isn't crystal clear yet.” Your confidence is your compass. Your intuition is your sword — even if the blade feels dulled right now. Trust: it’s being sharpened.

Your Soul Reminder: Power isn't loud. It’s steady. And your steadiness right now is creating momentum that will carry you farther than you can see.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ──────

[annab-nana]

helloooo! valentine’s day is actually my birthday so wanted to request something fun and sweet for the sleepover! steve harrington and the reader spend valentine’s day as friends bc neither of them get a date but ofc they’re not just friends. and i wanted to add the prompts “love confessions” and “celebrating with a bottle of champagne/wine” 💕💕💕

happy late birthday love! i hope you had a good day <3

warnings: not proofread, light drinking

❀ masterlist ❀

it was becoming a tradition. every year, the phone would ring on the morning of the fourteenth and you would already know who it was before you picked it up.

"no date?" steve's voice asked lowly in a teasing tone.

with a sigh and a nod he couldn't see, you replied, "no date."

that was all it took. no dates meant a day of junk food, romcoms, and pretending that being friends was good enough for the two of you.

steve showed up at your front door less than hour later, hair perfect as always and that stupid grin on his face that twisted your stomach into knots.

the first stop was the diner in town. heading to the back, you slid into your usual booth in the corner. you didn't even bother with a menu. you were getting the same thing as always: burgers, fries, and a chocolate milkshake to share.

next stop was the grocery store, a blur of snacks and laughter as you tossed items his way for him to catch. once the cart was stocked with everything from popcorn to strawberries to wine, you checked out.

then came the floral shop. you had always loved flowers and steve knew that. so, every year, you two stopped at the shop right beside the grocery store so steve could buy you a bouquet. as he paid for the flowers, the older lady who ran the place winked at the both of you and called you lovebirds. neither of you corrected her. you never did.

you met his eyes as she wrapped the bouquet in brown paper. he flashed you his famous grin. you fought off a smile and looked away.

last stop was the video store, steve's old workplace. wandering the aisles, steve and you walked side by side while he pulled out cheesy romcoms and horror flicks with terrible taglines.

back at steve's place, everything began to fall into place. you popped popcorn and melted chocolate for strawberries while he got the first movie ready and set up blankets and pillows on the couch.

by the time the second romcom ended, you'd both had way too much sugar and were sunk into the couch like you were part of it. you leaned forward to set your empty ice cream bowl on the table and grabbed the open wine bottle for another swig, feeling the buzz and warmth as it went down.

"you know..." steve began, his voice quiet and hesitant. "it may be weird but i really look forward to this day."

you turned to look at him, brows pinching. "why?" this was supposed to be the day of love spent with your significant other, not single and bumming it with your best friend.

he shrugged and took another sip of wine. "because i get to spend it with you."

“you spend almost every day with me. what makes today any different, other than the hearts and love everywhere?” you chuckled softly.

he didn't laugh. not even a smile.

"because today," he spoke slowly, "i get to pretend we're more than friends."

his words hit you like a truck. you stared at him as your heart thudded in your chest.

"you're drunk," you told him, trying to brush it off with a laugh.

"just tipsy," he replied with a smirk.

"you aren't thinking straight," you tried again.

"i'd say this is the straightest i've ever thought." his voice was steady and his eyes seemed honest.

you swallowed. hard. "you're serious?"

"dead serious."

you didn't respond, not with words. instead, you leaned in and he matched your movements. then, your lips met his in a kiss both of you had been waiting years for.

it was soft to start, but then, steve's hands found your waist. he pulled you onto his lap like he couldn't stand to be any farther from you. as the kiss deepened, you finally understood why people in movies like the ones you watched tonight kissed like it was the end of the world. it felt like something changed in you. forever.

he pulled back from you for a moment, just enough to rest his forehead to yours as you caught your breath.

"we need more wine," he murmured against your lips.

you laughed gently. "why? i thought the pity drinking was over."

he smiled his famous smile that twisted your stomach into knots. "to celebrate."

remember to support writers & reblog :)

turn on notifications for @annab-library to be notified when i post something new or join the tag list here!

tag list: @fiction-is-life @x-lulu @bradleybeachbabe @marjorieswrld @jellyfishbeansontoast @idfk-x2

[seokmn]

EYES OFF OF YOU — CHAPTER TWENTY ONE PT. 1

SYNOPSIS :: Seokmin was desperate to find the perfect model to pair up with his friend for his upcoming project, and he found you.

📝. word count: 1.5k words ‼️. warnings: mention of sex (again, nothing explicit)

You were excited — thrilled, actually — to meet Seokmin that night.

 You had thought about anything that could happen. You could watch a shitty and boring movie that could easily turn into a makeout session; you could go straight to the sex part and later on you could cuddle in bed for the rest of the night and the next morning; you could cook dinner together while listening to some jazz and drinking wine; you could have those late night conversations while stargazing and hugging each other. There were so many possibilities that you could’ve sworn your head was about to spin.

 The time didn’t seem to pass; you woke up way too early and had to fight the anxiety and urge to see the clock hitting 7PM as soon as possible.

 You did everything you could’ve possibly done in the meantime: had a very long self care morning; practiced your solo dance cover; took a long shower followed by some more self care time, and you were ready to meet Seokmin at 4PM.

 As you sat on your bed and stared at your cellphone — planning on doing that by the next three hours — you found yourself getting even more restless. You checked yourself in the mirror and decided to change your clothes and makeup not once or twice, but thrice. Thankfully, that was enough time to check out your phone and see that it was already seven o’clock.

 You paced around the room for five minutes. He was late, but something could’ve happened, and he was just five miserable minutes late, so it was fine.

 When the five minutes turned into ten, you were almost pulling out your hair. So, in order to not go insane, you decided to just take your purse and meet him in a small park that he had to walk by to get to your dorm.

 “Girls? I’m leaving,” you grabbed your keys and looked at your roommates. “How do I look?”

 “You look beautiful, really. I bet he’s gonna drool when he sees you! You look effortlessly gorgeous.”

 “Good enough to make me want you all to myself. Don’t forget the condoms, tho. One of you is cute, but two at this age is just way too much.”

 You scoffed.

 “Well, thank you! I actually put a lot of effort into this look, but it’d be great for him to think that I didn’t. And about the ‘two of me’ comment, you won’t see two of me so soon, trust me.”

 “That’s the spirit. Now go enjoy that cutie.”

 You smiled and left the dorm, leaving your two roommates to enjoy the rest of the weekend without you.

 As you reached the park, you already saw Kazuha and Seokmin walking side by side. It was impossible to not smile at the sight of your friend and of the guy you were in love with. But right at the moment you started to walk towards them, you saw Kazuha taking his hand and then kissing him.

 Your smile instantly dropped and you stopped in your tracks. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Was Seokmin and Kazuha really kissing? That didn’t make any sense to you, especially after your last call with Seokmin, when he reassured you that Zuha was just a friend.

 Time seemed to freeze and it felt like they had their lips pressed against each other for a really long time. You didn’t wait for them to stop kissing, you ran to the dorms’ hallway to hide and stayed there for a few minutes just staring at the white wall and trying to process what you just saw.

 Why were they kissing? Did Seokmin lie to you? Did he say to Kazuha that you were only his friend as well? Was he lying to you and to Kazuha? Your head was flooded with all these types of questions.

 You wanted to go back there and scream at Seokmin, even hit him. You wanted to do the same thing with Kazuha, but you fought that urge, only because you didn’t know if Kazuha was also a victim of his idiotic plan of playing and getting laid by two friends.

Instead of going there and confronting Seokmin, all you did was open your Twitter, type out a ‘what the actual fuck’ followed by ‘that’s it i’m getting out of here out of this situation’ and storm back to your dorm.

 Tears ran down your face as you walked back to your dorm without you realizing. You felt confused, furious and extremely heartbroken.

 Once you were at your front door, you took your keys out of your pocket and tried to open the door, but your blurry vision made it impossible.

 “Girls,” you banged at the door. “It’s me… Let me in, please.”

 You could hear rushed steps from inside the dorm and the sound of the door being unlocked. The moment one of your roommates opened the door, looking at you with confusion all over her face, you walked past her and threw your purse on the couch.

 “If Seokmin comes here, let him knock, let him call my name or even scream it. Do not open this fucking door and do not make any sound. I don’t want him here talking to me or to any of you.”

 You didn’t even let them reply to your words, you just got into your room and slammed the door shut, trying to isolate yourself from the world and to muffle the sounds that were actually only in your head.

 Taking your phone, you saw your friends’ replies to your tweet and you thought about yourself as a complete moron for tweeting that while you could’ve kept that to yourself instead, or even better, confronted Seokmin. But no, all you did was post a stupid tweet and rush back to your room. With a sigh, you replied to Jeonghan’s comment because it was the last notification and threw your phone on your bed right after.

 You sat on the floor and rested your head on your bed as you looked at the ceiling with the moments you had spent with Seokmin replaying in your head. It felt like the ceiling was the TV and you were watching a movie about you and him — about a silly girl who fell in love with a complete jerk dressed as a white knight.

 It didn’t take too long for you to hear knocks on your door followed by your roommate’s voice. “Y/N? Seokmin has been knocking for a few minutes now. Do we keep ignoring him or do we open the door for him and tell him that you can’t make it tonight?”

 “Ignore him, please. I don’t even want to hear his voice, I just,” you let out a sob before clearing your throat and trying to keep yourself together. “I can’t.”

 “Sweetie, it’s okay. We’ll keep on ignoring him. If you need us, we’ll be quietly watching Final Destination and eating popcorn. Just know that we’re here for you, okay?”

 “Thank you,” you kept looking at the ceiling, not even bothering to open the door for your roommate to come in. “But I just need to be alone right now.”

 “I respect that, but if you need some company later, you know where to find us.”

 Your roommate walked away from your door and you stayed in the same position, hearing your phone buzzing with notifications, probably from Seokmin telling you that he was already at your door waiting for you.

 You let out a sigh and stood up, but as you did that you glanced at your reflection in the mirror and that glance turned into a staring competition with your own reflection.

 You didn’t see the beautiful, excited and full of energy and love woman that you saw in the mirror minutes before witnessing that fucked up scene. You saw a pathetic woman with panda eyes due to the crying and the mascara you wore.

 Suddenly, your hair that you once thought was beautiful looked way too ugly; your clothes that you spent hours to finally put them together into a nice and casual outfit turned into horrendous pieces that didn’t fit together and your face looked like a mess.

 You ran your hands through your hair and took your phone, checking Seokmin’s messages. Hell, even after kissing your friend he acted like a caring man, asking you if you were okay. If you hadn’t found out the truth, you could swear that he typed that out with brows furrowed and with his shiny boba eyes filled with concern. But now, that text only seemed like a joke to you, like a ‘aren’t we’re gonna kiss and have sex tonight? I was looking forward to play with you a little bit’.

 “This motherfucker…” you mumbled to yourself.

 You decided to pretend that you never saw anything and just text him back like nothing happened. But you were sure about one thing, you were going to distance yourself from him no matter what.

After texting him back in a very dry way — at least to you it was very dry — you decided to take a nap to forget about everything and then talk to your friends when you wake up.

MASTERLiST - PREViOUS - NEXT

🔔. tagging! :: @svtmaryeom, @wonkierideul, @noircheols, @mi9yuz, @u7140823, @paradiseoflosers, @tastyluvr, @starshuas, @kaekiiet, @supi-wupi, @starsunoo, @mimimiloomeelomi, @himewonu, @iamdkayyyyy, @lukeys-giggle, @imhereonlytoreadxoxo, @sumzysworld, @tkooooop

[daydreamsandcaffeine]

of honey bunnies and bears

a/n: look who's back at it with another little imrrick family story. this is set in the same world as pocketful of sunshine, which is inspired by @violencelittlething's modern au series (go check it out!). i present to you a father's day treat.

🐰🐻🐰🐻

Clang. Crash.

The noises from the kitchen downstairs rouse Garrick from his sleep. As he rubs the sleepiness from his eyes, his ears pick up on bits of conversation.

“But, mooom, it has to be perfect!”

“He’s going to love it, bun, perfect or not.”

“Hmph, I want it to be perfect!”

Knowing his daughter, she is highly likely sporting a pout on her face that rivals her mother’s. Curiosity piqued, he sits up, stretches, and gets up from the bed to investigate the commotion.

He quietly makes his way downstairs to keep his presence undetected. He peers into the kitchen and can’t help a chuckle at what he finds. Mixing bowls, utensils, and ingredients are scattered across the counter. Dusts of flour coats various surfaces of the kitchen. His daughter Quinnie sits on a stool by the stove intensely watching her mother flip something on the griddle, a contrast to the playful look of concentration on Imogen’s face as she sets the spatula down and leans over to peck a kiss on their daughter’s forehead.

That sweet gesture reminds him just how lucky he is that this is his life. With that thought, he decides to make his presence known, wanting to revel in the moment with Imogen and Quinn. In a booming voice, he asks, “What’s going on here?”

Quinn’s head immediately snaps his way, and she stretches her arms out in an attempt to hide the scene. “Daaad, you’re supposed to be sleeping! We’re making a surprise!”

Garrick reaches his daughter and picks her up into his arms with barely any effort and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Well, honey bun, you woke me up with the noises, and I had to see what it was all about.”

Imogen snorts at his remark while still focusing on her task. “Your patience hasn’t gotten any better with age.”

“Is it wrong that I want to be with my favorite girls all the time?” He teases.

Imogen turns towards him, her face soft as one hand caresses her belly. “You know you’ll have to amend that term to be inclusive our baby boy.”

Garrick stills, processing her words. After a beat, he asks, “Im, we’re having a boy?”

She smiles at him. “Yeah, we are. I found out over the phone yesterday and figured I’d wait to tell you today. Surprise!”

Garrick loops the arm not holding his daughter around his wife, brings her in close, and smacks a kiss on her lips. “I love it, and I love you.” He turns to Quinn and adds, “And I love you too, honey bun.”

Little Quinnie, who had remained silent during her parents’ exchange, bubbles with excitement. “Mommy told me! It was our secret for your surprise,” she squeals at her dad.

“And what is this surprise?”

“I’m not telling until mommy says it’s ready.”

Imogen chuckles and replies, “Guess what, bun? I just finished here. Why don’t you and dad sit at the table, and I’ll bring it over?”

Quinn nods enthusiastically. “Come on, daddy! Let’s sit!”

“Your wish is my command,” Garrick easily complies and heads to the table with Quinn still in his arms. 

They get seated, and a moment later, Imogen appears, places a tray in front of Garrick, and sits with them at the table.

Garrick glances down and sees animal-shaped pancakes laid out on a platter, little ceramics holding butter and honey, and a homemade card. He picks up the card and opens it. In the card, there’s stick figure drawings with labels (clearly written by his wife) atop each figure meant to resemble their little family - daddy, mommy, Quinnie, and baby boy. At the top of the page in childlike scribbles reads, “Surprise!! Happy father’s day, daddy!” Garrick’s heart swells, and he is again in awe of how amazing his life turned out.

Quinn, losing her patience, questions, “Do you like it??”

“I love it, bun. Now tell me about these pancakes.”

Quinn nods with certainty and points to the pancakes. “They’re bunnies and bears! A bunny for me since I’m your honey bunny and a bear for you since you’re our honey bear.” Ever since Quinn heard her Uncle Xaden call her daddy honey bear, she’s latched onto the thought of them “matching”.

Imogen watches the scene in front of her adoringly, tickled pink at her daughter’s excitement explaining this morning surprise to Garrick. She cradles her belly thinking how this time next year, their baby boy will be a part of this wonderful chaos. Who knows what surprises will be in store then?

[sinnabarmoth]

Tower of Hopes (1/13)

(A/N: Should I have probably waited until morning to post this? Probably. Was I too excited to wait that long? Yes.)

Pairing: Foreseer|Zayne x Princess|Reader (fem)

Summary: You are the crown princess, set to have a political marriage with the king from a neighboring kingdom. As you are getting ready to walk down the aisle you run away instead, straight to one of the temples of the gods, the Tower of Thorns. The temple built for the worship of Astra.

There your childhood friend Zayne lives, having been bound to the god Astra as His emissary many years ago. Despite his warnings that you will never be allowed to leave the tower if you claim sanctuary, you do anyway. Now that you cannot leave the temple the wedding is called off and you begin your life as a permanent resident in the tower with your estranged childhood friend as your only company inside its cold walls.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Word Count: 4600

Chapters: (Next)

Read on AO3

It was the perfect day for a winter wedding.

A fresh blanket of snow covered the world, soft etchings of swirling frost painted every window, delicate flakes fluttered from the sky like flower petals. Inside a tall stone palace life hummed with dozens of burning fireplaces and bustling bodies. The smell of roasting meats and baking sweet cinnamons and apples wafted through the hallways. Though out of season, bushels of flowers decorated the halls wrapped in velvet ribbon and lace.

A bouquet had been set aside for you in your rooms. It rested in the hands of one of the dozen of attendants that scurried about the room tittering to each other as they readied you. Yards of ivory fabric swathing you, embellished with delicate embroidery, crystals, and pearls. Everyone said you made a beautiful bride. You said you looked like the ballroom chandelier.

In an hour you would be walking out of this room and down the aisle for a marriage you never asked for. It was hardly your choice though. As the oldest and the next in line for the throne it had been left to you to marry advantageously. A king from a neighboring kingdom that would join with yours, expanding your lands. This stranger would be your husband and you his wife and queen.

You had only met the man once. He was kind enough, a bit boastful, not unwell to look upon but hardly a face that would be chosen for many paintings. He said everything you expected to hear. He had heard much about you, your talents, your charm, and especially your beauty. He expected you would make a fine queen. You nodded politely but spent the entire engagement dinner silent.

Now you were to wed. Despite the many layers adorning you you felt ice cold.

The attendants parted as your mother the queen entered to check on you. “Oh my darling, you look every bit as radiant as I knew you would.” she gasped.

“Thank you, mother.” you kept your hands clasped in front of you so you didn’t fidget with the dress or the jewelry or the veil. You were thankful you were going to be given a bouquet or else you didn’t know if you’d be able to remain composed for the ceremony.

“Everyone out, I’d like a word alone with my daughter.” the queen demanded and all the attendants bowed their heads and fled the room. One of the ladies that entered with your mother set down a silver tray and bowed before taking her leave with everyone else. Once they were gone and the door clicked shut she held out her hands to you. You grasped her, squeezing tighter than was probably necessary. “Nervous?”

“Yes.” you admitted.

“I understand. It is a big day and you’ve hardly been given a moment to breathe.” she cooed softly. “I went through the same on my wedding day. So I brought you three gifts before the ceremony. First,” she went to the tray the one lady left behind and unwrapped a napkin. Inside was a little cake. “Something sweet to give you energy and steady the nerves.”

You took the cake gratefully, carefully taking a bite so not to ruin the hard work your attendants had put into your appearance. The sweetness of the cake danced on your tongue and you moaned at the taste.

“My second gift is this.” she lifted a small box tied with ribbon and held it out for you.

You carefully crammed the rest of the little cake into your mouth as you took the box from your mother. She rolled her eyes but said nothing about your unladylike display.

You unwrapped the box and nestled inside was a necklace. You had received many fine necklaces and other jewelry as engagement gifts over the past several weeks. This was unlike all of them though. It was on a simple silver chain and the pendant was small, a symbol of Astra.

Your heart constricted looking at the necklace. An ache you had been biting back since you learned your parents had engaged you swelled in your chest.

“May He bring you comfort and protection.” your mother said, taking the necklace and clasping it around your throat.

You knew why your mother gave you this. She was very devout to the gods and your kingdom was home to Astra’s temple so it was the god you prayed to most of all. When you grasped the pendant she most likely thought you were trying to draw strength from it, maybe sending a prayer up to Astra in your silence.

“And my final gift,” she took you by the arm and escorted you out of your room. She walked with you down to the solarium. Unlike the rest of the palace that buzzed with people and noise, this room was quiet and empty.

“I don’t understand.” you said, looking around the room with its high walls and ceiling made of glass.

“A moment to yourself.” she said. “Your ladies will be by to collect you shortly before the ceremony. But you have a long day ahead of you still and I know the changes that are coming are great. This is a time for you to sit and be at peace and center yourself before everything happens. Relish it, this may be the last time you relax all day.”

“Thank you, mother.” you bowed your head.

She sighed, tilting your head back up. “You are strong, my darling. I know this may not be what you imagined for yourself but it is a good thing. You will see. I love you.” she pressed a gentle kiss to your head and left the room.

You stood in the center of the solarium and let the composure that kept you standing straight slip. You collapsed onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling. How were you meant to do this? You had told yourself it was your duty a thousand times but the more you said it the less convincing it was. Maybe if you had been kept in your room surrounded by your attendants then you would not feel yourself cracking like this. You weren’t sure if you were going to be able to pull yourself from this room.

Then there was this damn necklace. You still had a hand clutched over the pendant but your thoughts were not with Astra. They were with who you always thought of when you saw Astra’s symbol.

Zayne.

You stood up again and went to the windows, pressing your hand to the frost you wiped it away. Far in the distance through the trees you could see a tower poking out from the snow covered pines. The Tower of Thorns. Astra’s temple. A temple with only one inhabitant. One you had not seen since last year and only very briefly.

You leaned forward until your nose bumped against the cold glass.

You had perhaps half an hour until the ceremony, maybe forty minutes if you were generous. No one would be looking for you till then. The only question then was, how far could you get through the snow in this dress?

You decided to answer your own question and ran for the solarium doors. You pushed them open, the glass pushing against the powdery snow as you stepped out into the cold winter air. Your fine slippers sunk into snow, burying your entire foot in cold and wet. You ignored the uncomfortable feeling and gathered your gown into your arms before taking off towards the forest in a mad dash.

You had made it to the treeline out of breath and your toes freezing. You looked back at the castle, watching for any sign that anyone noticed you were missing. There were no bells ringing in alarm or barking dogs following your scent so you took a moment to catch your breath and kept going. You followed the carriage path that cut through the trees to lead to the tower.

Your shoes were soaked through and your toes were tingling numb. The hem of your ridiculously extravagant wedding gown was soaked through and small splatters of cold water hit the back of your legs. Every inch of you was heavy and cold but you kept going until finally there was a break in the endless forest. Before you stood the Tower of Thorns, impossibly tall and gleaming. It stood sharp and jagged like a mountain carved from broken glass, stretching into the clouds.

You pulled yourself forward up the steps and collapsed against the door. You lifted the knocker and slammed it down against door three times. Please. You begged. Please open. Please.

You felt the door give way and you fell across the threshold into a pair of arms. “Princess?”

“Zayne…” you sighed, leaning into the warmth of his body. “I’m cold…”

“Gods help me,” he gave a grunt as he pulled you up into his arms and rushed into the kitchen where a fire was burning. He set you in front of it and wordlessly started preparing something hot to drink. He didn’t ask any questions at first, he simply rushed around the room brewing some tea. You kicked off your shoes and peeled off the stockings, stretching your frozen feet towards the fire to warm them back up.

“Here,” Zayne handed you a mug full of steaming tea made exactly the way you liked it.

“Thank you.” you took a gentle sip, careful not to scald your tongue.

Now that you were warming up and not in any clear danger of freezing to death Zayne stopped and stared at you. He was dressed in his normal regalia as the emissary of Astra. Divinely chosen by the god Himself, Zayne had been predestined to become Astra’s emissary, his voice on the mortal plane. He was raised for this position and once he was of age he had come to live here, never to leave as was expected of the gods’ emissaries all over the world.

You only saw Zayne once a year when your family came to pray and pay tribute to the god, asking His favor and protection for another year.

Before Zayne was Astra’s emissary though he had been your friend and tutor. You spent your childhood playing with him and learning with him and from him. You had always known that this was where he would end up one day but going from seeing someone most everyday to once a year was startling. You tried visiting more often but as time went on your duties kept you away and Zayne often chided you for interrupting his own work with your unannounced visits.

Normally in those visits he’d roll his eyes but invite you in and listen to you politely before gently reminding you he had to work and sending you back on your way. This was no normal visit though as your attire clearly proved.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be reciting your vows right about now?”

“I should.” you stared down into your cup of tea, unable to meet his eyes.

“So why are you here?” he repeated.

“I…I couldn’t do it.” your voice shook. “I was holding steady and then they left me alone and--” you didn’t mention the necklace your mother had given you that seemed to all but pull you to his doorstep.

“I’m not going back.” you told him. “I cannot.”

Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed to remember he was in front of royalty and stood up straight again. “Your Highness, it is not a matter of can or cannot. You are expected to marry today. All you have done is delay the ceremony, ruin your shoes, and try to freeze yourself. They will realize where you are soon enough and come to collect you.”

“I know.” you hated when he addressed you so formally. You’d take the childish teasing from when you were kids over another “Your Highness” any day, even if he did call you a cry-baby. You’d know he was doing it because it was what he wanted to call you, not what he was supposed to.

“Then why did you come?”

Your mouth hung open but no answers came.

Zayne bowed his head, “You have to go back. I’ll send a messenger bird over to tell them you are here if they haven’t figured it out already.”

“It won’t do any good.” you called after him as he turned to leave the room. “I’m not going back.”

“You have to.” he called back.

“No, I don’t. Not if I claim sanctuary.”

Zayne froze and stepped back into the room, his gaze narrowed on you. “Only an idiot would do such a thing and you are no idiot, princess.”

“Claiming sanctuary is the action of an idiot now? The refugees that fall on the gods’ doors must be very foolish then.”

“People who claim sanctuary do so because they have nowhere else to go. You are the Crown Princess, you are about to become queen of two entire kingdoms. If there is one person who does not need to claim sanctuary it is you.” he stepped in front of you and attempted to calm himself.

“You are scared. I can see that. I doubt it is the dream of any little girl to marry someone she does not know, but do not do something ill-advised to escape it. You cannot simply run away from your problems.”

“Why not? It is not as if I am the only heir. I have plenty of younger siblings that could take up my role as heir apparent.” you said, your reasoning growing more manic as this idea burrowed deeper into your brain.

“You do not know what you would be agreeing to.” Zayne hissed, “Sanctuary is only done in dire cases for a reason. If you claim sanctuary then you are stuck here, you will be bound to the temple, unable to ever leave. Is that what you want?”

Of course it wasn’t what you wanted. You had wanted to go out and see the world past your own kingdom. But you knew what awaited you if you were married to that king waiting back at the castle. You would be wife and queen and when you were not attending to matters of state you would be expected to make many many babies. Then when you were not being queen or wife you would be mother. You still had so many dreams, so many desires, none of which you’d be able to see locked in a castle with a man you did not want to call husband. You’d be barred from those dreams here as well, but at least you would not need to lay down with the king and have his babies. Any life you built in this tower would be your choice. That at least was worth it.

There was a banging on the temple doors that shook you both from your confrontation. Zayne leveled a warning look at you and went to answer it. You took another fortifying sip of tea and followed him, your bare feet padding across the cold floor.

Zayne opened the door and your parents shuffled in with some guards pouring in behind them. From the open door you could tell there were more waiting outside the tower.

“My darling, are you alright? Oh dear, your dress--” your mother tutted, coming up and hugging you. “You are chilled to the bone! We thought you may have been abducted.”

“Clearly our daughter decided she needed to pray before her nuptials, such poor timing though.” your father said through clenched teeth, “What in the hells are you doing here? The ceremony was set to begin fifteen minutes ago!”

“Dear, please, let us hear her first--”

“You are the one who left her alone! If she had remained in her room with her attendants then this wouldn’t have happened.” your father snapped. “Whatever tantrum or panic sent you here, it is over. We are leaving now. We were able to tide things over with the king by telling him that you were coming here to pray but that your prayers went on too long. It is time to go before any more time is wasted and suspicion spreads.”

“No.” you said, hands clenching into fists at your sides. “I’m not going back. I don’t want to marry him.”

“Darling, please--”

“No, mother!” you snapped, “I cannot do it! I cannot marry him! Please! Please do not make me do this!”

“It is scary, I know--”

“No! You don’t know! You got to marry someone you loved! I do not know this man. I know nothing about him outside of what kingdom he rules.” you hugged her tight, “Please, mama, do not force me to do this!”

“Enough of this!” your father grabbed you, wrenching you away from your mother and started dragging you towards the door. “You are not a child anymore! You are a woman grown and you are going to go through with this marriage!”

“No!” you struggled against his hold. You made eye contact with Zayne who was watching the whole spectacle unfold in stunned silence. When you looked at him though he could see what you intended.

“Don’t--” he shouted but it was too late.

“Sanctuary!” you screamed. “I claim sanctuary in Astra’s name!”

The room froze. Light spread like cracks of lightning from the vaulted ceilings and down to the floor to where you stood. The points of light coalesced under your feet and you felt a surge of icy shock, as if you had fallen through a frozen lake, shoot from your feet into your head. The light cleared away but around your neck the necklace your mother had gifted you glowed with radiant light. You felt buzzing in your ears, words spoken through a haze that you could not decipher, then silence.

The light faded from your necklace and you knew it had been done. You were now a charge of the Tower of Thorns and could not be removed from the temple grounds.

Your parents stood shocked and gaping at you. “What have you done?” your father said, staring at you in horror.

“You didn’t give me any other choice.” you muttered, pulling your arm out of his grasp.

“Undo it.” your father snapped, turning to Zayne.

Even in his silence you could tell that Zayne was seething, staring at you as if you had just blasphemed his god instead of invoke his name in sanctuary. He turned to address your father. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, I cannot undo a claim of sanctuary.”

“She did not mean it!” your father insisted.

You were about to rebuttal that you did indeed mean it with your entire heart but Zayne spoke first.

“Sanctuary cannot be revoked once it has been invoked. I am afraid not even royal decree can overturn the will of the gods.” Zayne said. “She is now under the care of the temple.”

“Can we do nothing?” your mother asked, coming over to hold your hand.

“The princess has essentially given herself up as an offering to Astra with her claim of sanctuary. To take back such an offering would only anger the gods.” Zayne explained, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of calm decorum despite the storm in his eyes. “The only solutions I can think of to undo this is to find an offering worthy of swapping the princess for or beseeching the gods to reject her. Neither of which are likely to work.”

Every eye turned to you. Your mother was crushing your hand in her grip and the fire in your father’s eyes made you think he was going to melt the snow into spring. “You had better enjoy your time here,” he said, his voice a thrumming rage, “because as soon as we sort this out you are heading right back to that altar.”

Your father left. Your mother fretted for a moment, pulling you into a hug and telling you not to worry and that she loved you before following your father. The guards filed out with them and the door closed with a decisive thunk.

The weight of what you did started to settle on you. You had done it. You escaped the marriage but now you were a charge of the temple. Unless your parents succeeded in beseeching the gods to let you go, you’d never see anything outside of these temple grounds again.

You could feel the burning glare of Zayne at your back.

You took in a deep breath and turned. He stood there unmoving and outwardly composed, but his eyes held the tumultuous fury of a blizzard. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

You squared your shoulders, refusing to be cowed by his disappointment. “I avoided a marriage that would have made me miserable--”

“No. You ruined what would have been a good alliance for the kingdom and condemned yourself to this tower.” Zayne cut you off. “It is lucky for you that your parents will not rest until they get you out of here.

“Do you really think Astra is going to give up a princess?” you said. You tried to say it confidently, as if you already knew Astra would never give you up but it came out more like a scared question.

“You had better hope He will. This is no life for you.” he gestured to the temple. His annoyance was clear on his face. “Do you remember when we were young? You had said that you were going to go out and see the world for me. You promised that. So you have now broken more than one promise this day.”

“I know.” Hearing him mention your old promise hurt more than anything your parents said. “I couldn’t go through with the marriage though. I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Understand? No. I do not understand.” he sighed, settling his hands on his hips. “There is no taking back what you did today though. Since you are stuck here I will show you to a room you can stay in. Follow me.”

He turned and left without bothering to see if you were following. You were starting to regret kicking off your shoes as you hiked your dress back up in your arms and scampered after him. He led you down a series of corridors and up stairs until finally stopping at a door. He pushed it open and gestured for you to go in.

It was a simple and plain room but clean. Bed, wardrobe, desk and chair, a small fireplace, and another door that you assumed led to a bathing chamber. Half your closet wouldn’t even fit in this room. Hells, you in your dress barely fit the humble chamber. At least the bed would only belong to you tonight.

“I’ll let you settle in.” Zayne said. He gave a bow of his head and left.

You looked around the room, studying it closer. You were right about the bathing chamber. You were glad to see that there was running hot water so you at least didn’t need to do anything as barbaric as heat your own water for a bath.

You started removing all your adornments, starting with the crown and veil you had on as well as all the jewelry. Next you started on the elaborate arrangement of your hair and the two dozen or so pearl pins they and managed to clip into it.

Lastly was the dress which after several minutes of struggling you hadn’t even gotten an arm free of the ivory and crystal monstrosity.

There was a gentle knock on your door. You huffed, giving up on trying to free yourself and answered it. Zayne stood on the other side with a bundle of clothes and a pair of shoes. “I figured you would not want to sleep in your wedding dress so I brought a change of clothes for sleeping and for everyday. Standard for anyone who claims sanctuary.”

“Thank you.” the material was thick and soft but drab in color.

“I’ll bring up some firewood and food in a bit.” he said. “I’ll leave you to change.”

Change. Right.

“Zayne.” you halted him, “I um…I…”

“What is it?” he looked at you confused.

Your face flooded with heat as you realized what you had to ask of him. “It um…it took more than three maids to tie me into this dress and I cannot get it off on my own. Can you…can you help me? Please?”

“Oh.” his eyes widened a fraction.

“I’m so very sorry to have to ask this of you. If I had a maid to call I’d ask them but I’ve been trying for twenty minutes to get this off myself and I simply cannot.”

“Fine.” Zayne swallowed, “Turn around.”

“Thank you.” you turned. You jumped a little when you felt his hands settle on your dress, finding the tightly knotted lacings and started untangling them and pulling them free. Slowly but surely the many layers that made up your wedding dress were peeled away.

“May I ask why the layering of this dress is so complicated?” Zayne asked, struggling to undo yet another knot.

“I requested it to be made like this.” you told him.

“Why?” he finally undid the knot and started undoing the lacing.

“So it would take longer to take off and my would-be-husband would lose interest halfway through and spare me having to lay with him tonight.” The designer that made the gown understood exactly what you were asking for when you kept on insisting on more layers and ties and whatnot. You could tell she was sympathetic to your worries and had done exactly as you had wished.

“I…” Zayne had grown quiet. “I had not considered that part.” he muttered.

“It was all I could think about.” a shiver ran up your spine, “When I was younger I had envisioned my wedding day as something far sweeter and with someone I loved. Not a political alliance.”

“I am sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“When you came here I was only thinking about what the kingdom had to gain and the freedom you would have as queen. I suppose I forgot that being married meant that you would also have to be a wife.” There was a certain disgust in his voice that told you he too sympathized with your plight now that he understood it better.

The final layer before your chemise fell around you. Finally free of the confines of your dress you stretched your arms up above your head and turned around. “Thank you. And though everyone else may be mad at me for this I know that I at the very least saved myself from what would have been a terrible wedding night.”

“Yes, well,” He cleared his throat, averting his gaze at your state of undress. “Good night, princess. I’ll be back with your firewood and food shortly.”

He disappeared back out the door without another word. You settled your arms back by your sides. Kicking away the layers of the dress to a corner you changed into the warm sleep shift Zayne had brought you and pulled on a pair of thick socks.

Zayne arrived with firewood and food as he had promised. He quickly lit the fire in the fireplace for you before wishing you a good night once more and leaving. You could only assume that your interruption earlier today had thrown off his routine and he was desperately trying to catch back up. You would not bother him any more today.

You went to the window and looked out over the forest. In the far distance you could see the spires of the palace in the rising moonlight. Your fingers found the small pendant of Astra around your neck. Were you going to regret this?

[vlhsk]

More That Routine

Sana x Jihyo (Sahyo)

Summary: When Jihyo and Sana started sharing a room, neither expected the closeness to slowly burn into something unspoken. What began as harmless glances and late-night talks turned into a quiet obsession. Until it wasn’t so quiet anymore.

Warnings: GL smut, soft dominance, emotional tension, explicit content.

5,796 Words

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More Than Routine

Sharing a room in the company dorms didn’t seem like a big deal. For Sana, it was actually perfect. Jihyo was always organized, calm, responsible—and incredibly attractive. But that last part was something she wasn’t supposed to think about, especially not when both were lying in their beds, lights off, the quiet wrapping around them like a blanket.At first, things were simple. Jihyo played soft music to sleep, Sana used her silk eye patch. Each had their own routine. But slowly, boundaries blurred. Jihyo would casually change clothes in front of her, and Sana’s eyes would linger. Sana talked in her sleep sometimes, and Jihyo would watch her in silence before turning back to her book. They were getting to know each other in a way that felt deeper than conversation.Jihyo noticed. She wasn’t naive. She could tell when someone was watching her too long, when silence between two people started humming with something more. And with Sana… that hum was deafening.

—“Do you always stay up this late?”— Jihyo asked one night, her voice low in the dark.

—“Only when my mind’s full”—

—“What’s in there tonight?”—

—“You”— Sana murmured before thinking. The pause after felt sharp.

—“Oh”— Jihyo replied simply. But in the darkness, a small smirk appeared on her lips.After that, things weren’t quite the same. Conversations got deeper. Eye contact lasted too long. When their fingers brushed by accident, the spark lingered.

On a rainy night, when the sound of droplets against the window filled the room, everything shifted.

—“Can I ask you something without you pulling away from me?”— Sana said softly.

—“You can always ask”— Jihyo replied, already watching her.

—“Have you ever thought about kissing me?”—She didn’t answer right away. Jihyo sat up slowly, crossing her legs. Sana mirrored her, knees nearly touching.

—“Many times. But you never seemed ready”—

—“What if I am now?”—

—“Then come here”— Jihyo said, pulling her blanket back slightly.Sana crossed the room as if walking on glass. She climbed under the covers, facing her, heart pounding.

—“I don’t want this to be just curiosity”—

—“Then it won’t be”—Their first kiss wasn’t rushed. It was slow, tentative...exploratory. Sana sighed against her lips like she’d been waiting for it for months. Jihyo held her face gently, deepening the kiss with firm control. Always a leader, always knowing when to take the reins.—“You’re trembling”—

—“Because of you”—Jihyo kissed her again, slower. As they shifted closer, hands found places they hadn’t dared touch before. Jihyo slipped her fingers beneath Sana’s shirt, drawing soft lines along her waist. Sana leaned into it, breath catching.—“Are you okay with this?”— Jihyo whispered.—“More than okay… sweetheart”—She laid her down slowly, lips brushing her neck, her collarbone. Sana closed her eyes, warmth blooming in her chest, in her skin, everywhere Jihyo touched. Her shirt was lifted inch by inch, revealing skin Jihyo had dreamed about for far too long.—“I’ve imagined this so many times”——“Then make it real. I’m yours”—That night became a symphony of whispers, slow kisses, deep breaths. Jihyo was firm, confident, attentive.

Sana gave in completely, wanting more, needing more, her body aching for everything Jihyo could give her.—“Tell me how you like it, pretty”—

—“Any way you want… just don’t stop”—

—“I don’t plan to. Not after tasting you like this”—And she didn’t.When it was over, Sana lay curled up against her, body still buzzing. She traced lazy circles on Jihyo’s chest with her fingers, voice soft: —“I don’t want this to be just tonight”—.

Jihyo kissed her forehead and held her tight. —“It won’t be. I promise”—.Since then, sleeping together wasn’t just routine. It was warmth, tension, love in a quiet flame. And neither of them ever wanted to put it out.

[cocoavanille]

SuoSaku 3rd year struggling with their love because Suo confessed and Sakura freaked out and kind of rejected him out of panic, and (of all people) Endo being DONE with this bullshit, dragging Sakura by the shirt to "talk it out with him like a normal person, you actually do have all the chances, you fucking idiot, he's pretty much ready to kiss the ground you've walked on".

Endo needed a hug but instead got SuoSaku together by texting Suo:

"Listen, eye patch, he's a traumatized terrifyed idiot who thinks he will ruin everything by existing. That is also madly in love with you (I'm an expert, trust me on that one). The classic 'am I worthy' and 'I can't handle love' type of bullshit. I have no sound advice aside from manipulate his ass to talk about it with you directly, ain't no way he actually starts that conversation. Thank me later with not looking at eachother with this disgusting longing anymore. Worst regards, your unfriendly neighbour".

Takiishi takes his phone later in the evening to call Banjo (too lazy to get his own from the kitchen) and turns his head towards him.

– Are they still not dating? What the fuck?

– Yeah, my thoughts exactly. What are yours?

Takiishi thinks for a few seconds, sits next to him and says with unexpected softness.

– I don't believe Sakura's scared of not handling love. It's more of... Not being a person their loved one needs them to be.

– Elaborate? I'm dumb today.

Endo frowns, resting his hand on Takiishi's thigh more so out of habit than anything. That's an interesting track of thought.

– You are always a bit dumb. Sakura... Is a lot like water that reflects his surroundings, in a way, but that's the surface. The currents and depths are the core and he seems to feel like they are dark and damaging. To himself, but to others too – he's scared of it, so he would suppose it scares other people. The thing is, Suo Hayato is not easily scared. If anything...

– Suo sees the level of previous destruction and is still ready to dive in, not minding drowning if worse comes to worse. Because that's what you have to be mentally prepared for when you're going into the sea. Makes sense.

Endo caught on and gave Chika a look. Amber eyes met his in silent question.

– It never fails to surprise me how perceptive you actually are when you want to be. You just purposefully ignore human-related nuance it seems.

– Or it's you who likes to think he's got everything and everyone figured out, but barely understands himself. Is it the same?

– The same to what?

Endo stares at him, frowning.

– The scary currents. Although yours are more like the directions of the wind, hurricanes and such.

Endo leans back on the couch, pondering. This is... An observation that makes him feel quite uncomfortable. But Chika is very good at detecting lies, so he forces the truth out.

– Maybe.

– Is stepping into the fire safer to you than looking in the mirror?

A nervous laughter escapes on his own. He's not sure whether Chika gaining an interest in people two years ago was a blessing or a curse anymore.

Takiishi reads his expression through the mask and silently opens up their comfort channel with animal videos, putting on some big cats content, giving him his phone back. Gets up to make tea. The call can wait it seems.

Endo sits there, a little dumbstruck. That was a wild way to point out "hey, you're nosy in your friends love life and may be wrong".

Ouch, you motherfucker. Takiishi knows how much he hates taking a look at himself. A grin spreads on his face.

– Were you just protecting Sakura in a way? Are you mad that I'm in their business and not with you or something?

– You suck at reading people.

Chika says with a faint smile, pushing a glass of iced tea with his favourite syrup and milk type in front of him. Endo takes a sip. Perfect proportions.

The incoming message reads: "mind your business, dear neighbour and don't disturb my garden".

Ah, a threat! "Touch the sakura branches and I'll chop your hands off", swee-et.

– Kids are so rude these days.

Takiishi looks over to the screen, smirks in satisfaction and turns on the TV.

They'll figure it out. All of them. Finding a balance takes time.

[wcrstbehavior]

What had he turned into? Hell if he knew. Some days, he still woke up in hotel rooms he didn't recognize, staring at ceilings that never looked like home. Other days, he didn't even feel like the guy in the highlight reels. The world saw Cameron Steele, the franchise quarterback, the comeback story, the fighter, but he'd never felt further from that title than he did in that moment, standing between the thighs of the girl who'd once meant everything. The one who still did. And Sutton's words hit him harder than anything thrown his way on the field. She had absolutely no clue what those words did to him, no idea how close he was to unraveling, how much it gutted him to hear her say that like it was simple. Like loving him was something easy, like forgiving him didn't come with a price she'd already paid a thousand times over. And he certainly didn't deserve any of it, not her wanting him still, not her softness, not her forgiveness. And yet, when Cameron had taken her hand away and pushed into her, buried himself inside her inch by aching inch, there wasn't a single part of him that could pretend he didn't need this, need her, more than his next breath. The sound of Sutton's moan ripped through the air, and he felt her fingers grip his arm like she was anchoring herself, holding onto him the same way he was holding onto this moment. She felt tighter than he remembered, or maybe it was just the years, the tension, the time they'd spent apart that made every inch of her feel like coming home. His forehead dropped to hers, sweat already starting to bead at the back of his neck. He couldn't move... Not until he got a handle on the storm inside him. She felt too good, too fucking perfect. Like his body had been waiting to feel hers again all this time. "You still feel like mine," he breathed out softly, his darkened blue eyes glancing down to where their bodies connected before locking back on hers. And for the first time in forever, he didn't feel like a quarterback. He didn't feel like a name or a stat line, or someone people watched for entertainment... He simply just felt like a man. A man who was still in love with the girl he left behind. Cameron held still just a second longer, fighting every instinct screaming at him to move. He didn't want to rush this and didn't want to forget a single second, but the way her body clenched around him, how slick and ready she was for him... It nearly fucking unraveled him. He started slow. A deep, steady thrust that pulled a breathless sound from somewhere deep in his chest. Then another thrust, just as slow, letting the stretch and the slide of her around him take over his senses. His grip tightened on Sutton's hips, grounding himself, grounding them, his thumb dragging up her side before he did it again. But he couldn't keep it there. Cameron's pace quickened suddenly without warning, hips snapping forward with a force he hadn't meant to unleash. She took it, all of it, and he didn't even try to suppress the low, guttural moan that tore out of him. He fucked her like he needed her to know, needed her to feel, how much he still wanted her, how long he'd gone without. Then he slowed again, dragging out of her nearly all the way just to push back in achingly slow. Over and over, he kept switching — fast enough to make her breath hitch, then slow enough to make her curse him under her breath. He pulled her even closer, one arm wrapped tight around her waist as he fucked her again with long, deep strokes, dragging her along the edge with every grind of his hips. The counter rocked beneath them, the windows still wide open... But Cameron didn't fucking care. Let them look. This wasn't just sex, this was everything they'd left unsaid, all the love that never died, the ache of years apart, and Cameron was making damn sure she felt it all.

she would have never admitted to keeping up with him after he was gone, keeping up with his career, and life, the draft picks, the changes, every injury, the ups and the downs. but she had, even if just secretly. it wasn't an obsessive or fan type of situation, but just enough to know that he was okay, living his dream and making the most of it. when he'd first left her in that parking lot so many years ago sutton had sworn that she never wanted anything to do with him again. but that wasn't possible not in this town where every turn she made she was staring at a poster that someone had posted up of him. and sutton knew that she couldn't hate him forever, nor had she wanted to. it was too much work, and something she had just needed to move on with.

sure, when she'd saw him today those feelings had come back, everything from the sadness, and disgust, to the longing and love. the love. she had loved him with every part of her body, her first real love, which was probably why everything that hurt so much. but now he was standing in front of her, and even if he was only going to be hers again for one week, hell, he could decide to leave town again tomorrow, and make it one day, she had wanted to make the most of it. to give herself over to him while she still could.

❝ what have you turned into? ❞ sutton questioned, her head tipping just slightly as she couldn't even begin to imagine what was going on inside of his head. her free hand had moved up, moving into the hair along the back of his neck, keeping their bodies close as she studied the look on his face. ❝ i don't know who you think you've become, good or bad, and we can talk about all of that later, or not at all if you'd rather. and even if you leave town right after this and never come back, i'm still going to want you. ❞ it was something she could never stop. she still loved him. and the words were playing at the tip of her tongue, but it wasn't something she could say. needing to draw a line somewhere. it wasn't until he'd replaced her hand with his own, and in an instant had buried himself inside of her that her lips parted once more, a moan falling from them. ❝ oh my god. ❞ sutton gasped out, a hand moving to his arm, fingers squeezing at the muscle as she took the time to get used to his size. had he grown? had she shrunk? maybe it was from their time apart, though she couldn't remember him being this big, and that fact that he'd taken her breath away had said it all. 

[hellcifrogs]

You know what's stupid? Keeping things you love or that bring you joy just waiting for the perfect moment to use/do/make... I think I've done enough of that :)

[movie-robotnik-positivity]

I don't think Robotnik ever saw Stone's affection as genuine. He's used to people only valuing him if he's useful. His own bosses call him a freak, yet they put up with him because of his "perfect operation record". He isn't even shocked when he learns the goverment erased him, he expected it and had a contingency plan ready.

He keeps calling Stone a sycophant and a barnacle, because why else would someone stay with him if not to gain something? Clearly, Stone is just a suck-up wanting to ride his coattails. And Ivo is fine with that! He gets his ego stroked and in return Stone gets a slice of the world-domination pie. Mutually beneficial!

This symbiotic relationship gives Ivo a sense of control and ensures that Stone won't abandon him like everyone else. It also keeps him detached: of course Stone waited months or him to return from space, that's his job. His admiration is inevitable, and meaningless.

Ivo develops a genuine, irrational attachment to Stone, one he's able to rationalize as just being transactional. Those emotional walls shield him from the fear of abandonment that comes with caring for another person.

Except...even after Robotnik becomes a liability, Stone stays. There's no benefit, no plans of ruling humanity, not even a paycheck. Yet despite everything, Ivo tries to keep the old boss/employee dynamic going. He can't fathom the idea that someone would stay for anything other than convenience.

Then Gerald shows up, and for the first time Ivo allows himself to put down those walls. As an orphan he had built up this idealized image of family that he thought he could never have. People will use you then toss you aside when convenient, but family? Family is different. Family will always be there for you and love you no matter what. Family won't abandon you.

And suddently Stone's grovelling is no longer necessary. Why would he need someone who just pretends to like him when he now has all the unconditional love he's always longed for? That's obviously why Stone got so jealous, it couldn't have been real concern, he was just afraid of losing his comfy position as the lapdog of humanity's new king. Between a sycophant and family, the choice felt obvious.

And, of course, Gerald turns out to be just like everyone else in Ivo's life: just another person trying to get something from him. The second he stopped being useful, he was tossed aside.

His image of family is once again shattered, but those emotional walls are already down. Now that Ivo experienced that betrayal he was so afraid of, now that he's about to die, he's finally able to be honest with himself.

Looking down on Earth, he realizes there had only ever been one person on that blue marble who actually cared. Someone who had always been there, even when there was nothing to gain. Stone had never abandoned him.

But he had abandoned Stone. He tossed him aside, just like Gerald did to him. Now that he's able to understand how Stone felt, this is his last chance to make things right.

In his final moments, with nothing to fear, Robotnik puts down his emotional walls and opens up as best as he can. Stone had done so much for him, asked for nothing in return, and now it was his turn to do the same. Ivo helped save the world, not for recognition or convenience, but simply out of love.

Stone had always been a sycophant to him, yes, but he had also been a friend. A sycofriend.

[classyrbf]

dad bod!toji who’s still the big, muscular man he is but you can tell he’s gotten older and his metabolism has slowed down a little bit. He’s gotten chubbier in his arms, thighs, tummy. Not to mention, he’s started to gray and grow stubble on his face, the perfect salt and pepper mix. Toji says he hates it, always moaning and groaning about needing to hit the gym but you…? You fucking love it. It takes everything in you not to ravish his right then and there, wanting to pounce on him every second of the day. You’re always kissing up on him, grabbing on him, dragging him to the laundry room while the kids watching tv so you could have a quickie. And he’s so confused on where all this extra energy and affection has sprouted from, but he loves it. You’re always so eager for him, fucking your self on his cock, him waking up to you kissing his neck and stroking his dick, dropping to your knees and giving him head without his asking. He wonders what he’s done to deserve all of it.

He’s standing in the mirror one late night with his shirt off, examining just how chubby he’s gotten. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little insecure, thinking how gorgeous you are and how you shouldn’t settle for him. “I’m losing myself,” he grumbles. “What’s going on, baby?” You walk in the room, a smile immediately on your face when you see his shirt is off, definitely a sight to see. “I need to head to the gym is what’s going on.” He flexes his muscles in the mirror. You giggle and walk up behind him, snaking your arms around his waist. “I think you look so handsome with a little weight on you,” you whisper in his ear. “Does something to me.” You nibble on his ear before trailing kisses along his jaw, and that’s when Toji realizes why you’ve been so affectionate with him, like a lightbulb going off in his head.

Just mere minutes later, you’re riding him like your life depends on it, slamming your hips down on his, creating a sticky mess between you two. “S-shit,” he pants, “slow down, mama—fuck!” His bruising grips on your hips only tighten the faster you ride him. Your pussy sucks him in with each thrust, clenching around his throbbing cock. “I can’t…you get so me so hot and bothered, baby.” You grin, running your hands down his chest.

He swears he could cum right then and there, with the way you were riding him and that look in your eye, he was ready to give you another kid. And now you were kissing his neck, moaning and whimpering in his ear. “You’re so perfect, Toji,” you mewl. “Fuck me.” His eyes roll back before fluttering shut. “Keep going, yes, yes, just like that, mama. You’re gonna make me fucking cum,” he groans. You keep that same rhythm, squeezing your pussy around him, milking him. He suddenly wraps his arms around you, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “Ah, fuck!” You cry out, your cum dripping down his shaft. His thrusts grow sloppier and harder and next thing you know he’s filling you up, pushing his cum deeper inside of you with slow thrusts. Laughter erupts from your chest as you catch your breath, kissing him slowly and passionately.

“Mmm, goddamn,” he huffs, pulling you to his chest. “Now I finally know why you’re so goddamn horny all the time,” he chuckles. You blink up at him with a small smirk. “Can you blame me?” You trace patterns on his skin. He can see the look in your eye, that hungry stare you’re giving him, wanting more. “What are you thinking about, hm?” He caresses your cheek. “Oh nothing…just how badly I wanna give you some head right now, but I’ll wait.”